Chapter 517: An Unstable Alliance
He had originally thought it would end peacefully.
At worst, a battle—a struggle for dominance.
But now…
It had become a fight to the death.
The deaths of his closest confidants, the loss of elite Saints—there was no turning back.
This war would not end without blood. Without enough lives sacrificed, it was impossible to resolve.
Thoughts raced through Tom's mind.
He didn't hesitate.
His wand was in his right hand in an instant.
"Apparate!"
A flash of black light.
In a blink, Tom vanished—reappearing on the battlefield's edge, forming a triangular formation with Voldemort and Grindelwald.
"Grindelwald, I didn't kill your people." Tom attempted to explain.
But—
"Enough with the pointless words, Tom."
Voldemort's voice was laced with mockery as he glanced at him before shifting his gaze back to Grindelwald.
His tone turned cold.
"Gellert Grindelwald, we have fallen into someone else's trap."
"We have a common enemy and should be natural allies."
"But instead, we are standing against each other."
"This is a conspiracy, and someone is manipulating us from the shadows."
Grindelwald showed no immediate reaction to Voldemort's words.
His right eye glowed with a bright silver-white light, as if attempting to pierce through the fog of fate—seeking the true mastermind behind it all.
But—
"What do you see, Grindelwald?"
Voldemort's voice held an eerie certainty, as if he knew exactly what Grindelwald was doing.
"Or rather— can you see anything at all?"
Grindelwald did not answer.
Voldemort smirked darkly and continued, his voice turning venomous.
"It's only natural."
"Dumbledore was lured to America. The British wizarding world has fallen under his control."
"Now, this incident escalates our conflict further—consuming your focus and energy."
"As the key figure in this conspiracy, you—Grindelwald—who are so skilled in spying on fate, have been blinded."
"Just like me."
At this, Voldemort turned toward Tom, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.
"Isn't that right, my 'other self'?"
"They created you… to restrain me."
"A puppet."
Tom's face darkened with anger.
Nothing irritated him more than the word puppet.
Because—
In a way, he was exactly that. Lockhart's puppet.
But rather than fury, Tom felt something else—a sense of unease.
Voldemort… had seen through it all.
Despite being twisted by dark magic, his instinct for danger remained unmatched.
His intuition was razor-sharp.
"Gilderoy Lockhart?"
Grindelwald immediately caught onto the key name.
Voldemort's pale face twisted into a cruel smile.
"Yes. It's him. He's orchestrating everything."
"I've felt something was wrong for a while."
"I was thriving in Britain—until I was forced into Europe."
Voldemort sneered.
"In fact, Britain is cleaner now than ever before."
"After all—"
"I took away all the pure-blood families and the dark wizards."
His gaze locked onto Tom.
"Isn't that right, Tom?"
A cruel smirk curled his lips.
Only three people could hear this conversation clearly.
To the Death Eaters and Saints watching, they saw only moving lips—no sound.
A conversation hidden from the world.
"What do you propose?" Grindelwald asked, suppressing the rage burning inside him.
Voldemort's smile widened.
"It's simple."
"We join forces and kill the mastermind."
"Lockhart is just one man— he cannot stand against the two of us."
"After that, we settle our own grievances."
"Unless, of course, you'd rather we destroy each other, and let a pathetic rat like Lockhart claim victory?"
Tom stood silently, his expression unreadable.
To his own surprise—he was tempted.
But then—
A flash of memory.
A night of resurrection.
A skeletal figure wreathed in flames.
Dark red Hellfire, beating like a heart in the depths of his soul.
A suffocating fear—a sense of an unstoppable force.
Something primal inside him warned him against this alliance.
And that hesitation made him reconsider.
"Grindelwald, will you join me?" Voldemort extended his invitation once more.
Grindelwald did not respond.
He was still attempting to trace the truth—searching for hidden hands behind the curtain.
But it was no use.
Like a thick fog, everything was shrouded, blurred, concealed.
