Jerusalem.
When Dawn stepped back through the doorway, he immediately saw ashes gathering a short distance ahead, gradually taking on the shape of a human.
He clicked his tongue.
Just as expected.
Grabbing the wooden door, Dawn hurled it toward Flamel. Before Voldemort had fully reformed, he drew his wand.
°Stupefy°
This time, he did not use the Killing Curse.
Instead, he cast the Stunning Spell.
A flash of red light streaked through the air.
Voldemort was blasted backward, landing unconscious on the ground.
"Mr. Flamel! Do you have anything that can keep someone unconscious?"
Remembering the enchanted bracelet from before, Dawn shouted to the alchemist, who was still some distance away, while continuously firing Stunning Spells at Voldemort.
Unfortunately...
Flamel's helpless voice drifted back on the wind. "Sorry, Dawn. I don't have anything like that with me."
"If I were to make one now, it would probably take quite some time."
Fair enough.
Dawn wasn't overly disappointed.
After all, Flamel hadn't shown him anything like that when displaying his alchemical creations the day before.
He immediately asked another question.
"What about potions? Something like the Draught of Living Death?"
"I don't have those either!" Flamel's answer only made Dawn more irritated. "Why would I carry something like that around under normal circumstances?"
"I knew it! You and that damned Brain are equally unreliable!"
Dawn laughed in exasperation.
After a brief pause, however, Flamel added, "Also, child, I suggest you stop casting for a moment."
"The Stunning Spell probably won't accomplish much against Voldemort."
Hmm?
Dawn blinked.
Before he could ask why—
Bang!
One of his Stunning Spells was suddenly deflected by Voldemort's Shield Charm.
Voldemort had actually managed to cast Protego during the tiny interval between the barrage of Stunning Spells.
Watching masses of Fiendfyre surge toward him, Dawn summoned Fiendfyre of his own to intercept the attack while retreating to widen the distance.
Only then did Flamel's explanation finally arrive.
"Child, forcibly splitting the soul causes constant agony.
For any wizard who has created Horcruxes... It is almost impossible for them to remain unconscious for long."
"...Why didn't you say that sooner?"
Dawn forced the words through clenched teeth.
He shot Flamel an annoyed glare.
No wonder the old man had been the original consciousness behind that Brain.
The two of them really were cut from the same cloth.
After their brief exchange, both turned their attention back toward Voldemort, who had already risen to his feet.
Completely naked.
For a moment...
The battlefield fell into an uneasy stalemate.
"Tch."
"Let's talk, Tom." Dawn spun his wand lazily between his fingers. "Seems like fighting isn't getting us anywhere."
"Talk?"
Voldemort's hoarse voice echoed across the ruins.
He picked up a nearby stone and Transfigured it into robes that draped over his body before giving Dawn a mocking smile.
"That hardly sounds like something you'd say, Richter. Where's all that arrogance of yours?"
"Heh. That's not very nice."
Dawn grinned without the slightest intention of backing down.
"But let's get one thing straight, Tom. You're the one at a disadvantage right now."
"In that case... I have even less reason to negotiate." Voldemort sneered while twirling his wand.
"Oh, don't be like that."
Dawn shrugged casually.
"Think about it. You've gone to all this effort. Don't you want to show off a little?
To me...
And to the greatest alchemist alive standing beside me?
You know... There's an old saying in the East.
'Returning home in splendid clothes without letting anyone see is like walking through the night in embroidered robes.'
Don't you want to see the amazement on our faces? To hear us sincerely praise what you've accomplished?"
Dawn spoke calmly, almost persuasively.
In his opinion...
Someone as bold and self-important as Voldemort would never have a zero percent chance of explaining everything himself.
However...
Voldemort merely stared at him with an unreadable expression.
After a long silence, he finally said, "Richter... In your eyes... Am I really nothing more than a brainless fool?"
After speaking, he ignored Dawn altogether and shifted his gaze toward the white-bearded old man.
"So...
