At this moment.
Voldemort's transformation might have been complete.
It was simply too terrifying.
"Kekekeke!!"
Voldemort threw back his head and howled. The sound was no longer a human roar, but a mixture of countless voices—shrill, deep, frenzied, despairing.
Like a chorus from hell.
"I am no longer—human!!!"
His voice tore through the sea wind and echoed through the darkness, growing ever more distorted, ever more frenzied amid the flailing of those countless tentacles. Yet it was not a wail.
It was a proclamation.
It was rebirth.
It was transcendence.
Surrounded by countless tentacles, encircled by black seawater, and watched by that ancient existence, the being once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle completed his final transformation.
He was no longer Voldemort.
No longer the Dark Lord.
No longer the wizard who feared death and craved immortality.
He was—
the "Deep Space Vessel."
The vessel of an ancient existence.
The first "god" about to descend upon this world.
Then the whisper from deep space sounded one final time, now carrying undisguised satisfaction and anticipation:
"Welcome... home..."
"One of... us..."
The black seawater spun wildly, while the pitch-black sky gazed down like an abyss. On this desolate island far from the civilized world, a new existence was taking shape.
In the depths of the Atlantic Ocean, the black waters continued to spread madly.
Centered on the island, the darkness expanded outward at a visible speed. Wherever it passed, life was extinguished, seawater corrupted, and even the sky stained with an eerie dark red, like congealed blood.
Voldemort—no, that name could no longer be used. The newborn Voldemort God stood atop the black reefs, feeling the changes in his body.
Those tentacles were still growing, still adapting, still forming a deeper connection with his soul. He could sense every tremor of every tentacle