Buzz!
The moment the fierce blue fire erupted, the delicate golden ripples of the surrounding binding magic trembled violently. Distorted by the powerful surge of energy, the enchantment began to collapse and shrink inward, unable to withstand the interference.
Turan, the Goblin King, narrowed his golden eyes. This fire…!
A calm, composed voice rang out, carrying a weight that sent shivers through those who recognized it.
"Turan, you're being impatient."
"Attacking a weaker wizard in such a manner… does that truly befit a king?"
The voice belonged to Gellert Grindelwald.
The mere mention of his name was enough to make enemies rethink their strategies, and his sudden appearance on the battlefield shifted the atmosphere entirely.
By Grindelwald's side, Allend, who had just broken free from the magical restraint, felt a surge of pure relief and exhilaration.
The black panther he had transformed into purred lowly and obediently circled around Grindelwald, its sleek tail swaying slightly, betraying its excitement.
But his emerald-green eyes never left Turan, his sharp claws still extended, ready to pounce at a single command.
Across the battlefield, Turan's gaze remained locked onto the blue flames and the imposing figure of Grindelwald.
His expression shifted subtly.
Without hesitation, he took a massive step backward, instinctively summoning his red-gold Disc of Fate—a powerful artifact that instantly detached from his forehead and hovered menacingly in the air, aimed straight at Grindelwald.
Whoosh!
The six golden shields that had been orbiting his body accelerated rapidly, spinning so fast they became a nearly solid golden dome, obscuring his form behind an impenetrable defense.
Turan did not need to be told twice. He understood what this meant.
The true monsters of this war were now stepping in.
"Dumbledore!" Turan called out sharply, casting a powerful spell alongside his cry.
On the other end of the battlefield, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes flickered toward Turan's direction before shifting elsewhere—toward an even greater threat.
Because he was no longer just facing an ordinary enemy.
Voldemort had arrived.
The Dark Lord stood in the distance, his snake-like red eyes glowing with eerie amusement. The corners of his lips curled into a sinister smirk, as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
Dumbledore did not react with hostility. Instead, his expression softened, a gentle smile appearing as he greeted the one who had once been Tom Riddle.
"Tom, has your problem been solved?"
"I heard that you've been having some… issues with your other self."
The taunt hit its mark.
Voldemort's smirk froze.
For a brief moment, there was a flicker of pure rage in his eyes.
"Old fool!" he spat. "Our affairs are none of your concern!"
The Dark Lord's voice dripped with venom. He had suffered two humiliating defeats already—twice he had died, twice he had been resurrected.
Even for someone as arrogant as Voldemort, he understood that his chances of victory were slim against both Tom and Lockhart at the same time.
Thus, his strategy had shifted.
He needed time. He needed to plan. He needed the perfect opportunity to strike.
But Dumbledore's words, spoken so casually, struck a nerve.
Voldemort's fingers tightened around his wand.
His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, but his tone was laced with a deadly promise.
"My dearest Headmaster… this time, I will make sure you stay by my side forever."
"Don't worry. I'll take very good care of you."
His lips twisted into a mocking smile, but the murderous intent in his voice was unmistakable.
Dumbledore, however, simply sighed, his old shoulders rising and falling as if burdened by some unseen weight.
"Why," he muttered to himself, "must I always be left to clean up these messes?"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?"
But Dumbledore did not respond.
Instead—
Whoosh!
With a flick of the Elder Wand, a series of dark green wind blades materialized and shot toward Voldemort's head at terrifying speed.
Sharp. Swift. Deadly.
Voldemort made no attempt to dodge. He allowed the blades to slice through him, his form splitting apart into thin red threads as if he had been cleanly dissected.
For a brief moment, his body seemed to unravel like fragile silk.
But then—
Click! Click! Click!
His head tilted slightly, a sickening crack sounding as his body knit itself back together.
"Dumbledore," he whispered, "you'll have to do better than that."
Dumbledore observed him carefully.
Twice dead. Twice resurrected.
Voldemort had transcended his former self.
His flesh was no longer bound by normal limits. His body was no longer purely human.
His metamorphosis was complete.
Dumbledore's eyes darkened.
Silently, he lifted his palm.
Click. Click. Click.
The air in front of Voldemort began to warp—a spatial distortion forming a powerful trap.
Space freeze.
Space cage.
Space isolation.
A series of interwoven space-restraining spells locked down the battlefield around Voldemort, trapping him within a nearly unbreakable prison.
Voldemort's smile vanished.
Damn it!
This was his one weakness.
He had no fear of death. No fear of pain. No fear of any ordinary spell.
But sealing magic was an entirely different matter.
If he was sealed away—whether for ten years, a hundred, or even a thousand—then it would all be over.
A curse burned on his tongue as he lunged backward, his wand flashing.
Above, the sky darkened, swirling into a chaotic vortex. From within the darkness, a torrential black rain began to fall.
But before the raindrops could hit the ground, they froze midair—caught within the rapidly forming space seal.
Yet even as they solidified, a faint black mist seeped from them, corroding the very fabric of reality itself.
The space cage was weakening.
Voldemort smirked.
He had bought himself time.
His blood boiled with fury. How dare that old man attempt to restrain him like some common beast?!
His wand snapped upward.
A sickly red mist swirled.
From within, countless Blood Abyss Worms—hideous, writhing creatures—erupted toward Dumbledore, eager to feast upon his flesh.
But Dumbledore merely watched, intrigued.
So, this was Voldemort's infamous devouring swarm.
"Fascinating."
He lifted the Elder Wand.
A shimmering dark blue wave erupted, engulfing the swarm.
"Transfiguration—Wood!"
The blood-red mist hardened into solid bloodwood, freezing the creatures in place.
But then—
They began devouring each other.
The transformation wasn't enough.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.
It was time.
His grip on the Elder Wand tightened.
Whoosh!
A golden glow surged outward.
Above, Hogwarts Dreamland descended.
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Marvel x Star Wars: Avengers in the Clone Wars
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