The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 437, Section 436: The Stalemate

Ian also has divine authority.

The personhood of the God of Paradox and his legendary personhood are not in conflict.

Accompanied by Ian's exercise of divine authority.

The whirlwind abruptly halted. Before dissipating, the swallowed "Ian" smirked coldly. Then, the silver-gray light spike, hurled by another Ian from reality, pierced the core of the whirlwind—the "divine remnant core" hidden deep within the eye of the storm, composed of solidified pain.

"boom--!"

The light spikes collided with the whirlwind's core, unleashing a silent shockwave. There were no flames, no explosions, only a pure "logical collapse" spreading outwards. Space shattered like glass, revealing the chaotic void behind; time fractured at this moment, fragments of the past and future falling like rain.

The fallen god let out a non-human roar. Its whirlwind form began to twist, the wind speed dropped sharply, and those tormented faces crumbled one by one under the corrosive light, turning into ashes.

of course.

This also did not harm the essence of this fallen god.

but.

This also made the fallen gods increasingly suspicious and uncertain.

It has never encountered such an attack before.

It's not about destroying its power, but about denying its logic of existence. The essence of paradoxical theocracy is "irrational reality," which is built upon "forgotten rationality."

"You...how dare you...tamper with the very foundations of reality!"

The fallen god looked at Ian with astonishment in his eyes.

Why not?

Using the recoil from the impact, Ian managed to steady himself. He knelt on one knee, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his right arm twisted at an unnatural angle—the impact had been far more severe than he had imagined. His magic was nearly depleted, and his legendary status was violently fluctuating, as if it might collapse at any moment.

But he did not fall.

He slowly raised his left hand, his fingertips drawing a counter-clockwise spiral rune in the air. The rune was composed of pure "impossibility," each stroke violating the fundamental laws of magic—it existed simultaneously in the past and future, both formed and unfinished, both a physical entity and an illusion.

It cannot be stopped.

"The paradox of time, returning to its original state by going against the current."

As the runes fell, Ian's body began to "rewind".

It wasn't a simple treatment; it was a forced reversal of his state of being to the moment before he was injured. His broken bones healed, his wounds closed, and his magic was replenished. But this wasn't without its price—it was a kind of overdraft, even for the strong and robust Ian, it was still a bit of a strain on his body.

The cost is that the concept of existence will be somewhat diminished.

This is the backlash of paradoxical divine authority.

In order to maintain the logic of "existing even though it shouldn't exist," he must pay the price of "traces of existence." Every use erases him from being a part of "Ian Prince."

He has returned to his peak form.

It has also lost some traces of its existence in the world.

The fallen gods saw through this.

"I see……"

It grinned maliciously, and the whirlwind condensed again, moving even faster than before. "Your power is built on self-denial. The stronger you are, the less you resemble yourself."

"And I... I'm already dead, just a living shell, with only eternal pain!" The dark whirlwind once again transformed into a whip of death, sweeping across the land.

This time, it no longer sought to devour, but instead tore through space, attempting to "cut" Ian's existence off the timeline.

"I've left so many traces in the past, it's a good thing for me to just erase them." Ian raised his hand, completely unconcerned about the consequences.

He put his hands together in prayer position.

He compressed his magic and rank into a single point and concentrated it in front of his chest.

"The power of paradox, the reality of illusion."

His body also transformed into a silver-black pillar of light, shooting straight upwards.

The beam of light collided head-on with the whirlwind, but instead of a deafening explosion, a strange stillness descended.

Time stood still.

Space, frozen.

The silver light and the black wind remained locked in a stalemate in mid-air, like two eternally opposing laws locked in a struggle. Ian's pillar of light was constantly eroded, yet constantly regenerated; the whirlwind of the fallen god continued to expand, yet was constantly "negated." They devoured each other, resisted each other, defined each other, and negated each other.

All the runes on the underground altar lit up.

But it dimmed in an instant.

The stone sculpture spun wildly like the hands of a clock, yet it pointed to a time that did not exist. Countless tiny cracks were visible in the air, signs that reality had been stretched excessively.

