Chapter Text
"I'm sure!" Medusa nervously clenched her fists.
A sudden crash interrupted her mid-sentence. This time, the tremor was so strong that a painting fell off the wall with a loud bang, shattering into a thousand pieces. Everyone turned to the window, from where the noise had come.
In the next moment, the window was ripped open, and into the room stepped... Queen Draco.
She looked as if she had stepped off an ancient fresco depicting the wrath of the gods. Tall, stately, clad in armor that radiated heat, with a fiery sword in her hand. Her golden hair blazed in the dim light of the living room, and on her head... on her head rested enormous, twisted horns, like tongues of flame.
Her eyes, bright and piercing, held an inhuman power that sent a chill down everyone's spine. Waver even involuntarily recoiled, bumping into Mordred, who was looking at the uninvited guest with unconcealed surprise.
"Ahem..." Fujimaru was the first to break the silence that had fallen. "And here's our guest. Draco? Is that you?"
Draco remained silent. She slowly looked over everyone present, her gaze lingering on each person a moment longer than it should have. Her face expressed nothing - no anger, no joy, no sorrow. Only cold, impassive calm.
The silence that had settled in the room felt heavier than lead. Everyone looked at Draco, waiting for an explanation, but she remained silent, like a statue carved from flame.
"Draco..." Medusa took a step forward, her voice sounding worried. "What happened? Where's Kariya?"
Draco slowly turned her gaze to Medusa. Her lips parted slightly, and a quiet, hoarse voice emerged, completely unlike the one that should have sounded - bright and energetic:
"He's... gone."
These words struck the assembled like a bolt of lightning. Ron gasped in fear, Waver involuntarily stepped back, and Fujimaru froze in place, as if paralyzed. Even Mordred's face was clouded by a shadow of anxiety.
"What... what do you mean 'gone'?" Jeanne croaked, her usually unwavering voice trembling.
"He was consumed by Agent Smith," Draco replied, and now there was a note of undisguised rage in her voice. "He... he just..."
She broke off, as if unable to continue. Her fists clenched, and waves of heat flowed from under her feet, making the air around her tremble.
"Smith attacked them suddenly," Medusa intervened, her face grim. "He... changed. Became stronger. He's like... he evolved."
"He managed to penetrate Kariya' mind," Draco continued, struggling to contain her rage. "I tried to stop him... but it was too late."
Her voice faltered. She turned away, hiding her face.
"He... he's still there," she whispered. "I can feel it. But it's... it's not the Kariya we knew."
"Not the same," Fujimaru repeated quietly, trying to comprehend what he had heard. "But... how is that possible? He's... he's just a Pretender! Is this Smith... is he that strong?"
Medusa shook her head.
"It's not just about strength," her voice was muffled. "He... he changes the very essence of things. Distorts reality. What he did to Kariya... it's... it's wrong."
At that moment, Draco raised her head. Her eyes now burned with a cold, sinister fire. For a moment, it seemed that it was not Draco standing before them, but someone else. Someone ancient and terrifying.
"He wants to use me," she said in a voice that made blood run cold. "To use my power. To make a weapon out of me."
Her words sounded like a verdict. Everyone understood - the jokes were over. Queen Draco, even without her Master, remained a Beast, a being of incredible power. And if Smith gained full control over her...
"We can't let that happen," Waver whispered, and for the first time, fear was heard in his voice.
"But what can we do?" Ron spread his hands helplessly. "He's... he's almost a Beast!"
"He is my Master," Draco snapped. "And I won't let this... this... creature control me!"
A fire of defiance flared up in her eyes.
"I need a Master," she said, giving everyone a heavy look. "Someone who can rein me in. Someone I can trust."
Her gaze stopped on Fujimaru.
"You. You're suitable."
The air in the room thickened to the limit. Everyone was looking at Fujimaru, waiting for his decision. He was an experienced Master, but even he was not prepared for such a responsibility. To become the Master of the Beast... it was equivalent to holding a lit torch in a warehouse full of gunpowder barrels. One wrong step - and everything around would blow up.
"I..." Fujimaru faltered, unable to utter a word. To become the Master of the Beast... this burden of responsibility seemed unbearable. Fragments of thoughts, chaotic and frightening, raced through his head.
