HPDBC Chapter 556, page 565: Ian the Great Demon God 3
Chapter 556, page 565: Ian the Great Demon God 3
no doubt.
Voldemort is undergoing an unprecedented transformation.
That immense, chaotic, and terrifying magical power finally spiraled out of control.
Voldemort knelt on the black reef, his hands digging deep into the rock, his knuckles white from the force—no, his skin was beginning to change color, shifting from pale to a sickly, eerie gray-black. His body trembled violently, not from pain.
Or rather, it's not just about pain.
At this moment, Voldemort felt more of an indescribable, soul-deep tremor.
His consciousness is being torn apart.
This is certainly not an ordinary tearing apart, but rather the simultaneous impact, penetration, and assimilation of countless incomprehensible fragments of consciousness from the depths of the universe. Therefore...
Naturally, he "saw" it.
In that instant, his spirit was suddenly lifted, detached from his body, from the island, from the planet, and even from this dimension.
Voldemort felt as if he had ascended to heaven.
"Where is this place?"
"This is the Temple of the Gods!"
He was "suspended" in a void that could not be described in words, surrounded by endless darkness, but that darkness was not empty, but rather filled with a certain texture of "existence".
Heavy, cold, and ancient beyond imagination.
Those "beings" were watching him.
Not one or two, but countless.
They have no form, or rather, their form transcends the realm of human understanding. Sometimes, he could "see" certain vague outlines—massive, writhing shadows like mountains; swirling, eye-filled chaos like nebulae; deep, abyssal fissures from which indescribable things constantly surge forth.
But more often than not, he could only "feel" their presence, like a drowning person feeling the pressure of the deep sea, or a moth feeling the burning of a flame.
God should not be looked at directly.
It becomes tangible at this moment.
Among these countless "beings," one was approaching him. Or, more precisely, one was being drawn to him. He could sense the qualities of that "being"—chaos, greed, a thirst for the essence of life, and a pure will that transcended good and evil, reason, and all human concepts.
It was some ancient, primordial consciousness from the very beginning of the universe, wandering through endless space and time, waiting and searching for a "container" that could hold a part of its power.
And he, Voldemort, was the vessel for that.
"Are you... willing?"
The voice rang out again, this time clearer and closer. It was no longer merely a whisper affecting the soul, but appeared directly before his "eyes" in a form that could be "understood."
Countless points of light converged and swirled in the darkness, forming a massive, ever-twisting vortex. At the center of the vortex, an indescribable form could be vaguely seen—was it a tentacle? An eye? A mouthpart? Or all three fused together? With each gaze, it changed; with each change, Voldemort's soul trembled.
That's not fear.
At least, it wasn't all fear.
More than anything, it was a strange, almost sacred awe.
It's like the most devout believer finally seeing the true God.
Just like the wildest dreamer finally gets to the essence of his dream.
"I do."
"I too shall be among the gods!"
Voldemort went completely insane.
Or rather, the soul that was once called Tom Riddle responded. His voice echoed in the void like a pebble thrown into stagnant water.
It stirred up countless ripples.
Those ancient beings simultaneously "moved".
They didn't move, but Voldemort could feel that all the "gaze" was focused on him. The feeling was indescribable—like being crushed by countless mountains, submerged by countless oceans, and stared at by countless universes.
Then, the "being" that was talking to him began to "enter" him.
It was a process that could not be described in words.
It didn't seem like a soul invasion, because invasion implies a distinction between "inside" and "outside." At this moment, the distinction was blurred. The power of that "existence," like countless invisible tentacles, pierced the depths of his soul simultaneously, merging with every thought, every memory, every emotion. He "saw" his past.
Tom Riddle's days in the orphanage, the children who feared him, the adults who distanced themselves from him.
He discovered for the first time that he could control snakes, that innate, unique feeling.
Hogwarts, Slytherin, the search for one's origins, the fear of death, and the yearning for immortality.
Horcruxes, slaughter, splitting souls, the pain and ecstasy of each split.
The Rise of the Death Eaters, the First Wizarding War, the Prophecy, the Boy...
There is one more
Dumbledore.
That face, always gentle, always calm, always condescending.
Those deep blue eyes, seemingly able to see through everything.
That being he both hated and feared, and could never surpass no matter what.
All of this was "seen" at this moment by the power from deep space. Not spied on, but understood, accepted, and integrated into that eternal chaos.
"Your...pain...we...Bright Moonlight..."
The voice rang out again, this time with a strange, almost pitying tone.
"Your...fear...we...accept..."
"Your...desire...we...share..."
"Because...we...are...one..."
Voldemort's soul trembled violently.
One?
Was he and these ancient beings originally one?
This realization, like the most potent poison, instantly seeped into the deepest recesses of his soul.
Yes.
From a young age, he felt different from ordinary people. He didn't belong to them, didn't understand them, and wasn't understood by them. He was always searching for his kind, searching for those who could truly "understand" him.
And now, he has found it.
No, it's not about finding, it's about "returning".
Deep within his soul, there had always been a frequency that resonated with these ancient beings. That frequency was amplified by his splitting of Horcruxes, his pursuit of power, and his gradual abandonment of humanity, until now, it finally fully connected with "them".
"Come……"
The voice rang out again, this time with an irresistible allure.
"Let us...complete...the final...fusion..."
"Let your...soul...completely...set sail..."
"Let your...essence...completely...embrace...chaos..."
"At that time... you will no longer be... the lonely... Voldemort..."
"But...one of us..."
"An eternal...member..."
Voldemort's soul did not hesitate at all.
