Chapter 43: Evil vs. Greater Evil

"Knock him out! Don't let him escape!"

Voldemort's furious voice echoed through the graveyard as flashes of crimson light streaked across the night.

Each spell was a Stupefying Charm aimed to render its target unconscious.

But Harry darted past them all, sprinting toward the Triwizard Cup, which served as a Portkey.

This was an outcome Voldemort had never anticipated.

It should have been a guaranteed victory.

Harry was captured, surrounded by Death Eaters, with no chance of escape.

But a miracle occurred.

A duel meant to demonstrate Harry's helplessness turned the tide of events.

Given their vast disparity in skill, Harry had no chance of winning.

What should have been a duel was little more than a public execution.

The plan was simple: corner Harry as he fled in vain and kill him.

But Harry, facing death, displayed courage that surpassed Voldemort's calculations.

Surrounded by an invincible foe and inescapable odds, Harry chose to fight to the death in his final moments.

He would not die fleeing. He would face his end with the bravery of his father, fighting until his last breath.

It was this resolute bravery that summoned the miracle.

Harry and Voldemort's wands shared a rare connection—their cores contained tail feathers from the same phoenix.

When their wands were forced to clash, an extraordinary phenomenon occurred: Priori Incantatem.

This rare effect, only possible when sister wands duel, caused Voldemort's wand to regurgitate its previous spells in reverse order.

The Killing Curses he had cast brought forth the ghosts of those he had slain—

a Muggle man with no ties to magic, a Ministry official named Bertha Jorkins… and Harry's parents.

These apparitions turned on Voldemort, attacking him and creating an opening for Harry to escape.

"Out of my way! He's mine to kill!"

Voldemort swatted at the ghosts, chasing after Harry.

He couldn't let him escape. If Harry got away, Dumbledore would surely learn of Voldemort's resurrection.

There was no time to waste on games. Harry had to die, and soon!

With his wand trained on the fleeing boy, Voldemort cast spell after spell.

But in his haste, his aim faltered, and Harry finally reached the Portkey, vanishing from the graveyard.

"...Damn it!"

Harry had escaped.

Voldemort couldn't follow; Harry's destination would undoubtedly lead to Dumbledore.

All he could do now was rely on Barty Crouch Jr. on the other side to capture Harry.

As Voldemort seethed in frustration, a mocking laugh rang out, cutting through the night air.

"Who dares laugh at me?!"

When angered, Voldemort would kill without hesitation, even loyal Death Eaters, should they cross his path in the wrong way.

To him, all lives except his own were worthless, and he took them without a second thought.

So when the laugh reached his ears, his reflex was immediate—a Killing Curse shot toward the sound.

In any other case, the target would be dead.

But the figure stood unfazed.

More than that, they caught the Killing Curse in their hand and crushed it.

"What…?! You… who are you?!"

"What an uncouth greeting… Voldemort."

It was a girl, her golden hair gleaming under the moonlight.

She had grown since he last saw her four years ago, her beauty even more striking now.

Her confidence radiated from her gold-flecked eyes and the robe draped carelessly over her shoulders.

Voldemort recognized her immediately.

He could never forget this girl who had humiliated him as much as Harry had.

"It's been a while, Dark Lord. Surely you haven't forgotten me?"

The girl crushed the "death" she held in her hand, her face adorned with the same brazen smirk as before.

That mocking smile instantly reignited Voldemort's fury.

Grinding his teeth, he snarled her name:

"Mirabel Beresford!"

Keeping his wand raised, he studied the girl perched casually on a gravestone.

What had she done? She had crushed the Killing Curse.

Impossible.

That curse was absolute—instant death upon contact.

To crush it with one's hand defied reason.

"What did you do…?"

"Curious, are you? Is it so incomprehensible that your vaunted Killing Curse failed to work?"

"Answer me! What did you do, Beresford?!"

