The airplane was on the verge of collapse.
Even though both Dawn and Voldemort were controlling the intensity of their Fiendfyre, the repeated clashes had pushed the structure close to its limit.
Still, it did not matter.
As long as a wizard could use Levitation and Apparition, an ordinary plane crash was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Dying from it would be the strange outcome.
A sharp screech cut through the chaos.
An eagle dove from above, talons piercing into a serpent on the ground.
It pecked at the snake's head, only to be coiled and strangled in return.
After a brief struggle, both died, breaking into fragments. Then, almost instantly, they were given life again and resumed fighting.
Dawn controlled these transfigured creations.
Fragments filled the aisle, providing endless material for Transfiguration. Scenes like this were everywhere in the cabin.
However, Voldemort's Transfiguration was inferior to Dumbledore's.
In this aspect, Dawn held the advantage. But when it came to Fiendfyre, he was completely suppressed by Tom Riddle.
The brief moment where Dawn had seized control of the flames had only happened because Voldemort thought the battle was already won and had relaxed his grip.
Dawn frowned as he watched his flames being pushed back.
Voldemort's Fiendfyre had clearly been modified. Its heat and destructive power far exceeded Dawn's.
Still...
It was manageable.
The flames collided again.
Dawn smelled the faint scent of burning hair. Sweat soaked his clothes and evaporated instantly in the heat, leaving pale salt traces behind.
He took a step back under the pressure.
This place was too cramped.
Even with the seats burned away, there was barely any room to maneuver.
He and Voldemort stood at opposite ends, like traditional spellcasters in a game, exchanging spells from a distance.
Most attacks were intercepted before reaching their target. There was no opportunity to manipulate magic mid-flight.
This was a direct clash of raw power.
Dawn forced himself to remain calm.
He knew that deciding the outcome quickly was unrealistic.
Just like his battle with Dumbledore during Christmas. If not for the trick with the magic in his severed arm, that fight might have dragged on indefinitely.
Spells continued to collide.
Sparks flew.
Dawn used Fiendfyre shaped into a serpent to cancel out incoming flames, while raising a Shield Charm to block a wave of conjured venom.
White smoke curled upward.
The floor was corroded with pits of various sizes, and the air grew thick with a sharp, acidic smell.
Dawn steadily dismantled each wave of attacks.
Despite the countless spells in the wizarding world, duels often came down to the same choices.
Wide-area spells like Fiendfyre or fire curses, Transfiguration, Shield Charms, and finishing spells such as Disarming, Stunning, or Killing Curses.
Dumbledore used them. Voldemort used them. Dawn used them. Even Avery had used the same set in their duel.
These spells were efficient, versatile, and covered nearly every situation.
Most wizards believed that using too many complicated spells would only hinder them.
But now—
Feeling the uneven beating of his heart, Dawn realized that complexity might have its place.
He thought of the world from his childhood dreams. Of games where magic could be stored in advance.
If spells could be prepared and stored somewhere, would that make combat more efficient?
Another explosion snapped him back to reality.
A section of the cabin wall finally gave way, tearing open a massive hole that sucked everything toward it.
The plane could no longer maintain stability. It lurched violently, rising and falling like waves.
Dawn did not care.
Neither did Voldemort.
They locked eyes once more.
Through the distorted air, both could see the same resolve reflected in each other.
Kill the other, no matter what.
It was strange.
They had not interacted much, yet they had become mortal enemies.
From the dormitory ambush, to Dawn's retaliation, to Voldemort's expulsion, to the destruction of Horcruxes, to their clash during Christmas.
Perhaps some people were simply incompatible.
And between Dawn and Voldemort, the incompatibility was absolute.
Heat surged.
Dawn narrowed his eyes and calculated the passing time. He could almost predict when Anubis would strike again.
He glanced at Voldemort's twisted face and almost laughed.
He knew exactly what Voldemort was thinking.
Voldemort was waiting for the next curse. Waiting for the moment Dawn's heart would be torn out, so he could strike.
It was not a bad plan.
The curse had caused Dawn serious trouble. And the loss of Phoenix immortality made it worse.
