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Sargeras's gaze turned completely cold.
There was no trace of warmth left in his eyes. Only the frigid detachment of someone looking down at a noisy, bothersome insect.
He let out a quiet, mirthless chuckle. He didn't spare Rita another glance. Nor did he dignify her shrill tirade with a single word in response.
And just as Rita, thinking he had been rendered speechless, was about to launch into an even more vicious verbal assault—
—everything changed in an instant!
That grotesque mass of flesh, silent and revolting just a moment ago, suddenly moved without the slightest warning.
And it wasn't like before, when it merely twitched and wriggled in sluggish, aimless motions. No, this time, several thick, sinewy tendrils, drenched in slime and studded with grotesque, bloodshot eyeballs, lashed out like venomous serpents that had been lying in wait, bursting forth at a speed far beyond what anyone could possibly react to.
"Ah—!"
Rita Skeeter barely managed to let out a high-pitched, piercing scream, her voice breaking mid-note in terror.
The tendrils struck with perfect precision, coiling tightly around her waist, her legs, even her flailing arms. Their monstrous strength yanked her off the ground in an instant, dragging her helplessly toward the pulsating, scarlet mass of the creature's distorted body.
Her Quick-Quotes Quill, caught in the chaos, spun wildly through the air, scratching a meaningless arc across the empty space before another tendril effortlessly snatched it out of sight.
Gasps and screams broke out from the other reporters nearby. In a flurry of panic, they stumbled over one another, crawling and scrambling backward in a desperate attempt to flee.
"Uuh—!"
Even Cornelius Fudge couldn't suppress a strangled shriek. His face went deathly pale, drained of all color in a heartbeat. The Aurors at his side, gripped by instinct, raised their wands, but it was already too late to aim.
"STOP!"
Dumbledore's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
From the tip of his wand erupted a torrent of blazing magic, surging forth with the molten intensity of lava, roaring across the air with the raw power to tear through stone.
But the moment it touched the creature—
—it was swallowed whole.
The squirming, heaving mass of foul flesh drank it in greedily, absorbing every last flicker of that magic as if it had been nothing more than a drop of water.
Only then did the Aurors finally act. They hurled curses in a desperate barrage. Dozens of deadly beams of light, each one glowing in a different hue, rained down like a violent storm against the monster's body.
But it didn't flinch. Not even a little.
Instead, that nauseating mass of flesh began to swell and stretch, bulging outward in a frenzy. Wet, sloshing noises echoed in the chamber, sickening and sharp enough to set one's teeth on edge. And then, before their horrified eyes, the creature's body expanded again, its size growing in a sudden, impossible lurch, while the stench of blood in the air thickened, clinging to the skin and choking the lungs with its metallic sting.
Everyone froze…
The terror that swept through the hall was overwhelming.
And beneath the wide, horrified stares of the crowd, Rita Skeeter's heavily powdered face, still frozen in an expression of sheer terror and disbelief, slowly began to sink into the creature's body. Her shrill, earsplitting screams echoed as she was swallowed whole, consumed like a stone disappearing beneath the surface of a dark, stagnant pond.
"Gululu…"
A thick, wet swallowing sound echoed through the chamber, low and chilling, striking every heart like a heavy drumbeat in the silence that followed.
The creature's body shifted slightly, squirming with a slow, sickening ripple. For a brief moment, a few strands of Rita's signature golden curls and a small piece of her brightly colored skirt surfaced at the edge of its viscous skin, only to be drawn back in, gently but inexorably consumed.
And then, on that warped, twitching "face" filled with eyes and gaping maws, there appeared, ever so faintly, a twisted hint of satisfaction.
The Chamber of Secrets fell into utter silence. No one moved, no one spoke. The only sounds that remained were the faint, nauseating gurgles of the creature's inner workings and the ragged, restrained breathing of those still standing.
"What… what have you done?"
One of the board members finally found his voice again. But the words had barely left his lips before a thick, muscular tentacle coiled tightly around his waist and abdomen.
He was an elder wizard of an pure-blood line, dressed with the dignity and poise of his station, his white beard and hair meticulously groomed. Yet even he didn't have time to cry out before he was yanked off his feet and pulled toward the towering bulk of that monstrous thing.
