0440 Him

As the towering wooden figures, as tall as a mountain, was sliced to pieces by Bryan, and the mysterious and powerful witch fell to the ground, the wizards hiding far away in the forest, including Sirius and Harry, all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Indeed, they had all placed their unwavering trust in Bryan's abilities but the witch had given them an overwhelming sense of oppression that was difficult to shake. Even Sirius, who had born witness to the full extent of Bryan's power on previous journey, had been on edge throughout this entire ordeal.

"It's over—" Sirius exhaled deeply, his voice hoarse from the previous confrontation. He reached up with a trembling hand to wipe away the gleam of cold sweat that had formed on his furrowed brow.

As the sun that had dominated the sky during the battle gradually dissipated, the scorching air that had enveloped the forest began to cool rapidly. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees. The sudden drop in temperature caused Sirius to shiver involuntarily, and it was only then that he became aware of his physical state. His clothes clung to his skin, thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

Glancing around, Sirius noted that he was not alone in this state. Arthur stood nearby, his usually neat robes awry and his thinning red hair was plastered to his forehead. The younger kids—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Weasley children—looked equally disheveled and drenched in sweat.

What was originally supposed to be a feast for the Wizarding World — the Quidditch World Cup Final— had devolved into a nightmarish battle for survival— Who could have imagined it would turn out like this?

As the dust from the battle began to settle, both literally and figuratively, an eerie silence fell upon the group. The adrenaline that had been coursing through their veins began to recede, leaving behind a deep sense of disorientation. The duel they had just witnessed—of such earth-shattering magnitude—had not only shaken their understanding of magic but had also shattered the very foundations of their worldview.

Harry's lips, dry from dehydration, quivered a few times as he prepared to say something. However, what came out of his throat was a piercing scream!

"Ah!"

Without warning, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees on the forest floor. His hands flew to his forehead, his fingers clutching desperately at the lightning bolt scar. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It felt as though a red-hot wire was being pressed against his skin. The agony was so intense that for a brief, terrifying moment, Harry found himself wishing for the sweet release of death.

This sudden change caught Sirius and the others completely off guard. Their minds were still whirling around the shocking duel they had just witnessed. For several seconds, they stood frozen, unable to react as Harry writhed in pain before them.

It was Elphias Doge who first managed to shake off the stupor that had gripped the group. His face wrinkled as he stepped forward asking in concern.

"Oh, this boy is Harry Potter, isn't he?" Elphias's voice shook with worry. "What's wrong with him?"

The sound of Elphias's voice seemed to break the spell that had fallen over them. Sirius was startled and then immediately rushed to Harry's side dropping to his knees and lifting him into his arms.

"What's wrong, Harry!" Sirius's voice was thick with panic as he held Harry's trembling body.

In an instant, Hermione, Ron, and the other Weasleys surged forward forming a tight circle around Harry and Sirius, but they all looked helpless as they watched him writhing in agony.

"Scar!" Harry managed to squeeze out a word from his throat, almost on the verge of fainting from the pain.

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion and worry as he processed what Harry had said.

"Your scar is hurting again, Harry?" Ron's voice cracked slightly as he spoke. He tightened his grip on Harry's wrist, his helpless gaze shifting to Hermione, silently pleading for her to provide some sort of explanation or solution. But what kind of answer could Hermione possibly provide in a situation like this?

As the seconds ticked by and Harry's condition showed no signs of improving, the tension in the group continued to increase. It was Mr. Weasley who finally broke silence.

"Quick, go find Bryan, Sirius," Mr. Weasley urged, noticing that Sirius had been momentarily overwhelmed by worry and distress. "Maybe he can help Harry!"

The mention of Bryan's name seemed to jolt Sirius back to his senses. Without uttering a word, he scooped Harry into his arms. Sirius turned and prepared to rush back towards the ruins of the Quidditch stadium.

However, just as he was about to take his first step, a chilling transformation began to unfold in the sky above the arena. The once-clear night sky suddenly turned an inky, oppressive black, as if all the light had been sucked out of the world. The sudden change was so unnatural that it made Sirius hesitate.

