Chapter 217: The Origin of the Bloodline, a Phantom of Satan
A relentless torrent of flame poured from Ethan's three great mouths, instantly transforming the area before him into a sea of black fire. Only a few of the allied wizards hunting Cyril had ventured past the traps and into the chamber to engage Ethan and his followers. The majority remained clustered just outside the doorway, darting in and out to cast opportunistic spells.
Because the reach of his flames was limited, the two wizards inside the chamber were the first to be engulfed. They frantically cast Finite Incantatem, the General Counter-Spell, in a desperate attempt to dispel the unnatural black fire. It was futile. The flames, born of Hellfire, continued burning undeterred, searing their exposed heads and limbs despite their Protego charms.
"Help!"
"NO!"
Laval had entered the chamber with another ambitious wizard, hoping to personally kill Cyril and gain an edge over Gis in Landoire's eyes. Now they cursed their own legs for not being fast enough, unable to flee this fiery hellscape. The wizard with Laval was luckier. He was closer to the door and threw himself through it in a desperate dive, crashing onto the stone floor just outside the inferno's reach. Laval was not so fortunate.
"AHH!"
In his blind panic, Laval triggered a floor trap, a spike impaling his leg. He stumbled, and in that moment of despair, the flames swallowed him whole. He died on the floor, less than three meters from the door. But even if he had made it through, it would have been for nothing. Ethan had not forgotten the wizards outside.
With a powerful beat of his wings, Ethan launched himself across the central avenue and thrust his three heads toward the doorway, continuing to spew fire.
"AHHH!" The wizard who had just landed in a heap was engulfed before he could even rise, his screams cut short.
Gis, Dusan, and the others felt a primal terror grip their hearts. They scrambled backward, desperate to flee. But Saphir stood his ground, his wand raised high, pointing at the monstrous three-headed dragon before him.
*I'll grant you, those flames are impressive. But I doubt this freakish beast is as tough,* he thought. He was convinced this creature was some kind of illusion, a bluff conjured up by the boy. Powerful in appearance, but likely hollow. Kill the caster, and the fire would die with him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Eyes glittering viciously, Saphir gathered every ounce of murderous intent and cast the Killing Curse. As a wanted Dark wizard with a long list of victims, his mastery of the spell was formidable. The bolt of sickly green light he produced was far thicker and more potent than the one Ethan had dodged earlier. It streaked toward one of Ethan's three heads.
Under normal circumstances, Ethan might have evaded it. But now, consumed by rage and secure in the knowledge that he possessed multiple lives, and that losing one head wouldn't disable the others, he did not flinch. He took the curse head-on.
To the astonishment of both sides, the lethal spell, capable of snuffing out a wizard's life with a touch, had absolutely no effect on Ethan. He felt only a brief, sharp sting where the curse struck his head, a sensation that quickly faded.
"S...!"
Saphir's face went slack with disbelief. He had been utterly, catastrophically wrong.
He had no time to flee. The black fire was upon him.
*I was careless!* was his last thought. He did not regret the attack itself. His feud with Cyril was one of blood. Over the years, Cyril had hunted down and killed every single wizard who had participated in the attack on Shafiq Manor. Saphir was the last one left.
The fleeing members of Gis's group abandoned all thoughts of completing Landoire's commission or claiming their rich reward. Their only goal now was to escape the pyramid alive.
"Why can't we Apparate?!" They longed for the ability to Apparate, which they had been thankful was blocked just moments ago.
But Ethan had no intention of letting them go. He aimed one of his massive heads down the corridor outside the door and unleashed a torrent of black fire that filled the passage from floor to ceiling, engulfing them all.
To ensure none escaped, Ethan watched with his special sight. He saw, for the first time, what Hellfire did to a soul. The moment their souls were wrenched from their bodies, the black flames ignited them. With their faces frozen in masks of absolute terror, the souls dissolved into nothingness and vanished from the corridor.