The very next second, dozens of blood-red filaments, thin as threads, but alive with writhing motion, shot forth from the creature's body and wrapped around him in a blur. In an instant, they engulfed him completely, weaving a pulsing, glistening cocoon of flesh that twitched with life. Then, with dreadful ease, the cocoon sank into the monster's body and vanished from sight.
"You… you…"
Fudge was trembling all over, barely able to stay upright. Cold sweat soaked the rim of his tall minister's hat as panic overwhelmed every inch of him.
At that exact moment, from just beside him, another tentacle lashed forward. It was a much thicker one this time, its end gleaming with a cold, wet sheen. It whipped through the air with a screeching hiss, so fast and sudden that no one had time to react.
Thwack—!
A sickening thud rang out, the sound of bone snapping clean and flesh being torn asunder. In the blink of an eye, Cornelius Fudge's arm, still clad in the fine velvet sleeve of his tailored coat, was severed at the shoulder. It was sliced through so cleanly that it barely left a mark at first.
It was Dumbledore who had saved him. The old headmaster had struck at the last possible moment, slicing through the tentacle and Fudge's arm in a single, precise motion to break the monster's grip.
Blood sprayed into the air, arching in a crimson curve as the severed arm flew across the chamber. Fudge opened his mouth to scream, but the pain caught in his throat, choking the sound into a rasping gasp. His body, pulled forward by the momentum, stumbled and collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Before the severed arm even touched the floor, one of the creature's many gaping maws opened wide. Its lipless, slime-coated edges stretched with anticipation as it caught the limb in midair. Then, like a python devouring its prey, the monster swallowed it whole in one smooth and grotesque motion.
The Aurors stood frozen, their wands gripped so tightly that their hands trembled, knuckles white from strain. Though their wands were still aimed at the monster, none of them dared to move, terrified that even the slightest twitch might make them the next to be devoured.
The board members looked as if they had seen death itself. Their faces were drained of all color, and some were visibly shaking. The reporters were even worse, many slumped on the floor, barely able to stay upright. Lucius Malfoy's usual cold sneer had vanished from his face, replaced by something far more real; undeniable, unfiltered fear.
Even the four Heads of House, veterans of countless magical encounters, had gone completely still. Each of them held their breath in stunned silence.
Sargeras remained where he stood. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his deep eyes sweeping across every face in the room, each one twisted now with panic and disbelief. At last, his gaze settled on Fudge and the Aurors gathered around him.
His voice, when he spoke, was terrifyingly calm. There was no anger in it. Only the cold finality of a man stating a simple, indisputable fact.
"Now, we're quiet."
He paused, letting the silence stretch, and his eyes narrowed slightly, piercing into Fudge with a sudden, pointed sharpness.
"Minister," he said, his tone light but unmistakably firm, "do you or your Aurors still have any objections to my explanation?"
Fudge's lips quivered. He opened his mouth once, twice, but not a single sound came out. His eyes darted frantically… first to Sargeras, then to the flesh monster, which, having just fed, looked somehow more animated now, its surface rippling with a renewed, horrible vitality. Then, as if seeking salvation, Fudge glanced toward Dumbledore, who still stood silently at a distance, watching without a word. But the fear had already taken hold, and it refused to let go.
"I'll take that as a no."
Sargeras gave a small nod, his gaze drifting back across the faces around him. He let his eyes linger, slowly sweeping from one pale, downcast expression to the next, and only when everyone had finally lowered their heads did he seem satisfied enough to look away.
Only Dumbledore's eyes remained steady, moving back and forth between Sargeras and the monster with a weighty, searching intensity. There was no fear in his gaze. Only a depth of thought and an unspoken tension that hadn't been there before.
But Sargeras seemed not to notice, or perhaps simply didn't care.
With a casual lift of his hand, he gestured lazily toward the monstrosity that had just finished its gruesome "meal," his tone light, almost amused, like someone commenting on an ancient artifact at an exhibit.
"Well," he said with a touch of admiration, "it seems that Salazar Slytherin's flesh construct lives up to its reputation after all."
Then, after a short pause, he added with a shrug, his voice drifting into something almost absentminded, "And even if Voldemort's memories have been completely erased, that deep-rooted bloodlust still lingers in his instincts. Dangerous as ever…"
With just a few careless words, Sargeras pinned the blame for the slaughter on two convenient, towering names: 'the primal instincts left behind by Voldemort,' and 'the inherent nature of Salazar Slytherin's magical creation.'
