Chapter 161: Upper Limit
Tamara froze.
The lethal magic condensing at her fingertips suffered a ridiculous, entirely unnatural stagnation. A strange, utterly alien sensation bloomed from the center of her chest, tight and suffocating.
She did not care about Ginny Weasley's life or death. She never had. In the grand, sweeping vision of the Dark Lord, this red-haired girl was nothing more than a convenient tool. A stupid, gullible vessel. A pathetic little pawn meant to be discarded the moment her utility expired.
To care was a symbol of weakness. It was the excrement of the incompetent. Tamara loathed this sickeningly fragile sincerity. She despised this worthless, bleeding-heart self-sacrifice, because it did nothing but make a person soft, brittle, and infinitely easier to destroy.
Yet, in this split second of hesitation, unbidden images flashed across her mind's eye. That quiet night at The Burrow. The tearful confession in the dim Hogwarts corridor. The desperate, clinging embrace in the girls' bathroom. The clumsily wrapped sandwiches left for her at the Slytherin table.
This damned, treacherous body. It constantly forced these sickeningly sweet memories to the surface, clogging her mind and slowing her lethal reflexes. That unfamiliar, twisting ache in her chest made Tamara panic. It was a terror far more deep than the mere threat of death.
'I do not need this...' Tamara roared in the confines of her own mind, violently shoving the pathetic emotion away.
She refused to be eroded by this insidious poison called feelings. She was Lord Voldemort! She was the greatest Dark Lord of the age! She did not need the tears of a foolish little girl!
"Avada Kedavra!"
In that fraction of a second, her instinctive fear of death and her absolute revulsion toward this alien affection finally shattered the hesitation. Tamara jerked her hand upward. A blinding, sickly green light erupted from her fingertips, illuminating the damp walls of the Chamber of Secrets.
She held nothing back. In that moment, she truly, desperately wanted to murder Ginny Weasley. Only death could sever this sickening tether of weakness. Only absolute destruction could allow her to reclaim her cold, invincible self.
However.
Just as the lethal green light, dripping with destructive malice, was about to pierce the young girl's chest, a shrill, agonizing shriek tore through the cavernous room. It did not come from Ginny's throat, but from deep within her very body.
The potion had finally taken effect. That volatile cauldron of Soul Separation Potion, heavily spiked with highly toxic Acromantula venom and the potent magic of a golden bloodline, had ruthlessly breached the remnant soul's final line of defense.
Like a massive, invisible hand plunging into the girl's chest, the magic violently yanked the parasite out from the deepest recesses of her soul at the exact moment the killing curse was fired. A thick, suffocating cloud of pitch-black smoke gushed from Ginny's open mouth. The dark mist twisted and thrashed frantically in the damp air, desperately trying to cling to the vessel that was now violently rejecting it.
And in that precise, infinitesimal fraction of a second, the fatal Killing Curse collided dead-center with the mass of black mist that had just been evicted from its host.
The sickly green light and the writhing black smoke crashed together in mid-air. A sharp, crisp crack echoed through the chamber, sounding exactly like a pane of thick glass shattering under a heavy hammer.
The remnant soul, carrying the arrogant memories of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, did not even have the time to form a scream, let alone beg for mercy. It was instantly blown into absolute oblivion, eradicated by a terrifying magic that had originated from its own main body, fueled by genuine, unadulterated killing intent.
Total, irreversible annihilation.
The hand that had been locked in a death grip around Tamara's throat instantly lost all its strength. As the remnant soul dissipated into nothingness, Ginny's body went entirely limp. She fell heavily forward, slumping directly onto Tamara's chest, completely unconscious.
Though her breathing was terribly shallow, her small chest was still rising and falling.
She had survived.
Not because of any lingering mercy from Tamara, but because of a single, infuriatingly perfectly timed coincidence.
[Ding! Crisis resolved. Emergency Black Magic permissions have been successfully revoked. Virtue restrictions are now re-enabled. Please continue to be a good person wholeheartedly, host!]
