Chapter 41: Transcendence

The third task, the maze, had finally begun.

Unlike before, Harry was calm and confident as he approached the challenge.

The maze was undoubtedly complex.

There were likely many dangerous traps and creatures unleashed within it.

But none of that mattered to Harry now.

In his first year, he had overcome a three-headed dog and devilish traps to protect the Philosopher's Stone.

In his second year, he fought Tom Riddle, and in his third year, he had been surrounded by Dementors.

Each of these had been life-threatening battles.

Considering those, this maze didn't seem particularly frightening to Harry.

If things got difficult, he could always call for help from the professors.

The experience from those past events gave Harry the strength to move forward without hesitation.

Moreover, the situation worked in Harry's favor.

This task favored those with higher scores from the previous two challenges, and naturally, Harry started first.

The high, thick walls of the maze towered before him.

As Harry entered the maze, the voices of the crowd disappeared, replaced by an eerie silence, like being underwater.

He lit his wand and quickly made his way along the right-hand wall.

Without even glancing at any branching paths, he followed the wall, a strategy known as the "right-hand rule," which Hermione had taught him as the most famous way to navigate a maze.

And yet, it was strange.

Even though he had been progressing for some time, no obstacles had appeared.

There were no traps, no creatures to hinder him.

The absence of any danger only served to make Harry uneasy.

This was odd… something was wrong…

Was he simply lucky? Or was this itself a trap?

As he pondered, a scream came from behind him.

...Cedric!

Cedric Diggory must have encountered some obstacle and was now screaming!

A few seconds later, Harry saw a red spark shoot into the sky from the direction of the scream.

The red spark was a signal for disqualification.

In other words, Cedric had dropped out for some reason.

"......"

One rival had been eliminated.

That was a good thing.

But the next to fall could be him. If something was able to make Cedric drop out, then this maze held dangers that even he couldn't foresee.

Harry continued moving forward, and finally, he encountered something resembling a true obstacle: a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Despite that, Harry continued through the maze, progressing smoothly.

But the feeling of discomfort wouldn't go away.

It was going too smoothly… strangely smoothly.

How could Cedric have dropped out in a maze that was this easy to navigate?

As he was lost in thought, another scream rang out, this time from Fleur Delacour, followed by another red firework in the sky.

And then, immediately after, another firework went up, signaling that three competitors had now dropped out.

(Hold on a second... Is it just me? Am I the only one left now!?)

What was going on? What was happening?

This wasn't just smooth sailing anymore.

At this rate, his victory was already practically assured.

Without any rivals left, as long as he didn't drop out himself, he would inevitably reach the goal.

Even if he were to forfeit now, considering the points he had already accumulated and the fact that the others had dropped out, victory was guaranteed.

...But then, wouldn't it be okay to forfeit now?

After considering this, Harry shook his head.

No, maybe this smooth progress was the trap itself.

Perhaps no one had truly dropped out yet. Maybe what he saw was an illusion or fake fireworks.

Could this be a trap, designed to lull him into letting his guard down, so that he would foolishly give up?

Even if it wasn't that, Harry's pride wouldn't allow him to give up the challenge willingly.

—I won't forfeit. I'll keep going.

As he made his decision, Harry pictured himself winning.

Raising the trophy in front of the whole school… smiling faces waiting to greet him.

Maybe Hermione would even give him a kiss on the cheek.

Thinking about that, Harry found himself more determined than ever to win.

If he was going to win, he didn't want to win by chance. He wanted a victory he could be proud of.

Had Harry been more level-headed at that moment… perhaps he could have thought more deeply about the oddities.

Why was he the only one moving so smoothly, with no obstacles in his path, while the other competitors had all been eliminated?

He might have remembered the warning from the start of the school year on the Hogwarts Express.

—Be careful of your surroundings this year.

But Harry had buried that warning deep in the back of his mind.

Of course, at first, he had been cautious.

He feared someone might be after his life, now that he was a representative competitor.

But now, with the confidence of getting this far and the glory right before him, his judgment had become clouded.

