A magical journey that begins in Azkaban.

Chapter 573 Death's Long Tongue

Voldemort looked at the magic that was canceling each other out, and a sarcastic sneer appeared on his lips: "It seems that being powerful does not mean being smart. Sometimes, it also means being stupid and ridiculous."

The white mist was like dry ice exposed to the scorching sun, spreading in all directions. The cemetery was swallowed up in an instant, followed by the ruins of the church, the tavern sign, the square fountain... In an instant, the entire Godric's Hollow was shrouded in white mist.

People's vision was severely restricted by the white fog, as if they were trapped in tiny bubbles and could only see the scenery within a foot.

Although Roger was unable to find Voldemort, the Death Eaters and dangerous creatures were also confused.

Cats, leopards, long-horned water snakes and others rushed around in the fog, making bursts of roars.

Suddenly, Harry's terrified cry came from the white fog: "Professor? What's wrong with you?"

This sound was like a thunderclap, making everyone's heart tighten suddenly. They all ran towards the direction where the sound came from.

Voldemort grinned, his eyes flashing with excitement. He grabbed his men and snatched their wands. "Clear the clouds and mists!"

Originally, he wanted to use the thick white fog to retreat temporarily, but when he heard Harry's sudden shouting, he immediately used the soul fragment to spy on what Harry saw.

Dumbledore knelt weakly on the ground, holding himself up with his hands to prevent himself from falling. Age spots of varying depths suddenly appeared on his weathered face, as if time had caught up with him at this moment.

His iconic silver hair and beard are losing their luster and becoming dry and messy at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Voldemort narrowed his scarlet snake pupils and twisted his face into a cruel smile. He was sure that this was not Dumbledore's conspiracy. He truly felt that death and aging were invading Albus' body like a tide.

When the last wisp of mist dissipated, Nicolas Flamel finally saw Albus's miserable appearance. His face was full of disbelief, and he muttered to himself: "Merlin's beard, this is impossible!"

His shaking fingers fumbled in his pocket eagerly, and finally took out the thick magic book. Nico knelt on the ground, eagerly turned the pages, and asked the witch in the photo: "I don't remember that the Wind of Resurrection has this side effect."

"No, Nico, this is definitely not caused by the Wind of Resurrection." The witch in the photo immediately shook her head, "I'm afraid... I'm afraid his life will soon come to an end."

At this moment, Roger's action broke the heavy atmosphere. He swung his wand suddenly, and a stone sculpture arm whistled and smashed towards Dumbledore's head.

At the same time, a dazzling green light spurted out from the tip of Voldemort's wand.

boom!
Rogge's stone sculpture accurately blocked the killing curse and exploded into pieces with a loud bang. The broken stones scattered like raindrops, leaving scratches on the ground.

A flash of anger flashed across Voldemort's eyes, but was soon replaced by cunning. He regained his former confidence and arrogance, and a sneer appeared on the corner of his mouth: "What a pity, Travis. Why save this dying old wizard?"

"You should have stood by and let me end his life myself. Then, we could have had a real wizard duel."

"Take your assistant, maybe Harry, or Neville or something. Whether I win or you lose, the world will be a better place. Without Dumbledore, the old stubborn man, a new order will eventually come."

Roger stared at Voldemort coldly and shook his head firmly: "I don't think this will do me any good."

He stood in front of Dumbledore, forming an unshakable line of defense. His eyes lingered on the wand held by the headmaster for a moment, then moved away without leaving a trace.

When he entered the cemetery with Nicolas Flamel, he noticed that the headmaster had a new wand, which was the one made of laurel wood by the god of death.

Perhaps, Ollivander saw that the Old Wand was broken again and took the initiative to lend it out; perhaps, Dumbledore discovered the extraordinaryness of this wand... But no matter what, Roger did not express any dissatisfaction.

The principle he adheres to is that there can be internal struggles, but one must be united against the enemy.

Besides, he also wanted to know what strange abilities the laurel wand had.

However, the cost of using this wand seems to be even more terrible than that of the Elder Wand.

Dumbledore's aging speed was visible to the naked eye. His breathing became weaker and weaker, as if he would fall down in the next second and fall into the arms of death.

Roger saw his pale lips trembling slightly, wanting to say something, but unable to speak. He was like a candle in the wind, about to go out at any time.

At this moment, a terrified cry came from the other end of the cemetery, "Master, you...your face..." Little Batty's pupils shrank and his face turned pale.

Hearing this, Voldemort sneered disdainfully: "Isn't it just a scar? How did you become such a coward..."

His voice stopped abruptly because he suddenly realized that his voice had become old and slow, no longer the sharp and harsh tone before.

A wave of panic swept through Voldemort's heart. He frantically reached out to touch his face, and the skin his fingertips touched was full of wrinkles.