Hearing that sickeningly cheerful, perky electronic voice echoing in her skull, Tamara felt a massive surge of stifled, blood-boiling frustration claw at her chest.
Just a little bit more.
She had literally just tasted true freedom. For one glorious, unrestricted moment, she had been entirely free of the system's chains!
If she had not been distracted by those damned, pathetic tears. If she had not suffered that ridiculous, momentary pause... She could have easily flicked her wrist and fired a second Avada Kedavra straight into the back of that foolish Harry Potter! The boy was standing right there, completely distracted, trying to communicate with the Basilisk. She could have killed him the very second after she shattered the remnant soul!
What a flawless sequence of events it would have been! What a perfectly staged scene of a tragic, accidental casualty deep within the Chamber of Secrets! She had even prepared the perfect scapegoat in the form of her own diary's remnant soul!
But now, the permissions were gone. The heavy, suffocating chains of virtue were back in place.
This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to eliminate the wizarding world's precious savior without suffering a single system penalty had slipped right through her fingers. All because of one damned tear.
The Chamber of Secrets fell into a heavy, deathly silence.
An indescribable, venomous rage began to radiate from Tamara's prone form. The suffocating, terrifying weight of her killing intent caused the temperature of the damp cavern air to plummet straight to the freezing point.
Even the massive Basilisk, which had been blindly thrashing about in the distance, noticeably slowed its violent movements, instinctively cowed by the oppressive, dark pressure radiating from the small girl on the floor.
Tamara lay flat on the cold, slime-coated stone floor, gasping for air. The raw, burning pain in her bruised throat and the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of a near-death experience washed over her frayed nerves in heavy, punishing waves.
Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, she irritably forced her limp arm upward. She fully intended to ruthlessly shove the unconscious culprit off her chest and let the girl crack her head on the stone.
However, the moment her cold palm made contact with Ginny's warm back, the violent pushing motion froze mid-act.
The young girl's soft body rose and fell in a gentle, rhythmic cadence with her weak breathing. Through the thin, damp fabric of her school robes, a steady trace of heat—the obvious warmth of a living, breathing life—seeped continuously into Tamara's freezing palm.
Pressed so closely together, she could hear the faint, steady rhythm of Ginny's heartbeat echoing against her own chest.
Thump. Thump.
For Tamara, who had just spent the last several minutes dancing along the razor's edge of absolute death, this lingering weakness and physical suffocation birthed a ridiculous, entirely irrational urge. She actually found herself craving the grounding aura of another living human being.
The Chamber of Secrets was simply too cold.
The lingering phantom sensation of death was far too cold.
And this small, fragile pocket of warmth felt like a life-saving straw offered to a drowning victim.
Even though the person currently pinning her to the floor was the exact same stupid girl who had just ruined her perfect assassination plot and nearly strangled her to death, that heavy, physical weight miraculously suppressed the faint, involuntary trembling deep within her soul.
It granted her a sense of peace. A very bizarre, entirely unwelcome sense of peace.
Tamara cursed viciously in the dark confines of her mind, a flash of deep, self-directed loathing crossing her dark eyes.
'...Truly insane.'
No. She could not stay in this wretched castle a moment longer. The entire place was saturated with a sickening, fairy-tale atmosphere. These insufferable fools were actively using this poison called feelings to subtly, methodically erode the rational, impenetrable ramparts she had built as the Dark Lord.
She had to leave Hogwarts as soon as possible.
Albania.
She needed to go to Albania. To that hidden camp of loyal Death Eater remnants, concealed deep within the ancient, shadowy forests of Eastern Europe.
She had to return to a territory steeped in genuine Black Magic. A place built on slaughter, bloody intrigue, and absolute, groveling submission. She urgently needed to submerge herself in pure, unfiltered darkness to wash away the sickening stench of human affection that was currently clinging to her skin.
She needed to prove to herself, and eventually to the entire wizarding world, that she was still the cold, ruthless, and unmatched Dark Lord. She was not some weak, pathetic little girl who could be emotionally shaken by a few stray tears and a desperate embrace.
