Harry doesn't want to be a wizard, he wants to be a superhero

Chapter 307 Respected Lord, do you intend to become the third Dark Lord?

The grave beneath Harry's feet cracked open, and a wisp of dust rose into the air at his command, gently settling into the cauldron.

The diamond-like surface of the liquid shattered, hissing and sparking, and the liquid turned a vivid blue, clearly indicating that it was poisonous.

Harry then turned his gaze to the nearest Death Eater, waved his hand lightly, and a flash of silver light severed the Death Eater's left hand.

Amid the Death Eater's agonizing wails, Harry continued unfazed, saying, "The flesh of a servant is voluntarily donated so that your master may be reborn."

Although the Death Eater didn't seem to be offering himself willingly, Harry wasn't worried. It was just a simple ritual, and with slight modifications, the sacrificer's emotions could be discarded, and the missing part of the ritual could be replaced with his own magic.

Harry temporarily silenced the wailing Death Eater by wiping its mouth, then looked at the now boiling, red-hot cauldron and placed a finger on it.

A drop of blood oozed from the tip of his finger and fell into the pot.

When the blood comes into contact with the fiery red water, it unleashes an even more powerful magical reaction.

The crucible boiled completely, and diamond-like sparks flew in all directions, dazzling like stars and turning everything around into a black velvet color.

Harry observed the rather strange magical reaction before him, and asked expectantly:
"The blood of your enemies must be revealed to resurrect them. Although I was not forced to do so, it is still usable after being modified with chaotic magic."

Suddenly the sparks on the crucible went out, and a plume of white steam rose from inside the crucible, obscuring everything around it.

Through the white smoke, everyone could see a man's figure slowly rising from the crucible.

The man was tall and thin, like a skeleton, but he exuded a powerful magical aura, far stronger than most wizards, and even gave people the feeling of facing Dumbledore.

"Put on this robe." The cold, distant voice rang out from behind the steam, but after waiting a moment and finding no one responding, he grew somewhat annoyed. "Lucius, what are you waiting for?"

Even so, no one responded to him, and he then realized that the atmosphere around him was strange.

So he had to manipulate his weakened body, using no staff and no life force to cast a spell, temporarily transforming a cup of clay into a black stone robe, which he then draped over himself.

Then, he emerged from the white mist and saw the detailed scenery around him.

There were indeed his loyal Death Eaters around, but they seemed to be in bad shape. Most of them were lying on the ground in a sorry state, spitting blood. Only a few powerful Death Eaters were kneeling on the ground, but this did not make them look any better.

Voldemort's expression changed slightly. He looked in the direction where the Death Eaters were kneeling, and then saw a figure that he was extremely wary of.

He was a young man of about 15 years old, very tall and strong, who looked more like a handsome knight than a wizard.

How could Voldemort possibly forget who that figure was? It was Harry Potter, his destined nemesis.

When Harry Potter was just born, he relied on the ancient love magic cast by his mother, that damned woman, which rebounded and killed him with the Killing Curse.

While he was in school, he also solved his Horcruxes several times.

Now, under his manipulation, they originally thought they could use an ancient sealing array to seal his magic and eliminate a scourge.

But to everyone's surprise, Harry Potter not only ignored him, but also defeated all of his Death Eaters.

He was so arrogant that he resurrected himself and didn't even take him seriously.

Voldemort's noseless face instantly contorted into a ferocious grin, and he roared in a shrill voice, like the hiss of a venomous snake:
"Harry Potter!"

………………

After Voldemort's resurrection, Harry and the others all focused their attention on him.

Unlike ordinary people, his appearance was extremely bizarre.

His skin was like a bloated corpse wax, pale and inhuman, clinging tightly to his jagged bones. Every rib was clearly protruding beneath the skin, as if it might pierce the thin, cicada-wing-like skin at any moment.

He had no nose, only two dark nostrils with mucus clinging to their edges, and his breathing produced a hissing sound like a snake flicking its tongue.

Its eyes were pure scarlet, the pupils narrowed to slits, and when they turned, they shimmered with a venomous luster. When they swept over the Death Eaters, the bodies beneath their black robes trembled unconsciously.

Faced with Voldemort, everyone else trembled in fear, afraid to move or speak.

