Deep within the Ministry of Magic's archives, the shelves grew increasingly dense, forming a forest of iron and paper.
The gaps between the rows were so narrow that a person could only squeeze through sideways, with archive boxes on either side nearly brushing against their back.
The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dried ink, mingled with an indescribable odor of decay.
Yet in the deepest part of this forest, an entire section had been cleared.
Not moved.
Blown apart.
Iron bookshelves had been torn in half, their twisted frames scattered across the floor like crumpled sheets of paper. Shattered archive boxes lay everywhere, while scraps of torn parchment drifted through the air.
At the center of the destruction stood Lord Voldemort.
In his hand was a partially burned archival record.
Only a third of the original document remained. Its edges were charred and curled, releasing an acrid smell into the air. Most of the writing had been destroyed, leaving behind only a handful of blurred, nearly illegible words and numbers.
Voldemort gripped the fragment so tightly that his pale knuckles protruded, as if he wanted to crush the last surviving piece into dust.
His expression was hideously distorted. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flared, and the crimson light burning in his eyes was twice as intense as usual.
He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.
"Tom, there is no need to be so stubborn..." Dumbledore's voice echoed through the blasted clearing.
"Shut up!"
Voldemort's roar exploded through the archives like a thunderclap.
"A dying man has no right to speak!"
He flicked his wand.
A jet of green light erupted from its tip.
Dumbledore stood his ground.
With a gentle wave of his wand, the scattered documents covering the floor flew into the air. They folded and transformed into one shield after another, layering themselves in front of him until they completely obscured both men's view.
The green light struck.
The shields burst apart from the center as though bombs had detonated inside them. Countless scraps of parchment scattered through the air, ignited, and crumbled into black ash.
Immediately afterward, flames surged from the tip of Dumbledore's wand.
The fire gathered and condensed in midair. In the blink of an eye, it transformed into a lifelike phoenix.
It was far larger than Fawkes, with a wingspan of at least five meters. Every feather pulsed like living flame, radiating fierce heat and blinding light.
The fire phoenix spread its wings and lunged at Voldemort.
Voldemort countered with a sweep of his wand.
A mass of Fiendfyre erupted from its tip and assumed its favored form—a colossal serpent.
The serpent was even larger than Dumbledore's phoenix, its entire body wreathed in sinister black flames.
The two creatures of living fire collided in midair.
Boom—!!!
At the moment of impact, the air within the archives seemed to freeze.
A violent shockwave erupted from the point of collision, sweeping up scraps of parchment, dust, and rubble. Everything was hurled into the air before crashing back to the floor.
The bookshelves swayed.
The walls trembled.
Dust cascaded from the ceiling.
Sparks shot outward in every direction as flames spread through the archives, leaping from one shelf to another and devouring stack after stack of documents.
Fortunately, the area immediately surrounding Dumbledore and Voldemort had already been mostly destroyed. There was little left nearby for the flames to consume.
Above them, the fire phoenix and the Fiendfyre serpent remained locked in combat.
They bit, coiled, and crashed against each other in the air, exploding into showers of sparks with every collision. The phoenix tore at the serpent's eyes with its beak, while the serpent sank its fangs into the phoenix's wings.
Both creatures burned fiercely as they fought, gradually shrinking with every exchange.
Neither gave an inch.
"Dumbledore, you're approaching your limit, aren't you?"
Voldemort's voice emerged from the mingled black and crimson firelight, carrying unmistakable certainty.
His tone was relaxed, as though he were discussing something utterly insignificant.
"The taste of a curse spreading through your body must be unpleasant."
His voice grew louder, each word driven into Dumbledore's ears like a nail.
"Tom, I am perfectly well," Dumbledore replied, his voice as calm as ever.
Despite his words, the fire phoenix was visibly shrinking.
Meanwhile, Voldemort's Fiendfyre serpent was steadily forcing its way closer to Dumbledore.
Voldemort sneered, clearly dismissing his claim.
"Once I have dealt with you..."
He slowed his speech, drawing out each word as though savoring what he was about to say.
"The next will be that Mud—Lynn—"
He never finished.
A piercing whistle tore through the center of the clashing flames.
An icicle formed from highly compressed frost shot through the two battling creatures.
It was only as long as an adult's forearm, but its speed was terrifying. The instant it emerged from the flames, a white ring of compressed air burst into existence behind its tip.
The icicle was almost perfectly transparent, its surface shimmering with faint blue light beneath the surrounding fire.
Its tip was as sharp as a scalpel.
