Both versions of Charles held their wands tightly, meticulously analyzing the curse Voldemort had left behind.
It was vicious—complex and insidious.
At that moment, Charles felt like a bomb disposal expert, carefully cutting through the intricate web of magical "wires." But in truth, this was far more complicated than disarming any bomb. Breaking a curse was like playing a game of pick-up sticks: a tangled heap of thin, invisible rods that had to be separated one by one, without disturbing the others. His only tools—two wands.
It was work demanding both patience and precision. Fortunately, Charles lacked neither.Especially precision—with the Technician Ability bolstering him, his control was nearly flawless. Whether he could truly unravel Voldemort's curse, however, depended on the gap between his understanding of curses and the Dark Lord's.
The painstaking process dragged deep into the night. By the time the half-moon crept into the sky, Charles finally set his wand down.
"Should be fine now… but just in case."
He glanced at the clone he'd crafted—a perfect duplicate of himself, save for its faintly vacant expression. Without hesitation, the duplicate reached toward the Resurrection Stone and the ring resting on the table, clasping them in its palm.
"Success?"
Charles' eyes brightened—but before he could take the Resurrection Stone, a plume of black mist burst from the ring. The curse came alive, writhing like a serpent, coiling around the duplicate's arm before splintering into fine, web-like threads that burrowed into every pore of its body.
Crack—
The substitute's body instantly blackened under the corruption.Its arm turned pitch-black, then the darkness spread rapidly across its body, racing toward the heart—until the entire clone shattered and vanished.
The ring clattered onto the floor.
That meant the curse's potency exceeded at least a quarter of Charles' physical endurance. Without actively resisting with magic, it wouldn't kill him outright—but it would cause unbearable agony.
"As expected of a curse left by Voldemort… not so easily broken. Good thing I was careful."
Charles had to admit—the gap between himself and Voldemort in the field of curses was vast. He'd always preferred practical, offensive spells, and getting expelled too early had robbed him of the chance to freely explore Hogwarts' library.
With just what he'd learned from Defense Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't even scratching the surface.
Still, now that the curse had triggered once before him, every hidden thread of dark magic was laid bare.
He picked up his wand again and resumed his delicate work. After sacrificing three more clones, he finally succeeded in breaking the curse completely.
"Phew… If I hadn't packed some healing potions, I'd never have managed this in such a short time," Charles muttered to himself as he pried the Resurrection Stone free from the ring.
Although, calling it a "short time" was generous—after all three substitutes had perished, dawn had already broken, sunlight pouring through the windows.
"Transfigure."
He pointed his wand at a button on his sleeve. With a shimmer, it transformed into a fine silver chain that slithered through the Resurrection Stone, weaving itself into a simple, unadorned pendant.
Charles pocketed the pendant and swapped to the Destruction Wand.
Black flames burst from its tip, immediately engulfing the ring.
Hiss—
A dreadful shriek echoed from within, like a great serpent tearing at its own throat in pain.
"AAAHHH!"
Gradually, the beastly roar warped into a human voice—hoarse, wrathful, and unmistakable.
—Voldemort.
"Who is it?! Who dares destroy my Horcrux?!"
Billowing black smoke surged from the ring, coalescing in midair into a phantom head—bald, noseless, and serpentine.
"Stop at once, boy! How dare you challenge your—what is—!"
Voldemort's phantom lunged at him, intending to crush this fool who dared to desecrate his Horcrux. But before the words could finish leaving his spectral lips, searing agony ripped through his very essence.
No—this wasn't like pain. His soul itself was being burned!
Because the flames weren't mere fire—they were consuming his spirit.
Yet under Charles' careful control, the black-and-crimson fire halted its advance, surrounding Voldemort's smoky form instead, cutting off his escape.
The Dark Lord recoiled, his serpent-like pupils narrowing as he stared at the infernal flames in fear.
"What… what magic is this?"
For once, Voldemort was dumbfounded. In all his years as the Dark Lord, he had never witnessed such sorcery—black fire that could burn a soul itself.
So sinister, so utterly destructive, that even the Killing Curse paled in comparison.
He turned his gaze on Charles.
A young man. A stranger. Yet wielding power that could rival his own at his peak.
Compared to this newcomer, even he, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, suddenly felt… inadequate.
Clearly, Voldemort mistook Charles—wielding the Destruction Wand and cloaked in deathly aura—for another Dark wizard, perhaps even one more terrifying than himself. That aura was overwhelming, like a reaper risen from the depths of hell.
No—anyone who saw Charles now would believe Death itself had taken human form.
"Who are you?" Voldemort hissed, his voice trembling between awe and fear."I never imagined the wizarding world would produce another Dark sorcerer so powerful!"
Trapped for so long within his Horcrux, Voldemort had lost touch with the world beyond. He had no idea what had become of it. But if a wizard even more malevolent than himself had arisen—and was now targeting his Horcruxes—then his fate could only end one way.
At least, he consoled himself, I made enough Horcruxes. Surely not every one could be found.
Still, he had to protect this one—at any cost.
"There's no need for introductions," Charles sneered. "You've got so many Horcruxes; I'd rather not waste time introducing myself to each."
No mercy.No chance for words.
Exactly the kind of ruthless, evil wizard Voldemort would have despised—if he weren't so terrified.
The black flames advanced once more, closing in.
"Wait—! Stop!" Voldemort screamed, his voice twisting in anguish, pleading."Stop! I can give you power!"
At that, Charles raised an eyebrow, and the fire paused.
Voldemort gasped in relief. Nothing frightened him more than death. As long as this Horcrux wasn't his last, he had to survive.
"I can teach you everything I know of the Dark Arts," he coaxed, desperation seeping into every word."You're powerful—but not yet my equal at my peak! Don't you want to know how I surpassed my limits?"
He leaned forward, whispering hoarsely—his words trembling with both madness and pride.
"The answer is simple…"
"I stopped being human!"
(End of Chapter)