"I'm sorry, Draco," he said quietly, lowering his eyes. "I... I can't. I'm not ready for this."
Draco clenched her fists. Disappointment and anger flashed across her face, but she quickly pulled herself together.
"I understand," her voice was as cold as ice. "Not everyone is fit to bear this cross."
"It's not about that..." Waver frowned and rose from his seat. "We all understand that you are the Beast. But Kariya... he wasn't like you. He..."
"He wanted to save his niece, Sakura!" Fujimaru continued for him. "You say that some old man Zouken..."
"...Turned her into a mindless puppet for his experiments," Medusa finished for him. In her eyes, there was a mixture of disgust and pain. "I saw them. I saw how Smith penetrated Kariya's consciousness. I saw how your aura distorted, Draco. I felt the echoes of his despair... and the emptiness that Smith is filled with." She took a step forward, her gaze piercing Fujimaru. "Kariya wanted to save Sakura. But his intentions don't matter. Not when forces of such magnitude come into play."
"Smith is like a virus," she continued quietly. "He devours reality, subjugates it to his will. And now he holds in his hands a weapon... a weapon capable of destroying this world."
"But... how could he subjugate the Beast?" Ron whispered, hugging himself. "After all, Draco... she's..."
"...A Beast without a Master," Jeanne sharply interrupted him. "Don't forget that. And Smith seems to have found a way to control her power. If he hasn't found it yet, he will surely find it soon."
"We must stop him," Fujimaru ran his hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. "But how?"
Draco slowly approached him. Her gaze, sad and determined at the same time, made him shudder.
"I know you're afraid," she said quietly. "But this is my fight. And I must win it. For Kariya. For Sakura. For all of us." She held out her hand. "Help me, Fujimaru. Become my Master."
Her hand, encased in a plate gauntlet, seemed both fragile and strong at the same time. A symbol of power, ready to submit to his will. Fujimaru looked at her, unable to move. To become the Master of the Beast... He knew that this was the only chance to stop Smith, save Kariya, save the world. But the fear of what he might awaken, of what he might lose control of...
"Fujimaru," Waver's voice brought him back to reality. "You hear that? We have no choice."
"But..." Fujimaru began, but stopped short, meeting Jeanne's gaze. In her eyes, usually shining with kindness and sympathy, there was anxiety, but along with it, a firm confidence.
"He's right," she said quietly. "This is our only hope."
Fujimaru slowly sighed. The fear had not disappeared anywhere, but he knew that he had to overcome it. For the sake of all those who were dear to him, for the sake of the world hanging by a thread. He raised his head and looked at Draco. Her face was pale, her lips tightly pressed together, but there was still a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I agree."
Silence fell in the room. Everyone looked at them with tension, as if expecting something incredible to happen. And it did happen. At the moment when Fujimaru reached out to Draco, her body was enveloped in a bright glow. The fiery sword in her hands flared even brighter, as if reflecting what was happening inside her. And then... then everything fell silent. The glow faded, and before them stood no longer the Draco they knew. Her armor had transformed, becoming more graceful and yet formidable. The horns on her head had grown longer, curling into menacing spirals. But most importantly - her eyes. There was no longer any fear or doubt in them. Only icy calm and iron will.
The new power emanating from Draco made the air in the room thicken. The tension was building up, like storm clouds before a tempest. Fujimaru, still trembling from the concluded contract, struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.
"That's... not all," Medusa whispered, her voice sounding like someone had scraped a knife across glass.
"What do you mean?" Waver turned to her sharply.
"Smith... he..." Medusa hesitated, as if afraid to say it out loud. "He didn't just absorb Karia."
"What?!" Fujimaru straightened up abruptly. "What are you talking about?!"
"I saw it," Medusa's eyes burned with a cold fire. "When he entered Karia's consciousness, he... he touched something... ancient. Something... not of this world."
"And what was it?" Ron asked, but his voice lacked its former enthusiasm. Only fear and confusion remained.
"The Archetype Earth," Medusa answered, and her words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Fujimaru staggered, as if he had been punched in the stomach. He had heard of the Archetypes. Ancient entities, embodiments of fundamental forces that held the world together. Not gods, but something... more than gods. Something that should not exist in the real world.
