When asked by their owner.
The Death Eater dared not answer, but simply lowered his head even further.
Voldemort turned around.
Three scarlet eyes looked down at the trembling Death Eater kneeling on the ground. A cold, meaningful smile appeared on his lips.
"Continue the investigation." He issued his cautious order, " Raven, Grindelwald, Dumbledore —don't let any of these three get away."
The Death Eater nodded quickly. "Yes, Master!"
Just as he was about to leave, Voldemort called him back.
"Etc."
The Death Eater stood frozen in place, his body drenched in cold sweat.
Voldemort walked up to him and looked down at him. A strange, unfathomable light flickered in his crimson eyes.
"I need someone," Voldemort said, his voice soft yet dangerous, "Someone loyal enough, strong enough, and capable enough... to be reformed."
The Death Eater raised his head, a flicker of fear and an almost irrepressible... anticipation flashing in his eyes.
"Master, do you want one?"
Voldemort raised his hand, interrupting him. He offered no explanation, simply saying, "Give me the list. Those worthy of cultivation, those willing to dedicate everything to the cause."
The Death Eater nodded hastily and scrambled out of the room.
Voldemort returned to the stone table and looked down at the Mirror. His fingers lightly traced the surface, the eerie blue light dancing on his fingertips, reflecting his distorted, inhuman face.
" Raven..." he murmured, " Grindelwald... Dumbledore..."
He laughed. The laugh, coming from his torn mouth full of sharp teeth, looked particularly ferocious and insane.
"You can hide, go away, play dead."
He withdrew his hand, turned, and walked out of the Chamber of Secrets. The tentacles swayed gently behind him, like some kind of celebratory dance.
"Soon, you'll all have nowhere to hide."
In the corridor, the Death Eater was kneeling on the ground, a long roll of Parchment spread out in front of him. The Parchment was covered with names—all of them were the most loyal Death Eater who were willing to give everything for Voldemort.
Voldemort walked to the Parchment and looked down at the names. His gaze swept over each name, lingering on some for a while, and only glancing at others.
"What is Master trying to do?" The Death Eater, kneeling on the ground, dared not breathe, only the thunderous sound of their own heartbeats echoing in their ears. Voldemort's finger hovered above the Parchment, moving slowly. Finally, it stopped on a name —Bellatrix Lestrange. The name reflected faintly in the dim candlelight, as if it had been waiting for this moment. The Death Eater held their breath, not daring to look up, yet they could feel the cold, suffocating pressure emanating from their Master's fingertip. It was the aura of Deep Space.
It was a whisper from beyond dimensions, the first time Voldemort had actively released his pure, chaotic will after gaining Legend power. " Bellatrix," Voldemort murmured the name softly, as gentle as a lover's whisper, yet it echoed eerily and layered throughout the Chamber of Secrets, as if countless voices were repeating the name simultaneously.
Bellatrix, kneeling in the corner, trembled and abruptly raised her head. Her once mad and fiery eyes were now filled with unbelievable ecstasy and devotion. She moved forward a few steps on her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for Voldemort's toes, but then withdrew them at the last moment, too afraid, too disrespectful.
"Master..." Her voice was hoarse and choked with emotion, "You called me?"
Voldemort turned around, his three scarlet eyes gazing down at the woman who was most loyal, most mad, and most willing to give everything for him. Her black hair was disheveled, falling over her shoulders; scars from her last mission still lingered on her face; her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips were cracked. She hadn't had a proper rest in a long time—she had searched almost half of Europe for the Raven and Grindelwald. But she had never complained, never retreated; at Voldemort's command, she would jump into flames without hesitation.
Voldemort looked at the woman in front of him and remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he raised his hand, his inhuman fingers, covered in black scales, gently brushing against Bellatrix's cheek. The woman trembled violently, tears welling in her eyes—not from fear, but from her master's touch, a gift she had longed for for years, a gift she had never received. " Bellatrix, my dear servant," Voldemort murmured her name again, his voice low and seductive, "Will you give me everything?"
Upon hearing this, Bellatrix's body trembled even more violently.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto the cold ground.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her voice stuck in her throat, unable to come out. She could only nod frantically, nod frantically. Her forehead hit the ground with a dull thud.
"I am willing, Master. I am willing to give everything—my life, my soul, my all." Her voice was hoarse but firm, filled with an almost frenzied devotion.
Voldemort's lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile. "Very good." He withdrew his hand and turned to walk deeper into the Chamber of Secrets. The tentacles swayed gently behind him, like some ancient, summoning ritual.
"Come with me."
Bellatrix stood up abruptly and staggered after Voldemort. Her legs were weak, and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of her chest, but she didn't stop. Step by step, she followed Voldemort's figure into the depths of the Chamber of Secrets that no one else had ever entered before. The stone door slowly closed behind them, shutting out the curious, fearful, and envious gazes.
At the deepest part of the Chamber of Secrets was a small, circular stone room.
In the center of the stone chamber stood a stone platform, upon which rested a Crystal Ball. A dark red mist slowly rotated, occasionally flashing with a tiny, lightning-like glint.
Bellatrix stood before the stone platform, looking down at the Crystal Ball. She could feel—an indescribable, terrifying power contained within that mist. It slowly rotated before her, each rotation sending a shiver down her spine.
It was not fear, but awe, like an ant gazing at the stars, like a mortal facing a god.
"This is a gift from Deep Space."
Voldemort stood behind her, his voice soft and deep, "Power from beyond dimensions. It can change you, reshape you, and elevate you beyond the limits of mortals."
He walked up to Bellatrix, his three scarlet eyes staring directly into hers. "But the price is, you will no longer be you." Voldemort's voice was softer, yet carried an undeniable coldness.
