Hoffa gazed at the Nightmare God and slowly closed his eyes.
"Very well, let's end this completely."
He spoke calmly.
When he opened his eyes again, the Nightmare God had already vanished. He floated in the sky, not fully entering Durmstrang's domain. On the wheelchair, Sylby still held the intact scepter, facing the statue of Salazar Slytherin.
But this time, Hoffa did not move. He simply hovered in the sky, leisurely flapping his golden wings. He knew that going down was useless, so he might as well wait in the air.
On the ground, Sylby, seated in the wheelchair, glanced at Hoffa and gave him a flirtatious wink with Delphina's face. The scepter in his hand rested on the head of the Salazar Slytherin statue. Suddenly, the statue let out an anguished roar, filled with the torment of madness.
"You were right, Salazar. The supreme force in this world is power, and you are destined to possess it. Break the curse. Take me in. Possess me."
He caressed the agonized face of the Salazar Slytherin statue with his pitch-black iron hand, while the scepter pressed firmly against the statue's abdomen.
"Ah!!!"
The statue's screams grew even more intense.
As the wails echoed, the ground rumbled violently.
Hovering above, Hoffa watched as Durmstrang's land trembled fiercely, shaking like an earthquake of magnitude eight. From beneath the depths of Durmstrang, a three-headed serpent erupted from the ground with a thunderous roar. As massive boulders were sent flying, the monstrous serpent roared and swallowed Sylby—wheelchair and all—whole.
Then, it raised its three colossal heads high. The left and right heads opened their jaws wide, spewing torrents of green flames toward the sky.
Over the Black Sea, a Dark Ship Sailed Swiftly
Vladimir crouched at the edge of the deck, bringing a cup of water to a young girl's lips. By now, Miranda's transfiguration spell on her mouth had been lifted, but her arms and legs—especially her fingers—remained tightly bound. She leaned against the railing, her face ashen with despair, devoid of any vitality, staring blankly at the cup in Vladimir's hand.
Standing beside her, Oksivia, along with several Durmstrang wizards, watched the distant coastline where a thunderous explosion and violent tremors erupted.
A few Durmstrang wizards asked anxiously, "Can he really handle this? That's... the Half-Blood King."
"Trust Hoffa. This isn't the first time he's faced something like this. I believe he'll manage," Oksivia said, her expression solemn.
On the Ground, the Three-Headed Serpent Twisted and Roared
Two of its mouths continued to spew fire, while the central mouth chewed incessantly as if devouring something.
Suddenly, the serpent's massive body shuddered. It froze in place.
The flames in the sky gradually died down.
Hoffa flapped his wings and remained still, watching the serpent closely. Slowly, the beast's mouth was pried open from within. A tall, gray-haired man emerged from the serpent's maw, holding a scepter.
"You've waited long enough, brother."
His tone was polite as he addressed Hoffa.
But by now, Hoffa was completely immune to all of Sylby's expressions and words. No matter what he said, Hoffa didn't care. No matter what face he made, Hoffa remained indifferent.
The moment Sylby appeared, time froze.
Before he could finish his sentence, a golden-winged figure crashed into him, sending him flying. Sylby's body smashed through the enormous serpent's torso, shattered Durmstrang's towering walls, and was hurled all the way to a distant cliff.
With a deafening crash, Hoffa slammed Sylby's frozen skull against the cliffside, embedding it deep into the rock.
Then, he let go.
In an instant, his blade flashed hundreds of times.
Sylby's newly reborn body shattered into tens of thousands of fragments in the blink of an eye. Hoffa flapped his wings, retreating at high speed, landing about ten meters away from where Sylby had been.
Time resumed its flow.
Blood erupted from the shattered remains, and rocks tumbled from the cliff with a thunderous roar. But Hoffa still didn't move, nor did he leave. He simply stood there, holding his cross-shaped sword, waiting in silence.
A soft voice drifted through the air.
"You knew I wasn't dead… How did you sense it? Ah, it must be my mental field, right? Hahaha, that's it, Hoffa. You've truly grown. Looking at your presence now, you remind me of the snow-capped mountains of the East."