"But... how?" he whispered, disbelieving his own ears. "The Archetypes are... they're legends! Myths!"
"Myths that have become reality," Medusa corrected him coldly. "And now this reality threatens to destroy us."
"We must warn the others!" Jeanne clenched her fists, and her face became resolute.
"Warn whom?" Waver asked grimly. "The Clock Tower won't help us. The Church even less so. They'll burn us at the stake as soon as they find out what's going on here!"
"He's right," Fujimaru nodded, his face becoming grim. "If we're talking about an Archetype... even the whole world might not be enough to contain its power. We need... we need allies. And as soon as possible."
"Allies?" Mordred asked skeptically. "And where do you plan to find them in such a situation?"
Fujimaru did not answer. He looked at the faces of those present, as if seeking support for his idea. And finally, he stopped at Jeanne.
"I have an idea," he said quietly. "But you won't like it. We need to talk to Voldemort."
The silence after his words dragged on, turning into a heavy, ominous silence. Mordred gasped sharply, as if about to object, but Waver beat her to it, putting his hand on her, calling for calm.
"You're joking, right?" Ron, who couldn't believe his ears, squinted, looking at Fujimaru. "Go to the one who wants to kill Harry? He'll kill us with the first spells!"
"We have no choice," Fujimaru's voice was calm, but there was a steely firmness in that calm. "This is no longer just about the magical world. Smith with the Archetype up his sleeve is a threat to everyone and everything. Even Voldemort can't fail to understand that."
"Are you saying that we need to... unite with him?" Jeanne struggled to find the words.
Fujimaru nodded.
"It's our only chance. Smith has already shown how dangerous he is. And who knows what he's capable of with the power of the Archetype. If we want to stop him, then... we'll have to forget about old grudges."
"And you think Voldemort... and that pet king of his... will go for it?" Medusa asked, not hiding her skepticism.
"They have no choice," Fujimaru looked at Draco. Her face expressed nothing, but in her eyes, he saw understanding. "Smith is as dangerous to them as he is to us. And they know it."
He looked around at those present again. On their faces, he saw fear, confusion, disbelief. But he also saw something else. A faint glimmer of hope, kindled in their eyes. They understood that this was madness. But they also understood that there was no other way out. And they were ready to follow him, even into the lion's den. Even if that lion was Voldemort himself.
"So," Fujimaru got to his feet, and a steely firmness sounded in his voice. "We have a plan. And we all know perfectly well where to find Voldemort."
1
The rain, which hadn't ceased for a minute, turned the streets of London into turbulent streams. Lightning streaked the sky, illuminating the ruins of the city with a ghostly light. It was a night made for conspiracies, dangerous deals, and desperate decisions.
Fujimaru, wrapped in a black cloak, stood on the threshold of the Westminster Palace, which now resembled a fortress rather than a government building. Death Eaters scurried around, their faces hidden by masks, and fanatic fire burning in their eyes.
"Ready?" Jeanne asked quietly, adjusting her silver sword on her belt.
"Do we have a choice?" Fujimaru replied, not looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the massive doors of the palace, as if something sinister was hidden behind them. Which, however, was not far from the truth.
The others remained tensely silent beside him. Waver nervously tugged at his jacket sleeve, Ron looked around nervously, and Mordred, frowning, clenched and unclenched her fists. Only Draco seemed completely calm. Her new form, even more majestic and formidable, attracted the gazes of the Death Eaters, but they immediately looked away, as if afraid to invoke the wrath of a deity.
"Remember what we agreed on?" Medusa asked quietly, her voice taut as a string.
"Yes, yes," Waver waved her off. "No sudden movements, no provocative speeches. And God forbid, not a word about what we're doing here."
Fujimaru nodded. The plan was simple, like all brilliant things, and no less insane for it. Infiltrate the Westminster Palace, meet with Voldemort and... convince him to help them save the world. The irony of the situation made one want to laugh. Or cry.
He took a deep breath and resolutely headed for the doors.
