The White Tower was shrouded in an atmosphere of deathly stillness. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the sky, but by the time it reached the ears of the wizards inside the tower, it sounded distant, like echoes from a valley.
Death's scythe was like lightning. A cold, fierce gleam flashed, and the roaring explosion arrived late. The scythe had already been raised, yet no one knew when it would fall.
The brief silence between those two moments left everyone on edge, terrified beyond words.
"Dumbledore, what should we do?" James asked hoarsely. He looked around and discovered that aside from Dumbledore, everyone was trembling uncontrollably.
For mortal bodies facing the embodiment of death, fear was an instinctive reaction, like goosebumps rising in the cold or sweat flowing in the heat. It could not be controlled by will.
Only when they realized how humble their bodies were before death did they vaguely understand just how foolish it was to choose to oppose Death.
Dumbledore gripped the Elder Wand as Sauron's divine power flooded his body. The Dark Lord whispered by his ear, offering corrupt temptations and mockery. It took up a large part of his attention, and this state could not last long. Otherwise, it might cause his personality to shift.
"Wait a little longer," Dumbledore said with difficulty. He knew nothing about Death. The entire wizarding world had always believed that Death was only a legend.
According to legend, whoever gathered the three Deathly Hallows could become the master of Death. In his youth, Grindelwald had placed his hopes in the power of the Hallows and swept through the wizarding world. Dumbledore had once possessed the Invisibility Cloak, and he now held the Elder Wand. Their powers were indeed wondrous and unique.
But when they faced the true Death, they realized in shock that the power of the Hallows was nothing more than toys casually made by a god. The Elder Wand was a branch Death had snapped from a tree, the Resurrection Stone was a pebble Death had picked up, and the Invisibility Cloak was Death's own cloak.
To defeat him, or even merely force Death to retreat, would be extraordinarily difficult.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, briefly tearing apart the dark curtain inside the tower.
Lily suddenly said, "He has no shadow!"
Death stood in place like a statue, both hands raising the scythe. He was there, yet he had no physical form, because death was everywhere. What everyone saw was nothing more than an illusion, like the ferryman of souls glimpsed beside the bed by someone on the verge of dying.
Sirius was in the worst state. After twelve years in Azkaban, sinking every day into a state close to death, his mind had already been utterly twisted. Facing Death, the taut string inside him snapped in an instant.
"Do something! Do something! Kill him! [Reducto]!"
"No!" everyone cried out, but they could not stop Sirius's spell in time.
The scarlet curse lit up the surroundings, only to pass straight through Death's body. This act seemed to disturb the great being. Everyone saw the raised scythe slowly descend.
Dumbledore roared, "Cleanse the unclean!"
Brilliant white light spread out in a cone-shaped fan and splashed forward. Death was bathed in the intense radiance, yet he was not affected at all. Death had never been unclean. Its arrival was always solemn and magnificent.
Everyone's hearts sank, just like that unstoppable scythe.
Hiss.
It was as if a thin wind had blown from a hill at the end of time, passing through their ears and tearing away a strand of the wizards' souls.
Death had come. There were no bells, drums, or horns, only one brief whistle.
Just like Quidditch, life vanished into the sky, like the Golden Snitch.
Grindelwald raised his hand. The immortal body of the vampire was weathering into ash.
Sirius and Remus collapsed to the ground in agony. One let out a neurotic wail, like the dying sob of a madman. The other sprouted decaying white wolf fur, and every whimper that slipped from his throat was weak, like an old wolf dying of exhaustion.
Scarlet liquid seeped from Lily and James's bodies. The flesh shaped by the resurrection potion slowly came apart. At the final moment, they held each other tightly.
Snape's long hair turned silver-gray in the blink of an eye, and his deep black eyes became cloudy as mist. He coughed quietly and fell to his knees.
Dumbledore was protected by Sauron's divine power, so the influence on him was minimal.
Yet his back seemed to be smashed by a heavy hammer, and he suddenly hunched over.
Grindelwald sighed softly. "Is this our ending, Albus? I still wanted to play Quidditch against you."
Sirius gradually stopped trembling. He murmured, "It's so dark. Why isn't there any light in the sky? Moony, are you here? Prongs, I wanted to tell you, Wormtail betrayed you. I'm the one who got you killed."
Black wolf blood spilled from Remus's mouth and nose. He choked and answered, "I'm here…"
"If only time could go back to those days. How good that would be."
"Yes… cough, cough. Back then, there wasn't… this much pain…"
James whispered beside Lily's ear, "No matter where life and death lead, my soul will follow yours."
