Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The staircase spiraled upward as Hoffa moved silently through the maze of shifting gears and dense steam. Around him, gray-white pipes occasionally hissed and released bursts of smoke.

The night deepened, and his senses sharpened like those of a predator. The scent of the nun grew increasingly distinct. Hoffa moved with cat-like grace, his steps soundless.

For reasons unknown, the female vampire had been trailing him ever since she noticed the tri-ring scar on his chest. She clung to the ceiling like a massive bat, gripping the gray-white pipes as she crawled to evade the soldiers rushing past in the corners, rifles in hand.

Hoffa couldn't understand why she was following him, but he had no intention of asking. Perhaps the power he had gained from the God of Night made her feel a sense of kinship. Or maybe she sought the true culprit behind her clan's destruction. As long as she didn't interfere, Hoffa didn't care.

As he climbed higher, drawing closer to his ultimate goal, the smoke within the turret thickened. Faint gauges became visible on the gray walls, flickering between illusion and reality. A strange sound reached Hoffa's ears.

It was the ticking of a clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock—it went on and on.

Amidst it, an eerie whisper intertwined:

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…"

It was as if someone stood beside him, counting on their fingers.

Yet, when Hoffa tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, he realized it was merely an auditory illusion—like the sound of marbles bouncing across a glass roof, fleeting and elusive.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…"

The sound repeated again and again as Hoffa turned the last corner, closing in on Chloe's presence.

Through the dense fog, he saw a tall man standing with his back to him. Dressed in a black suit, the man held a peculiar large black umbrella. Beneath the umbrella, flowing white hair cascaded over his shoulders.

Hoffa's heart skipped a beat, then pounded furiously as his vision turned blood-red.

His former mentor—Grindelwald—was standing right before him, holding an umbrella indoors!?

Adrenaline surged, overwhelming every rational thought. The tri-ring scar on Hoffa's chest glowed crimson, and feather-like spikes emerged from every part of his body, sharp as needles.

"Grindelwald!"

With a roar in his mind, Hoffa charged forward like a bolt of lightning. His arm morphed into a massive greatsword.

Slash!

The blade cut through Grindelwald's body—but encountered no resistance, as if slicing through air.

Thump, thump, thump.

Hoffa's heartbeat slowed as he turned back for another look. Grindelwald's gaze wasn't even on him. Instead, the figure seemed focused solely on counting. And this Grindelwald appeared younger than when he had taught Hoffa.

It was all an illusion—some kind of mirage.

Hoffa's body gradually returned to normal as he regained his composure. Standing still, he observed his surroundings.

Within this inexplicable vision, Grindelwald held his black umbrella in an unfamiliar setting. Before him, seven or eight young individuals knelt, trembling. Some wore wizard robes, others donned Muggle military uniforms. Their faces bore signs of unimaginable torment, each mouth bloodied.

"Nothing is eternal. All is vanity," Grindelwald said. "Under chaos, beauty withers to bone, blades rust to ruin, and empires crumble in an instant. There is no such thing as eternity."

"Why are you doing this?"

One of the men on the ground, clad in a low-ranking soldier's uniform, raised his head.

It was Mans Müller. Younger than Hoffa remembered, his face still bore traces of youthfulness. Yet it was etched with despair. "What do you gain by showing us this world's meaninglessness?"

"To understand futility is to face a choice—either surrender to it or strive to create your own meaning. I refuse to surrender," Grindelwald replied.

From his pocket, he drew a wand—the black Elder Wand. A brilliant green light shot from its tip, splitting into seven translucent arms. Each arm clutched one person's head, drawing ethereal particles from their seven orifices and channeling them into the wand.

"From this moment, none of you can die. Go. Seek the one true eternal thing. Let me witness your final answer."

The smoke dissipated, leaving Hoffa clenching his fists.

If his guess was correct, this was Mans' memory. It seemed the Muggle had experienced something similar to Hoffa—Grindelwald's torment and trials—though their beliefs differed. Hoffa and Mans had each found something they held dear.

The vampire following Hoffa had also witnessed the scene. She descended from the pipes and approached him.

"What was that?" she asked curiously.

"Why are you following me?" Hoffa countered.

"Are you avenging my people? If you're not the culprit, you must know who is. Don't you?"

Hoffa shook his head, then nodded slowly. "I do know."

"Then take me with you. I'll help," she said eagerly.

Hoffa shook his head again, offering no reply. He continued walking along the pipes.

As he climbed higher, fragmented visions unfolded around him. These strange illusions were sometimes Mans' memories, sometimes Chloe's. At one point, he even saw the nightmare church and priest from Chloe's dreamscape. It felt as though some bizarre fusion was occurring within the turret.

The higher he went, the more unease gnawed at him.

Finally, Hoffa broke through the last layer of illusion and reached the highest point of the Scharnhorst battleship.

In the pitch-dark room, he found her—the nun he had not seen for so long.

The space resembled a surgical theater, with peculiar instruments hanging all around. Chloe sat in the center, strapped to an iron chair. Iron shackles bound her feet, and her arms were outstretched in a cruciform position, head slumped forward. Her arms were riddled with tubes that siphoned her blood, which flowed into the darkness beyond.

It was the source of the scent Hoffa had been tracking.

He rushed to Chloe's side, kneeling as he gently patted her face.

"Hey, are you okay?"

No response. Her skin was cold to the touch.

His heart stopped.

"What I'm thinking can't possibly have happened," Hoffa reassured himself, reaching to feel her neck. A pulse—faint but present.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, exhaling in relief.

"Wake up! Tell me what happened!"

He shook her by the shoulders, harder this time.

Slowly, Chloe stirred, lifting her eyelids. But her pupils were unfocused, a sign of severe blood loss.