Two Death Eaters, dressed in dark robes and masks with skull images, blocked their path. Magic wands gleamed in their hands, pointed straight at Fujimaru's chest. He stopped, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
"We want to see Lord Voldemort," he said, trying to make his voice sound calm and confident. "We have business with him. Important business."
The Death Eaters exchanged glances. One of them, tall and thin as a skeleton, let out a quiet chuckle.
"Business?" he hissed, and his voice from under the mask sounded like the grinding of stones. "And what kind of important business could you have... with Lord Voldemort himself?"
"The kind that concerns not only us," Fujimaru replied, trying not to pay attention to the trembling in his knees. "It concerns everyone. The whole world. And your Lord - too."
The second Death Eater, short and stocky, growled like a beast.
"Don't try to deceive us," he growled. "You're a friend of Potter's! We know you!"
"That doesn't matter now," Fujimaru said firmly. "Believe me, what I want to say is much more important than our... disagreements."
He saw that the Death Eaters were wavering. Their faces, hidden by masks, expressed nothing, but he felt the uncertainty emanating from them. They felt his strength. The strength of despair, the readiness to do anything to achieve his goal. And also... they felt the strength emanating from Draco. The primordial power, against which they were powerless.
"Wait here," the skinny Death Eater muttered, lowering his wand. "I'll inform about you."
He turned and disappeared behind the doors, leaving Fujimaru and his companions alone with the silent and unfriendly Death Eater.
The wait seemed like an eternity. Fujimaru stood silently, unmoving, only his eyes restlessly scanning the surroundings. The Death Eaters, stationed around the entrance to the palace, looked at them with curiosity, whispering among themselves. Their gazes held suspicion and hostility, and Fujimaru couldn't blame them for it.
Finally, the doors of the palace creaked open, and the skinny Death Eater appeared on the threshold. His face was impassive, but Fujimaru read vague anxiety in his eyes.
"Lord Voldemort is waiting for you," he croaked, making an inviting gesture. "But don't try anything stupid. My... colleagues will be watching you."
Fujimaru merely nodded in response and, trying to appear confident, stepped over the threshold of the palace. The others followed him.
They found themselves in a spacious, high-ceilinged hall, more reminiscent of a throne room of an ancient castle than a reception area for the head of government. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of battles and triumphs. In the center of the hall stood a long table, laden with dishes of food and goblets of wine, but no one touched them.
At the table, lounging in a high-backed chair, sat Voldemort. Next to him, with his legs crossed, sat a man in a lion mask - King Arthur, if rumors were to be believed. His figure exuded calm and strength, and Fujimaru felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This man emanated a wave of power that was impossible to ignore.
"So what important matter has compelled you to request an audience at such a late hour?" Voldemort hissed, his red eyes, like glowing embers, boring into Fujimaru.
Fujimaru, feeling the gazes of Voldemort and the man in the mask upon him, took a deep breath. He knew that everything depended on his next words. Their lives. The fate of the world.
"We are here to warn you of a danger," he began, his voice firm despite his anxiety. "A danger that threatens us all."
"Danger?" Voldemort let out a soft chuckle that sent shivers down Fujimaru's spine. "You dared to come here, to the lair of your enemy, to speak of danger? Don't you think that's a bit... presumptuous?"
"This danger is greater than you, Lord Voldemort," Fujimaru's voice was quiet but firm. "It threatens to destroy not only the magical world but the entire world as a whole. And if we want to stop it, then we... we need to join forces."
Voldemort listened in silence, his face, gleaming in the firelight, expressionless. He resembled a statue carved from stone and ice, cold, impenetrable, deadly. King Arthur, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly, as if interested.
"And what is this terrible threat that has made you, a boy, come to me with such words?" the king boomed, his deep, powerful voice echoing off the walls of the hall.
Fujimaru took another deep breath. He felt the gazes of all those present upon him. The gazes of enemies, from whom he was separated only by a thin line of distrust and contempt. One wrong step, one wrong word...
"His name is Agent Smith," he said slowly, enunciating each word clearly. "And he possesses a power capable of destroying this world."
"Smith?" Voldemort leaned forward slightly, and a shadow of... interest? flitted across his lips. "And what is this all-powerful being capable of destroying an entire world?"
