novelnext Chapter 340 The Fog of Destruction
Chapter 340 The Fog of Destruction
Chapter 340 The Fog of Destruction (6K) (1/2)
In the area where the fog had been dispelled, the warm glow of the burning tents and the lingering gray fog in the distance created a chilling divide. In the center of this unnatural light, several figures were suspended in mid-air by an invisible magical force.
Those were Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager, and his family.
They wore only thin pajamas, appearing incredibly vulnerable in the cold night air. Mr. Roberts' body was contorted in an unnatural arc, his neck tightened by an unseen rope, his face a horrifying purplish-red from the backflow of blood and suffocation, his eyes bulging, his mouth opening and closing in vain, only emitting intermittent, bellows-like "squeaks," saliva uncontrollably dripping from the corners of his mouth. His limbs would occasionally twitch spasmodically, causing his entire body to spin and sway slightly in the air, like a broken marionette.
His wife was hanging upside down, her pajamas hanging down, revealing a bunch of fancy underwear. She was screaming in terror, as if screaming loud enough would wake her from this nightmare.
But the most striking thing about them were those two tiny figures.
Those were Mr. Roberts’ children, one of the boys, perhaps only five or six years old, whose thin bodies were bound by the same magical ropes and suspended slightly lower.
His struggles were weak; his face was an ominous ashen white, his eyes were half-closed, and only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive. Some kind of dark magic seemed to be eroding his young body, making even his instinctive struggles seem feeble.
Lynch's entire senses, his boiling murderous intent, and his suddenly torn reason were all firmly and tightly nailed to these few lives that were hanging there, slowly dying out in agony.
Especially that child.
The image of the child suspended in mid-air, silently enduring pain, struck me deeply.
The floodgates of memory were shattered in the most brutal way.
It's not a fleeting image, but a complete sensory experience.
The cold night wind by Lake Windermere instantly replaced the sweltering air of the camp.
The small, swaying figure before my eyes overlapped with the weight of the gradually cooling person I remembered being held in his arms.
My nasal cavity seemed to be filled again with the dampness of the lakeside, the smell of blood, and the acrid smell of the campfire after it had died down.
The warmth of "Lucy," which had been slowly fading away, resurfaced clearly and intensely in my palm.
"It's so cold————"
That murmur that transcended time did not echo in his ears, but seeped out once again from the deepest, most bleeding wound in his own soul.
The eternal regret stemming from those two missed opportunities by the lake, the soul-consuming sense of powerlessness, and the profound self-loathing for his own narrow-mindedness, transformed into the cold fuel that drove him to relentlessly hunt down dark wizards for the past six years.
At this moment, the scene before him was as if fate had laid bare his deepest nightmares and incriminating evidence before him, in the most cruel way.
This is not a "similar event".
This is the most vicious interrogation of the meaning of his existence as the "Mist Hangman," and the most direct trampling on the unhealed wounds deep in his heart.
"I swear—I will not let—a single one—go."
The vows of the past screamed in my mind.
It was no longer a rational belief, but had become an instinct, a destructive command bursting forth from the very marrow, a mixture of overwhelming regret and rage.
The mist surrounding Lin Qi suddenly fell silent, then began to collapse wildly inward, its color rapidly darkening from grayish-white, as if a black iceberg inside him was collapsing, releasing an absolute zero cold wave.
The moisture in the air instantly froze, turning into fine black ice crystal dust that drifted down around him, making an extremely faint sound, like shattering glass.
A low, dangerous hum came from the void where he stood, and the space itself seemed to be slightly distorted.
His gaze crossed the boundary between light and darkness, like two icicles imbued with all negative emotions, nailed firmly to the suspended, dying child and the invisible magical "rope" that was faintly visible, extending from somewhere below and maintaining this cruel magical effect.
All thoughts about strategy, control, and the big picture evaporated at this moment, completely swallowed up by the cold touch of memory and the cruel reality before my eyes.
The next instant, Lin Qi's figure disappeared from the thick fog.
There was no process, no trajectory.
The airspace where he was originally located seemed to have been bitten off by something invisible, creating a brief and abrupt vacuum depression.
At the edge of the cleared, light-filled area in the center of the camp, in the shadows where the thick fog met the pale light, a figure emerged.
He didn't "appear," but rather emerged directly from the deepest depths of despair and anger.
He was surrounded by a tangible, swirling, dark mist, darker than the night, which seemed to absorb all the light around him.
