The Central Chamber - The Devil's Cabin
In the end, Carter chose power over longevity.
She secured three low-level and three intermediate-level physique-enhancing potions.
Ernst threw in an extra low-level vial as a courtesy discount.
The transaction was seamless. Contracts were signed, and the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. departed back into the dark alleyway.
Subsequent clients were less impressive.
Most were scouts sent to test the waters, offering trinkets of little value.
Ernst's charm was brutally persuasive. Most left empty-handed, their vitality drained by two years as payment for wasting his time.
Then came the man in black.
He was draped in heavy robes that radiated potent, violent magic.
"Do you know why I chose to trade with you last?" Ernst asked, steepling his fingers.
The man's voice was a low, unwavering hiss.
"Because you enjoy saving the best for last."
Ernst clapped his hands, a cheerful smile breaking across his face.
"Blunt, but true. Should I address you as the Dark Lord?"
The man stiffened. His hand darted to the wand concealed in his sleeve.
Behind him, his followers instantly drew their wands, the air humming with lethal intent.
"Stop," the black-robed man commanded.
The followers lowered their weapons. The man threw back his hood.
He was handsome and commanding. He had not yet twisted his soul into the serpentine monster he was destined to become.
"I don't know how you discovered my identity," the Dark Lord said, regaining his composure.
"But you are no devil. I sense the enchantments on your wares."
"I am an insider, yes," Ernst replied smoothly.
"But does the label matter?"
"It doesn't," the Dark Lord conceded.
"What matters is mutual gain. I hope your inventory justifies my time."
"Rest assured, you won't be disappointed," Ernst smiled.
"What shall I call you? Voldemort? Or Tom Riddle?"
The name hit like a physical blow. The Dark Lord flinched but masked it quickly.
"Call me Voldemort. That other name is in the past."
Ernst nodded. He deactivated the standard holographic screen.
Instead, he produced a single piece of shimmering, unknown parchment and placed it on the table.
"As the Dark Lord of the magical world, special considerations apply. This list is exclusive."
He hadn't shown this to Carter. Her S.H.I.E.L.D. handlers would never authorize the horrific costs.
Voldemort was different. His Death Eaters were bound by the Dark Mark. Their wealth and lives were his to spend unconditionally.
Voldemort's expression grew solemn as he read the twenty items listed on the parchment.
Ernst highlighted three bespoke wands.
One, cored with unicorn horn, was peerless in restorative magic.
Another, carved from lightning-struck wood, amplified aggressive elemental curses.
The pinnacle was the Dragonbone Wand.
Ernst claimed it was carved from the bones of an ancient fire dragon. In reality, it was a tooth ripped from Smaug's jaw. Ernst considered it a technical truth.
Voldemort coveted the Dragonbone Wand instantly.
A thirty percent boost in raw magical power would secure his reign. It would finally allow him to crush Dumbledore.
And Lupin.
Thoughts of the werewolf brought a wave of bitter frustration over Voldemort.
His war had been going smoothly. He controlled the pure-blood families and held the upper hand against the White Wizards.
Then, Remus Lupin changed the board.
During a skirmish, the werewolf transformed into a two-meter-tall behemoth of unprecedented speed and raw power, breaking Voldemort's lines effortlessly.
Lupin had rallied the underground werewolf packs. His brute strength inspired absolute loyalty among the beasts.
Voldemort had laid lethal traps, but Lupin's heightened, beastly instincts evaded them all.
He desperately needed a countermeasure to the werewolf threat.
He had no idea that the Devil sitting across from him was the very architect of Lupin's terrifying new power.
Voldemort calculated the cost of the Dragonbone Wand. It was too steep, even for him. He reluctantly abandoned the idea.
His eyes locked onto a magical locket.
It boasted a dozen integrated enchantments: spatial concealment, curse reflection, spiritual enhancement, and sustained flight.
To Voldemort, it eclipsed even the ancestral Slytherin locket he held dear.
It was a masterpiece of Ernst's runic engineering.
"The prices are astronomical," Voldemort noted.
"What exactly do you require in exchange?"
Ernst leaned back, contemplating the question.
"Value is subjective," Ernst replied. "Gold bores me. Knowledge is priceless."
He tapped the table. "As for magical creatures... my menagerie is quite full. I possess fire dragons, basilisks, and griffins."
Ernst smiled a predator's smile. "But I lack a male Phoenix. Bring me one, and its value will be triple that of a female."
Voldemort understood perfectly. The Devil desired the impossible and the rare.
"A rare beast," Voldemort mused, his red eyes gleaming.
"Perhaps I can find a creature that will truly surprise you."
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