Chapter 315: Boundaries

Death's Secret Realm—Helheim.

In the icy blue sky, snowflakes fell continuously, disappearing into nothingness before they touched the ground. From the depths of the abyss, mist rose like a ghostly tide, spreading silently across the lower layers of the world, accompanied by an eerie, soft jingling sound.

Between the snow and mist, a blood-red, tentacled eye hovered above a bridge. In front of it, Hoffa, who had just landed, found himself surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of figures.

Each of them wore a bizarre birdcage over their heads and donned black robes. They stood like obsidian statues, still and ominous. Their gazes were filled with curiosity, caution, and probing intent—yet utterly devoid of friendliness.

It was as if he'd fallen into a den of thieves.

The scene before him sent a chill down his spine. Hoffa quickly pieced together the truth of the situation. No wonder Grindelwald had vanished without a trace, and his subordinates seemed to appear and disappear at will. It turned out they weren't in the real world at all but were hiding in Death's Secret Realm. Judging by their formation, they were clearly preparing for something major.

Seconds stretched into minutes as the two sides stood locked in a silent standoff. Hoffa's Adam's apple bobbed as cold sweat trickled down his forehead. In this place—devoid of shadows and without the moon of the God of Night—he had no chance against so many opponents.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Hoffa cautiously stepped back. Instantly, every eye followed his movement, their eerie silence amplifying the tension.

Thud.

His back collided with something solid.

Turning around, he realized he'd bumped into the chest of a towering man over two meters tall.

"Where are you going, Bach?"

The giant looked down at him, his gaze behind the iron cage cold and lifeless. "Stay here."

"How did you all survive since World War II?" Hoffa's heart raced, but his expression remained composed.

"We're just like you—trapped in a cage," another black-robed figure answered.

As he spoke, about ten more robed figures silently closed in, forming a tight circle around Hoffa.

"Then what are you gathering here for?" Hoffa asked.

"To find a way to break out," one of them replied, pointing to the cage on his head. "Care to join us?"

Smack!

Without hesitation, Hoffa spun around, shoving the towering man aside and bolting toward the blood-red eye. Escape was his only option—to return to the real world before things escalated further.

But his sudden movement ignited the crowd. Like a triggered chain reaction, the black-robed figures, previously as still as statues, sprang to life. They surged toward him like a horde of zombies, encircling him in the blink of an eye.

Realizing escape was futile, Hoffa brandished his arm. A lightning whip materialized in his hand, crackling with electric light. With a sweep, dozens of black-robed figures were blasted away by the electric current.

The remaining figures immediately retreated, maintaining a cautious distance.

Though his attack succeeded, Hoffa felt no relief. While he retained his humanoid form, he was nothing more than a spiritual entity here. His physical body remained in the real world, and unlike his last visit, he had no magic wand to summon or transform into weapons.

Before long, his strength began to wane.

The black-robed figures he had struck down slowly rose from the ground. Their numbers were overwhelming, making his efforts seem insignificant.

Suddenly, Hoffa felt a tight grip around his waist. Someone had grabbed him from behind. He lashed out, knocking the assailant away, only for another figure to loop a chain around his neck, pulling it taut.

The figure whispered into his ear, "Perhaps Mr. Bach enjoys this prison and doesn't want to leave."

"Ugh—"

Choking, Hoffa shut his eyes. The whispering figure convulsed as he was electrocuted into a charred corpse.

When Hoffa reopened his eyes, he saw the dark mass of figures surging forward like a relentless tide. In the thickening mist, they pressed him against the icy bridge.

Lightning flickered continuously, but it wasn't enough. The robed figures showed no fear of death. They advanced one after another, swarming over Hoffa like ants devouring a locust, their movements precise and synchronized like a well-oiled machine.

As they pinned him down, a cold iron cage was forced over his head. The moment the cage locked in place, Hoffa once again felt the oppressive power of the Void Dragon. In this abyss, the immense spiritual force seemed capable of devouring all souls.