He could win… he could actually win!

A fourteen-year-old, outsmarting all the other top competitors to win!

Such a giddy thought made Harry let down his guard.

And finally, after progressing through the maze with inexplicable ease, Harry reached the prize at the end: the Triwizard Cup.

Is it really over?

Is this really it? The final task?

Can it really be this easy? Isn't something strange about this?!

Uncertainty and expectation. Joy and doubt.

These emotions intertwine, making Harry's heart beat loudly, almost painfully.

But the truth was, he was now standing in front of the Triwizard Cup, and no one else was around.

He swallowed nervously and slowly reached for the cup.

And then—Harry vanished from that spot.

Using the Disapparation spell, he flew to a villa on Magnolia Crescent Street.

Though the Ministry of Magic had tacitly accepted some magic use within the house, if a large-scale ritual were to be performed at the main estate, Aurors would likely show up.

Actually, it was strange that no one had come when Mirabelle had used the "Disarm" spell—though, ironically, Heathcote himself had approved the use of such magic without protest.

Heathcote, a skilled Dark wizard, held significant influence at the Ministry of Magic.

Using his power, it had been easy for him to ensure that any magical acts performed within the house by his child would be overlooked as an exception.

But in the end, it was that same power that led to his downfall, and he found himself bound by Disarm and Crucio curses, unable to escape.

"We've been waiting for you, Miss."

"Mm."

Heathcote accompanied Mirabelle to the villa, where Quirrell awaited her, bowing respectfully.

Beside him lay Simon Belesford, his face pale with terror, his eyes wide in fear.

He was probably petrified by a spell. He couldn't move, only watching Mirabelle anxiously with his eyes.

On the opposite side, a maid with flaxen hair, tied back neatly, stood nervously. Her face was tight with fear, knowing full well her fate was sealed for the ritual ahead.

"Mi-Mirabelle... what exactly are you planning to do...?"

"Just watch. You'll understand soon enough."

Ignoring Heathcote's question, Mirabelle stepped into the center of the magical circle drawn on the floor.

She took out her wand, crafted from a bloodtree, and drove it into the ground.

The moment she did, the circle glowed with golden light, casting a strange, eerie illumination throughout the room.

"Now, let's begin. Tonight, I will transcend humanity and reach the extreme of dark magic.

I shall transcend death and become the ruler who will forever dominate the magical world."

At the same time

In the cemetery behind the Little Hangleton church, Harry found himself bound to one of the gravestones.

How had he ended up in such a situation? Even Harry himself couldn't understand.

He had been participating in the third task of the Triwizard Tournament just moments ago.

He had overcome several obstacles and was about to claim the Triwizard Cup, having passed the other three competitors.

But in that very moment, Harry was transported to this cemetery and bound by Wormtail, who had suddenly appeared.

"Everything is ready, my lord."

Wormtail trembled as he looked at a huge stone cauldron in front of him.

In his arms was a strange, squirming object that looked like a grotesque baby.

But it was certainly not a baby. Harry thought to himself that he had never seen such a disturbing thing before.

The creature had a head covered in scales, a flat, featureless face like a snake's.

Wormtail, unable to hide his revulsion, lifted the creature and tossed it into the cauldron.

The cauldron was filled with a bubbling, water-like liquid, and Harry silently wished that the creature would drown.

But his wish was in vain.

Wormtail raised his wand, closed his eyes, and began chanting into the dark night.

"Father's bones, unknowingly given. The father shall resurrect the son!"

"Thou, my blood brother, offer me thy blood. Thy life, become my sustenance!"

Mirabelle chanted above the magic circle, now filled with golden light.

In sync with her words, Quirrell took a knife and casually drove it into Simon's throat.

There was no time for a scream.

With terrifying speed, with brutal indifference, the life of Simon—Mirabelle's blood brother—was snuffed out.

The body of Simon fell to the floor with a thud, blood spurting out and turning into a red mist that surrounded Mirabelle.

"The servant's flesh... I, with joy, shall offer it... The servant will... resurrect the master."

