"Tom, I understand your resentment. That is why the god has bestowed his grace. All you need to do is submit, and the god will grant you the immortality you have always craved."
Gerald looked at Voldemort's Soul Fragment, which the lightning had driven back, and his tone suddenly softened.
He began his campaign of psychological manipulation.
A blow followed by a sweet reward-this tactic worked on most people.
"If a god really exists, why would he need a soul fragment like me?"
Voldemort's tone softened slightly. Although he still voiced doubts, most of his hysterical resistance had faded.
Even if he was unwilling to admit it, he had begun to believe that he might truly have been defeated and killed.
If he really had fallen, those followers were indeed very likely to have scattered.
He understood his Death Eaters all too well. They followed him not because they loved him, but because they feared him.
Once he, the source of that fear, was gone, why would they continue serving a dead Dark Lord?
"The god has his own constraints. He cannot walk the world, which is why he needs apostles like me to carry out his will. I can borrow his mighty power, but ultimately, I am only a vessel."
"And you, Tom Riddle, possess a soul powerful enough to bear the god's will. That is why the god is interested in you, and why I am here talking to you instead of simply destroying you along with this Diadem."
"Then how does the god achieve immortality?" Voldemort asked.
He's taken the bait.
For someone like Voldemort, ideals, dominion, Pure-blood Supremacy-all of them were secondary in the end.
There was only one thing he truly cared about: immortality.
As long as he was offered an answer to immortality more