The flames rapidly expanded and spread.
Like greedy serpent tongues, they suddenly coiled tightly around Tiger's arm, devouring it in surging fire.
Withered, cracked flesh turned to ash. In an instant, only heart-stopping white bone remained.
Like revelry after suppression, the surging flames found temporary release, wave after wave. Wild, frenzied tongues of fire continuously rolled and leaped upward.
Accompanied by unbearable stabbing pain, the scorching heat radiation made breathing difficult for the Slytherins.
"Father!!!"
"Timayat, what have you done!"
"Stop it! You'll regret this!"
"Bastard! We won't let you get away with this!"
This scene, like Fiendfyre erupting, made Marcus and others hastily retreat, not daring to approach.
Everyone thought Tiger had been ambushed.
All stared ahead with furious, horrified eyes, wanting to tear Ramos Timayat to pieces.
Only Theodore Nott stood motionless, a trace of shock floating in his hollow eyes.
Under the flames' scorching heat, the air around Tiger seemed affected by invisible forces, becoming illusory and distorted, as if standing at the edge of another dimension's furnace.
"..."
Tiger seemed to be sensing something. His flame-wrapped bone hand lifted slightly, extracting the scarab from near his heart, his expression amazed.
The scarab, which should have turned to ash long ago, was somehow still alive—though no longer dazzling and magnificent.
The insect body, once like carved gold, had become pitch-black and menacing. Its once round, full shell was now mottled and broken.
Within this damage, tiny flames seemed alive, wrapping around the scarab's internal organs and flesh.
The insect's abdomen, antennae, and limbs—gold-red patterns crisscrossed, like miniature lava rivers slowly flowing...
At some point, Ramos Timayat had prostrated himself devoutly at Tiger's feet.
The rolling heat waves didn't make him retreat a step—instead, he moved closer, pressing his head tightly to the ground.
He kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm his emotions, but his body still trembled uncontrollably...
Only he could recognize that the flames on Father's arm weren't Fiendfyre, but hellfire.
At this moment, the scarab resting in hellfire and bone no longer symbolized resurrection and rebirth, nor was it the sun god's incarnation.
It was destruction, death!
It was Osiris's messenger, eternal glory, guidance for judgment and the afterlife!
"My Lord!!!"
Like an ancient priest's chant, Ramos Timayat suddenly raised his head, his fire-lit eyes overflowing with fanaticism and longing.
He would remember this moment forever...
Tiger couldn't understand Egyptian, but he truly felt Ramos Timayat's emotions, and noticed the others' panic.
At his will, the flames spreading to his shoulder blade suddenly extinguished. Flesh wove into networks over white bone, skin restored as before—all in the blink of an eye.
"This is what I told you about."
"Why I can't enchant..."
Watching the scarab in his hand also return to normal, Tiger's slightly excited eyes flashed with disappointment.
He seemed to have found a direction for enchantment, but apparently, such enchantment was limited to his own use...
Seeing Tiger return to normal, the Slytherins' shocked, furious expressions gradually faded, replaced by intense confusion and amazement.
"Father, this is..."
"Enchantment? Using Fiendfyre for enchantment?"
"That's impossible..."
Someone whispered in disbelief, looking at Tiger with eyes full of absurdity.
No matter what, Fiendfyre's only purpose was destroying everything combustible without discrimination.
Even the caster could barely control it.
Tiger's eerily white bones from moments ago—they'd probably never forget that sight.
So how could Fiendfyre possibly relate to enchantment? What could withstand Fiendfyre's burning?
But some noticed the completely undamaged sofa, tables, and scarab.
Their gazes toward Tiger immediately filled with burning intensity.
In their minds, only a true Fiendfyre master could achieve this.
If Tiger could truly enchant with Fiendfyre, creating charms, then British wizarding society...
Thinking this, bone-chilling images arose. They suddenly didn't dare think further.
[Towering flames roaring wildly, desolate ruins, piercing wails, fear and smoke everywhere—Diagon Alley like hell on earth...]
"Merlin's rotten wand."
"Guys, no matter what, we must make Father stop this research. It's too terrifying..."
Any Squib could take Fiendfyre-enchanted charms to attack anyone, including the Ministry of Magic.
Such a scenario—forget these Death Eater sons, even Voldemort wouldn't want to see it...
Marcus Flint and others exchanged glances, faces somewhat pale and weak.
Corman Avery stammered tremblingly:
"Actually... some things... we... could do... ourselves..."
"Exactly..."
Hearing this, everyone nodded in deep agreement. Unforgivable Curses—they could learn those too.
(⊙)(⊙⊙)(⊙)(⊙⊙)
"Father wants to research grenades, right?"
Only a few snakes familiar with the Muggle world looked at Tiger with increasingly perverted eyes, as if gazing at a rising arms dealer tycoon...
By the Black Lake, Slytherin students formed a long line, jogging to warm up in the rising sun.
The morning breeze and refreshing air lifted spirits, plus Riley Shafiq's persuasion.
Previously resistant girls gradually smiled, clear laughter occasionally ringing out.
Except for Quidditch team members, Slytherin students weren't in great shape.
Due to lack of exercise, many appeared particularly delicate, their movements unnaturally stiff and slow.
Fortunately, physical training wasn't achieved overnight. Tiger's requirements for Slytherin students weren't strict.
Even the formation was somewhat scattered—he had only one rule: no walking...
"Draco... please... help me... I can't run anymore... save me..."
Goyle's face was pale, constantly gasping for breath, breathing rapid and heavy. Bean-sized sweat soaked his back like rain, his trembling belly fat increasingly obvious.
Even so, he didn't dare stop, only pleading desperately to Draco Malfoy for help.
Just minutes ago, Crabbe, wanting to slack off, tried pulling Goyle to rest together. However, before they could sit down—
BANG!
A gunshot rang out. Crabbe crashed to the ground, clutching his bloody leg and screaming. Laughter in the Slytherin formation abruptly stopped.
The snakes swallowed hard, unconsciously quickening their pace.
Not far away, Tiger rode the Winchester shotgun's recoil, embracing the trigger guard, spinning it stylishly in his hand as bullets loaded.
Seeing the dark muzzle pointed at him, Goyle's face went white. He hastily abandoned Crabbe, chasing after Draco, no longer daring to stop.
"I told you to lose weight!"
"Look what you've done!"
Draco Malfoy turned back, glaring unfriendly, cursing continuously but still extending his hand to Goyle...
"Merlin's little cakes..."
"Today's Halloween... sob... how can he treat me like this... waaah..."
Soon, Crabbe also caught up tearfully, tears and snot covering his face.
On his thick trouser leg, blood remained vivid, but no wound was visible...
Tiger then shouldered the Winchester, running to the front of the formation, shouting about the final five hundred meters.
Must say, Ramos Timayat's scarab was quite effective for healing.
Actually, Tiger wanted to use Venom, but the little guy was too fanatical, believing Crabbe simply wasn't worthy...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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