The woman's voice remained gentle, but the coldness within it sent a chill down to Hephaestus's tailbone.
There was no longer a trace of emotion in those molten gold eyes, only a mockery as if seeing through everything and a coldness from being betrayed—
The man remained bound in place by an invisible force, his body gradually becoming stiff and unresponsive. A struggle caused a gurgling sound in his throat as Hephaestus tried to turn his eyeballs, looking towards Athena, his face desperately pulling together a bewildered and angry expression, as if questioning—"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Still acting?"
Athena tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling into the empty air, and the impatience in her tone cracked like a whip in the air, "Since the first sentence you said after your 'awakening', that clumsy attempt to distance yourself was already telling me you had chosen the other side—I gave you countless opportunities, even if you showed a hint of hesitation, for the sake of bloodline... or should I say, for the sake of our past affinity on Mount Olympus, I might have considered taking you with me."
Her magic wand still steadily pointed at Hephaestus, and the tip shimmered with an ominous light.
"But unfortunately, you didn't. You chose to continue your pathetic disguise, taking my tolerance as stupidity—truly... disappointing."
The bewilderment Hephaestus had forcefully maintained on his face finally could not be sustained any longer, peeling away like low-quality paint, replaced by a gloominess.
He curled his lips, letting out a hoarse laugh.
"Heh... sibling affection? Spare me your hypocritical rhetoric."
He finally managed to speak, his voice distorted by the rigidity of his body, "What a grand trust, eh? 'Oh, why would I leave any safeguards on the bodies I provided you?' Truly ironic, Pasla, have you even deceived yourself?"
Athena didn't answer, instead gently tapping her willow wand, the tip precisely touching Hephaestus's forehead.
There was no dazzling light, no violent explosion. Hephaestus only felt an overwhelming force he couldn't resist acting upon him, his puppetizing body felt like being struck by an invisible giant hammer, flying backward with force, crashing heavily back to where he had previously lain, with a dull thud.
He lay there, his body completely unable to move. Only his eyeballs could still turn with difficulty, proving he hadn't fully become a dead thing. But as the stiffness continued, this puppet would no longer be able to contain the man's soul. By then, he would likely truly die—
Yet at the moment, not realizing this fact, the man still stared fixedly at Athena, his gaze filled with unwillingness and anger.
However, the latter didn't even glance at him again. Athena slowly straightened up, looking around the stone chamber filled with shimmering blue runes, which flickered inconsistently as if breathing. Her gaze swept over those sparkling runes, the corners of her lips curling into a deeply mocking arc, "Surprised?"
She seemed to be speaking to nothingness.
In the next moment, the black robe she wore, temporarily transformed from stones, reverted and shattered into fragments, exposing her fair body to the air, which began to become illusory like ink dissolving into water, fading and dissipating in a blink—
Then, with a soft "thud", a rough, lifeless puppet fell from where she disappeared, landing on the cold ground. The glass eyes that once shone with eerie golden light now dimmed completely, turning into two lifeless marbles.
The stone chamber plunged into a dead silence, only the faint light of the runes and Filch's weak breathing on the crucifix could signify that time hadn't paused at that moment.
This silence didn't last long.
Suddenly, the air in the center of the stone chamber, like a fragile fabric, was pierced by a huge dragon claw covered in black scales reaching out from the void. Pale purple space fragments scattered like shards of glass, revealing the dark void concealed within.
In the next moment, the figures of William and Grindelwald stepped out one after the other.
William was still wearing that comfortable deep brown sweater, with a light-colored trench coat casually draped over it. Behind him, Grindelwald followed, his balding head due to his age capped by a pointed red hat, looking rather comical, yet the old man's eyes remained sharp—
Grindelwald's gaze swept swiftly across the entire stone chamber, noting Filch nailed to the crucifix, unconscious but restored to his original appearance, Hephaestus slumped in the corner, stiff as a literal puppet, and in the center of the stone chamber, the completely lifeless withered puppet.
Grindelwald's gaze lingered for a moment on Filch, ensuring he was unharmed although unconscious, before finally returning to William.
Seeing the latter's somewhat troubled expression, the old man curled his lips, his voice carrying a "as expected" calmness, "So, you finally messed up."
William's expression seemed somewhat knotted.
He raised his hand to rub his temples, "This indeed went beyond my plan…" he admitted softly, but then, that knot loosened like mist blown away by the wind, quickly replaced by a burning light. William's eyes lit up, his mouth uncontrollably curving upwards, "But… it's the first."
Grindelwald was about to ask what he planned to do about the aftermath when he heard those two words, and couldn't help being slightly taken aback, "What?"
William didn't immediately reply. He walked to the withered puppet, crouched down, and lightly touched the rough wood with his fingers, feeling the weak remaining aura within.
"The first one…"
William repeated, looking up at Grindelwald, with an excitement in his eyes that the latter couldn't understand, "Finally—playing too long with that Voldemort who only knows how to play house, it dulled my mind. But fortunately—I've always liked making two preparations."
He stood up, dusting off imaginary dirt from his hands, the smile on his face growing broader, "Only when the lair is big enough can you catch a fish large enough—"
"…I only hope this isn't your fantasy before an air raid."
…
"Crack crack crack—"
On Mount Olympus, at the ruins of Mitikas Peak, a broken maid puppet crawled out from beneath the ruins.
Golden hair flourished alongside the growth of flesh, her once flat body quickly filled out into a curvy shape, getting bright golden dots appearing in her pupils. Without any pause, her voice vanished amidst a crackling sound, as if a small beast in the rainforest evading its predator.
Yet, after her disappearance, several minutes passed, and the mountain wind blew over. Nothing unusual occurred at the site of the ruins.