The Unforgivable Curses?
Eredin rolled his eyes, straining to see Voldemort's expression—he wanted to witness the look on his face now.
Voldemort explained calmly, "The Imperius Curse makes one completely loyal to me."
Eredin couldn't see Voldemort, as the dark wizard stood too close. His eyes shifted back to the navigator—who remained utterly still, calm, unchanged.
No wonder he'd betrayed Eredin so quickly.
It was magic.
Magic that could manipulate a person's will, yet leave their consciousness intact.
Voldemort went on, "There are three Unforgivable Curses. Would you like me to introduce the other two?"
It was phrased as a question—
—but Voldemort raised his wand and aimed at the navigator, speaking with almost cheerful ease: "Crucio!"
The man crumpled to the floor, writhing like a tangled rope, screaming in anguish, a torment worse than death. The color drained from his face in an instant.
Eredin remained impassive. He was no naive youth. A bit of torture was nothing that could shake him.
After a few seconds, Voldemort lowered his wand and cast a glance at Eredin.
He smiled and continued: "The last curse is my favorite—and the most powerful."
"The Killing Curse."
"Whoever is struck by it—no matter where—is guaranteed to die."
Eredin looked again at the navigator.
Voldemort raised his wand high. "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light—
—and the man stopped twitching. He lay still, all life extinguished.
Eredin's expression didn't change.
"I like your eyes," Voldemort said quietly. "But why no reaction?"
He paused briefly, chuckling. "Ah, right—I forgot. Your tongue is sealed."
With a flick of his wand, the magic aura surrounding the room intensified.
At the same time, Eredin felt his tongue loosen. He could speak again. He lifted his head to glare at Voldemort.
"What do you want, Voldemort?"
"Eredin," Voldemort said softly, eyeing the throne the elven king sat upon, "you're not worthy of that seat."
Eredin sneered. "You want to enslave me?"
"Oh, don't say it like that," Voldemort replied, shaking his head. "I'm not a tyrant."
"'Friend'—do you know that word?"
"I hope we can be friends."
He gave a casual flick of his wand.
Eredin's arm lifted against his will. His sleeve rolled up to the shoulder.
"I'll leave you a mark," Voldemort said, placing his wand to the exposed skin. "To show our friendship."
Eredin sucked in a breath as searing pain spread down his arm like molten metal.
A tattoo appeared: a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth, coiling and flicking its tongue—as if greeting him.
"Well?" Voldemort asked with a smile. "Make a choice. Be my friend or…"
Caught beneath the eaves…
Eredin considered for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Perhaps… we could become—"
"Look into my eyes," Voldemort interrupted.
Eredin stiffened, reluctantly lifting his gaze to meet Voldemort's.
"I'm very willing, Voldemort… to be your friend," he said.
Voldemort shook his head. "No. You're not being honest."
"I don't see sincerity in your eyes."
Eredin fell silent.
Voldemort sighed and raised his wand. "What a shame. I guess you don't want to be my friend after all."
Legilimens!
White light flared in Voldemort's eyes as he pierced into Eredin's mind, scouring through his memories, copying and pasting them into his own.
"What are you doing?" Eredin cried, panicking as he felt the invasion. He recalled the "Obliviate" spell from Crouch's books and his voice trembled.
Voldemort didn't answer. He simply smiled.
Obliviate!
Every memory was wiped clean.
Stupefy!
Eredin collapsed unconscious onto the throne.
With a flick, Voldemort plucked a hair from his head and let it fall into his palm.
He uncorked a vial of Polyjuice Potion, dropped in the hair. It fizzed and boiled into a dark ruby-red liquid—rich and pure.
He drank.
The taste burned like whiskey, searing his throat and stomach.
Eredin had good flavor.
Voldemort's body twisted and reshaped.
In a blink, he had become Eredin in every detail.
He glanced down at his robes and transfigured them with a wave of his wand—replicating Eredin's regal attire exactly.
Now he was the King of the Wild Hunt.
He pointed his wand again.
Reducio!
The unconscious former king shrank, compressing into the size of a thumb. Voldemort produced a tiny bottle and tucked Eredin inside—he wasn't going to kill him. Not yet. He still needed his body for more Polyjuice.
There was still the corpse on the floor.
Voldemort turned toward it, then looked at the magically sealed door.
Thinking…
He waved his wand.
The corpse twisted and reshaped into someone else—bearing some resemblance to his original self. The corpse now resembled his biological father, covered in wounds, the fatal one slashing cleanly across the throat.
Furniture was flung about, the room arranged to appear like a violent struggle had occurred.
Finally, he released the spell on the door.
BANG!
The door burst open.
A squad of Wild Hunt riders stormed in. The moment the room had been magically sealed, they knew something was wrong.
"So impatient," Voldemort said in Eredin's voice.
The knights bowed. "Lord Eredin."
"A thief disguised himself and attempted to assassinate me," Voldemort said lightly. "Clean up the body."
They obeyed immediately.
Then Voldemort added, "Tell Gael—the ally we spoke of is not to be trusted. An incompetent fool with dangerous ambition. But the research into the White Frost has progressed. I need troops to seize that world."
"To take the salvation of the Aen Elle for ourselves."
Gael was the head of Aen Elle's capital, a brilliant strategist, and the one Eredin trusted most—he oversaw all Wild Hunt logistics.
The knights looked up in shock.
This was the first time they had ever heard such news—there might be a solution to the White Frost?
Voldemort waved his hand.
The knights retreated quickly, taking the corpse with them.
Once everyone had gone, Voldemort sat in Eredin's throne.
He spread his hands and drew in a deep breath.
So this is what power smells like.
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Powerstones?
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