Chapter 3: The Fall of Merlin
When Death heard Merlin's defiant words, an overwhelming fury surged through her divine essence. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the very fabric of reality, and with a voice that echoed across the boundaries of worlds, she shouted the dreaded incantation: "Avada Kedavra!"
At that very instant, Merlin, sensing the lethal power hurtling toward him, raised his staff. From its tip burst a brilliant beam of light, a powerful counterspell forged from every ounce of his magical prowess. The two spells collided midair in a violent clash of green and white light.
BOOM!
The explosion shattered the stillness of the lake and rippled through the surrounding forest. Trees bent, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. The air was thick with crackling energy, and for a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Merlin knew with chilling certainty that he could never truly defeat Death. She was not a mere opponent but a force beyond all mortal power. The only thing he could do was exhaust her, or hope that the very energy she wielded might erase her existence instead.
Summoning all his might, all his deep knowledge, and the boundless power that he had never dared to unleash before, Merlin prepared a desperate, dangerous spell. He began to bend space, time, and matter, weaving them together into a single, focused point. Into this point, he poured everything he possessed, drawing the divine power of Death toward it.
The result was terrifying and magnificent—a black hole infused with magical properties unlike anything the mortal or magical world had ever witnessed. It was a vortex that threatened to consume everything, bending even Death's own essence into its swirling depths.
For the first time, Death felt fear. Her divine energy was being pulled uncontrollably toward the abyss Merlin had created, threatening to be lost forever in its hungry void.
But Merlin's victory was far from assured. The black hole tore at his body and soul, ripping at the very fibers of his being. This was no ordinary black hole, but one crafted from the combined forces of mortal ingenuity and divine power—unnatural and unforgiving.
At that critical moment, a sharp cry pierced the chaos. The sound of a phoenix, a cry both mournful and fierce. It was none other than Merlin's familiar, the legendary phoenix, who had flown to his master's aid.
phoenix soared into the battle, wings blazing with fiery brilliance. But before the phoenix could reach Merlin, a lethal spell struck it. The radiant bird burst into flames, its body consumed by fire and smoke until nothing remained but a cloud of ashes drifting toward the swirling black hole.
Merlin glimpsed the fading ashes and turned his gaze toward Lady Vivienne. A thought flickered in his mind—something urgent, something desperate. He began to chant an incantation, a spell to absorb every fragment of Death's scattered energy that was now dispersing across the battlefield.
He reasoned that this raw divine energy, left unchecked, could infect the minds of mortals, triggering chaos and destruction throughout the world. If he could contain it, he might prevent a catastrophe far greater than his own demise.
Using his staff, Merlin drew the dissipating energy toward himself, gathering the volatile force into a concentrated sphere. But as he did so, the black hole's gravitational pull intensified, dragging him inexorably inward.
With grim determination, Merlin held onto his staff, his last anchor to this world. As he crossed into the void, his body was torn apart by forces beyond comprehension. Yet, the knowledge and power he wielded held him together long enough to resist complete annihilation.
The black hole—born of mortal ingenuity and divine essence—sucked Merlin and the surrounding area into its dark core. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vortex dissipated and vanished from sight, leaving no trace behind.
Meanwhile, Lady Vivienne—the mortal guise of Death—was far from unscathed. Nearly half of her divine energy had been drained, and her human form, once so flawless and alluring, began to dissolve. Her essence, now unstable and fragmented, spread out like mist across the world.
She could no longer maintain her form. The energy that had once allowed her to walk among mortals was fading, blending back into the elemental fabric of existence. Death was becoming one with her own power once again.
But despite the loss, Vivienne was determined to remain as long as possible. She needed to be certain—absolute—that Merlin was truly gone. She began to gather every fragment of her scattered energy, drawing it back into herself. By consolidating her power, she hoped to extend her time in this human vessel, to roam the world and watch over the aftermath of her victory.
The entire area around the lake grew deadly silent, shrouded in an ominous aura that seemed to thicken the air itself. The lake's surface, once placid, now shimmered with dark, unnatural energy. It was a graveyard of magic, a reminder of the cost of defying Death.
As the mist of her dissipating power spread, Lady Vivienne's voice echoed softly across the stillness—whispers that promised the end was not yet complete, and that the story of Merlin and Death was far from over.
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