Harry heard Voldemort's roar at him, looked at the pale figure staggering to his feet by the cauldron, and a faint, cold smile curled at the corner of his lips. He chuckled softly:

"Look at you, Tom, a body cobbled together from your father's bones, your servant's flesh, and your enemy's blood. Just like your pathetic soul, it reeks of rotten patchwork."

Voldemort's crimson pupils contracted slightly, and his snake-like hiss was incredibly ferocious:
"Hehe, who is it? It turns out to be that so-called boy who survived a great calamity."

What's wrong? Do you really think that just because you've defeated my remnant soul a few times, you're my match?

Today I tell the entire wizarding world that the so-called prophecy is nothing but a joke, and the savior they have been waiting for will die a miserable death today.

Harry's voice was as steady as a frozen lake, each word carrying an icy chill:

"In the end, you are just a defeated weakling, a remnant of the old era, destined to fade into obscurity in this age."

Even... without my help, you wouldn't be able to be resurrected.

Perhaps I must use absolute power to completely awaken you from your illusions, and offer your blood as a sacrifice to the spirits of my parents in heaven.

Even Dumbledore had never insulted Voldemort like this. His face contorted in fury at the undisguised mockery of Harry. He roared in anger:

"It seems your past victories have given you confidence beyond your capabilities. Come on, Harry, let's duel. Let me shatter your confidence and show you just how good you really are."

Harry remained unmoved by Voldemort's sarcasm. His wizarding robes fluttered in the cemetery wind, and as he raised his wand high, a vertical rift opened in the clouds, and purple-gold lightning bolts shot out like living snakes, condensing into a spinning ball of lightning at the tip of the wand. "Try this, Tom," he sneered, and the lightning ball shattered into thousands of electric whips the moment it left his hand, the tips crackling with sparks, pulverizing the black mist surrounding Voldemort.

Lightning flashed in Voldemort's crimson pupils, and just as he was about to wave his wand, the ground beneath his feet suddenly collapsed.

Harry had already formed the Gravity Charm rune with his left hand, and the silver-black force field, like an invisible hand, slammed Voldemort hard into the cracked earth.

With each inch of descent, gravity increased tenfold, and Voldemort's new body emitted a cracking sound as his bones were crushed. His ribs beneath his black robes caved in as if struck by a giant hammer, and his fingernails dug into the cracks in the frozen earth, only to bring out a few strands of grass scorched by lightning.

"Damn it, these weird ancient spells again. Do you think you're the only one who knows them?" Voldemort roared, spitting out a green killing spell, only to be pulverized the instant it touched the lightning net.

However, he quickly changed his strategy, and the seven colors gathered at the tip of his wand, like an eraser wiping away all the elemental power.

Both the raging lightning and the undetectable gravity below were erased by Voldemort, and the space of several square meters around him returned to its original state.

Clearly, this is some kind of ancient magic. Voldemort's remnant soul used this magic to fight Harry in their second year, but Voldemort was much more familiar with it by then.

The battle between the two had a wide impact, covering an area of ​​about a kilometer in the blink of an eye.

If Harry hadn't had Cedric use the Portkey to return to Hogwarts beforehand, and if the other Death Eaters hadn't used the Apparition Charm to teleport thousands of meters away, they probably would have been killed by the aftershocks while watching the battle.

Even though they were thousands of meters away, they could still feel the incredibly violent collision of magical forces ahead.

This was a collision of magical power far beyond their level; even the aftershocks could easily kill them.

Voldemort, who has mastered ancient magic, is more powerful than he was in life, even though he is currently in a weakened state.

Voldemort's power is justifiable, but what's up with Harry Potter on the other side?

One of the Death Eaters said incredulously:
"Is this the destined savior? He possesses such immense power; no wonder he was able to become the savior. So the prophecy was true after all."

The other Death Eaters didn't join in the discussion, but they were all deeply attracted by the terrifying power ahead.

They also yearn for that kind of power; it's life's instinctive longing for strength.

In the midst of the battlefield, Harry floated in mid-air, riding on the air currents rising from the lightning. Behind him, the lightning whip wove an impenetrable net, and the electric light flowing through the mesh of the net illuminated the coldness in his eyes.