Voldemort's enraged voice, enough to make most wizards tremble, didn't faze her in the slightest.

Instead, she watched him with a sinister grin, as if thoroughly entertained by his mounting frustration.

"Master, leave it to us! There's no need for you to bother yourself with such a mere girl!"

As Voldemort hesitated before Mirabelle's ominous presence, one of the Death Eaters stepped forward, thrusting his wand toward her. A green flash of light shot from his wand, aimed directly at Mirabelle—but her figure vanished.

Apparition? No.

This was pure speed! She had moved at a velocity beyond human perception, repositioning herself behind the Death Eater in an instant.

"…What?"

"Pathetic. You're so slow, it's boring."

By the time he turned, it was already too late.

His throat, hood and all, was slashed open, blood spraying like a fountain. With a predatory gleam, Mirabelle sank her fangs into the gushing wound with unerring swiftness.

"What...is...this?!"

Before Voldemort's stunned gaze, the Death Eater's body began to wither.

His arms thinned into skeletal branches, his face drained of life. The grotesque sound of blood being swallowed echoed in the air as silence descended.

After several seconds of this grotesque "feast," the Death Eater was reduced to a desiccated husk—a mummified shell of his former self.

"You're next," Mirabelle said, discarding the lifeless remains like trash.

Voldemort's expression darkened as he comprehended the truth. He now understood what she had become.

So that's it... That girl has ceased to be human!

"So, you're...a vampire! One of those cursed children of the night! You've abandoned your humanity?!"

"Indeed. Just like you, I have taken a step into the realm of immortality."

Clicking his tongue in frustration, Voldemort glanced at the sky.

A full moon.

This wasn't good. On an ordinary night, such creatures were manageable. But on a full moon, vampires were a different beast entirely. Even for the Dark Lord, caution was imperative.

"Still, you chose such an imperfect path...

I know the method of vampirism as well. But it is flawed, far from achieving true immortality.

That is why I rejected it. The fact that you resorted to it speaks volumes about your lack of worth."

"Oh?"

"Weak to sunlight, unable to cross running water, vulnerable to crosses, silver weapons, and garlic—what a pitiful excuse for immortality.

Do you think I, Lord Voldemort, would cower before such inadequacy?!"

With a dramatic sweep of his wand, Voldemort conjured silvery spears in the air, their forms gleaming ominously.

Silver weapons—one of the vampire's weaknesses.

The spears shot toward Mirabelle, their tips aimed with deadly precision.

But Mirabelle met them head-on. With a sweep of her arm, golden lightning burst forth, deflecting the incoming projectiles.

Yet one spear arced skillfully around her defenses, striking her in the side.

"Your side, hmm? An impressive dodge, but that wound will take time to heal."

"…Heh…"

Voldemort sneered, but Mirabelle met him with a mocking laugh.

Without flinching, she plucked the spear from her side. To Voldemort's astonishment, the wound vanished as if it had never existed.

Even a weapon of silver, supposed to be her bane, had failed to faze her.

"And? Is that all you've got, 'Dark Lord'?"

"Impossible...!"

Her body and even her torn clothes regenerated before his eyes.

Mirabelle's gaze gleamed with amusement as her hands began to glow with green light—the telltale aura of a Killing Curse.

But she wasn't holding a wand.

"Without a wand?!"

"Heh... Wands are nothing more than training wheels for humans unfamiliar with magic.

Now that I have transcended humanity, I no longer require such toys!"

With a flick of her wrist, Mirabelle unleashed a silent Killing Curse.

Voldemort narrowly leaped out of its path, but a second curse followed instantly, forcing him to roll across the ground to evade.

A third curse came for him as he tried to rise, and Voldemort Apparated out of the way just in time.

Sensing the surge of magic behind her, Mirabelle whirled around.

"Useless!"

The red spell flying toward her was deflected with a sweep of her arm. In a flash, she closed the distance, appearing right before Voldemort, her arm raised to strike.

