16 March 1993, Hogwarts
The moment he pulled the trigger, time itself seemed to warp around the trajectory of the shot. The air crackled with energy as a beam of light, so swift it was almost imperceptible, lanced forward. A cascade of prismatic particles followed in its wake, a trail of transient beauty hinting at the multi-dimensional reality of the event.
It was hard to describe the Colt's shot. It was so quick, so reality-defying that the English language just felt lacklustre, there were no words to truly describe the extraordinary event in front of them, and for all his visible nervousness, Riddle still looked overawed.
Harry had never expected anything like this, not in a million years, and he was the one who forged the damn thing.
The impact was instantaneous. The beam went through the invincible scales of the world serpent, through the walls of the chamber that was really the serpent's skin, until it reached the core of the World Serpents.
It was just hard to put what a core was in words. It was like the serpent's physical existence was nonsensical, was too powerful, or perhaps it was just too much for the human mind to comprehend, but for anything to exist, to live, its soul needs to reside somewhere, and the Colt is unstoppable until it reaches a soul. Harry could tell the moment it did reach the core; it was a loud gong to his Arcane Hearing that was accompanied by a burst of energy that rippled through the walls, through the floor, through everything.
Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, had always existed outside the universe's conventions. Its form had been folded through myriad dimensions, a safeguard to prevent its very presence from unravelling creation. The serpent's name held a clue to its magnitude—it could encircle the entirety of the planet, a testament to its immense scale. The Chamber of Secrets, in reality, was not a mere pocket dimension; it was a prison, a sanctuary, a manifestation of the serpent's essence. Its walls were its scales, its ground its flesh, and its pipes its bones. It was a living entity, a shapeshifter of the highest order.
Tom Riddle's command over this chamber was not just control; it was a mastery that bordered on symbiosis. Yet, even with his dominion over this sanctuary, he could not breach the barrier that kept the World Serpent contained. It was a truth that frustrated Riddle—the tantalizing prospect of wielding such an entity as a weapon in the external world had eluded him.
Had Lord Voldemort possessed the means to manipulate Jörmungandr's power, the magical world would have bowed to his rule long before. But the serpent's might was insurmountable, an embodiment of the divine that extended beyond the grasp of even the most formidable sorcerer.
And now, as the chamber stood on the precipice of change, of dissolution, Harry's pulse began to steady. The death of Jörmungandr marked the end of an era, the twilight of a legacy. The magic within the chamber pulsed, its resonance weakening as the life force of the World Serpent ebbed away. It was a process that would take time, perhaps years, maybe decades, as the chamber began to contract, as the tendrils of its magic slowly faded away.
This was a divine beast, and yet Harry had just killed it with a weapon he made, even if he didn't really know about the specifics. He was twelve for Merlin's sake, and he had just killed a beast that was considered to be a god thousands of years ago, and Harry instinctively could tell that there would be far-reaching consequences for what he had done, even if he still didn't know them.
He stared at the Colt in his hand, his gaze tracing the lines of its construction. It was an unassuming instrument, beautiful, but seemingly useless at the hand of a wizard that could manipulate the world with a wave of their wand. The ruby at the bottom was almost drained. That shot had taken a while out of the weapon, and it would need to recharge, not that he planned on using it on Riddle. His victory was all but assured now, and he wouldn't waste one of his remaining bullets on something like the abomination in front of him. At least he figured out the fact that he couldn't really fire the gun repeatedly, and that was good information.
Speaking of Riddle, he stared at Harry, his mind unwilling to comprehend what had just happened. The Potter scion gave him a small grin, "Oh, right, where were we? Ah, yes, Rook to King's Rook three, check."
"What?" the older boy sounded baffled.
"We have a game to finish, Mr. Riddle. Rook to King's Rook three, check. Make your move."
"Bishop to Rook Three," Riddle instinctively responded.
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