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The air above the crater solidified.
Ash drifted, and deathly silence reigned. Seven souls proficient in ancient dark magic hovered in midair. Their forms were twisted and broken, like forgotten existences. In their eyes burned blue flames, a mingling of the light of death and berserk fury.
They were not ordinary black wizards.
They were dead black wizards... "Cognition Shapers" within the Twilight Zone, masters of the most ancient and dangerous magic. They drew power from belief, shaped form through cognition, and turned illusion into reality.
The seven shadows spread their arms at the same time.
From their mouths poured an ancient chant, low and piercing, as if from the depths of hell. It carried an irresistible pressure.
Immediately afterward, a Crown of Thorns condensed from pure will and slowly took shape.
Composed of countless tiny runes, every branch exuded the aura of decay and destruction.
Magic whirled through the air.
Wherever it passed, ash was corroded into virulent dust. A suffocating stench of death filled the atmosphere.
"Cognition is reality; will is law. Wherever these thorns reach, all shall return to the hands of the Death God!"
The Crown of Thorns began advancing, slow yet unstoppable, toward the crater.
Thirty Dementors sensed the threat and lunged forward to intercept this symbol of annihilation. But the instant they touched the crown, they were destroyed.
Boom!
There was no struggle, no resistance, and no trace was left behind. The thirty Dementors were torn apart like paper and dissolved into wisps of black mist that vanished into the air.
"Hiss..."
Their bodies collapsed the moment they touched the crown, like withered leaves burned by fierce flames, reduced to nothing. There was no scream or struggle, only silent obliteration.
"That power is truly terrifying."
Ian stood in the distance and watched the scene unfold, a chill rising in his heart. He sensed that the Crown of Thorns was more than just an offensive spell.
Rather, it was the embodiment of a higher-level existence, the personification of death's will, and an extension of divine, deathly power. That was precisely why the Dementors were helpless against it.
"The wizards are about to succeed," He murmured.
When the Crown of Thorns was less than ten meters from the magma... The Raven still stood at the edge of the crater, its crimson eyes lowered and fully focused on the forging within the magma.
It seemed utterly indifferent to the approaching threat.
As though this battle had nothing to do with it.
After casting many more of its feathers into the magma, the Raven finally raised its head. Its gaze pierced space itself, locking onto Ian.
"Why not try striking across time and space?" It spoke.
Its red eyes were bloodlike.
They stared into a single point in the void. Ian felt as though he were seeing the intersection of the past and the future, and the Raven's gaze was withdrawing from it, casting itself into a far more distant river of destiny.
This was the first time the Raven had taken the initiative to speak to Ian.
The instant its words fell, the entire world seemed to pause.
Ash stopped drifting. Magma froze. The spells of the black wizards hung suspended in midair. Even the shattered bodies of the Dementors hung motionless.
Time ceased to flow. Space stopped expanding.
Everything was still.
It was as if history itself were waiting for Ian's response.
The Raven's power was taking effect. It required no emotion because it had transcended it. It required no language because its will had long since permeated all of time and space.
Ian was stunned.
He never expected to be drawn into this piece of history, let alone have the Raven speak to him directly. He lowered his head to look at his palm.
The wand was still in his hand.
Could he really interfere with the past?
"What should I do?"
He didn't know the answer. But he knew he might need to make a choice. Only then would the surrounding history resume its flow, and only then would he be able to find a way out of this scene from the past.
"Let's try a bit of Fiendfyre."
A blazing burst of fire erupted from the tip of his wand. The eerie blue flames burned like a gas stove, strikingly conspicuous, utterly out of place in this black-and-white world yet dazzling beyond compare.
The fire streaked forth like a shooting star, crashing straight into the Crown of Thorns. Ian's strike was like plucking a string in sedimented history, setting everything back into motion.
"Boom..."
The crown shattered the instant it touched the flames. The runes woven from cognition collapsed one after another. The entire crown broke apart in midair and turned into specks of black dust that scattered in the wind.
"What's going on?!"
"Was our attack influenced by something?"
"I can't see it! What exactly is influencing us?!"
The black wizards didn't have time to react before their spells were interrupted. The backlash made their souls tremble so violently that they nearly collapsed.
"Did it actually work?" Ian stared blankly at the scene before him.
'Had he really influenced this piece of history?'
This was clearly just an image of the past; he shouldn't have been able to interfere at all. Yet, the magic he had cast seemed to have crossed time and space, affecting the past.
