HPxLOTM: A Wizard's Path to Divinity

"Blazing Inferno!"

BOOM!!!

A colossal dragon, dozens of meters tall and formed entirely of searing hellfire, erupted into being. It roared, spreading its flaming wings wide, and carried Edward soaring into the sky.

Edward stood atop the blazing dragon's massive head, waving his wand with reckless abandon, pouring out spiritual power as he shouted out a series of completely improvised spell names:

"Zeus's Wrath!"

From the sky above, streaks of violet lightning slithered like serpents—thunder roared like divine judgment.

"Sodom's Ruin!"

A barrage of burning meteors rained down like the apocalypse itself.

"Deluge of Noah!"

Torrents of water surged in from all directions, vast and overwhelming.

"Ragnarök Storm!"

"Ymir's Breath!"

"Catastrophic Planetary Devastation!"

"Eye of Ra!"

"True Several Thousand Hands!"

In the face of these so-called "spells," each one a natural disaster in its own right, Hvin Rambis seemed as insignificant as an ant. It looked as though he would be utterly consumed at any moment.

And yet, he remained perfectly calm.

With a single step forward, his body suddenly expanded, swelling into a towering, ash-grey dragon that pierced the sky. Compared to this dragon, Edward's fire dragon and all the incoming elemental cataclysms instantly appeared minuscule.

This was his true, fully mythical creature form!

"ROAR!!!"

The giant dragon howled at the sky.

The thunder, the meteors, the floods, the storms, the glaciers, the gigantic hands—everything was shredded like paper and reduced to nothingness in an instant.

"You old mutt! You think you're the only one who can transform?"

The next second, Edward's body dissolved into a mass of black mist, swelling rapidly in size. Soon, he had grown even larger than the dragon itself, sending tremors throughout the entire mental world.

BOOM!

The dragon collided with the Obscurus-like wraith.

Under the terrifying force of impact, the dragon's scaly body was slowly torn apart piece by piece. But in those golden vertical pupils, there was still only a calm, chilling focus. Its front claws stabbed into the misty form of the Obscurus, piercing through the illusion to strike Edward's soul directly.

The searing pain only fanned Edward's destructive impulses into utter madness.

Mental Plague.

"ROAR!"

The gray-white dragon roared again and spewed out an invisible breath of Dragon's Might, shredding apart the mist shrouding the Obscurus and revealing the true Edward at its core.

His face was twisted with frenzy.

"Magnify! Magnify! Magnify! MAGNIFY! Avada Kedavra!"

A blinding green bolt surged forward, forming a crackling chain of lightning that slammed violently into the dragon's head.

I don't believe it!

This is MY mental world!

Even Outer Gods—I've dared to fight them. What's one invading Spectator demigod?!

The gray-white dragon let out a low, guttural groan. Its golden eyes began to burn with fury.

Good.

Very good.

Once I breach your mental defences, all of this…will belong to me!

The silver-white dragon opened its jaws wide. A pale-white sphere rapidly coalesced at its mouth. This was not a ball of energy—it was a compressed mental storm, aimed at utterly annihilating Edward's will!

ROAR!

A white beam shot forth, clashing head-on with the green lightning chain. In just an instant, it travelled against the path of the chain, surging toward Edward.

Edward swung his hand sharply, flinging out every magical, extraordinary item and ability he could imagine: the Cards of Blasphemy, the Master Key, the Paper Crane, the True Creator's Journal, a jet-black puppet, the Box of the Great Old Ones—everything!

In a single breath, all the manifested objects were torn to powder, annihilated completely. The beam whooshed past, skimming the hair on Edward's head before blasting into the sky above.

Missed?

That lucky?!

Then, where the beam had struck the sky, a faint crack appeared—or rather, not a crack, but a door, softly glowing.

It was the same door Edward had seen every time he advanced.

Creak.

With a tooth-grinding sound, the wooden door was blasted open by the beam.

