Ian hadn't expected this.
Even after witnessing a fragment of the past and standing on solid ground again, he was still in the past when the Death God forged the three Deathly Hallows.
Possessing the three Hallows meant becoming the master of the Death God. Clearly, that was an incorrect statement. The facts now plainly proved that the Deathly Hallows were merely part of some scheme of the Death God.
As for the purpose of that scheme...
Ian did not know.
He only knew that the Death God had indeed placed a curse upon the three Deathly Hallows.
He had already seen the true past.
A past that had never been written into any book.
A past hidden behind a black-and-white world.
The truth was concealed beneath it all.
Unlike in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, where the Death God casually snaps a branch and picks up a stone, it was clear that even the Death God had to follow the laws of alchemy when forging magical items.
Which was only natural.
After all, The Tales of Beedle the Bard was, in the end, just a fairy tale. Its author was just a nineteenth-century wizard.
Grasping even a portion of the truth was remarkable. As for the Death God's conspiracy, it could not, of course, be described in detail. Yet, it was abundantly clear that the Deathly Hallows never brought good fates to their bearers.
This could be seen in the endings of the three brothers in The Tales of Beedle the Bard. In fact, wizards had already vaguely realized that something was wrong with the Deathly Hallows.
That was why they were lost for a long period afterward.
Presumably...
It was not without reason.
Perhaps a wizard bearing the fate of the world in his heart wished to prevent future generations from being influenced by the Deathly Hallows. However, the four founders and other astonishingly gifted wizards still unearthed them in the end.
The story of Voldemort.
It's hard to say whether it was because of the reappearance of the Deathly Hallows.
"No matter what, once I get back, I'll probably need to borrow the old headmaster's wand to do some research and see exactly what kind of tricks the Death God pulled on the Deathly Hallows."
Ian stood at the edge of the volcano, gazing at the silent black-and-white world left behind after the Death God's departure.
The Deathly Hallows...
Why did the Death God reforge them, and whom was he avoiding?
As Ian pondered these questions, another disturbance rippled through the sky. He thought everything was over, but just as he was about to turn and search for a way out of this "past" and into the true Twilight Zone... a low rumble echoed once more from above.
It seemed to come from the depths of time itself.
It carried an indescribable majesty and mystery.
He looked up to see a black shadow tear through the ashen sky, moving at incredible speed and plunging downward like an arrow.
It was a Raven.
It had appeared once again, its wings spread wide enough to blot out the sky. Its feathers were pitch black, standing out starkly in the monochrome world. Its eyes were as deep as an abyss and tinged with crimson.
They gleamed with an intelligence no ordinary bird could possess.
An intelligence no less astonishing than Ian's own.
Clearly, the Raven was not here to seek the Death God.
This time...
It had not come alone.
Behind it, groups of Dementors were slowly being drawn in.
Their figures resembled tattered cloaks drifting in the air despite the lack of wind. They had no faces, only hollow depths beneath their hoods concealing something that devoured all light. They wandered among the ruins like ghosts lost beyond time itself.
But at this moment, they were no longer free.
They were a kind of forced labor.
Dozens, hundreds... dense swarms of Dementors gathered from all directions like dark clouds. They hovered around the volcano, their pale arms stretching out from beneath their rotting cloaks. Each Dementor held various objects, pitch-black ores, bones glowing with a ghostly light, and cursed metal.
'Were they actually transporting materials for the Raven?'
Ian's pupils shrank. In his mind, Dementors were minions of the Death God, wardens of Azkaban, and creations of black magic that devoured happiness. Yet now, they behaved like silent laborers, serving the Raven without a word.
Had the Dementors never served the Death God, but rather the Raven?
Or had the Raven manufactured the entire Dementor race?
Or... were they slaves seized from the Death God?
The Raven beat its wings and swooped down with a vaguely shaped object clenched in its beak. It precisely dropped the object into the boiling volcano. Then, the Raven landed on a protruding rock at the edge of the crater. Its crimson eyes swept across the surroundings. Suddenly, it spread its wings wide and let out a piercing screech.
Immediately after, the Dementors sprang into action.
This included those who had previously wandered at the foot of the mountain.
They transported all kinds of strange materials from every direction... broken wands, shattered rune stones, and fragments of souls corroded by dark magic. In the black-and-white world, Ian sometimes struggled to distinguish the appearance of the materials.
