My Name Is Blake Grindelwald!

It was time to leave.

That was the only thought pounding through the vampire's mind as he hastily reassembled his shattered body.

This is a tactical retreat, not an escape... he told himself, trying to preserve the last scrap of vampire pride.

He'd relied on his secret vampiric magic and immortality to outlast the wizard. Eventually, the boy should've collapsed from exhaustion.

But that didn't happen.

The wizard across from him—young, arrogant—seemed utterly unphased. Worse, he'd learned the vampire's own magic during their fight. And now, that fiery snake in his hands...

The vampire hadn't felt the threat of death in over a century. But he felt it now.

Blake was closing in, slowly, confidently.

The vampire's heartbeat—if it could be called that—echoed in panic. His invisibility magic didn't work on this boy. If he was going to escape, it had to be now. One shot. No mistakes.

As Blake toyed with the flame serpent in his hand, his voice drifted over casually.

"Well... I've just about recovered. Maybe I'll try that fire magic again."

The vampire glared, humiliated. This human was using him as a magical test subject?

Blake even turned to chat with Grindelwald, barely acknowledging him.

Enraged, the vampire gritted his teeth. But... this is the perfect chance.

With a sound like a tire popping, his body deflated. In an instant, his form dissolved into a cloud of blood-red mist, exploding in every direction.

Blake calmly raised the fire snake, which unraveled into a blazing flame shield. Mist collided with fire—burned, blackened, and vanished.

It looked like a suicide attack. But it wasn't.

This was the vampire's ultimate escape method.

As long as even one wisp of blood mist slipped through, he could regenerate with time.

And it almost worked.

Half his strength was gone, consumed in the flame shield. But he could feed, heal, and come back stronger.

Just as the last trail of blood mist drifted outward—

"Aha! So you were trying to run," Blake called out behind him. "Not bad."

The vampire ignored him. He couldn't be tracked in this form. No human could counter this.

Then... he felt a breeze.

A light, unsettling breeze.

And then a roaring wind.

The mist began to swirl backward.

He panicked. The air itself was turning on him.

"Tornado Clean Promax version!"

It was a simple charm, originally used for light cleaning.

But in Blake's hands, the harmless breeze turned into a ripping tornado. The blood mist was dragged back violently, unwillingly.

Screams echoed through the whirlwind.

Then—crack.

Half the vampire's body, barely reformed, dropped to the grass with a sickening thud, soaking the field in crimson.

Blake stared down at him with faint disappointment.

"Do all vampire spells have to be this bloody? Honestly…"

He stepped closer, wand ready. The vampire had proven too dangerous to play with.

Had Grindelwald faced him instead, things could've gone very differently.

Blake raised his wand. White mist gushed from the tip.

The vampire twitched, trying to flee.

The mist enveloped him.

His body began to freeze.

"Swish, swish, swish—"

In seconds, he was sealed in ice.

The final result: a coffin of frost standing on the grass, with a feral vampire trapped inside—his expression frozen in fear.

Grindelwald studied the coffin in silence. "I never knew vampires like this even existed…"

He had seen it all: the invisibility, the magic, the regenerative powers. But even he might not have been able to stop that escape.

Blake nodded, still admiring his handiwork. "Only in Muggle legends have I seen a vampire like him."

Grindelwald's gaze sharpened. "Why not kill him? You could."

"He's Winsty's father," Blake replied evenly. "I'll let her decide."

And truthfully, he had no intention of wasting such a valuable experiment. If Winsty chose to end her father, fine—he'd dissect him officially. If she let him go... well, Blake would recapture him later, quietly.

Blake wasn't a devil. Just... practical.

After all, squeezing every ounce of use from a murderous vampire wasn't exactly a moral crisis.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed nearby.

Blake turned as a group of elderly wizards approached the field. Moments later, others apparated in—men in their forties and fifties, all bearing the same expression: devotion.

They were here for their king.

Grindelwald opened his arms to them. "Gellert, what happened?" one elder asked, staring at the frozen vampire.

"Is this the one who attacked Nurmengard?"

More voices joined in, overlapping questions filling the air.

Grindelwald raised a hand. Silence followed instantly.

"Brothers, sisters… friends. Thank you for coming when Nurmengard was in danger. But…"

He suddenly yanked Blake forward.

"Because of him—Blake. Blake Grindelwald—your trip was unnecessary. He handled it himself."

A hush fell.

Then, murmurs.

Grindelwald? Did he just say his name was Grindelwald?

Their expressions changed instantly. That boy—was he Gellert's descendant?

If so, their movement had a future.

The danger was real. Vita had sent an emergency call. They'd rushed to protect their cause.

But it turned out the boy had stopped the crisis alone.

He wasn't just a successor by name—he had real power.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

Dumbledore might be strong, but time was ticking. One day, both Dumbledore and Grindelwald would be gone.

But Blake Grindelwald… he could carry the torch.

Their gazes sharpened, admiration turning to excitement.

They cheered.

Blake, however, felt his scalp go numb.

He was trapped now.

Stuck on Grindelwald's ship—with no lifeboat.

What would Dumbledore say?

He winced at the thought. Probably time to invest in some protective padding—for when the old man found out.

Grindelwald, meanwhile, looked delighted.

He hugged Blake tightly, ignoring his sour expression, and whispered in his ear.

"You see now? I still have many loyal friends. If I die…"

"You know how dangerous they'd become without restraint."

"You're the only one who could protect them."

Blake looked up, meeting Grindelwald's serious eyes.

"You… really don't have to guilt-trip me like this…"

"I'm old," Grindelwald replied simply. "If I were a Muggle, I'd be in a hospital bed. Anything can happen."

Tonight's battle had reminded him—his life was not untouchable.

There were still creatures out there who could kill him.

And if he died, who would keep these wizards from being hunted—or becoming hunters?

So he'd made a snap decision: Blake had to stand before them now. Let them know who their next leader was.

Blake sighed. What choice did he have?

He couldn't stay hidden forever.

Might as well rip off the bandage.

"I'll talk to Dumbledore," he muttered. "He won't want these people turning rogue either."

As Grindelwald stepped back, Blake took a breath and stepped forward.

"Ahem… Hello everyone. My name is Blake Green… Grindelwald."

A thunderous cheer erupted.

Grindelwald beamed.

He was thrilled.

Because today, Blake didn't call himself Blake Dumbledore.

He'd chosen Grindelwald.

And that, to Gellert, meant victory.

=============

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