Fujimaru tried to speak evenly, suppressing the excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that their fate was being decided right now. And how convincing his words would be depended not only on his life.
"He is not from this world," Fujimaru began slowly, meeting Voldemort's gaze. "And he possesses a power that you may not understand. He can penetrate the mind, subjugate the will of others. He can change reality, distort it to suit himself."
Voldemort let out a soft laugh, in which mockery and disbelief sounded.
"The ravings of a madman," he hissed. "Are you trying to scare me with fairy tales, boy? Do you think I'll believe this nonsense?"
"He has taken control of the Beast," Medusa snapped, taking a step forward. Her voice, filled with cold fury, made everyone shudder, even Voldemort. "He used Karia Mato to get close to Draco. And he succeeded."
A shadow of doubt appeared on Voldemort's face. He turned his gaze to Draco, who stood motionless, like a statue carved from flame. In her fiery eyes, he suddenly saw something that sent a chill down his spine. Something ancient, primitive, dangerous.
"And what does he intend to do with this power?" King Arthur asked hoarsely, and for the first time, Fujimaru heard something like... concern? in his voice.
"He intends to destroy the barrier between worlds," Fujimaru replied, his voice trembling. "He wants to release into this world... something that is not meant for it."
"The barrier between worlds?" Voldemort asked slowly, and a gleam of curiosity or... understanding? appeared in his red eyes. "Are you saying that there are... other worlds?"
"Not just other worlds," Waver interrupted, unable to remain silent any longer. "The entities that inhabit them - they... they exist beyond our understanding. Beyond our laws and rules."
"They are chaos embodied," Medusa added, her voice sounding like the crack of a whip. "And if they are released into this world..."
She did not finish, but everyone understood what she meant. Silence fell, heavy and ominous. Even the crackling of the logs in the fireplace now seemed like thunder in a clear sky.
"And you think we'll believe you?" Voldemort's voice held icy notes.
"You have no choice but to believe," Fujimaru said firmly, meeting his gaze. "At stake is not only the life of wizards or Muggles. We are talking about the survival of all mankind. And even your own life, Lord Voldemort."
"How do we know you're not lying?" King Arthur asked sharply, and Fujimaru felt his heart skip a beat.
This was the crucial moment. Everything depended on his answer.
"Because I know what it's like to lose everything," Fujimaru said quietly, lowering his eyes. "I know what it's like to watch the world crumble before your eyes. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
He raised his head again and looked around at those present.
"The choice is yours."
"Choice?" Voldemort sneered, his face twisting into a predatory grin. "You came to my house, with my enemies, and you talk about choice? You're ridiculous, boy."
"This is not a game, Voldemort," Fujimaru's voice rang with anger, but he quickly regained his composure. Now was not the time for emotions. "Smith has absorbed the power of the Earth Archetype. And if you do nothing..."
The words "Earth Archetype" seemed to strike Voldemort like an invisible whip. He straightened up sharply, his eyes flashing with evil fire.
"What did you say?" he hissed, and even King Arthur seemed to tense up at the sound of those words.
"You all heard," Fujimaru met his gaze without a trace of fear. "Smith now possesses a power equal to primordial chaos. He can destroy the heavens and the earth if he wishes. And no one can stop him."
Voldemort was silent, and for the first time since they had known each other, Fujimaru saw in his eyes not anger, not rage, but... fear. Genuine, primal fear of a power he could not understand or control.
"The Earth Archetype..." he whispered slowly, his voice sounding hollow, as if from a distance. "But... that's one of those..."
He abruptly cut himself off, as if frightened by his own thoughts. But it was too late. Fujimaru saw understanding in his eyes.
"You summoned her yourself, didn't you?" he asked quietly, and there was no threat or accusation in his voice. Only bitterness and weariness. "You yourself unleashed what now threatens us all."
Voldemort gasped sharply, and Fujimaru thought he heard more horror in that sound than in all the spells and threats he had ever heard from the Dark Lord. He slowly rose from the table, his movements stiff, as if he had suddenly aged a decade.
"Everyone out!" he croaked, and his voice, devoid of its usual strength, echoed dully off the walls of the hall.