Yet there were survivors within the chamber. Nadim and Isaac, who had been lying wounded on the floor since before the battle began, had been slowly dragging themselves toward the cleared safe zone. Since they seemed to pose no threat to either side, they had been largely ignored during the initial exchange. Aside from being scorched by a stray bolt of his lightning, no one had targeted them. They had survived even the searing proximity of the Hellfire.
Also still alive were Laurent, the dark-cloaked wizard Robert had knocked unconscious, and the blond, blue-eyed wizard from Gis's group who had been standing near the door.
Satisfied that no one had escaped and that the situation was under control, Ethan flew back to Cyril and resumed his human form.
"You..." Robert and Mael stared at him with a mixture of awe and shock. They started to speak, but he cut them off.
"Later. I need to stabilize my grandfather first."
"Right." Robert fell silent. He was burning to ask a thousand questions about the unprecedented three-headed red dragon he had just witnessed, but he understood priorities.
Cyril was slumped against the pillar, his severed wrist still bleeding profusely.
"You haven't stopped the bleeding?" Ethan knelt and began rummaging in his bag for Essence of Dittany.
"We tried. It didn't work," Robert answered. While Ethan had been decimating their enemies, he and Mael had done everything they could to treat Cyril's wound.
Ethan's hand paused, then he searched for Blood-Replenishing Potion instead. "Healing spells didn't work either?" he asked as he searched.
"No. Episkey couldn't stop the bleeding. We tried to reattach the hand, but we couldn't because of the blood loss." Robert shook his head.
"We even tried Finite Incantatem to lift any lingering curse effects. No use," Mael added.
"Grandfather, drink this." Ethan pulled the stopper and held the vial to Cyril's lips.
Cyril's face was ashen, his lips bloodless, his expression twisted in pain.
"That's the third Blood-Replenishing Potion he's had. How many did you bring? I hope it's enough to last until we can get out of here." Robert's voice was laced with worry.
"Twenty more. It should be enough." Ethan spoke with a confidence he did not feel. Wounds inflicted by Dark Magic aren't easily mended.
Just then, Snape came from the other side of the chamber. He picked up Cyril's severed hand, examined it closely for a moment, and then looked at Ethan's hopeful face. "I can handle this. There's a specific counter-curse that will dispel the residual magic. It will take a little time. Give your grandfather a few more Blood-Replenishing Potions."
"Thank you, Professor!" Ethan said gratefully, pulling out three more vials.
Snape did not cast the counter-curse immediately. Instead, he searched his bag and pulled out several ingredients. Using Cyril's own blood that had pooled on the floor, he drew a hexagram. He placed the ingredients at the six points, set the severed hand in the center, and began to chant the counter-curse. A flash of white light struck the hand, and the six ingredients dissolved into wisps of smoke.
"The hand is ready. Help your grandfather sit in the center." With Robert and Mael's assistance, Cyril was positioned within the hexagram.
Snape repeated the process. When the light faded, he pressed the severed hand against Cyril's wrist, aligning the wound. He applied Essence of Dittany to the seam. The bleeding stopped immediately, and the flesh knit together. Snape then cast another spell. Aside from a faint, pale scar circling his wrist, Cyril's hand looked as if it had never been severed.
"Will Vulnera Sanentur fully heal an amputation like this?" Ethan asked. Healer Drummond had taught him the spell as a precaution against the possible side effects of the Black Lizard Healing Potion.
"It will help, but he should still see a Healer at St. Mungo's. We're fortunate it was reattached quickly. Much longer, and it might not have taken." Snape busied himself cleaning the blood from his hands and robes.
"Mm." Ethan nodded, his gaze fixed on Cyril as Cyril's eyes drifted shut.
A few moments later, Cyril opened his eyes. He flexed his right hand experimentally and sat up.
"How does it feel?"
"Not bad." A little color was returning to Cyril's face.
He glanced at Laurent, the nearest unconscious attacker, and said, "They can wait. They won't be waking up anytime soon. Let's focus on what we came here for: the Book of the Dead."
"So that's the legendary Book of the Dead? The one said to hold the secret of resurrection? I always thought it was just a fairy tale, like the story of Death himself. I never imagined it actually existed." Robert had wanted to ask this question from the moment he first saw the floating book. The frantic battle had prevented him from asking, but now, in a moment of safety, he finally voiced his curiosity.
