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Perhaps some things were destined to remain a secret.
It wasn't just what had happened underground or the battle itself.
There was also what the black-robed wizard from the Department of Mysteries did afterwards.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to call him "Observer" Azman. After successfully 'calming' the disturbance within the Ministry of Magic above ground, he did not return to his office deep within the Department of Mysteries, a place filled with forbidden texts and strange creations. Instead, like a ghost blending into the background, he silently appeared before the gate leading to the underground area.
At that moment, the entrance to the African version of Azkaban emitted a glow that seemed to warn of trouble within, while an ominous aura seeped out from beyond it.
An aura belonging to the Fallen God.
Yet 'Observer' Azman seemed entirely unsurprised by this and paid it no mind.
In fact, he was not alone.
At some point, two other wizards dressed in pure black robes had appeared before the gate. Their faces were concealed in shadow beneath their hoods.
They stood there like lifeless statues.
Only the identical fluctuations radiating from them, and the cold, obscure aura unique to Department of Mysteries wizards, revealed that they were also members of the Department.
The three exchanged no words.
Azman's gaze briefly met that of one of them. It was a silent exchange, conveying complex information and mutual understanding.
The other wizard gave an almost imperceptible nod to indicate that everything outside was under control.
Without hesitating any further, Azman extended his pale, almost bloodless hand and pressed it against the stone door covered in defensive magical runes, which now seemed somewhat dim due to impacts from within.
The stone door silently slid open just enough for one person to pass through.
Azman stepped sideways into the opening.
The door closed immediately behind him, blocking out all light and sound from the outside world.
Before him was a scene that was utterly different from the violent tremors that had been felt above ground.
The area beyond the door was filled with the deathly silence that follows a storm, accompanied by an energy residue so dense that it seemed impossible to disperse.
The air itself felt frozen.
A sharp odor of ozone lingered alongside the smell of sulfur and burned psychic energy, as well as a faint trace of something far more difficult to describe:
fragments of pressure belonging to a higher order of existence.
"So there really was an intruder. The only question is whether it was the person mentioned in the prophecy."
Azman did not venture deeper immediately.
Standing in the shadows near the entrance, he swept his calm eyes across the dark spiral staircase descending into the depths.
He raised his right hand, spread his fingers, and aimed his palm towards the air in front of him.
Then, the mysterious wizard began softly chanting an ancient, tongue-twisting incantation.
Tiny silver-grey lights, no brighter than fireflies, emerged from his fingertips.
These lights seemed to be alive.
They drifted forward, merging into the surrounding air, the stone walls, and the invisible energy fields permeating the area.
The power of time was being invoked.
Yes.
He was casting an extremely advanced retrograde spell: Time Fragment Retrieval.
This magic did not truly reverse time.
Instead, it captured and interpreted fragments of the past that lingered in the environment, such as traces of energy, folds in space, and faint remnants of willpower. By assembling these scattered pieces, the spell could reconstruct the outline of events that had occurred not long ago.
Guided by the black-robed wizard's magical power, the silver-grey lights moved through the air like tiny detectives, attempting to sketch the intruder's form.
The aim was to recreate the details of the battle.
The lights quickly detected the violent energy residues left behind by the three ancient spirits.
Azman's spiritual perception clearly reflected their twisted suffering and berserk murderous intent.
He could also clearly see the immense, filthy Divine Power fluctuation filled with decay, annihilation, and frenzied desire... the power of the imprisoned existence.
However, when the lights attempted to reconstruct the figure that had opposed that existence, an anomaly occurred.
The information became vague and fragmented.
It was as though an invisible, perfectly smooth barrier blocked all direct information concerning that figure.
The retrograde magic could only capture the outcome: the Ancient Spirits' attacks being thwarted and the Divine Power being neutralized.
But it could not reveal the cause behind those results.
'How had the intruder accomplished this?'
'What kind of magic had he used?'
'What were the characteristics of his magical power?'
'Was he tall or short? Was he fat or thin?'
It revealed nothing.
And it was a complete blank.
For the first time, Azman's brow furrowed slightly.
He increased the flow of his magical power.
The silver-grey lights multiplied and became as dense as a swarm of bees, flying throughout the passageway and probing every corner. They even attempted to deduce the truth by tracing the residual distortions left within the structure of space itself.
He still found nothing.
To evade retrograde magic of his caliber so completely, to leave not even the slightest trace of magical power or existential residue that could be tracked, was something no ordinary wizard could accomplish.
