Chapter 283
"Treating me as food?"
Lord Voldemort's face instantly darkened.
To him, this was an unbearable humiliation.
The man casually waved his pale hand.
An invisible barrier immediately appeared before the strange fruits.
The creatures abruptly froze in midair, completely defying the laws of physics.
Then—
They suddenly lost all momentum and fell chaotically onto the sand.
Just as Voldemort prepared to continue forward, the fallen fruits suddenly became frantic.
A scorching wave of heat rushed into the two narrow slits that barely qualified as his nostrils.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A chain of violent explosions erupted nearby.
Blinding light burst outward like a miniature sun.
The entire island seemed to shake from the force of the blasts.
"Damn it."
The sudden explosion nearly knocked Voldemort off his feet.
He immediately swung his wand, conjuring shields to block the sand and shattered stone flying toward him.
From that moment onward, endless magical creatures began emerging one after another.
Massive ants the size of fists surged toward him in waves, launching suicidal attacks like an army.
Moments later, a black cloud of frenzied birds descended from the sky, shrieking so sharply it hurt the ears.
They relentlessly hurled themselves at him without fear of death.
Though none of them truly threatened Voldemort—
They irritated him immensely.
Several sections of his black robes had already been damaged by the earlier explosions.
Dust covered his pale face.
At the moment, "disheveled" was the most appropriate word to describe him.
But eventually, Voldemort calmed himself.
The irritation vanished from his expression.
A truly powerful wizard always required calm judgment.
Especially now—
When he had yet to regain his full strength.
He could not afford failure.
Voldemort became increasingly cautious.
Step by step, he climbed the ancient stone stairs while remaining alert for traps.
Lucius Malfoy was currently delaying Dumbledore for him.
That troublesome old man could appear at any moment.
Fortunately, it seemed the traps had finally been exhausted.
No further obstacles appeared along the stairs.
Voldemort dragged his long robes behind him as he approached the giant granite doors.
He pressed his pale, skeletal hand against them and softly whispered an incantation.
Creak—
The stone doors slowly opened.
An overwhelming rotten stench immediately rushed outward.
The contrast between the lively magical creatures outside and the lifeless prison within was stark.
Without hesitation, Voldemort walked deeper into the tunnel.
The tip of his yew wand emitted faint light, illuminating the darkness ahead.
Some prisoners noticed him through the iron bars.
Yet most reacted as though they had seen nothing at all.
Their eyes were empty.
Their expressions numb.
Some slept deeply, as though dreams offered temporary escape from reality.
These were the effects of prolonged Dementor exposure.
However, Voldemort did not worry about his own followers.
They were among the most fanatical Dark Wizards alive.
Their emotions may have weakened—
But their wills would never completely break.
He intended to find them first.
As for these useless prisoners—
He could release them later.
Once freed, they would undoubtedly become another enormous problem for Dumbledore.
"Who are you?"
"Were you captured too?"
Suddenly, Voldemort realized someone nearby still possessed clear awareness.
The voice belonged to a muscular bald man with dark skin.
He clearly was not British.
His accent sounded African.
"You are unaffected?"
A dangerous crimson light flickered within Voldemort's eyes.
Very few people dared speak to him so casually.
Still, he restrained himself and coldly questioned the man.
"I don't know," the prisoner laughed.
"When I arrived, everyone here was already like this."
Rather than frightened, the man seemed delighted to have company.
"It's too boring here."
"Are you new too?"
"No Aurors placed bets on you?"
The man curiously leaned against the bars.
"I could send you on a grand adventure."
"It would definitely be very interesting."
A flash of green light illuminated the dark corridor.
The prisoner died instantly.
Voldemort never required important reasons to kill.
He continued walking deeper into Azkaban.
The prisoner's words vaguely reminded him of something—
Yet he could not fully grasp their meaning.
As for Legilimency, he had no interest in wasting time on it right now.
"Antonin Dolohov…"
A pleased smile finally appeared on Voldemort's pale face.
He had found one of his most capable subordinates.
Antonin Dolohov sat silently within his cell.
His face was long, pale, and twisted.
His temperament strongly resembled Voldemort's own, though his broad frame diluted some of that sinister feeling.
He had once been among Voldemort's strongest Death Eaters.
During the First Wizarding War, he and several others had killed Fabian and Gideon Prewett together.
Now, however, his eyes remained shut.
He looked as though he had fallen into endless sleep.
"Wake up."
A cold spell echoed through the cell.
Dolohov slowly opened his eyes.
But those eyes—
Contained nothing.
No emotion.
No hatred.
No fear.
Only endless emptiness.
It was as though his soul had already vanished.
Voldemort suddenly felt his chest tighten violently.
Rage surged through him.
He clenched his teeth and hissed hatefully:
"Dumbledore."
Without another word, Voldemort left the cell and moved deeper into the prison.
Then—
His skeletal hand began trembling slightly.
He saw a woman sitting motionlessly upon a broken wooden chair.
Her once-beautiful black hair had become dry and tangled like dead branches.
It looked so brittle it might crumble with a touch.
She stared blankly at him with lifeless eyes.
As though he were merely empty air.
Who was she?
Bellatrix Lestrange.
One of the Black sisters.
If this had been the past, even retaining a fragment of awareness would have made her crawl madly toward him, screaming his name while kissing his feet in worship.
But now—
There was nothing left.
The man slowly licked his dry lips.
His pale face twisted with violent emotion.
Scarlet blood-like light flickered within his serpent eyes.
He used Legilimency on his most devoted follower.
And found—
Blankness.
Absolute blankness.
Like an empty sheet of paper.
Voldemort's ten pale fingers twisted together violently as his joints cracked loudly.
"Very good," he muttered softly.
No one could tell what emotions filled him now.
She was still alive.
Yet in every meaningful sense—
She was already dead.
After a long silence, Voldemort slowly raised his wand.
A strange green light flashed within the prison cell.
Bellatrix offered no resistance whatsoever.
The curse struck her directly.
Her body slammed backward against the wall before slowly sliding lifelessly onto the floor.
Bellatrix Lestrange died.
This time—
Completely.
Perhaps, for her, it was mercy.
"Voldemort will avenge you."
"I will make them pay the price."
The man's expression became frighteningly insane.
The entire fortress seemed to tremble beneath his rage.
Azkaban—
Began to collapse.