He stood there, his gray eyes devoid of all human emotions, leaving only a chilling coldness that froze everything, and within that cold core, a pale flame about to consume everything.
His very existence was like a fragment of a nightmare that had intruded into the real world, carrying a silent yet overwhelming killing intent, his gaze fixed directly on the source of the magical "rope" below that was holding the child up.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Immediately afterwards, darkness came to life at the edge of the area where the fog had been dispelled.
It wasn't a natural change of light and shadow, but a thick, almost tangible fog, like a black tide or countless greedy tentacles, that swept across the boundary between light and darkness at a speed that defied the laws of physics, rushing towards the few floating orbs of light in the center and the Death Eaters casting spells below.
The moment the light from the fire touched the black fog, it made a sizzling sound that made your teeth ache, as if cold water had been poured into a hot oil pan, or as if the light was being swallowed and dissolved by something deeper.
The light quickly dimmed and shrank.
The Roberts family, suspended in mid-air, suddenly sank, then were entangled and pulled by several gray-white mist ropes that shot out rapidly from the churning black fog. They were dragged into the dense safety fog at a speed that was gentler than when they were ascending, yet absolutely stable, and out of the Death Eaters' sight.
Below came a roar of alarm and anger, mixed with a sudden increase in the pitch of a distorted incantation.
"Who?!"
"Enemy attack! In the fog!"
"Thunderbolt Explosion—Ugh!"
The last sound, attempting to cast an explosion spell, abruptly stopped.
Instead, there was a dull thud, like a heavy object hitting a thick sandbag, and a short, almost inaudible groan, forced down the throat.
Then came a second, similar muffled thud, coming from another direction.
The clear, crisp sound of bones breaking was particularly jarring in the otherwise quiet clearing, except for the wind and the distant clamor of the camp.
The black mist churned even more rapidly. It no longer merely spread from the outside, but erupted from within like a living monster, quickly filling the entire area where the mist had been dispersed. It became even thicker and darker than before, swallowing everything in its path.
The few orbs of light used for illumination and maintaining the levitation spell flickered a few times like candles in the wind before going out one after another.
Completely enveloped in darkness and fog.
From within the fog came hurried, frantic, and utterly chaotic chanting. The light emitted by the wands, whether red or green, briefly tore open slits in the black fog, only to be quickly filled and covered by more mist, like pebbles thrown into mud, not even lasting ripples. The only things illuminated by those lights were the horrified, distorted profiles of their companions and the fleeting, ghostly silhouettes that appeared and disappeared in the fog.
"Where is he?!"
"Back to back! Back—"
"My wand! Has anyone seen mine?!"
Screams, thuds, falls, cracking bones, and the sound of objects being roughly destroyed—these sounds were not frequent, even sparse, but each one signified the silence of a combat unit.
The flow of the mist carried a cold rhythm, as if an invisible hand was stirring it. Occasionally, a dark shadow could be seen being lifted up by the mist and slammed to the ground, or crashing into the remaining tent frames with a chilling thud before falling silent again.
Lin Qi's figure was never clearly visible.
He was as if he were the fog, the darkness itself, the silent disaster that had descended upon this place.
Kill them!
Twist that fragile neck!
Tear their heads off their spines completely, like tearing off a vicious weed!
A chilling rage and a destructive impulse stemming from trauma roared in his chest, each falling Death Eater's figure overlapping the laughing silhouettes of those on the lakeshore.
The magic at his fingertips surged, almost transforming into the most primal and violent physical tearing force.
However, just as that fatal thought was about to turn into action, a hiss—!
A scalding, sharp pain, carrying a strong warning and a sense of restraint, suddenly shot up from deep within his right arm without warning!
It wasn't muscle pain; it was more like a flame igniting directly from the brand of the soul contract, instantly spreading along the nerves in his arm to his entire body, bringing a violent spasm that almost deformed his movements. It felt as if a red-hot iron chain was tightening and searing beneath his flesh.
An unbreakable vow.
The inviolable magical pact he had made with Dumbledore. The most crucial rule within it, like a red-hot branding iron, was now clearly imprinted in his mind: one must not kill.
Violation results in death.
These cold rules, at the moment when his bloodlust reached its boiling point, transformed into the strongest shackles, forcefully pulling back his uncontrollable rage stemming from dark memories.
"Uh—" A very low, almost imperceptible groan was suppressed deep in his throat.