"That's the one," Cyril confirmed. He saw no point in hiding it now. They had already witnessed Ethan's red dragon form. A few more secrets wouldn't matter; they would simply be added to the terms of the Unbreakable Vow they would all have to swear.
"So... is resurrection truly possible?" Robert and Mael both thought of their own departed loved ones.
"I don't know for sure. But there's real hope." Cyril couldn't give them a definite answer. It was a hope his family had clung to for generations.
"Noé," Ethan said, turning to the spirit floating nearby, who had been watching them with a conflicted expression since overhearing their conversation. "If you're not ready to move on to the world of the dead just yet, you could wait a little longer. See if the methods in the Book of the Dead might work for you."
"Noé?! Where is he?" Mael's head whipped around, frantically searching for his friend at the sound of his name.
"He's right here. You just can't see him." Ethan pointed to where Noé's spirit hovered. The ghostly figure's face showed surprise.
Noé's mouth moved, as if he were speaking, but Ethan heard nothing. "Sorry, I can't hear you. Not unless you become a ghost." Ethan shook his head. His power was sight, not sound.
Noé gestured frantically, trying to communicate through pantomime.
"I can't understand what you're trying to say." Ethan hadn't studied sign language, and neither had Noé. The gestures were meaningless to him.
*I was asking... can I really be brought back?* As the words formed in his mind, Noé's spirit, previously visible only to Ethan, slowly condensed and solidified, taking on the silvery, translucent form of a ghost, visible to all.
"Noé! I'm so sorry we left you behind!" Mael wept, his voice thick with remorse as he gazed at the floating apparition of his friend.
"It's alright. I don't blame you. If you had stayed, you'd be just like me now." Noé looked at his still-living, physical friend and managed a bitter smile.
Ethan could offer no guarantees. "I can't promise anything. But we can try."
"Alright." Noé, now a ghost, had no other options. He would have to try, whatever the odds. He had watched the souls of Gis and the others be incinerated by the black flames and had instinctively recoiled from the fire, narrowly avoiding the same fate.
The group of six, plus one ghost, carefully navigated the safe path, inching closer to the dais. Standing at its base, they remained cautious. They sent out more alchemical creatures to scout, but to their surprise, they found no traps at all. This lack of defenses only made them more wary. Noé, taking advantage of his ghostly form, thoroughly inspected the dais, phasing through its structure to check for hidden mechanisms. He carefully avoided the sarcophagus and the floating book.
"The rest of the area is clear. No traps beneath it either."
Shielded by layers of protective spells and refusing to let Ethan take the risk, Cyril slowly climbed the steps to the dais. He cast several detection spells and swept the area with his instruments. No curses. No Dark Magic residue.
"It's safe."
Letting out a long breath, Cyril reached out, his hand clad in a dragon-hide glove, and gently touched the cover of the open, yellowed book.
The moment his fingers made contact, something extraordinary happened. The pages rustled and flipped rapidly, finally settling open to the title page. Cyril snatched his hand back, his wand instantly trained on the book, ready for anything. The others did the same, all eyes locked on the ancient tome.
Then a phantom image, the size of a normal man, flickered into existence above the open pages.
"Ah! It's the man from the mural!" Mael cried out, recognizing the horned, blond wizard from the ancient painting.
The spectral figure ignored Mael and the others entirely. He turned his head slightly, his gaze first resting on Cyril on the dais, then shifting downward to look at Ethan standing below. A smile touched his lips.
"You have finally arrived. I have waited for many years, my blood descendants. I am Satan, the source of your bloodline."
========================================
------------------------------------------
Chapters on Patreon progress: Currently at;
1. Harry Potter: Satan? Nah, Just My Family Crest = CHAPTER 444
2.Harry Potter: Beyond Good and Evil in the Wizarding World = CHAPTER 459
3.Harry Potter: Reborn as Draco Black = CHAPTER 244
support me on Patreon for instant access to the 120+ advance chapters: patreon.com/redofic