Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Crack!!

The falling flute was sliced into two.

The cursed blade did not stop for even a moment—decapitation was set to happen within a second.

In a flash, Hoffa blocked the deadly strike mid-air with his back before taking Nicolas Flamel into the Phantom Walk.

A scorched smell filled the air.

Miller, with dark circles under his eyes, was panting heavily.

Two severed wings crashed down from the sky, hitting the ground hard.

Ten seconds later, Hoffa emerged from Phantom Walk, clutching Nicolas Flamel. He leaned against the hedges of the maze, his body trembling violently from the pain.

"How are you!?" he asked, his voice shaking as he held onto Nicolas Flamel.

"Cough, cough… you fool… your wings… they're gone."

Flamel gasped for breath, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale, spitting blood from his mouth. An arrow was embedded precisely in his heart, leaving him barely able to breathe.

"Don't die… don't die!"

Hoffa fumbled through Flamel's robes, desperately searching for medicine. His mind was a complete blank, as if filled with mush.

His hands trembled for what felt like an eternity, yet he found nothing. Frustrated, he grabbed his own hair in despair.

"Why!?"

The bitterness was unbearable. He was so consumed by grief that he didn't even notice Grindelwald approaching.

Aglaea was dead. Fatiere was dead. Chloe's body had perished. The Barty father and son were dead. And now, Nicolas Flamel was dying, too.

Was he cursed? Was he destined to bring death to everyone around him?

Flamel coughed heavily, as if experiencing a final burst of strength. He sat up with great effort.

"My heart… is pierced…" He coughed again. "I… I fear I have only a minute left. The rest… is up to you."

"Stop talking."

Hoffa refused to accept it. He grasped the transparent arrow lodged in Flamel's chest, wanting to pull it out but hesitating—he knew that the moment he removed it, the old man would die.

"Cough, cough… Don't overthink it. I'm dying anyway… I've lived long enough… But you still have your whole life ahead of you. Never give up."

"Shut up!" Hoffa was unwilling to accept this.

But Flamel extended his hand, gripping Hoffa's arm tightly. He forced an ancient, worn-out necklace into Hoffa's palm.

"Forget me, boy… They're coming… Go, and finish this!"

Hoffa could no longer ignore Miller and Grindelwald approaching. He stood up, placing himself in front of Flamel.

From a distance, Grindelwald strolled leisurely toward them, his face carrying a mocking smile. As he walked, he pulled a small black stone from his pocket.

Hoffa's pupils contracted sharply at the sight of it.

Grindelwald brought the stone to his lips and whispered, "He's about to die."

A white light emerged from the Resurrection Stone. A tall, slender figure stepped out of the light—not quite as solid as a living body but far more real than a ghost.

It was Aglaea.

She looked at Hoffa with sorrow, shaking her head repeatedly, as if warning him to run.

Grindelwald chuckled. "If anyone should witness this moment, who could be a better audience than her?"

"Grindelwald!"

Hoffa's rage boiled over.

"This time," Grindelwald said, his smirk vanishing, "you have nowhere to run."

He tossed the Resurrection Stone aside and turned his gaze toward Voldemort's revival pool.

There, Miller was climbing to his feet. He raised his wand and began chanting.

The incantation was more complex and obscure than anything Hoffa had ever learned. As he chanted, magic surged in the air like a tidal wave, creating intense fluctuations.

Hoffa couldn't let Miller complete the spell.

Using his Psychic Field, he controlled the ground beneath them, causing rocks to rise and surge toward Miller in an attempt to disrupt his casting.

But Grindelwald stomped his foot down heavily.

A mental force, like an unbreakable wall, collided with Hoffa's Psychic Field, cutting off his control over the ground. The rising waves of stone collapsed instantly.

Grindelwald stretched out both hands, forming a transparent javelin.

With a flick of his arm, he hurled the javelin at Hoffa like a spear.

In mid-air, the single javelin split into two—then four—then eight—then sixteen—multiplying endlessly until they became an overwhelming swarm.

Hoffa raised a single finger, and all the javelins transformed into butterflies mid-flight.

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. The butterflies morphed again—this time into spinning metal shurikens, cutting through the air toward Hoffa.

They slashed his skin, leaving deep gashes.

Hoffa knew Grindelwald was also a master of transfiguration. He turned, shielding Flamel as he crouched down.

The flying shurikens transformed once again—this time into harmless willow fluff, gently falling onto his body.

Grindelwald sneered.

In an instant, the fluff turned into thick, sticky spiderwebs, binding Hoffa tightly.

Fifty seconds.

Miller's spell neared completion.

In the night sky, a fireball appeared.

Then another.

And another.

One by one, they multiplied—meteorites.

Hoffa's breath caught in his throat.

The sheer magnitude of the attack even forced the black and white factions of warring wizards in the Quidditch stadium to pause their battle and look up at the falling stars.

Grindelwald continued walking forward, splitting into countless illusions.

Each illusion raised its hand, holding a sharp transparent dagger.

The meteors plummeted with terrifying speed.

Hoffa knew he couldn't withstand Miller's magic head-on.

He took a step back, preparing to carry Flamel into Phantom Walk.

Countless Grindelwald illusions stepped forward—just one step.

A powerful Psychic Shockwave, like a speeding train, crashed into Hoffa's mind.

The force rattled his brain, plunging him into complete darkness.

For three whole seconds, he was unconscious.