The ethereal voice echoed faintly in the air.
Hoffa stared expressionlessly at the countless tiny fragments on the ground. At that moment, they were slowly being drawn together by an unknown force.
"You know why Salazar Slytherin's curse works on me?"
A faint voice emerged from the merging bloodstains.
"Because that curse targets my soul—my mind. After all you've been through, you must understand by now that mental torment surpasses physical pain in many ways."
The writhing blood mass gradually took on human form. With a grotesquely mangled mouth, it spoke:
"Heh. Too bad, Hoffa. Your transfiguration magic may work on ordinary wizards, but against someone like me… you can't kill me. You're too one-sided. A student who specializes too much in one area is not a good student."
As he spoke, Sylby slowly crawled up from the ground. The wounds on his body healed at an alarming rate, restoring him to his freshly reborn state—except this time, he even had a magnificent robe.
Hoffa took a deep breath.
Time came to an abrupt halt.
Sylby's freshly regenerated head was instantly severed. Hoffa's six wings unfurled, transforming him into a massive thunderbird. Clutching the severed head, he shot off into the distance.
In the blink of an eye, he had traversed hundreds of kilometers, arriving at the desolate Siberian tundra in the Far East. Returning to human form, he tossed the head onto the snow.
Countless stone hands emerged from beneath the snow, clutching the severed head tightly.
Time resumed once more.
Lying in the snow, Sylby's head surveyed the boundless, frozen wasteland and let out a sigh.
"Brother, if I were you, I would have learned a bit of dark magic related to the mind beforehand… But now, it's already too late."
A headless corpse fell from the sky, landing on the snowy ground. It began groping around and eventually found its own severed head. Attempting to place it back onto its neck, it soon realized that its stone hands prevented it from doing so. Without hesitation, it simply placed both the head and the stone hands atop its neck.
Thus, the handsome man in luxurious robes transformed into a bizarre figure with a dense mass of stone hands in place of a head—almost comical in appearance. However, faced with this absurdity, Hoffa found no amusement.
Such madness was something he had only seen in illusions. But this was no illusion—this was magic, the purest form of magic.
As the keeper of the Forbidden Curse Library, Sylby possessed an endless array of forbidden spells. In contrast, Hoffa knew only Transfiguration and the power of time; he lacked the ability to break curses. Even if he did, against someone like Sylby, it would be meaningless—after all, it had only taken him a single move to kill Miranda.
"I have already broken Salazar Slytherin's curse. What other mental magic in this world could harm me? Physical means cannot destroy me, and spiritual attacks cannot hurt me." Sylby, his head now replaced by a mass of stone hands, spoke indifferently. "I'm sorry, Hoffa. You've tried your best, but I am invincible."
Hoffa had nothing more to say—everything that could be said had long been said. Resolutely, he raised his hand, preparing to activate the power of time once more.
"The world, aid me!!" Sylby suddenly roared.
Hoffa felt his fingers slip, as if he had suddenly lost his footing and stepped onto a slick, frictionless surface. It was an uncomfortable sensation, akin to falling into an oiled slide. The same effect applied to his control over time—though it was still in motion, it felt like the tightly interlocked gears of a machine had been worn down over the years, now slipping and refusing to engage properly.
Within that slippery space, Sylby—who had been frozen in time—began to move again. As he did, his body aged rapidly, transforming from a young man into an elderly figure with a graying beard.
From raising his fist to swinging it, from that fist turning into a massive dragon claw, and finally to it striking Hoffa's chest—everything happened in less than a second.
Boom!!
Hoffa was sent flying.
The now-aged man leaped high into the air, his throat swelling like a toad's, filled with a searing, red-hot glow.
Gah!!
Opening his mouth wide, he spewed forth a torrent of fire as thick and viscous as molten lava, aimed straight at Hoffa.
Hoffa, struck by the dragon-like fist, soared through the air for hundreds of meters before finally slowing down and landing on the snow-covered ground.