It was too fantastical.
Too bizarre.
In fact, it was so unbelievable that Ian's mind nearly froze.
Standing at the edge of this dead, silent world, he gazed at the boiling volcano and the silent Raven.
At last, he understood something.
What he was seeing was not just a replay of the past. In this black-and-white world, the Raven was the only colored object because it was the variable.
Everything else was unchangeable.
Because they were only the process... not the outcome.
Only the Raven was the existence that truly determined the ending.
As Ian's intuition continued to surge, the Raven's voice sounded once more.
It was calm and indifferent.
And it confirmed Ian's suspicions.
"To hold dominion over fate is like this."
After speaking...
It lowered its head.
It continued to focus on the forging within the magma as if the conversation had never occurred. It did not look at him once but kept its gaze fixed on the forging process within the volcano.
Perhaps everything that had just happened was nothing more than a tiny ripple in fate.
So it was not worth mentioning.
Ian frowned, staring at the silent Raven.
Suddenly, he realized something. He was not merely a witness to the past. He was a participant in fate. He could influence a timeline that did not belong to him and alter what was supposedly fixed.
What did that mean?
It meant he was no longer merely an observer.
He was a part of destiny itself.
"Can you...see me?" He asked tentatively.
The Raven did not answer as it simply stood there quietly.
Its feathers trembled slightly in the wind; its gaze was fixed intently on the depths of the volcano. Its crimson pupils reflected the boiling magma as though the earlier interaction had been nothing more than a glance from the past.
Now...
The Raven withdrew its gaze that could see the future. It no longer paid any attention to Ian and became ever more focused on forging whatever it was creating.
"Seriously? Playing it cool now?" Ian's thoughts churned.
He desperately wanted to know what the Raven was forging.
What could command such absolute focus from it, enough to ignore external threats entirely? And what could be powerful enough to make the Death God wary, even prompting him to send the souls of black wizards to sabotage it?
Of course...
This proved one thing beyond a doubt: the Death God was a coward.
He didn't dare confront the Raven in person. Despite knowing the Raven's attention was divided, he only dared to send his black wizard subordinates instead.
One could only say...
What kind of past experiences made the once-illustrious Death God seem so cowardly? In any case, one thing was certain: the Death God did not want the Raven to complete its final forging. The magma churned violently, and within the pitch-black molten flow, the vague outline of an object emerged. Yet, Ian still could not make out what it actually was.
He was clear about one thing, though.
For something to command such concern from the Death God and such devotion from the Raven, this could not be an ordinary magical item.
It might even be more powerful than the Deathly Hallows.
'What was the Raven forging?'
'Why would the Death God risk so much by sending the collected souls of black wizards here to stop it? Could the forged item be an ultimate weapon against the Death God?'
Ian did not know the answers. But he had a faint premonition that what was being born in that furnace was more than just a weapon. As these thoughts crossed his mind, the silence of the battlefield was broken.
The souls of the black wizards recovered from the backlash. They let out soundless roars and regrouped. The Dementors surged forward once more, their decaying bodies colliding with dark magic as the slaughter resumed.
The Raven still stood in silence.
Its crimson eyes were fixed on the magma as if the rest of the world didn't exist.
In the ash-drifting world... The battle continued.
More Dementors appeared.
The souls of black wizards poured in like a tide. They howled, cursed, and waved their withered arms as they unleashed wave after wave of soul-corroding dark magic. Yet the number of Dementors kept increasing. They crawled out of rock fissures, dove from the sky, and emerged from the magma's depths.
They seemed endless.
They held the line.
"Hold them back!"
The leading black wizard roared, his hands condensing a mass of pitch-black energy that he hurled toward the advancing Dementor horde. The energy detonated, instantly tearing dozens of Dementors to pieces. But before he could catch his breath, a larger Dementor lunged from the side. Its rotting bone claws clamped down on his shoulder like iron pincers.
"No! I don't want to go back!"
The black wizard's soul screamed as his body twisted and transformed within black flames before being hurled into boiling magma.
"Let go of me! Let go..."
His scream was cut off abruptly. The Dementor showed no hesitation, casting him into the seething magma.
"Hiss..."
The instant his soul touched the molten flow, his form melted like wax. Finally, he turned into a wisp of black smoke, which was completely swallowed by the magma.
He was gone, leaving behind only a shrill, lingering wail.
The scene shocked the remaining Black Wizards. Their offense faltered for a moment. Soon, however, more souls surged in from behind, attempting to break through the defenses and destroy the volcano.
