Chapter 711: This Is How It Is, Magic Puppet
The scream of pain came from the scarred man—the very one Wade had sent flying with a single wave of his hand. He’d crashed into a pillar, ribs cracked, but now he was being forcibly dragged back by an unseen force, forced to become Wade’s living shield.
The cloak whipped around, flicking the man’s leg aside like a discarded rag. It then danced around Wade like a lively human, arms waving animatedly as it cried out:
"Yes, yes! This is how we are—Magic Puppets! Master, Master! Don’t you remember me? I’m your most beloved little cloak!"
"Rubbish," snapped another cabinet, bouncing wildly on the floor, nearly flipping itself over. It sang in a bright, melodious voice:
"I’m the treasure chest made of serpent skin, Master always hides his secrets inside me—ding-dong, bang-bang! I’m far more appreciated than that clumsy cloak!"
The cloak flared up indignantly, its sleeves lifting like arms crossing in defiance.
"You stink, you smelly sack of serpent hide! You’re the one who’s farthest from Master!"
It pressed itself close to Wade, clinging to him as if hugging him.
"Ha! Closer than you?" The cabinet bounced once more with a loud thump, knocking the cloak aside, then dragged out its voice in a mocking drawl:
"Because you’re too pitiful—perfect for disguises! But usefulness? Who else compares to me?"
Voldemort and the Death Eaters stood frozen, not out of tolerance, but because the moment the cabinet burst open, a flood of Magic Puppets poured forth—like a torrential wave.
A giant jellyfish drifted through the air, its long tentacles swaying like slow-moving serpents. The towering church ceiling seemed too cramped for it; its tendrils wrapped protectively around Wade, shielding the small boy from every direction. But these weren’t fragile appendages. Embedded along their length were countless sharp, glittering blades, pulsing rhythmically—capable of slicing through flesh with ease.
A half-meter-tall crab clacked its pincers, impatient with the clutter of chairs. With a single flick, it sheared through iron benches as if they were paper.
A swarm of hornets, black and gold in pattern, formed a storm-like vortex around Wade and Harry. Even Voldemort couldn’t break through—no path was left open for a clean strike.
And beneath their feet—the ground itself was alive. A dense, endless swarm of ant-shaped Magic Puppets, dark as smoke, flowed forward. Where they passed, even the bricks vanished without a single crack. The Death Eaters recoiled in horror, retreating step by step.
But this was only the beginning. From deep within the cabinet came a distant tiger’s roar—though it was unclear why the beast hadn’t emerged yet. Then, with a sudden leap, a praying mantis burst out from behind the crabs, emerging directly from the shadows.
Unlike the wild, random mantis from the Forbidden Forest, this one was a marvel of precision—its body a translucent emerald, its exoskeleton shimmering with a soft, rippling light. Its scythe-like forelimbs were lined with jagged teeth, blades so thin and sharp they could slice through bone.
This was no simple fire spell or explosion that could destroy it.
Voldemort and the Death Eaters unleashed their spells in fury—black cloaks flaring like giant bats.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Disintegration Spell!"
"Thunder Explosion!"
"Whirlwind Sweep!"
Colorful magic streams flew toward the most dangerous puppets. But the hornet swarm suddenly accelerated, meeting the spells head-on.
Red and green lights collided with the hive—exploding in violent bursts. Hornet fragments scattered like shrapnel, some impaling the jellyfish’s tentacles. Yet for a creature towering several meters high, the damage was negligible.
The Magic Puppets pressed forward, not fast, but with crushing inevitability. Their advance was a wall of silent, relentless pressure.
"Bzzzzzzzzz..."
The hornets surged forward like warriors charging into battle, their metallic wings vibrating at a frequency that pierced the eardrums—producing a roar that felt like a physical blow.
They surged like a hurricane, like a sandstorm, sweeping toward the Death Eaters.
"Steel armor—!"
One Death Eater fumbled his incantation, still mid-sentence, when a hornet shot straight into his mouth. Moments later, more puppets swarmed over him—overwhelming him completely.
The man never even managed a scream. Only a wand, severed and rolling across the floor, betrayed his fate.
"Retreat!" Voldemort roared, forcefully slashing his wand. Instantly, a silver wall materialized in midair. The Magic Puppets slammed into it—dazed, disoriented.
With another wave, Voldemort summoned a fiery serpent that lunged straight at the puppet horde.
In that moment, the remaining Death Eaters scrambled for the exit, fleeing the church and stumbling into the courtyard—now a sea of ruins, their forms frantic and disheveled.
One tall Death Eater, without hesitation, hauled up the weak, exhausted Little Barty Crouch and dragged him forward at breakneck speed.
Little Barty Crouch blinked, dazed. Then he snapped awake, struggling fiercely.
"Let go! I must tell the Master—this man is—!"
He recognized him.
That cloak…
It was the very one that had pierced his thigh, nearly choking him to death.
Wade Gray wasn’t just some boy. He was the killer—the one who had wiped out the infant form of the Master!
And worse—he might be the same man seen in the forbidden forest video, standing beside Gellert Grindelwald!
So recruiting him from the start had been a catastrophic mistake.
Wade Gray wasn’t Dumbledore’s favorite. He was the heir of Gellert Grindelwald—the true leader of the Wizard Purity Party.
But his words were cut short.
His entire body froze, paralyzed. Only his eyes could move.
The man dragging him gripped his collar tightly, dragging him stumbling behind a stone pillar.
Midway through the retreat, the figure leaned close—then, with a silent spell, ambushed Little Barty Crouch.
A cruel, triumphant whisper reached his ear:
"Thank you for your kindness back then, Crouch… Do you like my little gift?"
Little Barty Crouch’s pupils widened in shock.
He saw beneath the mask—narrow, pale-gray eyes.
—Lucius Malfoy?
Memories surged like a venomous serpent, biting deep into his heart. He remembered the moment he’d turned Lucius Malfoy into a toad—how he’d almost killed him.
And now, he realized—he should have finished the job.
Even worse, he’d punished Lucius in secret, then forgotten to report it to Voldemort.
So when the Death Eaters regrouped, the Dark Lord believed Lucius was just another fickle subordinate—unaware of his burning hatred.
Had Voldemort known… even under a mask, he would’ve recognized him. He would’ve been wary. He would’ve never given him a chance.
Little Barty Crouch’s blood turned to ice.
What a fool he’d been.
What arrogance.
What a death he so richly deserved.
(End of Chapter)
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