The force he intended to apply, enough to shatter the skull and break the neck, was forcibly twisted and diluted at the last moment. The force directed towards the ground, enough to cause severe unconsciousness and multiple fractures, avoided the true fatal points. The angle at the joints, enough to inflict crushing pain and permanent damage, deviated from the spine at the last moment.
We must not kill them.
But it can be destroyed.
From within the mist, a low, suppressed gasp, like that of a wounded beast, seemed to drift by, vanishing in an instant, drowned out by the muffled thud of a Death Eater being struck in the face by a heavy tentacle formed from the mist, its nose collapsing and teeth shattering.
The battle, or rather, the one-sided devastation, ended quickly.
As the last painful whimper faded into the thick fog, only one Death Eater remained standing—the tall, masked wizard who had initially maintained the spell that held up Muggle families. He leaned against the only remaining wooden lamppost that hadn't collapsed, his wand pointing at the swirling fog ahead, his hand trembling violently, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.
His companions around him had all fallen to the ground, their postures contorted, their fates unknown, half-hidden by the flowing mist.
The thick fog, as if it had a life of its own, parted in front of him, making way for him.
Lin Qi's figure emerged step by step from the deepest darkness and mist.
His steps were steady, even too steady, but the almost solidified low temperature and killing intent emanating from him made the air crackle and freeze. His right hand, with its five fingers slightly clenched, yet with an imperceptible stiffness, the outline of his arm seemed unnaturally taut beneath his black robe.
His grey eyes, like two frozen wells, reflected no light, but were fixed on the last Death Eater.
No words were spoken.
He raised his seemingly stiff right hand and made a grasping motion towards the terrified Death Eater.
"No—no—" the Death Eater screamed in despair as his wand emitted its final burst of light.
But all resistance is futile.
Several chains, formed from condensed mist and with edges gleaming with icy light, suddenly shot out from all directions, instantly wrapping around his limbs, neck, and torso, locking him tightly to the lamppost. The chains tightened, his bones creaking under the strain, and the Death Eater's face turned red and contorted with pain and suffocation, his eyes bulging.
Lynch's fingers slowly, bit by bit, tightened.
My heart is roaring.
Kill him.
Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!
The burning pain deep in my arm exploded again, sharper and more intense than before, with a clear premonition of impending death, like a red-hot needle piercing my soul!
His knuckles were clenched so tightly they turned white, and faint, irregular red marks even appeared on his forearms, as if lava was flowing inside—an outward manifestation of the oath magic being intensely activated.
Finally, the hand that was about to clench completely stopped just before it could crush the other person's heart and throat.
The tightening of the chains came to an abrupt halt, remaining at a critical point that was extremely painful but just enough to avoid immediate death.
The Death Eater's eyes rolled back, and he was on the verge of unconsciousness.
Lin Qi stared intently at his opponent, his chest heaving slightly. The boiling, black killing intent, like a torrent blocked by an invisible dam, surged fiercely deep within his frozen eyes, yet could not advance any further.
A long time, or perhaps only a moment.
His clenched fingers, extremely slowly, with an almost cruel restraint, loosened.
"Gulp—uh—" The Death Eater slipped and fell to the ground, coughing and convulsing violently, but he was still alive.
Lin Qi stopped looking at him. He raised his right hand and glanced at the red mark on his forearm that was fading rapidly but still seemed to retain a burning sensation. Then, without warning, his figure disappeared again into the closing fog.
All that remained was a scene of devastation, and the Death Eaters, though none of them were dead, were still in a coma despite being severely injured.
The very next second, Lin Qi's figure completely disappeared into the mist, as if he had never existed.
About thirty yards away from the clearing where the one-sided crushing had just ended, a rather elaborate tent decorated with dark green stripes had its thick canvas curtain carefully lifted, just enough to reveal a gray-blue pupil that was constricted by extreme shock and fear.
Lucius Malfoy almost stopped breathing.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the curtain, his neatly manicured nails digging deep into the thick fabric.
Beneath the luxurious silk blouse, her heart pounded against her ribs with unprecedented force, each beat carrying a chilling lingering fear.
The moment the thick fog began to spread and obscure the starlight, a feeling forged from years of walking on the edge of darkness...
An almost instinctive sense of alertness seized him.
The hangman is here!
He realized this instantly.
