How long had it been since he last felt true danger?
Voldemort thought grimly, his expression twisted.
The last time was probably when he faced Dumbledore.
But Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world. Feeling threatened by him was only natural. Yet here?
There was nothing here but a herd of unicorns waiting to be slaughtered and a ring of crumbling walls.
No… that wasn't right.
As Voldemort forced himself to calm down, he felt what Quirrell had sensed earlier. It was as if the surrounding flowers, grass, and trees had grown eyes, all of them turning to stare at him.
Those countless gazes made Voldemort feel like prey.
"What kind of joke is this? Hunting me?" Voldemort snarled, teeth clenched. "I am the Dark Lord, the greatest dark wizard!"
He raised his wand, summoning a mass of Fiendfyre.
The raging flames howled as they swallowed the thorn-covered walls. No matter how solid they were, they stood no chance against Fiendfyre's destruction.
Soon, a gap was burned straight through the barrier. To keep the unicorns from being consumed by the flames as well, Voldemort deliberately withdrew the Fiendfyre, baring a cruel grin at the panicked herd.
"Once I've drunk unicorn blood, I'll burn this entire forest to the ground," Voldemort said coldly. "I don't care if you're human or some kind of monster. If you dare set your sights on me, you die."
Maintaining his spider-like posture, he stepped into the Botanical Garden's perimeter. His raised wand glowed green, clearly preparing another Avada Kedavra.
To Voldemort, there was no spell more reliable than the Killing Curse.
"Avada—"
The green light surged.
At that moment, a strange sound rang out, like the explosive spray of a whale.
Before Voldemort could react, his raised hand suddenly felt empty. Warm liquid splashed over the back of his head, over Quirrell's face.
"Ahhh—!"
Quirrell screamed in terror. Forced to tilt his head back, he only saw a blurred shadow flash past before his hand exploded into a mass of torn flesh. Agonizing pain flooded his mind.
What just happened?
Voldemort's thoughts went completely blank. He hadn't sensed the attack at all. That was impossible.
But the assault didn't stop just because he hesitated.
One shadow after another shot toward him. Before he could evade, three sharp spikes punched straight through Quirrell's body.
Blood burst outward, bones jutted free, and the sheer force blasted the Quirrell–Voldemort fusion violently away.
How could an attack like this even exist? What in the world was doing this?
While airborne, Voldemort twisted Quirrell's body to land on all fours, touching down lightly on the grass. He didn't dare pause for even a second. He leapt again and hastily cast a Shield Charm over himself.
The body was severely damaged, but it wasn't Voldemort's own. He felt no pain at all. Even with shattered bones and torn flesh, his mind remained clear, and he could still control the ruined limbs to cast wandless magic.
Quirrell wasn't so lucky.
All the pain crashed down on him at once, wave after wave, nearly destroying his sanity.
"No… no! I don't want to die!" Quirrell screamed hysterically, struggling desperately against Voldemort's control.
"Stop it, you worthless slave!" Voldemort roared.
His condition was already unstable. If Quirrell resisted, he couldn't properly control the body at all.
Still clinging to a shred of reason, Quirrell instinctively eased his struggle. But those few seconds were enough to rob Voldemort of his chance to dodge.
Three more shadowy projectiles shot toward him in an instant.
Voldemort exhaled sharply. Luckily, he had cast the Shield Charm in advance. Otherwise, that useless Quirrell would have gotten him killed.
Three green-tinged spikes slammed into the Shield Charm.
Before Voldemort could fully relax, a sound like cloth being torn apart echoed in the air.
The spikes pierced straight through the shield with almost no resistance.
This was a Shield Charm cast by Voldemort himself.
Panic seized him. With the barrier shattered, his movements were disrupted by Quirrell's faltering control. The spikes, slowed only for a moment, rushed straight toward his face.
At the last second, Voldemort twisted his body with effort, forcing his already mangled arms up to intercept the blow.
The spikes pierced flesh with a muted explosive crack. The terrifying force ripped both of Quirrell's arms clean off before continuing straight through his chest.
No ordinary shield could stop an attack like this.
Quirrell's body was blasted away again, like a torn rag doll, blood spraying wildly as if from a shattered watering can.
What was attacking him? Why couldn't his shields block it?
Ignoring Quirrell's agonized screams, Voldemort forced his head up and looked ahead.
In the distance, a massive Venomous Tentacula swayed lazily, its thick vines moving almost casually.
Between those vines were hollow plant-like tubes, each lined with rows of green-glinting spikes.
A Venomous Tentacula?
Why was the one here completely different from those outside? What kind of place was this? And why wasn't it attacking the unicorns?
Beyond the enormous Tentacula, Voldemort saw rows of Bitterthorn standing like soldiers, and clusters of Chomping Cabbages snapping their jagged maws.
This place was like a thorn-filled abyss, a horrifying land of death capable of tearing apart anything that stepped inside.
Suspended in midair, time seemed to freeze, with only Voldemort's thoughts racing at full speed.
He began to understand.
The strange gazes in the forest. The untouched unicorns. This deadly environment.
Someone was targeting him.
This was a trap, built specifically for Voldemort.
Who would do this? Who had the ability?
Dumbledore?
Quirrell's body slammed into the ground, the impact snapping Voldemort out of his spiraling thoughts.
Now wasn't the time to dwell on questions.
The priority was survival.
Quirrell couldn't die yet. He absolutely could not die. Voldemort had to obtain the Philosopher's Stone before this body completely failed.
Just then, Voldemort heard an odd sound, as if something were hopping closer, bounce by bounce.
He looked up.
A Chomping Cabbage, its mouth packed with sharp teeth, was leaping toward him.
It was like kicking a hornet's nest.
By disturbing this land of death, Voldemort had drawn relentless pursuit upon himself.