At this moment, Voldemort wanted to leave this place, to flee far away from here.
But he quickly calmed down.
He couldn't do this!
He had already been dragging his broken soul around, hiding and barely surviving for eleven years.
Do you know how he spent these eleven years?
Parasitizing in the bodies of small rodents in Albania, bit by bit collecting life through small animal predation, living worse than wild dogs.
He didn't even dare seek out those powerful subordinates who once groveled at his feet.
Hide and flee again?
He didn't want to continue that life for even one more moment.
He must reclaim his body.
Then—
'Kill them both!'
'No matter who fits that prophecy, once they're dead, the prophecy won't exist anymore.'
Thinking this, Voldemort's killing intent surged. With a slight raise of his hand, countless ropes also bound Neville like a mummy.
Looking at the two young wizards bound by layers of rope, writhing like maggots on the ground, Voldemort's fear immediately diminished greatly.
He was the one controlling the situation now.
What was there to worry about?
No matter how pathetic Quirrell was, he was still an adult wizard, and the one controlling him was Voldemort himself. Could two mere young wizards possibly turn the tables?
"Give me the Philosopher's Stone!"
First, he absolutely had to get the Philosopher's Stone and absolutely had to reclaim his body and return to his peak. This was essential.
With a wave of his wand, Harry's body involuntarily flew toward 'Quirrell'. He believed the Philosopher's Stone he wanted must be in Harry's hands—all these traps underground were arranged by Dumbledore's hand, and he understood this former Transfiguration professor of his.
He believed in prophecies even more than Voldemort himself did.
Then he grabbed Harry's shoulder.
Take the Philosopher's Stone, kill Potter, and kill Longbottom.
However, he never expected that such a simple action would instantly reverse his advantageous situation.
The moment his hand touched Harry's body, as if touching corpse-dissolving powder, his palm, wrist, and arm actually began to gradually dissolve.
Quirrell let out painful wails, and Voldemort also felt extremely uncomfortable.
A curse!
Potter had some kind of protective curse on him!
That protective curse was protecting him!
And it was targeting himself!
At that moment, Voldemort suddenly understood how he had died.
Unfortunately, even understanding this, it was already too late.
The body he shared with Quirrell was no longer sufficient to continue casting spells.
Ding
Just before the body completely melted away, he saw it—saw that Longbottom family child holding a bright red stone in his hand.
The real Philosopher's Stone!
Heaven seemed to have played another joke on him.
Wrong choice—he had chosen wrong again!
"Harry Potter! Neville Longbottom!"
Voldemort used his last strength to scream unwillingly, his body turning into a pool of foul-smelling liquid.
Then something shadow-like emerged from that pool of liquid—black gas gathered together, forming a twisted human face.
It was Voldemort, Voldemort's remnant soul. He had abandoned Quirrell and planned to continue his escape.
Screaming, cursing, and making countless threats, he flew toward the door.
"Looks like I arrived just in time."
At this crucial moment, Dudley's voice rang out.
Somehow, Dudley had appeared at the door's position, which happened to be directly in Voldemort's escape path.
Then he did something that surprised everyone—facing Voldemort's remnant soul in gaseous form, he raised his hand and delivered a massive slap.
Golden light illuminated the room.
Facing the incoming slap, Voldemort in gaseous form wasn't worried at all—instead, he looked delighted. Just when he was sleepy, someone brought him a pillow.
He recognized Dudley at a glance—the wizard who had fought him in the Forbidden Forest not long ago. His formidable physical abilities had left a deep impression.
Yes, he planned to possess Dudley's body, so he charged straight toward Dudley.
A mere slap—no matter how strong he is, it can't do anything to me, because souls have no physical form. Nothing to worry about.
As long as he got a new body, as long as he seized a new body, he would still have a chance.
This time he absolutely wouldn't touch Harry—he would use other methods to kill him, and that Longbottom too. He would seize the Philosopher's Stone from his hands.
Victory was within reach.
The next moment—
Voldemort regretted it once again.
He didn't know how many times this was today.
Dudley's slap was golden and sparkling with energy.
"Ripple Overdrive!"
Ripple—golden ripple—an advanced application of Ripple (Hamon) that could further enhance one's strength and unleash the body's potential.
And it had extremely high lethality against dark creatures like vampires.
The ripple formed a golden membrane on Dudley's hand, instantly illuminating the entire room.
The next slap landed solidly on Voldemort's remnant soul.
Voldemort's originally twisted face showed an expression of shock.
Before he could recover, with a whoosh, he was slapped away.
He crashed hard into the wall, and the black gas was immediately scattered.
Then wisps of black gas slowly gathered, trying to reassemble into their original form, but the golden ripple from Dudley's palm had done considerable damage to his remnant soul—he failed to succeed several times in a row.
In the JoJo world, there were only vampires, so it seemed to only damage vampires, but other worlds were different.
Ripple (Hamon) could cause extreme damage to things with negative, dark properties.
Including Voldemort's remnant soul.
This could be compared using the positive and negative energy from Jackie Chan Adventures—Ripple (Hamon) belonged to positive energy, while negative, dark things belonged to negative energy.
After quite a while, the black demonic energy gradually coalesced, and Voldemort finally reassembled, though his color was much fainter than before, as if he might disappear at any moment.
"You dare... you dare..."
The mighty Dark Lord had actually been slapped against the wall like a fly by a brute like Hagrid.
Humiliation—absolute humiliation!
A hoarse voice rang out as Voldemort's remnant soul stared fixedly at Dudley. But he didn't dare act rashly anymore—Dudley had proven he was capable of harming him. That slap had scattered at least five or six years of life force he'd absorbed in Albania. One more slap and he would truly be slapped out of existence.
However, while Voldemort was wary, he also developed an extreme desire for Dudley's body. Ripple (Hamon) had brought Dudley not only muscle but also extraordinary life energy, and this vigorous life energy was exactly what Voldemort craved. If he could control Dudley, he would recover quickly.
Dudley's left-hand fingers were slightly spread, held less than five millimeters from his face, his waist slightly turned 50 degrees, facing Voldemort in a peculiar pose. Silver moonlight streamed through the room's ceiling window, illuminating Dudley's body.
The oppressive presence of his 2.3-meter height and highly bulging, swollen muscles created an extremely impactful visual shock.
Behind him seemed to echo a faint BGM.
'Ayayayaya~'
This was Dursley Under the Moon!
[Chapter Complete]
***
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