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History has seen no shortage of powerful wizards. Even those who reached the level of "century kings" weren’t exactly rare. But most of them embodied mystery. They lived their entire lives without anyone truly grasping just how strong they were.
Someone like Andros, who left behind a reputation of absolute invincibility? In thousands of years across Europe, you could count them on one hand. Merlin was one. Andros was another.
Part of it was raw strength. The other part was his bold, almost ostentatious personality, and a fighting style that stood completely apart from the norm.
Just like the way he taught Tom back in their first year.
Bulging muscles. Blood-pumping combat.
Two people waving wands and firing spells back and forth? Please. What’s the point of that?
A real man closes the distance. He weaves magic into every movement, every strike.
Voldemort clearly wasn’t used to this kind of fighting. Even when Andros suddenly surged forward, he still assumed the man needed to close the distance to cast a spell, never imagining he was simply going to throw a punch.
Honestly, even Tom, watching from the study space, couldn’t connect that style of combat to the wizarding world.
"What—"
By the time Voldemort realized what was actually happening, it was already too late.
Even without casting a Patronus, Andros commanded countless powerful spells. Magic surged down his arm, piercing straight into Voldemort’s body. The searing pain shattered the incantation on Voldemort’s lips before it could even form.
Boom!
Voldemort was slammed into the ground with overwhelming force. Dust exploded into the air, accompanied by a dull, thunderous crash.
His body ended up wedged perfectly into the crater, locked in place.
Andros grinned, his glowing arm snapping around Voldemort’s neck as the Dark Lord’s eyes widened in shock.
"Now, now... let’s smash you."
Bang— Bang— Bang—
Andros rained punches into Voldemort’s face. He deliberately held back his strength, but that only made it more humiliating.
Bang— Bang— Bang—
"Oh, I can’t believe your face is this smashable. Good thing you removed the nose—hahaha."
Finishing his taunt, Andros threw a serious punch this time.
The violent force forced a mouthful of blood out of Voldemort in a harsh cough.
Andros immediately let go and stepped back.
Partly because it was disgusting. Partly because... that wasn’t normal blood.
Since when does a person bleed something that’s red mixed with green?
Sure enough, the moment the blood hit the ground, it began to sizzle, releasing a sharp, acrid stench. Andros frowned and took another couple of steps back.
But those two steps were all the breathing room Voldemort needed.
Lightning crashed down from the sky. Andros raised an arm to block, while Voldemort’s body twisted like something boneless. He shrank slightly, slipping free from the crater, then slithered across the ground like a snake, rapidly putting distance between them.
Grinding through the pain, Voldemort forcibly repaired his body with dark magic.
Andros strode toward him, each step heavy and deliberate. A crushing presence followed in his wake. Every footfall felt like it landed directly on Voldemort’s chest, tightening the pressure.
The image was unmistakable. Like a blazing sun rolling forward, intent on grinding him down.
If anyone now tried to tell Voldemort the man before him wasn’t a sun-chaser, he wouldn’t believe a word of it.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Still the killing curse to open with. But this time, it wasn’t the same.
The spell was identical, yet the magic and killing intent packed into it were easily ten times greater than before. Andros didn’t dare handle it the same way as earlier.
That flashy method might look impressive, but it was inefficient. By the time the curse reached him, it probably wouldn’t have lost even half its power.
So his arm muscles swelled as he brought both forearms up, pressing them together in front of his chest.
A solid silver gate materialized before him, its two halves slowly closing. An ancient aura radiated from it, suppressing the storm of magic raging between the two.
The Killing Curse struck the gate, erupting into a shower of sparks. The silver surface began to give way, slowly being eaten through. Its glow dimmed bit by bit.
Since the battle began, Andros showed approval for the first time.
He gave a slight nod.
"With killing intent like that... you can even erase the very concept behind a spell. I, Andros, would call your Killing Curse the strongest."
As he said it, he instinctively excluded Morgan from the comparison. He was judging people, not monsters.
You know, ordinary people. Like Grindelwald.
"Andros?"
Because of Herpo, Voldemort was well-versed in Greek legends. He knew the name. He froze for a split second, then his face twisted with fury.
"You think I’m an idiot? Andros has been dead for over two thousand years. There wouldn’t even be bones left by now. And you’re telling me you’re Andros?"
He was livid. Not giving a name was one thing. Throwing out such an obviously fake one to toy with him? Did this man really think he was that stupid?
"Believe it or don’t." Andros didn’t bother explaining. He slammed his fist into his palm and launched forward again. From the canyon wall, a massive stone fist burst outward and smashed toward Voldemort.
Andros was riding the massive stone fist, grinning wildly.
Voldemort reacted instantly. His robes whipped around him and he vanished. Andros abandoned his hastily made "mount" and chased the trail of magic.
They reappeared midair at the same moment. In the next instant, spells poured out in a storm, tearing through the air. The howling wind shrieked under the pressure, followed by earth-shaking collisions.
But the advantage was clearly Andros’s.
In this kind of direct clash, raw spell against spell, none could match him. After only a few seconds of stalemate, Voldemort felt his wand scream in protest. Gritting his teeth, unwilling but forced, he twisted his robes again, dispersing the force and shifting position.
He knew his style wasn’t like this brute’s. He excelled at something colder, crueler. Dark magic that killed in a single strike.
Still, part of him refused to accept it. He couldn’t believe that someone who just stepped out of this so-called Sun-Chaser group could rival, let alone surpass him. That stubborn pride was why he’d chosen to meet force with force in the first place.
Now that he had tried and failed, he sobered up. Reality set in. His fighting style began to change.
He kept moving, never staying in one place for long, avoiding the moment Andros could bring down a devastating spell. Hissing echoes filled the canyon as Voldemort chanted in Parseltongue, weaving vicious dark magic.
Black liquid spread across the ground. A violet toxic mist thickened in the sky. Fiendfyre shaped like serpents surged in from all directions.
In that moment, Voldemort fully revealed himself as a master of the dark arts. One spell after another flowed effortlessly from his hands. Not just visible attacks, but invisible curses crept in, trying to rot Andros’s body from within.
Andros raised both hands to the sky. Milky-white magic formed a protective barrier around him, waves of force rippling outward in expanding rings. It wasn’t just defense. It was indiscriminate offense.
The space around them grew thick, almost viscous under the pressure of his magic. Voldemort finally understood what Andros was doing.
But it was a straightforward trap. Apparition was becoming harder and harder to use.
Even so, Andros didn’t immediately press the advantage.
The magic inside him boiled. Soul and body aligned more and more with each passing moment, climbing back toward something close to eighty percent of his peak.
The divine power born from the Golden Apple in his body was finally awakening.
A faint layer of gold crept into his glowing blue eyes.
Across the world, fine threads suddenly appeared, crisscrossing into a vast, intricate web. Within that network, the moving black dots stood out starkly.
"There!"
Andros raised a hand. His immense magic compressed into a sphere, tighter and tighter, until it reached its limit and transformed into a beam of light that blasted toward a point in the sky, striking it instantly.
BOOM!
Voldemort’s hidden form was blown out of concealment, disbelief written all over his face.
.
.
.