Jerusalem.
No one slept that night.
Boom!
A fighter jet fell from the sky.
It crashed in a blazing explosion, scattering burning wreckage in every direction.
Metal fragments tore into the streets, leaving countless craters behind.
In the Old City, Jonathan gritted his teeth as he drove away a strange duck-billed creature with his firearm.
Looking at the increasingly chaotic surroundings, he dashed into the nearest surviving stone house.
"Damn it! Why the hell am I going through all this? Everything was fine just a moment ago!"
He angrily wiped the soot from his face and slumped against the wall, silently cursing the sheer unpredictability of life.
Everything had changed too suddenly.
Since that afternoon, one bizarre event after another had unfolded before him.
First, the flames that even the fire engines had failed to extinguish had mysteriously disappeared.
Before he could celebrate, however, the fighter jets and tanks that had been waiting nearby suddenly went mad, launching an indiscriminate bombardment across the Old City.
Fortunately, as a detective attached to the main force, Jonathan hadn't been targeted.
But when he sensed that something was terribly wrong and tried to leave, he discovered that part of the military had remained behind to seal off the entire area.
No one was being allowed out.
Then dark clouds gathered overhead.
Despite a full day of scorching fire that had dried the air to the point of cracking, torrential rain began falling without warning.
After that...
Countless bizarre creatures emerged from the darkness, roaring as they charged straight into the military blockade.
Jonathan had personally witnessed a gigantic silver bird wrapped in lightning soar over the edge of the Old City, destroying at least two aircraft.
Even more terrifying was a beast resembling a leopard.
The instant it appeared, soldiers everywhere screamed and collapsed, their skin turning a sickly purple.
Damn it.
It felt as though reality had received a game update that everyone except him had somehow missed.
One moment the world had been an ordinary modern city.
The next...
It had become a magical wasteland.
If he hadn't sensed the danger early enough to flee toward the quieter streets, he would probably be another corpse lying outside by now.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Listening as the commotion outside gradually faded, Jonathan caught his breath, licked his cracked lips, and stood up.
Perhaps there was something to eat or drink somewhere inside the house.
As he searched the rooms, however, a faint coughing sound drifted from a nearby bathroom.
Hmm?
Jonathan instantly became alert.
The homeowner? That was his immediate conclusion.
Keeping his pistol ready, he called softly,
"Sorry. I don't mean any harm."
After all, Israel was hardly a country where civilians were forbidden from carrying guns.
Oddly enough...
After he spoke, the only response was another muffled cough.
No answer came.
His curiosity, dormant for quite some time, resurfaced.
After hesitating briefly, Jonathan raised his pistol and carefully pushed the door open.
Creak...
Keeping close to the wall, he peered inside.
It was a small bathroom.
A gaunt man knelt on the floor, staring blankly at the ticking clock hanging on the wall.
His hands moved slowly, though Jonathan couldn't immediately tell what he was doing.
Frowning, Jonathan continued watching.
Several minutes passed.
The man never moved.
Anyone with common sense could tell that something was terribly wrong.
After wetting his lips, Jonathan finally stepped inside, aiming the pistol at the back of the man's head.
Then—
The moment the door swung fully open, his face turned pale.
A wave of overwhelming stench struck him. His throat tightened involuntarily.
The smell of decay.
As a detective, he recognized it instantly.
It was the unmistakable odor of a corpse that had been decomposing for a long time.
His face twitched.
Compared to everything else he'd encountered today, though... Even that smell somehow seemed almost ordinary.
He quickly forced himself to stay calm.
Only then did he notice the bathtub in front of the kneeling man.
Half-filled with filthy water, it contained the bloated corpse of another man.
Its eyes remained wide open.
The body had swollen grotesquely from decomposition.
In the kneeling man's hand was a translucent crystal vial containing roughly one-fifth of a crimson liquid that looked remarkably like blood.
Drop by drop...
He poured it into the contaminated water.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
Jonathan shouted.