The ground trembled as her blow shattered a headstone and left a crater in the earth.

Her power now rivaled that of giants, brute force obliterating all in her path.

"Hmph. You're quick on your feet," she remarked.

"Arrogant little wretch…!"

Voldemort snarled, summoning a glowing blade of magic from his wand and slashing at her.

But she dodged, twisting her upper body gracefully out of harm's way, countering with her claws.

Their clash escalated into a deadly dance of spell and claw, each testing the limits of the other's power.

Blades and claws clashed repeatedly, sending sharp sounds and sparks flying into the air.

Mirabel slashed; Voldemort struck.

One was the Dark Lord, the other a golden tyrant.

The two, both aligned with "evil," waged an intense battle under the light of the full moon.

"I'm surprised, Voldemort—you're skilled in close combat as well!"

"Do not underestimate the Dark Lord!"

At first glance, the battle seemed evenly matched, but Mirabel clearly held the upper hand.

In truth, when it came to close combat, Voldemort never stood a chance.

The gap in physical ability was too vast, not to mention the disparity in bodily resilience.

While Mirabel could regenerate instantly from anything short of a fatal blow, Voldemort's body remained as fragile as any human's.

A single direct hit from Mirabel could shatter him completely.

Perhaps realizing this, Voldemort disappeared, putting distance between them.

At the same time, the Death Eaters, who had been too hesitant to act, raised their wands.

Seeing this, Mirabel clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Worthless insects! Do not interfere!"

A casually cast Killing Curse struck one Death Eater, killing him instantly.

In the blink of an eye, Mirabel closed the gap to Wormtail and seized his head in a vice grip.

"...Huh?"

"Die."

With a sickening crunch, Mirabel crushed Wormtail's head as if smashing an empty can.

Blood, brain matter, and fragments of skull splattered everywhere, leaving Wormtail's headless body a fountain of blood.

She tossed the corpse aside like trash and cast a disdainful gaze over the remaining Death Eaters.

Then, as if a wicked idea had just struck her, her beautiful face twisted into a malevolent grin.

"Pathetic. Do you really think vermin like you can defeat me, Mirabel?

But rejoice, for I shall grant you all the perfect dance partners."

Raising an arm toward the void, Mirabel unleashed a surge of magical power.

A golden, sinister glow filled the entire graveyard, amplified by the moonlight.

The ground trembled as if something deep below was stirring to rise.

"O restless dead who lie in this soil, I, Mirabel, the King of the Dead, command you!

Defy the will of God and return to this world!

Despise life, curse the living, and turn all your hatred upon the living beings of this world!"

With Mirabel's proclamation, every gravestone shattered, and the ground heaved upward.

From beneath emerged a grotesque horde of the dead.

Some had skeletal faces exposed, others were flayed to reveal raw flesh, and some dragged their entrails along the ground.

Their eyes all shared one thing: an insatiable hunger for life and an envious hatred of the living.

They could not resist attacking the living before them, nor could they resist sinking their teeth into fresh flesh.

Unlike lifeless puppets created by conventional magic, these were true undead, attacking the living of their own accord.

"Ahahahaha! Behold, Death Eaters, your most fitting opponents!

Unlike your pathetic claims, these are genuine 'Death Eaters'—undead risen from death itself.

Let them consume you, and become true Death Eaters yourselves!"

The surreal sight before them was too overwhelming for the Death Eaters.

They stood frozen in shock, unable even to defend themselves as the undead horde swarmed them mercilessly.

Panic ensued as they fired Killing Curses and Stunning Spells, but they had no effect.

Of course not. These were undead—death and unconsciousness were meaningless concepts to them.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

"N-No! Monsters!"

"Dark Lord! P-Please save me—aaahhhhh!"

It was a massacre.

The Death Eaters, who had terrorized countless lives, were now utterly powerless and torn apart.

Those bitten by the undead joined their ranks, adding to the ever-growing horde.

