Maurise had lost all interest in playing gas with Tom and his oversized pet snake.
He spoke with calm, chilling indifference. "Tom, this is your final opportunity to surrender. If you cooperate, and if I happen to be in a good mood, I might just let you off the hook. I will allow you to dissipate peacefully and comfortably."
Tom let out a sharp, mocking scoff.
'Dissipate?'
That was his definition of being "let off the hook"? Was there genuinely a worse fate imaginable?
"Keep attacking!" Tom shrieked, his voice echoing violently through the Chamber. "Tear him to shreds! Crush him into paste! Use your venom and make him experience true, unbearable agony!"
Sensing its master's absolute fury, the blinded Basilisk grew even more unhinged.
Without a mont of hesitation, it tasted the air with its massive forked tongue, pinpointing Maurise's location, and launched its colossal body forward in a terrifying, blind strike.
Maurise sighed heavily, shaking his head.
'Well, it looks like preserving the Basilisk's corpse intact is officially off the table. What a sha.'
To properly deal with a behemoth of this sheer scale, one naturally needed to deploy another behemoth.
Coincidentally, Maurise had an undead creature residing in his summoning array that fit the criteria perfectly.
He swept the hem of his robes with a dramatic flourish.
BOOOOOM!
A deafening, earth-shattering crash rocked the ancient Chamber.
The colossal, tallic-hued fra of the bone dragon dropped as if summoned from the heavens, landing squarely on top of the lunging Basilisk.
The terrifying impact was instantaneous. The sheer, crushing weight of the undead dragon pinned the Basilisk's massive head brutally against the hard stone floor. Dark, venomous blood and foul bodily fluids sprayed outwards like a geyser, painting a massive swath of the Chamber floor a sickly red.
Witnessing this impossible spectacle, Tom's face finally contorted into an expression of sheer, unadulterated panic.
"What... what exactly is that thing?! How could a child possibly command such terrifying power?!"
Standing completely still beside his colossal creation, encased entirely in his terrifying bone armor, Maurise offered no response.
While the Basilisk was undeniably a lethal and incredibly massive beast, it was fundantally outclassed by the sheer, unyielding brute strength of an evolved, undead bone dragon. That initial, crushing drop alone had inflicted catastrophic, paralyzing damage upon the serpent.
The bone dragon, lacking any concept of rcy, did not afford the Basilisk a single second to recover.
Having firmly pinned its prey, the dragon shifted its massive weight. Its terrifying, club-like tail bone whipped through the air, breaking the sound barrier, and slamd rcilessly into the Basilisk's pinned skull.
CRACK!
Another deafening impact echoed through the hall, accompanied by the sickening sound of thick bone and cartilage shattering into hundreds of pieces. The Basilisk's massive skull visibly caved in.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The bone dragon's tail fell like a teor hamr, rhythmically and brutally pulverizing the serpent's head into an unrecognizable pulp.
Finally, the colossal Basilisk stopped thrashing. Its massive body went completely limp, settling into a permanent, deathly stillness.
The legendary monster of the Chamber of Secrets had been brutally and efficiently exterminated by a bone dragon.
The vast subterranean hall plunged into a suffocating, deathly silence. The only remaining presence was the thick, nauseating tallic stench of blood perating the damp air.
Tom Riddle's spectral figure hung suspended in mid-air, frozen as if struck by a Petrificus Totalus.
He stared down at the pulverized, pathetic remains of his ancient weapon, his face a mask of absolute, paralyzing disbelief.
'Dead...'
The Basilisk was actually dead?
It couldn't even be classified as a battle. It was a one-sided slaughter.
It was absurd. Utterly, incomprehensibly absurd.
Slowly, chanically, Tom turned his gaze toward the armored figure standing calmly beside the towering undead dragon.
Maurise Black.
Who on earth was this second-year Ravenclaw student? Where did he co from?
Was this terrifying beast the source of his unshakeable confidence? Tom was forced to admit a grim reality. Even if he possessed his original, physical body at its absolute peak, he was not entirely certain he could defeat this boy and his undead monstrosity. Taking down the Basilisk single-handedly would have cost Voldemort a significant amount of effort and magical energy.
Maurise surveyed the grueso remains of the Basilisk and let out another heavy sigh.
'Well, there is absolutely no way I can convert that mangled ss into a viable undead summon. It is literally just a pile of minced at now.'
Tom's spectral form began flickering wildly. The terrifying crimson glow in his eyes dimd significantly.