The Death Eaters, who had been watching the scene in silence until then, exchanged glances in confusion. No one dared to disobey their Lord's order, but there was something... unnatural about this sudden change of mood. Something that made them feel uncomfortable.
"But, my Lord..." the skinny Death Eater began, but fell silent, meeting his gaze. The fire of despair burned in Voldemort's red eyes.
"I said, out!" Voldemort growled, and this time his voice did not tremble. It held a steely firmness, an order not to be questioned.
The Death Eaters, as if on command, bowed low and hurried out of the hall, trying not to make any noise. King Arthur remained seated, but even he seemed to sense the change in atmosphere. He watched Voldemort with wariness, and Fujimaru thought for the first time that the king might be... scared.
When the door closed behind the last Death Eater, Voldemort slowly turned to Fujimaru. A grimace of pain was frozen on his face, as if he had been struck in the very heart.
"You're right," he rasped, and those words sounded more terrible than any spell. "I myself... I myself am to blame for everything."
Voldemort shuddered, as if remembering something unpleasant and long forgotten. He ran his hand over his forehead, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
"Fenrir..." he muttered. "Yes, there was such a... wolf cub, who got in the way. But what does it matter? The Earth Archetype... Isn't that one of those demons you mages love to summon for your vile purposes?"
"Archetypes are not demons, Voldemort," Fujimaru's voice was calm and even, as if he were lecturing a distracted student. "They are entities of a different order. They embody the fundamental forces on which the world rests. Their existence is so alien to our world that even a simple touch can lead to unpredictable consequences."
"Unpredictable?" Voldemort croaked. "Are you saying that the world could... collapse?"
"The world is already on the brink," Medusa said, and her voice rang out like a bell. "And if we do nothing..."
"There's something else you need to know, Voldemort," Fujimaru interrupted her. "The Earth Archetype is not the only one."
Voldemort flinched. He slowly raised his head, and in his eyes, Fujimaru read not only fear but also something else. Curiosity? Thirst for knowledge? Or... despair?
"Tell me everything," he whispered, and there was no trace of his former arrogance in his voice. "Tell me about these... Archetypes."
Fujimaru glanced at those present. Voldemort, who once inspired terror with his very name, now looked broken, lost. King Arthur, hidden behind a mask, seemed to embody icy calm, but even in his posture, tension was palpable.
"Alright," Fujimaru began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "There are seven Archetypes, each of which is an embodiment of primordial power. You, mages, touch their power through magic, but the Archetypes themselves are something much greater. They are the very fabric of reality."
He fell silent, recalling what he had been told in the Clock Tower.
"There is the Archetype of Death," he continued. "The embodiment of the end of all things. The Archetype of Life, responsible for the cycles of birth and rebirth. The Archetype of Light, bringing order and harmony. And others..."
Fujimaru looked at Voldemort.
"You, Voldemort, strive for immortality. For power over life and death. But you have no idea what forces lurk beyond your understanding. Forces that make even your ambitions seem... insignificant."
"Enough," Voldemort interrupted him sharply. His voice, though it had lost its former power, still inspired anxiety. "You haven't answered my question yet. What are we to do with this... Smith? How do we stop him?"
"To defeat a monster, you need to know how it works," Fujimaru said quietly. "And until we know that, we have no..."
He stopped short, remembering Medusa's words.
"There is one way," he continued after a pause. "But it's too dangerous. Too unpredictable."
"Speak already!" Voldemort growled, losing patience.
"We need to find someone who can resist the power of the Archetype. Someone who possesses even greater power."
"And who, in your opinion, is capable of that?" King Arthur asked.
Fujimaru sighed.
"There is one entity," he said slowly. "It's called ORT. The Archetype Mercury. A being so ancient and powerful that its awakening could destroy... everything."
He met Voldemort's gaze.
"But for now, it sleeps. And we'd better pray that it never wakes up."
In the deathly silence of the hall, these words sounded like a verdict. Voldemort swallowed hard, his eyes feverishly shining.
"In other words," he croaked, "we have no hope?"
"Not exactly," Fujimaru tried to give his voice some confidence. "As long as Smith hasn't figured out the power of the Archetype of Earth, we have a small chance. But for that..."