Was it snow?
It no longer seemed to be. The accumulated snow was melting rapidly. But why? Was it due to the flames spewed by the old man in the distance? If so, then what explained the fresh green grass sprouting from the ground?
The thought barely flickered through his mind before Hoffa leaped to dodge the magma-like flames.
Lifting his gaze, he locked eyes with the silver-haired old man in the distance. The old man was also clutching his arm, panting heavily. Sulfuric fumes and thick black smoke billowed from his mouth.
Around him, the snow melted at an alarming rate, revealing fresh grass that rapidly sprouted—only to wither, rot, and die within seconds. But the decay did not last long; the grass regrew instantly, repeating the cycle over and over in the blink of an eye.
Hoffa understood how Sylby was able to move within his slowed time flow.
Even now, he couldn't help but admire his opponent's combat instincts and sorcery talent.
On the other side, Sylby panted, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Do you see, little brother? I may not be able to control time, but my mental field can counteract its effects on me. Within my domain, time flows at a hundred times, a thousand times, even ten thousand times its normal speed. Even if you slow time down, I still have room to retaliate."
He then chuckled. "Terrifying, isn't it, Bach? That punch just cost me eighty years of my lifespan. If it weren't me, how many in this world could endure such a price? You should feel honored."
"Speaking... counts as time, too," Hoffa replied coolly.
Sylby sneered. "Are you sure it's my time that's being consumed? Seems like you still don't fully grasp the essence of POWER."
Suddenly, he spread his arms wide. Without uttering an incantation, Hoffa immediately felt an immense pressure closing in on him. It was far greater than the force of Apparition—akin to being crushed by hundreds of tons of ocean water.
Some form of unfathomable space magic, Hoffa surmised.
The surroundings rapidly darkened. Space twisted and flowed around them, streaks of light flashing past. Before he could react, Hoffa felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. He unfurled his wings, allowing himself to hover in midair.
The biting cold of Siberia was gone, replaced by the humid warmth of clouds. A gentle breeze brushed against his face.
Looking down from the sky, Hoffa saw clouds drifting below, with Sylby floating on the opposite side. Beneath the clouds, a city stretched out before them.
The city carried an ancient aura—pyramids stood along the Nile, sandy streets swirled with dust, and dense crowds bustled about, balancing baskets on their heads as they moved through the streets, oblivious to the two figures in the sky.
Seeing such a massive crowd, Hoffa's heart sank. He glanced at Sylby, who returned his gaze with a slight smile. The power of time stasis still clung to him, yet even in the act of smiling, he aged further, liver spots spreading across his wrinkled face.
Hoffa's eyes widened. Sword in hand, he shot toward Sylby.
"Forbidden Art—Life Deprivation!"
Sylby uttered the words indifferently.
From high above, the ground of Cairo suddenly revealed a massive, green, triangular eye. The eye was composed of countless ravenous, frenzied mouths. It was so vast and intricate that no one in the city below could perceive its full form—they could only see the gaping mouths opening and closing along the streets.
Drawn by curiosity, the densely packed crowds knelt down to examine the mysterious symbol. The green light emanating from the mouths grew increasingly intense, illuminating their bodies. Tiny specks of emerald light seeped from them, rising straight into the sky, converging upon Sylby.
Bathed in the glow, Sylby's aged body rapidly regained its vitality. The liver spots on his face vanished, his arms went from withered to muscular, and then from muscular to smooth and youthful. Even his hair regained its luster.
In exchange, countless unsuspecting Muggles across Cairo withered and perished in an instant—some aging decades in the blink of an eye, others collapsing into dried husks.
Hoffa watched this unfold, his expression unreadable.
Clang!!
His cross-shaped sword struck an invisible magical blade.
Beneath the transparent blade, a young boy slowly lifted his head—no more than twelve or thirteen years old.
"Well?" The newly rejuvenated Sylby, now a mere adolescent, spoke casually. "Now that someone else has paid the price, shall we have a proper fight?"
(End of Chapter)
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