Not even the reclusive old monsters hidden from the world could manage such a feat.
It required absolute control over one's own power and an extraordinarily deep understanding of the rules governing reality. Perhaps it also required... mastery of a higher-dimensional technique capable of interfering with timelines or obscuring one's sense of existence.
The moment he realized this, the conclusion came naturally.
"Legendary..." Azman murmured to himself.
There was little surprise in his voice. It sounded more like a confirmation than a statement of shock. He knew that only a wizard who had entered that realm could accomplish something like this.
This was perhaps a secret unknown to most people, but the Department of Mysteries had always preserved such knowledge.
His eyes grew deeper and more contemplative as he considered the potential influence of this unexpected legendary wizard on himself, the Department of Mysteries, and the underground 'project'.
It was worth noting that the Black-robed wizards were somewhat different from ordinary wizards.
Although Azman's combat ability was only slightly greater than that of an elite wizard, he showed none of the reverence or fear that ordinary wizards displayed when they heard the word 'Legendary'.
The slight furrow in his brow soon relaxed.
In its place appeared a look of intense concentration, and even a hint of... scholarly curiosity.
The appearance of a Legendary wizard did not seem to alarm him.
Though certainly an unforeseen variable, it still fell within an acceptable range, or perhaps one that could be managed.
He dispelled the retrograde magic and stopped wasting time.
A moment later, a steady flame ignited at his fingertips, emitting a pale, cool light. It was not intended to provide warmth. Rather, it was a specialized magical candlelight used for detection and warding off malevolent influences.
The eerie glow pushed back some of the darkness ahead, illuminating the cracked stone steps and the walls blackened by scorch marks.
He continued downward.
He walked steadily, as though strolling through the corridors of his own home.
He soon arrived at the spot where Ian had previously 'communicated' with the Dementors.
The Dementors were still huddled in the shadows of a corner. Their massive forms trembled slightly, radiating fear and confusion.
"Something happened here as well."
Azman stopped and fixed his gaze upon them. He raised his hand once more. This time, a faint, thread-like, black energy began to coil around his fingertips, carrying with it an unmistakable sense of forced connection.
It was a secret technique developed by the Department of Mysteries for limited mental communication with creatures such as Dementors.
Soul-Binding Silk.
The department had spent countless years studying Dementors before finally creating this spell. As the magic took effect, the black threads extended outwards like living tentacles, silently connecting to the Dementors' consciousness cores.
Azman closed his eyes and tried to access their memories of the intruder.
By all rights, the spell should have worked flawlessly. Yet all he could see was chaos and emptiness.
This was not the result of erased memories. Nor had the memories been altered.
Rather, it was a more fundamental absence.
Wherever the intruder was concerned, it seemed as if the Dementors' memories had been overwritten or blocked by some higher-order existence.
Instinctively, they remembered that they must obey.
They remembered the awe-inspiring aura that filled them with terror yet drew them irresistibly closer.
They remembered their fear of going any further down.
But everything else... What that existence had done, what it had said and what it looked like, was hopelessly blurred.
All details were obscured, as though viewed through frosted glass.
Azman withdrew the Soul-Binding Silk and opened his eyes.
Looking at the still-trembling Dementors, an expression of genuine gravity appeared on his face for the first time.
He muttered softly.
His voice echoed clearly through the silent passageway.
"No traces of magic... No curses. No Confundus Charm... Then what kind of power could cause these creatures, which act purely on instinct, to overcome their primal fear of the existence below and choose to protect the intruder instead? And how could their memories suffer this kind of fundamental absence?"
Clearly, this question concerned him far more than the discovery of the legendary intruder itself.
It touched upon the very origin of Dementors and the bizarre nature of the intruder's power.
Azman realized that this incident was probably far more complicated than he had originally thought.
Meanwhile, in the prison complex deep underground, the aftershocks of Ian's world-shattering battle against the Fallen God continued to torment any prisoners who were still conscious.
BOOM!
Another violent collision erupted.
The entire prison seemed to leap from its foundations.
The iron bars of the cells gave off shrill sounds as they twisted, while dust and stone fragments cascaded from the walls in endless streams.
Those who had long since been drained of all happiness by the Dementors, reduced to numb walking corpses, showed no reaction whatsoever.
But the prisoners in the lower levels, those who were stronger or had committed more terrible crimes, displayed extreme unease.