As Maurise finally turned his attention back to him, Tom drifted over to the nearest stone pillar, leaning against it as if utterly exhausted of all his strength.
"How exactly do you intend to dispose of ?" Tom asked, his voice chillingly light and perfectly calm. "If your intention is to execute , I accept my fate."
Resisting was entirely pointless. Begging for rcy would only add humiliation to his defeat.
Maurise, casually casting a series of Scouring Charms to clean the gore off his bone dragon, asked lazily, "Are you genuinely not going to struggle a bit more, Tom?"
"Just destroy ," Tom replied, his face completely blank. "Erase from existence. But know this... one day, the true Lord Voldemort will find you, and he will exact a terrible vengeance."
Having thoroughly cleaned his dragon, Maurise waved his wand, recalling the massive beast back into its pocket dinsion.
"Vengeance?" Maurise turned to face Tom, a highly amused, slightly wicked smile playing on his lips. "I am afraid you won't be getting that opportunity. Do you recall what I told you earlier? I promised I wouldn't let you dissipate comfortably."
Tom's spectral eyes snapped open. He frowned deeply. "What exactly do you an by that?"
Maurise strolled over and casually snatched the hovering black notebook straight out of the air.
Tom's spectral body violently shuddered. A sudden, overwhelming wave of instinctual dread washed over him.
Maurise paced slowly back and forth in front of the phantom, lightly tapping the diary against his open palm. "If my deductions are correct, you essentially fractured a piece of your own soul and permanently sealed it within this diary, did you not?"
"What if I did?" Tom countered, desperately fighting to maintain his cold composure.
It didn't matter. He was fully prepared to be obliterated. Even if the boy had deduced the grand secret of his Horcrux, it changed absolutely nothing.
Maurise did not answer imdiately. He simply turned the battered notebook over in his hands, inspecting it with a critical eye.
"I honestly cannot comprehend what drove you to actively mutilate your own soul," Maurise shook his head in genuine disgust. "It is an incredibly foolish act. In fact, it is so monuntally stupid I struggle to find the words to properly describe it."
Tom let out a cold, sharp scoff. "What exactly are you planning to do?"
Maurise remained entirely unhurried, continuing to weigh the diary in his hands. "I am just incredibly fascinated. You essentially ripped a fragnt of your soul out of your body, creating an independent, highly vulnerable entity... and then you haphazardly stuffed it into a ratty, mundane notebook without implenting a single internal defense chanism. Tell , Tom, what on earth were you thinking?"
His tone was dripping with profound, academic mockery.
A flash of genuine, offended rage crossed Tom's eyes.
A Horcrux! It was the ultimate magical achievent! It was the key to true immortality! It was the absolute pinnacle of the Dark Arts! It was an art form that transcended death itself!
And this arrogant child dared to call it "monuntally stupid"?
However, Tom quickly forced himself to calm down. Arguing with his executioner was completely aningless. He closed his eyes, preparing his mind for the inevitable, agonizing pain of complete annihilation.
Seeing the Dark Lord refuse to take the bait, Maurise sighed in mock disappointnt. "Well, since you are no longer in a conversational mood, allow to offer my final closing statent. I will be permanently confiscating your soul. Oh, wait, 'confiscating' isn't quite the right word, is it?"
Tom's eyes snapped open. He stared at Maurise with deep, burning suspicion. "What are you talking about?"
"I an exactly what I said," Maurise's eyes curved into crescent moons, his smile entirely innocent. "I am simply going to stamp your soul. Do not worry, it won't hurt a bit."
"And once the paperwork is finalized, we will officially be on the sa team!"
How could a practitioner of necromancy possibly be ignorant of soul-binding magic?
Just recently, a brand new spell had unlocked within the Book of the Magi: The Mark of Enslavent.
By forcibly carving this specific runic mark directly onto another being's soul, the caster could compel that soul into absolute, unquestioning servitude.
Incredibly powerful, wasn't it?
Naturally, such a terrifying piece of magic ca with highly stringent, almost impossible prerequisites.
First, the target had to be an entirely independent soul. It could not be anchored to a living physical body, nor could it be actively shielded by external magical protections.
Second, the innate spiritual strength of the target soul had to be demonstrably weaker than the caster's own soul.
Talk about an unbelievable stroke of luck.
Voldemort's fractured, isolated soul fragnt perfectly fulfilled every single prerequisite.
It was almost as if this enslavent spell had been custom-tailored specifically for dealing with Horcruxes.
...
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