10 years of work(chapter 162)
Chapter 162
But Grey was far from finished. With a furious hiss, the basilisk reared back, its eyes locking onto the hunter. Even through the chaos of the fight, the weight of that ancient gaze was palpable. The hunter felt it — the creeping paralysis, the crushing weight of fear — but he forced it down, his will stronger than the magic. Still, it slowed him just enough. The basilisk struck with lightning speed, and this time its fangs found flesh. The hunter's cry of pain echoed through the cavern as venom burned through his veins, but even as the serpent lifted him into the air, the hunter's grip on his weapons never wavered.
With a roar of defiance, the hunter's chain shot out, wrapping around the basilisk's throat. He pulled with all his strength, dragging the serpent's head downward even as the fangs remained buried in his side. The dagger flashed one final time, and this time it found its mark — the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath the serpent's eye. The basilisk howled in pain, releasing its grip as it thrashed violently. The hunter hit the ground hard, but he didn't stay down. Ignoring the burning agony in his side, he stood, his breathing ragged but his eyes blazing. "Is that all you've got?" he spat, his voice defiant despite the blood dripping from his wounds, just for gray to rip him apart limb from limb.
10 year later-
The wind howled viciously atop the mountain, tearing through the air with an almost living fury. Snow and debris swirled around like a tempest, carried by the violent magic distorting reality itself. The sky cracked with unnatural lightning, the very atmosphere splitting as waves of power radiated from the heart of the ritual. At the center of this storm stood Grey Snape — older, colder, and far more dangerous than ever before. His face bore the same grievous weight it had for a decade, the sharpness of his features only accentuated by the years of relentless pursuit and endless battles. And yet, the intensity of his presence had only grown. His eyes burned with purpose, his dark hair whipped by the wind, and the faintest smirk played at his lips even as spells rained down around him.
Surrounding him, the members of the Order of Merlin unleashed their fury. Spells of every kind crashed against the shimmering barrier Grey had constructed — curses, hexes, and raw beams of destructive magic. The mountain itself shuddered under the onslaught, stone crumbling and avalanches cascading down its slopes. But Grey didn't falter. His movements were methodical, his hands weaving intricate sigils in the air as he fed the radiant blue liquid into the growing ritual. The substance pulsed with unimaginable power, distorting space around it so violently that cracks in reality flickered into existence before sealing shut. Each pulse sent shockwaves through the mountain, and still, Grey continued. "I'm close," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of obsession and triumph.
The accusations against him had spread like wildfire — the so-called Heir of Slytherin, the Dark Lord who sacrificed his own wife and son for forbidden magic. Lies. But the world believed them. The Ministry branded him a traitor, a killer, and the Order of Merlin made it their mission to end him. Yet it was they who had taken everything from him — they who deserved his wrath. For ten years, he had hunted them, shattered their ranks, and brought their numbers to the brink of extinction. Now they were desperate. They had thrown everything they had at him. And it still wasn't enough.
The ritual reached its climax. The blue liquid drained faster now, drawn into the complex array of symbols and runes that hovered in the air. The ground beneath Grey's feet glowed, eldritch light rising in patterns that twisted and shifted with impossible geometry. The pressure in the air became suffocating, and even the Order's spells began to falter against the rising force. And then Grey laughed — a sound of pure madness and triumph that echoed across the mountain range. It was a laugh filled with years of rage and brilliance, of a man who had nothing left to lose and everything to gain.
"Once I'm out of this seclusion," Grey's voice boomed, carried by the magic now saturating the air, "I will wipe you all out — and that is a promise!" His words sent a ripple of fear through the gathered enemies, but their desperation only made them strike harder. The mountain split, fire and ice rained down, and the air cracked with the force of their assault. But it was too late. The ritual's final seal activated, and a brilliant burst of energy swallowed Grey whole. The world twisted, and time bent to his will.
When the light faded, the mountain was silent. The storm ceased, the spells vanished, and the members of the Order of Merlin stared in horror at the empty space where Grey Snape had stood. He was gone — isolated from their world, cast into a pocket of time that would last five hundred years. Five centuries alone. But for Grey, that was more than enough. Enough to hone his craft, strengthen his power, and perfect his revenge. And when the barrier finally broke… the world would know true fear.
-scene change-
The Citadel of Shadows — The Gloaming Veil. The Citadel of Shadows rose like a nightmare given form — jagged spires of obsidian and dark crystal twisting into the eternal twilight of the Gloaming Veil. The air hummed with ancient magic, thick and heavy, and the faint glow of soulflames burned atop towering buttresses, casting black-green firelight on the indestructible black stone walls. Dim purple and blue energy pulsed through the structure like a heartbeat, giving the whole fortress an eerie, living presence.
Within its walls, the Order of Merlin thrived — an empire of secrecy and power. Millions of members moved through its labyrinthine corridors and sprawling divisions. They came in all shapes, sizes, races, and species — elves with luminous eyes, humans wrapped in enchanted armor, djinn drifting like smoke, and beings of pure arcane energy. The air was filled with the constant bustle of their work: whispers of spies, the clash of weapons from training grounds, and the distant hum of spells being woven in hidden chambers.
In the Tower of Whispers, the nerve center of the Order's intelligence division, operatives pored over enchanted maps and crystal spheres, monitoring countless dimensions. The Crimson Sanctuary echoed with the roars of battle-mages perfecting destructive spells under the molten gaze of Viridian Gallowglass. The Silver Arena saw warriors and martial mages honing their bodies and magic into deadly precision under the silent supervision of Imari Oshima. In the shadowed depths of the Obsidian Vault, assassins trained in silence, their movements as fluid and deadly as the darkness itself. And the Gilded Court brimmed with manipulation and diplomacy, weaving influence into a tapestry of control across realms.
It was a day like any other — until the screaming started. The Tower of Whispers erupted into chaos. "Something's wrong!" a Shade of Insight shouted, her voice shaking as she stared into a scrying pool. The water twisted violently, blackening before shattering into shards of liquid glass. "The Veil… it's— it's splitting!" The alarms followed. Wards flared and failed. The enchanted crystal walls flickered with runes of warning. Mind-readers collapsed, clutching their heads as a wave of psychic terror washed over them. Scrying devices burst into flame, and illusion spells unraveled into static and gibbering whispers.
"Get the Oracle of Shadows!" But even the Oracle was already kneeling, eyes bleeding as he murmured visions of ruin. "It's coming. The end… the end…" Althea Argyros — Merlin's Brain, the living manifestation of knowledge — materialized at the heart of the panic. Silver hair floated around her translucent form, golden runes flickering beneath her skin like lightning. "Enough!" her voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the hysteria. "Report." A Seer of the Unseen stumbled forward. "The Gloaming Veil is fracturing. The barriers are falling—" "From what?!" "We… we don't know." And that was the first true sign of disaster.