Everything in this world is so repetitive. People never look for complex or unusual ways to coerce their fellow man—they always go for the simple, effective ones that have proven their worth time and again. But I was ready for this. Connecting to my home's security systems, I began to monitor the situation. My parents were in the living room, discussing their day, watching TV, and treating themselves to some snacks. Just in case, I prepared to fend off any potential intruders.
"Do you really think an attack by wizards, especially given the current rumors," I tilted my head slightly to the side, "will go unnoticed by the Aurors and the DMLE?"
"Even if they do arrive—as they love to do—an hour or two later," MacPherson replied with a slight smile on his face, "will it do any good when the deed is already done? Moreover, precious people can always be extracted from their home and taken to a secure location."
"I honestly didn't think a businessman of your level would stoop to such trivial means."
"As if I would have achieved this level by playing fair. Let me explain something to you, Mr. Granger—in this world, a simple and honest person who shuns dirty methods will not get far, trust my extensive experience. Now, so you know I'm not making empty threats..."
MacPherson snapped his fingers, and an ordinary-looking house-elf appeared next to him, holding a large mirror in an ornate frame. The house-elf stood as a living stand for the mirror, angled so that I and everyone else present could look into it perfectly. The old man unhurriedly drew his wand and tapped the mirror a couple of times. A moment later, the image of someone wearing a black tied mask appeared, set against the backdrop of a night sky and street lamps.
"My good sir," MacPherson addressed the wizard "on the other end of the line" without using names or titles. "Show us where you are, your numbers, and your readiness."
Wordlessly, the man adjusted the artifact—likely a two-way mirror—so that we could see my parents' house across the street, surrounded by several wizards dressed all in black.
"Looks familiar," I smiled, sending an activation command to my combat artifacts. I just needed to gather a little more information, since they were planning an infiltration and capture, as I understood it.
"Unsurprisingly, Mr. Granger," the old man chuckled. "Because this is your house. And, as you can see, a combat squad of five professional wizards is ready for action."
"A five-man squad? You spared no expense."
"You keep a remarkable grip on yourself," praise could be heard in MacPherson's voice. "So, what will it be? Will we be forced to utilize these gentlemen? Your parents, rest assured, are currently at home. And please note, my offer to purchase your technology still stands. Even though, as you realize, I could safely rescind it now, I am not doing so out of respect for your ingenuity. Accept the deal, Mr. Granger. Not only will your compliance save the health and possibly the lives of your parents, but you will also walk away with a considerable sum. I'll be blunt—even if you could somehow leave this house without consequences for yourself and your family, while keeping your technology... You don't honestly think that my colleagues and I would allow you to expand your operations in the market, do you? You might manage to earn those two thousand, perhaps even more, but you will ultimately be crushed as an undesirable competitor."
"And still... Will the DMLE and the Auror Office truly sit idly by?"
"Sigh..." MacPherson sighed sadly. "There are always individuals willing to provide necessary assistance for a modest reward. I honestly do not know the motives of one particular Auror, but thanks to him, we can count on more than sufficient delay from law enforcement."
Was I angry? No, not even slightly. A little adrenaline had hit my bloodstream, but that was unavoidable—you can't control your biology completely. But at least I can keep my emotions in check; otherwise, as a powerful wizard, I'd be worthless.
"Well then..." I shifted into an even more comfortable position, keeping my hands visible on the armrests. "Your offer is, indeed, extremely tempting, and most importantly—backed by solid arguments."
"I knew you were a reasonable young wizard," MacPherson smiled, and the arrogant brown-haired man quickly laid out two stacks of documents in front of us.
However, despite the visual preparation for signing the documents, MacPherson did not sever the connection with the strike team. Just in case. Which was smart.
"But..." my smile widened. "I am forced to decline."
"Sigh..." the smile vanished from the old man's face, and he looked at the masked man in the mirror. "Sir, proceed with the capture."