Each item was thrown into the volcano and turned into rolling black smoke that filled the space with an eerie atmosphere.
The volcano trembled once.
The color of the magma gradually shifted from pure black to a darker, murkier hue.
"The Raven is forging something as well." Ian stood rooted in place.
His gaze slowly turned to shock.
At last, he understood. This volcano was not just a naturally formed geological wonder. It was a furnace belonging to a higher level of existence.
It was a place of forging that connected life and death and reshaped destiny.
And the Raven… was the true master here.
He recalled something Lady Ravenclaw had once said: "The original master of this place was the Death God. Later, he was driven away by the Raven."
Now, Ian had finally witnessed that history with his own eyes. The scene before him likely depicted the moment the Raven drove away the Death God and took over this place.
Lady Ravenclaw had spoken the truth. Ian didn't know why the Death God had forged the three Deathly Hallows, but he sensed that the Death God's aura of supremacy had diminished considerably. A dignified Death God sneaking back like a petty thief, returning to his former territory while the Raven was absent and furtively forging the Deathly Hallows?
"No wonder the Death God felt so sneaky just now," Ian muttered to himself. "He was taking advantage of the Raven's absence to return here secretly and use this place to forge the Deathly Hallows."
He recalled the three Hallows rising and sinking within the magma, and a trace of absurdity rose in his heart.
The Death God had originally been the master of this place; perhaps it had once been his alchemical workshop, yet he had lost control of it at some point.
Now, he could only sneak back and risk discovery to reforge these sources of power. How could that not slightly diminish Ian's sense of awe toward the Death God?
"The Death God is pretty sly, too."
Ian couldn't help but shake his head in his own commentary.
He continued to observe the Raven's actions.
However, the Raven did not speak to him again. It simply focused on its work, as if it could no longer see him or had chosen to ignore his existence altogether. Each item cast into the volcano seemed to carry a specific meaning, and a near-reverent concentration shone in its eyes.
It was obvious.
Whatever was being forged was of the utmost importance to the Raven. The volcano became more violent, its black magma churning and roaring as if in answer to a summons.
Ian stood to the side, watching everything unfold, his mind racing:
'Why here?'
'Why were the Death God and the Raven forging things in this place?'
'What was so special about this volcano?'
This was undoubtedly a question worth serious thought. After all, the Raven and the Death God had both chosen this place for their alchemical forging, which meant that this Mount Doom was clearly not ordinary.
'It's magma?'
'Or perhaps it was one of its unique properties.'
'Perhaps they were essential components required for certain forms of alchemy.'
Ian couldn't help wondering whether the Raven was now forging something capable of rivaling the three Deathly Hallows, and curiosity drove him to peer more closely.
He carefully observed the changes in the magma, trying to find a clue.
Yet, he could not see anything rising to the surface.
Many materials were fusing within it. He even saw the bones of a saint, gleaming with golden light. Suddenly, a low, mournful wail echoed through the air.
An abrupt mutation!
The distant sky twisted violently, and an extremely cold aura swept in. The sound seemed to come from the depths of hell and carried the wailing and suffering of countless souls.
Ian snapped his head around.
On the far horizon, a black torrent surged forward. It was a horde of wizard souls, corrupted by dark magic and sold to the Death God. Their hair was disheveled, their faces were twisted, and their eyes burned with berserk fury and despair. Countless such souls, devoured by dark magic and bound to the Death God, surged toward the volcano like a tide.
They had arrived.
Their target was this volcano.
Or rather, their target was the Raven using the volcano to forge something.
They screamed and wailed, but they couldn't resist the invisible force controlling them. They began attacking the Raven.
"Is the Death God trying to stop the Raven?" Ian guessed.
The once silent black-and-white world was torn apart by the dark energy of the black wizard souls. Twisted beams of magic ripped through the air like thunder from hell. The souls claimed by the Death God, long since fallen, descended from the sky. Their hair was wild, their faces were distorted, and their eyes blazed with berserk hatred.
They were not here to fight.
They were here to destroy.
Above the crater, black mist roiled, but the Raven stood motionless at the edge of the magma.
Its crimson eyes lowered and fixed intently on the boiling molten flow.
