After neutralizing Voldemort's Avada Kedavra with a stone puppet wolf, Orsaga looked calmly at the gathered crowd.
"I will now eliminate half the people present. Only those who survive will be qualified to serve under me."
He didn't wait for objections.
From the tip of his wand, slender streams of flame began to flow—serpentine fire-snakes that slithered out slowly, then surged toward the others.
These serpents grew with the wind.
In just seconds, what began as fire threads the width of chopsticks and the length of a finger swelled into monstrous serpents over seven meters long and as thick as barrels.
And they were still growing.
They flicked their tongues and glared with savage intent—more like living beasts than spells.
Their flaming bodies glowed with a hellish orange-red, resembling fire straight from the infernal pits.
Everything they passed—trees, grass, debris—was instantly incinerated, leaving only charred earth in their wake.
Witnessing this scene, several of the wizards present immediately recognized the spell:
Dark Magic – Fiendfyre.
One of the most dangerous spells known.
It conjures magical flames that can burn through anything—wood, water, ice, even stone and soil are helpless before it. The only way to stop it is to let it burn itself out.
Worse still, the fire can take on the forms of living creatures—beasts, serpents, monsters—that act on their own to attack everything in sight.
It is a spell of wide-area annihilation.
And part of what makes Fiendfyre so feared is its lack of discrimination—it doesn't care who it attacks.
Using it is as likely to kill yourself as your enemies.
Half of its effectiveness depends on technique… the other half on sheer luck.
Why, then, is it not classified as an Unforgivable Curse?
Because—technically—it can be dispelled.
There are countermeasures, cleanup spells, magical containment protocols.
Unlike the Unforgivable Curses, which are unstoppable once cast, Fiendfyre at least leaves room for intervention—though barely.
Still, legal or not, seeing hundreds of giant flaming serpents roaring across the battlefield, even the boldest of wizards were filled with fear.
Within seconds, the shortest of the fire-serpents had reached over ten meters in length. The largest had already grown to over thirty—coiling on the ground like a flaming train bound for Hell.
Under these circumstances, any talk of "manageable" was laughably naive.
Even Merlin himself would have shaken his head in resignation.
After all, if Merlin had possessed this level of power back in his day, he could have wiped out every invading foreign tribe from Britain single-handedly.
King Arthur would never have needed to lift a sword.
One Purgator stared at the monstrous fire-serpent before him, its rising body casting a towering shadow over Voldemort's entire faction. His expression was utterly aghast.
'Wasn't this guy supposed to be a newbie?'
'How can he possibly be this strong!?'
'Is this some kind of illusion spell!?'
And then he saw it: one of the fire-serpents unleashed a blast of Fiendfyre breath, instantly incinerating a group of Death Eaters.
'…This is NOT a fucking newbie!'
Orsaga casting group Apparition? Fine, maybe he's just gifted.
Orsaga instantly killing a Death Eater? Okay, maybe he's a powerful beginner.
But Orsaga going toe-to-toe with every single major character in the storyline, and then some?
This was madness.
The Purgator was furious and confused:
"Did the Matrix Purgatory just throw in a Grand Arcanist—or the actual Sorcerer Supreme—as a rookie!?"
Meanwhile, Dumbledore stared at the surging fire-serpents attacking everything in sight. His thoughts wandered back through time.
The first Dark Lord, Grindelwald, had once used Fiendfyre.
That memory made Dumbledore chuckle bitterly.
Raising the Elder Wand, he joined Professor McGonagall and the others in combatting the rampaging inferno.
Spells clashed through the air.
Explosions rocked the battlefield.
Fiery serpents roared in pain and fury.
For the first time, it truly felt like a wizarding war.
And yet Orsaga remained unmoved, indifferent.
To him, this was just a warm-up—hardly even entertainment.
So, with a mere thought, he activated the Thunderbird ability he had fused upon entering the Harry Potter world.
The full moon dimmed.
A dense storm cloud slowly formed above, cloaking the sky in gloom.
With a low rumble, lightning began to strike—fierce and rapid.
The ground below erupted in panic as wizards scattered in terror.
---
[Thunderbird – XXXX-Class Magical Creature]
A massive avian species native to North America, most commonly found in the southwestern United States. A close relative of the Phoenix, the Thunderbird can summon storms in flight and is acutely sensitive to danger. In ancient Native American mythology, it is revered as a divine force capable of conjuring storms, heat waves, and wildfires. However, many of these powers remain unverified by the magical community.
— From the Compendium of Magical Creatures.
---
In the magical world, the Thunderbird's standing wasn't all that high.
Even the more powerful XXXXX-class magical creature, the dragon, had been reduced to a school competition prop in the original story.
They weren't exactly respected.
A regular human with a sniper rifle could easily bring one down.
After all, even the wizards who governed the magical world were, frankly, a bit pathetic.
But Orsaga had changed that.
Using the power of the Angel, he had grafted the Thunderbird's useful genes into himself.
Not only did this give him access to magic, but more importantly, it granted him the Thunderbird's innate ability: Weather Control.
Normally, that power could only generate a localized thunderstorm—barely enough to avoid dying of thirst.
A pathetic version of the divine ability found in legend.
But in Orsaga's hands?
It became something else entirely.
Thanks to the memories and knowledge he had consumed—through soul devouring, learning, and outright theft—and thanks to the ancestral heritage etched into his blood, he had mastered far more than brute force.
Yes, Orsaga could be insane.
The Power of Pain and the Instinct of Chaos from his demonic nature often warped his thinking.
But brilliance still shone through.
In any environment, in any situation—
He was an expert, capable of thriving.
Give him sunshine and he'd bloom.
Give him a screwdriver and he'd threaten planetary security.
Give him chewing gum and he'd become an interstellar fugitive.
A rising star in the Abyss.
A prodigy of evil.
The devil's own wunderkind.
So while the Thunderbird could only summon weather in crude ways, Orsaga had refined that into precise, localized climate control.
With a flick of intention, he could manipulate atmospheric conditions with surgical accuracy.
Then, leveraging minor changes into major results, he could gradually scale his influence, weaponizing weather like a climatic WMD.
In fact, if he wanted to, he could stand in one spot and—through small-scale weather tweaks—trigger a butterfly effect across the globe.
He could:
Melt the polar ice caps, flood the world, and begin the "New Water Age" scenario.
Destroy the ozone layer, allowing cosmic radiation to sterilize the earth, triggering mass extinction.
But clearly—
Those outcomes did not suit his ambition to rule Earth.
So he had not taken those steps. At least, not yet.
Not in this chapter.
He was behaving himself… for now.
___
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