His forehead and cheekbones were covered with deep grooves. He looked decades older in an instant, and was still aging.

"Impossible, this is impossible! How could I age? I am immortal, immortal!" He screamed hysterically and waved his wand frantically. A huge magic mirror condensed in the air and he looked at his face eagerly.

The sight in the mirror made him gasp. The familiar face still retained its iconic features: pale skin, scarlet vertical pupils, and an almost completely flat nose.

The newly added scar was very hideous, adding a bit of horror to his face. However, the change was so obvious that he couldn't believe it was his own face.

The smooth, hairless head was like a Pekingese's face, with wrinkles of varying depths. The two deep eye bags seemed to be cast under a gravity spell, drooping darkly.

As for the face, it is full of wrinkles that can easily kill a mosquito.

“No…No!” Voldemort growled, his voice full of despair and anger, “Who is it, who is it!!!”

Aging, inevitable aging, aging that symbolizes approaching death.

He could feel his life force gushing out like a punctured water ball. Time was carving his body in an unstoppable way.

However, an even more bizarre scene was taking place on the other side of the cemetery.

The life force that leaked out of Voldemort's body did not dissipate out of thin air. As if being pulled by some invisible force, it flowed towards Dumbledore who was about to die of old age.

Everyone was staring at this scene in amazement: Dumbledore's originally dull white hair and beard suddenly glowed with silvery light again; his wrinkled, dry and thin fingers were becoming rosy and strong at a speed visible to the naked eye; the age spots on his face, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and the nasolabial folds around his mouth were all fading away at an incredible speed.

When Roger witnessed the changes in Dumbledore, instead of feeling happy, he stepped back warily.

On the other hand, Nicolas Flamel was too slow to take the Philosopher's Stone out of the photo in time.

Even though he had lived long enough and the energy in the Philosopher's Stone was only one tenth of what it was, it was his most perfect alchemical work after all, so how could he bear to destroy it with his own hands?

"This wand..." A chill snaked up his tailbone like a snake. Roger involuntarily tightened his grip on the wand, his knuckles turning white from excessive force.

The laurel wand made by the god of death was beyond imagination. He swore to Merlin that it was definitely more weird and terrifying than the old wand.

In a sense, the Elder Wand symbolizes immortal power. It will circulate between the strong, betray the previous owner, but always belong to the winner.

However, the laurel wand in front of him seemed to have the ability to absorb vitality, symbolizing immortality.

Just a moment ago, Dumbledore was a dying old man who could take his last breath at any time. But now, he not only regained his vitality, but even the roots of his hair began to turn a little black.

While everyone was surprised at the changes in the two people, no one noticed that the sky was filled with dark clouds.

A skull-like face is hidden in it, as if some powerful existence is quietly looking down at everything below.

"Clang clang (Be careful!)" Maria let out a clear cry, and the warmth of the phoenix once again dispelled the coldness in her heart.

Roger looked up and a low murmur sounded in his ears.

It seemed to come from a distant shore, or it seemed to be generated directly in the mind: "Take it and use your life as fuel. When I kiss you, you will gain the life of your enemy."

The voice was cold and seductive, causing Roger to shudder involuntarily.

He stared at the clouds above his head, and was surprised to find that the skull face was cleverly raising the clouds at the corners of its mouth, as if smiling at him. "Enemy..." Rogge hurriedly checked the panel.

As expected, there was indeed a label of "old friend" attached to my name:

Roger Travis (Death Gaze, Dark Asylum)
Just as he was lost in thought, a shrill scream suddenly pierced everyone's eardrums and echoed over the cemetery.

Under the astonished gaze of everyone, Bellatrix grasped the syringe and stabbed it into the back of Voldemort's neck.

The needle tip seemed to hit the bone, causing her hand to tremble violently, but this did not stop her crazy actions.

Bella smiled cruelly, her eyes full of murderous intent. Almost in an instant, a whole tube of virus was injected into Voldemort's body.

"Traitor!" Voldemort roared, but his voice was so weak that even the roar sounded like a long sigh of despair.

He raised his arm so slowly that Cedric was able to blast it to pieces with Rip.

"you……"

Before he could say anything, Buck and the others' spells had already killed him.

Colorful magical lights intertwined in the air, forming a deadly net that enveloped Voldemort. The once invincible Dark Lord seemed to be facing his own doomsday.

Amelia, the Aurors, the members of the Order of the Phoenix...all stood still, eyes wide open, watching what was happening before their eyes in disbelief.

They were just shocked by Dumbledore's change, and then the explosive betrayal of the Death Eaters caused their brains to crash.

"This is not true, is it?"

