I became Voldemort

Chapter 273: Now, let’s see who is stronger

Crack!

The wand ignited like fireworks in an instant!

Spells shot out!

Cyrus channeled all the magic within his body, unleashing ancient magic with reckless abandon.

His eyes radiated dazzling golden light, pressing toward Voldemort like a god of war!

Dumbledore and Grindelwald unhesitatingly moved to flank Voldemort on either side. They launched a fierce assault, their powerful spells striking like heavy artillery. With each blast, the dust beneath their feet rose high into the air.

Facing three opponents at once, even the current Voldemort found himself driven back step by step.

Yet he maintained perfect control over the battle's rhythm. Though he was at a disadvantage, there was no trace of defeat in his demeanor.

For the first time, Cyrus felt just how formidable Voldemort truly was. The magic surrounding him had transformed into a terrifying black whirlwind, swirling like a blood-red scythe.

This allowed Voldemort, despite being outnumbered three to one, to defend against the majority of their spells.

Grindelwald, apart from Voldemort, was the most unrestrained.

His entire body was taut as he unleashed Dark Curses like a venomous serpent. The power was potent and malevolent—death upon touch!n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Grindelwald, why are you opposing me?" Voldemort asked while defending against the onslaught.

"I already know your past, understand what you desire, and know why you agreed to temporarily ally with me and that young Barty kid. Are you now planning to break your oath?" Voldemort countered by conjuring dozens of rock guardians. Armed with sturdy spears, they charged toward Dumbledore and Cyrus, surrounded by a ring of magical shields.

"You allied with Voldemort?" Dumbledore raised his wand, shattering the stone giants in an instant, then turned his piercing blue gaze toward Grindelwald.

That gaze held a complex mix of emotions—pain, and perhaps disappointment.

It seemed to question Grindelwald, asking if he had forgotten the vows they once made together—for the Greater Good.

And Voldemort was certainly not the answer!

Years ago, Dumbledore had parted ways with Grindelwald, but he had never strayed from the ideals and principles they had crafted together.

Everything was for the Greater Good—

It was precisely because of this belief that, fifty years ago, when Grindelwald gradually descended into madness and attempted to ignite a war between Muggles and wizards, Dumbledore stood against him; and later, when Voldemort's reign of terror threatened the British wizarding world, Dumbledore once again took up the mantle without hesitation.

For the Greater Good, Dumbledore was willing to mercilessly sacrifice smaller interests, lives—even his own, if necessary.

But for Grindelwald, fifty years of imprisonment in Nurmengard had long extinguished his former ambitions.

The Greater Good?

To hell with it!

At this moment, Grindelwald cared little about the state of the world. He desired only one thing...

"I know what you want. I can give it to you. I can promise to spare Dumbledore's life," Voldemort declared as he unleashed a spell, blasting both Dumbledore and Grindelwald aside, then striding forward to meet the charging Cyrus head-on.

Cyrus's figure was a blur, darting like a specter, his spells fired with astonishing speed, each one carrying devastating force.

Bang!

The air erupted.

Black magic surged furiously through Cyrus's veins, coursing like a relentless torrent. He felt as though he had become a high-speed machine, his body temperature rising perceptibly as raw power radiated from him.

Lightning crackled in Cyrus's hands, radiating dazzling streaks of electricity.

With a swift motion of his arm, a massive lightning spear surged forth, slicing through the air with the force to cleave the heavens.

Voldemort did not meet the attack head-on. His body dissolved into dark smoke, retreating rapidly to evade the strike. Vast waves of magical energy coiled around him, and from the ground erupted an enormous black dragon. Its wings, spread wide like harbingers of death, launched it toward Cyrus with terrifying force.

Boom!!!

Cyrus's magic surged through him, coursing at an astonishing pace. The ancient power passed down from Morgana was no weaker than Voldemort's.

Two black dragons collided, locked in a vicious battle.

Though shaped like dragons, their power far surpassed that of real fire-breathing beasts.

Claws as dark as night tore through walls in an instant. Enormous, grotesque heads burst out of the Time Chamber, and their entwined tails swept violently across the area, shattering the walls of the Ministry's ninth underground level into rubble. The ground trembled violently, shaken by the catastrophic clash.

In mere moments, the monstrous dragons surged toward the surface, threatening to break free into the sky above.

The entire Ministry of Magic was left in ruins, a massive chasm ripped through its structure, resembling the aftermath of a devastating earthquake.

