Chapter 381: Sky Serpent

The giant serpent coiled and spiraled, hissing at Hoffa, flicking its tongue. However, Hoffa paid no attention to the snakes. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the man seated high above. The man leapt down from the skylight, descending slowly from the sky. His forest-green robe billowed as he landed gracefully and silently in the abandoned hall.

"Bach, long time no see," the man hissed.

"Riddle."

Hoffa narrowed his eyes.

Riddle's appearance had changed. His handsome face was still somewhat recognizable, but his eyes were blood-red, surrounded by scorched marks as if they had been burned by fire.

"Why are you stopping me?" Hoffa asked.

Riddle grinned, extending his scarlet tongue to lick his lips.

"Why? Because the one you want to kill is mine."

Seizing the moment when Hoffa was bound, Sylby broke free, stumbling to Riddle's feet, kneeling beside him, and murmuring, "Master."

The shock Hoffa felt at that moment was no less than when he had first seen Sylby enter Beauxbatons. A torrent of information flooded his mind—those two simple words, "Master," contained more than an entire thick novel.

But soon, Hoffa figured out the connection.

"You're playing with fire, Riddle," he said softly. "This is beyond your control."

"Is it?" Tom gently stroked Sylby's head, his fingertips grazing Delphina's scalp, leaving behind the scent of burnt flesh. Lowering his head, he spoke in a sinister tone, "Are you teaching me how to do things, Bach?"

A black, scorched serpent mark appeared on Sylby's forehead, but he remained unmoved, leaning against Riddle's leg and whispering, "Master, I swear to follow your footsteps forever." After speaking, he even smiled at Hoffa.

Hoffa closed his eyes, murmuring, "How fickle the world is..."

As the words fell, three giant snakes opened their bloody jaws, lunging at his head.

Before their fangs could sink in, blood splattered—but it was the snakes' blood. Their massive bodies, coiled around Hoffa, were pierced by countless razor-sharp feather blades. Enormous wings unfurled from Hoffa's back, slicing the serpents into dozens of fragments with their lethal feathers.

Tom Riddle wasted no time, flicking his wand and launching a barrage of green lights at Hoffa—among them, a streak of black mist.

Hoffa vanished from the material world.

As an old adversary, Tom Riddle knew nothing good came from the man's disappearance. Without hesitation, he grabbed Sylby and Disapparated into the air. When they reappeared, they were perched atop a protruding sculpture head on the Sky Gate of Beauxbatons Castle.

"Master, be careful. He's much stronger than before—his magic must have recovered by more than half," Sylby panted, collapsed on the ground.

"That makes killing him all the more satisfying."

Riddle hissed, trembling with excitement.

Whoosh.

A faint sound of something cutting through the air echoed from above.

Riddle's expression shifted. He swung his wand in broad arcs, conjuring rings of cyan Fiendfyre that enveloped them completely. From within the flames, dozens of fireballs shot toward the sound.

With a deafening roar, twenty fireballs struck the same spot, casting a fierce green glow that illuminated the sky and clouds.

After a relentless ten-second bombardment, the Fiendfyre slowly dissipated. Riddle and Sylby gazed at the highest point of the Sky Gate, now riddled with craters.

As the smoke cleared, they saw a shimmering golden figure standing at the summit, bathed in sunlight.

The lingering green flames licked at the figure's surface before flickering out. Upon closer inspection, the golden figure revealed itself to be wings—each feather as sharp as a blade. As the Fiendfyre faded, the wings unfurled, revealing a being within, as if cast from molten gold.

The entity bore little resemblance to a human, with hooked claws and a metallic bird head crowned with long, blade-like feathers. Its beak gleamed like pure gold, and its radiant eyes seemed to pierce through souls, nearly blinding anyone who dared look directly.

"Only half, Sylby—you overestimated me. Otherwise, you'd both be dead already." Perched on the wall, the bird-like Hoffa spoke slowly, his voice a harsh blend of metal and iron.

"What a terrifying creature," Sylby muttered, shaking his head with a helpless smile.

"I really want to kill you," Riddle hissed.

"Why? Because I destroyed a fragment of your soul?"

