Death God's Little Trick

Eli's body was like a tattered sack being slashed apart by blades, crumbling inch by inch beneath his out-of-control magic.

Yet Eli seemed completely unable to feel the excruciating pain radiating from his body, allowing the frenzied power to ravage him as it pleased.

What was despair?

Was it broken cries? Was it hysterically smashing things apart? No. Despair was eternal sinking, complete surrender.

Harry Potter—he had once accepted the commission of young Harry Potter's soul and promised to protect him.

Now Harry Potter was dead. He had broken his promise, and it was more than simply failing to keep his word. This was his failure as a transmigrator!

He had clearly known the entire course of the plot. Even without Eli's interference, Harry would have made it through danger after danger and eventually risen to a high position in the Ministry of Magic.

But now that Eli had come, Harry had instead perished, his soul forcibly sucked away by a Dementor.

What a failure.

Who had killed Harry? The Dementor, or Eli himself? Had his arrival in this world truly meant anything?

Eli sank into boundless self-doubt. His thoughts began to shut themselves away, while his body started destroying itself...

"Wake up!"

Like a furious shout from the heavens, it struck Eli's heart like a heavy hammer. Every thought scattered in an instant, and unbearable pain flooded into his mind like a tide.

How could Eli still think about destruction or anything else? Not a single part of his body was intact; magic had sliced him to ribbons.

The terrible, endless pain made Eli convulse miserably on the ground. His mind no longer had any strength left to think.

Yet because of that, Eli's mind instead stabilized. His soul stopped trembling, and control of his magic gradually returned to