The silver construct was struck by a green beam, slammed into the ceiling for two seconds, and then plummeted.
The golden construct sprang into action, grabbing the silver one's head with a claw and hurling it to the ground with brutal force—
Had the fall occurred even slightly differently, the Gerebato magic crystal—now Dana's prized possession—might have been damaged. He couldn't bear the thought.
As the silver construct struggled, the golden one plunged its claw into its helmet, extracting the green flame from within—
Dana, having possessed the golden construct, already understood its structure intimately and handled it with precision.
This green flame was both the construct's core and its weapon. No ordinary person could extract it—it burned at extreme temperatures.
Once freed, the flame quieted almost immediately.
Dana reached inside the golden construct's helmet and drew out its green flame too—
With the flames detached from their bodies, Dana lost control of the constructs. He wasn't possessing them anymore—he had been possessing the green flames themselves.
These flames were the so-called creatures.
Dana withdrew, returning to his human form.
The two spheres of green flame floated around Dana, circling him joyfully.
"Master! Congratulations on passing the trial."
"I am Abe."
"I am Hood."
"We are the Graphorn Fire Spirits created by the old master!"
So this was the trial set by Ancestor Merlin—or perhaps his gift.
The two constructs were built from an unknown, indestructible material. These Fire Spirits could merge with metal to manipulate movements and fire high-temperature beams. Their only weakness: they relied on Gerebato magic crystals for power.
And Dana—alone in this world—was eligible to command such rare "pets."
Abe and Hood hovered briefly before quickly entering Dana's eyes.
Dana remained calm. He already knew these Fire Spirits could hide inside a wizard's eyes from his earlier possession experiments.
He felt warmth in his eyes, soothing and pleasant.
He looked at the Gerebato crystal's smooth surface, its facets reflecting his face—
His once lake-green eyes now glowed brighter green, with a soft halo around them.
"Isn't this a bit too flashy?" he thought.
Sensing his discomfort, the Fire Spirits retreated deeper, and his eyes returned to normal.
Gathering the gold and silver constructs, he placed them inside his necklace and nodded, satisfied.
"Today's haul was rewarding."
He scolded himself. If he'd explored the tapestry's secret earlier when he first recovered it, he could've achieved all this a year ago! Just one year could've meant spending that time honing his Cambion bloodline to the third level—maybe even gaining glimpses of the future.
He exhaled, unsettled, and opened a Spandim Gate, hauling his bed from the dormitory—
Yes, he'd sleep here tonight.
Not just tonight. From now on, this would be his permanent dorm.
Meanwhile, the little diary known as Tom Riddle sat in despair.
He'd finally tricked Ginny Weasley into opening the Chamber of Secrets, expecting the Basilisk—but it was nowhere to be found.
Frustrated, he possessed Ginny and tortured Muggle-borns, but her eleven-year-old magic was too weak. When she cast Avada Kedavra, it only caused slight bleeding and a faint—hardly the fatal outcome he desired.
Defeated, he shifted his focus.
Gilderoy Lockhart—this delusional adult wizard whose spells were nearly worthless—was his next target. He manipulated Ginny into placing the diary in Lockhart's office. Using half of Ginny's life force, he combined Imperio with a Memory Charm to seize control over Lockhart.
Ginny would return to her dorm with no memory and lingering illness. No one would notice anything amiss.
Lockhart, now under Riddle's control, would be his puppet.
Kill all Muggle-borns at Hogwarts.
Use Lockhart's energy to resurrect himself.
But first… he had to discover how Harry Potter had destroyed his adult form. This little diary was consumed by that question.
Yet things didn't go as planned—
Lockhart's magic was atrocious, even worse than Ginny's. His fine spell controls masked a pitifully low overall magical power—perhaps barely above first-year students!
How had this man survived, much less prospered?
Riddle mused that controlling him to kill Muggle-borns would be no better than working through weak Ginny.
Would memory wipes suffice to punish Muggle-borns? Maybe... but would that satisfy his thirst for vengeance?
So the diary conceived a new, yet flawed plan.
He would slowly erode Lockhart's mind and siphon off his life energy. In the meantime, he'd masquerade as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—useful for recruiting new hosts.
Just the thought made the diary cringe—having to teach magic with this incompetent fool.
He planned to wait. Gather enough life force. Then move on to a stronger host. Maintain Lockhart's position to discover how Harry killed his adult form.
"Mr. Riddle—any tips to instantly strengthen me? This Expelliarmus just isn't working properly."
"Lockhart, you need relentless practice," the diary responded. "Your magical skills are severely deteriorated. Even your basic magical power has regressed to almost zero. Only through constant practice can you rebuild."
Lockhart sighed. "That's painful, Mr. Riddle."
"During lessons, could you relinquish control of my body to me? With my power, I'm sure I can dominate the students."
Riddle facepalmed.
What had gone wrong at Hogwarts?
How could this talentless impostor be Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?
Had Dumbledore lost his mind?
Nevertheless, the diary realized—
Fine. Being a professor wasn't a bad gig.
Being inside Lockhart, vying for hosts at Hogwarts… would present far more opportunities.
Muggle-borns—your nightmare has returned!
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