"Your body will change, your soul will change, your very existence will change. You will no longer be human—at least, no longer purely human."
He began to test loyalty with words.
Bellatrix looked up into Voldemort's bloodshot eyes. In those eyes, there was no hesitation, no pity, only a cold, almost cruel expectation. She was silent for a few seconds, then smiled. The smile appeared exceptionally radiant, exceptionally crazed, on her pale face. "Master!"
Her voice was hoarse but firm, "I've long since given up on being human."
Voldemort looked at Bellatrix's smile and remained silent for a moment.
"Very good!"
Then, he raised his hand and placed his palm on the Crystal Ball.
Dark red mist surged from the Crystal Ball, coiling around his fingers and spreading down his arm. The mist condensed and swirled in his palm, eventually transforming into a small, fist-sized sphere of light.
Within the sphere of light, countless tiny, vein-like tendrils writhed, each pulsation carrying an eerie, life-like rhythm. Voldemort held the sphere up to Bellatrix. "This is the last time I'll ask you," his voice was calm and cold, "Are you sure?" Bellatrix didn't hesitate. She reached out and grasped the sphere of light.
In that instant, the sphere of light exploded.
Dark red mist surged into her palms like a burst dam, spreading through her veins to her entire body. She felt her blood boiling, her bones melting, her muscles tearing, then reforming, tearing again, and reforming again. The pain was indescribable—more intense than Crucio, more scorching than being burned by Fiendfyre, a hundred times more terrifying than any torture she had ever experienced or been subjected to.
She opened her mouth, wanting to scream, but found her voice stuck in her throat.
Bellatrix's eyes widened, the dark red light reflected in her pupils, growing brighter and more intense until it engulfed her entire eyeballs.
Her body was trembling violently; every inch of her skin was writhing, Transfiguration, and regenerating.
The dark red mist seeped from her pores, condensing into a thin layer of tar-like black liquid on her skin. Voldemort stood before her, silently watching it all. His expression remained unchanged, only a fleeting, unfathomable light flashed in his scarlet eyes.
He saw it—deep within Bellatrix's soul, the seed from the Deep Space was taking root and sprouting.
It will grow, it will spread, it will merge with her soul, and ultimately, it will completely alter the very nature of her being. Bellatrix will no longer be human, no longer a witch, no longer Bellatrix Lestrange. She will become an extension of Deep Space into this world!
Become his apostle!
His tools, his weapons!
Voldemort's lips curled into a slight smile.
"Very good,"
He said softly, "Very good."
The dark red light lingered in the stone chamber for a long time, so long that the Death Eater guarding the door began to whisper among themselves, speculating about what had happened inside.
The stone gate finally opened.
Voldemort emerged.
His expression was calm, his clothes were neat, and there was nothing unusual about him.
But the darkness behind him caused all the Death Eater to hold their breath simultaneously—something was moving in that darkness. It wasn't human, nor animal, but some indescribable being, somewhere in between.
It emerged slowly from the darkness, each step carrying an eerie and unsettling rhythm.
That's Bellatrix.
But she is no longer Bellatrix.
Her body was still the same—tall, slender, with her black hair falling messily over her shoulders.
But her skin was no longer human white; instead, it had turned into a strange, dark reddish-gray, like metal scorched by flames.
Her arms were longer than before, her fingers were longer, and there was an extra curve at the joints, making her look like some kind of insect. Bellatrix's fingernails had also turned black, sharp as knives, and gleamed coldly in the candlelight.
But what's most terrifying is her eyes.
She once had beautiful, deep brown eyes, wild and fiery. But now, those eyes are gone. In their place are countless eyes.
Eyes grew on every inch of her exposed skin—on her face, her neck, her arms, and the backs of her hands. These eyes varied in size; some were like pinheads, others like coins, some were tightly closed, and others were wide open.
They have no whites in their eyes, only jet-black, bottomless pupils, within which a faint dark red light can be seen flickering.
The eyes were moving. Every single one was moving, looking in a different direction, staring at something different. Some were looking at Voldemort, some at the kneeling Death Eater, some at the ceiling, some at the ground, some at some point in the void imperceptible to mortals. They blinked simultaneously, at different frequencies, in different directions, with different rhythms, sending a wave of dizziness and nausea from the depths of one's soul. Bellatrix walked to Voldemort and knelt down. Her movements were slow and stiff, as if she were still adjusting to this new body. The eyes followed her movements, some closing, some opening, some beginning to weep—not transparent tears, but a dark red, viscous liquid, sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the ground, corroding small, smoking pits.
"Owner."
She spoke. Her voice had changed; it was no longer the sharp, maniacally laughing female voice of before, but a deep, hoarse one, carrying an eerie resonance, as if countless voices were superimposed together, "I feel it... I feel power flowing within me... It's your power... It's the power of Deep Space..."
She looked up, and all those eyes turned to Voldemort. In those gazes was piety, worship, and a hint of indescribable, almost morbid, attachment.
Voldemort looked down at her, his scarlet eyes devoid of any emotion.
How are you feeling?
He asked.
Bellatrix smiled.
That smile looked particularly eerie and terrifying on her face, which was filled with eyes. But her voice carried a childlike, pure joy.
"Powerful, Master. I've never felt so powerful." She raised her hand, looking at her palm covered in eyes. The eyes blinked in her palm, their pupils reflecting her face—a face also covered in eyes. She gently clenched her fist!
Those eyes closed and opened simultaneously, unleashing a blinding, dark red light. Wherever that light passed, the air distorted, cracks appeared in the stone walls, and several Death Eater nearby were even burned by the light, screaming and clutching their eyes as they rolled on the ground. "This is the true evolution of humanity!"
Bellatrix's tone was firm and fervent.