When that familiar voice rang out from high above, every soul on the battlefield froze.
Severus Snape's cheek twitched. The foot he had raised toward the castle slowly lowered again. He tilted his head back, lips pressed into a thin line, and exhaled a disdainful snort.
"The same insufferable brat who can never resist a dramatic entrance."
Dumbledore blinked several times, as though his mind had lagged behind his eyes. Then the tension melted from his face; his shoulders loosened, and a soft chuckle escaped him.
"Good heavens, I really am getting old. For a moment I failed to recognize the master of such magnificent magic…"
Inside the concentric rings of golden arrays, Lord Voldemort's expression of triumph petrified into pure shock. His heart plummeted.
He jerked his head upward.
When the figure floating in the sky finally came into focus, the Dark Lord unleashed the most venomous, twisted scream of his life:
"ETHAN VINCENT—!!!"
Ethan's lips curved into a crooked, dangerous grin.
Black hair danced in the ripples of raw magic, framing a face so unfairly handsome it bordered on sinful. Light poured from him in blinding waves; against the murder of black-robed crows below, he was the only star burning in a midnight sky.
"He's…beautiful," Cho Chang whispered, unable to blink. A shy flush rose on her pale cheeks.
Hermione shot her a sharp, wary glance. She hadn't forgotten how this soft-spoken Ravenclaw had once trailed after Ethan like a lovesick ghost for half a term, nor the occasional burning stare she still caught from across the library.
Luna simply gazed upward in silent rapture, as if trying to etch that soaring silhouette onto the inside of her eyelids forever.
Thump. Thump.
She pressed a palm to her chest, feeling her heart slam against her ribs.
A warm tide rose from somewhere deep inside her.
"I can't wait for summer," she murmured dreamily. "Then I'll be able to play with Ethan for ages and ages…"
Her pale eyes reflected the golden light like twin galaxies.
[Name: Skyfall] [Type: Spell] [Rank: Tier 2 · Purple Epic] [Effect: Single-use high-tier magic. Requires three minutes of casting time. A divine pillar of light descends from the heavens, dealing catastrophic holy damage to all hostile entities within a 300-to-800-meter radius. Doubly effective against creatures of evil.] [Evaluation: This strike will pierce the gates of Hell itself.]
"It's over," Ethan said quietly, lowering his gaze.
The obsidian wings of the Death Bird unfurled behind him like a fallen angel's judgment. He looked down at the raging Dark Lord with something between mercy and amusement.
He offered his worthy opponent one final line.
"Dead men shouldn't talk so much."
I was just waiting for the cooldown—what are you yelling about?
He raised his hand.
And brought it down.
BOOM—!!!!
The world went silent, as though someone had stolen sound itself.
Then came the light.
A golden column wider than the Quidditch pitch tore through the clouds and struck the earth with the weight of divine wrath. Heaven spilled across the Scottish hills, painting sky and ground in molten gold.
In less than a heartbeat, it swallowed Lord Voldemort whole.
Everything vanished—robes, flesh, arrogance—gone.
"W-what in Merlin's name…?" an Auror stammered, legs buckling. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, arms raised toward the pillar as if in prayer. "A miracle… It's a miracle!"
The ground cracked like old pottery. Massive plates of earth lifted, shattered, and turned to glittering dust. The shockwave flung witches and wizards off their feet, yet no one cried out; they could only stare in reverent, helpless awe at the single golden spear connecting earth to sky.
Dumbledore's eyes glistened. For once, the ancient scholar looked small beneath the weight of true magic.
"Honestly," he said, voice thick, removing his half-moon spectacles to dab at his eyes, "I'm half-tempted to ask the boy for apprenticeship papers."
Inside the castle, students pressed against every window.
"Merlin's beard…"
"That's Ethan! That's Ethan's spell!"
"I'm converting to the Church of Light by tomorrow," Dean Thomas declared fervently.
Professor Flitwick was openly sobbing. "Ravenclaw… Ravenclaw will rise again…"
Draco Malfoy watched the golden flood breach the horizon, and the last knot of fear in his chest unraveled. He whispered, almost reverent, "The Malfoy family chose correctly this time."
When the light finally faded, a crater the size of the Quidditch pitch scarred the grounds, its edges glowing red-hot. Black glass coated the bottom where grass had been moments before. A few tattered scraps of black robe floated down like dying moths, dissolving into sparks.
At the very center lay…something.
A writhing lump of charred flesh vaguely shaped like a face. From the ragged hole that might once have been a mouth came a weak, rasping voice:
[Impossible… I wielded the power of a god…] [Even Destiny favored me…!]
Lord Voldemort's remaining eye fixed on the figure descending through the clearing smoke. For the first time in his life, true fear—primal, animal terror—clamped around what was left of his soul.
A polished leather boot settled gently in front of the ruined thing.
"Shh."
Voldemort craned what remained of his neck. Diamond-blue eyes blazed down at him, cold and ancient as glaciers.
[Why…] the broken voice croaked. [How could you still defeat me… after everything I gained…?]
Ethan crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, and smiled the gentlest, most terrifying smile the Dark Lord had ever seen.
"Because this, my friend, is art."
Art doesn't borrow power. Art doesn't kneel to fate.
The answer seemed to be the final straw. The last flicker of red light guttered out in that ruined eye.
[But I… was the Dark Lord…]
A breeze swept across the crater, scattering fragments of soul like ash.
Ethan straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his robes.
"If you spend your life running from Death, you'll never outrun it," he murmured. "And if you hand your future to Destiny, don't be shocked when it stabs you in the back."
With a lazy flick of his wrist, the shriveled mask of human skin flew into his palm.
[Congratulations! You have obtained an extraordinary item: The Former Dark Lord's Face] [Forged from cursed flesh and blood; exceptionally malleable.] [For a short period, even Destiny itself cannot perceive the soul hidden behind this mask.]
Ethan's brows shot up. "Blocks Destiny's sight? Now that's a five-star drop."
He tucked the grotesque trophy carefully inside his robes, whistling.
"First you help me finish the Soul Cauldron ritual and supercharge my magic, then you hand over premium crafting material. Honestly, Tom, you're spoiling me."
He rubbed the back of his neck, faux-bashful. "People are gonna talk."
A frown creased his forehead. "Former Dark Lord, though? What, is there a sequel already in the works? The wizarding world never takes a day off, does it?"
Pale-blue system text blossomed in the air before him.
[Congratulations! You have successfully reversed Destiny!] [You saved Cedric Diggory's life and prevented Lord Voldemort's resurrection!] [Soul Fusion Degree +5.2%] [87.9% → 93.1%] [Soul Fusion Degree has exceeded 90%] [The Path of the Immortal — Promotion Requirements Unlocked!]