AN: Well... Hi?
Hehehe... Sorry for only uploading today, and well... I wasn't able to finish the chapter last Friday, and well, I stayed up all night to finish up the chapters, so yesterday when I finished them I went to sleep and woke only this morning....
Reaaally sorry about that!
So to compensate, I will release all three chapters tonight!
Here is the 1/3 chapter! Enjoy!
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Non-Administrated World #97, Star Rail Universe…
Dormammu watched as the dimensional tear he had tried to widen was repaired by silver light.
"…Tsk," he clicked his tongue in frustration.
Months had passed since he arrived in this universe and hid deep inside the Dimensional Gap. If Tom Riddle had not called for a being who could grant him power, Dormammu would have remained in the boundary between universes until he had completely recovered.
But thanks to Tom offering him the planet's life force, Dormammu had been able to heal the injuries he suffered from his previous confrontation with Sirin, Hayate, and Noah. All he needed to do was devour Tom's world. Once he claimed enough of its power, he would finally have the strength to fight back against Noah.
Despite everything, Dormammu is still a predominant being who has existed since the dawn of time. Against Sirin and Hayate, he believed he still held enough power to prevail.
But towards Noah?
He had to tread carefully. He could feel the power hidden deep within him. A force just below the multiverse's strongest beings, the Aeons.
That was why he had grown impatient when he sensed Noah's presence in this world. It was also why he immediately took advantage of the dimensional tears caused by the damage Rin and Luvia had left behind.
He needed this world's will. He needed its ultimate one as a source of power. Without them, fighting Noah would be… unwise.
Dormammu shook his head. He did not want to think about what would happen if Noah found him before that.
"…Akivili," Dormammu muttered, his voice low. "Even in death, you continue to prove yourself one of the most annoying beings in the multiverse, with only Aha rivals you."
Trailblaze was the power that connected paths. Space and dimensions fell within its broad reach. Because of that, beings like Dormammu were not simply enemies. They were obstacles on the path of Trailblaze.
And Akivili had removed such obstacles before, and now Noah would do the same.
Dormammu narrowed his eyes as the image of his enemy's younger alternate appeared before him. The boy did not possess the same power or strength as Noah Alden, but he had already proven himself a serious obstacle by repeatedly repairing the tears.
At this rate, the older Noah would find him soon, and if that happened, Dormammu would fall. He needed to act quickly, or this world would become his final stop.
"That is something I cannot let happen," Dormammu said.
So he needs to devise another plan. He needed Tom to distract the older Noah. He also needed a way to keep the younger Noah occupied long enough to break the barrier between dimensions and swallow the world.
Let the deranged man think he was the one in control. Let him believe he could actually command Dormammu.
"Really," Dormammu mocked, "an egotistical tool becomes very useful as long as you feed its arrogance the right scraps."
So, through their contract, he called Tom to make that useful tool work for him.
—---
Somewhere in Wizarding Britain, Tom Marvolo Riddle, or as he preferred to call himself, Lord Voldemort, stood over a wide table covered in maps, names, and reports.
He believed himself to be the heir of one of Hogwarts' Founders, Salazar Slytherin, because he could use Slytherin's family magic, speak Parseltongue, and had been recognized by Slytherin's familiar, a Basilisk.
Some names on the table belonged to families that had spoken against him. Others belonged to those who had not yet chosen a side. A few had already been crossed out.
The renewed attacks were working. Marchbanks had survived as intended, and his survival was more useful than death. A corpse speaks to no one, but a survivor makes ten houses whisper. Fear had begun moving again. Voldemort's control over Magical Britain was regaining its momentum.
But he was not satisfied. He could feel hesitation spreading among his followers. The failure at Diagon Alley had left a stain. His latest attacks had washed some of it away, but not all of it.
A new player had entered the board. A name was gaining attention now. Not publicly, but as a well-known open secret.
The Peverells had returned.
Voldemort's fingers tightened around his wand. Not because he feared the name itself, but because of the influence it carried. He did not care about old names, noble bloodlines, or blood purity. He only cared about power.
And the Peverell name had an influence that could shake the base of his own. With its importance in the magical society, many houses could move under the Peverell banner. Worse, the Peverells had access to the very roots of the magical system their society had been built upon.
There was another concern, too.
