"What—what happened?!"
"Why did the sky suddenly go dark? Am I going blind?"
"Look over there!"
Cedric bolted upright, jabbing a finger toward the inky heavens as he shouted,
"Merlin's beard! Are those wings?!"
Every head snapped upward.
The "black curtain" overhead was shifting, undulating with deliberate grace.
A closer look revealed the truth.
They were a pair of pitch-black, fleshy wings!
Unfurled across the firmament, eclipsing the sun and plunging the world into twilight, they hovered menacingly above the crowd!
Dark clouds roiled and churned.
And from within that swirling black haze.
Abruptly, a pair of crimson eyes snapped open.
In that instant.
The raucous stands plummeted into near-total silence.
An oppressive force from on high cascaded downward.
It forced them to hold their breath instinctively, daring not utter a peep.
Lest they rouse this nightmarish beast!
"Shh."
In the hush.
The black-haired youth on the inner edge of the arena pressed a finger to his lips.
A burst of magical radiance exploded from his wand, buried deep in the earth.
Ethan lifted his strikingly vivid cobalt-blue eyes, a wicked grin splitting his face as he articulated each syllable with relish:
"The first task requires you to defeat Fulsanx the Death Dragon—"
"Now, everyone, lend an ear to the dragon's roar!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth.
A roar that shook the heavens and earth thundered forth like a storm!
"ROAR!!!"
"Ugh!"
Up in the stands.
Hermione, along with the other students, clapped her hands over her ears, a soul-deep tremor rippling through her!
She gaped at the monstrous black dragon, her eyes brimming with terror.
And awe.
So powerful—so magnificent! Hermione shuddered, entranced by this raw symphony of dominance.
At the judges' table.
Durmstrang's headmaster, Karkaroff, vaulted straight onto the railing!
His eyes bulging in shock, he fixated on the black dragon that had rewritten the sky's palette, bellowing in panic:
"W-what in the world is that?! Is that even a dragon?!"
By all appearances, it was unmistakably draconic.
But he'd never laid eyes on one of such colossal scale!
A dragon's might typically scaled with its years.
This magnitude—it had to be an ancient specimen.
But that was impossible!
Even if ancient dragons weren't extinct, how could Ethan possibly haul one into the school grounds!
And for it to materialize out of nowhere!!
It hit him like a bludger to the skull.
Karkaroff's thoughts spun into chaos.
In that moment, one notion dominated:
This was Britain, famed for its "conservative" and "stodgy" ways?
It was downright revolutionary!!
He failed to notice Dumbledore beside him, whose beard quivered with barely contained mirth.
The corners of the old wizard's mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement.
On the opposite side.
As the dragon's roars persisted without relent.
Crimson lightning cracked down from the brooding clouds!
"Ahhh!"
Screams erupted from the spectators, students shoving and scrambling backward in fright.
But they soon discovered.
The bolts slammed into a shimmering barrier and fizzled into nothingness.
—
Protective charm [Finite Incantatem]!
Dozens of assisting wizards crouched low, teeth gritted, clinging desperately to the spell.
They sensed their magic ebbing at an alarming rate.
Blinking against the gale-force winds, they gawked at Ethan in sheer wonder!
What an overwhelming reservoir of power!
He alone bore the brunt of the barrier!
Before that young man, they were mere ornaments, supporting players!
"Unbelievable... this is the might of an underage wizard..."
"If he joined the Aurors, Dark wizards wouldn't stand a chance anywhere..."
"Astonishing..."
Joys and woes don't always align.
While these wizards marveled.
The actual champions were already numb with dread.
"W-we're supposed to take down 'that thing'...?"
Fleur quaked, staring up at the mountain-like obsidian ancient dragon looming before her.
She felt her earlier resolve and bravery sloughing off like flaking varnish.
Ethan shot her an odd glance, his smile laced with mischief:
"Of course not."
Fleur's pupils shrank, a flicker of hope sparking in her gaze:
"Really?"
"Naturally."
Ethan nodded.
Beneath the tempestuous clouds, churning like a raging ocean riddled with black maelstroms.
He flung his arms wide, black hair whipping in the howling gusts, robes fluttering dramatically.
A beaming grin illuminated his features:
"How could a single dragon suffice? That's far too bland—we need to spice it up with something more thrilling!"
With those words.
Fleur's face froze solid.
A card wreathed in crimson lightning materialized in Ethan's grasp:
"Artwork · [Lightning Spear]!"
"Whoosh!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Myriad bolts rained down, bathing the arena in a blood-red sheen!
Converging in the black dragon's talons, they forged two scarlet lances that skewered the skies!
Lightning writhed along the shafts, crackling with ominous fury.
Ethan's lips arched in satisfaction.
This was his crowning achievement!
A Tier 3 · golden legend Living Painting, modeled after the Norwegian Ridgeback lurking in the Forbidden Forest's depths!
Ancient Dragon, Fulsanx!
Initially, Ethan had intended to illustrate its armament alongside the beast.
But his magic reserves fell short.
…After all, this wasn't a mere echo of some primordial deity, but a genuine ancient dragon.
As a supremely potent Dragonborn.
The magical toll escalated astronomically.
Thus.
In a stroke of genius.
Like a ravenous serpent devouring its prey, he separated the weapon and rendered it on a separate canvas.
In the pivotal instant, the paintings could fuse.
And, within his limits, replicate the full spectacle!
[Name: "Lightning Spear" Fulsanx the Death Dragon's Exclusive Weapon]
[Tier: Tier 2 · golden legend]
[Type: Weapon]
[Effect: A weapon crafted with a Cursed Death magic Stone, its tyrannical force can only be harnessed by a colossal dragon without shattering; it summons crimson lightning infused with curse energy, striking foes with lethal precision.]
At the judges' table.
Beauxbatons' headmistress, Madame Maxime, lurched to her feet, her complexion ashen:
"—Forfeit! We demand to forfeit!"
She bellowed in a mix of rage and terror, her massive fist pounding the railing.
Beads of cold sweat dotted her brow.
Then.
She locked eyes with Mr. Crouch's unyielding stare:
"The selected champions must participate... And, you've signed the 'Risk Disclaimer Agreement,' correct?"
"—Who could have foreseen the first task pitting us against an ancient dragon!!!"
"Are all you Brits utterly mad??!"
At that juncture.
Dumbledore, having savored the drama sufficiently, cleared his throat and interjected soothingly:
"Rest easy, Madame Maxime."
"Though Ethan delights in grand theatrics, he's a good lad at heart and wouldn't genuinely endanger anyone."
Madame Maxime arched a brow: "If memory serves, you've misplaced a fair number of Slytherin students these past years, haven't you?"
Dumbledore:
"Ahem."
"Those were mere mishaps, mishaps."
Be that as it may.
With the event underway, halting now was out of the question.
In the crimson-shrouded arena, sealed by the barrier, Ethan clapped his hands sharply.
Harnessing the buffeting winds, he levitated into the air.
Gazing down at the nine champions below, a fissure split his polished gentleman's veneer.
A thrill-seeking, savage grin emerged:
"Come now! Pour every ounce of your power into slaying this ancient dragon!"
"And claim the privilege of facing me."
Ethan's eyes crinkled with glee, pronouncing each word with gleeful menace:
"Pro tip: a dragon's Achilles' heel lies beneath its lower jaw."