So while the other Death Eaters were still fanatically carrying out orders to create panic, or like that group of fools over there, gloating over their small amount of fog and mocking their captives, Lucius had already quietly retreated. His keen eyesight quickly spotted a tent among the deserted tents with its door wide open because its owner had fled in panic.
Its location is clever, both away from the central chaos and offering an excellent, inconspicuous angle of observation.
He hid inside, holding his breath, like the most patient spider, waiting to verify his guess.
Then he witnessed it all.
That was definitely not the usual way human wizards fought.
It wasn't a battle of spells, a contest of skill, or even the flamboyant and evil outpouring of dark magic.
That is a phenomenon.
The fog itself possessed a will, transforming into the coldest, most precise, and cruelest execution tool.
Darkness manifested as a behemoth that devoured light, and silence transformed into a weapon more chilling than any scream.
He watched as his usually formidable companions were easily broken, knocked down, and crushed in the churning black fog, like helpless scarecrows.
Their incantations were like sparks thrown into a deep pool, and their screams were quickly replaced by muffled thuds.
The whole process was breathtakingly fast, yet it possessed an almost artistic, cruel efficiency.
What made Lucius's blood almost freeze was the figure that emerged when the fog briefly parted.
That exquisite gray suit, that slightly thin yet upright figure, that jet-black hair that gleamed coldly in the pale afterglow, and—that profile that was excessively young, yet shrouded in an absolutely inhuman coldness and murderous intent.
Lynch.
The man who always stood by Reggie's side, whom Reggie considered his right-hand man. The man who gave up a powerful position at the Stone Tower Merchant Guild to go to Hogwarts and interact with the students.
All the clues, all the doubts, all the vague guesses, were shattered at this moment by the incredibly clear and shocking facts before him, and then reforged into a conclusion that made his very soul tremble:
Not a pawn, not a subordinate.
Jim Lynch is the man behind "The Mist Hanger".
The impact of this realization was even more intense than witnessing the brutal and efficient suppression firsthand.
It overturned all his previous assessments and plans, instantly elevating a "potential associate" that he originally thought he could observe, utilize, or even potentially trade to a completely different and extremely dangerous level.
madness!
How incredibly foolish!
Lucius felt a chill run down his spine and into his head.
They couldn't even tell who was truly important!
Outside the tent, the thick fog had completely closed in again, engulfing the open space and the Death Eaters lying on the ground, their fates unknown.
All was silent except for his own suppressed, slightly trembling breaths and the roar of blood rushing to his eardrums.
This deathly silence did not last long.
A voice, cold, steady, and devoid of any emotional fluctuation, seemed to pierce through the fragile canvas of the tent, penetrating Lucius's ears with a clarity that sent chills down his spine: "I'm still wondering which slightly clever rat has taken refuge in this corner."
Lucius's body suddenly stiffened, as if his blood had frozen instantly.
The voice paused, then, with an almost imperceptible yet chillingly knowing tone, said, "So it's you, Lucius."
Each syllable was like a tiny ice needle, pricking Lucius's nerves.
It was discovered!
From beginning to end, his supposedly discreet observations were perhaps entirely within the other party's perception.
The chill exploded from the tailbone all the way to the scalp.
There was no room for hesitation.
Any delay or sophistry, in the face of such an existence, could invite immediate destruction by the very efficiency he had just witnessed.
Lucius Malfoy took a deep breath—a movement that used almost all the courage he had at that moment—and forcefully ripped open the tent flap.
The thick fog surged before him like a living thing, but it thinned slightly towards the tent entrance.
The figure in the exquisite suit stood quietly a few steps away, almost blending into the surrounding gloom.
Lin Qi's face was expressionless, but his dark eyes were calmly looking at him, as if he were looking at a dead man.
There was no anger, no threat, not even the cold killing intent he had shown when dealing with the Death Eaters, but rather a more suffocating, all-seeing penetrating gaze.
Lucius made no unnecessary moves.
He stumbled a step and stepped out of the tent, his expensive dragon-skin boots treading on the damp, muddy ground.
Then, he did something that would make anyone who knew him and was aware of his arrogant personality drop their jaw in astonishment—
Without hesitation, he knelt down before Lin Qi.
He completely ignored the discomfort caused by his knees hitting the cold ground.
He lowered his head, his long, light-gold hair slipping from his shoulders. His voice was tense from trying to suppress his fear, yet it carried a deliberately adjusted tone, trying to sound as submissive as possible: "Your Excellency."
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