"Is that you, Hoffa?" she asked weakly, tilting her head toward him.

"It's me," Hoffa said, his voice trembling.

An unrelenting surge of killing intent boiled in his chest.

"Ah… so we're dead?" Chloe mumbled, dazed.

"Damn it!"

Hoffa's eyes grew darker with anger as he saw her frail state. He crouched down, gripping the dense network of tubes embedded in her arm, ready to yank them out.

"If I were you, I wouldn't do that," came a familiar yet unsettling voice from the shadows.

Hoffa immediately released the tubes and stood up.

From the darkness emerged Mans, his figure slowly taking form. He wore a navy-blue military uniform, tall and imposing, identical to their first encounter—even his chest appeared unscathed.

The only difference lay in his eyes, now glowing silver, eerily similar to Chloe's when her magic had spiraled out of control. The glow flickered faintly in the shadows.

"How did you survive?" Hoffa asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Mans tilted his head slightly, as though lost in thought, before his gaze snapped back. "Ah, so you jumped into Rusvan's blood pool. A clever way to reclaim your life."

"What did you do to her!?" Hoffa growled, his fury barely contained.

Mans smirked, his voice laced with an unnatural, almost feminine timbre—uncannily like Chloe's. "I attained the power I've dreamed of. Her blood now flows through me." He turned, pointing to his neck. Tubes similar to those connected to Chloe's arm extended from his neck, transferring her blood directly into his body.

"Now, she and I are one. So, there's no need for you to kill me."

Enraged, Hoffa surged forward, his fist crashing down with the force of a thunderclap.

Boom!

The blow exploded through Mans' body, tearing a massive hole in the tower. Blood splattered like rain as Hoffa stood amidst the aftermath, his chest heaving. He hadn't felt this furious in a long time and didn't care to hear another word from Mans.

"Is it worth it?" Mans' voice echoed again, soft yet tinged with disdain. "Anger, violence, death—even emotions—are meaningless. Before time, even meaning itself dissolves."

Hoffa faltered, momentarily disoriented. A sharp, invisible hook seemed to pull at his stomach, dragging him forward.

Tick.

In an instant, Mans was gone, and Hoffa found himself kneeling before Chloe once more, gripping her arm. She slowly lifted her head.

"Is it you, Hoffa?" she murmured.

"It's me," Hoffa replied reflexively, but his mind raced with confusion.

"Are we dead?" she asked faintly, just as before.

Hoffa stood abruptly, his eyes scanning the darkness. Sure enough, moments later, Mans emerged again, his voice casual as he flexed his hands. "See that? This is the power of time. Mystical and unfathomable. Before it, all strength is meaningless."

Staring at Mans in disbelief, Hoffa realized what had happened. This man had somehow transplanted Chloe's abilities into himself.

"Son of a—!" Hoffa cursed in Mandarin, his right arm transforming into a blade as he vanished and reappeared in an instant. Mans' head flew high into the air before landing with a sickening thud.

But before Hoffa could catch his breath, the world spun violently once more.

He was back at the starting point, kneeling before Chloe, staring into her vacant eyes.

"Is it you, Hoffa?" Chloe asked again, her voice as faint as a whisper.

This time, Hoffa didn't respond

immediately. Instead, he stared at his trembling hands, then sprang to his feet, stumbling backward until he bumped into the vampire, Kirlia, who had been quietly observing. She steadied him with a concerned look.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Hoffa touched his head, trying to ground himself, before glaring into the darkness.

Mans appeared once more, emerging from the shadows with a smug expression. "You're fast, I'll give you that. Rusvan spent half a lifetime gathering blood for his pool, and you consumed it in moments. If I were him, I'd be livid."

Crack!

Before Mans could say more, a blinding red lightning bolt struck him, turning him into a charred husk. The flash was so intense it blackened the entire room, leaving the air thick with the smell of ionized electricity. Kirlia gasped, her hair standing on end as she backed away.

Hoffa stood pale, his fingers smoking from the spell. The lightning had drained nearly half his magical reserves, but he didn't lower his hand.

Then, once again, the world twisted.

Time unraveled and rewound like an unyielding law, and Hoffa found himself back in front of Chloe, kneeling as before.

"Is it you, Hoffa?" Chloe asked for the third time, her voice weak and trembling.

Hoffa had learned his lesson. Gripping her shoulders, he shook her vigorously, yelling, "Wake up! Tell me how to break out of this!"

Kirlia stared at him in shock. To her, Hoffa had gone from silent and composed to a raving lunatic, shaking Chloe like a madman while shouting incomprehensible words.

Chloe's head lolled weakly as she tried to speak, but her voice was lost in the motion. Saliva dripped from her mouth as Hoffa continued shaking her.

In the shadows, the charred remains of Mans reappeared at the same spot, his body fully restored. Clutching his chest dramatically, he smirked. "That last attack was impressive. If I were anyone else, I'd have died a hundred times over."

Hoffa's expression darkened. Time had reset again, but his magical reserves hadn't. He was now visibly drained, his strongest attacks rendered futile against this unrelenting loop.

Gritting his teeth, he glared at Mans. "Fine. Let's do this all day. I can play too."

"An entire day?" Mans chuckled, his head twitching erratically. "Time is impartial, Hoffa. We've lingered in the past long enough. It's time to return to the present."

As his words faded, the room's colors shifted rapidly. The blackness turned gray, then white. The swirling smoke cleared, and a shaft of sunlight pierced through a window in the turret's ceiling.

Hoffa steadied himself against Chloe's chair, his legs threatening to give way. He glanced down at his chest and saw the tri-ring scar fading rapidly, its glow dimming with each passing moment.

"Your time is up, Bach," Mans said softly, his voice almost gentle. "It's morning now."

(End of Chapter)

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