The Gravity Charm suddenly reversed, and Voldemort, who was pinned to the ground, was violently thrown into the air, his body slightly deformed under the force of gravity.

Harry's lightning whip wrapped around his limbs, and the current surged through his skin into his blood vessels. With each twitch, Voldemort's skin showed charred lines, as if countless electric snakes were crawling under his skin.

As he was pulled back to the ground, his knee slammed heavily onto Riddle's tombstone, shattering the entire stone under the weight of the Gravity Charm. Amidst the flying debris, he saw Harry standing in his shadow, the ball of lightning in his palm swollen into a dark purple that devoured light.

“Your dark magic relies on blood ties and fear,” Harry’s voice boomed with the roar of thunder, “while my magic comes solely from my own will.”

He pressed down with his left hand, and the space around Voldemort suddenly distorted, the gravitational field turning into a rotating vortex that sucked in all the sarcophagus fragments and soil.

Lightning formed a ring-shaped wall around the vortex, and the purple-gold lightning collided with the silver-black force field, bursting out with a light strong enough to blind the eyes.

Voldemort's body was repeatedly torn apart by the double magic; his new skin cracked like paper, while the exposed bones gleamed with an eerie gray luster in the lightning.

He tried to summon the undead from the graveyard with evil necromancy, but the corpses that broke through the ground were crushed into blood-red powder as soon as they came into contact with the gravity vortex. The powder burned on the lightning wall and turned into ghostly flames that illuminated Harry's face.

When Harry clasped his hands together, the lightning orb and the gravity vortex suddenly merged into one, forming a dark purple sphere that was constantly collapsing.

It hovered above Voldemort's head, its surface flowing with a chaotic light that both destroyed and created.

“This is something you’ll never learn,” Harry’s voice pierced through the hum of magic and clearly reached Voldemort’s ears. “You will ultimately be limited by this world, unable to broaden your horizons, just as you are fixated on bloodline.”

You are aware of your own lowliness, so you desire to elevate yourself; but once you attain that high status, you begin to discriminate against those who were once as lowly as you.

The moment the sphere fell, the entire cemetery fell into absolute silence.

In the vacuum created by lightning and gravity, Voldemort's roar was compressed into a silent vibration, and his body, like dust thrown into a black hole, decomposed into the most primitive magical particles in the dark purple light.

Harry stood amidst this rain of particles, the electric sparks clinging to his wizard robes slowly fading.

In the distance, the moment Voldemort disintegrated in the dark purple light, the Death Eaters' black robes froze in place like corpses stripped of their bones.

Bellatrix was the first to break down; her scream was like a truncated eagle's cry, both pitiful and piercing.

"No, my master, how could you?!"

Her nails dug deep into her cheeks, blood mingling with tears as they slid down. But when she met Harry's cold gaze from afar, she suddenly froze as if frozen by a spell. The roar in her throat turned into a hoarse gasp, and she dared not cry out again.

The other Death Eaters did the same; Rodolph Sestrange, in the distance, suddenly knelt down, while his wife Bellatrix burst into tears.
They had been preparing for Voldemort's resurrection for years, and just when it seemed Voldemort was about to be fully resurrected, he was killed by Harry Potter.

So what's the point of their efforts over the past few years?
Harry took a step across space and stood before the many Death Eaters.

He stood several meters in the air, coldly gazing at the Death Eaters before him, who deserved to die, and then said indifferently:
"Now that your former master Voldemort is dead, you have two choices."

The first option is to die with Voldemort. Of course, Voldemort has a chance to be resurrected because of the Horcruxes, but you will die permanently and in a meaningless way.

The second option is for you to abandon Voldemort and come to follow me. What Voldemort couldn't give you, I can do; what Voldemort couldn't do, I can do. I can give you excellent treatment, but your lives and even your souls will be under my control.

Upon hearing Harry's words, the Death Eaters exchanged glances, suddenly feeling a sense of familiarity with the scene before them.
It seems that a similar scene occurred when they first started following Voldemort.

One of the Death Eaters' eyes lit up, and he mustered his courage to say:
"My lord, do you intend to become the third Dark Lord?"

(End of this chapter)