Most notably—he could find no trace of Lockhart.
His heart sank.
Voldemort might be telling the truth.
Seeing that Grindelwald had yet to give an answer, Voldemort showed no signs of impatience.
He knew this enemy was different.
Unlike Dumbledore, Grindelwald had fewer moral restraints.
He was a Dark Lord himself.
And his power might surpass them all.
"Grindelwald, whether you agree or not—"
Voldemort slowly raised his wand, pointing it directly at Tom.
"He—Lockhart's resurrected puppet—must die today."
"Otherwise, once Lockhart realizes what we know, he'll take precautions."
"And then, attacking him will become impossible."
Yes.
If he could devour this puppet Tom—his power would surge.
With that power, he would have the advantage—against both Grindelwald and Lockhart.
The moment the words fell—
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort's wand slashed through the air.
A bolt of sickly green light erupted, heading straight for Tom.
In that instant, Voldemort deliberately exposed his back to Grindelwald—completely undefended.
It was a calculated risk.
A sign of trust.
And Grindelwald… did not attack.
A cold smile crept onto Voldemort's lips.
He knew Grindelwald had been swayed.
He had laid out the danger.
If Grindelwald attacked him now—he would only be playing into Lockhart's hands.
Without Voldemort, Grindelwald would be left to face Dumbledore and Lockhart alone.
And he would fall.
As for Rozier's death—
To Voldemort, she was nothing more than a valuable sacrifice.
Now, Grindelwald had an exit.
By siding with Voldemort to eliminate Tom Riddle, everything could be reset.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
There was no finesse—only raw destruction.
Dark green Death Curses crisscrossed the battlefield, colliding with explosive force.
Tom and Voldemort moved with lightning speed, dodging and counterattacking.
Black flashes flickered across the field.
Apparition spells burst as both repositioned rapidly.
The ground shattered beneath them.
Stone debris flew like bullets.
The battlefield reeked of death and decay.
Even a single touch of the cursed ground would mean certain death.
The figures of the two combatants blurred—mere shadows weaving between streams of killing curses.
The watching Death Eaters and Saints silently stepped back.
None of them wanted to be caught in the crossfire.
Grindelwald stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching the duel with cold, calculating eyes. His expression was unreadable—deep in thought, yet hesitating.
At that moment, Tom lashed out with his wand, unleashing another spell. But despite his outward aggression, an unease settled deep in his chest.
It wasn't Voldemort that concerned him.
It was Grindelwald.
He wasn't sure when the old Dark Lord would choose to strike.
If it were only Voldemort, Tom could handle it.
But two opponents of this level—one of whom knew him intimately—meant his survival was far from certain.
His attention split, his mind torn between fighting Voldemort and watching Grindelwald.
Slowly, he began losing ground.
Voldemort noticed instantly.
And he thrived on it.
No matter what Grindelwald did, Voldemort only needed to stand his ground.
If Grindelwald didn't interfere, Voldemort would consume Tom's essence and become even stronger.
If Grindelwald chose to attack him instead—then all bets were off.
This battle was an all-in gamble.
He had already staked his life on this confrontation.
And he had no fear of risk.
The greater the storm, the greater the prize.
Whooosh! Whooosh!
The wind howled violently, and without warning, snowflakes began drifting from the sky.
But in front of Durmstrang's towering stone walls, those soft, fluttering flakes were soon tainted—streaked with the eerie, dark-green glow of countless Killing Curses.
Snow, dyed in death, swirled through the air like silent ghosts.
The gathered Death Eaters and Saints instinctively stepped back, avoiding the cursed snowflakes.
There was no other magic in this duel.
Only death.
If a single curse touched them—it would be the end.
In less than ten minutes, Voldemort and Tom had exchanged the Killing Curse more times than anyone could count.
A near-endless downpour of pure death.
Like a storm of fatal green rain.
But as his mind drifted, Tom felt the battle slipping further out of his control.