Just as Tamara was making this dark vow, using her own grand ambitions to aggressively numb her frayed nerves, that painfully cheerful electronic voice suddenly chimed inside her head once more.
[Ding! Bzzzt... System Defense Mode deactivated... Initiating reboot sequence...]
[Congratulations, host! You have successfully resolved the Chamber of Secrets crisis!, by resolving the conflict in the most perfect, peaceful manner possible, with absolutely zero casualties, you have unlocked a special clearance achievement!]
[Calculating rewards... Bzzzt... Warning: System affected by high-level Black Magic residue. Display module experiencing abnormal fluctuations... Loading underlying developer data...]
A semi-transparent, light blue holographic panel abruptly popped up across Tamara's retinas. However, due to the system's recent crash and forced reboot, the interface flickered violently. Lines of code glitched across the screen, accidentally exposing several underlying progress bars that were usually kept strictly hidden from her view:
[Perfect Clearance Reward: All Attributes +5!]
[Current Panel Data (Internal Developer View):]
[Love: 35/100]
[Wisdom: 44/100 — [Ding! Milestone threshold reached! Unlocking special skill: Basic Legilimency. Note: This skill allows the host to read the surface thoughts and strong emotional fluctuations of others. It is a wonderful little trick for enhancing friendship and truly understanding your friends' hearts!]]
[Courage: 49/100]
[Life: 35/100]
Basic Legilimency?
Tamara raised a delicate eyebrow. The tight, furious line of her lips finally relaxed into a faint, calculating smirk.
Although the degrading modifier "Basic" sounded like a direct insult to a witch who had once been recognized as one of the greatest Legilimency masters of the modern age, she had to admit the truth. This was exactly the tool she needed most right now.
As for the system's nauseating remark about it being a 'little trick for enhancing friendship and understanding friends' hearts'... Tamara completely ignored it.
Piercing through an enemy's mental defenses, identifying their most crippling weaknesses, and weaponizing their deepest fears to control them—that was the true, singular purpose of this spell's existence.
However, Tamara's sharp, crimson-tinted gaze quickly moved past the barely usable skill reward. Her eyes locked onto the static number sitting behind every single attribute value.
The number 100.
This was the very first time the system's glitch had exposed the absolute upper limit of her virtue attributes.
'System,'Tamara called out in her mind, her internal voice dropping into a cold, dangerously calm register. Her eyes narrowed into predatory slits.'What exactly happens if these values reach one hundred?'
[Oh my! You've discovered the secret!]
Although the system's audio feed was still crackling with faint static, its digital tone carried a sickening, almost religious level of excitement and fanaticism.
[Since you have asked so sincerely, host, I will gladly reveal the ultimate end-goal for you in advance!]
[If all four of your virtue attributes reach the maximum limit of 100, your soul, host, will be completely purified and sublimated!]
[All of those nasty, dark, and evil thoughts polluting your mind will be entirely scrubbed clean! You will be reborn as a thorough! Good! Person! You will be filled to the brim with love and peace, completely devoid of any selfishness, and you will be revered by millions as a true saint!]
[In addition to this glorious transformation, the ultimate final mission will be unlocked, and you will be able to claim the ultimate grand prize!]
A thorough... good person.
Hearing that absolutely hair-raising phrase echo in her skull, Tamara's slightly improved mood instantly plummeted, crashing down as if she had been shoved into a freezing cellar.
Becoming the kind of mindless, bleeding-heart fool who would sacrifice themselves for others without a second thought? Having the towering pride, the unmatched intellect, and the glorious ambition of Lord Voldemort forcibly erased? Being mentally lobotomized and remodeled into a mass-produced moral paragon on some cosmic assembly line?
Tamara slowly looked up toward the dark, cavernous dome of the Chamber of Secrets. She curled her lips back, baring her teeth as she let out a low, utterly contemptuous laugh.
'Don't even think about it.'
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