"Damn it! What the hell is going on down there?!"
"Those tremors... Is the Ministry of Magic testing some new Dark Magic weapon underground?"
"It doesn't feel like it... This feeling... It's like something is trying to come out. Something ancient and evil."
"Let me out! You bastards! If we're all going to die, don't drag me down with you!"
Curses, roars, and terrified screams echoed throughout the prison, blending with the thunderous booms outside to create a symphony of despair.
However, inside the cell of the Blind Wizard, who had previously warned Ian, the atmosphere was completely different.
The Blind Wizard was no longer as detached and serene as before.
His cross-legged body leaned slightly forward. His empty eye sockets were fixed on the ground, as if they could pierce layers of rock and witness the terrifying battle raging below.
The muscles on his bearded face were taut with extreme shock and... a deeper, more profound fear.
"Impossible... This is impossible..." He muttered, his voice trembling slightly. "How could they dare? How could they actually let it out? Don't they realize what will happen if that thing loses control completely?"
Suddenly, he raised his head and shouted down the empty corridor as loudly as he could:
"Hey! Ministry of Magic! Can you hear me?! The seal below has been compromised! The Thirsty One! It's awakening! It's fighting! Stop it! Reinforce the seal! Otherwise we're all going to die!"
"The entire Ministry of Magic, and even this land itself, will be destroyed!"
His voice echoed through the vast prison, conveying both desperate pleading and urgent warning.
Yet there was no response.
No Aurors hurried towards him.
No alarms sounded.
Not even the Dementors that occasionally patrolled the area were to be seen.
It was as though the entire Ministry of Magic had chosen to ignore this earth-shattering crisis and ignored the catastrophe capable of destroying everything.
The Blind Wizard shouted for a long time.
Until his throat became hoarse.
Still, no one answered.
Finally, he lowered his head in despair. His hands gripped the fabric of his robes so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"They've all gone mad... They've all gone mad..." He repeated weakly.
His voice was filled with helplessness and the despair of someone who had glimpsed a terrible truth.
"They know exactly what that thing is... They know it brings nothing but destruction and madness... Then why... Why would they..."
The "they" he spoke of clearly did not refer to the frightened Aurors and ordinary Ministry employees aboveground.
He was referring to those deeper within the system.
Those who knew the truth.
Perhaps members of the Department of Mysteries.
Perhaps even certain individuals among the highest decision-makers of the Ministry itself.
It had to be said that this Blind Wizard truly knew more than most.
He seemed to understand the origin and terror of the Fallen God.
He also knew that the Ministry of Magic, or at least a faction within it, was not merely imprisoning the creature out of necessity.
Those people… Those wizards seeking forbidden knowledge and buried secrets… were carrying out an extremely dangerous plan.
A bargain with a tiger.
And now, that plan had clearly suffered a massive accident, one that threatened to spiral completely out of control.
A Legendary Wizard, powerful enough to confront the Thirsty One head-on, had appeared.
Such an event should have triggered hidden defensive measures within the Ministry. Or at least emergency protocols designed to deal with situations like this.
Yet the Ministry's response was not total suppression.
Nor was it damage control.
Instead… they were concealing it.
Ignoring it.
Allowing it to happen.
This was something that even the Blind Wizard had never anticipated.
'Had the Ministry of Magic truly decayed to such a degree?'
No… That was not the case.
The Ministry was still the Ministry. It still possessed countless Aurors and all manner of extraordinary means.
Yet despite everything happening, no one had come to intervene.
Why?
What was the reason?
Any intelligent person would hesitate to think too deeply about that question.
The logic behind it sent chills down the Blind Wizard's spine. It was as though he could see an invisible web stretching across everything, a conspiracy perhaps even colder and more terrifying than the Fallen God imprisoned beneath the earth.
"Those people..." At last, he slumped onto the freezing floor.
His empty eye sockets stared vacantly toward the darkness above.
Only unconscious repetition remained on his lips.
A whisper filled with fear.
"...have all gone mad..."
Meanwhile, at the true center of the battlefield deep underground, the battle between Ian and the Fallen God had already progressed beyond the initial probing attacks and clashes of laws.
It had entered a far more brutal and dangerous phase, a direct struggle of slaughter, endurance, and the consumption of their very Origins.
Storms of energy swept through everything in their path, transforming the entire region into a forbidden zone where no life could survive.
(End of Chapter)