He slapped Voldemort again.
Voldemort's face was instantly symmetrical.
"If you want to be like Dumbledore, I can help you. You deserve the flowers and applause, becoming the White Demon King basking in the sunlight." Unexpectedly, Voldemort was so tolerant, his eyes filled with rage, yet he suppressed his anger, trying to negotiate with Ian.
It can only be said.
The size of one's mindset determines the offer's appeal, and his indeed fell short.
"Dear senior... you've lived so long yet seem to have hardly improved." Ian kicked over Voldemort, who had struggled to sit up and almost meet him eye-to-eye.
"Black Demon King? White Demon King? What a narrow ideal! It's utterly evil! I feel dirty just kicking you, tainting my grand vision of the future." Ian looked down at Voldemort, who lay on the ground again, tightening the chains protruding from Voldemort's body.
"In terms of evilness, your magic is far more sinister than mine, treating other wizards as food... Tell me, do you think our White Demon King can tolerate magic like yours existing in the world?"
"He can't even tolerate me learning some Dark Arts." Voldemort's knowledge and insight were indeed sharp, as he looked toward the sea of flames surrounding them with a mocking tone.
"You will surely die, and die more miserably than I did. Unlike me, you won't have a chance to come back. You might even be considered a dark creature for him to deal with to continue cementing his greatness." Voldemort spoke with conviction, his eyes filled with malice and a hint of schadenfreude.
"You're dying, so say less." Ian used a Transformation Technique to create a handgun, planning to let Voldemort die by the weapon he most despised—how to say, in Voldemort's view, this was indeed a humiliating way to kill, and his face showed anger again.
"I will return! Then, I hope to see you still around, rather than just digging up your grave, spitting on your ashes, mocking you as yet another glorious achievement of the great White Wizard Dumbledore!"
Voldemort laughed coldly as he lowered his head, seemingly awaiting the arrival of death once more.
"Unfortunately, your family doesn't have any graves left to dig up." Ian aimed the gun at Voldemort's forehead and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
"Dadada~dadada~dadada~"
A small handgun.
Not just a blue glow.
That second, the speed at dozens of turns was insane—in no time, Voldemort's body lay mangled on the ground, many bullets leaving behind only a scant trace of a corpse.
"Phew~"
Ian blew on his gun barrel.
"This thing really works well."
He withdrew the magic power maintaining the modified handgun.
As The Mirror of Erised lay in front of him, Ian, always curious about and in need of it, did not immediately approach but instead grasped his magic wand, waiting before Voldemort's body.
Time ticked away, second by second.
Perhaps he couldn't hold back.
"What a cunning guy..." Wisps of black smoke rose from the corpse, venomous in tone, gathering and charging at Ian without hesitation.
"Whoever kills me! Will eventually fall to be just like me…"
Voldemort's soul, seeing no escape, attempted to use this fragment of his soul to place an inescapable curse on Ian.
However.
"Just waiting for you!"
The crimson flames burning around Ian stood in front of him, forming a barrier that could burn souls into nourishment between him and Voldemort's soul.
This was a legitimate reason.
It wasn't that he insisted on burning Voldemort for nourishment; Voldemort himself came seeking warmth—Little Wizard's plan was pretty good, even thinking ahead about how to explain to Dumbledore afterward.
It's just that.
Sometimes plans really can't keep up with changes.
"Kekeke!"
Accompanied by an incredulous cry from Ian, the space before him rippled, and a black figure shot out from the twisted space like an arrow.
It ignored the barrier of sea flames Ian had set up, sprinting outside unharmed and wide-mouthed, appearing to suck with terrifying force.
Voldemort's remaining soul, initially planning to swallow his pride and, by making a detour, cancel his incomplete curse in an attempt to escape, was sucked into the black figure's mouth before the thought could even take root.
"What the hell is that!!!!"
Voldemort's remaining soul only had time to leave behind one last scream in the world.
Then.
It was completely swallowed by the suddenly appearing "Phoenix" —presumably digesting Voldemort's soul, the black Phoenix burst into purple flames.
"Damn it!"
Realizing something was wrong, Ian withdrew the sea of flames in front of him, only catching a glimpse of the black Phoenix swallowing. He could feel a close and indescribable connection between himself and the Phoenix.
It's just that.
"The monster I finally defeated! The soul that dropped should be mine! It's my trophy!" Ian jumped up, grabbing the black Phoenix.
He tried prying open the black Phoenix's mouth to retrieve Voldemort's soul, but the black Phoenix's beak remained tightly shut despite all his efforts.
"It's supposed to be that the Phoenix only comes out to help me when I need it most! Why is it fighting for food with me!" Ian's hand wasn't burned by the deep purple flames on the black Phoenix, but he clearly couldn't deal with this suddenly appearing bird, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open its mouth.