As they all stared up at the sky in horror, a voice cut through the eerie silence.

"I remember telling you that it would be unwise to act during the World Cup!"

The words spoken came from within the irregular black ink stain that was now infecting the void above them. As the last syllable faded away, the black waves began to roll back upon themselves, sweeping towards the figure of Cliodna, who had been floating steadily towards Bryan.

Bryan's expression darkened perceptibly as he observed this new development, but his eyes showed no surprise. Or rather, this scene was somewhat expected, when he sensed the priestess's magic appear in the Quidditch arena earlier that night.

In that moment, as he stood facing the encroaching darkness, Bryan's mind raced through the information he had gathered over the past months. He had already deduced that the Druid priestess, Cliodna, had joined forces with the most notorious dark wizard in the history of the British Wizarding World. The attempt to kidnap Harry during such a high-profile event was undoubtedly Voldemort's doing. Bryan had even suspected that this operation was planned by Voldemort himself, and that Lucius Malfoy's covert hiring of underground wizards was part of a larger scheme to cooperate with this audacious plan.

But Voldemort's words just now made Bryan realize that his initial guess had been off the mark. Although Cliodna had taken an enormous risk by targeting Harry at the World Cup Final, this action didn't seem to be on Voldemort's direct orders. Instead, it appeared to be her own decision.

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Bryan let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

Ever since he had first entered the Wizarding world, Bryan had anticipated that one day he would face this Dark Lord. This was the villain who had caused such extensive damage to the British magical community, who had brought grief and suffering to countless families, and whose very name still struck fear into the hearts of witches and wizards across the country. But despite this long-held expectation, Bryan hadn't anticipated that their confrontation would occur under such rushed and chaotic circumstances.

A strange light flickered in Bryan's brown pupils as he considered the situation. Although they had finally come face to face—or as close to face to face as one could get with a ghostly faceless dark lord—Bryan found that he didn't want to pay much attention to Voldemort at this particular moment. The timing and circumstances of their meeting held little meaning in the grand scheme of things. What mattered now was capturing her and protecting Harry and the others, while putting an end to this night of terror.

With this thought in his mind, Bryan's wand began to tremble. As its tip carved a path through the misty air, a powerful attractive force suddenly erupted from its core. Cliodna, who was a few moments away from being engulfed by the ominous black waves, accelerated abruptly. She shot forward with startling speed, narrowly escaping just as the waves closed in behind her.

The rolling black waves sounded like violent, inhuman roars. Within the inky darkness, a pair of crimson eyes flickered in and out of view. In the next breath, a sickly green light, brimming with the surging aura of death itself, burst through the waves. It streaked across the sky with terrifying speed, heading straight for Bryan's face.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The curse light, imbued with an unimaginably deep hatred and powerful dark magic, gained incredible momentum as it crossed the space between Voldemort and Bryan. As the green light tore through the air, it left a trail of ionized particles in its wake, creating a series of colorful halos that would have been beautiful if not for their deadly origin.

In that fleeting instant before impact, Bryan's heightened senses seemed to perceive not just the spell, but the very essence of death itself. It was as if a tide of stark white bones was surging towards him, ready to drag him into the abyss.

Hmph!

A cold snort, as imposing and resonant as a clap of thunder, echoed through the night sky. With a swift, precise movement, Bryan pointed his wand towards a few nearby metal boulder and transfigured it into a large shield. The heavy metal shimmered in the moonlight as it hovered protectively before him.

Boom!

The Killing Curse struck the shield with immense force, and though the transfigured metal shield absorbed much of the impact, it trembled violently under the raw, dark magic. A deep, resonating shockwave rippled outward from the point of contact, sending a wave of unsettling dark energy through the forest. The shield held firm but buckled under the pressure, cracks forming along its surface as the curse's energy dispersed. The wizards and witches observing from the forest felt an unsettling pressure upon their body.

