The Central Chamber - The Devil's Cabin
Voldemort opened a dark leather bag.
A mass of black ink, constantly shifting shape, billowed out like sentient smoke.
It writhed in mid-air, contained by an invisible, spherical barrier.
Ernst's eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"Well, as expected of the Dark Lord," Ernst smiled.
"A Boggart. A non-entity. Far more fascinating than a Phoenix."
He had always wanted to dissect the metaphysical structure of fear itself.
"If it pleases you," Voldemort said smoothly, "what is its value?"
Ernst waved his hand over the holographic parchment.
One-third of the items vanished. The Dragonbone Wand was gone.
Voldemort didn't flinch. He knew the value of a wand that rivaled the Elder Wand.
A mere Boggart wouldn't suffice.
He scanned the remaining list and pointed a pale finger at a specific vial.
The Vampire Potion.
Ernst's mind raced, connecting the geopolitical dots of the wizarding world.
"Ah. Clever," Ernst murmured.
He had engineered that serum from a Chinese Jiangshi, designing it to artificially evolve vampiric bloodlines.
"You intend to bait the vampire covens," Ernst deduced.
"Lupin has weaponized the werewolf packs. You need apex predators to counter them."
Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed. "You are surprisingly well-informed, Lord Devil."
"I keep up with the news," Ernst replied dryly.
"Though abandoning your current werewolf allies is ruthless. You live up to your reputation."
"Thank you," Voldemort smiled coldly.
They finalized the transaction.
As Voldemort signed, he felt the crushing, infinite weight of the contract's witness.
It wasn't just magic. It was the Earth itself binding the parchment.
The Dark Lord departed, deeply unsettled by the true scale of the entity he was dealing with.
Warehouse Zero - Pocket Dimension
Ernst stood up, stretching his back. The three-hour trading window was closed.
He walked to the rear holding area.
Twenty elite special forces operators lay paralyzed in a neat row.
Panic seized them as Ernst approached.
He was still wearing his demonic guise, obsidian horns, blood-red eyes, an aura of absolute malevolence.
They thought they were bound for Hell.
Instead, Ernst simply knelt beside the squad leader.
He placed a hand on the soldier's chest and extracted exactly five years of vitality. He repeated the process down the line.
The men aged visibly, their skin graying, their bodies weakening, but they remained alive.
Then, Ernst summoned a wisp of sickly, gray gas.
He divided it, pressing a tendril of the mist into each soldier's chest. Hidden, invisible talismans burned into their nervous systems.
"Throw them out," Ernst commanded the hovering drones.
Tractor beams engaged. The soldiers were dragged toward the exit portal.
Ernst watched them go with a dark, satisfied smile.
The curse wasn't lethal, but it was viral.
It was designed to ride the Earth's magnetic field and physical communication frequencies. It would track the chain of command all the way to the top.
, -----
Classified Alleyway - United States
General Thaddeus Ross paced furiously.
The perimeter was locked down by a battalion of troops.
Three hours ago, twenty of his best men had breached the anomalous door. Then, it had vanished.
Suddenly, the brick wall rippled.
The obsidian door materialized, swung open, and unceremoniously dumped twenty unconscious soldiers onto the asphalt before vanishing again.
Ross rushed forward.
"Medics! Get them to triage!" Ross barked.
As the paramedics loaded the men onto stretchers, a microscopic wisp of gray gas drifted from their skin, seeking a new host.
It anchored onto Ross.
Ross grabbed his encrypted radio and reported the anomaly to the Pentagon.
The gray gas rode the signal.
From the Pentagon, the report was escalated to the Joint Chiefs. From the Chiefs, to the Oval Office.
With every phone call, every secure transmission, the curse duplicated and climbed the ladder.
That night, panic gripped the highest echelons of the US government.
Forty high-ranking officials, generals, and politicians woke up screaming.
They convulsed in their beds, trapped in endless, agonizing night terrors.
When the intelligence agencies connected the dots the next morning, the pattern was undeniable.
Every single victim was part of the task force that ordered the strike on the Devil's Cabin.
The message was received loud and clear.
By noon, every hostile operation targeting the mysterious portals was quietly and permanently aborted.
The Devil's Cabin was untouchable.
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