I chose that exact moment to activate the defense system: my flying shurikens. A slight exertion of will, and one of these small artifacts shot out of my house at the speed of a bullet. Controlling it was incredibly easy even at such a velocity—I essentially just gave a mental command, and it executed it. Meeting no obstacles, punching straight through any potential shielding, the shuriken pierced the heads of all the wizards in a fraction of a second, detonating them like watermelons hit by a .50 caliber Browning.
MacPherson and the haughty man hadn't even realized what had happened yet. The mirror on the other end had only just started falling from the wizard's hands, displaying the very beginning of a fireworks display of blood, brains, and bone splinters, while I had already activated my triangle bracelet, sending five of the drones flying toward the "magical signatures" I had identified as hidden wizards. It's amusing to see fountains of blood erupt out of nowhere, painting the walls and floor, followed immediately by the heavy thud of falling bodies.
My wand was instantly in my hand, and from its tip flew the fastest, most perfect Stupefy, slamming into the chest of the brown-haired man who had abruptly jumped up and was preparing to attack. I overdid it—the man was thrown sideways as if he'd met an oncoming commuter train. I'm pretty sure I heard a crunch.
MacPherson managed to touch a ring on his finger, and a complex, multi-layered shield dome enveloped him. The entire house, one might say, came alive.
"Do not touch Master!!!" the enraged house-elf lunged at me, swinging the heavy mirror like a weapon.
What could I do? That monstrosity, a miscarriage of this world's magical reality, annoyed me. A Bombarda Maxima calmed the elf's explosive temper, leaving behind nothing but a fine crimson mist.
"This is... unexpected," MacPherson didn't look frightened—just mildly surprised. "However, Mr. Granger, you will not leave this house alive. The defense systems are already prepared to tear you apart. It is a pity, of course, that you will take your secret to the grave. I suppose I will have to spend money on experts for a more thorough analysis of your handiwork."
"Don't you feel sorry for the people?" I figured we might as well chat while I mentally searched for a solution to the escalating threat from the house's wards. It felt like the charm complex here could shred me, crush me—quite literally. And the shield around MacPherson, who was sitting calmly in his seat, was genuinely formidable. You could only break something like that with raw power or by spending hours reverse-engineering the key to it. Hours—at best. I summoned the wand of the arrogant man, who was lying unconscious from the Stupefy. Though, had it just been a physical attack, he'd be in exactly the same state.
"People? Don't make me laugh, Mr. Granger," the old man waved dismissively. "They all knew what they were getting into. Life is often fraught with risk."
"You are right..." I twirled the man's wand in my fingers. Hmm... Why did it feel familiar? Well, not exactly the wand—something in its magic. Summoning the unconscious wizard's body to me, I confirmed what had felt suspicious. With one motion, I rolled up his left sleeve—the Dark Mark, a tattoo of a snake crawling intricately out of a skull. Interesting magic, to be honest. There's a lot packed into it—I could even feel the templates for activating various complex spells.
Pulsing a bit of magic into the surroundings, I was able to gauge exactly how much more time the house wards needed to fully spool up—two minutes. That was an eternity.
"And another thing," I looked up at MacPherson, still twirling the wand, "you were right. Very few normal people are capable of watching others suffer, even if they themselves are ready to walk through hell. Loved ones are the most precious thing to them. Do you really think it was wise to attack them?"
"Merely a tool. And you are quite talkative for a man condemned to die," MacPherson smirked, clearly waiting for the house to execute me.
"Indeed," I smiled. "Stress, anxiety, you know how it is. It's time to end this."
What is the ultimate amplifier for sorcery? Dark Magic. Of course, that's not entirely accurate, but to some extent, it holds true. "Adjusting" the dials in my consciousness, I began accumulating a massive amount of Dark Magic within myself, while my phoenix-self siphoned off the "consequences" through our link. By the way, I needed to get out of here, too.
Dark Magic, like all magic, manifests visually at high concentrations. Yes, the concentration has to be immense, but still. MacPherson turned pale when dark smoke began to coalesce around the wand in my hand—he was an experienced wizard, after all. But why had he backed himself into a corner? I thrust the wand sharply toward the old man, unleashing the magic in a solid, directed stream, with only one mental command driving it: "Destroy." It's a bit of a shame, really—I want to be a healer, and here I am doing this...