It passed through the gap between the fire phoenix and the Fiendfyre serpent, flying straight toward Voldemort's face.
Voldemort's pupils contracted.
His body reacted before his mind could.
With a violent sweep of his wand, a black shield materialized in front of him.
The icicle struck the shield.
Bang—!!!
It shattered instantly, scattering fragments of frost in every direction.
Voldemort frowned.
Just as he prepared to lower the shield and search for his attacker, a familiar figure burst through the dissipating flames.
Lynn's robes billowed behind him, and the wind had blown his hair completely upright.
His right hand was clenched into a fist and covered in pitch-black scales that gleamed with a cold metallic light. Blue-white arcs of electricity crackled across his knuckles, weaving between his fingers and condensing around his fist like a layer of compressed lightning.
Voldemort's pupils contracted again.
Boom—!!!
Lynn's fist slammed into the black shield.
The instant they collided, lightning exploded from his knuckles. Countless blue-white arcs writhed across the shield like frenzied vipers.
Everything was swallowed by blinding white light.
Crack.
A nearly imperceptible fracture appeared on the shield's surface.
Voldemort's pupils contracted for the third time in as many seconds.
His heart lurched.
Even a shield summoned in haste shouldn't have been this fragile.
Lynn must possess that legendary power!
Their gazes met.
With that single glance, Voldemort's body froze.
He couldn't raise his arm.
He couldn't turn his wand.
He couldn't even move his legs.
It felt as though something had taken root inside his body, pinning every nerve, muscle, and bone firmly in place.
Damn it!
It was that sluggish sensation again.
He had felt it in the graveyard.
He had also experienced it during his first encounter with Lynn.
Voldemort wanted to slap himself for falling victim to it yet again.
There was no need.
Lynn's second punch had already arrived.
Boom—!!!
This punch was even heavier than the first.
Cracks spread from the point of impact, racing across the shield like a spiderweb. A moment later, the entire barrier shattered like glass struck by a hammer.
Countless black fragments hung in the air for an instant before dissolving into smoke.
Voldemort's defense was gone.
Lynn's fist did not stop.
After shattering the shield, it continued forward with unstoppable force.
Forward.
Forward.
Forward!
It struck Voldemort squarely in his snake-like face.
Bang—!!!
Voldemort's head snapped violently to the side.
His feet left the ground, and his entire body was sent flying through the air. He traced a long arc before crashing onto the floor and sliding several meters, finally slamming into a row of crooked, half-destroyed bookshelves.
His eyes burned an even deeper shade of crimson.
"Lynn!"
His voice emerged from the cloud of dust, saturated with barely suppressed rage.
Voldemort rose from the rubble.
"I already know your secret! Just you wait! I will possess that power as well, and then—"
Black mist erupted from his body and swallowed him completely.
A moment later, it abruptly contracted.
Voldemort vanished into the darkness.
Silence returned to the archives.
Lynn remained where he was, still holding his punching stance. The remnants of blue-white lightning crackled across his right hand as the black scales gradually receded beneath his skin.
He slowly lowered his fist and scratched his head.
What kind of madness had possessed the Socket Spirit this time?
A secret?
What secret?
Did Lynn have secrets?
Of course he did. He had plenty.
But which one was Voldemort talking about?
The secret of his transmigration?
Impossible.
If Voldemort knew that he was a transmigrator, he probably wouldn't have called it "that power." He would have said something more accurate, like "that shameless ability" or "that power from beyond this world."
Forget it.
If he couldn't figure it out, there was no point in thinking about it.
Voldemort's madness was his own problem. It wasn't as though Lynn had driven him insane.
Lynn turned toward Dumbledore.
His pupils suddenly contracted.
Dumbledore stood beside one of the few support pillars that had yet to collapse, bracing himself against it with one hand. His other arm hung limply at his side.
Cold sweat covered his forehead.
His breathing was shallow and rapid, each breath seeming to require every last bit of his strength.
"Headmaster, what's wrong with you?!"
Lynn's voice rose several octaves.
Dumbledore weakly waved a hand.
"I... am fine. I merely need to rest for a while."
It was a blatant lie.
There was no chance Lynn would believe him.
He merely needed to rest?
Who was he trying to fool?
"Levi, bring Amelia. We're going to St Mungo's."
Golden-red light began to gather around Dumbledore.
Lynn hurried to his side and reached out to support him by the arm.
"Let's go, Headmaster."
The golden-red light flared, enveloping them both.
In the next instant, their figures vanished from the archives.
---
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