Ethan immediately thought of a solution. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled away the black cloth and called out,
"Come forth! Descendant of Salazar Slytherin—Tom Riddle!"
Whoosh!
A plain brown wardrobe materialized in mid-air. Its doors creaked open, revealing not empty space but an endless starry sky, shimmering with shifting, dreamlike colors.
At the bottom of it all lay a black-covered diary.
Not entirely still.
If one looked closely, the diary trembled faintly—as if someone had set a two-meter-tall female Giant down on its cover.
Ethan smirked. "Seems Little Tom really enjoys his little dream suite."
Satisfied, he plucked the diary from its pedestal and flipped it open. Before he could even put quill to page, words scrawled themselves across in a frantic, jagged script:
What are your commands, Vincent?
I can help you with so, so much. My value is beyond measure… so you really don't need to lock me in that strange space!
The final exclamation mark practically tore through the paper, so violently written it seemed the diary might rip apart.
Ethan chuckled. "How could I deprive anyone of the right to appreciate art? You've been crammed in this diary so long, you must be broken by now."
Tom: "…"
If he kept this up, it wouldn't just be broken—his entire soul would shatter!
Ethan went on, voice dripping with mock sympathy:
"All right, all right, I know you adore me. But let's get to the point. I'm currently in the Chamber of Secrets—"
The diary shuddered violently.
The Chamber of Secrets?!
Tom's mind reeled. He hadn't revealed its location to anyone. How did this second-year brat find it?!
Horrified, Tom pushed out a sliver of his soul from the diary. The aura spread—chilling, serpentine, threaded with faint hisses. It really was the Chamber of Secrets!
Impossible! Even he, Tom Marvolo Riddle—the brilliant, cunning Lord Voldemort—had spent five long years uncovering its entrance. And Salazar Slytherin, curse the old man, had hidden it inside a girls' lavatory!
Tom hissed, words scraping onto the page: You… how did you discover the Chamber of Secrets? Who told you?
Ethan, of course, would never say: the original story told me.
Instead, he sneered. "Is it really that hard? Can't you feel the Chamber itself calling? Or is it because you're not pure-blood… but a half-blood?"
That soft final word struck Tom like a curse.
If he'd had a body, he would have torn Ethan limb from limb on the spot.
Half-blood.
The single word twisted his insides, the deepest wound of his existence. He had proclaimed the supremacy of pure-bloods, raised banners, incited massacres, and gathered followers… yet half his blood belonged to a filthy Muggle father.
No one knew. No one! He had never told a soul. And now this insufferable boy—this second-year—had dragged his secret into the open.
Tom froze, suddenly cautious. The tendrils of magic he'd been preparing to siphon from Ethan quickly recoiled.
Instead, his hand wrote, calm and respectful: Please continue. What can I do for you?
Ethan's lips curled. Just one word—half-blood—and Little Lord Voldemort folded like parchment.
Delicious.
"Oh? So obedient now? Good. I want you to translate what that Basilisk said to me."
Ethan tapped the diary with his finger, then added in a silken whisper:
"I do hope you don't disappoint me. After all, you wouldn't want to end up like our previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… who mysteriously vanished into thin air."
Whether Tom obeyed or not didn't matter. His execution was certain—only the timing remained in question.
Ehehe~ ☆
"…Of course. You can trust me one hundred percent, Vincent. I am on your side."
Tom focused, straining to make sense of the muffled hisses echoing through the stone walls. At last, his words appeared:
The Basilisk says… it is shedding its skin and cannot move. It wants you to return in two months.
"Shedding skin?" Ethan muttered, frowning.
Now it made sense. In the original story, no one had been attacked at the start of the school year. It was only around Halloween that Filch's cat had been petrified. Yes—two months fit perfectly.
Tom's diary tricks weren't the problem. The Basilisk itself was simply slacking.
Tom added slyly: And according to my research, to enter the true Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk itself must serve as guide. Such a pity… if I hadn't accidentally killed that girl back then, and if Dumbledore hadn't taken notice… I would have become the master of the Chamber already.
His thoughts turned dark.
But no matter. This mysterious boy—Ethan Vincent—was dangerous but useful. If Tom played the ally long enough, gained his trust, and helped him open the true Chamber… then he could strike, seize the treasures, and rise again.
Yes. Lie low for now. That was the key.
Ethan, meanwhile, glanced at Tom's flickering soul in the diary and thought:
He's plotting. Probably imagining himself ambushing me in the true Chamber, stealing all its treasures.
So mischievous.
Ethan's cobalt-blue eyes gleamed with wicked amusement. He licked his lips, savoring the thought:
Let Tom think he's on the verge of triumph. Then drag him into the abyss.
The scene would be… exquisite.
"But if the Basilisk is still shedding its skin, I'll just have to wait," Ethan murmured with feigned regret.
Still, a thought nagged—was there a way to speed up the process?
Just then, something caught his attention.
A puddle had collected at the base of the colossal stone statue, swirling with concentrated magic that shimmered like liquid nitrogen mixed with argon.
Extraordinary material.
Ethan's eyes lit up. He casually hurled the diary back into the wardrobe.
Tom: "#!%@aj*—"
Ignoring the muffled protests, Ethan crouched and scooped up a handful of thick, viscous mud.
"You've obtained the extraordinary painting material: Basilisk Slime!"
He froze. Basilisk drool?
With a disgusted hiss, he flung it away and quickly cast a Refreshing Charm on himself.
He had heard of Dragon's Saliva, but Basilisk Slime?!
The description surfaced in his mind:
Basilisk Slime
Type: Clay
Description: The serpent devours its own tail, symbolizing endless cycles.
Effect: Can be used for three-dimensional sculptures and paintings, adding the [Cycle] attribute to the artwork.
"Cycle…" Ethan whispered, staring at the dark-brown mud glittering faintly in the torchlight.
Slowly, a plan began to form.
"I know how to transform Saen Ancient City to welcome the new club members."
His smile widened.
"An ancient city filled only with obstacles but no ambushes? Boring. Let's change that."
"With this new [Cycle] material, I'll create chase sequences—terrifying but harmless."
"Let the students experience a thrilling little game of… Parkour."
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