Yet the number of Dementors continued to rise.
They moved like a silent legion, encircling their enemies from all sides. Pale arms extended from beneath their rotting cloaks and precisely tore apart the spirit bodies of the black wizards with bone claws. The more souls that were annihilated, the more the black wizards' formation began to collapse. The connections between them shattered, leaving only chaos and terror.
"Retreat! Retreat now!"
One black wizard shouted in panic as he turned to flee. But it was already too late.
The Dementors gave them no further chance.
They dove down like black birds of prey, locking onto each target with deadly precision. Their bone claws pierced the shells of souls, dragging the black wizards down one by one and hurling them into the volcano without hesitation.
"Ah..."
"No! Save me..."
Shrill screams rose and fell. The souls of the black wizards dropped into the magma like raindrops, becoming fuel and causing the volcano to boil more violently. This granted a powerful amplification to the thing being forged within.
"Everything is proceeding according to my calculations."
The Raven's low, calm voice suddenly rang out, as though offering commentary to Ian. At last, it raised its head. Its crimson eyes swept across the battlefield. Then, it slowly extended its left claw and plunged it into the molten surface.
Glug.
The entire volcano fell silent.
The wails of the black wizards froze. The Dementors' movements halted. Time itself seemed to pause. Only at the center of the magma did a pitch-black heart slowly sink downward.
That was the seventh material the Raven had cast in.
The heart was black as ink, its surface etched with dense golden veins, still beating faintly, as if even after being torn from its body, it had not fully died. Without hesitation, the Raven dropped the heart into the volcano. Instantly, the black magma surged violently, and a dark-gold light burst forth from its depths.
"This…!?"
Ian's pupils contracted sharply, and his breathing nearly stopped.
He recognized it.
That was the Creator's heart.
The Titaness Claire had once shown him scenes from the distant past, including the Titans devouring the Creator. Now, the Raven had thrown the Creator's heart into the volcano!
The Raven had truly devoured the Creator and taken His heart!
The magma churned violently.
The heart slowly sank deeper. Meanwhile, the bodies of the Dementors, destroyed by the Black Wizards, were drawn by an invisible force toward the crater.
"This is...fuel?" Ian stared in disbelief.
Not only was the Raven using the souls of the black wizards as nourishment for the forging, but it was also casting the extinguished Dementors into the volcano as part of the process.
This further amplified the eruption.
Hōng... Lóng...!
The volcano boiled to its absolute limit. The pitch-black magma gradually transformed into dark gold, conspicuous in this monochrome world. An indescribable pressure spread outward from within.
But this was still not enough.
The Raven spread its wings once more.
From the void, it dragged forth more organs: the Titans' excretory systems, silver-gleaming bones, blood flowing with starlight, and chunks of flesh still writhing.
Neural networks. Memory glands.
Each carried an indescribable significance. These were not ordinary materials but the fundamental components that constituted "biological existence" itself.
Organs that should have belonged to different beings were cast one by one into the volcano like a berserk alchemist melting the most forbidden materials into a single crucible.
"What are you doing?" Ian was genuinely curious about the Raven's purpose.
The Raven did not answer.
It simply continued to drop the materials as if performing a sacred ritual.
The magma boiled more violently than ever before. Its color shifted from dark gold to pure white, its blazing radiance nearly piercing the black-and-white world. The ashen land around the crater began to crack, forming countless fine fissures that leaked streams of brilliant light. It was as though the volcano were nurturing something that was transforming into a higher-dimensional existence.
The Raven stood silently at the edge.
Its crimson eyes did not blink as they fixed on the center of the molten flow.
Finally...
The magma stilled for a moment, then slowly parted like a curtain drawn aside by invisible hands. From the brightest point of light, a small figure floated upward.
It was a baby.
The infant's skin was as pale as snow. Its eyes were closed, and its chest rose and fell faintly. Its breathing was weak but unmistakably real. There was no magical fluctuation, no trace of divine power.
Yet its mere existence was enough to shake the soul.
Radiant magma flowed around the baby's body, unable to burn it in the slightest. Rather, the magma curled gently around the baby's fingertips like a tame pet.
The Raven extended its wing and carefully lifted the infant.
"It's done! I did it... Bird Grandpa did it!" The Raven burst into laughter.
Beating its wings, it flew into the ashen sky. The black-and-white world shattered completely in that instant.
(End of Chapter)