The great alchemist. Nicolas Flamel. Wearing Dumbledore's face.
No wonder something felt off.
I have to admit... That storm-summoning device of yours is rather impressive."
It sounded almost like praise.
Flamel ignored him.
He simply rummaged through the alchemical items he had brought, considering which might still prove useful.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The sound of applause echoed.
After drawing Voldemort's attention back, Dawn spread his hands and asked casually,
"By the way, Tom. The ritual you're using...
You discovered it in that church during our last encounter inside the Thought World, didn't you?"
"..."
Voldemort silently narrowed his eyes.
Looking at the boy who continued asking questions without the slightest concern for anyone else's feelings, he once again found Dawn thoroughly irritating.
In all his years...
He had never met someone more self-centered than himself.
Dawn simply asked whatever he wished, completely indifferent to anyone else's opinion.
Yet...
"That's right." After a brief silence, Voldemort admitted it openly.
Well...
He had to admit Dawn had a point.
After accomplishing something so extraordinary... How could no one know?
Besides...
The ritual couldn't be used again anytime soon. Even if its details leaked, it hardly mattered.
So Voldemort answered honestly. "That disgusting dog did kill me... But I'd say the harvest was well worth the cost."
"The Muggle churches really do preserve quite a few fascinating things."
"Then tell me. What exactly are the requirements and procedure for the ritual?"
This time, Dawn asked out of genuine curiosity.
Since he had already begun speaking, Voldemort saw little reason to conceal such details.
Moreover...
Seeing Dawn's thirst for knowledge... He unexpectedly found himself enjoying the role of teacher.
"First... Clear understanding."
His hoarse voice echoed calmly.
"There's little to explain.
For nearly every ritual... The wizard performing it must clearly understand exactly what they are doing.
Accidentally satisfying the requirements is never enough."
Dawn nodded. That fit perfectly with the fundamental principles of will-based magic.
It reminded him of the Ritual of the Fountain of Fair Fortune years ago.
Voldemort continued.
"Second... The location. The ritual requires its completion to occur within Jerusalem."
Again, Dawn nodded. He had already expected that.
"Third... Opposition."
"A resurrection cannot proceed without resistance. It requires genuine enemies who sincerely attempt to stop it."
Dawn's eyelid twitched.
Just like in the biblical story...
The Pharisees, fearing Jesus' resurrection, stationed guards to seal and watch over the tomb.
His brow furrowed.
"So... Mr. Flamel and I coming to Jerusalem actually fulfilled part of your ritual?"
"Exactly."
Voldemort smiled broadly.
Then he added:
"But honestly...
The fact that both of you pinpointed Jerusalem exceeded my expectations.
In my original design... An entirely different event was supposed to fulfill the requirement for opposition."
"Oh?"
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Beside him... Flamel frowned, seemingly realizing something.
Enjoying Dawn's expression, Voldemort finally revealed the answer.
"Back at Hogwarts... I first injured and then murdered one of the students.
Besides attempting to spread rumors and resurrect directly through the Castle Consciousness...
I also intended to provoke either the Ministry or Dumbledore into publicly denying that I was still alive.
That denial... Would have fulfilled the opposition."
He smiled.
"And in the end... The two of you performed that role perfectly."
"So that's why your actions back then seemed so incomplete... You'd planned all of this from the very beginning."
Dawn murmured in realization.
The difference in information had produced disastrous consequences.
Who could have imagined...
That by trying to suppress Voldemort's rumors... They had actually advanced his resurrection?
Still...
"Is that really all?" Dawn frowned.
He refused to give up.
Those conditions alone hardly seemed worthy of such an overwhelming result.
"Of course not." Voldemort shook his head proudly. "Everything I've mentioned so far... Is merely superficial."
"There are only two truly important requirements."
He raised one finger.
"First...
The state of being neither alive nor dead.
This ritual cannot truly resurrect the dead. Perhaps that was its creator's intention.
But clearly... It failed.
So strictly speaking... It has very little practical use.