Whether the others believed it or not… that didn't matter in the slightest.
He figured that given Salazar's personality, he would never have bothered getting caught up in such minor, technical details. And Ravenclaw, being the talented Seer she was, had probably already warned him a thousand years ago that his reputation might suffer for it… hadn't she?
Sargeras turned his attention back to Cornelius Fudge, who was still collapsed on the floor, his face ghostly pale and his breathing shallow. Then his gaze shifted once more to the equally pale board members standing behind him. And when he spoke again, his voice carried a kind of gentle, almost sorrowful regret.
"What a shame, truly. Even if I hadn't warned you, provoking it like that was never going to end well."
He gave a slow shake of his head and continued, as if offering condolences rather than criticism.
"As for the two unfortunate witches and wizards who lost their lives, and Minister Fudge — your arm, of course — I truly do offer my sincerest sympathy."
Then, without missing a beat, his voice shifted just slightly. There was something different in it now, something so chilling it almost sounded cheerful.
"But… at least you've still got the other one. That should be more than enough to sign documents and carry on with the paperwork… I imagine you won't have any trouble with that."
He let the words hang in the air, smooth and calm, yet sharp enough to sting.
His gaze drifted slowly across the room, sweeping over the faces that, only moments ago, had been brimming with suspicion and accusation. Now, under the weight of that look, those same faces shrank back, paling in shame or fear. His smile softened into something almost warm.
It was a smile of "forgiveness"… and "benevolence."
"Although I must admit, the doubts and blame you all hurled my way earlier did stir a little indignation in me… I've always prided myself on being generous and tolerant, after all. Therefore, not only will I let it all go, I'll even do you the favor of resolving this 'little' problem myself."
As he spoke, he raised his wand with a casual flick, the tip leveling toward the grotesque flesh-monster still standing eerily motionless not far from them.
"Blood Vortex Surge!"
The words left his lips like ice, sharp and absolute. In that instant, the solid stone beneath the creature's feet began to boil.
A thick, blood-colored vortex tore open out of nothing, a swirling whirlpool of viscous liquid that churned with savage energy. The monster was dragged into it almost at once, as if a wax statue tossed into scalding water. The tough, pulsing flesh began to sizzle and dissolve before their very eyes, stripping away in layers, melting into the depths of the raging whirlpool.
It tried to scream, its mouth stretched wide in a soundless roar, but the torrent of boiling blood surged higher and swallowed it whole. Within the span of a few short breaths, the towering form that had stood nearly thirty feet tall vanished completely, leaving not a single trace behind.
The vortex sank and stilled. The stone beneath their feet hardened once more, smooth and silent, as though the nightmare had never happened.
Sargeras lowered his wand with elegant ease, his voice once again light and almost cheerful, "Well then, as you've all just witnessed, after a difficult battle, the matter has finally been resolved."
He sighed a little, and shook his head with a touch of regret, "It's a shame, though. Our 'brave, fearless, ever-unyielding' Ms. Skeeter… it seems she won't be able to write this thrilling article herself after all."
Then, unable to help himself, he let out a soft chuckle, "Of course, war correspondents do live dangerously. She was shouting just moments ago about risking everything in the name of truth, wasn't she? I suppose, in the end, she's finally gotten the truth she so desperately wanted by now."
His eyes swept coldly across the gathered crowd, like icy needles grazing skin. Without a flicker of emotion, he raised his wand once more and gestured toward the board members who had, until recently, been pointing fingers and speaking with such righteous certainty.
"And one particularly 'active' member of the Board, if I recall correctly… appears to have made the ultimate sacrifice for Hogwarts in this unfortunate turn of events. What a pity."
His tone turned openly mocking now, not bothering to conceal the sharp edge of ridicule. "But please, don't be too heartbroken. After all, there are still eleven other board members left… equally 'passionate' about the school's wellbeing, I'm sure."
Finally, he turned to Dumbledore, who had remained silently observing throughout, his expression unreadable.
"Well then, Headmaster Dumbledore, that concludes the situation here. I trust you'll handle the aftermath with care and discretion. No need for me to meddle any further."
And with that, Sargeras didn't wait for a response. He turned away from the frozen, silent crowd, and with calm, unhurried steps, made his way straight toward the chamber's exit.
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