When Voldemort heard Lucian say those two words—
He froze.
He had already offered astonishing rewards.
He had used both temptation and intimidation.
He had even launched a mental attack.
Yet the boy in front of him remained completely unaffected… and even called him "annoying."
This was practically asking for death!
But Lucian, watching the stunned Dark Lord, had no intention of waiting any longer.
With a single thought—
Heaven-Defying Comprehension activated.
Research Topic:
How to bypass physical vessels and magical barriers to directly strike a parasitic, energy-based soul entity with the most efficient and irreversible attack?
Solution:
Using the Eyes of Truth to lock onto the soul as a beacon, convert magical power into a conceptual attack that produces burning and annihilation effects specifically against souls.
Spell constructed.
Name:
Soul Burning.
Lucian did not hesitate.
He slowly raised his right index finger and pointed at the back of Professor Quirrell's head—where the lips of Voldemort's face were still moving.
Then he spoke in a tone as cold and detached as a final verdict.
"Soul Burning."
There was no light.
No sound.
Not even any visible magical fluctuation.
But in Harry's terrified eyes—and in Lucian's all-seeing gaze—
A strange flame suddenly appeared.
A flame that existed somewhere between illusion and reality.
It seemed to be formed not of fire…
But of pure concept.
It ignited directly on Voldemort's face.
The fire had no heat.
No substance.
Yet it was more terrifying than the deepest flames of hell.
Because it did not burn flesh.
It did not burn magic.
It burned existence itself.
The essence of the soul.
One second earlier, Voldemort had still been stunned.
The next—
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH—!!!"
The sound that erupted instantly became a shrill, twisted scream utterly inhuman—filled with boundless agony and absolute terror.
The proud face of the Dark Lord warped violently within the gray flame, like wax melting under corrosive acid.
The cruelty and arrogance in his crimson eyes vanished in an instant.
Replaced by a fear deeper than anything he had ever known.
Pain.
Unimaginable pain.
Not physical pain.
It was the feeling of his very existence being erased, bit by bit, burned into nothingness.
It was the ultimate torment.
The Dark Lord who had killed countless people…
Toyed with souls…
Even challenged death itself…
Had never experienced such agony.
Harry Potter was completely frozen with horror.
He couldn't see the burning soul fragment.
He could only see the strange phantom flame.
And the horrifying distortion of Voldemort's face on the back of Quirrell's head.
And he could hear the one who had just called himself the greatest Dark Lord in history screaming more miserably than any victim Harry had ever imagined.
More than ten seconds passed before the dreadful screaming began to weaken.
Finally—
With one last shriek filled with hatred and terror—
A thin strand of black smoke burst from the back of Quirrell's head.
Like a beaten stray dog, it shrieked as it fled through the wall and vanished.
Voldemort's soul fragment had escaped.
Without that evil will sustaining him, Quirrell—who had been standing rigidly moments ago—
Collapsed.
Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He fell to the cold stone floor with a dull thud.
His already pale face turned ashen gray.
He gasped weakly, eyes unfocused.
The departure of Voldemort's soul had taken away the last of his life force.
Still, his instinct to survive drove him to raise his wand with trembling hands.
"Y-you—"
But Lucian didn't even give him the chance to finish a sentence.
He simply snapped his fingers casually toward the ground beside Quirrell.
Bang!
A small, precisely controlled explosion erupted beneath him.
The impact wasn't powerful—but Lucian had calculated it perfectly.
It was enough to knock the already dying man completely unconscious.
Quirrell's wand flew from his hand and rolled across the floor before stopping in a corner.
At last—
Silence returned to the chamber.
Lucian didn't spare another glance for Quirrell lying on the floor like discarded trash.
Nor did he pay attention to Harry, who still stood frozen in shock.
Instead, he walked directly to the Mirror of Erised.
He calmly looked at his own reflection.
Dumbledore's handiwork.
A rather clever spatial transfer enchantment, using the viewer's inner desires as a key.
Unfortunately—
Lucian had already subdued the mirror.
Anything hidden within it meant nothing to him.
He extended his right hand and silently issued a command to the mirror's spirit.
Then—
Under Harry's wide-eyed, utterly disbelieving gaze—
Lucian's hand passed through the mirror's surface like it was dipping into invisible water.
Ripples spread across the glass.
Space itself seemed to tremble.
The next moment—
When Lucian withdrew his hand—
Something rested in his palm.
A heavy stone.
About the size of a pigeon egg.
Glowing with a strange, blood-red light.
The Philosopher's Stone.
~~--------------------------
Visit my patreon for 30+ advance chapters:patreon.com/DevilWarden