His spirit weakened, and the lightning faded.

The frigid wind of Helheim grew bone-piercingly cold, threatening to obliterate his very essence.

"A puppet curse... Who's controlling you? Is it Grindelwald?"

Pinned under the weight of countless figures, Hoffa's very soul seemed to crack from the cold.

"You'll find out soon enough," one of the figures replied.

As he spoke, Hoffa noticed several robed figures approaching the blood-red eye—the portal through which he had arrived. They pulled out chains and fastened them tightly to the floating eye, pulling from both sides.

The portal, now distorted and bloodshot, let out a heart-wrenching wail.

"Let go!"

Hoffa's eyes burned with fury as he struggled to rise. But more figures piled onto him, pinning him further down. Those with chains moved forward relentlessly, tethering the portal more securely.

Finally, with a sickening splatter, the portal burst under the strain, spraying blood-like fluid onto the bridge. The liquid crystallized like shattered glass and slowly faded into nothingness.

The icy winds of Helheim howled as Hoffa stared in shock.

Just a minute ago, he'd arranged with Miller to return at a set time. Yet now, barely a moment after his arrival, the portal back to the real world was destroyed.

He was stranded in the underworld.

No way out.

Wasn't this the same as being dead?

His mind reeled in disbelief.

Countless figures in black dragged him up, their hands shoving and pulling him in every direction. He moved silently through the thick fog, like a leaf clamped in the jaws of ants.

Not long after, he saw a raised platform on the bridge. Atop it was a blood-red eye—far larger than the one he had ever crafted—serving as a portal. Beneath the portal stood a man with white hair, his hands clasped behind his back.

Recognizing Grindelwald, Hoffa's already sinking heart plummeted to its depths.

In the realm of death, there were no shadows and no ghostly steps to tread. Worse, Hoffa had lost his physical body and could no longer feel the power of the God of the Night. All he had left was his transfiguration magic and the power of the Thunderbird—neither of which stood a chance against Grindelwald.

Glancing at him briefly, Grindelwald withdrew his gaze and said, "Wait a moment. Let me finish collecting the souls of this city."

His tone was calm, as though he were merely excusing himself to use the restroom at a party, showing no surprise at Hoffa's presence.

The men in black held Hoffa still.

Following Grindelwald's gaze, Hoffa looked through the pupil of the blood-red portal and saw an unknown, crowded city. A bustling stock exchange, filled with countless people staring intently at the screens displaying numbers.

Suddenly, a dazzling green light erupted within the throng. Several black-clad figures self-destructed in the crowd, simultaneously opening the gates of Helheim.

The stock traders, struck by the cold winds from Helheim, quickly lost focus in their eyes. Transparent orbs of light, numbering in the thousands, drifted through the portal and into the underworld. Upon reaching Helheim, they transformed into human figures—young and old, men and women.

The figures floated amidst the chilling wind, bewildered and lost, entirely unaware of what had happened.

When they saw the massive eagle looming in the distance, terror seized them instinctively. Covering their faces, they let out cries of fear—primal and embedded in their very bones.

Grindelwald blew gently, and the helpless spirits scattered like dandelion seeds, disappearing into the dense fog with wails of despair.

"What are you doing?" Hoffa couldn't help but shout.

"Waking the world," Grindelwald replied.

After completing his task, Grindelwald turned from the platform and said, "The Half-Blood King has kept the world in a dream for far too long. It's time to wake it up."

"Waking the world…" Hoffa groaned, staring at the spirits drifting in the air. "How many people have you killed?"

"Three hundred thousand, perhaps," Grindelwald said, counting on his fingers. "About twenty countries, over three hundred thousand souls—not much. But don't worry. Once I fully connect the Death God's domain with the real world, I'll drag every soul on Earth into Helheim and offer them a new life in another dimension."

