Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind howled as a massive, blood-red storm surged toward Lockhart and the others.
The radiant energy barrier shimmered with dazzling light. From behind the thick, glass-like barrier, Wanda and the others stared at the oncoming storm of blood.
Within the storm, countless crimson blades spun at high speed, tearing through the air, aiming straight for them.
Even though Wanda and Ian had unwavering faith in their mentor, Ian still found himself clenching his fists, his palms damp with sweat.
In the blink of an eye—
BOOM!
The blood-red storm crashed against the colorful barrier, producing a deafening explosion.
Zhila! Zhila!
Through the transparent surface of the barrier, Hermione could clearly see the countless blood-colored blades slicing against it, trying desperately to break through.
The sharp, grating sound of their relentless assault made Ron, Hermione, and the others instinctively cover their ears.
The shrieking noise was unbearable as the blood-soaked blades frantically scraped against the barrier.
Even Lockhart furrowed his brows slightly before casually waving his hand. At once, shimmering ripples spread across the barrier, and the deafening sound gradually faded.
At that moment, Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he realized that the storm of blood was being held back by the barrier.
Licking his lips, he seemed to grow impatient.
With a swift, forceful motion, he swung his wand like a conductor's baton.
At his command, a vast swarm of Blood Abyss Insects reassembled into a dense, crimson mist.
The thick, blood-colored mist spread rapidly, creeping toward the radiant barrier.
And yet, the original storm continued its relentless assault, slashing and slicing, determined to tear everything before it apart.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Lockhart frowned. He could feel countless tiny, crimson insects attempting to devour the dream energy infused within the barrier.
These things… they can consume the power of dreams?
Even if their consumption was minimal, this was an ominous sign.
"Lockhart, be careful! These blood insects can devour energy and adapt quickly," Credence warned from the side, his voice tinged with unease.
Through the thick mist, a flash of fear crossed his eyes.
He had once existed as an Obscurus, a being of pure destructive magic—yet even that had been consumed by these creatures.
They were a wizard's worst nightmare.
Lockhart nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Raising his wand, he traced an elegant arc through the air.
At once, radiant, seven-colored light flared, illuminating the Blood Abyss Insects crawling across the barrier.
Then—
The blood-colored mist darkened.
The insects on the barrier flickered, their bodies becoming semi-transparent, their forms shifting into an eerie, translucent red glow.
And finally—
They vanished.
As if they had never existed at all.
Voldemort, however, remained unshaken. Without hesitation, he merely flicked his wand once more.
The blood-colored mist returned, surging forward to consume the radiant barrier yet again.
To the Blood Abyss Insects—
You may kill me once or twice… but you can never kill me ten or twenty times.
Devour. Adapt. Evolve.
It was their instinct. Their nature. Their talent.
Go ahead, destroy us.
The more they were slaughtered, the more they would consume. The more they consumed, the more they would evolve.
They were a singular entity—what one learned, all would learn.
They were eternal. They were absolute.
More and more Blood Abyss Insects swarmed forward, and the bloodstorm itself began to shrink, morphing into a vast network of crimson tendrils that wrapped around the colorful barrier.
Sensing the delicacy of the dream energy, the insects attacked with even greater fervor, devouring it like starving beasts at a grand feast.
Even as their bodies faded and dissolved into nothingness, their hunger remained insatiable.
The dream energy was delicious—tempting, irresistible, like an imperial banquet laid before them.
For the briefest moment, Lockhart caught sight of a strange flicker among the insects.
Some of them—just a handful—seemed to shimmer with a faint, prismatic glow.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the light faded.
On the sidelines, Grindelwald observed with narrowed eyes, his expression growing cautious.
Terrifying.
How in the world did Voldemort create such a monstrosity?
How many lives did he have to take to make something like this?
Through his own innate talent, Grindelwald could sense the anguished screams of countless souls trapped within the mist.
Without mass slaughter, such creatures could never have been born.
Lockhart, too, felt the dream energy within the barrier weakening at an alarming rate. His expression darkened.
The backlash from world consciousness is this severe?
Even though these creatures were an unnatural abomination, shouldn't the world itself try to correct them?
Unbelievable.
Silently cursing, Lockhart flicked his wand, sending streaks of prismatic light flashing through the air.
At the same time, a dense, colorful mist began to spread from the barrier.
Rather than repelling the crimson mist—
It merged with it.
The two forces intertwined, coiling around each other like twin serpents in an endless struggle.
And then—
The blood-colored mist thinned.
The insects swarming against the barrier hesitated, as if locked in combat against the dream energy.
If one looked closely—zooming in to see the mist on a microscopic level—
They would see something remarkable.
Among the swirling colors, new insects were forming—tiny creatures of seven-colored light, nearly identical to the Blood Abyss Insects, save for their shimmering hues.
As soon as they emerged, they sought out the nearest Blood Abyss Insects—
Colliding with them.
And perishing together.
Yes—Lockhart's power of dreams was at work.
If he willed it, he could create anything.
Of course, true replication required deep understanding. Otherwise, he could only mimic appearances, not functions.
Though he couldn't perfectly recreate the Blood Abyss Insects—
He could make them self-destruct.
The colorful mist continued to spread, devouring the crimson mist in a matter of seconds.
But—
Lockhart could feel it.
The consumption rate of his dream energy was increasing.
What once required a single portion now needed one and a half—no, two, or even three portions to erase completely.
He sighed.
As expected, world consciousness is always troublesome…
Especially when it had an evil avatar working in its favor.
These creatures were evil incarnate.
Like Grindelwald, Lockhart could sense the staggering scale of slaughter that had birthed them.
Even for someone as detached as him—who cared little for matters beyond himself—he couldn't help but inwardly shudder.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
He turned toward Wanda.
"Wanda," he said calmly, "I need your help with what comes next."
"We're going to expel the consciousness of the world—"
"And create a new battlefield."
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