The man ignored him. He simply continued coughing.
Jonathan frowned.
Remembering everything strange that had happened today, his nerves snapped.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The back of the man's skull exploded open.
His body swayed briefly before collapsing face-first into the corpse-filled water.
Jonathan exhaled slowly and lowered his pistol. He made no attempt to investigate the scene.
Instead, he immediately turned to leave.
Then—
Without the slightest warning—
Jonathan screamed.
Agonizing pain suddenly spread through every inch of his body.
It felt as though thousands of venomous snakes were tearing him apart from the inside.
He collapsed onto the floor.
Pfft!
A mouthful of black, foul-smelling blood sprayed from his lips.
He struggled to push himself upright.
His body refused to obey.
Even worse... The flesh on the back of his exposed hand had begun rotting before his eyes.
"W-What's happening to me?!"
Terror filled his eyes.
The silent room offered no answer.
At that very moment... Not only throughout the Old City... Not only throughout Jerusalem...
But even farther beyond...
Countless people collapsed almost simultaneously, coughing up blood before breathing their last.
Boom!
A fighter pilot suddenly felt unbearable agony.
His vision went black.
Moments later, both he and his aircraft crashed into the earth. The already blazing night sky glowed even brighter.
"It seems tonight has become far livelier than expected."
Watching the scene unfold, Dawn turned his head just in time to see a Thunderbird sweep across the heavens, calling down a storm that obliterated another fighter jet.
Explosions echoed everywhere.
Moments earlier, a dragon had even flown overhead, casually breathing fire that had nearly burned all his clothes away.
"..."
Dawn silently swore that if he weren't tied down at the moment, he'd hunt that ill-mannered beast down and turn it into a museum specimen.
After venting inwardly, he refocused.
Looking at the smoke and chaos spreading across the horizon, he couldn't help admiring the competence of the International Confederation's wizards.
Originally, he had only intended to provoke a battle between wizards and Muggles.
Instead...
An entire menagerie of magical creatures had appeared.
The resulting chaos far exceeded anything he had imagined.
Not that he was complaining.
Still... The International Confederation had come here to contain magical exposure.
Why had they brought so many magical creatures?
"...Could Newt be here as well?"
Rubbing his chin, Dawn instinctively pictured the famous Hogwarts dropout he had never actually met.
Some reputations truly did precede their owners.
Shaking the thought away, he was interrupted by a cold voice that seemed forced through clenched teeth.
"Richter... You filthy little maggot..."
"What have you done?"
Dawn froze before instinctively looking downward.
The calm indifference on Voldemort's face had vanished. In its place were unmistakable shock and fear.
Only after forcing himself to regain some composure did Voldemort glare upward with naked hatred.
He was deeply unsettled.
Just moments earlier...
Without any warning whatsoever... He had suddenly felt the immortality granted by the ritual slipping away.
Even his resurrected body had begun growing sluggish, as though it were reverting to the state of a wandering spirit.
Instantly, he identified the culprit. The young wizard who had spent days entangling him atop the rooftop.
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
So...
It had actually worked.
His spirits lifted immediately.
Before he could press the advantage, however, Voldemort exploded into action.
A tidal wave of Fiendfyre surged toward him, its blazing light illuminating the Dark Lord's twisted, pale face.
There was no doubt.
Voldemort was absolutely furious.
Dawn had often felt Voldemort to be an impossible nuisance.
But from Voldemort's perspective... Dawn was every bit as persistent.
He had devoted endless effort to cheating death. Experimented with countless methods.
Yet every single time...
Dawn Richter appeared to ruin everything.
Even the resurrection ritual he had considered foolproof had somehow failed.
Voldemort refused to accept it. The cold elegance he had maintained moments before completely shattered.
"Richter!"
"Tell me! What did you do?!"
He fired Killing Curses one after another with reckless abandon.
Green bolts pierced through the Fiendfyre.
"Easy now, Tom. It's not as though I wasn't planning to tell you." Dawn retreated lightly, weaving between the incoming curses.