"You're insane," Hoffa said, staring at him in disbelief. "Who told you this is a dream, Grindelwald? What nonsense is in your head?"

Grindelwald waved his hand. Two men in black knelt before him and sacrificed themselves, turning to ashes. In exchange, another massive blood-red eye appeared on the platform, opening a portal to the real world.

Through the portal, Hoffa saw a foreign city street—likely a subway in Tokyo. Inside the train, countless men in suits and ties clung to the straps, swaying with the motion.

Black-clad men with birdcage helmets walked past them, waving wands slowly in the carriage. The passengers ignored them, some closing their eyes in silence.

Even when the black-clad figures placed corrosive agents at their feet, the passengers moved aside to make room, their faces indifferent.

Grindelwald said, "If this isn't a dream, why don't they sense the danger?

"If this isn't a dream, why don't they notice how strange we look?

"If this isn't a dream, why don't they care about death happening so close to them?

"If this isn't a dream, why do they remain blind to the endless magic around them?"

Grindelwald's barrage of questions left Hoffa momentarily speechless. Staring at the indifferent faces in the subway, so eerily similar to the controlled humans he had seen in the dream world of the Nightmare God, doubt began to creep into his mind.

Could this truly be a dream world?

"No, impossible!"

Hoffa clutched his head. He had dreamt before, and the absurd, surreal imagery was nothing like what he was experiencing now.

"Impossible," he muttered, looking up at Grindelwald. "Those people are simply accustomed to living in peace. Besides, plenty of people have noticed your actions—Alastor Moody, Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel—"

Grindelwald interrupted, "And what if they've noticed? What can they do? Everyone has their own priorities, their own thoughts. It's human nature not to grieve for others, to remain blind to the suffering of other lives. This is original sin."

"Again with your nonsense," Hoffa snapped, his voice dripping with disgust. "Why are you always meddling with others? Preaching your twisted beliefs. What do others' lives have to do with you? You're the most shameless terrorist I've ever seen!"

"Don't rush to insult me," Grindelwald said, shrugging and pointing at the cage above Hoffa's head. "Your hatred for me is only because I deceived Fatil into killing her own daughter. As for the three hundred thousand souls turned to ash—you don't actually care. Three million, thirty million, three billion—what do they mean to you? Just numbers. They're not your concern. They're not even part of your world."

"You old fool!"

Hoffa took a step back, clenched his fists, and glared at Grindelwald with a hatred that burned through his entire being.

Grindelwald waved his hand, and the black-clad figures released Hoffa, retreating like a receding tide.

"Dream or not, it's all the same. Life itself is like a dream—nothing but moving images and fleeting moments. A hundred years of life have taught me one thing: humans don't mourn for others, only for themselves."

"Shut up!" Hoffa growled, his face pale with anger.

Grindelwald ignored him and continued, "Pressure, competition, reproduction, survival, greed—this original sin will one day turn the world into hell. Frankly, if I could kill three billion people, the survivors would thank me for doing what they lacked the courage to do—easing their burden of existence."

"Shut up!"

Hoffa's body trembled as he lowered his head.

Standing on the bridge of Helheim, Grindelwald gazed at the shadow of the giant eagle in the distance and spoke softly, "Good and evil are two sides of the same coin. I once believed that pain could teach humans to understand one another. But I was wrong. My battle with the Half-Blood King taught me this: no one truly cares about anything beyond themselves. The world's apathy and indifference disgust me. It's better to destroy it all."

"I'm so sick of you!"

Hoffa grabbed the cage restraining his powers and tore it apart.

With a sudden burst of electricity, he lashed out at Grindelwald. Though Grindelwald dodged in time, the attack shattered the platform beneath him.

"You're just running from your failures!" Hoffa roared. "The real world doesn't accept freaks like you, so you're trying to build a new one? Why don't you ever stop to consider that the problem is you!?"

(End of Chapter)

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