The Peverells had access to Soul Magic and extensive research about it. Voldemort was sure of this because he was, technically, also a descendant of the Peverell line. If that Peverell heir gained access to the main inheritance, then Voldemort's strongest defense—his immortality through the forbidden magic of Horcruxes—could become useless.
A Horcrux was created by splitting one's soul and placing the fragment inside a physical container. That fragment anchored the creator to the physical plane, allowing them to escape true death as long as they could eventually regain a body.
One of Voldemort's Horcruxes had been made using a piece of the Peverell legacy: the Resurrection Stone. An artifact capable of calling the souls of the dead.
In Voldemort's mind, if one piece of the Peverell inheritance could do that, then how much more could the whole inheritance do?
"…You truly leave me stumped, Peverell," he cursed.
Voldemort returned his attention to the map on the table.
According to the latest reports from his followers, the Potters and even Gringotts were moving. They were reaching out to Light-side families about an alliance against the dark times, since the Ministry of Magic was proving true to its nature.
Useless.
From what he had read, the Old Lion had prepared shelters for targeted families. Shelters that would lead to the rumored Peverell Sanctuary, places the old Peverells had created for magicals during persecution, one example being the so-called witch hunts.
"Charlus Potter," Voldemort muttered, glaring at the photograph of the man. "That old man is truly stretching my patience."
The photograph showed Charlus casually dismissing the Ministry and condemning Voldemort and his followers as "spoiled big children who whine because they didn't get what they wanted."
Voldemort's fingers tightened again.
Then he looked at another photograph.
Damien Greengrass.
That man had become the bridge between the gray-sided families and the Peverell heir. He had used the Greengrass family's influence over the Grays perfectly, making connections with those who wanted change but had been held back by pressure from both Light and Dark families.
Now, those people have found a voice. A banner and a reason to move.
"You may think you have the upper hand right now," Voldemort sneered, "but it will not last. I will make sure you regret opposing me, Greengrass."
Then finally, he looked at the image of the rumored Peverell heir.
A black-haired youth who looked as if he had only recently finished his magical education, yet carried the presence of a seasoned lord.
According to his followers, the young man was the one who had fought his forces in Diagon Alley and successfully defeated them.
Although the boy had not publicly announced his position, almost everyone in Diagon Alley had seen how he stood against Voldemort's followers as if their curses were nothing more than smoke in the wind.
They had seen how he carried power beyond known and current magic craft.
They had seen how he was with strangers who did not belong to any magical nation, people even Voldemort could recognize as outsiders.
Which is why no one dared to question the rumor that he was the Peverell heir.
Voldemort suddenly felt even more irritated because of it. He hated unknown pieces. He hated uncontrollable pieces.
Most of all, he despised the loud beat of his own heart, as if it were mocking him with the reminder that even he could fear someone.
"A-Ahaha… L-looks like… You can still feel fear," Elias said between rough breaths.
The manor went silent as Voldemort's smile thinned.
Elias coughed, but his voice remained clear enough.
"Y-you… would not need those stupid masks… marks, and burning homes… if you were not."
Elias Marchbanks' words surfaced in his mind.
Voldemort gritted his teeth and crushed the armrest of his chair. He glared at Noah's photograph so intensely that, for a moment, it looked as if he might burn it with his eyes alone.
He made a promise in his heart.
If anyone ever pointed out again that he, Lord Voldemort, was afraid, he would place them under Crucio for seven whole days before killing them as a reminder.
But before his thoughts could continue, he felt a pull in his mind. The contract he had made with the "great" being Dormammu tugged at him. He was being called.
Voldemort's face darkened. He hated that feeling. The feeling of being the one on a leash. He was the greatest Dark Lord who had ever existed. The newly crowned King of Magic. Not someone's lackey. Because that feeling told him he was not special. That there was someone far greater than him.
"…Just you wait, 'great' being," Voldemort muttered. "I will get back to you."
After leaving that promise behind, he closed his eyes and let his consciousness fall, like someone sinking into sleep.
—------
Eventually, he felt the same oppressive sensation. Still otherworldly. Still vast and heavy. But unlike the first time he met Dormammu, Voldemort was able to remain standing.
Then he opened his eyes and saw the same vast, alien dimension.
Before him stood the towering figure of Dormammu, looking down at him.