A never-ending cycle of death and resurrection unfolded.

The Death Eaters' numbers had already been cut in half.

"Stop it! Stop! They are my servants! Do not turn them into the undead!"

Voldemort swung his wand, cutting down the undead in waves.

This was where his legend as the Dark Lord would truly begin anew.

He had gathered these followers for a purpose, a future that required their strength.

He could not allow them to be reduced any further!

"Everyone, disapparate from here immediately! I'll deal with Beresford!"

Standing firmly to shield the retreating Death Eaters, Voldemort cut down every undead that pursued them, carving a path for their escape.

Observing this, Mirabel muttered in an impressed tone, clapping her hands slowly.

"As expected of the Dark Lord. No matter how many undead there are, they're no match for you.

But you were a bit late to help them, weren't you? Many of your precious underlings have already been wiped out."

"You... cursed wretch...!"

Voldemort's face contorted in overwhelming anger, yet he still underestimated her. Mirabel's malice was far from spent. She chuckled darkly, taking delight in his rage.

This was Mirabel—a creature born of pure malevolence. Once she unleashed her wickedness, she plunged ever deeper into depravity, transforming into a true embodiment of evil.

And the more malicious she became, the stronger she grew, her power swelling endlessly.

With the full moon above, a desolate graveyard beneath, and her malice unleashed, Mirabel was now unstoppable—powerful and ruthlessly cruel.

"You'll pay for this, Beresford! I'll make sure you suffer before you die!"

"Oh? Then show me how you intend to make me suffer."

Sliding through the air with supernatural grace, Mirabel closed the distance in an instant. Voldemort vanished, reappearing a safe distance away. With a sweep of his wand, countless fireballs materialized in midair and surged toward Mirabel.

But with a mere swing of her arm, the ground rose ten meters high, repelling every single flaming projectile.

"Fool! Did you think such petty tricks could affect me?"

Mirabel clenched her fist, gathering immense magical energy, and released it in a burst. Red beams of light shot out from each of her ten fingers, hurtling toward Voldemort.

Unlike a human wizard wielding multiple wands, Mirabel achieved this without any wand at all, an unparalleled feat. The beams collided with Voldemort's defensive barrier, breaking through and forcing him to evade yet again. From his new position, he retaliated with a flash of green light from his wand.

"Die, Beresford!"

"Futile!"

Effortlessly deflecting the killing curse with a sweep of her arm, Mirabel counterattacked, unleashing more beams of light. But Voldemort proved resilient, drawing undead toward him to use as shields, blocking her relentless assault.

Still, Mirabel was far from finished. Raising her arm, a golden pillar of fire erupted behind her, forming the shape of a massive dragon with nine heads—an embodiment of cursed flames.

In response, Voldemort raised his wand, summoning a green pillar of fire that coalesced into a colossal serpent.

"Devour her!"

"Face it head-on!"

The golden hydra clashed with the emerald serpent, their fiery forms entwined in a ferocious battle. Against this backdrop, Mirabel and Voldemort exchanged increasingly intense spells. Beams of light streaked across the graveyard, obliterating headstones and the undead alike, leveling the area to bare ground.

Fire, water, wind, lightning, ice, light, and shadow. Death curses, paralysis spells, disarming charms, petrification curses, cutting curses, explosive hexes.

Both combatants unleashed everything in their arsenal, each determined to kill the other. Yet despite the devastation, neither managed a decisive blow.

But as the battle raged on, it became clear that the tide was turning.

"It seems you're running out of breath, Dark Lord. Are you at your limit?"

"...!"

Unlike Mirabel, who boasted near-infinite stamina, Voldemort's body remained bound by human limitations. Fatigue gradually set in, slowing his movements.

To make matters worse, the full moon granted Mirabel a ceaseless supply of magical energy. As long as its light shone upon her, her power would not wane.

This battle was undeniably tilted against Voldemort.

