To be honest...
Ever since he crossed over into this world, this was the first time Ian had ever panicked like this.
Even when facing the Titans in the Super Ancient Era or the evil gods of ancient Egypt, he had never felt such sheer terror. This time, he was genuinely frightened.
Who could have seen this coming?
This wasn't some ancient ruin discovered by the African Ministry of Magic. This was clearly a forbidden, divine domain that no living being should ever set foot in, a place that could drive even gods insane.
And right now, he was standing right before the gates of that legendary city.
"R'lyeh..."
The name seemed to carry an icy magic as it escaped Ian's lips. His voice was barely audible in the deathly silent plaza, yet it felt as though it had disturbed an ancient slumber.
A chill unlike anything he had ever experienced swept through his body, colder than facing any powerful enemy or hopeless situation. This wasn't fear born from a gap in strength. It was terror born from having his entire understanding of reality completely overturned.
He, Ian, a wizard devoted to pursuing the truth of magic, was standing in a forbidden city that existed only in the most insane, unspeakable myths.
The sleeping city of the Great Old One, Cthulhu.
Damn it!
Rowling never mentioned that the Harry Potter universe shared a world with the Cthulhu Mythos!
Ian felt like he'd been utterly screwed over. This wasn't an adventure anymore. This was poking at the festering wound of the universe, risking the awakening of a nightmare capable of devouring even gods.
No matter how strong his will was, and no matter how excellent his emotional control had always been, Ian couldn't stop his scalp from tingling with fear.
"I do 'not' want to become some Cthulhu cultist..."
Almost instinctively, he wanted to get as far away from the gate, the city, and this cursed Land of Ashes as possible. He spun around, intending to retrace his steps.
But the moment he turned, his body froze, and his pupils contracted.
Behind him, there was no endless plain of black stone, nor the massive stone road he had followed to get here. As far as the eye could see, there was only an endless sea of thick, grayish-yellow fog, rolling without end.
The mist writhed slowly like a living creature, blocking all sight. Even when he extended his powerful spiritual perception into it, it vanished like a stone sinking into the ocean. All he could sense was chaos and emptiness.
He couldn't tell which way was which. He couldn't even find the path he had come from.
He was trapped.
The moment the name "R'lyeh" had been deciphered, or perhaps the moment he stepped into this plaza and approached the gate, his escape route had been completely severed.
Ian felt as though an icy hand had wrapped around his heart, stopping his breathing for a moment. He forced himself to calm down as his mind raced faster than ever before.
An illusion? A spatial transfer? Or was this simply one of the city's own rules?
He fired a magical marker into the fog. The light disappeared the instant it entered, and his connection to it was cut off immediately.
He tried spatial magic. Just like in the dark region before, all forms of spatial movement were completely sealed.
He even tried flying in a straight line. But no matter how far he flew, the scenery around him never changed. There was only the endless, gray-yellow mist.
It was as if the city and the plaza before it had become the only island in an infinite sea of fog. Every attempt pointed to the same hopeless conclusion: he couldn't leave.
The only path forward seemed to be the massive stone gateway before him. Beyond it lay a deep darkness leading farther into the city... or perhaps to the place where 'that' existence slumbered.
Ian stood between the fog and the stone gate, his expression shifting constantly. Stepping through the gate meant facing a horror beyond imagination. Staying where he was could mean being imprisoned here forever, until the silent wasteland slowly wore him down into madness or death.
There was no other choice. This was the greatest crisis Ian had ever faced in his life.
"Damn it! This is a complete disaster!" he couldn't help but curse.
Taking a deep breath of the cold, dry air, he forcibly suppressed the fear rising from the depths of his soul. For a mature wizard, keeping the right mindset was just as important as power.
He began adjusting his mentality, and after a short while, he had mostly regained his composure. The fear remained, but his eyes became sharp and resolute once more.
Since there was no way back, the only option was to keep moving forward. His invincible heart couldn't falter now; otherwise, he really would be finished.
Even if it was a dragon's den, a tiger's lair, or the palace of the gods themselves, he would still charge in.
At that moment, his thirst for knowledge and his instinct to survive finally overcame his fear of the unknown. He cast one last glance at the despair-inducing wall of mist behind him, then turned decisively toward the gigantic stone gate and strode forward.