Crimson moonlight spilled out from the gap, dyeing the endless darkness in blood-red hues. The next moment, jarring and incomprehensible murmurs echoed across the dream world.

"Don't save me!"

"Don't save me!"

"Don't save me!"

Edward felt like he'd taken a blow to the head—pain, dizziness, and nausea swept over him.

But that was all.

He had long since grown used to Mr. Door's murmurs.

The silver-white dragon, however, reacted completely differently.

"Ahhh…."

It lost control.

From a majestic dragon, it twisted and deformed into a writhing blob of corrupted flesh—like a rotting maggot. Ten seconds later, the mass suddenly shrivelled, collapsing into a desiccated, squirming human body, groaning in agony.

Strike while the enemy's down!

"Magnify—Avada Kedavra!"

The emerald lightning chain struck Hvin Rambis once more.

His body trembled—then collapsed to the ground.

Lifeless.

Hvin Rambis…was dead.

Body, soul, and consciousness—completely, utterly dead.

No one knew how long passed before the crimson moonlight and Mr. Door's murmurs finally faded away.

Edward stood in silence for a long time.

That door…and the Mr. Door behind it—were they real?

Or just a figment of my imagination?

Or…was it related to the uniqueness of the Door pathway?

"Huu—"

Edward let out a long breath and guided his form toward the withered corpse of the Spectator demigod. Just as he was about to dissolve the "consciousness" or "soul" remains of the body entirely, a thought suddenly struck him:

"This desiccated corpse, existing within the mental world…could it be used for spirit channelling?"

He casually manifested some essential oils and powdered herbs, carefully dripping them into the twin flame candles that symbolised the Evernight Goddess.

Then he took two steps back and, in a solemn and reverent voice, recited in ancient Hermes:

"I beseech the power of the Night;

I beseech the strength of Secrets;

I beseech the blessing of the Goddess.

Grant me communion with the spirituality of this fallen extraordinary being beside me."

As the chant echoed through the space, Edward watched as tendrils of darkness began to seep out from the dusky flames, slowly engulfing both himself and the corpse.

Suddenly, the corpse of the masked man stirred, rising weightlessly into the air. The eyes hidden behind the mask no longer held intelligence—they were now dull, listless.

It worked!

Spirit channelling was possible even here!

Edward could no longer restrain his excitement. He stepped forward and asked in a low, commanding voice:

"Who are you?"

"…Hvin Rambis."

As expected—it was the old bastard.

Edward clenched his teeth.

I wonder if his coming here has anything to do with Adam…

No matter the reason—

This grudge, I will remember.

His expression shifted between gloom and fury for a long while before he finally growled:

"Tell me every potion formula you know."

Hvin Rambis replied numbly: "Sailor…Folk of Rage…Seafarer…Wind-blessed…"

———

[Inside the Church, Snowy Town]

Fors felt as if she had returned to the days when she wrote her very first novel. Tirelessly, she put pen to paper, scribbling out word after word with her quill—world-building, character sketches, story outlines—and then stitched those threads together into one seamless tapestry.

It was a kind of creation she had never attempted before.

Typical novels couldn't possibly accommodate hundreds of fleshed-out characters all at once, so she changed her approach: she made Snowy Town the heart of the narrative, and wrote a collection of short tales about travellers passing through and interacting with the townsfolk.

She wasn't chasing thrilling plotlines or captivating twists—those were far beyond her abilities.

Instead, she focused on reproduction: faithfully capturing the daily lives of ordinary people. She gave each character a distinct label—some had a signature action, others a favourite phrase, or a unique hobby…

To Fors, bringing a character to life didn't require verbose exposition. A single good label was often more effective than ten thousand words.

Like the owner of that fictional Desi meat pie shop she once wrote about—a man who claimed to be the last true heir of traditional Desi meat pies. Criticise his prices or his terrible flavour, and he'd just smile and say the customer was always right. But accuse him of not being authentic, and he'd be ready to fight you on the spot.