"Save the sweet words for after we die. We'll have a thousand years to fall in love slowly, until our souls scatter." Lily laughed softly. Facing death again, she had learned composure.
In the corner, Snape lay prone on the ground, his gray-white hair drooping like a mop. He merely sobbed silently. Only today would many people discover that the iron-hearted Head of Slytherin was, in truth, also an ordinary person who could shed tears.
Dumbledore cast spell after spell in despair, trying to drive Death away, trying to heal the wizards, but everything had little effect.
Ariana's soul said softly, "Brother, I missed you very much. Do not hate yourself. For my sake, live."
"No…" The old wizard's eyes were already full of tears.
"Wizards, you have desecrated death. You walk toward your end, and I am eternal. Do not fear this gift, for the pain of life shall be washed away in the River Styx. You shall walk in my realm. On the far shore, there are no memories. Everything is like new birth. Today, you shall survive, and in the end, you will return to my side."
Death slowly walked over.
The curtain of darkness faded. At some point, the floor beneath their feet had turned into a plain filled with golden lilies. The surrounding walls vanished into the depths of the horizon. Before them flowed a great blood-colored river, and the remains of the dead drifted up and down within it.
A battered little boat was moored at the ferry crossing. Death stood on the dock, waiting to guide these blasphemous souls.
The world on the far side of the River Styx was vast beyond measure, rich with water and grass, beneath a beautiful sky.
Dumbledore could only watch helplessly as his companions walked one by one toward the soul-summoning boat.
In that gray and quiet moment, everyone was saying farewell to Dumbledore.
Then a fierce blue burning wind suddenly blew in, igniting the vision of the realm of the dead like a roll of paper.
It was Helena!
Helena, who resided within the Celestial brain, activated divine power and dispersed Death's illusion.
Dumbledore suddenly woke. He looked around and found that he was clearly still in the White Tower, while the wizards behind him were sprawled all over the place, their expressions pained, but they were still alive.
Had Helena not acted in time, everything in that illusion would have become reality.
Death stood not far away. He turned his gaze beneath the cloak and fixed it on the Celestial brain.
"A ghost who flees death and clings pitifully to life!" he said sharply. "You cannot resist me!"
Helena let out a scream, and her voice gradually weakened.
With all her strength, she sent out a thought that turned into an echo in Dumbledore's mind. "Dumbledore… only life can drive away death!"
Those words were like a bright lamp, blowing apart the fog in his mind and giving Dumbledore the feeling of having drunk Felix Felicis, a joyful delight as if destiny itself had settled upon him.
In that flash of lightning and flint, inspiration came to the old wizard. He raised the Elder Wand high and shouted, "O Lord of the Dead, in the name of Dumbledore of the phoenix bloodline, I command you, retreat!"
Death laughed mockingly. "You dare use my wand against me? Will it obey you?"
Indeed, the Elder Wand resisted Dumbledore fiercely. If not for the old wizard's extraordinary skill, he would not have been able to cast spells smoothly at all. An ordinary wizard would not even have been able to use it to cast a Lumos Charm against Death.
Yet Dumbledore smiled. He chanted softly, "[Expecto Patronum]."
Bang!
A silver ribbon of light flew from the wand tip and spiraled through the air, soon transforming into a majestic, proud silver phoenix.
Pure, bright radiance shone from the Patronus. When Death was illuminated by that light, many wounds appeared across his black cloak, faintly revealing the countless arms of the dead beneath it. They clutched the cloak and refused to let go, but the Patronus light still poured in through the openings and burned him until he was covered in injuries.
Dumbledore witnessed Death's true nature. Under the protection of Sauron's divine power, his eyes merely bled, but his bearing remained calm. He even dared to straighten his chest and display a powerful stance.
"I command you, retreat!"
Death tried to approach them, but the phoenix Patronus blocked him again and again, forcing him backward instead of forward.
In the world of the living, the power Death could display was extremely limited. Dumbledore had become the second wizard to successfully challenge a god, the first had been Ignotus Peverell, who obtained the Invisibility Cloak.
Having no other choice, Death soared into the air in fury and rushed out the window. The thunderstorm above the White Tower ceased, but the leaden clouds pressed even lower.
He looked around and saw the crowds gathered at the Quidditch pitch. The joyful aura radiating from hundreds of fresh, young souls was more conspicuous than a lighthouse at sea.
Death declared coldly, "A debt of souls shall also be repaid by souls."
He swept low through the air like a death-omen bird, flying rapidly toward the Quidditch pitch.
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