One step carried him into the boundless darkness beyond.
"I was just trying to break into a Ministry of Magic. How the hell did this turn into the Cthulhu Mythos? And this is the real deal, not those Egyptian gods with a bit of Lovecraft flavor," Ian grumbled to himself.
At the same time, another question kept surfacing in his mind. What if the secret hidden by the African Ministry of Magic wasn't the summoning of evil gods, but this sealed-off space instead?
Then what exactly was going on inside the African Ministry of Magic?
---
Just as Ian resolutely stepped into the endless darkness within the city of R'lyeh, another uninvited visitor arrived at the African Ministry of Magic's underground prison.
The violent quake and terrifying surge of energy that had erupted from the depths below had shaken the entire Ministry.
Although the Department of Mysteries had quickly suppressed the incident and claimed it was merely "routine maintenance," the panic and suspicion hadn't faded, especially in the deepest parts of the prison, where the impact had been strongest.
When the same hooded figure from before silently appeared once again in the upper prison corridor, the inmates immediately erupted into an uproar.
"Hey! Ministry! What the hell was that just now?!"
"Did one of your twisted experiments get out of control?!"
"Let me out! I can't stay in this damn place anymore! I'm going to sue you! You can't even guarantee our safety!"
"Help! That was terrifying! It felt like my soul was about to shatter!"
Panicked screams, furious accusations, desperate pleas, and curses echoed from both sides of the corridor as prisoners rattled the iron bars of their cells. The hellish rumbling and overwhelming pressure from earlier had clearly left deep psychological scars on everyone.
The hooded figure ignored every shout, every question, and every insult. His gaze, hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, slowly swept across each cell like an emotionless scanner.
His footsteps remained steady and even, the faint rustle of his black robes the only sound in the corridor. Then, he stopped before one of the cells.
Inside was a dark wizard imprisoned for conducting large-scale, illegal soul fusion experiments. The man was gripping the bars, loudly cursing the Ministry.
The hooded figure raised a hand. There was no wand; he simply clenched his fist in the air.
"Ghk...!"
The curses stopped instantly. The dark wizard's eyes bulged as an invisible force crushed his body, as though a giant hand had seized him. In a single instant, he was twisted and compressed,
'Pop.'
Without even managing a scream, he exploded into a mangled mass of flesh that splattered across the walls of his cell. Even the fluctuations of his soul vanished completely.
Clean. Efficient. Brutal.
The shouting from the nearby cells died instantly, replaced by sharp gasps and muffled whimpers of fear.
The hooded figure moved to the next cell. Inside, a witch stumbled backward in terror.
"N-No! Don't kill me! I didn't see anything! I don't know anything!"
A cold voice drifted out from beneath the hood, utterly devoid of human emotion. "Did you notice... the disturbance just now?"
The witch froze before frantically shaking her head, grasping at her last chance to survive. "No! I didn't notice anything! I was asleep the whole time! I swear!"
The hooded figure raised his hand again and clenched it.
'Pop.'
Another pile of flesh. Whether she answered or not made no difference.
Like an emotionless machine built solely for extermination, he continued down the corridor, repeating the exact same process at every cell. Raise his hand, ask the question, clench his fist.
Whether the prisoner begged with tears streaming down their face, bluffed with empty threats, denied everything in confusion, or desperately tried to hide, the result never changed. Each one instantly became another bloody stain inside their cell.
"Monster! You're a monster!"
"The Ministry of Magic won't let you get away with this!"
"I'm related to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! You wouldn't dare touch me!"
Desperate cries and furious curses echoed through the corridor before falling silent one after another. The hooded figure never paused. To him, he was merely disposing of insignificant trash.
His logic was simple and merciless: anyone who might have sensed the earlier anomaly, or had merely been within its area of influence, was a potential risk. Every single one of them had to be eliminated. Better to kill a hundred innocents than let a single risk survive.
At first, the prisoners on the upper levels were relatively weak. Many had already been mentally broken after years of being drained by Dementors, and faced with such overwhelming power, they had no chance to resist.
But as the hooded figure descended the spiral staircase into the lower levels, where the most dangerous criminals and high-security prisoners were held, things began to change.
His purge spread through the prison like a plague. At first, the inmates below still clung to a sliver of hope. But as the abruptly cut-off screams and the sickening succession of wet 'pop... pop... pop...' sounds drew closer and closer, panic spread through the narrow corridors like a deadly virus.
