Voldemort hissed, the sound slipping from a mouth no longer wholly human. His features twisted further, stretched and sharpened by dark magic into something nightmarish, skin pale as bone, eyes glowing faintly an emerald green with a sickly green haze. His cloak snapped violently in the high-altitude winds as he stood suspended above the clouds, unsupported by broom or beast, floating by sheer will alone.
Below him lay a roiling sea of cloud and mist, endless and churning, illuminated faintly by moonlight struggling to pierce the gloom. The air crackled with raw magic, bending unnaturally around him as though reality itself recoiled in his presence.
His scaly fingers tightened around his wand.
With his free hand, Voldemort swept the air forward in a precise, almost lazy motion. The clouds responded instantly, screaming as they condensed and sharpened, transfiguring into dozens. No. Hundreds of gleaming silver blades. Each sword hovered effortlessly, points angled downward, vibrating with lethal intent.
"Go," he whispered.
The blades screamed forward, slicing through the clouds like arrows loosed from an unseen bow.
A massive shape surged through the mist.
The sudden rush of heavy fog burned Voldemort's eyes, flooding his vision with emerald fire. The air shook as something colossal displaced the clouds, its presence ravenous, making the dark lord shiver with excitement.
A roar echoed as though multiple throats cried out at once.
"Confringo!"
His voice cracked like thunder.
The silver blades struck as one, exploding into a swarm of fire and shrapnel. Flames tore through the fog, lighting the sky in violent bursts of orange and gold. The hidden beast howled in agony, its cry reverberating through the heavens, shaking the very clouds beneath Voldemort's feet.
He smiled.
"A beast all the same," he called coldly into the smoke. "You will bow… or you will die. Such is the mercy of your master."
The monstrous man surged forward, accelerating without effort. No broom supported him, no wings, no charm visible. His mastery of magic and body alike had long since freed him from such limitations. He had ascended beyond them, beyond humanity itself.
He darted through the mist, stabbing his wand deep into thick, pale flesh.
The resistance was immense, rubbery, dense, but his wand pierced through. He slashed sideways, tearing a wound open. Dark blood spilled into the air, drifting in heavy droplets before evaporating in the magical heat surrounding him.
The flesh rippled.
The wound sealed itself almost instantly, knitting together as though it had never been there.
But the blood remained.
Voldemort inhaled sharply.
A hunger surged through him, sudden and overwhelming, flooding every corner of his being. It was not merely physical, it was magical and primal. His soul screamed in response, trembling against the restraints he had long since shattered.
Burn.
The word echoed through his mind.
Burn everything.
He opened himself further, tearing open the gates that restrained his magic. Power poured out unnaturally, vast and corrosive. The sky darkened in response, clouds recoiling as if in terror. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
His body trembled, not with weakness, but with excess.
"Enough," he murmured to himself, voice silky and controlled despite the storm within. "Let us end this."
He raised his wand and then lowered it.
Instead, he whispered.
"Fiendfyre."
The word slid from his tongue with reverence and restraint. His hand traced a calm, elegant arc through the air, utterly at odds with the devastation he summoned.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the sky ignited.
Heat ripped through the clouds as they vanished in a violent rush of steam and flame. The mist dissipated, torn apart by something far greater than fire.
Revealed at last were the creatures.
Two colossal albino whales soared through the sky, larger than any living mammal should have been, their massive bodies defying all laws of nature. Their eyes were bloodshot and wild, filled with hunger and pain. Rows of jagged teeth lined their mouths, teeth meant not for filtering, but for tearing flesh from bone.
"Magnificent," Voldemort breathed.
Fire erupted before him, not ordinary flame, but something more permanent.
It was no serpent.
No dragon.
It was annihilation given form.
The Fiendfyre roared without sound, its shape constantly shifting and clawed limbs, fanged maws, burning wings folding and unfolding in endless fury. It moved with a sole purpose: to devour whom ever decided to stand before the one that had summoned it.
The fire-beast struck.
It collided with the first whale, consuming it instantly. There was no struggle, no escape. The creature was swallowed whole, body and soul alike, reduced to screaming ash within seconds.
Nothing remained.
The second whale cried out, a sound filled with agony and sadness at the loss. It turned its bloodshot gaze upon Voldemort, locking onto him with singular focus.
It charged.
The air tore apart as the beast barreled toward him, jaws open, intent on dragging him into death even if only to sate its final hunger.
Voldemort did not move.
He hovered calmly, arms at his sides, eyes unblinking.
"I do not fear death, beast," he said softly, his voice carrying effortlessly through the storm. "For I am its master."
The Fiendfyre descended.
It enveloped the second whale in a torrent of living flame, devouring it utterly. The sky burned for several long moments before the fire finally curled inward, shrinking, until nothing remained but scorched air and silence.
Voldemort exhaled slowly.
The clouds began to reform below him, timid and pale, as though afraid to draw his attention again. He straightened his posture, cloak settling around him like living shadow.
A thin smile curled his lips.
A battle none would ever know.
And one he would never forget.