The beam of magic was bright, blindingly blue, humming like a massive electrical transformer. The shield shattered into multicolored sparks, and the beam passed unimpeded straight through the old man's chest. From the massive gaping wound, decay rapidly spread outward, turning him to ash—he didn't even have time to register horror.
However, the house's defenses were still active, and the wards were just about ready to rip me to shreds. Grabbing the unconscious man by the collar, I simply extended my arm in front of me. A split second later, my phoenix-self appeared above my head in a flash of black fire, latched onto my arm, and vanished again, pulling me out of the house. As a parting gift, I released a shockwave of dark magic in all directions, scrambling any possible magical traces.
Standing knee-deep in grass dozens of meters away from the large, beautifully illuminated mansion, I looked up at the overcast night sky. It was dark out here. I needed to decorate the surroundings, and I even had the perfect method—it lay hidden within the Mark on the man's arm. There, resting on the edge of perception within the Mark, were several spell templates. True, you can't just decipher a spell from a template, but you can understand its essence, because magic is built on imagery. Summoning the Dark Lord wasn't exactly what I wanted to do, but an interesting illusion—a magical photograph of which I'd seen in old newspaper clippings—was another matter entirely. Except... It was somewhat tricky.
I placed the man's wand back into his left hand, took my own wand, and pressed the tip against the crook of his elbow. With a surge of will, I directed my magic through my wand into his arm, through the Mark, and finally into the wand clutched in his hand. It was funny—I never would have thought that activating a spell via a template imprinted on another wizard's body in some unknown way would naturally provide the activation key. Though, it would be more accurate to say the words simply came to mind, as if the spell possessed a will of its own and was just waiting for the correct command.
Pointing the wand in the man's hand at the sky, I pronounced:
"Morsmordre."
It worked! A beam of light shot into the sky from his wand. It flew upward for an agonizingly long time, and only when it reached the clouds did it detonate in a dull flash, rapidly expanding into the illusion of a truly colossal skull, from whose mouth a basilisk slowly slithered—it would be foolish to mistake it for a mere snake. The illusion seemed to be woven not just from light and shadow, but from the very clouds themselves. It looked... imposing.
My phoenix-self transported the man and me to the roof of a cinema near Soho, and immediately grabbed him, hauling him high, high into the sky. Why? Appearing high above the clouds that blanketed London below, my phoenix-self released the man and simply conjured flames via volitional magic, incinerating the still-unconscious wizard as he fell. Sigh... I don't like killing—it's too easy a path, the temptation is too great. The elf hadn't liked killing either, though he was often forced to. The dwarf hadn't liked it, but he killed anyway—such is the harsh reality of life when war follows war endlessly.
My phoenix-self headed home, and I, the human, began executing a series of Apparitions, each time releasing bursts of magic around me, erasing all possible tracking trails with magical flashes. Only after ten minutes of such erratic jumps did I allow myself to Apparate into the Forbidden Forest. But did I go straight back to the castle? Of course not. I began wandering through the Forbidden Forest, foraging for various herbs and flowers, which grew here in abundance. The idea was simple—all the plants here were strictly seasonal, all were needed for potion-making, and some could only be harvested at very specific times of the week or month. Why did I need this? Aside from the fact that having extra potion ingredients never hurts, it would give me an ironclad alibi for my nighttime strolls in the Forbidden Forest.
As I wandered and gathered herbs in the dark, periodically casting orbs of Lumos above my head, I pondered the futility of existence and human greed. People will do anything to take, steal, and hoard for themselves, and the higher up a person is, the more brazenly they act. They could have easily negotiated a mutually beneficial arrangement, but no... "He wanted to rule and own everything himself." The result was inevitable. I wonder how many wizards this guy had ruined the prospects of, or perhaps even destroyed their lives, with this kind of business attitude?
But, I suppose I will never know that now.
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