Another spark of irritation rose in Voldemort's heart, but he forced it down. Now was not the time to confront this being. Once he was prepared, once Dormammu's usefulness had ended, he would make this being regret trying to control him.
"You call at a poor time," Voldemort said.
He did not bow. He remained standing, cold eyes fixed on Dormammu's figure.
Dormammu narrowed his eyes at Voldemort's disrespect but allowed it to pass. "All your 'time' is poor, Tom Riddle."
The land mass where Voldemort was standing cracked from the pressure of his magic.
"I have warned you about using that name."
"And I have heard you," Dormammu replied, unbothered by Voldemort's warning. "That does not mean I care."
Neither spoke after that; they simply stared at one another, gauging and testing.
"So the great Dormammu calls me merely to irritate me?" Voldemort broke the imposed silence.
"No," Dormammu answered. "I call because your board has changed."
Voldemort's expression sharpened.
"The Peverell heir. The enemy you spoke of."
"No. Not only him now."
Dormammu waved his hand, and an image appeared between them.
It showed a damaged street in Uminari City. A boy in silver and black armor held a girl in red and pink magical girl attire in his arms. Under different circumstances, the scene might have looked romantic, like a knight carrying a princess after a rescue.
But neither of the two monsters cared about that.
Their attention went straight to the boy's features and to the way the dimensional tear had been repaired by his magic.
Voldemort stared, eyes narrowing. "That boy looks like the rumored Peverell heir, only younger."
"That is right," Dormammu confirmed. "This boy is his alternate living in this world."
Voldemort studied the image again. Just as he first thought, the boy was younger and smaller. His power was different, too. He did not carry the same strange pressure as the older Noah Alden.
But the resemblance alone was enough to be an inconvenience and to be hated.
"So another version of our obstacle," Voldemort said coldly.
"Indeed," Dormammu agreed. "The older one is in league with your enemies and gathering allies, while the younger one repairs the tears in the dimensional walls before I can fully open them."
His expression twisted with displeasure as he glared at both versions of Noah.
"I pushed through the weak points caused by the local magicals. I let the Quantum Shadows spill into reality. It should have weakened the barrier. Instead, the alternate sealed them before they could widen."
Voldemort's eyes remained fixed on the younger Noah before he scoffed at Dormammu.
"And you are unable to stop a child?"
The space around them shook under Dormammu's aura.
"Careful, human, or I may erase you regardless of our contract."
Voldemort's smile remained, but his hand tightened around his wand. "Ahahaha! That is rich coming from someone who came to me because his own plan failed!"
"I come to you because your usefulness has not yet ended."
"Then speak plainly."
Dormammu's eyes narrowed.
"We need to deal with both of them at once."
Voldemort said nothing and 'allowed' Dormammu to continue.
"The older one must be distracted from hunting me. He must be forced to respond to your war, your attacks, and your fear. He has already begun moving toward the Peverell sanctuaries. Use that. Attack the families trying to reach them. Force him to protect the roads instead of searching for me."
Voldemort's expression turned thoughtful.
What Dormammu said aligned with what he already intended. The Peverell heir had become a banner. And that banner needs to fall.
"And the younger one?" Voldemort asked.
"He must be occupied where he is. He repairs the tears too quickly, so we give him something messier."
Dormammu waved his hand again, and the image of Noah Schweinorg faded and was replaced by five sites that could be found across the globe.
"What are those?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes in interest.
"These are the five places I found where the dimensional wall is the thinnest," Dormammu said. "I exploit it and sent a large invasion force to that world to make it submit and keep those people busy."
Voldemort watched the image carefully.
"If you know those areas, why not use those to come into the world?" Voldemort asked,
Dormammu tried to keep his expression neutral, but a slight displeasure briefly appeared on his face, and Voldemort noticed it immediately
"Unfortunately, despite my efforts, the dimensional barrier of this world is still holding strong," he replied. "I can make a hole indeed. Big enough for an invasion force but not enough for me to fit in."
Voldemort understood what he meant. Because the world was still rejecting Dormammu's existence, he could touch the boundary, push through the weak points, and let monsters spill into reality, but to manifest properly was another matter.
And that was where Voldemort came in.
"So you do need me after all." Voldemort's lips slowly curled upward.
"I need a hand that belongs to this world." Dormammu's eyes narrowed.
