57 Chapter 52 Riddle End.

Stuck there, motionless before a world collapsing in front of him, he lost everything. Nothing happened as he wished, leaving him only with hope. Ironically, he, who had always considered hope a futile vanity, now saw it as his only anchor. Believing in a better future, waiting for an opportunity, and enduring suffering while waiting. In his eyes, hope was nothing but a "Trojan horse," an indefinite torture awaiting a saving grace that might not even materialize. He preferred to take control of his destiny, as nothing good came from passive waiting. He was different from those unfortunate ones in the orphanage, waiting for a family to adopt them, and provide clothes, and food.

His eyes gleamed with determination and fury as if in response, his paralyzed body magically regained movement, but then his gaze turned icy, displaying a natural coldness of indifference. Tom Riddle stealthily entered the kitchen. The environment consisted of large handmade iron pots, a wooden floor, and slightly open glass windows, illuminating the place.

 There weren't many people there at that time, as it was late afternoon when the busy members of the orphanage kitchen went out to take a nap or a moment of rest. After spotting his target, he admired a carving knife, feeling its touch and weight in his hand; it didn't seem suitable, so he was dissatisfied and ended up choosing another, a chopping knife suitable for fish, although dull, it wasn't a problem as there was a sharpening stone there, which he skillfully used. After checking the edge and finding a satisfactory knife, he tucked it into the back of his pants hidden under his coat, and proceeded with a semblance that denoted false calm.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing in the kitchen?" shouted a woman wearing a worn dark green cotton dress and a white apron, protecting her clothing from the kitchen's filth, or protecting the kitchen from the impurity of her dress, uncertain to Tom Riddle.

Tom raised his voice calmly, although his eyes could barely hide a gleam of anger, noticeable even to the lady. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I apologize for entering the kitchen unannounced. I felt a little unwell at lunch and ended up skipping the meal. Now that I'm hungry, I thought of having something to eat."

As he explained, his eyes quickly moved to an apple in one of the baskets. He picked one of the apples, observing the lady's reaction, mainly in her dark brown eyes.

She, in turn, observed the battered boy, noticing bruises all over his body. This aroused some compassion in her, although something in his eyes bothered her. They didn't seem like the eyes a child should have. They reflected hatred, indifference, and malice. All of this was intuitively perceived by her, although she took no action, perhaps thinking that a little warm food might help him.

She said in a calmer voice, adding a touch of gentleness to her normally hoarse tone: "Alright, kid. I could prepare some leftover soup from lunch for you if you'd like, of course."

"No, there's no need. My appetite has been small for the past few days. Something light like an apple will do," he replied, still with a low, monotone voice.

She didn't seem satisfied and asked, "Are you sure?"

He simply replied, "No, not now. Thank you. I'm leaving."

She watched him leave with a look of pity but didn't interfere much. "If you need something to eat, you can come here anytime!"

He stopped, looked back, and gave a slight smile, although without expressing gratitude or emotion. "Yes, alright."

He left the kitchen with a barely contained smile on his face, a small victory, although not being caught was considered only a small triumph. This was important because it changed everything. Unlike other days, he had achieved something, he had won, showing himself capable. 

Strangely, his green eyes glimpsed a crow nestled on the trunk of a pine tree. The small animal seemed to watch him, and when their gazes met, it cawed, sounding like mockery. Tom did nothing more than snort at the bird, for he had something more important to do. With an even colder smile, he looked at a boy with white hair, who was in the pine grove accompanied by many children. Their faces aroused Riddle's uncontained rage, making him more determined, for it was these children who had beaten him up last month.

Tom Riddle approached the boy from behind and struck his back in the rib area. The first blow pierced directly into the lung; he felt the weight of the blade against the resistance of the skin, the violation of nerves and entrails, and the screams, the cries of pain seemed like a symphony to him, driving him to repeat again, and again. He repeated the act several times, shouting in fury, bursting with his repressed emotions. The screams of pain seemed like a melodic symphony to him, driving him to repeat. He controlled every aspect of this "song," a death maestro. The fools seemed powerless and did not stop him. He was having his revenge, taking everything from his enemy. It didn't matter anymore if he died; killing them was the ultimate victory.

After the feeling of euphoria passed and his mind returned to calmness, he observed the bloody boy on the ground without remorse for what he had done, but something seemed wrong: a smile. How could someone who had suffered so many blows smile?

Before he could comprehend what was happening, the crow descended from the tree, transforming into the human form of the albino boy, with a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Hi, Tom. What a show you put on there, huh? Almost got me, almost," he said, approaching as the illusory bloody copy on the ground rose, whispering with difficulty: "You don't seem very smart, do you? You know I have illusionary abilities and yet you think it would be so easy to catch me? You have nothing, Tom."

