A streak of green lightning shot forth—Voldemort had attacked without warning. For anyone else, reacting in time would've been nearly impossible.Even more so since no ordinary spell could block the Killing Curse.
A case like Harry's—repelling the Killing Curse with an Expelliarmus—was extraordinarily rare. If the curse were truly that easy to counter, it wouldn't inspire such terror across the wizarding world.
Indeed, aside from Harry, perhaps only Dumbledore and Charles could have done such a thing.
But Voldemort's attack now was a pure ambush. The green curse had already reached Charles's chest in a blink. There was no time to raise his wand.
Voldemort smirked. He didn't believe a single Killing Curse could slay Charles Gold—but in that fleeting instant, he was already preparing the next one. The moment his opponent showed even the slightest opening, he would strike again.
Boom—!
As expected, the instant the Killing Curse was about to hit, Charles's figure vanished. The curse streaked through the air and smashed into an old gravestone, shattering it to dust.
Apparition?
Voldemort's smooth brows arched. He was just about to sense the magical ripple left behind by the spell—to aim his own curse ahead of it—when he noticed something strange.
There was no magical trace at all.
Not only could he not sense any sign of reappearance, he couldn't even detect the usual magical surge from the act of Apparition itself.
What was going on?
Perplexed, Voldemort instantly transformed into a cloud of shadow, shooting skyward.
A heartbeat later, a spell shot through the very spot where he had just been standing.
"Impressive reflexes, Lord Voldemort," Charles's calm voice echoed behind him. He was standing there now, wand still raised from his previous cast.
"Why can't I feel your Apparition magic?" Voldemort demanded, unease flickering in his serpentine eyes. Even non-human species that cast magic gave off magical fluctuations—but Charles Gold had broken that law entirely.
Could he have invented a spell to conceal magical ripples? No—Voldemort immediately dismissed the thought. The spell Charles had just fired carried the same detectable pulse of ordinary wizardry.
"This is Teleport, sir," Charles said evenly.
"Hah. The power of those creatures, then?" Voldemort sneered. He already despised Muggle-born wizards; magical beasts and Pokémon were beneath his notice entirely.
Still, this non-magical power was… intriguing.
"I'll admit, you've piqued my curiosity," Voldemort said coldly. "But do you really think a few tricks like that can defeat me?"
That arrogance was born of more than ego—it came from what he had become.
He had experimented endlessly on his own body, twisting it through dark rituals until he was something no longer quite human. In a sense, he was closer to a magical creature than a man.
His body brimmed with potent magic and unnatural resistance, capable of withstanding many curses—and with his Horcruxes anchoring his soul, even the Killing Curse itself might not be enough to destroy him completely.
No wonder he was so difficult to kill.
And truthfully, the night he'd "died" was not merely because the curse had rebounded. Those slain by the Killing Curse typically left their bodies whole. His, however, had been utterly annihilated—as though some other force had intervened.
Dumbledore called it love. Voldemort had scoffed—and, in the end, lost his nose for it.
Regardless, his inhuman form was his greatest weapon. With that strength, even Dumbledore could not destroy him.
But the man before him…
Voldemort narrowed his red eyes. He remembered the night in the Forbidden Forest when this same Charles had blocked the Killing Curse with some unknown spell. Impossible, yet undeniable.
Perhaps, Voldemort thought, that too had been linked to these "Pokémon."
Either way, the Killing Curse alone would not suffice. He needed it to hit.
Fortunately, as the Dark Lord, he knew more dark magic than most people had hot meals.
He raised his wand, releasing a streak of black energy—a curse like poison incarnate, one that inflicted unbearable agony upon contact.
Midair, it exploded into a cloud of black sparks that scattered in all directions like a deadly firework. Each ember burst again, doubling the spread of the spell.
Voldemort smirked coldly. "Let's see you teleport through that."
But Charles only smiled faintly. His wand dipped slightly."Finite Incantatem!"
A golden wave of counter-magic shimmered outward, forming a radiant curtain that blocked every fragment of the curse.
Not far away, Igor Karkaroff wasn't so lucky. One stray burst struck him, and his flesh began to rot and blister. He collapsed, writhing on the ground like a grotesque insect.
Charles spared him no pity—only contempt.
Following Voldemort, he thought, always ends the same way.
Voldemort ignored the screams of his follower entirely. His focus was solely on Charles Gold.
By now, he had realized this opponent was far from ordinary. He couldn't afford to face both Dumbledore and Charles simultaneously—not after only just regaining his body.
Then, the entire graveyard shuddered violently.
Voldemort unleashed his full power, and the air quaked under the force of it. Even Charles felt his heart tighten in alarm.
"So this is the strength of the Dark Lord…" Charles muttered. "No wonder he's called the most powerful dark wizard alive."
Though outwardly calm, he knew Voldemort's magical power surpassed his own—slightly, but decisively.
Thankfully, the wand in his hand offset much of that difference. And Voldemort, using Karkaroff's wand, couldn't draw out his full strength.
Of course, Voldemort didn't believe in the idea that "the wand chooses the wizard." To him, a spell was a spell. Still, the yew wand with the phoenix feather core suited him best.
Now, under his surging power, the ground cracked apart.
Skeletal hands burst through the soil, clawing their way up. Some corpses still clung to decaying flesh, half-zombies dragging themselves from their graves to stand once more.
Charles frowned. He hadn't expected Voldemort to possess this kind of power.
(End of Chapter)