Wormtail, despite the words of the incantation, spoke in a voice that sounded anything but pleased, crying weakly as he extended his arm.

With a shuddering sob, frozen in fear, he pressed a silver dagger to his arm and, in one swift motion, severed it.

In that instant, an agonizing scream echoed.

The severed right arm fell into the cauldron, turning the liquid a deep crimson.

Despite having done this to himself, Wormtail screamed in pain, rolling helplessly on the ground.

"Thou, innocent maiden, dost thou swear eternal loyalty to me? Will thou offer thy pure body, becoming my eternal servant?"

A question with an obvious answer, thrown to his faithful maid.

The flaxen-haired maid—Mary—approached Mirabelle and, with the expression of a martyr ready for her fate, quietly spoke.

"If it is your wish."

A satisfactory reply.

Mirabelle, with a calm yet almost tender smile, pulled Mary close. She gently licked her neck once, twice, thrice, her fingers trailing along her skin.

Then, in the next moment, she sank her teeth into the white neck.

"The blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... thou will... resurrect the enemy."

Despite gasping in pain and moaning, Wormtail continued chanting.

He drove the silver dagger into Harry's right arm, collecting the blood into a vial.

As the blood was poured into the cauldron, the crimson liquid shifted into a dazzling white.

Harry desperately wished for it to fail. Please, drown... please fail...

But against his hopes, white steam began rising from the cauldron, and a black shadow, skeletal and emaciated, slowly rose.

A face whiter than a skull, with eerie, blood-red eyes, and a nose flattened like a snake's.

It was an appearance far removed from any human—a hideous, terrifying figure. The cursed appearance of one who defied the laws of the soul.

This was the Dark Lord.

The embodiment of terror who had plunged the entire magical world into fear, so much so that even uttering his name was forbidden.

Though still human, he was a grotesque, inhuman creature, the very definition of monstrous life.

Lord Voldemort had returned.

"God, Father of all! I reject thee!

I trample upon thy laws of life!"

Golden light, so blinding that it was impossible to keep one's eyes open, filled the room, and the blood of the sacrifice poured into Mirabelle.

The sin of killing her own blood kin.

The karma of offering an untouched body as a sacrifice.

With these two acts, her soul was transformed, ascending to a state beyond humanity.

In some ways, this magic was similar to a dark and twisted horcrux, splitting the soul through murder.

Though her outward appearance remained unchanged, her cells were now those of a monster.

Life ceased, time halted, and she began her transformation from living being to the undead.

She rejected the sun's light, instead embracing the moon's cold, unholy glow.

She was a being cursed, a blasphemous creature who rejected God's laws.

Golden eyes glowed ominously as her natural dominance and charm as a ruler intensified, her claws, now crimson, lengthened like those of a predator, while her teeth turned into sharp fangs.

This was the form of the evil king who denied God's love and ruled the night.

"The Progenitor!" "The Vampire!" "Nosferatu!" "Dracula!"

The immortal king who appeared in many texts, called by many names.

A cursed, yet unbelievably beautiful monster, slowly emerging from the light.

"Kuh, ku ku ku ku..."

Mirabelle laughed, her lips twisting with joy at the sight of her reborn self.

"Ha ha ha ha ha..."

Voldemort laughed, caressing his body lovingly with his pale fingers, his lips curling in triumph.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

When he released his magical power, a golden whirlwind began, violently shaking the room.

With this power, there was nothing to fear now.

Mirabelle had transcended every living creature!

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

She raised her wand, directing it at Wormtail.

Without resistance, he was thrown into a gravestone, rolling pitifully across the ground.

This was it, the power of magic. With it, Mirabelle felt unstoppable.

Voldemort had regained his former strength, surpassing all other existences!

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Mirabelle laughed. Voldemort laughed.

Was this just a coincidence? A cruel twist of fate?

The newly reborn golden tyrant, and the once-dark king who had regained his power.

A new evil and an old great evil.

The two of them laughed maniacally, far apart, at the same time, their laughter echoing across the distance.

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