No one knew how much time had passed. Just as Louis was about to conclude that the fragment of Voldemort's soul inside the Ravenclaw Diadem had completely perished, a faint, hoarse voice suddenly rose from within.
"I… I'm still alive… What did you do to me?"
The weakened tone was soaked with fury.
"What did I do?" Louis grinned darkly. "I just peeled off that tough little shell of yours that wouldn't yield to anything."
He pulled out Meja's Soul-Stealing Scroll, unrolled it, and let his fingers glide over the ancient runes.
"What are you doing?" The Ravenclaw fragment of Voldemort's soul was beginning to panic. He felt utterly exposed, like a stripped, defenseless girl, powerless before her tormentor.
From Louis's slow, deliberate movements, he could sense a dreadfully ominous intent.
"Relax," Louis said with a chuckle. "I'm merely feeding you what you crave most—souls. I promise, there'll be plenty."
As he spoke, the right eye beneath his eyelid began to twist—the Eye of Distortion silently awakened.
"Voldemort," Louis said softly, "let's make a deal."
"A deal? What deal?" Voldemort's fragment asked hastily, his voice trembling.
"I will grant you the power of revenge," Louis said calmly. "I'll give you a chance to become whole again—to surpass your true body. But if you fail… then your soul belongs to me."
"What? Are you serious?" Voldemort's tone surged with sudden excitement.
"Of course. I always keep my word." Louis narrowed his eyes, and the iridescent light beneath his right eyelid flickered like a serpent.
"Fine," Voldemort's fragment said resolutely. "You'll give me power and the opportunity—and if I fail, my soul is yours. Should we seal it with an Unbreakable Vow? Though… you'll have to wait until I'm fully restored to do that."
Inwardly, he was already scheming. Do I really need to swear anything?
Once he regained form, he'd assess this boy's power. If Louis turned out to be weak…
Then Lord Voldemort would make sure he remembered that mistake for eternity.
But to Voldemort's surprise, Louis never mentioned any vow. He simply nodded. "You agree, then?"
"Good," Louis said. "Then the contract is sealed."
The scroll in his hand glowed faintly. The soul of Quirrell—which had been trapped within—was drawn out and infused directly into Voldemort's fragment.
Without the usual resistance of a Horcrux's protection, Quirrell's soul was shredded into its purest form of spiritual energy, nourishing Voldemort's fragment, strengthening it, making it more solid, more lifelike.
But Voldemort had no idea that as this energy flowed into him, a warped will seeped in as well.
The Distortion Eye, now enhanced by the Eye of Fate, had grown immensely in power. It could not only distort matter—it could twist the will of others.
Using Quirrell's absorbed soul as a conduit, Louis subtly warped the link between Quirrell and Voldemort. He redirected the Soul-Stealing Scroll's ownership of the consumed soul—transferring its control directly onto Voldemort's fragment.
It wasn't an easy maneuver. Forcing it outright would have immediately alerted Voldemort.
So instead, Louis combined elements of the Unbreakable Vow and Magical Contracts, crafting a small verbal covenant. Voldemort's spoken agreement was twisted into a true binding oath, seamlessly transferring the scroll's control without him ever realizing it.
And so, Voldemort's soul fell completely under Louis's dominion.
Once the Ravenclaw fragment was defeated, his soul would be forcibly drawn back into Meja's Soul-Stealing Scroll—another fine addition to Louis's collection.
"This," Louis murmured with a sly smile, "is the magical world's very own List of Deified Souls."
As the final thread of soul energy merged into the fragment, the filth encrusting the Ravenclaw Diadem burst apart in a flash of dazzling light.
And there he was—standing naked before Louis—a pale, bald man with a serpentine face.
Utterly shameless, Voldemort stroked his smooth scalp in rapture.
"Ah… the scent of freedom!"
The Ravenclaw fragment of Voldemort took a deep breath, exhaling with sheer intoxication.
At last, after basking in the joy of seeing daylight again, Voldemort was just about to gauge Louis's strength—
when a golden arrow engraved with insect-like markings pierced clean through his throat.
"Kh–kh…" Voldemort clutched his neck, eyes wide with terror and confusion. He staggered backward, staring at the floating insect-patterned arrow in Louis's hand, utterly bewildered.
Why?
Why would this man save him… only to kill him the very next moment?
As he felt the weakness of blood loss spreading through his body, Voldemort's heart shattered.
He had returned to life—but not completely—and before he could even savor a single moment of rebirth, he was about to die again.
Just as he thought his second life would end less than a minute after it began, a gentle power suddenly surged into his body.
The wound on his throat sealed rapidly; his organs regenerated blood at an accelerated pace. The soul fragment felt his strength returning—and something even greater awakening behind him.
It was as if something inside was breaking out of its cocoon.
What… is that?
Voldemort turned around in shock and delight, only to see a pitch-black cocoon of light behind him. A second later, it split open—revealing…
"…A hand? Just one hand?"
Louis blinked in confusion, staring at the lone, serpent-scaled arm emerging from Voldemort's back.
What the hell? Why does his Stand only have one hand?
But he quickly figured it out—this Voldemort was merely a fragmented soul.
Having even one manifested limb was already remarkable.
After all, most of his spiritual energy still resided in the true body; having a single hand was already quite the feat.
Still, Louis could tell something about Voldemort's manifested form wasn't quite right—but Voldemort himself was oblivious.
He gleefully manipulated the floating arm, making it twist and whirl through the air like an obedient serpent, utterly fascinated.
"So this is the power you've granted me?" the soul-fragment Voldemort asked, turning toward Louis. "I'm quite satisfied! This hand is remarkably flexible—give me a wand, and my strength would at least double!"
He looked greedily at the golden insect arrow in Louis's hand. Now he understood—the arrow that had pierced his throat earlier was the key to this new power (and perhaps to more limbs).
Louis caught that covetous look and let out a contemptuous chuckle. His gaze hardened.
A crushing wave of mental and telekinetic pressure slammed into Voldemort's fragment, forcing him to his knees in an instant.
His newly formed bones trembled violently under the invisible weight. Whether from the pain or the humiliation of kneeling, his pale face flushed a deep crimson—
and not just his face, even his bald scalp turned red.
"Watch your eyes, Voldemort," Louis said coldly. "The one who can save you can just as easily kill you. Don't be greedy. What I give you is yours. What I don't give—"
his tone dropped to a whisper that carried like thunder,
"—you cannot take. Disobey me, and you die. Understand?"
With a snap of his fingers, a massive shockwave of compressed air blasted outward, flinging Voldemort's fragment hard against the wall.
He coughed dryly, dragging himself upright, muttering, "I understand…"—but the hatred burning in his eyes said otherwise.
If only I had a wand…
If only I had a wand…
He was still thinking that when Louis suddenly seemed to transform before his eyes—a terrifying demon, sharp-eyed and monstrous, as if he could see straight into Voldemort's treacherous thoughts and would kill him the moment he tried anything.
Cold sweat poured down Voldemort's back. He quickly banished every trace of malice from his mind—and only then did the crushing pressure ease.
"Mm. That's better," Louis said with a thin smile. "Obedience comes before reward."
His eyes shimmered faintly, still watching the branching lines of future possibilities, ensuring that no unexpected "accidents" would occur from this little experiment.
Satisfied, Louis reached into his storage and pulled out the charred mask of Tara.
"You—come here," he said, crooking a finger at Voldemort's fragment.
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