"Heh."

Jessica chuckled suddenly.

"I think I've really made progress in this story."

Fors blinked. "What?"

Jessica smiled faintly. "Because I finally created a character who isn't flat."

"She fell into darkness due to her obsession. She went mad trying to prove herself, seeking vengeance, dragging hundreds of innocents into the mess…"

"But at the same time, she preserved a sliver of kindness. She sealed away her darker self, and then…she worked with her former 'enemy' to defeat that darkness."

"In the end, the evil vanished. The hatred was resolved. The innocent were spared. The kind-hearted were rewarded. And she…she found redemption."

Jessica's body gradually became transparent, yet her face shone with a radiant smile.

"So? What do you think…does this character pass?"

Fors was silent for a moment. Then she, too, smiled.

"She passes."

"Liar," Jessica said, raising her head to gaze at the holy glow of the Evernight Goddess on the wall. She murmured, "Maybe…I shouldn't have chosen to become a writer in the first place."

Then suddenly, she looked Fors in the eyes and said earnestly:

"Be careful…of the one who controlled me, and controlled everything behind the scenes. "He"…"

Her body collapsed powerlessly.

Fors instinctively reached out to catch her—but her hands grasped nothing. Jessica dissolved before her very eyes.

Only her last whisper lingered in Fors's ears:

"By the way…that rushed bit you wrote just now—was really, really awful."

———

Back in the Church of Daylight

Klein continued to assault the monster, again and again—severing its tentacles, cracking its scales, even smashing its skull—all in hopes of identifying a fatal weakness.

Though his efforts failed time and again, he noticed something else:

The creature's regeneration was slowing down.

At first, it had restored itself with the speed of time reversing. But now…it was struggling—spitting out bullets from its body and sluggishly sealing wounds over long moments.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He snapped his fingers again and again, launching Air Bullets with each flick. In the gaps between, he fired precious Demon Hunting rounds, vanishing into flames just as tentacles whipped toward him—only to follow up with another blast of Holy Light.

Whoosh!

A shadow darted toward where Klein reappeared in his fire jump. He flicked a match to vanish again—but failed.

He was nearly out of spiritual power.

CRACK!

It felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

He flew several meters through the air, his internal organs crushed by the impact. Blood gushed from his mouth.

Still, he gritted his teeth and rolled aside just in time to dodge the next lash, and with effort, managed to fire another Demon Hunting round, severing the tentacle.

Huff—huff—

Klein gasped violently. His vision blurred. His whole body burned with pain.

No…I'm so close…

This kind of head-on battle was never suited for a Magician…

But still…

He staggered to his feet, loading the last few Demon Hunting bullets into his revolver.

Who says a magician always has time to prepare their act? Who says a magician can't perform under pressure? Who says without a plan, the show can't go on?

Klein took a deep breath, mustering every last ounce of strength. He raised the revolver.

"Come on."

At that moment, the monster's hundreds of tentacles began to thrash wildly—writhing, detaching from its body, and emitting high-pitched, agonised screeches.

It worked!

Joy lit up in Klein's eyes. The bottle of biological toxin he had thrown earlier—finally took effect.

The detached tentacles turned on their own body, trying to escape the infection. But the moment they tore free, they rapidly withered, dried up, and disintegrated into nothing.

And with them…the monster's vitality visibly drained away.

At last, the final tentacle fell away, and the remaining husk of the monster crashed from the ceiling, slamming heavily into the ground. The book and quill it always held slipped from its grasp.

It groaned, trying to inch its hands toward the fallen pen and book—but it was too weak.

It couldn't even lift its arms.

Ding.

Klein flipped a coin to confirm it wasn't faking, then strode forward and kicked the book and quill out of reach. He placed his revolver against its skull.

For the first time, it rasped in a brittle voice:

"…I…I haven't…finished…my…"

Bang.

Klein pulled the trigger without hesitation.

"You wrote plenty. Don't write anything else in your next life."

———

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