— Kha-a-a!.. — Dirk finally felt sensitivity violently flood back into his paralyzed body.
He gasped frantically for air and lowered his gaze. Reaching up to the wrist right inside his chest was the hand of a boy... no, the hand of a true demon in human form. Clutched in the thin children's fingers was something dark red, pulsing wildly and convulsively. Dirk never even had time to realize what he was seeing: his knees buckled, he collapsed heavily onto the stones, and his consciousness was swallowed by pitch-black darkness forever.
Camille, seeing the casual ease with which Victor had just ripped out a man's heart with his bare hands, clenched her jaws tight, fighting with every last shred of strength against a new wave of nausea. From the very beginning, upon receiving her first serious assignment with the squad, she had been deeply outraged at having to babysit some spoiled child and cater to his whims.
But right now, the girl was ready to give up everything in the world just to never meet this monster again in her life.
Victor froze, tightly gripping Dirk's torn-out heart in his hand. He didn't move, didn't breathe, and didn't even blink. From the side, it looked as though he had plunged into deep thought for just a second, staring spellbound at the blood-oozing organ in his palm.
Because of the active Sharingan, everything around him was perceived with superhuman slowness and crushing detail: Dirk's frozen expression, the slight tremor of the kneeling werewolves, the movement of dust motes in the air... Pure, concentrated euphoria washed over Victor. This was his true nature. Ever since he accepted himself as a transmigrator—even before he realized he had landed in the Harry Potter universe—he knew for a fact: a second chance hadn't been given to him for nothing. Not for nothing had his new life begun at the very bottom, in the dirt. He had learned the full rot of this world firsthand and, upon committing his first murder, firmly believed in his own destiny. To punish, to torment, to ruthlessly burn out all the darkness of this world, only to stand at its very peak in the end and transform into a new God, looking down upon everyone from above.
But no sooner had his fingers closed with relish upon the still-pulsing flesh, and his mind absorbed this sweet feeling of absolute superiority, than reality around him crumbled into dust with a soft, dry rustle.
The stony floor of the damp cave vanished in an instant. Victor found himself seated upon a majestic throne atop an insanely high mountain peak swept by icy winds. Around him, as far as the eye could see, stretched an endless ocean of fluffy white clouds. Standing at this unimaginable height, he physically felt like a grandiose, almighty, and absolutely invincible deity.
But when he lowered his gaze to the cold stone at his feet, his heart skipped a beat.
The entire peak was littered with the lifeless bodies of the people genuinely dear to him. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, Hermione, Daphne, Luna, Dumbledore... All of them lay on the stone with frozen, glassy eyes staring into the indifferent sky. And right in front of him was Adele. Dark blood spurled in thick pulses from the girl's pierced chest.
Victor looked at his own hand. The bloody, still-warm heart he was clutching in his fingers belonged to his little sister.
— Isn't this what we always dreamed of?! — a loud, triumphant shout echoed right at the edge of the cliff.
There, arms wide open to the boundless sky and his back turned to Victor, stood his own copy.
— To conquer this crazy world! To become those whom absolutely everyone will fear to the bone and unconditionally respect! TO BECOME KINGS OF ALL EXISTENCE!
Victor, without taking his bloody hands or frozen gaze from his sister's lifeless body, merely gave a hollow nod:
— Yes...
The copy slowly turned around. Casting a careless, lazy glance at the pile of corpses at the foot of the throne, the double shrugged dismissively:
— Pay no mind, it's just ballast. They only hold you back. Dragging you down and slowing our ascension to true greatness. Making us weaklings.
In Victor's head, memories he had tried so desperately to suppress rushed like a deafening, destructive hurricane.
"...What scared Victor Moss himself so badly that you sealed it deep inside yourself and are afraid to open it? Why did you ask Grandmother for help? And most importantly... why did you decide not to take Adele with you?" — echoed the nagging voice of his hallucination from the London cafe.
"...Ah, as a projection of your innermost feelings, I am very glad you've become normal again. Well, I mean, normal Victor, who likes to dominate, excel, punish, and chastise. You know, all these people who evoke warm feelings in you only prevent you from expanding to your full power!" — His hallucination in the cave had said that. Back then, it seemed to Victor that the hallucination froze and left things unsaid, but in truth, he had intentionally refused to listen.
Victor stood amidst this illusory graveyard of his own attachments, the icy wind ruffling his hair. At last, the truth he had wanted to forget began to unfold before him.
Standing on a tree branch in the forest where he fought Fenrir, he had looked down with a wild, triumphant smile, reveling in the panic and despair of the surviving werewolves. He had been especially delighted by the face of Fenrir Greyback, distorted in pure fear.
But suddenly, the idyll was cut short. Greyback's bald henchman raised his wand, aiming straight at Adele. Thanks to the active Sharingan, everything happening slowed down to the absolute limit for Victor. He knew perfectly well that his sister was wearing powerful protective amulets, yet anxiety for her life still mounted inside him.
He had been enjoying himself so delightfully, and now, because of her presence, he was forced to be distracted and worry. The need to care for someone interfered with his enjoyment of himself, shackling his will. That feeling struck Victor as so repulsive that something snapped in his mind.
