Chapter 326: A Clash of Ice and Fire

At Hogwarts, a drunken Miller controlled Alastor Moody's body, twisting and turning wildly on the dance floor. He moonwalked across the room, flirting with everyone he encountered. Amid the pulsating music, he was completely oblivious to the voices calling out to him.

"Professor Moody, has anyone ever kissed your forehead?"

A dancing girl joked as she brushed past him.

"That must've been you sneaking one in," Miller shot back without hesitation.

"Professor Moody, the decoration on your forehead looks great."

"Yours isn't bad either."

"Professor Moody, that red mark is quite striking—it matches your outfit well."

"Professor Moody…"

"Professor Moody…"

Inside Hogwarts Castle, Miller finally sensed something was wrong. He halted his solo revelry and raised a hand to his forehead. Catching his reflection in a polished goblet, he saw a fiery red symbol burning on his forehead—the puppet rune he had left on Hoffa.

As he calmed down, the voices around him became clearer. In the distance, someone was shouting:

"Miller, what the hell are you doing?!"

Stunned for a few seconds, Miller bolted without a second thought. He shoved his way through the crowd, sprinting out of the packed Great Hall while cursing under his breath:

"Why didn't you contact me sooner?!"

The Eternal Arena

A barrage of fierce attacks was about to crash down on Hoffa's head. The wings of the Son of Nyx blotted out the sky, plunging everything into darkness.

And at that critical moment, Hoffa found himself still moonwalking uncontrollably, unable even to dodge. His heart sank into despair.

Just as the Son of Nyx's razor-sharp claws were about to tear him apart, the forced dancing finally stopped, and Hoffa broke into a desperate sprint across the sandy battlefield.

BOOM!!

The ground behind him erupted in an explosion of sand. Hoffa's heart, which had been lodged in his throat, finally settled. He was furious at Miller's antics, but at least Miller had finally responded, meaning there was now a glimmer of hope.

"You're blaming me?!" Hoffa shouted in frustration, dodging another attack. "You said I had only one hour! I had to wait for the crucial moment to use you!"

"What the hell were you even doing just now?!"

"None of your business!"

At Hogwarts, Miller, wiping his teary eyes, stumbled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

"If you've been messing around, I swear I'll tell your sister!"

In the underworld, Hoffa tumbled and rolled, narrowly avoiding the Son of Nyx's frenzied attacks, while still yelling at Miller:

"Do you even know how long it's been out there?! You think you can just tell on me—where the hell are you right now?!"

"I'm in Helheim! How long has it been?"

"Three months. You disappeared for three whole months! If you don't get back soon, your body's going to be six feet under—do you understand?!"

Three months.

Hoffa was dumbfounded. The furious voice in his ear rang in his head, making him forget the deadly creature still chasing him.

To him, his time in Helheim hadn't even felt like three days—maybe not even three hours—yet in the real world, three months had passed.

BOOM!!

Another devastating strike sent tremors through the arena, shaking the ground like an earthquake. Red sand rained from the sky as the Son of Nyx leaped high into the air, soaring nearly a hundred meters before plummeting down like a meteor, aiming to crush Hoffa beneath its massive body.

But just as it descended, Hoffa suddenly raised his right hand. A transparent barrier materialized mid-air, halting the creature's descent. The shield shimmered with a bluish glow, isolating a ten-meter radius of sand from the rest of the battlefield.

Above them, the Avada Five—a band that had been playing energetic music just moments ago—dropped their instruments. The five figures merged into one, who then raised a microphone, his expression shifting from wild excitement to sheer astonishment.

"Look at that! A turning point in the battle?! My god—is that a barrier spell?! When did this guy learn such an advanced incantation?! That's not even his style!"

The ghostly audience, who had been throwing rotten eggs and vegetables, suddenly perked up. They discarded their trash and straightened their posture.

"You're blaming me?!"

Hoffa's raised right hand suddenly spoke—it was Miller's mouth, angrily yelling at him.

"Do you have any idea what I've been through these past months?! I had to disguise myself as you, look after your vegetable of a body—what do you think I am, your damn servant?!"

"Save it for later!" Hoffa sighed, trying to pacify him. "First, help me take down this monster!"

"Ugh, fine!"

An eye appeared on Hoffa's forehead—Miller's eye. He took one look at the creature and recoiled.

"What the hell is that?!"

"It's a replica of my body, created by Death itself! It can copy my abilities!"

"ROAR!!"

Trapped mid-air by the barrier, the Son of Nyx let out a furious howl. Its muscles turned to steel, and the seemingly indestructible barrier shattered like fragile glass.

The creature's body shrank rapidly, slipping through the cracks in the barrier. It lunged forward, preparing to strike.

"Apparition!"

Miller snapped his fingers.

The air within the barrier distorted. In an instant, the charging creature vanished like a popped bubble.

A second later, it reappeared at the top of the spectator stands—only to plummet straight down.

"A space-warping spell?!" The balloon-headed Avada gasped. "Only wizards who've mastered spellcraft to the absolute limit can pull that off! Looks like Hoffa Bach isn't fighting alone—he's not alone! He's not alone!!!

"But hey—who cares?! As long as he wins, anything goes! This ain't the Olympics, hahahaha! Hell, even if the audience dies, who cares?! Hahahaha~"

He rubbed his bald head. "Wait a sec—oh yeah, my audience is already dead."

Below, the transformed Son of Nyx crashed into the stands, wreaking havoc. It couldn't harm the ghostly spectators, but in mere moments, it reduced half the arena to rubble. The ghosts shrieked as debris rained down, throwing the battlefield into utter chaos.