Blood tears streamed from Ian's eyes, and cracks began to appear on his skin, making him look like a statue about to shatter. In the whirlwind of the fallen god, the faces of suffering began to merge and coalesce into a gigantic, inhuman face—its true form as a god, long since decayed, but briefly reappearing at this moment.

"You...cannot destroy me in the end," the fallen god whispered.

"You...cannot devour me either," Ian replied.

There was no victory, no defeat.

The situation remains deadlocked.

Silver light and black wind confronted each other in the air, like the yin and yang poles at the beginning of the universe. Ian stood at the top of the pillar of light, his breath weak but firm; the fallen god hovered in the center of the whirlwind, his aura chaotic but not dissipated.

They all knew that this battle could not be ended in the conventional way.

Ian's power originates from "existence," while the fallen god's power originates from "nothingness." One is the embodiment of paradox, the other the decaying embers. Their conflict is not about who is stronger, but who can withstand "continuous confrontation." In the end, the silver light slowly receded, and the black wind gradually retreated.

Ian knelt on one knee, his magic nearly depleted, his aura dimmed, yet still not extinguished.

The divine authority was used again.

Once again, they've returned to their peak.

"What a disgusting force."

The fallen god retreated to the depths of the altar, the whirlwind dissipated, leaving only the dark "eye of the mind" silently suspended in the distance, like an eye that never closes.

They were back to square one.

Nobody benefited.

Neither of them could win.

Only that silent confrontation continues eternally deep underground.

The bottom of the abyss.

The prison is no longer what it used to be.

This place had transformed into a chaotic realm where pure energy raged. Ian and the fallen god faced each other dozens of meters apart, the oppressive aura emanating from them freezing the air into a tangible wall.

Time seemed to freeze, or perhaps flow backwards madly in an endless vortex. All around was bottomless darkness, with only distorted light and fragmented space suspended overhead.

The two had been fighting for a while, and had essentially turned the path leading here into an absolute vacuum, the kind of vacuum where even space itself was shattered and difficult to piece back together.

Ordinary wizards simply cannot reach or perceive this place.

"You can't kill me."

Ian stared at the fallen god not far away.

His breathing was very light.

Almost in sync with the tremors of the air, the legendary status within him circulated slowly like a galaxy, each magical energy channel resonating with some primal rhythm of the universe.

He was not an ordinary student at Hogwarts.

him at the moment.

It is an "anchor of existence" that transcends the paradox of time and carries multiple fragments of reality. Deep within his soul are engraved knowledge that does not belong to this era.

It also bears the echoes of countless future timelines.

The legendary rank is not power, but a "qualification for existence." It means that Ian's very existence is a correction to "reality."

His mere presence was enough to cause the twisted laws to tremble slightly. And fallen gods rely on devouring such "qualifications" to perpetuate their long-corrupted divinity.

It needs a sufficiently solid container, a "divine shell" capable of withstanding greater pollution without collapsing. Ian is the sacrifice it has been waiting for for a thousand years.

"You're quite resourceful, but I can already see your inevitable defeat." The fallen god's form began to distort, and wisps of black mist surged from its body.

It transformed into countless pained human faces.

"You are no longer a god."

Ian finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying an irresistible, authoritative power: "You are merely a forgotten echo, the pus and blood that caused so much suffering to the spirits of nature."

"God?" The being chuckled, causing the entire underground space to tremble. "God is a product of faith. When the people of this land no longer pray to the forest, when their children begin to communicate with nature using wands instead of altars, God dies. I am nothing more than... an ember that is not yet dead."

"However, I will eventually reignite." Perhaps, at this moment, the foundation of the fallen god's divinity is no longer faith, but an alternative divinity formed from human fear.

Its twisted nature is slowly emerging from the darkness.

Sometimes it was a giant forest beast like a millipede, sometimes an ancient priest draped in human skin, and sometimes a totem pole made of bones and vines. Its voice did not travel through the air, but resounded directly in Ian's consciousness, like a tide of wails from billions of living beings.

"Even the gods will find their own way!"

It was as if they were declaring their beliefs.

Before the words were even finished, space suddenly distorted.

It wasn't a distortion in the physical sense, but rather the folds of "reality" being forcibly stretched open. Ian felt his consciousness being torn apart, as if countless timelines were flashing through his mind simultaneously.

