Chapter 179: The Second Horcrux, Destroyed!
A blood-curdling scream sliced through the air like a blade scraping against the mind. In an instant, Remus Lupin was dazed, his thoughts momentarily shattered.
Then they saw it—a towering, humanoid shadow made of flame, erupting from the ruins with a roar. Its form twisted in agony as it screamed, its voice echoing with raw, desperate pain. It locked eyes on Wade and Remus Lupin.
“You… you dare…” it shrieked, voice trembling with fury, before lunging forward with terrifying speed.
Shocked into stillness, Remus snapped back to reality. With a sharp, forceful motion, he plunged his wand into the ground. Instantly, a massive, translucent barrier erupted before him—solid, shimmering, and impenetrable.
The flaming shadow slammed into it. Inferno flames exploded outward like shattered glass, spraying in all directions. Then, from above, a fiery bird descended—its wings blazing, its eyes fierce. It dove straight onto the shadow, tearing at it with claw and beak in a furious battle.
Roars and screams clashed in the air. The shadow lunged again and again, desperate to reach them, but each attempt was blocked by Remus’s barrier. The most dangerous moment came when the barrier trembled, cracking at the edges—on the verge of breaking. But then, the firebird surged in size, doubling, tripling in power. It slammed down from above, pinning the shadow beneath its massive form, its claws raking deep into the flame-essence, threatening to tear it apart.
Inferno flames scattered wildly—but with no combustible materials left, they quickly began to extinguish.
Then, in a sudden, heart-wrenching moment, the shadow let out a cry that seemed to come from the very depths of its soul. It writhed once, convulsed, and then vanished—utterly gone.
The firebird collapsed to the ground, trembling. It looked around, dazed, its head swiveling slowly in confusion.
Under Wade’s control, it gathered the remaining fragments of flame, drawing them back into itself. It settled onto the ruins of the Gaunt family home, burning until every last blade of grass was ash, every brick reduced to dust.
Remus lowered his wand, his face pale as paper, his fingers trembling. The crown from the cave—now this. Two times, a similar shadow had appeared, screaming in pain, reacting with intent… attacking those who sought to destroy it. This could not be coincidence.
A chilling thought took root in his mind.
He recalled the ancient magical texts he had studied—what kind of magic could produce such a phenomenon? A soul trapped in a vessel? A fragment of consciousness bound to an object? A Horcrux?
The firebird shrank, shrinking until it was no larger than a chicken’s egg. It looked up at Wade, opened its beak slightly, and let out a soft, silent chirp.
Wade stepped forward, crouched down, never once relaxing his control over the inferno flames.
His wand tip pulsed, releasing a thin veil of silver mist. The mist wrapped around the tiny bird like a cocoon. To everyone’s astonishment, the mist did not burn away—it seeped into the firebird’s form, slowly, gently.
Of course it didn’t burn. Pure thought has no physical form. It cannot be consumed by fire.
As the mist faded, the bird’s eyes grew sharper, more alive. No longer eager to incinerate, it lowered its head, calm and gentle.
Wade whispered incantations. Patterns of light—complex, intricate magical runes—flared across the bird’s body. They danced, overlapped, interwove in a flowing, spiraling script. The magic array deepened, etching itself into the very essence of the creature.
The dying inferno flames drew strength from the ambient magic in the air, stabilizing. As the form re-solidified, delicate feather patterns began to emerge on its surface.
Remus held his breath. He had never seen anything like this.
Even as a wizard, he felt awestruck. The process was so profound, so mysterious, that it stole his breath.
For a moment, he thought he heard a heartbeat. Or was it just an illusion?
Time passed. Wade finally lowered his wand.
The firebird hopped on the ash-strewn ground, then leapt into the air. It flapped its wings at dizzying speed, soared high, swooped down in a sharp dive, darted through the air like lightning, then landed lightly on a broken branch, dancing with delicate grace.
When it landed, Remus tensed—afraid it might ignite the surrounding trees. But the branches remained untouched, save for a few dark, scorched marks left behind as it took flight.
After circling once more, it returned to Wade, perched on his outstretched hand. It opened its beak, stretched its neck, strained for a moment—then, finally, it let out its first true call:
“Chirp!”
A small burst of flame leapt from its beak, landing on a pile of dry leaves. They burst into flame instantly.
The bird flinched, leaping back in surprise. After a moment, it stared at the fire, then opened its beak—and swallowed the flame whole. It hopped back to Wade’s hand, content.
Wade reached out—carefully.
“Careful!” Remus gasped, startled. “Stop!”
But it was too late. The bird had already landed on Wade’s palm. It controlled its flames with precision, but wisps of white steam still curled from beneath its feet.
Remus studied the scene. A thin layer of water clung to Wade’s hand—like a protective film. Though the boy was unharmed, Remus shook his head.
“That was reckless.”
“It’s fine,” Wade said. “There’s no risk. I created it with belief in protection and loyalty. It cannot harm me. It’s not just raw fire anymore—it’s a living being with thought.”
“You’d better keep it under control,” Remus warned. “If this little one flies off, it could cause a massive disaster.”
“Of course,” Wade replied. “It’ll stay with me. What do you think of the name Mihal? Sword of Flame… Light born from darkness.”
Remus looked at the small creature, tilting its head curiously at him. It gave a tiny nod, as if in agreement.
Remus smiled. “A good name.”
He had seen Wade’s magical creations before—had even visited Aslan Magical Workshop, helping to design and craft them. So he wasn’t surprised.
But he didn’t realize—Mihal was not like the others.
The difference wasn’t just in the form. It was in the very nature of life.
Ordinary biological alchemy gave thought to the dead—revived objects, animated constructs. Even Wade’s versions were more flexible, more capable of growth than wizard’s chess pieces. But they were still illusions. Magic AIs. Not truly alive.
Mihal was different.
When traditional biological alchemy failed to take hold on the inferno flame, Wade remembered something Professor Mor had once said—about true life alchemy.
Though the professor had warned it was forbidden, in his teaching, he had still passed on fragments of the knowledge.
Now, as Wade and Mihal locked eyes—golden meeting golden—he wondered:
Are you truly alive? Or are you just… pretending?
In his mind, true life alchemy should have been slow, painful, nearly impossible. Not something completed in mere minutes.
Wade stared intently. His eyes shimmered with golden runes—threads of magic woven into his irises. Though every spell had been his creation, the complexity of the patterns felt ancient, vast—like the work of nature itself.
It wasn’t just a creature he had made.
It felt like a miracle. A living spark born from fire and thought. A true life, emerging from the ashes.
(End of Chapter)
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