Protective enchantments crumbled under the overwhelming forces unleashed by Cyrus and Voldemort, as fragile as paper.

Dumbledore glanced upward, his expression heavy with concern. The black dragon had already burst through the ceiling. High above, beyond sight, the two monstrous forms could be heard clashing violently, locked in a savage aerial duel.

The Ministry of Magic was located in the heart of London. If those two colossal creatures broke free and wreaked havoc, it would cause chaos on an unimaginable scale.

But right now, Cyrus couldn't afford to worry about that.

The Ministry itself was already crumbling, like a collapsing skyscraper. Massive chunks of the ceiling, larger than any human, fell heavily to the ground, as though the heavens were tilting and the world turning upside down.

After the colossal release of magical energy, both Cyrus and Voldemort's auras weakened slightly.

Yet, they remained incomprehensibly powerful.

Voldemort held the Elder Wand high, and the already formidable spells he wielded were now imbued with extraordinary potency in his hands.

As their spells collided, Cyrus immediately felt an overwhelming force pressing down on him. It was as though a massive truck was rolling backward down a steep slope, and he was tasked with trying to stop it with his bare hands.

"Where's your strength now, Cyrus?"

Voldemort taunted, his tone dripping with smugness.

Having reclaimed and fully restored his soul over countless journeys through time—and even absorbed a few extra fragments—Voldemort's magical power was now on par with Cyrus's ancient magic. With the Elder Wand amplifying his might, Voldemort seemed almost divine.

Cyrus gritted his teeth, holding his ground against the onslaught while his gaze darted toward Grindelwald.

The golden-haired youth, with the aura of a majestic bird, had shockingly been swayed by Voldemort's honeyed words. He had stopped fighting against him altogether.

However, rather than being bewitched by Voldemort's words, it seemed that Grindelwald had already made his decision long before.

From the very beginning, his goal had been Cyrus's life!

Now, not only did he cease opposing Voldemort, but he even stepped in front of Dumbledore, blocking him from aiding Cyrus.

"You've truly allied with him, Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore looked at the familiar yet foreign figure before him, his face filled with shock. Though they had only been in love for just over two months, Dumbledore had never thought he could feel so estranged from Grindelwald—as though he had never truly known him.

No, that wasn't entirely true.

The Grindelwald standing before him now was the very same as the one from a century ago, the one who had fired the spell that killed Ariana.

"Is this so hard for you to believe?" Grindelwald's eyes flickered with emotion. His eccentric nature was such that not even Dumbledore could fathom what was running through his mind.

Behind him lay a scene of pure apocalypse, the world crumbling apart. Yet Dumbledore felt that it wasn't just the world shattering—it was also the long-cherished dream he had held onto for so many years, always yearning for yet never able to grasp.

On the other side, Voldemort, seeing that Cyrus was now without any support, grew even more delighted. It was as if all the years of frustration and hatred had been unleashed in this very moment.

He wielded the Elder Wand with greater force, the wand's tip cutting through the air like a blade. His spells came down upon Cyrus in a relentless barrage, each one exploding like a bombing run.

Boom!!!

"Look at yourself, Cyrus, how pitiful you've become!"

Voldemort laughed maniacally as he moved with incredible speed, dodging Cyrus's retaliatory spells. Cyrus, equally swift in battle, countered fiercely. The two of them burst through the doors of the Hall of Time into the circular room. The ceiling above was now completely gone, replaced by a gaping void, black and hollow.

Massive chunks of falling stone continued to crash down, shaking the ground violently.

Cyrus felt himself struggling more and more. Grindelwald's sudden betrayal had caught him off guard. Especially since he had blocked Dumbledore—those two engaging in combat meant their duel would not end quickly.

What baffled Cyrus was how someone as intelligent and arrogant as Grindelwald could believe Voldemort's lies.

But he didn't have the luxury to think about that now.

"If this is all you've got, you'll die here today!"

Voldemort's expression was one of sheer arrogance. He was confident of his victory. The surge of magical energy he unleashed climbed steadily to its peak. Every vein in his body bulged grotesquely, and the blood pumping through them made his usually pallid skin take on a flushed, almost vibrant appearance.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It was the Killing Curse again.

But this time, its power was far beyond anything Cyrus had faced before!

The searing, blinding electric light carried the aura of death, like a blade aiming to pierce Cyrus's heart and completely destroy the Philosopher's Stone within him.

As the light of the curse closed in, a shadow seemed to envelop Cyrus's heart.