But the moment of attack was also the moment of greatest vulnerability.
Dawn's eyes glowed red.
He suddenly raised his wand, sending Fiendfyre surging forward like a tidal wave.
Behind the rolling flames, several strands of silvery, thread-like substance drifted down unnoticed.
"Pointless struggle!" Voldemort snapped. "Your Fiendfyre is nothing compared to mine!"
Their flames collided.
Dawn's fire was steadily pushed back.
Then—
Voldemort froze.
A chilling presence spread around him. His heart throbbed with phantom pain.
It was coming.
He immediately redirected his flames out through the hole in the cabin, clearing a path for himself.
The next instant—
Blood sprayed.
His heart fell to the floor.
Without hesitation, he drank the potion already in his hand.
Then he looked up.
He had a feeling this connection was about to end. He needed to act now. But suddenly—
A dull impact.
A green Killing Curse slammed into his chest.
"What—"
Voldemort's eyes widened as he was thrown backward.
Pain and cold spread through him. It reminded him of the day he had been ambushed.
Just like then.
"It's over," Dawn said coldly.
He looked down at Voldemort's fading eyes and unwilling expression.
Then he lowered his wand and sank to the ground, clutching his chest. An infant's heart was far from sufficient.
He exhaled slowly.
"That was... surprisingly simple."
Such an intense battle ending so abruptly left him with a strange sense of emptiness.
After a short rest, he stood up and gathered the scattered silver threads, pouring them back onto his head.
They contained his memories of collective consciousness and natural magic.
Anubis's curse targeted those who understood these concepts.
By removing those memories, the curse would no longer affect him. It was a method he had only remembered after becoming a Phoenix.
Unfortunately, Voldemort had no idea.
In his haste to kill, he had even dropped his defenses.
That was why he fell so easily.
Dawn had simply exploited his ignorance.
"Killing intent reveals flaws," Dawn muttered. "And sometimes, known information becomes a trap."
He was about to finish Voldemort with another spell when he noticed something.
Voldemort was still breathing.
A Horcrux.
Even here, it kept him alive.
Dawn frowned, then relaxed.
It did not matter.
°Avada Kedavra°
But before the spell landed, Voldemort forced his head up and glared at him. "This is not the end... Dawn Richter. Never think it will be this easy."
Then his head fell, and he died.
"Of course it's not over," Dawn said quietly. "But I'm tired of hearing that."
The world around them began to distort.
Colors faded. The storm stopped. The falling plane froze midair.
It was ending.
"See you in reality, Tom."
Darkness swallowed everything.
Dawn felt himself falling.
Weightlessness surrounded him. He could not see anything, but his mind remained clear.
He tried to stop the fall with magic, but it did nothing.
So he stopped resisting.
Instead, he thought. The biggest problem in the fight had been the loss of Phoenix immortality.
Why had it failed?
The only explanation was that he had been acting purely as consciousness.
A wizard seemed to consist of three parts. Body, soul, and mind. Perhaps emotion as well, though he was not certain.
Phoenix immortality likely affected only body and soul, not the mind.
He wondered what would have happened if he had died. Would he truly die? Or would his consciousness return?
He did not know.
But something told him it would be the latter. Still, he did not want to gamble.
He just wanted all of this to end.
Then—
A pull.
Something was dragging him somewhere.
Fred's body.
But suddenly, another force appeared.
His consciousness was torn apart, splitting into countless fragments and falling in different directions.
"Ah!"
Dawn jolted upright.
He checked his body.
He was intact.
"Hey! Fred, you're finally awake," George said quickly, hiding an ink-covered pen behind his back.
Dawn looked at him.
Red hair. George.
Understanding dawned instantly.
He looked around. The forest canopy. Sunlight filtering through leaves.
"You're pathetic, Fred," George continued. "You were the one ambushing, and you still got taken out by Lee Jordan."
Dawn understood.
This was that moment.
"Where's Lee Jordan?" he asked.
"Lee? He was just here... oh, I get it!"
George grinned.
"The great Fred is planning a glorious revenge!"
___________
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