For Voldemort, the person he loved most was always himself.
To him, almost all his servants were just tools to be used. So, when danger came, he did not hesitate to exploit Quirrell's life to empower himself.
Losing such an obedient servant might have been regrettable, but if it meant snatching the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore, then the servant's purpose had been fulfilled. There was no question of regret.
Under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, the green flames engulfing Voldemort began falling to the ground, scattering. Surprisingly, the dim fire did not die out, instead, it bloomed like a flower of life. Each flicker of flame gave birth to a hissing little snake, which then slithered into the shadows.
Both Tom Riddle and Dumbledore knew one thing clearly, their time was limited.
Dumbledore, though unable to restrain the almost-immortal Voldemort, had only one goal: kill Quirrell, in whom Voldemort had parasitically lodged himself, before Voldemort gave up on the Stone and fled.
Voldemort's goal, on the other hand, was to seize the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore before exhausting his potential, a nearly impossible task, but the closest he had ever come to perfect resurrection.
A Horcrux meant others couldn't kill him. The Philosopher's Stone meant absolute perfection. Immortality.
And so, they unleashed real fire immediately.
Even Allen, watching from the sidelines, was terrified. Compared to the cursed fragment of Voldemort's soul he had faced before, the Voldemort possessing Quirrell might have slightly weaker magical power, but in raw combat ability, the real Voldemort utterly dominated the mindless Horcrux.
His control over magic was artistic.
Each swing of his wand sent several little snakes crawling from the shadows, forming spells in midair or on the ground, striking directly at Dumbledore.
These snakes could combine in countless ways, ropes of fire, dark purple chains, giant serpents emerging from unpredictable angles, even sudden bursts of fire from beneath the feet.
This wasn't just ordinary magic. Even a perfectly resurrected Voldemort would be powerful, but not this bizarre.
The reason was simple: each snake was infused with Quirrell's life force. This was a form of magic fueled by sacrifice. Voldemort himself could never risk using his own life to release this spell.
Under such strange attacks, even ordinary wizards, or Aurors, would be helpless.
But Voldemort faced not ordinary people, but a man named Dumbledore, his lifelong nemesis.
No matter how strange the magic, it all halted against Dumbledore's shields. Even as the spells rattled his defenses, it was clear they weren't enough to break through.
"Tom, it's good to see you again, but unfortunately, it seems you still don't understand your mistakes," Dumbledore said, his tone tinged with the regret of a professor scolding a student.
Voldemort was enraged. His wand movements grew so large that Allen almost thought he would swing off his own arm.
A silver bolt shot from Voldemort's wand, streaking through the air with sparks. In the blink of an eye, it struck Dumbledore, breaking through three consecutive shields before slowing.
"Stop pretending, Dumbledore! I've had enough of your act!" Quirrell's hoarse voice yelled, accompanied by a powerful flame spell as Voldemort continued:
"You can't kill me, Dumbledore! You're old, and I am young! One day, your arm will fail to lift your wand, then you and your outdated thoughts will be buried in the soil, rotting together!!!"
Dumbledore countered with a spell that missed by a wide margin. Voldemort's laughter followed immediately.
"Oh, Dumbledore, now all you can do is bark? At this distance, even your attack misses?"
But soon, Voldemort stopped laughing. His spell had shattered a mirror that had stood in the room, and the fragments, under Dumbledore's magic, turned into a ribbon of glass shards. It wrapped tightly around Voldemort's shield.
The moment the ribbon bound him, Voldemort's mind flashed with visions of himself controlling the wizarding world, subjugating the entire magical system above Muggles, the mirror retained its mystical power even shattered.
Momentarily distracted, Voldemort's shield was crushed, and the ribbon, like a snake, began wrapping around his body.
"Bam!" With a light pop, Voldemort suddenly transformed into a mass of green flames, slipping through the chains' gaps.
The escaping flames reformed into Voldemort's true body nearby, but slightly shorter in green flame, showing that this wasn't an easy escape skill to use.
"Phew." Voldemort exhaled, raising his wand again as his silver shield gleamed once more.
"Is that all, Dumbledore?" The shield gave Voldemort confidence, but Dumbledore responded with a fiery whip from his wand.
With a crack in the air, the long whip struck Voldemort's shield, producing a crisp impact sound, and a sea of flames erupted at his feet.
Voldemort's response was to dim the green flames on his body slightly, each droplet of flame seemed to consume the fire below, extinguishing it quickly. Meanwhile, more snakes crawled from the shadows of the ground flames.
"You can't kill me, Dumbledore!" Voldemort shouted, and the flames shot up, transforming into green feather-like projectiles aimed directly at Dumbledore.
As for Voldemort himself, at the moment the feathers flew, he had already vanished.
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