Above the crater, the air had solidified.
Ash drifted through the dead silence.
Seven souls proficient in ancient Dark Magic floated in midair.
Their forms were twisted and broken, like beings forgotten by time. Ghostly blue flames burned in their eyes, a light intertwined with death and madness.
They were not ordinary Dark Wizards.
They were dead Dark Wizards, Cognitive Shapers within the Misty Illusion. They wielded the oldest and most dangerous magic—using belief as the source and cognition as the form, turning illusion into reality.
The seven shadows spread their arms at the same time.
Ancient syllables spilled from their mouths, low and grating, as though they came from the depths of hell, carrying an irresistible pressure.
Then, a Thorn Crown formed slowly, condensed from pure will.
It was composed of countless tiny runes, every thorn radiating an aura of decay and destruction.
Magic spun through the air.
Even the ash in its path was corroded into poisonous dust.
A suffocating aura of death filled the air.
"Cognition is reality. Will is law."
"Wherever these thorns reach shall fall into Death's hands!" The Thorn Crown began to advance, slowly but unstoppably, toward the crater.
Thirty Dementors sensed the threat and immediately lunged forward, trying to intercept the crown that symbolized the end. Yet the instant they touched it, they were destroyed.
Boom!!
There was no struggle, no resistance, not even a trace left behind. Thirty Dementors were torn apart like sheets of paper, turning into wisps of Black Mist that scattered through the air.
"Pssh—"
The Dementors' bodies collapsed the instant they touched the crown, like dead leaves consumed by blazing fire, reduced to ash. There were no screams, no struggles—only silent annihilation.
"This power is really strong."
Ian stood in the distance, watching it all as a chill