"In the end, you're just human, Voldemort—a half-evolved being. Can a Neanderthal defeat a human? To me, you're nothing more than an ape!"

And finally, Mirabel's spell found its mark, ensnaring Voldemort in her deadly grip.

"Die, Voldemort!"

"!!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

From all ten of her fingers, ten green beams of death shot forth—a symphony of destruction. They engulfed Voldemort, blasting him back.

The Killing Curse, the most feared spell in the wizarding world, delivered swift and fatal death without leaving a mark.

Yet as the dust settled, the Dark Lord rose once more, his crimson eyes burning with hatred, glaring at Mirabel.

"Hmm... I see. As expected, I cannot destroy you.

I must admit, you've delved deeper into the path of immortality than anyone else."

Mirabel snorted in annoyance, crossing her arms.

Her last attack should have sent Voldemort's soul straight to the depths of hell. Yet something tethered to the mortal plane pulled his soul back, returning it to his body.

There was a "something" in this world—a Horcrux—that acted like a magnet, irresistibly drawing Voldemort's will back to existence.

As long as that Horcrux existed, even if his soul was destroyed, Voldemort's essence would remain intact. Unless those Horcruxes were annihilated, this man could not truly die.

Though Mirabel considered forcing her way past the Horcruxes and killing him outright, the sheer number he had created made that an arduous task.

At this point, their battle had reached an impasse.

Mirabel lacked the means to kill Voldemort, just as Voldemort couldn't kill her.

Even if Voldemort shattered Mirabel's body into fragments, she would instantly regenerate. Likewise, even if she obliterated his physical form, Voldemort would persist.

Both had ventured deeply into immortality's embrace, rendering decisive blows impossible against one another.

"So, I must destroy your secret to immortality first before I can deal with you..."

Mirabel considered this conclusion unsurprising.

She had come here to test the extent of Voldemort's immortality, and it seemed clear that ignoring the Horcruxes and killing him outright was impossible.

The combination of Horcruxes and Harry's blood was a frustratingly effective safeguard.

Still, her primary goal tonight had been to test her own body. Additionally, she had significantly thinned the ranks of the Death Eaters.

With nothing more to gain here, there was no reason to linger.

"I'll grudgingly admit it as well… at this moment, I have no chance of victory against you."

Voldemort thought to himself.

At present, he couldn't win. Yet he also wouldn't lose. Having delved further into immortality than anyone, Voldemort could not be killed.

However, that would risk repeating the events of 13 years ago, when Harry had reduced him to nothing. There was the chance that his newly restored body could be destroyed again.

More importantly, Voldemort lacked a method to defeat Mirabel.

To confront this queen of the night—who could instantly regenerate and revive unless killed in a single blow—he lacked the sheer firepower needed.

What he required was overwhelming, absolute power that could obliterate every last cell. Without it, facing her was futile.

"There's no helping it. You'll be dealt with later. First, I'll conquer the wizarding world."

"That seems wise. I'll let you go this time."

Both concluded that it was simpler and quicker to dominate the corrupted wizarding world than to defeat their foe at present.

Once in complete control of the magical community, they could build a strategic advantage, strip their opponent of all resources, and finish them off.

It was a long path, but it was likely the optimal one.

"One day, we'll settle this, Voldemort—with the conquest of the wizarding world and your death."

"Very well. I'll show you who deserves to be the true ruler."

Both wore fearless smiles, neither entertaining the thought of their own defeat.

They couldn't lose—they wouldn't lose.

After all, each was convinced they were the rightful ruler, destined to dominate all.

Victory was inevitable. Thus, their foe would perish, crumble, and be reduced to nothingness.

For now, though, they sheathed their malice, waiting for the moment of ultimate triumph.

Fixing the image of their adversary firmly in their memory, both vanished from the battlefield.

Their final confrontation would come one day—when one of them stood as the ruler of the magical world.

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