The mechanical voice of the birdman spoke: "How many times have you split yourself now? Six times? Or seven? When lice are many, what's one more? It makes no difference."

Without any warning, Tom Riddle extended his yew wand. A freezing wind, vast and overwhelming, swept over Hoffa, and in the blink of an eye, his legs and feet were frozen onto the Gate of the Sky. With a flick of Riddle's wand, five or six massive Dementors emerged from the biting cold wind, rushing toward Hoffa, their mouths hungrily sucking as if trying to drain all his hope and will.

But Hoffa remained indifferent to the soul-sapping chill of the Dementors. Compared to the icy winds of Helheim, this level of despair was laughable. He raised his golden, glowing hand and pointed it at Riddle.

Sensing something amiss, Riddle immediately grabbed Sylby and leaped far to the left.

A sharp cross-shaped longsword shot up from the ground, narrowly grazing Riddle's cheek. It was Bedivere's sword—the Last Knight's Sword.

The sword flew into Hoffa's hand, and as he gently caressed its blade, an intense and blinding electric current enveloped it. The surging energy instantly shattered the surrounding Dementors into fragments of ash.

Then, with a mighty tremor of metal wings and talons, a massive collapse followed. The Gate of the Sky and the ice shattered completely, and the golden birdman vanished high above the Gate of the Sky.

Sensing the worsening situation, Tom Riddle grabbed Sylby, preparing to Apparate once again.

"Too slow."

In an instant, Hoffa appeared behind Tom Riddle, raising his lightning-clad sword and slashing straight for Sylby's head. If the strike landed, both Sylby and Tom Riddle would be cut to pieces on the spot.

At the brink of life and death, Sylby tossed a wand.

It was none other than Hoffa's former wand.

Hoffa saw the wand, but his hand did not stop. If he could finish off all three of them here with a single strike, that would be ideal.

However, the wand floated in mid-air, and from beneath the Gate of the Sky, a dense black mist surged forth, pouring into the wand's handle. The crude wooden branch began to distort and expand continuously, eventually transforming into a massive silver cross-shaped sword.

Clang!

A crisp and resounding clash echoed.

Cross-shaped sword met cross-shaped sword.

The shockwave dispersed the surrounding clouds.

"Heh, little brother, you win this time." Sylby hid behind the massive sword and said, "Farewell."

As soon as he finished speaking, Tom Riddle, dragging Sylby, Disapparated from Beauxbatons. This time, the magical fluctuations of the Apparition were exceptionally strong—clearly, they had traveled far, making it nearly impossible to pursue them.

Suspended in the air, Hoffa's expression shifted unpredictably. His sword, a strike meant to kill, had been blocked by his own wand. It seemed the wand had instinctively acted on its own. The feeling was as frustrating as betrayal.

He fell from the heights of the Gate of the Sky, his birdman form dissipating, reverting back to an ordinary human with black hair and black robes.

The massive sword also plummeted from the sky, plunging heavily into the ground, splitting the entire fountain plaza in two.

Hoffa, gripping his cross-shaped sword, turned to stare warily at the massive weapon not far away. If the Nightmare God hadn't deceived him, then this wand was its dwelling place. If the Nightmare God intended to fight him again, his current magic reserves might not be enough to sustain another high-level battle.

Yet, his vigilance received no response. The once-mighty and imposing greatsword now lay limp, like a withered worm, continuously shrinking and distorting until it reverted back into a simple wooden wand.

Hoffa took a few quick strides, snatching up the wand.

There was no special feeling. No warmth, no sense of connection like when he first touched it—just mediocrity and unfamiliarity.

He glanced at the base of the wand, where a distinctive "Seal" character was engraved.

The character had faded, growing dull and barely visible.

Gradually, realization dawned upon Hoffa. The entity in the crystal ball was the Nightmare God, and the Nightmare God had been the wand's core. The reason he once felt a sense of kinship was because the Nightmare God had chosen him.

But now, the Nightmare God had abandoned him.

What a piece of trash.

Holding the wooden stick, Hoffa cursed under his breath.

Recovering something lost—yet feeling no joy in its return.

Suppressing the urge to snap it in half on the spot, he stuffed the wand into his robes, treating it as nothing more than a mere keepsake.

(End of Chapter)

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