Voldemort, on the other hand, fought with increasing ferocity, throwing out deadly spells without care for his own magical reserves.
And then—
Whooosh!
The icy wind howled.
But this time, a burning sensation followed.
A searing heat, unnatural—soul-consuming.
Tom's pupils contracted sharply.
In his vision, a blue firebird had joined the battlefield.
A phoenix of blue flame dove straight toward him.
Grindelwald had made his move.
And he had chosen his target.
A two-on-one battle had begun.
Buzz!
"The Black Mist!"
Realizing the immediate danger, Tom didn't retaliate with another Killing Curse.
Instead, he invoked his specialty—the Black Mist Curse.
Whooosh! Whooosh!
The cold wind carried his form away, dissolving him into a mass of dark mist.
He couldn't afford a long-range Apparition—not with two enemies of this caliber.
A longer spell would leave too large a window for attack.
Instead, he used the Black Mist Curse to shroud himself—a cover to escape the battlefield.
Voldemort, initially elated at Grindelwald's involvement, sneered when he saw Tom attempt to flee.
Without hesitation, his body also dissolved into black mist.
He gave chase.
Who was afraid of who?
They were both Voldemort, after all.
And only one could be the true Dark Lord.
Watching the two masses of black fog twist and churn through the sky, Grindelwald did not move.
But the blue phoenix he had summoned flapped its blazing wings—and followed.
One of the two Voldemorts would die tonight.
Even if the worst-case scenario played out and they both perished, it would still be to his advantage.
As for Lockhart—the supposed mastermind behind it all…
The more Grindelwald thought about it, the more he believed it might be true.
But he lacked sufficient proof.
And for a strategist like him, acting on pure assumption was unacceptable.
Until he could verify it beyond doubt—he would not commit to that belief.
Whooosh! Whooosh!
High above, two black fogs intertwined—growing larger, rolling through the air like gathering storm clouds.
The sky darkened further.
A clash of shadows and death.
And then—
Fwoooosh!
The blue fire plunged into the heart of the black mist.
A surge of searing heat.
The massive cloud of darkness shrieked in agony—splitting apart.
figures plummeted from the sky, crashing into the snow.
Tom.
Voldemort.
And Grindelwald.
Once again, they formed a triangle of confrontation.
Grindelwald's face remained impassive, but blue flames surged at his feet.
With a single flick of his wrist, the fire spread outward—a blazing blue ring that sealed the battlefield.
The Death Eaters and Saints watching were instantly cut off.
It was just the three of them now.
Tom and Voldemort looked equally disheveled—their robes scorched, their expressions wary.
But while Tom's face was clouded with worry, Voldemort… smiled.
Grindelwald had fully entered the battle.
And that meant today's fight was locked in.
Victory was assured.
Tom, however, knew the truth.
Voldemort was his own alternate self.
They knew each other's spells.
Each other's thoughts.
Each other's weaknesses.
Voldemort could predict his movements—his defenses—his every plan.
And now, with Grindelwald siding against him…
The stench of death was thick in the air.
Tom hesitated.
He could still turn the tables.
But the cost… would be devastating.
Roar!
The blue phoenix suddenly twisted into the shape of a tiger.
It let out a deafening roar, its flaming fangs gleaming as it pounced at him.
At the same time—
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
A storm of Killing Curses shot toward Tom like a hail of arrows.
Voldemort and Grindelwald—fully united against him.
This was it.
Life or death.
Tom's eyes flashed ruthlessly.
His mind touched something deep within his soul.
A secret weapon—something beyond magic.
And then—
Whoooosh! Whoooosh! Whoooosh!
Dark red Hellfire suddenly exploded from his body, consuming him entirely.
His entire form transformed.
In the heart of the battlefield—
A flaming skeleton wreathed in Hellfire emerged.
A creature of pure destruction.
And as the blue tiger and the storm of Killing Curses collided into him—
BOOOOM!
The battlefield erupted.
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