Some of the older and more sensitive wizards, already on edge from the intense magical duel, felt this sudden strain more intensely. Their faces turned ashen, and a few, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the magical disturbance, staggered or needed to sit down to regain their composure.

While the effect wasn't as visible as a physical injury might have been, the psychological and magical impact of witnessing such a powerful and destructive force was undeniable.

In a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar, both the shield and the curse light dissolved into nothingness. The resulting shockwave swept across the landscape with overwhelming force, its power was so great that it even managed to disperse some of the roaring black waves that had been encroaching upon them!

Bryan was not entirely unaffected by the blast. He was forced to take a single step backward, as he absorbed the impact. But that was the extent of his retreat. After steadying himself, he suddenly extended his left hand towards Cliodna.

Whoosh!

The air itself seemed to part as the Staff of the Druids passed down through countless generations, flew out of Cliodna's grasp. It moved so swiftly that it left only the faintest of afterimages. Cliodna, who had lost the ability to resist but was still conscious, followed closely behind it. As she watched Bryan Watson's stern face rapidly enlarging in her field of vision, it was hard to say whether her expression was one of despair or relief.

"Bryan Watson!"

The voice that rang out was filled with fury.

A voice, brimming with fury, reverberated through the air.

'If this foolish woman were truly captured here, all my carefully laid plans would shatter like soap bubbles. Who knows how many years it would take to find such a perfect opportunity again? And worse, she knows too many of my important secrets.'

At this crucial moment, with everything hanging in the balance, Voldemort finally staked everything. The black waves that had served as his avatar began to dissipate, revealing to Bryan's widening eyes a creature about the size of a house-elf, but any similarity to those harmless creatures ended there. Its face was a nightmare in flesh – ugly and distorted, covered in nauseating blisters that oozed a substance too foul to be called just pus.

The freakish Voldemort glared at the expressionless Bryan with intense hatred. Then, he swooped rapidly towards Bryan. His movements were erratic, almost desperate, as if he were ready to perish together with his enemy rather than face defeat.

This resolute, kamikaze-like attitude made even Bryan frown inwardly. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Bryan knew he had to act fast. He retracted his wand in a fluid motion, then suddenly raised it high above his head. In the blink of an eye, with the wand serving as the hilt, a sword of pure golden flame materialized. It was a magnificent sight, as the blade extended to about a hundred feet into the air.

The next second, without hesitation, Bryan brought the giant sword slashing down!

Boom!!!

The resulting explosion was the loudest and most violent of the entire night. The blast wave from the detonated dark magic rushed into the sky with such force that it dispersed the thick clouds that had been gathering above. For a moment, the night sky was clear.

Whoosh--

Even as the echoes of the explosion were still reverberating through the forest, Bryan's heightened senses detected something amiss. Acting on pure instinct, he dispelled the smaller metal shield he had summoned again and swiftly swung down his wand. The smoke and dust that had obscured the battlefield instantly cleared, revealing a scene that made Bryan's heart sink.

Cliodna's faint visible figure was rapidly disappearing into a distorted vortex. Voldemort's deformed body had already dissolved, leaving behind only a formless shadow. This eerie leftover was more ethereal than even the ghosts that haunted Hogwarts, and was hovering near the almost dissipating vortex like a guardian.

"Bryan Watson, I've remembered your name. We'll meet again—"

The words came like a low moan from the depths of hell itself. As the vortex smoothed out, preparing to close, the shadow that was Voldemort gazed deeply at Bryan. Those burning red eyes seemed to promise future retribution. With a final twist of dark magic, the shadow disappeared into the boundless night, moving at a speed that surpassed everything else.

For a long moment, Bryan stood motionless, his wand still raised, eyes locked on the empty space where his enemies had vanished. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered his arm. His gaze drifted to the oddly shaped staff in his left hand and after a pause, he exhaled deeply.

"Indeed—"

Gazing at the night sky that had finally quietened, Bryan murmured softly,

"We'll meet again soon, Mr. Riddle—"

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