It was hard to believe Voldemort would die that easily, yet at the moment, Allen couldn't find even a trace of him.
So next, the priority was to look for teammates,
Sure, stealing black gold black gear was a tempting tactic, but Allen wasn't about to destroy his reputation like that.
The state of the team was miserable, on both sides.
That explosion was terrifying. Even with Allen and Annie defending together, they had almost been injured. So even if everyone had tried to form a group defense, what difference would it have made?
Fortunately, despite how bad things looked, no one had actually died. Even the worst-off, who looked like they'd been riddled like a sieve, still had hope, magical medical treatment didn't follow normal scientific logic. Saving them was still possible.
Not that it mattered too much, because a healing master was right here. Even if Allen graduated with no job prospects and applied as a healer, he'd pass easily.
Just as he was about to cast healing magic on the most critically injured, a sudden surge of powerful magic flared behind him.
He paused, turning toward the source of the magical energy.
From the center of where the sand giant had exploded, a small, short figure began to emerge, only half the height of an adult. Even Allen was a head taller.
It was a small sand puppet, its condition terrible. Two faint green lights flickered where its eyes should be, a pitch-black hole sat where its mouth belonged, and sand continuously crumbled from its body like something decaying into dust…
Normally, something so small wouldn't be threatening. But the words that came out of that black hole made everyone present feel as though a cold serpent had slithered across their backs.
The pitch-black mouth parted, releasing a dry, rasping voice:
"Well, well… we meet again, little wizard, let me think. What was your name again? Allen?"
The stubby figure slowly turned its gaze over the entire group,
And when those crimson eyes swept across them, every wizard felt as though Death itself had fixed its stare upon them.
"Oh? Little wizard, you brought help this time? Do you really think these useless creatures will save you?"
"Though… I suppose they were useful. If not for them, who knows how much longer I would have been trapped in that fear. Really, I should thank you all."
"Now then… how should I repay you? How about letting Death embrace you?"
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
The awakened Voldemort had become disturbingly talkative, radiating pure fear.
Indeed, a Voldemort with awareness, even while heavily injured, was far more terrifying than the bestial, instinct-driven version from earlier.
So Allen made his move, he dropped his wand, pressed all ten fingers tightly together, then sharply pulled them apart.
As his fingers separated, each fingertip ignited with a faint starlit glow. Allen spread his arms to the sky, and countless streaks of starlight descended, channeling through him and forming a radiant field across the battlefield.
Under this glow, the wounded wizards' injuries rapidly began to heal, even those who were barely clinging to life.
Star Child Soraka, Ultimate, Wish!
Sorry, Mr. Voldemort, but it's late at night… the stars are very bright.
In Voldemort's stunned gaze, a piercing KRAAAAW burst through the sky, Valor, who had gathered flocks of birds, finally struck.
Earlier, Voldemort had concentrated his suicidal blast downward, ignoring what was above. In that moment of instinct, he never noticed Valor in the sky.
Even with Ashe's hawk spirit assisting, Valor hadn't found Voldemort during the explosion, but Allen never assumed the enemy was dead so easily.
He had originally hadn't used Soraka's ult during the blast, because if he were Voldemort, seeing the field full of nearly-dead enemies… wouldn't he swoop in to finish the job?
Thus, Allen intentionally healed slowly.
As for the injured teammates?
He said long ago, through the wind and rain, this pain is nothing! Wipe your tears, don't ask why!
Which led to a very awkward situation,
Just like when Karthus is mid-ult and Soraka hits her ult.
Or when AP Yi is about to pentakill, and Soraka ults.
Or when Fiora is about to blossom her Bladewaltz pentakill, and Soraka ults.
To summarize:
You can lose the teamfight, but Teemo must die.
To win the teamfight, kill Soraka first.
We'll ignore how far Teemo's tears fell.
Instead, let's consider Voldemort's psychological damage…
Fighting two wizards was one thing.
Fighting an entire team was a completely different matter, especially while wounded.
All that taunting earlier? That was him stalling for time to recover while trying to create psychological pressure. He wanted to chase down two trembling little wizards like before.
But now?
Now both sides were running tactics,
And Allen's acting like a helpless newbie was simply better.
If it were only this much, Voldemort might still fight back. Even if everyone was healed, Allen had one fatal flaw, insufficient mana.
The previous attacks and shields had drained him heavily. And that massive AoE healing? Voldemort refused to believe it didn't cost mana.
Magic power for power, this was common sense.
However,
His hope collapsed when Allen casually pulled out a small blue vial and drank it in one gulp.
Voldemort instantly felt Allen's magic rapidly returning.
"Mana potion, thirty-five gold per bottle. Consumable."
Simple explanation. Painful price. Exceptional effect.
The only true system item Allen could bring into reality. And unlike gold galleons, game currency couldn't just be purchased outright.
But the result was incredible, Allen's nearly-exhausted magic surged back to full power.
Okay, now everyone was practically full condition.
So then, Mr. Tom Riddle,
Shall we duel?
Teamfight also works!
One-on-one, you fight all of us.
One-on-many, we beat you together.
Don't be shy.
Voldemort's remaining soul: …
He didn't even have time to complain.
The moment Allen finished drinking the mana potion, Valor, surrounded by countless ravens, had already appeared before him.