He completely released his consciousness, allowing the power from deep space to surge in, permeate, and occupy him.
that moment
His soul qualities began to undergo a fundamental change.
The legendary characteristics that were once split by Horcruxes, twisted by the pursuit of power, and corrupted by dark magic are now being completely "reshaped" by the power of deep space.
The original legendary ability was "Soul Projection"—which allowed all fragments of Horcruxes to awaken as independent entities. That was powerful enough, astonishing enough.
But at this moment, that characteristic is being distorted, merged, and sublimated into something even more terrifying.
He "saw" new characteristics taking shape deep within his soul.
"Deep space container".
A property that can directly bear the power of ancient beings.
A characteristic that allows it to continuously devour the origin of life, evolve, and approach the essence of those ancient beings.
A characteristic that makes him no longer "approaching" God, but truly become a "vessel of God".
And this is just the beginning.
When the power of deep space fully merges with him, when that ancient being truly "awakens" within him—of course, he will no longer be Voldemort. No longer Tom Riddle.
Rather, it is the embodiment of something indescribable.
Part of an ancient and terrifying being from the depths of the universe.
"good……"
That sound rang out for the last time, this time filled with undisguised satisfaction and anticipation.
"Now... wake up..."
"My...container..."
Voldemort's consciousness suddenly plummeted from the void and returned to his body.
At the same time, his body
It begins to twist.
First and foremost is magic.
That immense, chaotic, and terrifying magic had finally spiraled completely out of control. Centered on him, it spread wildly outwards, distorting the air, cracking space, and even swallowing light wherever it passed. The magical fluctuations touched the sea, instantly turning the water pitch black—not just dyed, but fundamentally altered by some force. This darkness spread rapidly outwards from the island, devouring all color like a living thing. Voldemort sensed all of this.
He could feel his magic expanding, growing exponentially. Every second, he became more powerful than the last; with every breath, he could perceive more distant and subtle existences.
Those creatures touched by the Black Sea
The fish that approached the island were surrounded by the black seawater before they could escape. Their bodies instantly stiffened, and their eyes became empty. Voldemort could "see" them.
Not with his eyes, but with a deeper level of perception. He could see the strands of silvery-white light within them—that was life force, that was the essence of their souls. He could feel the "temperature" of those lights, their fear, their pain, their final struggle. Then, those lights were drawn away, transforming into thin streams that flowed towards him.
When the first wisp of life force entered his body...
Voldemort let out an uncontrollable groan.
That wasn't pain, but rather the ultimate... satisfaction.
The feeling was like the thirstiest person finally drinking from a sweet spring, like the greediest person finally seeing endless wealth. In the instant that life force merged with him, he felt himself become stronger, more fulfilled, more...complete.
So this is what those ancient beings felt.
So this is true power.
It turns out that his pursuit all along was wrong.
Immortality? Immortality?
Those are all too insignificant.
What is truly great is to become a higher level of being.
What is truly eternal is merging into that endless chaos.
More and more life force surged in, making his distortion more intense, but also more powerful. With each wisp of life force added, his magic expanded, causing his body to transform in a more bizarre and inhuman way.
He could feel his cells dividing, reorganizing, and mutating. Those fragile tissues that once belonged to humanity were being replaced by something more resilient, flexible, and powerful. His bones were melting and reshaping, becoming more supple and indestructible. His muscle fibers were rearranging, capable of unleashing strength far exceeding human limits.
And his soul
His soul is "expanding".
No longer confined to the brain or body, it began to spread outwards, establishing a subtle connection with the black seawater, the swallowed lives, and the endless void. He could sense everything within a radius of several nautical miles—every drop of seawater, every current, and the fear of every creature yet to be swallowed.
He is becoming the master of this sea.
He is becoming a god in this region.
More and more marine life was swallowed by the Black Sea, their life force flowing into Voldemort's body like offerings. The seas surrounding the island gradually turned from pitch black to deathly still—no longer showing any signs of life, not even plankton had disappeared.
The whisper from deep space still echoed in his mind, guiding the next step.
"Not enough..."
"More...more..."
"Let Chi...in..."
Voldemort understood.
His current power is insufficient to fully contain that ancient being. He needs more life force, more essence of the soul, more... sacrifices.
But at this moment, he could no longer devour the creatures of this sea—they had all perished.
He needs more.
Bigger prey.
A more powerful soul.
And he knew where to find it.
London.
Dumbledore.
And that damn "raven".
Their faces surfaced in his mind—those beings who had filled him with anger, fear, and humiliation. But now, these emotions had become blurred. Before the true power that was about to arrive, those human grudges seemed so laughable, so insignificant.
But his body
It's still changing.
The tentacles began to burst forth from various parts of the body.
Start from the back.
Tiny cracks appeared on his skin, from which a black, viscous liquid seeped. Then, countless tiny tentacles emerged from those cracks, initially only as thick as a finger, soft and powerless, but soon they began to grow, thicken, and lengthen. They waved, twisted, and intertwined behind him, like a swirling mass of black seaweed.
Then the shoulders.
The skin there also cracked open, and even more tentacles emerged. This time, the tentacles were thicker, their surfaces covered with tiny suckers, allowing them to adhere to any surface.
Next up are the arms.
The tentacles on the arms were the most bizarre—they emerged from the pores, meandered down the arms, and wrapped around the claws, like some kind of living tattoo, or some kind of decoration from another world.
Finally, it was his cheeks.
Three slits split open on his cheeks, from which emerged a thin, whisker-like tendril. They swayed along his face, occasionally brushing against his three eyes.
It was as if they were confirming something.