Bellatrix looked at the fallen Death Eater, a sinister smile spreading across her face. "I can feel their fear, Master. I can feel the fear in every single one of them—their heartbeats, their breaths, the sound of their blood flowing. I can see what they can't see, hear what they can't hear, feel what they can't feel."
She stood up, and all those eyes simultaneously turned, looking at every corner of the stone chamber, at the Death Eater kneeling on the ground, trembling. Wherever her gaze fell, they involuntarily lowered their heads, not daring to meet her eyes—no, not daring to meet any of her eyes.
"I am your apostle, master." Bellatrix turned to look at Voldemort, her eyes filled with piety and fanaticism. "I am your eyes in this world, an extension of your will. The power you have bestowed upon me, I will use it to sweep away all obstacles for you—that Raven, Grindelwald, and Dumbledore. I will show them what the price of offending their master is."
Voldemort looked at her and remained silent for a few seconds. Then, he raised his hand and gently patted her shoulder. The movement was light and casual, yet it made Bellatrix tremble all over, and more dark red tears welled up in her eyes.
"Go," Voldemort said, his voice calm and cold, "Go and prove your worth."
Bellatrix knelt, her forehead touching Voldemort's toes, her eyes closing simultaneously, as if in prayer, as if in a vow. "Yes, my My Lord."
She stood up and turned to walk out of the stone chamber. The eyes blinked, darted, and stared at her, each step carrying an eerie, unsettling rhythm. The Death Eater kneeling on the ground quickly made way, afraid to be seen by any of her eyes.
The stone door slowly closed behind her.
In the Chamber of Secrets, only Voldemort remained. He stood there, staring at the closed stone door, silent for a long time.
Then he laughed. The laugh, coming from his twisted mouth full of sharp teeth, looked particularly ferocious and satisfied.
" Raven," he said softly, his voice echoing in the empty Chamber of Secrets, " Grindelwald, Dumbledore... Soon you will know the price of fighting against the Deep Space."
He turned and walked deeper into the stone chamber. The tentacles swayed gently behind him, like celebratory flags.
Outside the stone gate, Bellatrix stood in the corridor, the eyes all turning simultaneously, looking in different directions. She could feel power surging within her, like molten lava, like a roaring beast, like a call from the abyss. She wanted to laugh, to scream, to dance, to kill. She raised her hand, looking at the largest eye in her palm. That eye looked at her, its pupil reflecting her face. She smiled at that eye, a smile both eerie and insane.
"My master loves me," she whispered, her voice filled with an almost morbid satisfaction. "My master chose me, my master gave me strength, my master loves me."
Those eyes blinked simultaneously, as if in response to her words. A dark red light flickered in the corridor, illuminating her face covered in eyes and the crazed smile on her lips.
In the distance, the Death Eater huddled in a corner, watching her, trembling. They didn't know what Bellatrix had become, or what Voldemort had done to her. They only knew that from this moment on, everything had changed.
The Raven, Grindelwald, Dumbledore —they would all face a completely new and unspeakable enemy. And this enemy stood in the corridor, eyes fixed on the void, a mad grin on their lips, awaiting their master's next command.
Bellatrix withdrew her hand, and the eyes closed and opened simultaneously. She took a deep breath, feeling the surging power within her, a power from Deep Space.
How wonderful!
She was completely absorbed.
After Bellatrix left, the Chamber of Secrets fell silent once more. Voldemort stood alone before the stone platform, gazing down at the now empty Crystal Ball. The dark red mist had all been infused into Bellatrix's body, leaving only a faint, bloodstain-like mark on the inner wall of the Crystal Ball. That mark reflected faintly in the candlelight, as if it were still breathing, still pulsating, still waiting to be awakened again.
I will do it.
Voldemort murmured softly.
He reached out, his fingertips lightly touching the cold sphere. The remaining energy pulsed in his fingertips, like a faint electric current, bringing a brief, almost imperceptible sting.
