With a hum, Kayson abruptly appeared behind Lord Voldemort, his mechanical arm quickly extending and thrusting towards Lord Voldemort's back.
Bang! In an instant, a large hole was pierced through Lord Voldemort's entire chest, but what was baffling was that Kayson didn't even see a single blood vessel inside, making it even more serious.
Despite such severe injury, he didn't even shed a drop of blood.
"You're no longer human..." Kayson swallowed, and before he could reorient his mechanical arm, Lord Voldemort sharply dodged to the side.
In an instant, his entire left chest was sliced open by the mechanical arm, and he quickly distanced himself from Kayson, saying hoarsely, "Because now I am a god!"
Then, the towering dragon formed by Fiendfyre not far away suddenly dispersed with a bang, turning into a sea of fire slowly descending towards the ground.
"Next time we meet, I will grant you a merciful death," Lord Voldemort said to Kayson through gritted teeth, while the wound on his chest rapidly healed itself, with strands of red, worm-like things intertwining and weaving together, eventually restoring it to its original state.
"You don't need to tell me!" Kayson said, sending a Wither Skeleton Head directly towards him, which hit Lord Voldemort's chest with a bang, and the next moment, a large area of his chest instantly turned black and began to crumble.
"I've changed my mind, your death will be incredibly cruel!" Lord Voldemort gnashed his teeth, pulled a Portkey from his pocket, and then he disappeared.
Seeing their boss flee, the other Death Eaters who were still resisting also quickly pulled out their pre-prepared Portkeys and escaped.
"We can't stop Fiendfyre of this magnitude, Professor Kayson, we need to retreat quickly!" Moody roared.
"There's no need for that! I have some experience dealing with Fiendfyre!" Kayson responded loudly, quickly pulling out an Enchanting Table, from which purple runes flew out menacingly from the enchantment book, intertwining within the sky-obscuring Fiendfyre.
Kayson took a deep breath; Fiendfyre of this magnitude was no ordinary Fiendfyre, he had to hit it hard.
He quickly pulled out a lapis lazuli and crushed it with his bare hands, and the next moment, the lapis lazuli powder strangely changed color, with a hum...
The originally purple runes instantly turned gold, and then with a hum.
The sky-obscuring Fiendfyre instantly vanished, and the fiery red sky was fleetingly replaced by a clear one.
"Fiendfyre... where?" Moody, who had just led Mr. Longbottom and Sirius, the closest to him, to construct Fiendfyre defensive magic, stared blankly at the clear sky.
Compared to someone being able to instantly resolve Fiendfyre capable of burning an entire island into glass, he found it easier to believe he had painlessly arrived in the world of the dead.
"The dust has settled, there are still thirty seconds left until time runs out, let's go quickly, don't cause Dumbledore any trouble," Lupin said loudly, glancing at his watch.
Kayson nodded, and an Ender Field enveloped them, the next moment they were back in the Black Old House, only then did Kayson have time to glance at the clock on the wall.
"So only a little over a minute passed..." he murmured.
"How long did you think it passed... My bread hasn't even been buttered yet," Tonks said resentfully.
"About... two hours?" Kayson sat down and let out a long breath, very naturally taking the bread from Tonks's hand and taking a bite; he was surprisingly hungry now.
"Any problems? Fighting Lord Voldemort," Lupin asked.
The others at the dining table slowly perked up their ears, such as the Weasleys and a string of Little Wizards; they all thought Kayson had merely ambushed Death Eaters, and never imagined he could spar with Lord Voldemort himself.
And Mad-Eye Moody, or Sirius, Lupin? And the Longbottoms were genuinely curious.
They had all witnessed Lord Voldemort being impaled through most of his body in an instant by Kayson, but the battle ended very quickly, so they couldn't really discern much.
Just like a boxing match, first-person and third-person perspectives are almost two different worlds.
Kayson took a cup of hot tea from Mrs. Weasley and thanked her.
"How to put it, unfathomable, unkillable, inscrutable. For example, an ordinary attack on an ordinary Wizard would definitely kill him, but on Lord Voldemort, it gives you a feeling... as if I wasn't attacking a person, but a building. The wounds are large and terrifying, but the actual damage caused to him is minimal."
"And I can't discern his depth, I don't know how many different kinds of spells he has, nor do I know what tricks he's good at. He gives me the feeling that no matter what I do, he has a way to counter it."
"So, he's very strong," Harry, who had regained his boyish form, swallowed and said.
"Clearly, he is," Sirius stood up and walked behind Harry, patting his shoulder as he spoke.
"Then... what now?" Harry asked.
However, it was clear no one at the table answered his question, perhaps because he was young? Or simply didn't want to say too much.
Harry felt a bit awkward and annoyed; as his archenemy, he felt he at least deserved to know how much Lord Voldemort had lost and when he would be made to lose again.
Finally, Kayson, seeing Harry's face growing darker, spoke, "Lord Voldemort's plan to rescue the Death Eaters this time was half a failure; those Death Eaters loyal to him but not particularly capable have all died on Azkaban Island."
"As for next time, it's not something we can plan or arrange, because the current situation is that we are in the open, and Lord Voldemort is in the shadows, so when it comes to causing trouble, he holds the initiative."
Harry nodded, "So what do we do next?"
Moody sat in his seat, dryly taking a sip of wine, "We just wait, waiting for the Ministry to sort out their ridiculous power struggles. As for you all, you also just wait, waiting for Hogwarts to start."
"Alright," Ron sighed, slumping onto the table, then was poked by Mrs. Weasley, and the next moment he quickly straightened his back.
"Where's Dumbledore?" Kayson suddenly asked after finishing his bread.
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