In that fleeting moment, his fingertips and golden eyes radiated with an electric glow.

The power of ancient magic amplified the lightning's might, weaving golden and silver electricity together into a torrent of overwhelming magical energy.

"Thunder and Lightning!"

The powerful spell bore a simple name, yet lightning itself carried the awe-inspiring majesty of the heavens.

Boom!!!

The two spells clashed again, their collision creating a massive shockwave that rippled outward, crashing into both Cyrus and Voldemort like a surging tide.

Cyrus retreated rapidly. The two of them, like a black and white yin-yang fish, collided fiercely before separating again.

"Haah... fuck.."

As Cyrus landed, he felt a trace of exhaustion creeping in.

Leaning against the remains of a crumbling wall, he glanced back.

Behind him stood a door, perhaps sealed with a powerful form of natural magic. The magical defenses on the door were stronger than those of the Ministry itself, standing firm and unyielding even in the chaos.

Voldemort strode through the electrified wreckage. The overwhelming strength, fully unleashed, filled him with immense satisfaction. It had been so long since he had felt this way, the unending surge of power within him roaring like a volcano.

"Ah—" Voldemort exhaled in ecstasy. "Look at this! What an extraordinary wand! Only a wand this exceptional is worthy of someone as extraordinary as me!"

"Cyrus, from the very beginning, you never stood a chance!"

He shook his head, his eyes scanning Cyrus's face, searching for a flicker of fear or submission. Voldemort craved the sight of Cyrus, who had defeated him several times, reduced to a pathetic, beaten dog groveling at his feet.

But he was disappointed.

Though Cyrus looked fatigued, his expression remained calm, devoid of fear for the death that might come. Submission to Voldemort was out of the question.

Cyrus raised his wand—a deep green one resembling a serpent—and held it to his lips as though whispering to it.

"You're right, Voldemort," Cyrus said. "The Elder Wand truly possesses extraordinary power, making you seemingly invincible."

"Then why don't you kneel and beg for mercy?" Voldemort smirked, moving his wand in an elegant arc before him, as if performing a bow at the end of a performance.

But Cyrus only chuckled. "The Elder Wand is indeed a legendary wand. But how do you know that my serpentwood wand isn't legendary as well?"

Then, under Voldemort's astonished gaze, Cyrus whispered softly to his serpentwood wand:

"Ss—ha—"

The sound was faint, yet it echoed with an eerie resonance, as though it carried the whispers of serpents long gone.

The harsh, obscure syllables left Cyrus's lips, and Voldemort's expression turned truly spectacular. He looked at the serpentwood wand in Cyrus's hand as though he had seen a ghost.

Cyrus had spoken in Parseltongue, but every word was crystal clear to Voldemort. Each syllable carried meaning he understood perfectly:

"Speak to me, Serpentwood Wand..."

And then, as if awakened by those words, the wand seemed to come alive. The once dim, dark green hues transformed into a vivid brilliance, the surface shimmering like iridescent scales under the sun.

"Is this... Slytherin's legacy?" Voldemort's face twisted with astonishment.

His expression was that of someone watching a duel waged with their ancestor's coffin lid.

Cyrus's hand, the one holding the serpentwood wand, became enveloped in writhing magical energy, like a coiled nest of serpents.

The other half of his body radiated a spectral image of a massive Thunderbird.

The serpent hissed and the Thunderbird screeched, their cries weaving into a symphony of thunder and darkness. It was as if a storm had erupted, encompassing the heavens.

At that precise moment, a louder, more piercing cry echoed from an adjacent chamber.

"Chirp~♪~"

With a fiery trail blazing behind it like a meteor, Fawkes, the phoenix, soared into the room, summoned by Cyrus's call.

The majestic bird circled high above, its small body radiating immense magical energy. It was clear that Dumbledore, unable to arrive in time, had sent Fawkes ahead as backup.

The phoenix spiraled down gracefully before settling on Cyrus's shoulder, its glowing presence an omen of hope amidst the brewing tempest.

Then, something unexpected fell from Fawkes's body, landing right on top of Cyrus's head.

"Good evening, gentlemen?" The Sorting Hat shouted without regard for the situation, "Old acquaintances, huh?"

Cyrus didn't respond to it, as he felt something hard and cold land on his head. He looked up slightly, and a finely crafted sword fell into his left hand.

Cyrus stared at the tattered wizard's hat, then turned his gaze back to Voldemort.

"Now, let's see who is truly stronger."

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