But for someone like me... Whose soul already exists independently through Horcruxes... It is absolutely perfect."
After a brief pause...
He raised a second finger.
"Second...
A vast body of followers... Who genuinely believe I will return.
That requirement was the troublesome one.
Even after all these years... Many of my servants still live. But their numbers alone fall far short of what the ritual demanded.
So... I had to compensate by other means."
Other means...
A bad feeling immediately surfaced inside Dawn.
Still, he asked, "And how exactly did you accomplish that?"
"The Castle Consciousness."
The answer was both unexpected...And perfectly logical.
"Impossible." Although he had suspected as much, Dawn instinctively rejected it.
"You never unified the students' shared perception. How could you possibly control the Castle Consciousness?"
Hearing the challenge, Voldemort wagged a finger.
"You're still too young, Dawn. Far too young.
But I can't blame you.
You've only been part of the magical world for a few years. Your knowledge simply isn't deep enough."
He smiled.
"As Muggles like to say...
All roads lead to Rome.
Yes... The Castle Consciousness requires shared belief. But there are other methods. Methods that bypass that restriction entirely."
Dawn's eyelid twitched. He immediately thought of the students nailed to the crosses.
"So... It was those children?"
"Precisely."
Voldemort's smile widened.
"Seven. A number overflowing with magical significance.
I used seven Hogwarts students. I had them die upon crosses. In that way... They became part of the ritual.
Then I made them firmly believe that I still lived.
And through a particular method... I used them to mobilize the entire Castle Consciousness."
"What method?" Dawn pressed.
"That... I'm afraid I won't tell you."
Voldemort answered with a mocking smile. He wasn't foolish enough to reveal everything.
Dawn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Even without knowing the exact method... He could already tell it came with severe restrictions.
Otherwise...
Why would Voldemort have bothered switching to the Jesus Resurrection Ritual instead of simply using this method from the beginning to seize the Castle Consciousness?
His thoughts drifted toward the Four Founders of Hogwarts.
He had every reason to suspect... This secret had originated from Salazar Slytherin's legacy.
Perhaps... The other Founders had known similar secrets as well.
Returning to the present, Dawn asked one final question. "Can the Castle Consciousness be used again?"
"Certainly."
Voldemort nodded.
The answer surprised him.
Then the Dark Lord smiled maliciously. "But only... Three hundred years from now."
"I see..."
Dawn paused. Then smiled as well.
The next instant— The scattered Fiendfyre gathered once more.
Like a rising tide...
Towering waves of flame surged across the battlefield.
Boom!
The clash resumed.
Brilliant sparks exploded into the air.
"Dawn?"
Flamel looked over in surprise. The sudden attack had caught him completely off guard.
Knowing how much Dawn cared about the Castle Consciousness, he feared the revelation had shaken him.
"Don't worry, Mr. Flamel. I'm perfectly calm."
Dawn's expression remained blank.
His flames spread farther and farther, painting everything in crimson once again.
Firelight danced across his eyes, concealing every thought within. Turning toward Flamel, he quietly said only two words.
"Until tomorrow."
Flamel blinked.
Immediately understanding, he asked, "You believe Voldemort's immortality has a time limit?"
"What makes you think that?"
"It's simple."
Dawn answered.
"The moment we arrived in the Andes... Voldemort dissolved into black ash and immediately reappeared in Jerusalem.
Doesn't that suggest he's trapped here?
But look at him. Does he seem bothered?"
Dawn calmly continued, "So... I don't think the geographical restriction is permanent."
"And if that limitation isn't permanent... Then perhaps his immortality isn't either."
The reasoning was clear.
Orderly.
Logical.
Flamel admitted it made a certain amount of sense.
Yet considering the destruction another battle would cause, he still asked, "How confident are you?"
"No idea. We'll find out."
Dawn answered casually.
Unfortunately... They had no better options. Flamel hesitated only briefly before agreeing.
He reached into his robes and tossed Dawn a silver-white mask.
It resembled the one used during the kidnapping of the students... Yet it was fundamentally different.