When he snapped out of the dizziness, the meteor shower summoned by Miller had already struck the ground beneath him.

He didn't even have time to enter Phantom Walk before the massive explosion engulfed everything.

The maze was swallowed by fire.

The Quidditch stadium crumbled under the bombardment, its beams and structures collapsing into the inferno.

Screaming spectators fell from the high stands like raindrops.

Fire engulfed Hoffa's vision.

By instinct, he retreated into the Shadow World.

Even in the gray, lifeless Shadow World, thick black smoke obscured his vision.

Ten seconds passed.

Forty seconds remained.

The moment Hoffa disengaged from his Phantom Stride, countless illusions of Grindelwald surged toward him, brandishing translucent daggers. Caught off guard, his left arm was severed instantly, and his body was riddled with gaping wounds.

Reaching up to touch his face, he felt the searing pain of a deep gash carved across his cheek, the blade having cut so deep it exposed bone, leaving his right eye a blurred mess of blood and torn flesh.

Even without seeing his reflection, he knew—his right eye was blind.

In the sea of flames, Aglaia's soul fell to her knees, covering her face, unable to watch any longer.

"Hahahahahaha~"

Near the resurrection pool, the blood-soaked infant Voldemort burst into maniacal laughter. "You're finished, you're finally finished, Bach."

As Voldemort's laughter echoed, his violet serpent, Nanjini, slithered out from the shadows, its presence as ominous as death itself.

Hiss...!

Drenched in blood, Hoffa clutched his ruined eye with one hand and dragged the dying Nicolas Flamel with the other, staggering backward. Though his night-born resilience granted rapid recovery, even he couldn't withstand injuries of this magnitude.

The battle seemed long and chaotic, but in reality, less than twenty seconds had passed. In that brief span, Hoffa had lost his wings, an arm, and his sight in one eye.

Had Flamel not been ambushed, had Miller not been controlled, perhaps he wouldn't have been crushed so easily.

But now, waves of pain crashed over his mind, drowning his thoughts in agony. His fading rationality screamed for him to flee, to escape while he still could.

In the distance, the resurrection pool spewed searing liquid. Infant Voldemort stood by its edge, poised for rebirth.

Miller began chanting anew, his magic surging with even greater ferocity than before. In the scorched, distorted sky, a meteor a hundred times larger than the previous one began to form.

Grindelwald strode through the flames, his eyes devoid of emotion behind the magical cage. The chaotic field of his psychic power spread outward, and grotesque, twisted insects crawled from the ground at his feet.

"It's over, Hoffa," Grindelwald declared, his voice cold and final. "You'll never be my equal. But I must admit, you're different from anyone I've ever met. Your existence brightened my lonely life, made it less dull. Perhaps when we awaken next, we could be teacher and student in harmony."

"Why waste words on him?" Voldemort cackled, sprawling on the ground. "It's useless, Bach. You're doomed! Hahahahaha! This time, you're destined to lose. Accept your fate!"

"Farewell," whispered countless Grindelwald illusions in unison.

They stretched out their hands, each arm morphing into razor-sharp tendrils, numbering in the thousands. If they pierced Hoffa, he'd be riddled beyond repair.

"Run, you fool!" Aglaia's soul screamed at him.

Nanjini lunged, jaws wide, aiming to crush Hoffa's skull. Her venomous fangs gleamed crimson in the firelight.

"Go... Go," Flamel rasped weakly in Hoffa's arms. "It's over... You... you must survive."

Forcing his one eye open, through the haze of smoke and blood, Hoffa saw Flamel's fading life, Aglaia kneeling in despair, the colossal meteor descending, the violet serpent striking, and his teacher, a figure of chaotic evil, closing in.

Thirty seconds.

Hoffa released Flamel, standing alone on the burning Quidditch pitch. He closed his remaining eye, abandoning even the thought of Apparition.

Grindelwald and Miller's combined assault had shattered any hope of retaliation. This was true despair. He had no allies left.

Even if he escaped this place, he couldn't flee this world, this timeline. This was a prison crafted meticulously by Sylbie, a cage from which there was no escape.

"Is that so?" a voice asked. "Is it really true?"

Hoffa's eye snapped open.

Harry Potter lay unconscious on the grass beside him. At some point, he'd appeared there, silently watching. Those emerald eyes were impossibly deep, as if time itself had frozen.

"Have you made your decision?"

Harry's lips barely moved, yet the voice echoed directly in Hoffa's mind.

Not Harry Potter after all—another puppet possessed by the God of Nightmares.

"It's time," the god whispered softly. "Say yes. Alone, you can't defeat them."

Hoffa stared at the boy before him, murmuring, "Do I have any other choice?"

"None," the God of Nightmares shrugged. "No other way, no escape. Even if you flee now, you can't run forever. Your only choice is to accept."

Hoffa let out a bitter laugh. "If that's true, then what was the point of running all year?"

"That's how people are," the god replied. "In youth, they believe they can defy fate. But in the end, everyone learns to compromise. You're no different. It's not too late to agree."

Flamel was at death's door. Flames licked at his skin and hair. Nanjini's fangs dripped with fresh blood. Grindelwald loomed ever closer, and the heat from the falling meteor made it impossible to breathe.

Hoffa's lips trembled. Swallowing his defiance, he closed his eye tightly. "I want to know... what happens if I say yes."

(To be continued)

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