Chapter 347: The Last Thunder Before the Storm Subsides
Chapter 347: The Last Thunder Before the Storm Subsides
Even though Sherlock was already exhausted, performing regular spells was now a struggle for him.
But he gritted his teeth and persisted, increasing the number of counter-curses against the Wrathfire Curse.
Another dozen wands were planted in the ground, and blue flames rose, quickly surpassing the roar of the red-flamed giant serpent!
The blue flames, dancing and shifting, gradually formed the shape of a large hand that clamped down on the serpent's head.
It was like fire meeting water.
The situation, which had been evenly matched before, was now completely reversed.
The serpent let out a silent scream and began to melt in the blue hand, finally vanishing completely!
Although the Inferno Curse was neutralized, Sherlock's situation had only marginally improved.
Voldemort gave him no time to rest.
Dark green spells rained down from the sky, and whenever Sherlock tried to transfigure objects to block them, countless invisible blades would immediately slice through the air.
Voldemort's mastery of Dark Magic was among the greatest in the history of magic. Whether it was the Killing Curse or Sectumsempra, the power he unleashed far exceeded that of any other wizard.
Sherlock was now at the end of his strength.
His raw power was already inferior to this Dark Lord, one of the most powerful wizards in history. Added to the significant amount of energy he had already expended, Sherlock could feel that he couldn't hold on much longer.
The black mist that had enveloped the battlefield had long since dissipated, and Voldemort, his opponent, was well aware that Sherlock was a dead man walking, with little time left to fight.
The Death Eaters scattered around the battlefield watched the one-sided battle with amusement.
Every time Sherlock narrowly dodged one of Voldemort's spells, they erupted in mocking laughter and jeers.
These thugs had turned the private duel into a celebration for Voldemort's first year back.
And as the backdrop for today's celebration, Sherlock was destined to be the first soul claimed by the re-emerged Dark Lord!
Even though Sherlock knew he would likely not survive the day, there was no trace of fear on his face.
His eyes grew increasingly fierce, while his expression became more serene.
Like a lone wolf cornered at the end of its path, he stared savagely at his enemy while calmly calculating how to take another bite out of the other side!
He watched the man floating in the sky, his face twisted with madness, laughing maniacally as he cast the Killing Curse, illuminating the entire night sky, the one known as the Dark Lord.
Sherlock's determined gaze, calm yet fierce, hardened with resolve.
He knew that no matter what, he could not kill Voldemort. The Horcruxes had not all been destroyed, and even if the reanimated Voldemort were to die, his second resurrection would only be easier.
With no one from the Ministry of Magic or Hogwarts arriving, Sherlock realized he had at most three more minutes before he would become a corpse under the Killing Curse.
Since death was inevitable, he would ensure that even in death, he would leave Voldemort with a lesson he would never forget!
Sherlock ground his molars, supporting himself on one knee as he struggled to stand up, his body utterly exhausted.
The remaining Wands, now fewer than a hundred, floated quietly beside him. He needed to wait for an opportunity, the right opportunity.
Just as Sherlock managed to stand up, countless iron chains suddenly rose from the ground around him, appearing out of nowhere!
The dark chains tightened abruptly, binding his hands and feet before he could react.
Even when Voldemort smiled, his blood-red eyes remained cold and sharp, as if the smile belonged to someone else, while the real him remained perpetually cold.
"I won't let you die so easily, Sherlock. If that were the case, this battle wouldn't have dragged on for so long."
His voice was playful, his tone slow and deliberate, like a victor announcing the final fate of the vanquished.
"I've been considering whether to erase your memories, fill them with hatred, malice, and despair, and drive you mad. Or perhaps I should let Nagini eat you bit by bit, allowing you to slowly experience death."
Despite his inability to resist, Sherlock's expression remained calm.
He knew Voldemort wasn't just a villain who talked too much. The ultimate goal of killing him was to purge the fragment of Selena's soul that clung to Voldemort's own.
The more painful Sherlock's death, the better, ideally with tears and desperate pleas.
Staring into Voldemort's eyes, Sherlock could tell that Voldemort was venting his emotions, still vigilant but much more relaxed.
"Perhaps you should consider that", Sherlock's voice was low, hoarse from lack of water, but clear enough for everyone to hear.
As he spoke, a dark figure suddenly materialized on his shoulder.
It was like a blob of black paint on a blank canvas, strikingly out of place yet oddly harmonious.
"But perhaps the time should be pushed back a bit?"
At the moment those words left his lips, the dark blob coalesced into a solid form!
Crow, with black feathers and blood-red eyes, perched on Sherlock's shoulder, locking gazes with Voldemort!
Infinite darkness filled his vision!
This darkness was utterly foreign, starkly different from anything he had ever encountered. In that darkness, countless eyes seemed to be secretly watching him, scrutinizing his every move!
In the real world, the moment Fidelius locked eyes with Voldemort, Voldemort's body seemed to lose its support, falling uncontrollably!
The chains binding Sherlock, formed by transfiguration, lost their magical power and returned to their original form, freeing him.
This sudden turn of events left all the Death Eaters stunned, but Sherlock didn't hesitate for a moment!
He knew that Fidelius could only work because Voldemort's soul was split into multiple fragments, inherently lacking resistance to such an effect.
But this advantage could only be achieved by surprise, and the window of opportunity was fleeting.
Without casting any Spell, Sherlock, who had already accepted his fate, resorted to the most primitive method!
He transformed the Wand in his hand into a long, sharp blade!
He raised it high.
Like the final bolt of lightning before a storm ends!
He thrust it down with force!
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