"What?" Voldemort closed his eyes, sensing the information contained within that power—fragmented, vague, and dreamlike whispers.
That was an echo from Deep Space.
It's saying: Not enough. More is needed. Even bigger sacrifices are needed.
Voldemort withdrew his hand and opened his eyes. Three scarlet eyes burned in the darkness, reflecting the faint red marks on the inner wall of the Crystal Ball. His expression was calm, but deep within those eyes, complex emotions surged—satisfaction, resentment, expectation, and a faint unease that even he himself was unwilling to admit.
He has come so far. He has sacrificed his Destiny, traversed the ruins, obtained the Mirror of Banishment, and transformed Bellatrix. Every step has proceeded according to plan, and every choice has propelled him toward that ultimate, unshakeable goal—to eliminate the Raven, eliminate Grindelwald, eliminate Dumbledore, and then, rule over everything.
But that Raven. That damned, haunting Raven. It appeared in Azkaban, at the scene of the Dementor' riot, at every crucial moment, yet never showed itself directly. It simply watched, observed, and recorded, as if watching a play that had nothing to do with it. It wasn't afraid of him, didn't hide from him, and even disdained to confront him directly. It simply existed, like Destiny itself, like an inescapable ending. Voldemort's fist clenched slightly. Tiny tendrils emerged from between his fingers, gently tracing the surface of the Crystal Ball, leaving fine, smoky scratches.
" Raven..." he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, "Where are you?"
He turned and walked to the center of the Chamber of Secrets. There was a circular, recessed area, the floor of which was paved with some kind of black, metallic-looking stone slab. The slab was covered with complex runes—not Titan runes, but runes that Voldemort himself had spent months studying, drawing, and repeatedly revising based on information from the Echoes of Deep Space.
That was his medium for communicating with Deep Space, his channel for obtaining information, power, and even revelation from beings beyond that dimension. He stood in the center of the runes, closed his eyes, and opened his arms.
Tentacles extended from his body, like countless tiny, probing fingers, touching every stone slab, every rune. A dark red light emanated from the runes, spreading outwards from the center like ripples, like a heartbeat, like some ancient, slumbering being awakening. " Deep Space will tell me the answer."
Voldemort took a deep breath and sank his consciousness into Deep Space.
It was an endless, eternal darkness.
There was no light, no sound, no time, no space. Only chaos, only nothingness, only those indescribable beings wandering between dimensions.
They writhed, whispered, and watched in the darkness, each gaze like a tangible hammer, striking Voldemort's consciousness.
"I'm here, I've always been here." He knew they were watching him, that they were waiting for him to speak, that they had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
"Tell me," Voldemort's voice echoed in the darkness, carrying an undeniable authority, "Where is the Raven? Where is Grindelwald?"
silence.
A long, suffocating silence.
Then, the whispers began simultaneously. They had no language, no words, only pure information—fragmented, chaotic, fragmented information. This information flooded Voldemort's consciousness like countless tiny needles piercing his mind, etching indelible marks deep within his soul.
He "saw" it.
The Raven —no, not saw, but sensed. It was on a white wasteland, not in the Arctic, but in the south, very, very far south. There were snow-capped mountains, glaciers, and ceaseless winds. It stood atop an ice peak, its dark silhouette strikingly black against the white background. It didn't move, it didn't fly, it just stood there quietly, as if waiting for something.
Voldemort tried to see more clearly, but the information suddenly became blurry, as if obscured by something. He could sense that the Raven had noticed his spying and was actively shielding his senses. It was a power he had never seen before, not magic, not mental defense, but some kind of more essential barrier, belonging to Destiny itself.
Voldemort's consciousness trembled violently, but he did not give up.
