Fallen

In their previous clashes, even if Voldemort had been slow to realize it, by now he understood that Tver had never truly gone all out against him.

Or rather, he had never intended to kill him!

So, if there was anything Voldemort remained unwilling to accept, it was that after all their long battle of wits and strength, he had yet to witness Tver at full power!

As for whether Tver had simply improved so quickly that Voldemort had mistakenly believed he had always been holding back...

Impossible, absolutely impossible!

No matter how talented a wizard was, once they had reached the pinnacle of power, there was no way they could continue improving so quickly!

Voldemort would rather believe that Tver had concealed his true age than admit that his talent was inferior to Tver's!

Tver, however, had no idea what wild thoughts Voldemort was entertaining. He was merely studying him with great interest.

Being able to emerge unharmed from that spell proved that Voldemort was not quite as everyone imagined him to be—not someone who only liked using highly destructive magic.

Of course, under normal circumstances, Voldemort could handle most situations without needing defensive magic.

Unfortunately, they were never destined to walk the same path.

Tver thought with a hint of regret.

"Your gaze is rather impolite."

Voldemort emerged from the dust filling the sky, his wand raised high as though gathering something.

"I was only thinking about what kind of funeral I should prepare for you..."

Before Tver could finish, Voldemort suddenly swung his arm in a hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, his wand instantly pointing toward the ground.

"Rumble..."

The earth trembled as though some prehistoric beast lurked beneath it, struggling to break free of the soil and reveal its sharp, serrated fangs!

Bang—

The layer of earth before Tver