Seeing Voldemort like this filled him with unconcealed satisfaction.
At that moment, he finally understood the pleasure of teaching others.
"Tom...
Have you ever heard the story of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
I assume you have. After all, your resurrection ritual is deeply connected to the Church."
Smiling broadly, Dawn deliberately avoided mentioning collective consciousness.
Instead, he explained it another way.
"You may have noticed that countless magical rituals hide within Muggle legends.
And the ritual I used... Came from the story of the Four Horsemen."
"The Four Horsemen..." Voldemort frowned.
Though furious, he had not completely lost his reason. If he wanted to uncover Dawn's weakness, he needed to listen carefully.
Originally, Voldemort had known very little about Christianity.
By the time he was born, the Church had long since declined. His attention had always been devoted to Dark Magic.
But after obtaining the resurrection ritual from the dream...
He had spent considerable time studying religious texts.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse came from the Book of Revelation. They heralded the destruction of the world.
The White Horse.
The Red Horse.
The Black Horse.
The Pale Horse.
War. Famine. Pestilence. Death.
Together, they brought humanity's final judgment before ushering in a new world where conflict no longer existed and mankind lived in harmony with God.
But what did any of that have to do with his current situation?
"It was the idea of 'resetting.'"
Dawn answered.
"In Scripture, the emphasis lies on the birth of a new world after the Horsemen appear.
But I don't believe such an exaggerated miracle is actually achievable.
So...
The word 'reset' became the part that truly caught my attention."
He smiled almost nostalgically.
"I learned that kind of foresight from you, Tom.
The moment I discovered the Castle Consciousness, I began wondering... What if you claimed it before I did?
How could I undo it?
And after realizing you'd used the resurrection ritual connected to Jesus... I started reading a great deal about religion.
That's where I found my inspiration: The Four Horsemen."
Pausing briefly, Dawn continued:
"Originally, I intended to perform the ritual at Hogwarts. After all, what I wanted to reset was Hogwarts' Castle Consciousness.
But circumstances changed. I ended up using it here first.
And honestly...
I'm just as surprised as you are that a ritual improvised in such haste actually worked."
He shrugged.
Voldemort's face twitched.
"So...The resurrection ritual I performed in Jerusalem... Was reset by yours?"
"Apparently so." Dawn nodded.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the body still lying nearby.
Nicolas Flamel.
Or rather... Abel Davis.
He also glanced across the devastated landscape surrounding them. A flood of thoughts crossed his mind.
Although the ritual represented a reset, its power clearly had limits.
It couldn't restore the dead to life. Nor could it return the ruined city to its original state.
Still...
Neutralizing Voldemort's resurrection ritual alone had already accomplished his objective.
The only remaining question was...
Had the Castle Consciousness Voldemort consumed during the ritual also been restored?
Pushing those thoughts aside, Dawn reached into his sleeve.
A moment later, he withdrew a bottle filled with what looked like an entire storm.
Flamel's Storm Bottle. Apparently, the legendary alchemist had prepared more than one.
The instant Voldemort saw it, his pupils contracted.
His sense of danger surged. He desperately increased the intensity of his attacks.
Reality, however, had already proven something.
Without outside interference... Neither of them could defeat the other easily.
Feeling his condition deteriorating by the second, Voldemort fought while slowly retreating.
At the same time, he stalled for time.
"Richter."
"How exactly did you complete this ritual?"
He glanced toward the chaos spreading across the city.
"I understand now why you killed Nicolas Flamel. You feared he'd stop you from starting a war.
Following that logic...
The other requirements must have included Pestilence, Famine and Death.
So tell me. How did you fulfill them?"
His curiosity was genuine. His delay was equally intentional.
"It wasn't actually very difficult." Like Voldemort before him, Dawn answered without concealment.
Even a trace of pride appeared on his face.
"Have you ever heard of the Blood Rot Curse? I found it in an old book.
For five consecutive days...
