Chapter 1198: Ceasefire - Blooming Immortal Lotus...

Death lingered over Avalon like a foul wind.

Pitch-black bolts of lightning cracked from horizon to horizon, erupting from scars in space only to vanish into others.

Everything in their path died.

Countless magical creatures crumbled to dust, the survivors fleeing from one corner of the realm to another in blind panic.

Those who dared look up at the sky found another reason to be terrified beyond reason.

The beautiful, enchanting sky of Avalon was gone.

A starless void had replaced it, stretching endlessly into space... and beyond.

In that blackness, only moments before, a Horror had stood, raining hell upon Avalon.

The Horror was gone, but it had left behind devastating scars of its presence, shattering the multilayered, impenetrable defenses of the utopia.

It had also left behind an injured Phoenix and Qilin, their blood turning into rivers of lava and lakes of acid.

Herpo the Foul stood upon the cobbled path, his slitted green eyes taking in the devastation.

He walked, looking left and right, with a pronounced limp in his gait.

Even his heavy reliance on the Basilisk Staff was unmistakable.

Darth Vader had destroyed one of his Mysteries — Jormungandr — cleaving a fracture into Bas as well.

The destruction of a Mystery was a wound that could never truly heal.

Once a Mystery was gone — it was gone.

Who knew how long it would take him to claim another Mystery and restore the strength he had wielded before battling that monster?

Or... he might never claim another Mystery at all.

Was that why he hadn’t taken part in the battle that could dictate the fate of the entire Harry Potter Bubble?

No.

The War between the Pillars and Mirrors was nothing but a game.

How could the Phoenix support Dumbledore while simultaneously fighting for Avalon?

How could the Order of the Immortal Lotus even consider appointing Darcie to the Indigo Seat after slaughtering her friends — her people?

Everyone — from the holier-than-thou Six Imperishable Fools to the Half-Deep Ones, from Death to the Timelines — was a hypocrite.

And those who suffered for their hypocrisy were mortals... innocents.

Herpo the Foul scoffed.

He was a hypocrite himself.

How dare he feign concern for innocents after annihilating entire timelines, extinguishing billions of flames?!

Yet had he been left with any choice other than confronting Lord Vader’s might at that moment?

Perhaps, by acceding to the Inquisitor’s demands, he might have spared those lives... and preserved his Mystery...

Yet he would have sacrificed something else in return, Herpo knew.

Reputation.

Respect.

Reason.

Not in the eyes of others, but in his own.

Licking wounds was much easier.

Inconvenient losses were manageable.

But there was no planning a counterattack against a stained reputation.

Herpo the Foul, limping his way into the White Tower, felt weaker, but also mightier — much mightier — than the pawns entangled in this fiasco of a War.

Even here, Death had left the marks of His presence.

Previously, only Merlin’s Staff had borne a fracture — the mark left behind by an insolent Voldemort, who now ruled the strongest of the Pillars.

Now, not only had the Staff gained several more fissures, but the other five Imperishable Artifacts bore dents, cracks, and stains as well, the light bleeding from them far duller than before.

And if that were not evidence enough of damaged Mysteries, the six flickering, glitching figures drove the final nail into the coffin.

"Lose a dagger," Herpo the Foul said, circling the round table, "and it will end up in your back."

He had advised them against using Excalibur... ever.

In fact, this was one of the rare occasions when he agreed with Death.

Ancient Magical Script was the Harry Potter Bubble’s Legacy — a legacy Zelretch had stolen in the name of research, compensating the Bubble with the Immortal Lotus.

Worse, the Bubble housed fools who eagerly accepted that hollow compensation, placing their faith in the words of a thief.

So Death, though clearly opportunistic and hypocritical in His actions, was right to unleash His fury upon Avalon after confirming that Zelretch had made it nearly impossible to restore the Legacy to the Bubble where it belonged.

The Legacy had neither been Zelretch’s to take, nor the Witch of Endor’s to give.

It had belonged to the people.

It would have belonged to him.

Herpo the Foul came to a halt behind the unoccupied Indigo Seat.

"Outsiders are a curse upon our lands," he said, his voice flat and exhausted. "Haven’t I told you this countless times already?"

The six Imperishable Artifacts trembled, half in anger, half in... shame.

"What happened in the Sealing Array..." the Witch of Endor said, "... was beyond our control."

"What was under your control?" Herpo the Foul asked, his gaze settling on the Green Seat before drifting slowly over the rest. "Was what happened beneath MACUSA under your control, then?"

Silence.

"He deceived us!" the Red Seat, Circe, hissed, the cracked Cauldron hovering above her head spewing bloody mist. "The Yellow Warlock... he brought someone from the Fate Bubble... right under our noses! And why are you here?! Why aren’t you hunting down that spawn of Fate instead of slithering around us after the damage is already done... like you always do?!"

Herpo the Foul held his tongue for a long moment.

"He deceived us... He deceived us..." the High King murmured, rolling the words like a hollow chant. "When has he not deceived you? Is it just me, or has deceiving you fools simply become far too easy?!"

"Herpo..." King Solomon warned, raising his voice.

"He wasn’t even there," Herpo the Foul said, the words dropping like lead and plunging the Six into absolute, suffocating silence. "The Yellow Warlock was never trapped within the Sealing Array."

He shook his head at their stunned silence.

It was pointless.

Those blinded by the promise of power saw only what they wished to see.

Herpo the Foul struck the butt of his Basilisk Staff against the stone floor and turned to leave.

Just before crossing the threshold, he stopped and exhaled a dry sigh.

"I am bringing in Darcie," Herpo the Foul stated coldly. "It’s time to put an end to this farce."

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