Buzz!
After hearing her mentor Lockhart's words, Wanda slowly stepped forward to stand beside him.
Her steps were hesitant, as though an invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders.
Yet, despite the burden, her determination never wavered.
With each step she took, her red hair—along with her eyebrows—gradually transformed into a spectrum of colors.
It was as if she were being reshaped by some unknown force, assimilated into something greater.
Soon, her entire form—her hair, her eyebrows, even her clothes—became infused with the radiant hues of dream energy.
Like Lockhart.
The only thing that remained unchanged—her brilliant red eyes.
In fact, they burned even more intensely than before, shimmering with a faint crimson glow.
Talent—Probability Control.
No.
After years of training, deliberate cultivation, and the consumption of vast resources—
It could no longer be called simple probability manipulation.
It was the hand of fate itself.
Gently, Wanda placed both palms against the shimmering barrier of energy.
At that moment, in her vision—
Time seemed to freeze.
Everything fell into utter silence.
Countless threads of multicolored light intertwined before her, woven into an intricate and ever-changing web.
Just by observing it, she could feel reality shifting.
For a fleeting instant, Wanda felt as though she had stepped into the heart of chaos itself—
A realm where infinite possibilities and choices surged forward, blooming like a kaleidoscope of dazzling, disordered light.
She saw the endless tapestry of futures.
Each filled with hope.
Each filled with despair.
A flood of incomprehensible information poured into her mind, twisting together in an overwhelming cascade.
It was too much.
It felt as though her head would explode.
Behind her, Ian, Hermione, and Harry watched anxiously as Wanda's breathing quickened, her heartbeat racing.
Her hands trembled violently.
Blood-red tears streamed down her cheeks.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Forcing herself to recall her training, Wanda fought to steady her mind.
She had to calm herself.
She had to choose correctly.
But the weight of a thousand realities bore down upon her, drowning her in visions of despair.
For a fleeting moment—
She thought about running.
About escaping.
Yet she held firm.
She would endure. She would adapt.
After all, the fate she sought to unravel was not just for the wizards—
It was for the entire world.
The price of failure would be immeasurable.
She did not know how long she remained in that void.
Perhaps an entire day had passed.
Perhaps only a second.
But then—
She saw it.
A single, true possibility.
A path forward.
Reaching out, she extended a trembling fingertip—
And touched it.
Clang!
Destiny began to unravel.
Everything fell into place.
In an instant—
The vibrant mist that had filled the air transformed into countless glistening raindrops.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Moisture filled the air as the downpour washed over the battlefield.
But what was it washing away?
From the sidelines, Grindelwald observed with keen interest.
The blood-red fate that had once coiled around Voldemort like an unbreakable shroud—
Was fading.
Even the Blood Abyss Worms began to wither, their hunger vanishing as their energy drained away.
And strangely enough—
Grindelwald himself felt… lighter.
As though unseen chains had been lifted from his soul.
What is this?
For a brief moment, a terrible suspicion flickered in his mind.
But he could not be certain.
At that moment, Lockhart's lips curled into a triumphant smile.
World consciousness had been expelled.
At least, for now—
In this place—
They stood beyond its reach.
Like an unseen force had been banished.
Voldemort, once a mere villain in a story dictated by fate, had become something greater.
The blood-red power of destiny had clung to him, stronger even than it had once clung to Harry Potter.
But why?
Lockhart had always suspected the truth.
The Blood Abyss Worms, with their endless hunger and limitless adaptability—
They could not have been created by Voldemort alone.
Lockhart had never believed that.
Had world consciousness itself been involved?
Had it chosen Voldemort as its new champion?
If he was wrong, he'd eat his own wizard's robe.
In this battle, Lockhart was not merely fighting Voldemort.
He was fighting Voldemort and the will of the world itself.
And the greatest weapon of the protagonist?
It wasn't golden cheats or fateful coincidences.
It was the ability to defy reason.
To turn desperation into power.
And if that monstrous trait was combined with the abyssal insects—
Lockhart felt his scalp tingle.
They had acted just in time.
If they had waited any longer, the insects would have fully adapted to dream energy.
Expelling world consciousness, even for a moment, was enough.
And Wanda's power was the key.
She bound fate itself.
Even if the chance was one in a billion—
Once it succeeded, it became inevitable.
To exile an entity from its own world—
Lockhart and Wanda could not do it alone.
But with the same source of dream energy—
And Wanda's miraculous ability to tie destiny into knots—
It was done.
The moment the expulsion was complete—
Lockhart struck.
Without hesitation, a torrent of prismatic light erupted from his wand—
Like a machine gun firing beams of pure destruction.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Before Voldemort could react—
Before the explosion's roar could even echo—
His body was annihilated.
Not a trace remained.
Only the massive craters left in the wake of Lockhart's assault and the flickering flames of colorful energy remained, bearing silent witness to his power.
And above, the raindrops fell onto the blood-red mist.
The mist dissolved.
The abyssal insects perished.
Then—
While world consciousness was still absent—
Lockhart's gaze shifted.
Toward Grindelwald.
Throughout the battle, Grindelwald had done nothing but draw the battlefield's boundaries.
He had merely watched.
Perhaps, even he had been shaken by Voldemort's power.
Then—
"He's not dead yet," Grindelwald said.
Just a simple statement.
He didn't need to specify who.
Lockhart understood.
Voldemort.
"Oh?" Lockhart feigned curiosity, then smirked. "So what?"
"If I can kill him once—"
"I can kill him again."
Grindelwald locked eyes with him.
"Can you, Lockhart?"
His voice was calm.
"Do you really believe you can defeat Him?"
That word—"Him."
A title that implied something sacred.
Something supreme.
Lockhart fell silent.
The raindrops grew sparse.
The world around them was returning to normal.
But—
A powerful, unseen force was searching.
Hunting.
Time was running out.
Grindelwald spoke urgently—yet only Lockhart could hear him.
"Lockhart, your true enemy is Him."
"For that—"
"I can only wish you luck."
Then—
The raindrops stopped.
Grindelwald's body erupted into raw, chaotic magic.
And—
He self-destructed.
His final words echoed:
"I don't know if you are from our world, Lockhart—"
"But meditation is not."
"Remember my words. We may not be enemies."
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