This one truly altered the wearer's appearance.
"Wear it."
Flamel said.
"At this point...
What happened in Jerusalem can no longer be concealed.
The International Confederation of Wizards may arrive at any moment. Let's avoid dragging innocent people into this."
As he spoke, Flamel placed the mask over his own face.
His body rippled.
The appearance of Dumbledore vanished.
In its place... Stood Nicolas Flamel himself.
Why not simply create an entirely different face? The question briefly crossed Dawn's mind.
Then he understood.
Flamel intended to use his own reputation to shoulder responsibility for everything that happened today.
Shaking his head...
Dawn fastened the mask over his face.
Perhaps influenced by the emotions still burning inside him... He imagined his original appearance.
The disguise shifted.
Blaise disappeared. Crimson eyes returned.
His own face stared back.
Boom!
Explosions echoed endlessly.
With Flamel fully rejoining the battle... The bombardment intensified.
Voldemort was steadily driven backward.
...
Old City of Jerusalem.
While the three wizards fought to kill one another...
Not far away...
Jonathan sped through the narrow streets in his car, racing toward the outskirts of the city.
Today had become an absolute nightmare. As he drove, he replayed everything that had happened.
Yesterday...
He had witnessed two corpses burn themselves to ashes.
Today...
He had returned to investigate... Only to watch three more bodies vanish in exactly the same impossible manner.
Before he even had time to think...
A massive fire suddenly erupted somewhere within the city, painting the entire sky crimson.
Moments later...
Dark storm clouds appeared beneath a clear afternoon sky.
Lightning crashed down continuously.
The thunder was deafening.
Most disturbing of all... Despite the obvious location of the flames and lightning...
It was as though the entire burning district existed inside another world.
No matter what route he took... He simply couldn't reach it.
The growing list of impossible phenomena chilled him to the bone. His curiosity finally gave way to common sense.
He decided to leave.
The engine roared as he steered toward increasingly deserted roads.
Suddenly—
Jonathan's expression changed.
He slammed on the brakes.
Screech!
The tires left long black marks across the stone pavement. The sharp smell of burnt rubber filled the air.
"Hey!"
"What are you doing?"
Rolling down his window, he shouted angrily.
A man in his early thirties lay flat across the narrow road, completely blocking the way.
"Hey!"
"Can you hear me?"
Jonathan shouted again.
Receiving no response, he frowned and opened the car door, preparing to drag the man aside.
At that exact moment... The man slowly stirred. Rubbing his head, he struggled into a sitting position.
Jonathan stopped and leaned back out the window.
"Hey!"
"If you want to sleep, go home! The middle of the road isn't your bedroom!"
"Ah...
I'm terribly sorry, officer. I haven't eaten anything all day. I suddenly fainted.
I'm sorry for causing you trouble."
Seeing Jonathan's police uniform, the man immediately forced a flattering smile and limped toward the roadside.
Assuming he was simply another beggar, Jonathan grabbed a loaf of bread from the passenger seat and tossed it through the window.
"Fine. Take this. Now get out of the way."
Gulp.
The man's eyes lit up.
He reached toward the bread. Then suddenly... He recoiled in horror.
"No..."
"I can't eat it!"
Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees.
Repeatedly making the sign of the cross, he cried, "I have to be cured... I can't eat. I have to be cured. I can't eat."
"Cured?"
Jonathan frowned.
For some reason... The old man he had met yesterday suddenly came to mind.
He was just about to ask what illness the man suffered from— When the man erupted into violent coughing.
Bloody saliva sprayed through the air.
Frowning, Jonathan hurriedly rolled the window shut.
Cough...
Cough...
The fit grew worse and worse.
Not wanting to remain there any longer, Jonathan muttered, "Superstitious nonsense."
He drove away through the narrow gap the man had left.
Yet as he continued driving... The sound of that relentless coughing echoed repeatedly inside his mind.
Cough.
Cough...
Jonathan unconsciously scratched the back of his neck.
___________
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