With a low, rumbling roar.
Like a summons from hell's deepest abyss, blazing flames instantly erupted across Tiger's upper body with thunderous force.
Like a long-caged beast breaking free from its shackles, wildly unleashing its shocking heat and untamed defiance.
All surrounding darkness was banished completely.
The originally well-dressed, composed, elegant brutal beast was—in this moment—half his flesh consumed by surging flames, utterly transformed into hell's messenger.
Under the brilliant, ascending flames, his half-human, half-skeleton form appeared especially fierce and terrifying.
His straight, refined suit was also carved by fire—scorched obsidian patterns like wailing spirits flickered uncertainly, studs protruding like bone spikes from shoulder and back, radiating pure aggression.
Confronted by this terrifying yet magnificent beauty, Gemma Farley and others stared in disbelief, eyes widening impossibly.
In mere instants.
They seemed to witness hell's gates opening, profoundly shaken by another world's madness.
"What kind of crea—"
Professor Quirrell also fell into momentary bewilderment.
Just then, Tiger raised his Winchester enchanted with hellfire, grinning savagely as he squeezed the trigger.
"Bang!"
Accompanied by deafening gunfire.
Surging, violent smoke and sparks burst from the barrel like dragon's breath roaring—flames raging wildly.
The bullet's velocity far exceeded any spell. Before Professor Quirrell could react, he was already flying backward into dense forest.
Searing metal fragments and hellfire struck like tempests, penetrating clothing, tearing flesh—indescribable agony and burning sensations penetrated to bone marrow.
"Ahhh!!!"
Shrill screams pierced night skies.
Not only Professor Quirrell—Voldemort also experienced unprecedented pain and torment.
Though completely transformed into vapor and shadow without physical form, he could sense this flame's lethality to souls.
"This feels fucking amazing..."
Pale jawbone opened and closed slightly, metallic friction creating dual harmonies in Tiger's throat—satisfied sighs making flames even more frenzied.
"Like solving six months of constipation."
Under hellfire's enchantment, the Winchester flowed with dark crimson patterns, winding and twisting like blood vessels.
These patterns seemed to contain ancient, malevolent power that sent chills down spines.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Without hesitation, Tiger hefted the Winchester, aiming toward forest depths for several more shots. Madly surging, roaring dragon's breath nearly illuminated half the night sky.
"No! No! No!"
Shrill screams rang out as Professor Quirrell rolled and wailed within ash and flames.
He attempted escape, but every struggle brought trembling and pain from soul's depths.
"Run! Idiot!"
Voldemort shrieked frantically.
He'd never encountered such an enemy—one who wouldn't even permit him to finish opening statements, then bow elegantly to commence dueling.
"Master... I..."
Professor Quirrell had completely lost speech capability, managing only agonized gasps.
Thanks to his nearly corpse-like physique, hellfire's damage affected his soul more than his withered form—barely any blood flowed.
"Damn bastard!"
"I will kill him!"
Voldemort suppressed boiling rage, gathering final strength to forcibly commandeer Quirrell's body. Amid pathetic rolling, he endured excruciating pain to retrieve his wand.
"Apparate!" With low roars, ripples suddenly spread through air.
"Bang!" Almost simultaneously, deafening explosive sounds followed.
Dragon's breath surged like raging torrents, but at the moment before reaching targets, captured only fading shadows before striking towering tree bases.
Under explosion impacts, wood chips scattered wildly, carrying sparks and smoke while emitting blinding radiance in dark night.
Hellfire mercilessly devoured roots and dead branches—a shocking crater appeared within flame centers.
The fierce half-human, half-skeleton silhouette slowly emerged from undergrowth shadows, unquenchable flames burning in his right eye socket where cruelty and mercy intertwined.
"Your soul is cowardly."
"No..."
"This scent... interesting..."
"I'll remember you..."
Sensing no more unfamiliar souls nearby, blazing flames extinguished while flesh and blood instantly restored.
The Forbidden Forest fell back into darkness.
Tiger touched half his face, fierce eyes retaining bewilderment traces.
The form he'd just displayed differed completely from usual.
Within blazing hellfire lay endless death, coldness, loneliness.
As if unknowingly, he'd been pushed onto hell's supreme throne—with selfless mercy, gazing down upon all living beings while judging worldly sins...
He despised this sensation.
Absolutely loathed it.
This wasn't coronation—these were shackles.
He detested that condescending isolation—desolation where even echoes couldn't be found.
He also abhorred this frigid scrutiny.
As if every downward glance separated him from the warm human world...
"Sour pickle bitch!"
Tiger spat with extreme displeasure before turning toward Hermione and others.
"Tiger! Are you alright?!"
Witnessing the familiar sturdy figure emerge from undergrowth, Hermione quickly broke free from Pansy's slightly trembling grasp, stumbling as she rushed forward.
Under Gemma Farley's darkening expression, she threw herself into Tiger's embrace with worried, anxious sobs.
However, immediately afterward, she staggered backward several steps, covering her aching nose while collapsing to the ground.
Crystal tears swirled within her eyes as suppressed whimpers escaped her throat.
"It hurts..." (°Д°)
"Tiamat..."
"I need your scarab."
Tiger looked down with speechless resignation.
He scratched his abdominal muscles where her teeth had struck—honestly, it itched terribly.
God knows how much force this stubborn girl had used.
"Delighted to serve you, my lord."
With fanatical eyes, Ramos Tiamat stepped forward, placing the scarab on Hermione's neck. The scarab instantly burrowed beneath her skin.
Accompanied by piercing screams, Hermione leaped up. Witnessing the scarab moving rapidly under her skin, every hair stood on end while terror-stiffened eyes still bore tear traces.
The next second, the scarab emerged from Hermione's cheek, fluttering back to Tiamat's wrist.
"Ramos! Tiamat!"
A delicate, petite fist struck instantly.
Furious Hermione directly tackled the Egyptian youth—cries of pain rose and fell...
"Alright, stop fooling around."
Tiger grabbed Hermione by the collar.
The know-it-all continued relentlessly swinging fists—she feared multi-legged creatures most.
Tiamat staggered upright, gazing at Hermione with panic in his eyes.
Damn, those punches felt inhuman—he thought Father had struck him.
"At any time, Tiamat."
"Never place insects on girls." Pansy Parkinson spoke eerily behind him. "If it were me, I'd definitely kill you..."
"O... okay..."
Tiamat swallowed with difficulty.
Just then, Rui Li Shafiq approached Gemma Farley with regret, her eyes overflowing with grief.
"Farley, the unicorn won't survive."
As symbols of nobility and purity, unicorns had always been sacred, inviolable beasts within female wizards' hearts.
They walked fantasy and reality's borders in flawless forms, inspiring profound longing.
Facing the unicorn's passing, not only Rui Li Shafiq—everyone's hearts seemed shrouded by invisible sorrow.
Hermione also quieted down.
She'd grown up hearing unicorn stories, never expecting their first encounter would unfold like this...
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