RNP Chapter 1319 An Uncontrollable Fate
Chapter 1319 An Uncontrollable Fate
When all was quiet, Voldemort let out a maniacal laugh.
"A slave? Dumbledore, you actually call me a slave?"
The red light in his eyes intensified, and the wand he gripped tightly unleashed immense magical power, gathering the scattered dust back into a larger black dragon.
"You're wrong. The shackles of the weak cannot bind me!"
The black dragon looked down at Dumbledore, who looked like an ant at its feet, its sharp teeth gleaming coldly.
Dumbledore was fearless, even though the brilliant light at the tip of the Elder Wand had completely faded.
Voldemort pointed his wand at him lightly, "I do not submit to power, but choose to become power itself."
The black dragon opened its blood-red maw and spewed out scorching flames.
Dumbledore waved the Elder Wand, assembling the broken wooden frame and fragments of the Prophecy Orb into giants, attempting to envelop the flames.
"It's no use!" Voldemort hissed like a viper.
The flames breathed by the black dragon became thicker, and the giants that came into contact with them began to dissolve.
Dumbledore's deep blue eyes no longer held any regret or expectation, nor did he try to salvage anything from this twisted soul.
He didn't reinforce the collapsing giants, nor did he cast any elaborate spells; he simply raised the old wand in his hand and aimed it at the black dragon in front of him.
"Plop—" It sounded like a pebble falling into water.
Centered on the tip of the Elder Wand, the entire Hall of Prophecy seemed to be cast into a tranquil lake, rippling out in clear, visible silver-white waves.
The silent ripples spread across the dissolving giant, across the roaring black dragon, across the flying debris, and across Voldemort in the center of the platform and the orb of prophecy in his hand.
Time did not stop, but everything did become slower and clearer.
The flames spewed by the black dragon dimmed, the giants embracing the flames stopped dissolving, and their shattered bodies even began to regenerate.
For the first time, Voldemort's crimson eyes showed surprise and doubt.
This is no ordinary powerful spell; it is a kind of... control, absolute control over one's own magical power, the power he has always dreamed of.
"No...this is impossible..."
Just then, Dumbledore made his move. He pointed the Elder Wand at Voldemort and flicked it upwards, instantly shattering the black dragon.
Voldemort quickly put on a defensive stance, and layers of thick black mist enveloped his body.
With a "whoosh," something passed through the black mist.
"Ugh—" Voldemort groaned in pain from within the black mist.
Dumbledore concentrated his magical power to its limit; such an attack was simple and unadorned, yet unstoppable.
The black mist slowly dissipated, and Voldemort's hand, gripping his wand tightly, was pressing against his abdomen.
His face, devoid of nostrils, was particularly ferocious. "Dumbledore, is this your true strength?"
Dumbledore did not answer, but simply looked at him quietly.
"With such power, why did you submit to those fools!"
The "fool" he was referring to wasn't a specific individual, but rather the rules and order of the world, including morality and humanity.
Dumbledore offered no explanation. He looked down at the Elder Wand in his hand, his gaze seemingly drifting back to the distant past.
He knew that no matter what he said, Voldemort would not understand.
Abusing power and having power but not using it are two completely different concepts.
"You have disappointed me greatly!" Voldemort raised his hand, which was gripping his wand tightly, letting blood drip from the wound, as immense magical power poured out. "Dumbledore! You have wasted your talent! A true wizard only bows to the stronger, not—"
A sharp crack interrupted Voldemort.
He looked down at the prophecy orb in his hand, where a thin crack was spreading.
The misty haze inside the sphere, which held the weight of destiny, dimmed, like a candle flickering in the wind.
Voldemort froze, his rage, pain, and ferocity freezing in his face for a moment before being replaced by an almost empty blankness.
He instinctively tightened his fingers, as if trying to grasp something, but the prophecy ball shattered unexpectedly in his palm, turning into a small clump of fine grayish-white powder that slipped through his fingers and blended into the surrounding dust.
All he grasped was nothingness.
Time seemed to have stopped.
Voldemort looked at his empty hand and remembered that just now, when he accused Dumbledore of "wasting his talent," he tried to use his immense magical power to prove him wrong, but he overlooked one thing: the fragile Prophecy Orb could not withstand his power.
He schemed and plotted, sparing no expense to come here personally, all for the sake of controlling this crucial item that determined his own fate.
Ultimately, however, it was destroyed by its own hands in an absurd, even insignificant, way.
How ironic, how absurd, how ridiculous.
"Heh...heh heh..." Voldemort's laughter was soft. He raised his head and looked at Dumbledore, who remained silent.
He was defeated, and the defeat was more unbearable than being defeated head-on. He was defeated by his own strength, defeated by this fate that he could not control.
He withdrew his gaze, not looking at Dumbledore again, as if the other man, along with the devastated Hall of Prophecy, had become an insignificant background.
He gripped the yew wand tightly, and the immense magical power surged outwards once more, only to be quickly pushed back into his body.
His figure began to blur, turning into black mist from his feet and drifting towards the black door at the entrance.
Dumbledore tried to stop him, but as the black mist moved, it stirred up a lot of wooden frames. Dumbledore needed to be distracted to protect the prophecy orb on top and was unable to stop Voldemort, who was determined to escape, in time. He could only watch helplessly as Voldemort slipped through the crack in the door.
The hall of the Department of Mysteries was now a mess. The two black doors were severely deformed, and the door frames still reeked of terrifying dark magic. Clearly, the space behind the doors had suffered even more devastating destruction.
Three immobile Death Eater "mummies" were piled up in a corner of the hall, pointed at by Arthur's wand.
Bella, covered in wounds, and Rabastan stood guard at the door of the Hall of Prophecy, engaged in a fierce battle with members of the Order of the Phoenix and Vincent.
Voldemort, now a black mist, watched all this unfold. Bellatrix, her hair disheveled and her robes torn in several places, was brandishing her wand as she fought Sirius Black and Lupin.
Rabastan was beaten black and blue by Vincent and Moody, his blood staining the ground.
The black mist parted silently, and a stream rushed toward Sirius and Lupin, forcing them to stagger backward.
Another nimble force entangled Moody's prosthetic leg, and Vincent, manipulating the A-shaped ball, changed direction, quickly shattering the black mist.
"Master!" Bella screamed, her eyes fixed on the black mist before her with fanaticism.
On the Rabastan side, the defeated black mist reformed.
"Voldemort?" Vincent recognized the black mist in front of him. He decisively took out Pandora, and the gunmetal briefcase instantly transformed into an oversized anti-material sniper rifle.
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