Chapter 75
The massive serpent stirred, its colossal head lifting as it tasted the air, flicking its tongue with deliberate menace.
After a few testing hisses, the basilisk seemed to have caught a scent. Its immense head swiveled toward the column where Albert was hiding. Slowly, its upper body reared into the air, and those pale, empty eyes—oozing black, viscous blood—locked on his position.
Albert felt a shiver run through him. Something about the basilisk's movements was both alien and hauntingly familiar. Memory sparked—a scene from a wildlife documentary in his previous life. Instinct moved before thought: he swung his grappling hook to a nearby column and launched himself aside.
The timing was perfect.
The moment he vacated his perch, the basilisk's jaws snapped open and spewed two jets of black venom. They struck the stone column with a hiss, and Albert's stomach tightened as he watched. The solid stone began to bubble and smoke, corroding rapidly before his eyes.
Is that venom… or industrial acid?
A cold sweat formed along his spine. If that liquid touched flesh, it would dissolve a human body in less than a minute. The magical world, he realized, often exaggerated reality in the most terrifying ways.
The basilisk struck again, frustrated by the elusive prey. Albert swung from column to column, keeping his distance.
"Bombs!" he called, flicking his wand toward a pouch at his belt.
A cluster of enchanted explosives zipped toward the serpent's head like a hail of bullets. The detonations thundered through the chamber, and Albert saw a chunk of the basilisk's thick body erupt in scales and blood.
The basilisk screamed in rage, lashing its injured tail in a deadly arc. Albert twisted in midair with the grappling hook, narrowly dodging. Even wounded, the creature's power was staggering—but its precision had waned.
He caught the acrid tang of poisonous fumes as the tail passed below. Thankfully, his earlier protective spells and alchemical salves shielded him from the worst of the toxic air.
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The basilisk's world had narrowed to fury. Deprived of its sight, wracked with pain, it thrashed blindly, striking at echoes. Its intelligence gave way to pure, animalistic rage.
Albert didn't dare approach. He maintained distance, attacking from afar with carefully timed spells and bombs, whittling the monster down piece by piece. The process was grueling, but it was also safer than testing the basilisk's full strength up close.
Hours crawled by.
Two hours later, Albert clung to a stone pillar, chest heaving. The once-majestic basilisk lay in a ruin of scales and blood at the chamber's center. Columns lay shattered, fragments of statuary littered the floor, and the chamber stank of smoke and acid.
The basilisk's head was half-destroyed, thanks to the enchanted bombs Albert had hurled into its gaping maw during its final lunges. His Piercing Charms, combined with physical explosives, had slowly worn down even this legendary predator.
Albert found himself thinking of the difference between "main characters" and "free players."
Harry Potter had fought this monster with the unfair blessings of narrative: a phoenix that healed, fought, and purged poison; a legendary sword that sliced through basilisk hide like paper; and the inexhaustible luck of a protagonist.
Albert had none of that. He had preparation, improvised weaponry, and stubborn endurance. And it had cost him hours, spells, and a small fortune in magical components.
"Next time," he muttered to himself, "I need better materials…"
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As he rested against the pillar, catching his breath, a strange phenomenon began.
The basilisk's corpse started decaying unnaturally fast, its flesh collapsing into black sludge. Albert stared, startled, and noticed a faint greenish aura rising from the carcass—an ominous, almost spectral light.
And then… it flowed into him.
Albert's body prickled with cold energy. For a panicked moment, he thought it might kill him—but as he focused, he realized it was invigorating him instead. His exhaustion ebbed, replaced by a strange, predatory clarity.
"…Impossible," he whispered. "How is this even happening?"
He sat down heavily on the damp stone floor, letting the mysterious absorption run its course. The sinister light coiled around him like a mist before sinking into his skin.
So that's why I never collapsed during the fight, he realized. The basilisk's essence… I've been feeding on it without knowing.
Albert let out a soft, helpless laugh.
He knew what others would say: that he was overpowered, a cheat of the story's world. But this was part of the truth he carried, a secret tied to a past he hadn't yet revealed. One day, they would understand.
For now, he waited patiently as the last of the basilisk's essence seeped into him, the Chamber of Secrets silent but for the distant echo of dripping water.
To be continued…