Lord Voldemort never imagined this.
That beneath that mysterious, pure white mask would be the face of Ethan Vincent.
The nightmare carved deepest into his soul had just stepped out of the shadows and become flesh.
No—if not for the unimaginable agony tearing through his body, Voldemort would have sworn everything before him was nothing more than a cruel hallucination.
[You are Mr. Lamp… How is this possible?! When did you begin weaving this web?!]
Voldemort's scream tore from his throat, raw and ragged with shock and fury. His red eyes snapped toward his most loyal servant—Barty—only to widen further in horror.
There stood Barty Crouch Jr., the Polyjuice illusion stripped away, revealing the trembling, foolish man beneath. His flesh was melting like wax, the dark power he had hoarded for decades siphoned away into nothingness.
What unholy rite had his carefully orchestrated resurrection been twisted into?
Even Voldemort, a master of the Darkest Arts, felt a tremor crawl up his spine.
When had he fallen so completely into the trap of that deranged boy, Ethan Vincent?
The physical torment was nothing compared to the ice-cold realization that he had been dancing in someone else's palm all along.
Ethan's lips curved into a lazy, lopsided grin.
"From the very first second, Tom."
He gave a theatrical little sigh, pressing a hand over his heart as though wounded.
"And here I was, radiating righteousness and pure-hearted kindness so brightly it practically blinded people. Honestly, it was obvious. The fact you never noticed just proves how hopelessly dim you are~"
Those few careless words struck Voldemort harder than any Cruciatus.
Righteous? Kindness?
By whose twisted metric?!
Voldemort nearly choked on his own blood.
The sole reason he had trusted "Mr. Lamp" without question was the suffocating darkness rolling off the man in waves. The lust for slaughter, the hunger to carve his name into the world with rivers of blood—none of it had been an act!
Hadn't he orchestrated those spectacular massacres at the Quidditch World Cup himself?
Yet in the blink of an eye, the same person was posing as some radiant new savior?!
As if reading his mind, Ethan gave a shy, almost girlish chuckle.
"Ah, well… I did have quite a lot of fun that day. Sharing my beautiful artwork with the world is always a little embarrassing, you know~"
[You— You shameless—!!]
Voldemort coughed up a gout of black blood. For one brief moment, rage eclipsed even the pain.
He had never met anyone so utterly, gleefully shameless.
The wizarding world should thank its lucky stars this creature pretended to be on the light side.
[Dumbledore… so this was his plan… using an even greater evil to swallow the dark…]
[How utterly despicable…!]
For the first time in his life, the Dark Lord felt that the so-called "light" was far more depraved than any Death Eater.
Snap.
Ethan snapped his fingers, the crisp sound slicing through the night like a blade.
"Enough chit-chat."
His smile was dazzling, warm as spring sunlight, gentle enough to make hearts melt—if one ignored the madness dancing behind those diamond-blue eyes.
"Just turn into nice, quiet nourishment and go to sleep forever, okay?"
The flames roared higher.
Voldemort's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
His soul was being pulverized, ground between invisible millstones.
His eyes bulged, veins bursting crimson as a inhuman wail ripped from his throat and clawed at the false sky.
[NO!!!]
He refused!
After thirteen years of waiting, thirteen years of meticulous plotting, his resurrection—ruined by a mere boy!
Worse—he had become fertilizer for that same lunatic!
It could not end like this!
He would not allow it!
Suddenly.
The counterfeit night sky above them fractured with a sound like breaking glass.
Voldemort froze.
An ancient, transcendent gaze pierced through the crack—vast, cold, and indifferent as the void between stars.
The clamor of the graveyard fell silent, sucked away like water down a drain.
A moment later, an ecstatic, broken smile split Voldemort's hideous face.
As expected.
Fate still favored him.
No matter the cost—he would make sure Ethan Vincent never left this place alive.
[Congratulations!]
[The Soul Cauldron Ritual has succeeded]
[You obtained Elixir ×1]
Pinpricks of light drifted from the dying pillar of fire, gathering in Ethan's palm until they formed a fist-sized sphere of liquid starlight—pale sapphire mist swirling around shattered diamonds.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Irresistible.
Ethan produced a crystal vial and tipped the elixir inside with reverent care. It pooled at the bottom like liquid mercury, never touching the glass, never separating.
"Everything rides on this one drink," he murmured, almost tenderly.
Then, without a heartbeat of hesitation, he threw it back.
The instant it touched his tongue—
His body convulsed as though struck by lightning.
The empty vial slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground.
Every drop of blood ignited.
Hot—scorching—magma pouring from his throat into every vein, every bone.
"—Gh!"
The heat burned outward from his core, a pain that sank teeth into his very soul.
Ethan clawed at his robes, ripping fabric away as if it were on fire. Veins corded across his neck; his diamond-blue eyes flashed molten gold.
His body was parched earth.
The elixir was the first rain in a thousand years—cracking him open, waking something ancient and boundless beneath the surface.
And from every fissure erupted an ocean of raw magic.
[You have successfully absorbed the Elixir]
[Magic Power has dramatically increased!]
[One prerequisite for "Eternal" class advancement has been fulfilled]
WHOOSH!
A pillar of golden light exploded upward, bathing the desolate graveyard in dawn. Even the oppressive black sky caught fire with reflected gold.
Harry, bound and helpless nearby, stared in stunned awe.
From his angle, the pure white mask still hid Ethan's face, but the power rolling off him was unmistakable.
So strong—too strong!
A hurricane of magic tore across the cemetery, shattering headstones like dry leaves.
Crack!
The spectral Scythe Hand gripping Harry's throat disintegrated into smoke.
Harry dropped, rolled, and lunged for Cedric's body.
"Accio Cup!"
His fingers closed around the Triwizard Cup—nothing happened.
"Come on—!"
He shook it desperately, green eyes wide with panic.
"I have to get Cedric back… at least his body…"
He froze.
Thump… thump…
A faint heartbeat fluttered beneath his palm.
Cedric's chest—barely moving, but moving.
He was alive.
Ethan floated in an endless sea of power, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
It felt like soaking in warm honey and starlight at once.
He opened his hand. Golden birds poured from his palm in a singing flock, circling him like living sunlight.
"So this is what it feels like to rip off the 'Magic Power Limiter'…" he whispered, voice trembling with delight. "I could probably keep Starlight Manifestation active for an entire day now."
His eyes—returned to their usual piercing diamond-blue—shone with childlike glee.
"Heh… if Luna saw me right now, she'd hop around like an overexcited bunny."
He flexed his fingers, watching cascades of raw magic drip from them like liquid gold.
Then—
Every nerve screamed.
Ethan's head snapped up.
High above, the cracked sky reflected in his eyes.
Something was coming.
From the jagged wound in reality, a colossal eyeball slowly rotated into view—ancient, lidless, and utterly alien.
It looked down.
And it saw him.