In Voldemort's eyes, there remained only a kind of near-mad desire, a hunger so intense it seemed to consume all rational thought.
The red gaze was fixed steadily on the Tree of Wisdom, studying it with obsessive focus of a predator that had finally cornered prey it had been hunting for months.
'Could Voldemort's target truly be the Tree of Wisdom?' The thought solidified into terrible certainty as Adrian watched Voldemort's expression.
Of course it was.
Everything pointed to it from the weeks of stalking, the careful planning, the risk of attacking here despite the plantation's formidable defenses. Voldemort had discovered the Tree's existence somehow, had known its unique nature, and now he intended to use it for his proper resurrection.
At this thought, unease that went beyond mere concern surged again within Adrian's heart.
This wasn't just about protecting a magical artifact or a powerful source of energy. The Tree of Wisdom was bound to his very soul. Their essences were intertwined, merged on a level that transcended normal magical connections.
He could escape if he needed to—could retreat through the portal, seal it behind him, save his own life. But the Tree of Wisdom could not flee. It was rooted here, literally and metaphorically, unable to run from the threat that approached with fatal intent.
Which meant Adrian couldn't run either. Not without abandoning half of his own soul to whatever fate Voldemort had planned.
He had to act immediately, had to stop Voldemort before it could reach the Tree and begin whatever dark ritual he'd planned for stealing or devouring it.
"Expelliarmus!"
Without allowing himself time for hesitation or doubt, Adrian waved his wand with precision, channeling power.
But this time was different—this time, he drew not just on his own magical core but on the amplification provided by his proximity to the Tree of Wisdom. The bond between them flared like fire, and magic poured through him in quantities that would have been impossible under normal circumstances.
An unprecedented brilliant beam of light burst forth from his wand, so bright it momentarily outshone even the pale sunlight pouring through the mist barrier.
The Disarming Charm shot straight toward Voldemort, amplified to a level of power that should have been impossible for such a simple spell.
It was a Disarming Charm enhanced to its absolute fullest potential by the Tree of Wisdom's presence and power, channeled through Adrian's skill and desperation.
However, Voldemort merely gave a contemptuous flick of his own wand. The amplified Disarming Charm struck something invisible in the air between them and simply vanished without a trace, as if it had hit an impenetrable wall and been absorbed or negated entirely.
The brilliant light dissipated into harmless sparkles that fell like snow.
That wasn't even a Shield Charm, Adrian realized with growing dread, his mind was immediately analyzing what he'd just witnessed.
Voldemort hadn't even bothered to cast a proper defensive spell.
"I am no longer who I used to be, Adrian Westeros," Voldemort said, his voice carrying smug satisfaction and dark amusement.
"The transformation I've undergone has elevated me beyond the petty limitations that bind ordinary wizards. Your conventional magic, no matter how amplified, has no effect on me anymore. You have no chance at all against what I've become."
The crimson eyes gleamed with malicious triumph as Voldemort continued,
"But do you know something? Even after this glorious resurrection, even after constructing this perfect vessel from pure magical energy and will, my soul is still far from strong enough to achieve true immortality. The destroyed and missing Horcruxes have left me incomplete, fragmentary, weaker than I should be."
As he spoke these words, seemingly lost in thought about his own damaged state, Voldemort began to walk slowly toward the Tree of Wisdom.
His pace was unhurried, almost leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world and knew Adrian posed no real threat to his plans, and with every footfall, the surrounding air seemed to grow heavier, more oppressive, harder to breathe.
"The law of the jungle, survival of the fittest—this is the eternal principle that governs all existence," Voldemort said, his voice taking on an almost philosophical tone, as if he were delivering a lecture rather than advancing toward an act of spiritual murder.
"In nature, we see this truth demonstrated constantly. The strong consume the weak. Power flows from the defeated to the victor. And in the realm of souls, this principle applies with even greater force."
His pale lips curved into a smile that held no warmness, only hunger.
"A powerful soul devours another weak soul, absorbs its essence and energy, and then becomes even stronger from the consumption," Voldemort continued, spreading his arms as if to encompass the profound wisdom of this concept.
"What a wonderful thing. What a perfect mechanism for the evolution of power. And here, fortune has delivered to me exactly what I need—an ancient soul, powerful yet vulnerable, unable to defend itself, perfect for consumption."
At the same time he spoke, the expression of greedy hunger on Voldemort's face intensified. His eyes had taken on an almost feverish quality.
Adrian understood now that the Tree of Wisdom was the "weak soul" Voldemort spoke of. Despite its age and power, despite the magic it had, it couldn't fight back effectively. It couldn't flee. It could only stand and endure whatever was done to it.
And Voldemort's goal was nothing less than to devour the Tree's soul, to consume its essence and make that power his own, to use its strength to repair his own fragmented being.
Adrian's jaw clenched with desperate determination. He absolutely could not let Voldemort touch the Tree of Wisdom, within range to begin whatever dark ritual would allow him to tear the Tree's soul from its physical form.
This was the only thought that mattered now that drove out all other considerations.
An invisible voice seemed to echo frantically in Adrian's head, growing louder with each of Voldemort's steps: if Voldemort touched the Tree of Wisdom, if he made physical contact and began the soul-devouring process, then everything would be finished.
Adrian's own soul would be torn apart along with the Tree's. His consciousness would be shattered. His very existence would end, not in death exactly, but in something worse but in absorption into Voldemort's being.
"Incarcerous!"
Adrian immediately deployed his most powerful spell.
