It was a cocoon of black and crimson.
In the dim world, it looked like solidified magma—cooling yet still radiating residual warmth.
Herpo the Foul frowned, a twitch at the corner of his eye betraying a flicker of unease. But then he immediately scoffed at himself, thinking how ridiculous the notion was.
"My power is unmatched. How could anyone be stronger than me?" he sneered coldly.
This was the magic granted to him by Death itself—the authority bestowed upon him by the Reaper!
No matter how powerful Cyrus became, the Elder Wand would grant Herpo an unparalleled advantage.
To be honest, if Cyrus and Grindelwald had continued fighting separately, he might have had a slight reason to worry. The Elder Wand's magic only amplified one person's power—it could only exceed that of the single strongest opponent among them.
Out of confidence in his own strength—and a desire to gain even greater power—Herpo had not stopped Cyrus and Grindelwald. Instead, he chose to wait.
"Let me see what emerges from that cocoon—a butterfly, or an ugly moth."
In that moment, it was as if the entire world had fallen silent.
The torrential clouds and lightning seemed to lose their sound.
No one knew how long had passed—this world had long since forgotten the concept of day and night—but for Herpo, it felt like an eternity.
Longer than the thousands of years he had already lived.
He was growing impatient.
Only by offering Cyrus and Grindelwald's souls to Death could he obtain true immortality—power so great that even time itself could not erode it.
His millennia-old desire was now within reach. That black cocoon was as enticing as a ripened fruit, finally ready for harvest.
So he decided to stop waiting.
Raising his arm, Herpo condensed a hurricane capable of leveling a city into the shape of a spear.
As he lifted it, even space began to warp.
Without hesitation, he hurled it.
The compressed wind force tore through the black-and-red cocoon like a meat grinder. In an instant, countless blades of wind shredded it into pieces!
Boooom!
It exploded like a speeding train crashing into a soft tomato!
Herpo narrowed his eyes—and frowned again.
After being pierced, the cocoon was completely empty. Nothing remained.
"Could they really have been blasted into pieces?" He found it hard to believe.
That strike was indeed powerful, but with the strength of Cyrus and Grindelwald, it shouldn't have been enough to completely destroy them—not to the point where not even a trace was left behind.
He concentrated magic into his eyes, and the gray pupils began to glow.
Only then did he notice something was wrong.
At the center of the explosion, there was a patch of space that was warped—or rather, there existed a layered shadow. Just as Herpo began to wonder if it might be Cyrus and Grindelwald, the shadow revealed itself on its own.
It was indeed them.
"The Invisibility Cloak?" Herpo was momentarily taken aback.
Cyrus pulled off the shimmering silver cloak. Beneath it, his eyes glowed blood-red, even his hair had turned a dark crimson, and an ominous magical aura radiated from his entire body.
Grindelwald looked as though he'd aged another hundred years. One of his eyes was clouded, and the other—was simply gone.
Gone? How could it just vanish?! Herpo instantly realized where that magical eye had gone!
He looked toward Cyrus's eyes—and sure enough, amidst the scarlet glow, there shimmered a mysterious silver light!
It was Grindelwald's magical eye!
But unlike Mad-Eye Moody's artificial eye, this one hadn't been forged—it had been imbued into ordinary eyes through magical runes, turning them into vessels of tremendous power.
Technically speaking, it was more like a magical experiment.
Still, there was something different.
Grindelwald had risen to power in Northern Europe, and this eye wasn't some innate magical gift—it was something he had acquired later in life.
Back then, in pursuit of great power, he hadn't limited himself to seeking out the Deathly Hallows. He also explored various other myths and legends—believing that many Muggle myths were actually echoes of real magical history.
With that mindset, Grindelwald obtained this magical eye—said, in legend, to have once belonged to Odin, who sacrificed it for wisdom.
Of course, the magical eye wasn't nearly as powerful as it was in the myths—its creator was no true god. But in this moment, it could still offer Cyrus a sliver of help.
Grindelwald had all but exhausted his magic and life force; only the faintest breath kept him clinging to life.
Cyrus appeared utterly indifferent. He flipped the Invisibility Cloak inside out, transforming it into a form-fitting robe and wearing it close to his body. The cloak's magic wasn't limited to concealment—its most crucial attribute was protection.
Until now, Cyrus's power hadn't been enough to fully unleash the cloak's potential. But things were different now.