"Call it whatever you like," Voldemort said, his smirk sharpening. "It will not change the fact that you need me."
The void trembled as Dormammu flared his power in irritation. The floating land masses around them broke apart, and space twisted under the pressure of his displeasure.
But this time, Voldemort was not overwhelmed. With Dormammu's power running through him and his own magic twisted into something beyond what he once possessed, he could at least remain standing with dignity.
That alone fed his arrogance.
Dormammu saw it, and unsurprisingly, he let it be. After all, it was still within his calculations. Tools were more useful when they believed they were hands.
"Believe what you wish, Tom Riddle," Dormammu said. "As long as you do what is required."
"…Tell me what you need." Voldemort snorts coldly.
Dormammu lifted one hand and pointed at those five locations.
A stone formation near Wales in England.
A giant tree that sat on top of a leyline convergence in Japan.
The proud Pyramids that contain the mysteries of magic in Egypt.
A populated city in the north, called the Big Apple, in North America.
And finally, a crossing lay between the sea, land, and air transportation in the Mediterranean.
"These are only a few weak places we can exploit," Dormammu said. "Unlike the normal tears, these spots are a natural convergence between the imaginary and reality planes. I need you and your people to wreak enough havoc and make sure the two are occupied."
"Ahahaha! That's all?" Voldemort grinned. "Simple. I like it."
Dormammu looked at Voldemort with contempt. The fool still thought he was the one in control.
"I do not care how you would do this, but you must do this before anything else," he continued. "The older one must be forced to respond to the attacks. He will not ignore people being targeted. He will protect them. That is his weakness."
Voldemort's expression brightened.
"Ah… protection. How foolish." He grinned. "That kind of power always comes with chains."
Dormammu ignored Voldemort's self-importance and continued.
"Next is that I will send a fragment of myself to you, and you need to implant it in the giant tree in Mahora."
Voldemort understood the plan.
The younger one could indeed repair the tears, but the panic those tears carried with them? He still could not handle it the way the older one could.
Could the younger Noah protect civilians, fight beasts, repair dimensional damage, and control panic all at once?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Either way, time would be lost.
"We need to make this bigger and messier," Dormammu said. "The Quantum Shadows we call shall overwhelm them with sheer numbers. The fear they create will feel far more real."
"So we make both of them run toward different fronts," Voldemort said.
"At last, you understand." Dormammu, despite himself, smirked.
Voldemort ignored the insult. His mind was already forming the plan.
"If I send my followers to the spots you mentioned, and if you increase the disturbances around the younger one, he will remain there."
"And while they remain divided," Dormammu said, "I will attack the true target."
Voldemort turned his eyes toward Dormammu.
"The true target?"
"You do not need to know yet," Dormammu replied.
Voldemort's expression turned cold. "I decide what I need to know."
"You decide nothing about my entry point."
The atmosphere between them became hostile once more.
"Careful, great being. You still need my hand." Voldemort smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"And you still need my power," Dormammu returned.
Cold silence wrapped around them. Eventually, Voldemort chose to step back. Not as surrender, but as calculation.
"Very well," he said. "And if they interfere with us?"
"Then fight back. No need to show mercy," Dormammu said plainly. "Use those people they deem important."
The image focused on Alisa. Then it went to Sirin, Hayate, Reinforce Zwei, March 7th, Caelus, Himeko, Dan Heng, and Welt Yang on the older Noah's side.
Voldemort understood at once.
He ignored those standing beside the older Noah for now. The girl near the younger one was new. Inexperienced. Brave enough to stand, but not yet strong enough to survive alone.
And with the younger one's knightly conduct, he would definitely reveal himself when someone weaker was in danger.
"How sentimental," Voldemort said.
"How exploitable," Dormammu corrected.
Voldemort's smile sharpened. To him, there was no difference.
"Now then, the plan is set. Remember your role, Tom Riddle," Dormammu said, his pressure pressing down like a final warning. "Once your part is done, you may do whatever you want."
"…I know," Voldemort answered.
"Good. Until then."
Dormammu cut the connection without another word and sent Voldemort back.
When Voldemort's consciousness returned to reality, he opened his eyes and smiled coldly.
"This war has been too polite."
He rose from his seat and pointed his wand over the map.
"Soon, I will remind Britain that monsters do not only wear masks."
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