The Hopping Pot's voice suddenly shot up, turning shrill and unhinged. "Hahahaha! You'll never understand what people turn into when greed takes over!"
"They stopped praying every day. They started acting like everything I gave them was their birthright. They just kept demanding more and more, treating me like some kind of endless wish machine."
"And one wish a day wasn't enough anymore. They wanted more. Their wishes got crazier and crazier. I'm only a cauldron that brews potions—I'm not a god! I couldn't possibly give them everything they asked for."
"So their attitude flipped completely. They started cursing me, smashing up the temple, trying to crack me open to see if I really had an infinite supply of potions inside."
"I wanted to leave this town, but I couldn't let it go. I'd been so good to them, and this was how they repaid me. So I hid myself away. I wanted to watch them suffer like the pathetic little worms they were without me."
"But it didn't take long before that annoying wizard showed up. He could brew potions too, and he could cast spells. At first the townspeople tried to capture him and turn him into their new wish machine, but he killed a few of them."
"I was thrilled. I figured those pathetic bugs would miss me now. But they didn't. They changed their tune and started begging the wizard for help instead. He agreed—but he charged them silver and gold for every single favor."
"I thought the villagers would get angry and rebel again. Then I could swoop in and save the day. But no—they were happy to pay. Every time they went to him, they handed over money with a smile on their faces."
"Why? I gave them so much more. I never asked for a single coin. All they had to do was pray to me sincerely and I helped them. But in the end they cursed me and drove me out. That wizard charged them every single time and they treated him like some honored guest. Why? Tell me—why?"
"So you killed the entire town?" Sullivan asked, sounding almost bored. Stories like this—where a little kindness turns into resentment the second the giver stops being useful—had played out throughout history.
"That's right!" the Hopping Pot shrieked with manic laughter. "I poisoned their well and killed every last one of them. I wanted to see if that wizard could bring them back from the dead! Hahaha!"
Sullivan shook his head. The quiet ones always went the craziest when they finally snapped. "So why are you trapped in this secret realm? And what happened to the wizard?"
The Pot's voice turned cold. "That wizard discovered me. When he realized he couldn't kill me, he dragged the entire town into this alternate dimension and turned the dead villagers into Inferi to guard me forever."
"But he didn't get off easy either. He drank one of my curse potions and died soon after. I refused to stay trapped here. I wanted out. So I used his skin to make that book and sent it into the world."
"I only wanted to escape this prison. What did I do wrong? Tell me—what did I do wrong?"
Sullivan stayed completely calm, a cold smile on his face. "Still refusing to tell the real truth, huh? Fine. Let me take a guess. If I'm right, you can absorb certain energies from the environment and turn them into your own magic—like faith power, for example."
"At the same time, you have to follow certain rules. When someone makes a wish, you have to do your best to grant it."
"So the wizard didn't create those Inferi to guard you. He made them so they could keep wishing on you every single day, draining your magic. That was probably his plan to kill you for good—starve you out."
"He pulled the whole town into this space and built this half-real, half-illusion realm so the Inferi would constantly suck up your power while you had no way to recharge."
"Over time you would've been completely drained and collapsed on your own. But clearly you found a loophole. You rewrote part of the Inferi's programming so they'd work for you instead."
"That's why we had people like the Green Apple Innkeeper who could still recognize us as wizards."
"Of course, none of that's the main point. The real point is that your magic can't be replenished anymore. Inferi don't give you faith. You needed fresh power. That's why you made the human-skin book—to lure new wizards into this realm, right?"
The second Sullivan finished speaking, the thick leg under the Hopping Pot started to bend. Then it pushed off hard and leaped down from the altar with a heavy thud.
Sullivan, Snape, and Teemo backed up fast, wands out and ready. Teemo yanked out the Magical Disruptor orb Sullivan had just finished modifying. If the townspeople turned into Inferi, he was under orders to fire it every three seconds.
But the Hopping Pot didn't attack. It just let out a wild, insane laugh that echoed through the temple. "Hahahaha—! Very clever, little wizard. You're mostly right. But there's one thing you missed."
"I used to think I could only absorb faith power. But after I killed those people, I finally understood—the best fuel of all is a soul. I need souls. More and more high-quality souls."
"I made that human-skin book. Over all these years it's brought me so many excellent wizard souls. The only problem was thirty years ago, when one little rat managed to slip away. After that, no one else ever came in."
"Now the three of you are here… so stay. Become the nourishment I need to grow stronger. Hahahaha—!"
Teemo's whole body went rigid. "Thirty years ago… the one who escaped… was his name Catter Anthony?"
The Hopping Pot laughed again. "Catter Anthony? Who cares about the name of a dead man? Anyone who drinks my potion belongs to me in the end—even if they manage to escape."
"You bastard! Reducto!" Teemo roared in pure fury. His master had been murdered by this thing. Blood debt would be paid in blood!
A bright red curse blasted from the tiny house-elf's wand. Most house-elves had incredibly strong natural magic—that was exactly why the Ministry banned them from using wands.
Sullivan could tell the Blasting Curse was at least Level 9 power. It slammed into the Hopping Pot with a loud clang and exploded outward—but the cauldron didn't even dent.
"You think a spell that weak can hurt me?" the Pot sneered. "You're dreaming. Since you're so eager to know what really happened back then… why don't I show you the wizard himself?"
Thick black fleshy tendrils suddenly sprayed out of the Hopping Pot, writhing and twisting in the air. They slammed together and formed a grotesque, mutated monster.
"There he is—the man who stole my worship, the man who earned more respect than I ever did, the man who tried to kill me," the Pot cackled. "I skinned him alive and brewed him into this monster with my potions. I wonder if those stupid townspeople would still treat him like a hero if they saw him like this now. Hahaha—! Hahahaha—!"