As Tom drew the flame into himself, it was as though he lived through Joan of Arc's entire life.
The carefree years of childhood. The devout faith that followed her first sermon. The grief she felt on hearing of war. The revelation that sent her from her home. The terror of her first battle, and the hardening that came after it. Then, slowly, the growing number of men who rallied to her banner.
Seeing through her eyes, Tom could feel with perfect clarity how nearly everyone around her had regarded her with naked hostility.
That was what had puzzled him the day before. With her gift for hearing the voice of revelation, Joan should have known all of it, every betrayal waiting for her. So why had she still led her armies into charge after charge? Why had she not fought back, even at the very end, bound to the stake?
But now, suddenly, he understood.
In Joan's world, it had never mattered what others thought of her. What mattered was fulfilling the Lord's revelation. She had even pitied the soldiers and nobles around her, pitied them for their ignorance.
When the flames had closed around her, her soul and her magic had transformed together. In drawing the fire's power into herself, she had also absorbed the lingering will of everyone else who had ever burned at the stake, and through that, she completed her transformation, mastering the crimson lotus flame of judgment and punishment.
Tom opened his eyes to find a curse already bearing down on him. His hand rose on instinct, and a blast of magic answered it in kind.
The two forces met in midair and detonated in a violent shockwave.
Andros wasn't holding back in the slightest. A single sweep of his hand sent power rolling out to shake the sky and the earth beneath it. Tom, briefly disoriented, caught on fast and refused to yield an inch, meeting him blow for blow. Neither could overwhelm the other, and it was the land around them that suffered for it, the terrain warping, the very weather turning inside out. One moment hail fell from a clear sky, the next it was raining fire and falling stars.
"Congratulations, Tom."
Andros let his magic fade, a bright grin spreading across his face. "You've just become the youngest Century Sovereign in recorded history."
That was the truth of it. Two and a half years of practice, no small amount of relentless effort, and, well, a considerable amount of cheating besides. Tom had finally reached the pinnacle of wizardry: an absolute sovereign whose reign would span the century.
"That's hardly certain." Tom broke off at just the right moment, tilting his chin toward the residence with a grin. "If Joan exists, why couldn't someone even more absurd turn up eventually?"
"Fair point. The world's a big place. No telling what kind of monster might crawl out of it. Though I'd bet none of them have your potential. You're the monster among monsters."
Tom looked down at his own hand and flexed it idly, still not quite convinced. "Is becoming a Century Sovereign really this simple? I thought I'd need years of accumulation to finally break through the membrane, or else some life-and-death battle to push me over the edge."
"Instead I just picked up a few talents and that was that. Doesn't it feel a little unearned?"
Andros's eyelid twitched. This kid had gotten the better end of the deal and was complaining about it besides. You think it feels unearned? He'd have killed for it to feel unearned back in his day.
A pang of something bitter passed through him as he remembered his own road to power. He was exactly the example Tom had just described, the kind of man who'd needed a life-and-death battle to break his shackles.
And not just one battle. Many of them.
To get where he was, he'd managed to offend nearly every top wizard from the Mediterranean to the Nile valley. That was exactly how he'd earned his reputation as a rival to be feared.
"I was still half-dazed a minute ago. Let's go again, test me properly this time."
Tom felt the dark look Andros was giving him and didn't so much as flinch. He just grinned and issued the challenge outright.
They were both stat monsters, after all. Before, he'd been a tier behind Andros. Now they stood on equal footing, and Tom Riddle intended to prove one thing:
That his numbers were higher.
Andros didn't hold back either. He drew his wand. He was a master of wandless magic, but a wand still gave him an edge, and against Tom now, even the smallest lapse could cost him the fight.
The battle flared to life again. First came two guardian spirits, humanoid figures over twenty meters tall, tearing up out of the ground to trade blows with ferocious abandon.
Even while directing their guardians, the two of them carried on a duel of their own, one worthy of legend.
The ferocity of it surpassed even the famous duel between Grindelwald and Dumbledore, once called the greatest of the century. For the first time, Andros felt what it was to be pressed by a wizard of his own class, his magic churning until it nearly boiled over.
The uproar was loud enough to draw the three of them out of their lessons in the villa, and they stepped outside to watch the fight unfold.
"Tom's broken through?"
Ravenclaw saw the change in him instantly. Every thread of his magic now carried a will of iron behind it, no longer bound by the shape of the spell that cast it, and it opened into countless permutations.
"The Son of God is so strong." Stars all but lit up in Joan's eyes. She clasped her hands together and began to pray for Tom with devout fervor, willing victory toward him.
...
Half an hour later.
A hiss, and a cigar caught flame.
Tom drew on it deeply, breathed out a ring of smoke, and sighed. "So, Andy. Going forward, who do you think ought to hold the title of undefeated?"
Andros stared up at the sky, all the fight gone out of him. "Tom, do you have to gloat this shamelessly?"