Chapter 113: The Phantom Body of the Moon
10 o'clock, in the real Smith Castle.
A handsome young man sat quietly in a bath infused with magical energy. House-elves and enchanted alchemical machines were busily grinding rare materials and pouring them into the bath under the direction of a radiant orb floating nearby.
Above the bath, a crescent moon gradually appeared in the illusionary sky. The soft silver moonlight shone down upon the naked young man.
Bathed in this sacred glow, Alexander Smith sat cross-legged in the steaming waters. His skin glistened like fine jade—but slowly, cracks began to form across his body.
The house-elves surrounding him remained calm, as did the manifestation of the Main God.
Invisible magical forces began to resonate with the moonlight, transforming into countless silver rays that erupted from the strange runes forming along the cracks in Alexander's body.
Then, his jade-like form dulled in color, like an ancient statue unearthed after millennia.
A quarter of an hour later, the "moon" on the ceiling dispersed into a ring of light and shadows, rushing back into the lifeless statue.
Boom!
A resounding crack echoed as if unseen shackles were broken. The Main God shimmered once, and in the next moment, the house-elves, the machines, and even the Main God vanished from the room.
What remained was a sacred, transcendent magical force—an energy that radiated from the body like a spiderweb. The false stars, the green grass, and even the mermaids in the enchanted murals reacted, as though alive. They turned their gazes toward one figure—the Creator, the holiest being of all.
Crack!
Unable to contain the overwhelming force, the stone statue shattered. The living gazes of the creatures scattered into motes of light, diffusing into the consciousness of all life. A spark of divinity planted itself within every heart, waiting to awaken.
Alexander's consciousness stirred. He realized with a jolt that his physical body had vanished—but the room around him had become a real, self-contained realm. And he was the realm.
The thing he had always considered his "soul" now possessed a real, tangible body—a vessel of flesh and blood, powerful and alive.
At this moment, Alexander existed simultaneously within this foreign realm and in the soul-forged body that now housed him. When he pinched his arm, he felt the true sensation of being alive.
Before he could explore it further, the realm around him twisted, collapsing inward. The foreign land condensed into a towering silver figure, clad in stars that flowed like robes. Mermaids now stood as the lords of their galaxies.
Yet even now, Alexander could feel the same boundary—that veil of control he usually wielded as the Main God.
A sudden, strange sensation surged through him. His body trembled violently, and his Palace of Thought collapsed into serene chaos. The soul-born realm began to squeeze into his very essence.
Space itself trembled—then collapsed into a single point.
That point became a radiant light and darted into Alexander's mind.
The realm vanished.
What remained was a cracked stone statue, turned to jade, turned to stardust, turned to a galaxy.
When Alexander opened his eyes again, nothing remained—not the point of light, not the statue, not the galaxy. It was as though the entire experience had been a fleeting dream.
And yet—he was no longer the same.
He felt fundamentally altered. He was now integrated with the world on a level beyond comprehension. Or perhaps, more accurately—the foreign realm was now part of him.
Whoosh!
A blinding burst of light exploded, too intense for mortal eyes. Two forms—his spiritual body and his soul-forged body—merged like opposite poles of a magnet.
In a flash, Alexander appeared in the sky above the present Smith Castle. The silver glow faded, replaced by a holy flame.
The flame transformed into a phoenix, which soared briefly through the heavens before sinking into Alexander's heart.
"So it's true—the birth of the Phantom of the Moon is the evolution of the phoenix incarnation. Returning to true form is no longer difficult," Alexander thought to himself.
The Phantom of the Moon was no mere clone. In some sense, it was the true Alexander Smith—just like Smith Castle itself, an extension of his will.
It was like the moon's reflection in water—eternally unreachable. No matter how many times the monkey tries, it cannot grasp the moon.
His physical form in this world was merely a projection, an expression of his soul. At any moment, he could vanish into the reflection—becoming intangible and immune.
From now on, to truly harm Alexander, one would have to strike his true essence in another dimension. But his body in this world could dissolve into nothingness at will.
He was now truly independent of this world. Even beings who reached the Seventh Realm would fail to detect his presence.
Moreover, the Phantom of the Moon was itself an independent realm—a Kingdom of God. The moon acted as its sun, illuminating all within it. Within this world, fledgling souls would grow, mature, die, and be reborn—continuing the cycle.
And Alexander would grow stronger with every cycle.
He was now, by the standards of the so-called "Second Generation" theorists, a demigod who possessed his own divine kingdom, complete with loyal subjects.
A ray of moonlight descended silently into the bedroom at Ravenclaw Tower. With that silver light, a figure quietly materialized.
Alexander Smith had returned to Hogwarts.
And no one noticed.
This new method of dimensional traversal had become instinctual. His current body could transform into light and reappear anywhere.
He had been preparing this magical ritual for nearly two years.
It had started back in Penelope's second year, when Alexander first encountered that eerie gaze and began contemplating the safest and most efficient transformation.
Among the Fourteen Code Words, each step referenced a ritual Alexander had once admired from his previous life—the Dio Ascension Ritual.
Of course, if someone like Dio ever appeared in this world, Alexander would be sure to send him to meet God before he ascended.
This ritual was too crucial to risk contamination. Even the code words had to avoid using any magical knowledge from this world.
Every ingredient and gesture had to be logically sound—but utterly incomprehensible to the people of this dimension.
Alexander had even sacrificed his only chance to use the legendary Soul Bottle, an invention by Wind Smith, retrieved from the alchemy hut in Smith Castle.
He had personally collected and selected the most powerful and wicked souls from all the dark wizards he'd defeated in Knockturn Alley. A total of thirty-six souls.
Each soul had been engraved with a customized Horcrux-adjacent incantation, then purified and forged by the fairy fire of Gubraithian Flame.
If not for that unknown gaze, Alexander would have collapsed from the sheer effort—juggling novel-writing, soul-hunting, heroic deeds, crafting magical tools, and building a full-scale replica of Smith Castle.
But now… it was finished.
Alexander slipped on his pajamas and climbed into the standard four-poster Hogwarts student bed, opening a book and casually reading.
After a short while, Ron, Harry, and the others returned to the dormitory. Ron, for once, left Harry alone and instead chatted with Neville about their plans to visit Diagon Alley the next day—ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, a stop at the Quality Quidditch Supplies, and buying snacks.
Alexander listened quietly, enjoying the warm, mundane conversation—the fireworks of everyday life—as he slowly drifted to sleep.
(End of Chapter)
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