That colossal eyeball.
It hung on the edge of the horizon, far beyond the vault of the sky, staring down at Ethan with a malice so thick it felt like tar dripping over the world.
[Ignorant, foolish ant. You have tampered with fate again and again… like static corrupting a perfect broadcast.]
A hoarse, fractured voice scraped inside Ethan's skull—gibbering nonsense that would shatter an ordinary mind into gibbering pieces.
Ethan only tilted his head, lips curling into a delighted, almost childlike grin, as if the cosmic horror were telling him the world's best joke.
"Come on," he murmured, eyes sparkling, "don't stop now. I'm just getting comfortable."
The eyeball blinked. Once.
[…]
Well. Sanity had clearly left the chat long ago.
[To gaze upon me is an honor in itself.] [You stand before the God who weaves death and destiny, the one who delivers ordained endings to every living thing… I am called "Death."]
Death?
Ethan tapped his chin theatrically. "Funny. I seem to recall a children's story about a fellow named Death. Very well—allow me to introduce myself properly." He swept into an elegant bow that belonged on a West End stage. "You have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Lamp, sovereign of light and justice, supreme artist of sublime aesthetics—otherwise known as Ethan Vincent, at your service."
Death: […]
Somewhere in the void, Merlin was probably spitting out his tea.
[Insolent little insect,] Death rasped, [yet I find your reckless courage… amusing. I will grant you one final mercy.]
The eyeball swivelled, fixing on Cedric's motionless body as though he were nothing more than a stale croissant.
[Kill that boy. His thread was cut the moment the Portkey touched his hand. Return fate to its proper course.]
Ethan followed its gaze. Harry stood protectively in front of Cedric, one hand clamped around the Triwizard Cup, the other gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Those famous green eyes blazed—pure Gryffindor defiance.
Ethan exhaled a long, almost wistful sigh, then turned back to the eyeball wearing his politest society smile.
"No thank you."
My meticulously raised Dawnlight Society melee mage does not get casually deleted by some overdramatic eyeball, and it would be terribly rude to my reputation as "Mr. Lamp."
[—FOOLISH WORM!] Death thundered. [Then I shall harvest your soul myself and bind it in screaming eternity!]
Black mist plunged from the heavens like a collapsing night sky, slamming into the scorched crater where Pettigrew's grotesque potion had birthed Voldemort moments earlier. It flooded the puddle of viscous, drained slime that had once been the Dark Lord's temporary body.
Glurp. Glurp. Glurp.
The snot-like sludge bloated, bubbled, and rose—higher, higher—flesh knitting itself over monstrous bone with wet, tearing sounds.
Harry's jaw dropped. "What in Merlin's—"
A skeletal frame taller than a giant took shape. Scarlet, desiccated muscle clung to it like rotting drapery. From the top sprouted that unmistakable noseless face, now stretched across something that barely qualified as human.
Lord Voldemort opened his lipless maw and unleashed a roar that shivered the graveyard trees.
[ROAAAAAAAAR!!!]
Ethan wrinkled his nose. "I do keep saying flesh is weak, but this is just tasteless. Zero aesthetic merit. Negative points, Voldemort."
[Power…] the creature hissed, serpentine eyes rolling in ecstasy. [I feel infinite power flooding through me!]
[This is the strength I was promised—the strength to rule the world! Ethan Vincent, not even you can kill me now. Fate itself fights for me!]
A hundred gangly arms and writhing tentacles sprouted from the mountain of scarlet meat, flailing like a nightmare stitched together by a drunken tailor.
Ethan shook his head sadly. "Lost the last flickering candle of reason, traded the final scraps of humanity for a tentacle upgrade, and you're proud of it. You were top of the class at Hogwarts once, Tom. All that beautiful magic, all that potential—thrown away to become a cosmic puppet. Tragic, really."
Still, the fact that "Death" needed a middleman to do its dirty work was… instructive.
Across the graveyard, the newly super-sized Voldemort apparently took personal offence.
[I'LL RIP YOU APART!]
The roar cracked the air itself. Fractures raced across the false sky like breaking glass.
[I'LL PEEL YOUR SKIN OFF STRIP BY STRIP AND MAKE YOU BEG—]
Ethan cupped a hand to his ear. "Sorry, what was that? You'll do what now? Sounds suspiciously like an angry troll who just discovered pronouns."
Harry, still shielding Cedric, actually felt a pang of second-hand embarrassment for the Dark Lord.
Ethan beamed at the raging meat-mountain. "Seriously, take that act to the Great Hall on Halloween. Standing ovation guaranteed."
[I'LL KILL YOU—!!!]
Raw magic detonated outward. With a sound like the universe tearing its trousers, the entire mirrored graveyard shattered into a billion glittering shards—gravestones, grass, starlit sky, all collapsing into nothingness.
Harry gaped as reality reasserted itself beneath their feet: the familiar hedges of the Triwizard maze, torches flickering in the warm June night.
[Mirror dimension collapsing!] Death's voice echoed one last time. [Three… two…]
Ethan's eyes glinted with wicked delight. "If we're doing dramatic finales, let's make it a proper party."
On the countdown's final beat, he rammed his wand straight into the Dark Mark seared on Barty Crouch Jr.'s forearm.
"Come one, come all," he sang under his breath.
WHOOMPF.
Black smoke erupted across the maze. Dozens of masked figures in black robes materialised in a perfect circle, wands raised—only to freeze in collective horror.
The sky above them was still fractured in places, leaking starlight like blood. And in the centre of the maze stood a writhing scarlet colossus that had once been their lord and master.
Gregory Goyle's voice cracked. "Er… nobody said the emergency meeting was booked in actual hell, did they?"
Ethan turned, bestowing upon the assembled Death Eaters the warm, benevolent smile normally reserved for small children and doomed men.
"Welcome, gentlemen," he said brightly.
Then the false world imploded for good.
CRASH—!
—and suddenly they were all standing on the pristine Quidditch-pitch-green lawn just outside the rose-hedge maze, Hogwarts Castle glowing gold in the distance.
A dozen Aurors Apparated in with cracks like gunfire, wands blazing.
Alastor Moody's magical eye spun wildly. "One down already—keep 'em coming, lads!"
A Death Eater spun toward Ethan, mask askew with panic. "Avada Kedav—"
"Stupefy!" Moody barked. The Death Eater rocketed backward like he'd been hit by a Bludger.
Ethan spread his arms wide, as if embracing old friends.
"Welcome to beautiful Hogwarts, everyone. I'm afraid the tour ends here."
He flashed that dazzling, terrifying smile again—the one that made you laugh right before you started running for your life.
"Try not to bleed on the roses. They're prize-winning."
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