He saw himself having breakfast in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, seeing himself fighting Voldemort on a future battlefield, seeing himself walking side by side with Newt on the African savanna, and seeing himself kneeling on the altar, swallowed by the black mist, becoming the new body of a fallen god.

These are all possibilities in fate.

Yes, this is a spiritual attack—not an illusion, but the manifestation of "possibility," with the fallen god attempting to undermine the will of "present Ian" using "the future Ian."

It wants him to believe that no matter how much he struggles, he will eventually fall and be assimilated. In a way, this method might be very effective for ordinary wizards.

however.

However, Ian was no ordinary wizard.

A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of Ian's mouth.

But he smiled.

As the incarnation of the Raven, the master of destiny, and a being from the future, he naturally wouldn't react much to such influences; the other party was simply showing off their limited skills in front of him.

You're wrong.

He said softly.

"What you see is only 'possibility.' But for me, it is 'already'." Ian's voice was resolute, carrying a conviction that seemed capable of shattering everything.

He raised his hand, and a rune made of pure light appeared in his palm—the embodiment of "paradoxical divine authority." It did not belong to any known magical system, neither ancient magic script nor modern incantation; it symbolized an impossible logic: a person who should not exist here.

But I'm actually standing here.

And it exercises powers that transcend time.

"Paradox is the truth," Ian whispered.

The runes exploded, transforming into countless points of light that scattered like stars. Each point of light carried a denied reality: a timeline Ian did not travel through, a world where Ian chose to abandon saving Newt, a future where Ian succumbed to Voldemort… These “abandoned” possibilities were reactivated at this moment by paradoxical divine authority, forming an “anti-reality wall” that reflected back the “possibility erosion” of the fallen gods.

The fallen god let out a mournful roar. Its form began to crumble, and the faces woven from fear and corruption burned and vanished in the rain of light. It had never faced such an opponent—a wizard who did not rely on pure power, but rather used "existence itself" as a weapon.

"You...you are not human!" it roared. "You are a mistake! A flaw in the universe!"

"Perhaps." Ian's voice echoed, his figure appearing and disappearing at the boundary between light and darkness, "But it is precisely this 'flaw' that allows me to stand between you and reality."

The real battle has only just begun.

"Boom! Boom!"

The struggle on the material level has long transcended the realm of wands and spells.

With each breath Ian took, ripples spread through space; with each heartbeat, the flow of time shifted subtly. He no longer cast spells; rather, "existence" itself became a source of disturbance for the laws of nature. The fallen god, meanwhile, used corruption as his weapon, transforming the entire underground into his domain.

The ground cracked open, and black vines surged forth. They were not plants, but rather formed from the resentment of a devoured spirit of nature, each vine carrying a soul-corroding poison.

"Are you trying to usurp my position?"

Ian's legendary status was resisting. Golden patterns appeared on his skin, a "reality shield" formed by his status power. The moment the vines touched it, they melted away like ice and snow meeting the sun. But at the same time, Ian felt a sharp headache—his status was suffering the backlash of corruption.

He understands.

This battle cannot last.

While legendary figures possess great power, they are not limitless. As for fallen gods, who have been the "shadow" of this land for millennia, they have long since become one with the pollution, and are nearly immortal.

Just as Ian hesitated.

"To become the vessel that bears my filth is your honor!" The fallen god struck first, no longer using those fancy divine spells.

Instead, it directly triggered the core power of its corrupted divine authority—"the decay of all things at their end."

It spread its arms as if to embrace the whole world, its body radiating visible gray-black ripples. Wherever these ripples passed, not only matter, but even space itself began to groan under the weight, its colors fading, its structure becoming brittle, as if it had been eroded by billions of years and was about to return to dust.

This is a law that points directly to the end of "existence," attempting to drag Ian, along with the space he inhabits, into eternal annihilation.

Ian's pupils reflected the sweeping, decaying ripples. He could feel the activity of his own magic decreasing, the cells in his body groaning, and even his thoughts seemed to be sluggish. But he did not panic. He took a deep breath, and the unique divine authority within him—"the paradox of existence"—was rekindled.

(End of this chapter)