He continued to plead with Deep Space, continued to beg from those indescribable beings. The whispers grew denser, more chaotic, and more information flooded his consciousness— Grindelwald. In a small town. Not United Kingdom, but Europe, in a remote, forgotten valley. There were churches, cemeteries, and ancient, vine-covered stone houses. Grindelwald was hiding in one of these houses, badly wounded, weak, but still alive.
His Magic Power is slowly recovering, but it will take a long time for it to fully recover.
"As expected, both sides suffered heavy losses!"
In Voldemort's consciousness, a clear coordinate system emerged. It wasn't latitude and longitude, nor a place name, but a more direct "sense of location" imprinted on his soul.
He could sense Grindelwald's presence, his faint but undeniable Magic Power Fluctuation, and the vague outline of the town around him.
The answer has been found.
Voldemort was very satisfied.
He opened his eyes.
A fierce light burned in the three scarlet eyes.
The runes' light gradually faded, the tentacles slowly retracted, and the stone chamber fell silent once more. Voldemort stood there, panting heavily, his body drenched in cold sweat. Each communication with the Deep Space consumed a great deal of his mental and physical energy, but this time, he felt it was worth it.
He knew where Grindelwald was.
He knew where the Raven was—at least, he knew its approximate location.
More importantly, he could sense that Deep Space also wanted him to eliminate them.
In those whispers, there was a faint, urgent expectation, as if the Raven's very existence was a threat to them. They needed him. They needed him to be their weapon in this world, to eliminate those who hindered their arrival.
Voldemort's lips curled up slightly, revealing a cold, sinister smile.
" Ascension to Godhood..." he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, "This is my path to Ascension to Godhood."
He turned and walked out of the Chamber of Secrets. The tentacles swayed gently behind him, as if celebrating, as if urging him on.
Voldemort walked quickly, with an impatient eagerness, as if he could already see that final, unshakeable end. Raven was banished, Grindelwald was killed, Dumbledore was trampled underfoot, and he, Voldemort, became the sole ruler of this world. But when he reached the door, he suddenly stopped.
His hand hovered above the stone door, but he didn't push it open.
He stood there, silent for a long time.
The tentacles stopped swaying and hung silently at his sides, as if awaiting his decision. The only sounds in the stone chamber were his deep, slow breathing and the occasional, indistinct sound of waves in the distance.
Voldemort closed his eyes.
The battle at Azkaban flashed through my mind. Dumbledore plummeted from the sky, black Fiendfyre burning in his chest, his blood staining the entire sky crimson. Grindelwald transformed into Black Phoenix and vanished into the night. The Raven stood on the reef, its dark eyes fixed on him as if he were a clown.
He opened his eyes, a flash of annoyance in them.
He was scared.
It wasn't that he was afraid of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or the Raven. It was that he was afraid of himself. He was afraid of failing again, afraid of being outmaneuvered again, afraid of becoming someone else's pawn again. He had no more Horcrux, no more of those life-saving fragments that could bring him back to life. He only had this one life, this one body, and this one chance.
If he fails again, he's truly finished.
Voldemort took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He turned around, walked back to the stone platform, and looked down at the empty Crystal Ball. The remaining red marks reflected faintly in the candlelight, like a half-closed eye watching him, mocking him.
"No rush," he said softly, his voice calm and cold.
He needs more information, more preparation, and more certainty. He cannot take the risk himself—at least not without absolute certainty.
So he needed someone to scout ahead for him, to test the waters, to die for him. With this thought, Voldemort's gaze fell on the stone door. Bellatrix. She was still outside, waiting for his orders.
She is no longer human; she possesses the power of Deep Space, and superhuman perception and combat abilities. She is Voldemort's best weapon.
It is his sharpest knife.
Voldemort's lips curled into a slight smile.
"Let her go."
He said softly.
"Let her give it a try."
The reason this guy was trying to change the other person was that he could use them as a tool to test them. He didn't care about love or not love; Voldemort didn't care at all about the other person's fanaticism towards him.
After all, he himself was Wizard devoid of love.