Erwin vanished from the stands and reappeared beside the Goblet of Fire. He picked it up, its golden flame flickering in his hand.
"Congratulations! You've passed the final test," he announced, his voice carrying across the silent stadium. "Now, who do you think should claim the Goblet? Vote among yourselves and decide the winner!"
The champions exchanged uneasy glances.
No one spoke. Viktor Krum desperately wanted the trophy for Durmstrang, but he knew their performance hadn't earned it. Fleur Delacour shared the same thought.
As for Sunny Finch and Charlotte, their minds were elsewhere—they weren't particularly interested in the Goblet of Fire right now.
Erwin scanned the crowd. "It seems you can't decide. However, I'm satisfied. The purpose of this tournament wasn't just to test your skill, but to show you your own limitations. Each school has its own strengths, and each of you has proven your power. In a way, you are all victors."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"But since it's a tournament, there must be a winner. So, I'm adding one final match—this one involves everyone, even the audience. The objective? Slaying a god."
A surge of power erupted from Erwin.
CRACK.
A small object shattered on the ground—the token of Death he'd collected earlier.
As it broke, a bone-deep chill flooded the Changbai Mountains. The air grew heavy, oppressive.
Then, in the void, a ragged figure coalesced. It was Death itself—the myth given form.
The spectators gasped. They stared at the skeletal entity, the reaper from their nightmares. It drifted before Erwin, its presence suffocating.
Erwin smiled. The freezing aura rolling off the entity didn't touch him.
The moment Death appeared, golden light erupted around the mountains. Runes flared across the ground, forming a massive array that sealed the entire area.
Death looked up at the closing barrier, its voice a raspy whisper. "So, you have no intention of making a deal."
Erwin shook his head. "I do. But the terms have changed."
"I am a god," Death intoned, scythe materializing in its grip. "A true deity. Do you understand the price of blasphemy?"
Erwin's wand appeared in his hand, amethyst wood catching the light. "I intend to find out."
He pointed the wand at the entity.
"By the authority of the Cavendish family, I, Erwin Cavendish, declare war on the gods!"
Vortices spun open around him. The Cavendish wizards emerged from the shadows.
Old Tom placed a hand over his heart. "Tom Steward, answering the call of the House of Cavendish!"
Behind him, the rest of the family mirrored the gesture.
Death glanced at them, dismissive. Ants. Even in swarms, they were nothing.
Then the sky tore open.
The Kunlun Sect Leader descended from the heavens, flanked by his elders and disciples on levitating swords.
"Kunlun answers the call!"
From the forest, Lucius Malfoy strode forward, pure-blood families trailing him like a tide.
"Lucius Malfoy, acting as Head of House Malfoy, responds to the Cavendish family. We shall slay a god today."
The eastern mountains belonged to Kunlun. The west was held by the Cavendish line. The south belonged to the pure-bloods.
Only the north remained empty.
Grindelwald glanced at Dumbledore. "I never thought I'd see a moment like this. Dumbledore? What are you waiting for?"
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "To be honest... he's fulfilling an old dream of mine."
Grindelwald stood.
Behind him, the expressions of the spectators shifted.
"I, Gellert Grindelwald, along with the Acolytes, respond!"
Voldemort rose from his seat. Black mist swirled behind him—Death Eaters materialized from the shadows, their masks gleaming. Voldemort's lips curled into a manic grin.
"This feeling... isn't bad at all. How could I sit this out?"
He turned to his followers. They stared back, fanatical.
"Tom Riddle and the Death Eaters answer the call!"
Dumbledore stood next, his robes billowing. With every step he took, another figure appeared at his back: Mad-Eye Moody, the Hogwarts professors, Hagrid, Kingsley, the Weasleys—Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts alumni united.
In seconds, Death was surrounded on all sides.
Spectators who didn't belong to any faction watched, stunned. The events unfolded too fast to process.
But seeing Death encircled by hundreds of wands, a strange, wild impulse surged through them. The first wizard drew his wand. Then the next.
A forest of wands rose, all pointing at the reaper.
Mortals were declaring war on a god.
Death stood with arms crossed, scythe hovering before him. He showed no fear—only amusement. To him, this was a joke. Mortals couldn't harm a deity.
He looked at Erwin. "Well prepared. But still not enough. You don't understand what a god is. Since you've chosen blasphemy, I shall send you to your grave."
Erwin chuckled. "Is that so? No one understands gods better than I do. And no one knows the power in your hands like I do."
He patted the white jade dragon sculpture beside him.
Instantly, blinding white light erupted from it, crashing down on Death.
Death recoiled, shock flashing across its hollow features. "This power... The Land of Dragons' Rise... Damn it! You tricked me!"