The triumphant expression faded from Riddle's face as quickly as the sinking of a cruiser hit by a missile. Then he shouted?

"This isn't happening. What have you done? This isn't real!"

Faced with an internal crisis, his psyche sank even deeper, and under pressure, his memories, once sealed, finally awakened.

"I am not Tom Riddle, I am Lord Voldemort. The Potters... Pastor of Wolves, illusions. I know everything now. How dare you toy with me like this?" Voldemort said slowly, as his memories flooded his mind. Everything he endured, was all just an illusion!

Claps. Clack, clack, clack...

Vincent (Pastor of Wolves) smiled even more and declared: "You lost control, your mind is under my dominion, but it's not your mind you should worry about. What do you know about souls?"

Taking note of the opponent's words, he felt, within his innermost self, his own essence, the place where his soul resided, an external and corruptive energy that was destroying him. And a fear passed through his core, not a fear explainable by emotions, but something even deeper: the Fear of the Soul.

"Too late."

Vincent conjured a blue crystal that shimmered like purple light. It had the shape of an octahedral crystal with rounded edges, embedded with demonic runes on each aspect of its surface. The runes emanated pure demonic energy, carrying the petrified state of Vincent's demonic essence. It was made to contain souls; he called it the Soul Stone.

When he activated the crystal, spiritual energy in the form of a clear blue smoke flowed from Voldemort's body toward the crystal. The pain of having one's soul stolen was indescribable. Riddle's body trembled, screamed, spasmed, and yet he couldn't alleviate or contain any bit of that pain. Upon completion, the mental image of Tom Riddle dissipated. Finally, he looked around the orphanage environment and the show he had put on for Tom, expressing a satisfied smile. He made a simple gesture. All reality began to unravel, disintegrating into atoms, from atoms to energy, and from energy to thoughts.

He blinked, and the scene returned to the place where he faced Voldemort, under the stormy night, heavy rain falling on the ruins of the Potter residence, seeing the soulless and mindless body of the dark lord lying on the ground, he felt satisfied, but he didn't pay extra attention to it; such a body had no value, as its essence had been disfigured by Voldemort's ritualistic practices, only retrieving James Potter's body.

Lily was confused. After her husband left to confront Voldemort, she found herself tasked with trying to save their son, little Harry. But all magical attempts to escape were impossible, and she could do nothing but embrace Harry and prepare one last ritual, a sacrifice ritual. She would save Harry, whatever the cost, such was her love for her son. But Voldemort never came. Faced with this, she left the room and peeked out the window. What she saw made her break into a cold sweat, and the Dark Lord himself was lying motionless. Tears began to well up in her eyes, perhaps hope. She looked for her husband; he might somehow have defeated the Dark Lord, but she didn't find him.

A dark cloud moved swiftly, taking the form of a man. Lily recognized such a man. He was Tom Vegas, and strangely he held her husband's body. She didn't understand what was happening, but let out a loud scream upon seeing Tom Vegas acting upon her husband.

The man conjured a knife and made a clean cut in James Potter's chest. Then, he chanted some words in a demonic language, and Jamie's stopped heart began to beat and pulse, coming out through the gash in his chest, floating as it shone in ethereal red light. The man summoned an ancient crimson grimoire, which sucked the pulsating and living heart of James, he closed the grimoire embracing it with one of his arms turning his attention to the lady who was at the window.

Tom Vegas (Vincent) looked at Lily and whispered softly with a solemn tone: "I'm sorry, I arrived late and couldn't save him. But you and your son are safe; Voldemort is dead!"

Before she could ask anything, or even understand why he removed James's heart, Tom's figure became spectral and disappeared, leaving behind a single coin. Recognizing Lily Potter, she noticed a golden coin full of symbols, highlighting a butterfly resting on a perfect triangle. She lay down on James's body and began to cry, pouring out all the anguish she felt in tears until Sirius Black managed to arrive at the scene, all he saw was his best friend dead, his wife crying on top of him, and Voldemort fell on the ground. He held his wand and ran to check Voldemort's body, upon confirming there was no threat, he ran to his friend and cried like a child beside Lily.

............................

A/N: This marks the end of the main event of this arc. First, I would like to apologize for my inconsistency in posting; I have difficulty maintaining a steady writing pace. Now, about this arc, I initially thought of the previous chapters of Vincent and Voldemort's battle differently; it would be a more direct contest in the mental world, but I changed my mind because that would only prolong it, and I wanted to start the next arc before Chapter 55.

Tell me what you thought of this arc, what you liked, and what you think should be different; your opinion is always welcome, thank you.

Notes on what's to come, next chapter on the consequences of the magical war and its end, then we'll have a Time skip, the main events happened in Hogwarts, Apothecary Temple, and Carnage Hall!