"Your friend Hagrid has been taken away because of what happened fifty years ago. To find the real culprit, I need your help," Dudley said calmly to the giant spider, his words direct and to the point.
"Fifty years ago? That had nothing to do with me!" Aragog snapped, rubbing his massive pincers together. "It's not something we Acromantulas could've done. But those foolish wizards were convinced it was Hagrid's fault—my fault. That's why they expelled him from Hogwarts."
"I can't help him," Aragog continued, his voice sharp. "No wizard would believe a word from an Acromantula. Not then, not now."
"Of course," Dudley replied. "After all, Acromantulas are classified as highly dangerous creatures, just like werewolves and mountain trolls."
His words struck a nerve. Aragog bristled, especially at being compared to a troll's cousin.
"And I know what's inside the Chamber—" Dudley began.
"A basilisk, slumbering for a thousand years."
A piercing screech cut him off.
"No! Don't say that name!" Aragog's voice trembled with fear. Around him, the other Acromantulas skittered back several steps at the mention of the creature.
The basilisk was every spider's natural enemy, and Acromantulas were a particular delicacy on its menu.
"I'm here to ask you to come with me to find it," Dudley said.
"No! Impossible! That ancient creature is our mortal enemy!" Aragog shrieked, his reaction even more intense.
"So, you're refusing? Even with Hagrid in trouble, you'll just stand by?" Dudley pressed. "You haven't even heard my terms."
"We can't save him!" Aragog's pincers scraped together, emitting a shrill noise. "And out of respect for Hagrid, my colony has never attacked a human unprovoked. We've suppressed our instincts for fifty years. That's enough."
"Looks like I'll have to find another way," Dudley said.
"No," Aragog replied, his tone darkening. "I don't think you'll have the chance to try another way."
As his words fell, the surrounding Acromantulas closed in on Dudley, inching closer with clicking pincers. Their countless eyes gleamed with greed from their grotesque black heads. Aragog, their leader, slowly retreated toward the massive, semicircular web nest behind him.
Dudley didn't flinch. To him, the encroaching spiders might as well have been ants. He watched the scene with mild amusement. "You just said you've never attacked a human unprovoked."
"Correct," Aragog hissed. "I said unprovoked. But you walked right into our nest."
Dudley's unshaken demeanor unnerved Aragog, but the old spider had bigger concerns. He was aging, losing control over his younger kin. The rule against attacking humans was causing unrest among the colony. Acromantulas craved human flesh—it was in their blood. If they let Dudley walk away, some bold young spider might challenge Aragog's authority.
"Will you eat me too?" Dudley asked, unfazed.
Aragog's patience wore thin. "No, I won't. I don't eat humans—never have, never will."
"Our talk is over," he declared. "Children, eat him."
At Aragog's command, a wave of Acromantulas surged toward Dudley.
"Tch," Dudley clicked his tongue. "I really hate resorting to violence, whether it's against people or magical creatures."
In the next instant, in the eyes of the Acromantulas, Dudley's muscles seemed to swell, transforming him from a small giant into a towering one.
"I prefer to win people over with reason," he said, "but I'm not above using force."
Splatter. An Acromantula that tried to ambush him was sliced in half by an invisible shockwave.
Snake Fang—one of the Zoldyck family's assassination techniques, a rapid hand movement that delivers a slashing effect.
Several more spiders lunged from the front, only to pass straight through Dudley's body, hitting nothing.
He reappeared on the other side as if he'd teleported.
Silent Step—a movement technique designed for speed and stealth.
Another invisible shockwave struck, and more Acromantulas were bisected before they could react.
Crack, crack. Dudley tilted his neck, flexing it with a pop. He opened his hand, clenching it into a fist, producing a sound like firecrackers on New Year's.
"Let's play for a bit," he said.
More spiders charged.
Boom!
They exploded midair, green ichor splattering the ground.
This was Dudley's simplest move: his fist.
In no time, he became a human meat grinder. Wherever he went, no Acromantula remained whole.
The fearsome Acromantula colony, terrifying to most, was nothing but a swarm of weak ants to him—crushed with a single pinch.
Yet the spiders didn't retreat. They threw themselves at him in a relentless Spider Sea Tactic. Their sheer numbers were their greatest strength. In the Forbidden Forest, where magical creatures abounded, they'd carved out their territory through this strategy. Even unicorns steered clear.
Dudley bent his left leg slowly, his right leg following in an odd, deliberate step. To the Acromantulas, it was as if he flickered. Suddenly, instead of one Dudley, there were countless copies, all moving in perfect unison.
The spiders, with their limited brain capacity, froze, unable to distinguish the real from the fake.
Limb Curve—a technique that exploits visual distortion to confuse enemies.
The Zoldyck assassination techniques were just as devastating on a battlefield.
Hiss, hiss, hiss.
The Acromantulas screeched in panic. One Dudley was terrifying enough—now there were dozens? They'd be wiped out!
With their limited intellect, they couldn't grasp the concept of a visual illusion.
But Dudley wasn't done. Sparks of electricity flickered across his body.
Ripple Breathing.
With a casual slap, a nearby Acromantula was reduced to a pulp.
His physical prowess had grown immensely since his first year. If he arm-wrestled Hagrid now, the half-giant would be crushed. Dudley's combat experience far surpassed Hagrid's, and with Ripple Breathing enhancing his stats, he was a force of nature.
His hands clenched, golden ripples surging through his fists.
To the Acromantulas' eight eyes, Dudley glowed, a massive, shadowy figure looming behind him—humanoid, powerful, mysterious, with piercing eyes and an unmatched aura. Gold and purple swirled together, like a god scorning all creation.
The only pity was that its face was indistinct.
"Well, then," Dudley said, exhaling a faint mist through his teeth.
"Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora!"
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