"Fuu.." He lifted his gaze toward Herpo.
After launching a single attack, Herpo had made no further moves. He was watching closely, clearly wary that Cyrus might have acquired magic beyond his expectations.
He was extremely cautious—more so even than Voldemort.
But Cyrus's attention wasn't on Herpo at all. He was cradling what little remained of Grindelwald in his arms—he looked like a mummy dried for a thousand years.
His face was expressionless. At this moment, all of Cyrus's concentration was focused on keeping the immense magical power within his body from going berserk.
The two black dragons had fully merged, along with the immeasurable dark magic of the Dementors—even his powerful soul struggled to contain it. He had to devote all his mental focus to restraining the chaos within.
What Herpo didn't know was that this was the moment when Cyrus was most vulnerable—the perfect chance to strike and kill him.
But clearly, he had missed his chance.
His cowardice and fear of death had cost him his opportunity for victory.
Now, Cyrus descended slowly, still holding Grindelwald in his arms. His feet came to rest atop the sea, and without him doing anything, a towering spiral spire rose beneath him, piercing through the ocean's surface.
The spire was majestic and solemn, like a sanctified place.
Cyrus landed atop the tower, laying Grindelwald gently down upon it.
He truly hadn't expected that Grindelwald would entrust him with all of his magic—not just Morgana's legacy taken from Voldemort, but the accumulated power of a hundred years of magic.
No wonder he was so frail.
Nearly dead.
Of course, Cyrus had no intention of letting him die just like that.
While Fitzgerald had been speaking with Harry, Ginny had already passed all the information on Herpo through the diary to Cyrus' mind.
Grindelwald was one of the three immortal souls, and with Dumbledore already lost, Cyrus could not afford to lose his soul as well. So Cyrus slit open his palm, letting the power of the Fountain of Life pour into the withered body.
He woke up.
Though weak, Grindelwald had survived.
"Cough… cough…"
He squinted his dull, lifeless eyes, the shadows before him blurry and indistinct. He could just barely make out that the person in front of him was Cyrus.
"So, I'm not allowed to go see Albus yet?" he said wistfully.
"Not yet," Cyrus replied softly. "Also… there's one piece of bad news."
Grindelwald made a faint sound, signaling Cyrus to go on.
"You've used up all your magic. I'm afraid you'll be a Squib from now on."
"I thought you were going to say something serious," Grindelwald said, completely unfazed. He was utterly exhausted now, and his aging body was something not even the Philosopher's Stone could resist. He allowed himself to lie back down.
Cyrus took off the Invisibility Cloak once more and gently draped it over Grindelwald.
As if coaxing an old man into sleep.
Grindelwald truly did fall asleep.
Cyrus rose to his feet, ascended into the sky, and once again floated level with Herpo's gaze.
Herpo's pressure was still immense. The Elder Wand seemed to have no limits, endlessly amplifying Herpo's magical power. Just when Cyrus felt his own strength was unmatched, Herpo would once again rise to meet him as an equal.
"I never imagined the cloak possessed such power—it could even nullify my attack," Herpo said, then shook his head. The look he gave Cyrus was like one given to a fool. "But you shouldn't have given it to Grindelwald!"
"Without the cloak, what do you have left to stand against me?!"
He was truly furious.
Because to him, Cyrus's actions were nothing less than an insult.
Did this fool really believe that without the Deathly Hallows, he could still be stronger than him?
That was far too arrogant!
The rise in power meant nothing—no matter how strong Cyrus became, Herpo would only grow stronger in turn.
Only a Deathly Hallow could counter another Deathly Hallow.
But to Cyrus, protecting Grindelwald was equally important. Herpo was powerful, yes—but Death itself was the true final enemy.
Besides, he might not need the Invisibility Cloak for protection anymore.
Cyrus looked at Herpo. At this moment, immense magical power surged through every vein in his body.
He felt as if, with just a thought, he could reshape the world.
He drew the Serpentwood Wand. The ancient wand was now covered in scars. It had weathered the storm, and in this single battle, had endured more damage than it had over centuries past.
But when Cyrus gently brushed his hand over it, the Serpentwood Wand returned to pristine condition.
In fact, it became even stronger.
Cyrus's magic altered the very nature of the Serpentwood wand. It began to shed, like a snake sloughing off its skin.
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