"No... Don't come any closer!" a young wizard cried, frantically backing away until his back slammed against the cold stone wall. "I don't know anything! I swear! I was asleep!"
The hooded figure didn't even bother asking a question. He simply raised a hand and clenched it.
'Pop.'
The young wizard's body burst apart like an overripe berry, spraying blood across the iron bars of the neighboring cell.
Inside that cell was an elderly witch. She stared at the blood splattered across the bars, then suddenly broke into hysterical laughter.
"Hahaha! Retribution! This is all retribution! You Ministry dogs have finally shown your true colors!" Her laughter stopped the instant the hooded figure turned toward her, turning into a beast-like roar instead. "Come on! Kill me! But I curse you! I curse every last one of you! Your souls will suffer for eternity, "
'Pop.'
Another wall was painted with flesh and blood.
As the hooded figure continued deeper into the prison, the prisoners' reactions became increasingly desperate. A burly man with a thick beard grabbed the bars and shook them violently.
"I paid enough Galleons! My uncle's a member of the Wizengamot! You can't do this to me!"
The hooded figure didn't even spare him a glance. With a casual wave of his hand, the man was struck as if by an invisible warhammer, instantly collapsing into a mangled heap.
When the hooded figure reached the lower levels near where Ian had previously fought the Ancient Spirit, some of the prisoners finally realized death was inevitable. They fought back.
"Kill him!"
A mountain of muscle, a prisoner rumored to have once torn apart a Fire Dragon with his bare hands, burst from his cell the moment its door opened. Roaring, he threw a punch that ripped through the air with a piercing whistle, aiming straight for the hooded figure's head. The force behind it was enough to bring down a small building.
The hooded figure didn't dodge. He didn't even move; he simply let the punch land.
'Bang!'
The impact sounded like someone striking solid steel. The savage grin on the prisoner's face froze, then twisted into unbearable agony as every bone in his fist shattered and his entire arm bent at an impossible angle. The hooded figure, meanwhile, hadn't budged an inch.
In another cell, an elderly wizard skilled in ancient curses seized the opportunity. He sliced open his own arm with a fingernail, using his blood as the catalyst for a spell. Through gritted teeth, he chanted a vicious aging curse. Gray-black cursed energy coiled through the air like a venomous serpent, lunging toward the hooded figure.
The hooded figure merely glanced at it. The curse dissolved the instant it entered the invisible field surrounding him, breaking apart completely before it could even touch the edge of his robes.
Others coordinated their attacks. Several neighboring prisoners seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement, and the moment their cell doors opened, they all struck at once.
One controlled hidden scraps of metal, turning them into a storm of razor-sharp blades. Another spewed a torrent of highly corrosive magical energy. A third launched a powerful psychic attack, trying to disrupt the hooded figure's mind.
For a brief moment, magic flashed in every direction, filling the narrow corridor with deadly attacks.
None of it mattered.
Physical force, elemental magic, ancient curses, mental attacks, everything that entered the invisible domain around the hooded figure either veered harmlessly away or vanished completely. Not a single spell reached him, and not even the hem of his robe stirred.
The hooded figure continued walking at the same measured pace. Raise his hand, clench his fist.
'Pop.'
'Pop.'
'Pop.'
The fate of those who resisted was no different from that of those who hadn't. Every one of them became another smear of blood and flesh across the walls of their cells. Those who tried to flee during the chaos barely managed a few steps before slamming into what felt like an invisible wall... and then they met the same end as everyone else.
The gap in power was so overwhelming that it left no room for hope.
The purge continued in silence, swift and efficient. Like death itself, the hooded figure walked steadily through the underground prison, erasing every witness and every potential observer.
The smell of blood gradually filled the air, mixing with the damp odor of mold and the despair that already lingered in the prison, creating a stomach-turning stench.
"Leave no loose ends."
No one knew exactly what loose ends the hooded figure was trying to eliminate. Was he silencing witnesses? Trying to keep the truth from getting out? Or perhaps he feared that these people had already been corrupted.
No one knew why he had begun this massacre.
From beneath the hood, his gaze slowly swept across the now-empty cells and the walls stained with blood, as though he were confirming his work.
(End of Chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395