https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-711-This-Is-How-It-Is-Magic-Puppet/13685940/
Chapter 712: Bullying with Power – Mihal
When the rough stone wall pressed against his back, Little Barty Crouch finally realized he had been dragged into the shadow.
Lucius Malfoy’s fingers slipped into his pocket, fumbled for a moment, then withdrew a yellowed parchment.
—The note with the Monastery’s address!
Was he…?
Little Barty Crouch’s eyes burned with fury, veins bulging as his gaze locked onto Lucius Malfoy. The hatred radiating from him was almost tangible.
Lucius Malfoy seemed to read the intent in his eyes, and suddenly let out a low, dry laugh—one edged with cynicism and amusement.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower. “But you forced me. Back then, who wasn’t drawn by Wealth and glory when pledging allegiance to the Dark Lord? What was the outcome?”
【I wasn’t one of them!】 Little Barty Crouch seethed inwardly, screaming in his mind: 【You traitor! A disgrace! Not everyone’s as weak as you!】
Lucius shook his head, his tone cold and mocking. “The Dark Lord has failed—again and again. I don’t know how you can still be so utterly loyal. Have you played the role so long, you’ve convinced yourself?”
If looks could kill, Lucius Malfoy would have died a thousand times over.
But reality didn’t work that way. So with a flick of his wand, he turned a shard of debris into a dagger. Still, his voice remained light, almost playful.
“We followers—after spending everything, after surviving the Inquisition, still get searched and humiliated by Weasleys. Sometimes we’re chased like dogs by Black, other times we’re casually executed by you—a waste of time and talent. Why should we endure this?”
“Open your eyes and see—I am Lucius Malfoy!”
“Don’t think I’m like those rabid dogs, slavishly clinging to some ‘Pureblood glory’ while crawling in filth and rotting in prison. My life… is worth a thousand times more than yours.”
“I will always choose the side of victory. That’s the smart way, isn’t it?”
“You’ve read twelve testimonial books, a recognized genius. How can you fail to grasp such a simple truth?”
There was genuine bewilderment in Lucius Malfoy’s tone. He knew people like this existed—but he couldn’t understand them. The blind loyalty of Little Barty Crouch to the merciless Voldemort… Sirius Black’s willingness to die for someone who had nothing to do with him… It all seemed absurd to him.
—Was it even worth it?
Lucius Malfoy wondered.
Inside Little Barty Crouch’s mind, a storm of vicious curses exploded. His rage multiplied with every syllable, his magic surging violently within his body—so much so that the numbness began to fade.
Hiss—
The dagger sliced across his neck. A strange, ancient sound echoed through the air. Warm blood erupted, spilling out in a gush—along with the boiling magic, the returning strength—like floodwaters breaking through a dam.
Little Barty Crouch’s lifeblood poured out uncontrollably. He could only stare, eyes wide and unseeing, as Lucius Malfoy casually tossed the dagger aside. It vanished into the shadows, instantly swallowed by a swarm of magical puppet ants.
Then the wizard shook out his cloak, the parchment clutched tightly in his hand, and dissolved into the darkness.
A gurgle—dry, rasping, alien—escaped Little Barty Crouch’s throat. He stared up at the sky, watching as a regiment of ant-like magical puppets marched toward him in perfect formation.
The stone wall blocked his view of the battlefield. All he could see were flames and smoke weaving through the air, their outlines blurred. For a fleeting moment, he saw him again—the man lying in a muddy hole.
The one who had raised him… then rejected him. Who had imprisoned him… yet protected him. Who, in the end, had been killed by his own hand—after the man tried to betray Dumbledore.
In an instant, that face was replaced by another—fuzzy, indistinct. The man he’d called Master, the one he’d regarded as a father.
But now, he realized he couldn’t even form a clear image of that face in his mind. He couldn’t recall the gentle, protective gaze that once made him willing to sacrifice everything. And he wasn’t even sure if that warmth had ever been real—or just a fantasy he’d created.
A strange, twisted smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
【What… was I, really?】
He laughed—quiet, hollow, tinged with both grim satisfaction and reluctant surrender—as he sank into eternal darkness.
…
The flame-formed serpent writhed through the swarm of magical puppets, igniting them instantly. The fire burned with terrifying intensity, as if nothing could withstand it. Hornets fell like rain. The shells of crabs melted and warped under the heat.
They didn’t scream. But the silence, broken only by the crackling flames, made their advance all the more horrifying.
Wade felt a deep stirring in his chest. A sudden, clear thought formed in his mind:
【I know how to stop this flame.】
The boy pushed aside the jellyfish-like tendrils wrapping around him, stepped forward, and swept his wand in a smooth arc.
Whoosh—
A thin, white beam—no, a needle-thin lance of fire—shot forth. It pierced the ever-expanding serpent of flame.
The creature faltered instantly. The red fire split open, revealing a gaping black hole at its core.
A voice, amused and faint, whispered in his ear:
“Wade… remember—to fight fire, you must use fire.”
“Small flames are consumed by stronger ones. Low-temperature flames submit to higher heat—or are devoured by their fuel. Most flames, even the Inferno, can’t survive that.”
In a blink, a golden light streaked from the cabinet—no, a golden-red bird!
Its wings were made of flowing flame, every feather dancing with light.
Screee—
The firebird let out a piercing cry, then swelled to dozens of times its original size. With a sudden snap of its beak, it swallowed Voldemort’s fire serpent whole.
Then, as if stuffed beyond capacity, it wobbled midair—before vanishing in a flash, disappearing into the cabinet.
Wade blinked. He reached out and poked the cloak hanging from his shoulder, still chirping commentary.
“Was that bird… one of my magical puppets?”
The cloak paused.
“It?” It sounded almost jealous. Then, in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, it whispered:
“That Home fellow? Not just any puppet. He’s Mihal, the boss. Always riding roughshod over the rest of us—doesn’t even respect the Master. Never says a word unless he wants to.”
Boom!
A fireball erupted from the cabinet, scorching the cloak into a yelping mess.
Wade couldn’t help but laugh.
All of this… was his creation? It felt surreal.
He stepped out of the church, then froze. His brow furrowed deeply.
The courtyard, piled high with fallen rocks, was locked in a stalemate.
(End of Chapter)
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