It held a crystal in its beak and slowly lowered it into the depths of the magma. The instant the crystal dissolved, the entire volcano let out a dull roar, and spiderweb-like patterns spread across the surface of the lava.
The Raven did not look up.
Its wings did not beat; there was not even the slightest extra movement, as if the entire world were irrelevant to it.
Even when the first Killing Curse streaked across the sky, its feathers did not tremble.
The flames of war had arrived.
The souls of black wizards surged in like a flood, floating above the ashen land. Their half-transparent bodies were entwined with chain-like curses. Some had broken necks; others had gaping holes in their chests. These were fanatics who had sold their souls completely to the Death God in life and were now returning with decayed malice.
"For the sake of Lord Death God...!"
The soul of the leading black wizard raised its mutilated arm, and three hundred strands of dark magic erupted simultaneously. Fiendfyre transformed into gigantic serpents, their pitch-black bodies cutting ferocious arcs through the gray-white landscape as they lunged toward the magma.
Beams of the Killing Curse poured down like a storm of rain, weaving a lethal net in midair. Corrosive, dark-magic poison mist churned and spread.
Wherever it passed, ash was eaten away, leaving honeycomb-like holes. Their target was not the Raven, but the volcano itself. They intended to destroy the act of forging.
The Raven still did not raise its head.
But the Dementors moved.
Rotting gray silhouettes rose from cracks in the rocks, dove from the sky, and emerged from the magma's depths. They made no sound, no roars or shrieks.
They simply acted in silence.
They moved as slaughter machines programmed long ago.
"Kill it! Kill that Raven! Destroy this furnace!" A shrill voice rang out, as if a roar issued from countless throats at once.
Immediately, dark magic surged forward like a tide. Purple, black, and dark red spells interwove into a deadly web and crashed down upon the crater and the Raven standing above it. Flames, poison mist, soul chains, and cursed blades, all varieties of dark magic, erupted together as if to tear the entire space apart.
The Raven did not move.
It stood calmly above the crater with its wings spread. Its ink-black feathers were starkly out of place in the black-and-white world. Its gaze was as deep as an abyss.
It seemed as though it had not seen the sky-filling attacks at all.
It merely continued its forging.
Perhaps it could not move.
Thus, it had to rely on the Dementors to hold the line.
The Death God had clearly chosen his timing well.
The Dementors on the front line opened their hollow abdomens and met the Fiendfyre serpents head-on. The flames burned through their cloaks and ignited their decaying flesh, but they still clamped down on the fire serpents' throats until they were completely engulfed in flames.
Their bodies melted as they burned, dripping like candles and buying precious time for those behind them.
The second wave of Dementors charged into the poisonous mist. They let the corrosive liquid eat through their forms while their bony claws tore precisely at the black wizards' spirit bodies.
A black wizard's soul had just raised its hand to cast a second curse when three Dementors pierced its chest. Their rotting fingers hooked inward, tearing his spirit body apart.
This was the power of wizardly cognition.
Not mere magic, and it could harm Dementors.
"Get lost, filthy watchdogs!"
An ancient black wizard's soul roared. The chains in his hands swept out and smashed the heads of two Dementors.
But the next second, pale bone claws rose from the ground and gripped his legs. More Dementors climbed along the chains and swarmed over him like ants. His scream was torn apart and dissolved into a wisp of black smoke.
The battle was brutal yet silent.
This was a world without color. There was no splattering blood, no blazing crimson flames, and no dazzling charms. Only the interweaving of black and white, the collision of ash and shadow.
Dementor bodies shattered in combat and fell into the magma like rotting fruit, producing soundless, sizzling ripples. The souls of the black wizards were rapidly diminishing as well.
With each spirit that dissipated, their battle line weakened further.
The fiercest clash occurred on the northern side of the volcano.
Seven souls proficient in ancient dark magic unleashed cognition-forged spells that intertwined in midair to form a crown of thorns. Wherever the crown passed, ash turned to toxic dust.
Thirty Dementors lunged forward together, only to be annihilated the instant they touched the thorn crown. The crown continued advancing, now less than ten meters from the magma.
The wizards were about to succeed.
And at that moment, the Raven lifted its head.
"Why not try striking across time and space?"
It was speaking to Ian.
(End of Chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395