In a single stretched second, the entire past year flashed before his mind's eye. Victor had forced himself to change, rebuilt his life from scratch, abandoned his dream... made himself a weakling—that thought drove him into a frenzy. He saw the curse beam erupt from the werewolf's wand. He knew Adele's barrier would hold. And yet, as the spell slowly floated through the air toward his sister, Victor raised his hand in her direction.
His face froze in an icy, deathly mask. He focused his gaze on Adele's calm face and... froze.
"What the hell am I doing?!"
At the last moment, Victor turned his frantic gaze onto the bald werewolf and instantly Apparated right behind his back. That mental breakdown, that split-second willingness to cold-bloodedly eliminate his beloved little sister simply for getting in the way, had been such a monstrous shock to Victor that his own psyche, unable to endure the self-loathing and disgust, locked up tight and erased that episode from his memory.
Until this very moment.
Victor collapsed weakly onto the throne, his expression turning dead serious.
— I remember... — he whispered softly. — I really wanted to get rid of her. I almost killed Adele...
His copy, standing at the very edge of the cliff, burst into ecstatic laughter and clapped his hands loudly:
— Hurray! Bravo! It finally clicked!
The loud clapping forced Victor to come back to his senses completely. Rising from the throne and stepping over the bodies of his loved ones on the stones, he slowly walked up to the double and looked down past the edge of the cliff. Beneath their feet, at the very base of the mountain, countless legions of people stood kneeling. There was no end in sight to this submissive crowd.
— Like it? — the copy asked with a smirk. — The whole world at your feet. Just like you wanted.
Victor nodded silently, detached. But when he turned around, the pile of corpses of his loved ones had vanished. Only the two of them remained on the peak.
— What? Doubting now?
Victor didn't answer. Did he want to conquer this world? Definitely, yes. But looking at the lonely throne and picturing himself on it... Majestic, undoubtedly. But how terribly lonely.
The familiar smirk began to show on the clone's face again.
— Well, time to choose what you need more. Them... — Right next to the throne, all those who lay dead a moment ago instantly materialized. — ...Or it? — The hallucination pointed a finger at the throne.
Victor frowned. What did he want? What did he truly want? He darted his gaze from his loved ones, to the throne, and back again. And then he suddenly froze.
— Oh... I think I understand what you mean. — Victor framed his fingers like a camera lens, and everything fit into the shot perfectly: both the throne and the people standing beside it.
The copy laughed genuinely.
— And what did you choose?
Victor looked at the clone and let out a heavy, rueful sigh:
— Ha-a-ah... Why go through all these games? You could have just explained it properly from the start.
The copy opened his mouth to reply, but Victor stopped him with a gesture:
— Yeah, yeah, it's all happening inside my head, I know... God, why is everything so complicated with me?
— Well, it wasn't always. But you're changing, and it's not entirely clear yet whether it's for better or worse.
Victor gave a short nod. Once upon a time, he really hadn't worried about anything and just did whatever he deemed necessary. And now? Over time, he had gained a family, friends; he was no longer alone. And he had far more desires directly connected to them.
— You're right. I'm changing because of them, and it really is terrifying, — Victor admitted. — But I don't think it's a bad thing. I finally understand it now... Damn, why do I feel so relieved all of a sudden? Ha-ha-ha! Honestly, I feel incredibly good, — for the first time in a long while, Victor truly felt the chaos that had reigned in his head turn into something wonderfully pleasant and harmonious.
The clone nodded in understanding.
— So, you're asking what I choose? — A daring smile bloomed on Victor's lips. — Choosing is for weaklings and insecure people.
The clone smirked in agreement:
— And you?
— I'm not like that.
With a light, casual stride, Victor headed toward the throne. As he sat upon it, Adele came over and climbed onto his lap. Daphne, Hermione, and Luna made themselves comfortable on the wide armrests. Perenelle, with a soft, motherly warm smile, pulled Nicolas by the hand, and they took their places on the right side... And on the other side...
— Wait, hold on. What is he doing here?
The copy followed his gaze, which rested on a softly smiling Albus Dumbledore, and shrugged cheerfully:
— Well, apart from Victor-the-Second, Albus is your first real, living friend in this world. And no matter how much you deny it, the old man is genuinely dear to us.
Victor sighed heavily and rolled his eyes emphatically:
— Ah, to hell with it, let him stand there... But! — Victor used a spell to nudge Dumbledore slightly farther away from the throne. Dumbledore merely chuckled softly and good-naturedly into his mustache at this, which annoyed Victor to no end. — Even inside my own head, he gets on my nerves! — Victor snorted, then smirked.
— So is that what you chose? — the copy asked.
— I didn't choose. I just do what I want, — Victor gently patted Adele on the head. — And this is exactly how I want to see my future.
The copy laughed approvingly and noticed his own hands beginning to dissolve slowly into the air:
— I think my mission is officially complete.
— Yeah. Thanks for the therapy.
The clone nodded and began to melt into the air particle by particle.
— Man, my brain really works in weird ways... — Victor laughed softly.
An amazing, crystal-clear lightness washed over him. He hadn't felt this relaxed and peaceful in a very long time. Settling into the throne more comfortably, Victor closed his eyes.