Around the massive depression, purple flames formed a cage, trapping a large number of Acromantulas. As the dark green poisonous mist seeped inside, the eight-eyed spiders let out furious roars and howls.
Floating in mid-air, Grindelwald silently observed the scene before him. Watching the purple flames transform into a cage, the corners of his mouth curled slightly, as if unconsciously recalling memories from the past. However, his attention soon shifted to the red-haired girl casting a spell nearby.
His silver-white pupils locked onto Wanda's dark eyes.
And, of course, the dragon, Snow, perched on her shoulder.
The power of destiny gathers, illuminating your choices and guiding your thoughts.
At last, it has appeared before me.
Any resistance will only serve as further motivation. In the end, fate has already determined the answer.
Destiny—what a magnificent power, and yet… how wicked.
Suddenly—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
As the purple flames intertwined with the blood-red mist, Grindelwald shifted his gaze. His eyes focused on Voldemort and the blood gushing from his body—the blood-red mist bloodworms.
He had to admit, Voldemort stood in the same echelon as him, possessing undeniable skill.
That blood curse… it's truly dangerous.
He couldn't fathom how Voldemort controlled it with such ease.
Yet, what surprised Grindelwald the most was—
Fate itself seemed to be gathering around Voldemort.
Here, at this moment, it was as if the entire world was favoring him.
As if celebrating his actions.
Why?
Killing could, at times, earn one the favor of fate.
But there was no doubt—only those who stood against fate would be treated in such a way.
And yet… they have a so-called savior, beloved by fate.
Why, then, is this happening?
Doubt flickered through his mind as he hovered in the air, quietly watching Voldemort, Harry Potter, Wanda, Ian, and the others. He needed more information—more pieces to complete the puzzle forming in his thoughts.
Just then—
"Professor Credence, it's time for you to take action."
Ian's voice echoed through the air, and Grindelwald lowered his gaze to the ground.
Soon, a figure clad in black wizard robes stepped into view.
An old friend.
Grindelwald's lips curved slightly.
The concealment spell was impressive—Dumbledore and Voldemort had failed to notice him. Grindelwald wasn't surprised.
But fate had intertwined their paths far too many times.
From their youth, their destinies had clashed, twisted, and entangled, constantly drawn to each other.
And now, once again, fate had brought them to the same battlefield.
Grindelwald could feel it—their destinies colliding once more.
And yet, his old friend's luck was terrible.
Even now, as he hid, Grindelwald could see through him, as if tracing the lines on his own palm.
At this moment, it would be so easy to kill him.
The thought crossed his mind, but Grindelwald continued observing the battle between Credence and Voldemort.
The Obscurus' magic was indeed unique.
But in the end, it was still food for the Blood Abyss Insects.
Even with his own mastery over fire, Grindelwald knew these creatures were relentless—constantly evolving, adapting, refusing to be destroyed completely.
Voldemort, blessed by fate, had gained control of these fearsome creatures, making him an even greater threat.
"Lockhart, if you don't act now, your students will be doomed!"
Credence's voice rang out sharply.
Grindelwald's gaze snapped upward toward the sky.
A familiar figure clad in a seven-colored wizard robe came into view.
Lockhart.
At the same time, Lockhart was smiling at him.
Their eyes met—silver-white pupils locked onto emerald green ones.
They both smiled.
They had sensed each other's presence long ago.
As Lockhart's name was spoken aloud, Grindelwald finally revealed himself to everyone.
The battlefield was shifting.
On the ground, black mist intertwined with blood-red mist and purple flames.
In the sky, Lockhart and Grindelwald faced each other—one in vibrant wizard robes, the other in gray.
Whoosh!
As the blood-red mist gradually retracted, Credence dispelled the black mist of his magic, and Remy withdrew his purple flames.
The Blood Abyss' fog slithered back into Voldemort's body.
Slowly, Grindelwald and Lockhart descended to the ground.
"We meet again, Grindelwald," Lockhart said with an amused glint in his emerald eyes.
As he spoke, the power of dreams around him shifted, evolving into a pale golden glow—the power of destiny.
"Yes, Lockhart," Grindelwald replied calmly. "I must admit, I didn't expect us to meet here."
His gaze swept over the darkened Forbidden Forest, and he muttered with faint emotion, "If only Albus were here again."
Then, with a probing tone, he added, "Lockhart, I'm curious—what exactly did you say to Albus to persuade him?"
"He was always so resolute… I can hardly imagine him choosing to stand aside as a mere observer."
Lockhart, however, ignored the question. Instead, he idly toyed with the ring hanging from his hand.
Their conversation, however, did not sit well with Voldemort.
Ever since he had uncovered Lockhart as the mastermind behind the scenes, an uncontrollable killing intent burned within him.
The thirst for revenge gnawed at his mind.
"Grindelwald, if you want an answer, it's simple."
Voldemort raised a single finger and enunciated every word:
"Capture Lockhart. I will extract the truth from his memories."
A cruel smirk stretched across his face.
"Why waste time talking when bloodshed will tell us everything?"
As he spoke, blood mist surged from his body once again, forming a storm behind him.
Voldemort had always despised excessive talking before a fight.
Words rarely yielded useful information—everything always ended in battle regardless.
Of course, he was free to talk as much as he wanted.
But others?
Well, he was Voldemort—a master of double standards.
Grindelwald frowned slightly but knew that getting answers from Lockhart through conversation alone was impossible.
So—
Whoosh!
With a mere flick of his right hand, blue flames dripped onto the ground like water.
In an instant, Fiendfyre roared to life, surging outward and rapidly encircling them.
He didn't direct it at anyone—instead, the flames formed a massive ring around the battlefield.
The remaining grass inside the ring withered in seconds before igniting, unable to withstand the searing heat.
Soon, only scorched earth remained within the circle of fire.
Lockhart, Credence, Voldemort—all of them were now trapped inside.
A battlefield had been set.
"This is how it should be," Voldemort murmured, licking his lips in anticipation.
Behind him, the blood mist churned violently, expanding like a looming storm.
Lockhart's eyes gleamed with prismatic light as he extended his palm.
In an instant, a radiant barrier of dream energy erupted before him.
Wanda, Ian, Harry, Hermione, and the others hurried behind him.
As for Credence, he calmly stepped forward, joining Lockhart's side.
Raising his wand, the familiar black mist of his magic began to swirl once more.
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