A seemingly ethereal silver-white chain appeared out of thin air, materializing from pure magical energy. Unlike normal conjured chains that were simple physical restraints, these gleamed with a light.
The chain shot forward with incredible speed and wrapped firmly around Voldemort's legs, the links were tightening immediately upon contact. The silver-white glow intensified as the spell took hold, and Voldemort's forward momentum stopped abruptly.
For the first time since the battle began, a trace of curiosity flashed in Voldemort's crimson eyes.
He looked down at the chains binding his legs, and his expression shifted from contempt to interest.
"Somewhat interesting..." Voldemort hissed, his tone showed he'd encountered something unexpected. "But clever as this is, it's still far from enough to stop me."
He raised his wand, the motion was smooth and controlled despite the chains around his legs.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The words came out in a sibilant whisper, yet they carried terrible power.
A blinding green light shot straight toward Adrian.
Adrian was already extremely familiar with this spell from his studies and previous encounters during his travels.
To date, he'd faced the Killing Curse multiple times in various dangerous situations, and he didn't know exactly how many he'd successfully dodged or blocked over the years. But without exception, not a single Killing Curse had successfully hit him,.
The key weakness of the Killing Curse was that physical barriers could block it. Unlike many other spells that could pass through solid objects or circumvent obstacles, the green light of death required a direct line of effect.
This limitation was exploitable for anyone with quick enough reflexes and sufficient environmental awareness.
Physical barriers were sufficient to stop it—this was the only meaningful weakness the Killing Curse possessed, and Adrian had long since mastered the art of exploiting that vulnerability.
Although most people couldn't react in time when faced with the spell, their fear freezing them in place or their reflexes simply too slow, for an experienced wizard who'd trained on such scenario, creating an appropriate defense was entirely possible.
Just as the green light was about to strike him, traveling across the space between them with deadly speed, the ground suddenly responded to Adrian's will.
A thick earthen wall erupted from the soil, shooting up with explosive force.
The barrier of dirt and stone positioned itself precisely in the path of the Killing Curse, intercepting it mere inches before it would have reached Adrian's chest.
The green light struck the earthen wall and sank into it, leaving only a scorched circular mark where the deadly magic had made contact. The spell's energy dissipated harmlessly, absorbed by the sacrificial barrier.
Voldemort's pale lips pursed with visible displeasure, clearly annoyed that such a powerful curse had been blocked so easily. This was supposed to be the spell that ended all resistance, and Adrian had negated it with what was a transfiguration trick.
The Dark Lord looked down at the silver-white chains still binding his legs and tapped them experimentally with his wand, his tone was curious.
"Finite Incantatem!"
The standard counter-spell should have worked, should have dispelled the chains immediately, sending them fading back into nothingness. It was basic magical theory that any conjuration or enchantment could be ended with the proper counter.
However, the chains didn't budge even slightly, still firmly imprisoning Voldemort's legs with that strange silver-white glow. They showed no sign of weakening or fading under the counter-spell's influence.
Voldemort's expression darkened. He tried again, putting more power into the casting.
"Finite!"
The light emanating from the chains flickered slightly, dimming for just a moment as the counter-spell washed over them. But then the glow returned to full strength, and the bindings remained exactly as secure as before, showing no sign of loosening or failing.
For the first time since his resurrection, genuine surprise flashed in Voldemort's eyes. His pupils contracted slightly as he examined the silver-white chains more carefully.
Then he looked up at Adrian, and the corner of his mouth curled into a sinister arc.
"Ah... it seems you've touched upon a hint of the essence of the soul," Voldemort said slowly, his voice carrying notes of someone recognizing a kindred explorer of forbidden knowledge.
"These aren't mere conjured chains, are they? You've woven something of your own spiritual energy into them, given them substance from the same power that binds you to that tree. Impressive, for someone so young and comparatively inexperienced."
Adrian remained silent, unwilling to confirm or deny Voldemort's analysis.
Voldemort gently shook his head, his expression shifting to something almost patient, like a teacher about to deliver an important lesson.
"Don't be so tense, Adrian Westeros," He said with unsettling calm. "Allow me to share something with you, since you've demonstrated such promising magical development. Do you know what separates truly powerful magic from the merely competent spells that any mediocre wizard can master?"
He paused, clearly expecting no answer but continuing anyway.
"All powerful magic, all of it, without exception is always related to the soul in some ultimate way," Voldemort explained.
"The most devastating curses, the most impenetrable defenses, the most impossible transformations—they all draw their power not from magical reserves or learned techniques alone, but from the caster's very essence, their soul given form and direction through will and intent."
He bent down, moving carefully despite the chains binding him, and stroked the silver-white links with one pale hand.
To Adrian's surprise, the chains actually emitted a faint hum at the contact, as if responding to Voldemort's touch.
"Do you know what kind of magic is truly powerful magic?" Voldemort asked, straightening up again and fixing Adrian with that sharp crimson gaze.
"In any case, your Killing Curse isn't among them," Adrian replied calmly, refusing to be drawn into Voldemort's attempt at philosophical discussion.
He had just tried to extend the Binding Curse to encompass Voldemort's entire body, had tried to trap him completely rather than merely immobilizing his legs, but the spell hadn't succeeded in expanding beyond its current scope.
The resistance had been too strong. This made Adrian realize that the power of his Binding Curse was not unlimited, that even soul-touched magic had its boundaries when confronting someone powerful.
He had to find another way to harm Voldemort, or at least to stop his advance toward the Tree. The binding was buying time, but it wouldn't hold forever.
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