Countless spells struck Voldemort's aging body like lightning. The once dreaded Dark Lord now looked like a puppet being ravaged by anyone, which made people feel a little pitiful.

However, Roger's attention was always on Dumbledore, and before he knew it, he had almost retreated to the collapsed wall.

If there is anything I have learned from my dealings with death, it is only one thing: don't deal with death.

The laurel wand was undoubtedly powerful, hiding the cunning, insidiousness, and irresistible temptation of the god of death.

If it uses life as fuel, then the reward given to the user must also be life.

"It's not like the Elder Wand," Roger thought to himself, "at least the Elder Wand remains absolutely loyal to the victor. It's just borrowed by Dumbledore, but like a cheap prostitute, it can't wait to show everything to the customer."

It used Voldemort's life to nourish Dumbledore's body, which had been hollowed out by time.

It does not possess the winner. Instead, it pretends to be a goddess, standing there quietly, allowing everyone to fight for it.

"Young flesh," Nicolas Flamel sighed softly, "even the elixir made from the Philosopher's Stone cannot truly prevent the body from aging."

His eyes sparkled with the curiosity of a scholar as he carefully examined Dumbledore's new appearance: his silver-gray hair and beard, his wrinkle-free face, and his skin filled with muscle.

"I can't die! Never!" Voldemort's situation became more and more terrifying.

The virus raged through his body, causing his flesh and blood to boil like boiling water. The uncontrolled magic power in his body continued to explode, blowing his body to pieces. Coupled with the betrayer's continuous attacks, he had become incomplete.

However, to everyone's surprise, even in this state, Voldemort still did not die. Although he became older and weaker than before, he still survived tenaciously.

Under the horrified gaze of everyone, Voldemort did a horrifying move: he bit off his broken finger, crushed it with his bloodthirsty teeth, and then swallowed it with an expressionless face.

His scarlet snake eyes were still as bright and sharp as lightning as he scanned the faces of everyone in the field, vowing to engrave each person in his memory.

"Do you think these can kill me? Do you think I don't have other means?" A strange laugh rolled out of his throat, as if there was a big hole in the bellows.

He stretched out his two remaining fingers and seemed to be pinching something.

Click~
A crisp sound rang in everyone's heart, Voldemort let out a long roar, and his body exploded.

Blood and flesh flew everywhere like a smashed watermelon. White bone residue mixed with broken pieces of internal organs tore through the air with a shrieking sound.

Roger held his wand, but ultimately chose not to stop Voldemort's soul from charging forward, because there was no need.

"You're done," he whispered.

The skull cloud in the sky suddenly spit out a long misty tongue, which looked like Voldemort's Dark Mark when viewed from the ground.

But Roger knew that this was not the work of Voldemort.

The tongue precisely wrapped around Voldemort's soul, and with a sudden roll, it swallowed it into the mouth.

Playing tricks in front of the god of death can only be described as Nicolas Flamel cutting his wrists to show his long life.

"I will definitely come back!"

Listening to the screams coming from the sky, Roger snorted coldly: "Do you think you are Gray Wolf and can come back whenever you want?"

Amelia suddenly reacted and hurriedly ordered: "Quick, arrest them!"

The Aurors raised their wands and took action immediately. It was time to perform meritorious deeds!
In the eyes of most people, Voldemort finally escaped successfully again with the help of the Dark Mark.

However, if we compare them carefully, we can find that there are essential differences between the two.

If Voldemort wanted Death to spare him, what would it cost him? Just snap his fingers like a purple potato?

Faced with the Aurors' siege, the Death Eaters instantly split into several camps. Some surrendered on the spot, some tried to escape, but no one showed their loyalty after the last war.

Everyone was relying on Voldemort to gain benefits, why play with their lives. Even Bella's group of pure-blooded Death Eaters were instantly divided into two groups.

Bella and Buck took a few people with them, grabbed the door key and disappeared in an instant.

Barty Jr., Cedric and the others seemed to have planned it. They silently put down their wands and allowed the Aurors to arrest them.

"Hey, lighten up! We're heroes!"

"Will Voldemort die without our help? Remember my name, Barty Crouch Jr!"

"From tomorrow on, this surname will represent glory!"

"And me, Cedric Diggory."

"You two, shut up!" Dawlish tightened the ropes impatiently and put black hoods on them.

Every two Aurors escorted one prisoner. They stood proudly outside the ruins, like generals covered with military medals.

Nicolas Flamel asked with concern: "Albus, are you okay?"

He understood the pain in Dumbledore's heart, even though that vitality came from Voldemort, the evil who committed countless crimes. But it also meant that Albus had deprived him of most of his life.

Roger secretly paid attention to the headmaster's condition, and most importantly, what he would do with the laurel wand in his hand.

(End of this chapter)