You drip the victim's blood into mud, swamps, filthy water, urine, and corpse water.
The victim's blood begins to decay. Their flesh rots. And even their direct relatives may inherit the same curse.
Oh, right.
The book also mentioned that, from a Muggle perspective...This kind of blood poisoning qualifies as a plague."
After letting that sink in, he continued.
"Not long after arriving in Jerusalem... I collected quite a lot of blood.
Then I controlled a Muggle.
For five days... He dripped the mixed blood into each of the required locations.
And today...
Happens to be the fifth day."
Dawn looked toward the darkness beyond the city.
Though he couldn't see clearly... He could easily imagine the plague erupting across the region.
Thinking about it...
There had been one unexpected detail.
Before the five days were complete, some Muggles had already begun showing symptoms of varying severity.
Was it because they possessed no magic? The thought crossed his mind only briefly.
He quickly dismissed it.
After binding Voldemort once more with Fiendfyre to stop him escaping, Dawn continued.
"As for famine... That part was more troublesome.
I controlled Muggles into spreading the idea that starving oneself could cure illness.
I even borrowed a healing potion from Nicolas Flamel to create a few convincing examples.
Honestly... Until the very end, I wasn't completely certain it would count.
But after thinking it over...
The Black Horse doesn't literally symbolize hunger. It represents famine born from economic imbalance.
The true core of that Horseman is imbalance.
So...
The chaos wizards have unleashed upon the Muggle world... Whether measured through strength, ideology, or race...
Perfectly fulfills that requirement.
As for Death... I don't think that one requires any explanation."
He pointed toward the burning Old City.
"War.
Plague.
Imbalance—or famine.
And finally... Death.
Those are all the elements of my ritual."
Pop.
The bottle's stopper came free. Dark clouds gathered overhead.
Lightning flashed.
"Now... If you have no more questions... Goodbye, Tom."
Dawn inhaled deeply. In the suffocating heat, he could hardly wait to bring everything to an end.
Naturally, Voldemort had no intention of allowing that.
He knew perfectly well that remaining here in his current condition meant certain death.
Even while questioning Dawn, he had been fighting and steadily retreating.
Yet Dawn clung to him relentlessly.
Boom!
Lightning descended from the skies. Its pale brilliance overwhelmed the crimson glow of the Fiendfyre.
"Richter!"
"Dawn Richter!!"
Voldemort screamed his name.
Then countless bolts struck simultaneously.
His voice vanished. His body crashed to the ground as nothing more than a charred corpse.
Dawn refused to relax.
He fired several more Killing Curses. Then reduced what remained to ashes with Fiendfyre.
Only then did he finally let out a long breath.
"...It's finally over."
He collapsed onto the rooftop.
Days of accumulated exhaustion washed over him all at once.
As he gazed toward the distant horizon, another thought surfaced.
Maybe...
He ought to tell Dumbledore a little more.
Perhaps that would allow the old headmaster to eliminate Voldemort sooner.
He was thoroughly sick of being tangled up with him.
According to the prophecy, Harry and Dumbledore were supposed to be the ones locked in this endless struggle with Voldemort.
Yet looking back over the past year... It barely felt as though either of them had even participated.
Especially Dumbledore.
The old man had been sleeping peacefully this entire time. He hadn't contributed a thing.
"Hmph."
"Being the hands-off boss really is easy."
Dawn's face was filled with unconcealed envy.
After resting for a short while, he looked toward the increasingly chaotic Old City.
There was no reason to remain in Jerusalem any longer. Whatever happened next... He couldn't care less.
Standing up, Dawn began adjusting the wooden door beside him.
Following the method Flamel had taught him, he reset its destination to Britain before pulling it open.
Then—
Just as half his body disappeared through the doorway—
The consciousness still residing within Dumbledore's dream suddenly sensed something.
His expression twisted violently. His fingers clenched around the edge of the door.
A furious roar echoed across the Old City.
"Nicolas..."
"Flamel!!"
___________
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