"Go! What are you waiting for?!"

Miller urged Hoffa. "Do you have a way back? If you do, hurry up and take it—the puppet rune won't last much longer!"

"I have to defeat this thing before I can go back! Help me out!"

Hoffa pleaded with his own right hand.

"Damn it! What exactly did you do in the Underworld?"

Miller cursed as he raised his hand again. "Blazing Flames!"

A ring of fire burst from his fingertips, shooting forward. In the blink of an eye, the entire arena—both the stands and the sand—was engulfed in flames. All that could be seen was a sea of red.

The spirits swayed within the inferno, waving their arms as they cheered for the hellish spectacle.

Amidst the flames, the Son of the Night let out agonized wails. It tore at its own body, ripping itself apart until it was barely recognizable. But soon, under the relentless licking of the fire, its body took on a silvery-white metallic sheen. It endured the flames with its own flesh and strode forward in large steps toward Miller and Hoffa.

"Rapid Freeze!"

Miller cast another spell, and in an instant, the raging flames vanished without a trace. A frigid blue mist swept across the arena like a storm.

The abrupt drop in temperature was too severe. Countless cracks spread across the Son of the Night's metallic body, freezing it in place as several of its toes and fingers shattered.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

It tried to move again, but even more cold air swept over it. Frost rapidly coated its entire form until it was encased in ice, standing like a ten-meter-tall frozen statue.

"Now!"

Miller shouted.

Hoffa understood immediately. He plunged his hands into the sand, manipulating the grains into a massive hammer, three times the size of a man. With great effort, he swung the hammer sideways, smashing it into the ice statue.

Upon impact, the frozen Son of the Night shattered like glass, its fragmented body crashing to the ground in pieces.

The arena fell into dead silence.

In less than a minute, the entire coliseum had been devastated—piles of rubble covered the ground, severed limbs and icy shards lay scattered everywhere, and tens of thousands of wandering spirits hovered in the air, unwilling to leave.

For a long moment, Avada said nothing. His neck stretched forward as he stared at the arena, seemingly stunned by Hoffa's spellcasting abilities.

"Hah… finally dead. Damn it."

Looking at the shattered remains of the Son of the Night, Hoffa let out a sigh of relief.

He hadn't realized his body in the real world had such potential. However, he suspected it was due to Death intentionally amplifying his abilities. Otherwise, if the trials were too easy, it would be an embarrassment. Hoffa gritted his teeth at the thought.

Raising his head, he glanced at Avada, signaling that he was ready for the final opponent.

Standing atop the floating jester balloon, Avada rose to his feet and sighed with feigned regret.

"So, it's been restrained after all. In the end, even this beast had to bow to its master's tyranny. How disappointing. The power of the Night God… tsk, tsk, tsk. I suppose I'll just have to start the countdown."

He rolled up his sleeves theatrically, revealing dozens of watches on his wrist.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three—

At that moment, a severed hand slowly crawled past Hoffa's feet, scuttling like a crab. He sensed that something was wrong. Lifting his gaze, he saw that the fragmented ice chunks of the Son of the Night had begun to wriggle. Every tiny piece of flesh sprouted wings, and soon, they all transformed into bats. The creatures flapped their wings frantically, rising from the ground in swarms. Their numbers grew, darkening the sky.

"This is far from over!!"

Avada stopped his countdown, eyes gleaming with excitement. "The power of the Night God!"

Hoffa and Miller were dumbfounded.

Miller was the first to react. He grabbed Hoffa and bolted for the arena's exit, sprinting at full speed.

From the floating balloon, Avada didn't try to stop them. Instead, he burst into laughter.

"Run! Run! Run as fast as you can! As long as you win this battle, it doesn't matter where you flee—to Hell, to Heaven, to the mortal realm—wherever you go, the arena follows! Wahahahaha!"

The countless bats coalesced, reforming into a gray-haired, golden-eyed youth. This time, he had wings sprouting from his back, floating in midair, completely unscathed. His expression was twisted with fury.

"Blood."

With that single word, he flapped his wings and vanished instantly.

The spirits and Avada, still perched atop his balloon, erupted with excitement and eagerly pursued the fleeing duo.

"Do you have any stronger spells?"

Hoffa asked as they sprinted.

"No! That thing is way too tough!" Miller said in frustration. "We need a special method to defeat it!"

A special method… a special method…

Hoffa's mind spun frantically as he ran. Just then, a desperate cry came from ahead.

"Mr. Bach!"

Hoffa's heart leaped with joy. Looking into the distance, he saw a man standing at the edge of Heart Island. It was none other than Barty Jr., who had left earlier.

But Hoffa's excitement was short-lived. His smile froze as he noticed something—Barty's hands were empty. He carried nothing, looking exactly the same as when he had left.

Hoffa rushed over in just a few strides. "Hey! Did you get the potion?" he asked anxiously.

"No!"

Barty Jr. shouted back. "That silver-haired woman wouldn't even see me! No matter how much I knocked on her door, she wouldn't respond!"

"What!?"

Hoffa groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Does she have to be this heartless!?"

"Wait—you saw Aglaea?"

Miller asked from Hoffa's right.

"Yeah."

"Hah, so she really is here," Miller murmured in shock. "After all these years…"

As they spoke, the sky darkened to a deep crimson. The two turned to look and saw the winged Son of the Night emerging from the arena, flying toward them.

Hoffa grabbed Barty Jr.'s wrist. "Come with me!"

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to find her myself."

(End of Chapter)

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