He stopped, looking at King Arthur. He sat motionless, but his face was hidden by a mask, so it was impossible to say anything about the king's emotions. But Fujimaru felt his gaze upon him, heavy, studying.
"For that, we need to unite," Fujimaru finished, addressing both dark lords. "I know it sounds... wild. But we have no other choice. If we want to survive..."
He stopped again, feeling how just from this one word - "survive" - his insides were tied in a knot. For too long, they had been enemies. Too much pain and blood divided them. Could they really... forget about their enmity now, in the face of absolute horror?
The silence in the hall was heavy, like the calm before a storm. Outside, a storm raged, but even its fury seemed insignificant compared to what was happening in Fujimaru's soul. He stepped forward, feeling the gazes of Voldemort and King Arthur upon him. They radiated a hidden power, a danger that could at any moment turn into either death or...
"The time has come," he said quietly, and although his voice trembled with excitement, it sounded confident. "The time to make decisions."
Voldemort remained silent, his face hidden in the shadows, and Fujimaru could not understand what he was thinking. The Dark Lord slowly walked around the hall, his long fingers nervously tapping on the back of the chair.
Finally, he stopped and turned to Fujimaru.
"You're asking for the impossible," his voice was muffled. "We are enemies. We always have been."
"Before this world is engulfed in chaos," Fujimaru said, meeting his gaze, "we can try to become... allies. At least for a while."
Voldemort let out a quiet, hoarse laugh.
"Allies?" He walked around the hall again. "With those who challenged me? Who tried to destroy me?"
"With those who are now trying to save it," Draco said coldly, and her words sounded in the silence of the hall like a hammer blow. "Don't forget, Voldemort, this concerns you too. If we don't unite, you will rule over ruins, and only until Smith gets to you."
Voldemort turned sharply to her, and Fujimaru felt the air in the hall thicken with tension. Only recently, Draco had been his servant, a weapon in his hands. But now...
"You dare to give me orders?" Voldemort hissed, and Fujimaru was already preparing for the worst. For a flash of anger, for a deadly curse.
But instead, Voldemort suddenly slumped into the chair, as if his legs had given way. He covered his face with his hands, and Fujimaru saw a reddish glow seeping between his fingers.
"What have you done, Dumbledore..." he whispered, and there was no anger or threat in his voice. Only powerlessness and despair. "What have you dragged us into..."
"Dumbledore has nothing to do with this," Fujimaru said quietly but firmly, and the words came out of his mouth before he could analyze them. "This is your choice, Voldemort. Your fault."
He saw Voldemort's body tense, as if he was preparing to pounce. The red eyes flashed with a sinister fire, but at that moment, Voldemort suddenly turned his head to the side, as if something had distracted him.
Fujimaru followed his gaze but saw nothing but an empty wall adorned with a tapestry.
"You dare not..." Voldemort hissed, but again fell silent, this time as if against his will.
He looked to the side again, and Fujimaru thought he now saw something there that made him fall silent. King Arthur also watched him with unconcealed tension. He shook his head slightly, and although his face was hidden by a mask, Fujimaru thought he saw a silent order in his posture: "Be quiet."
Voldemort slowly returned to the chair, his shoulders slumped, as if he was carrying an unbearable burden.
"What are we to do?" he whispered, and there was not a trace of his former strength in his voice. "Where do we go now?"
Fujimaru allowed himself a slight sigh of relief. It seemed that the most dangerous moment was over. For now.
"First of all," he said slowly, choosing his words, "we need to understand what we are dealing with. This Smith... He is more dangerous than we thought. He is not just a puppet. He is... a student."
"A student?" King Arthur asked, and Fujimaru heard genuine interest in his voice.
"He is learning," Fujimaru nodded, recalling Medusa's words about how Smith "evolves." "He absorbs information, knowledge, power. And the longer he stays near the Archetype of Earth, the..."
"The more dangerous he becomes," Voldemort finished for him. The fire flared up again in his eyes, but now it was not the fire of madness, but the fire of... understanding. "And what do you propose?"
Fujimaru looked around at those present. Voldemort, King Arthur, the Death Eaters, who seemed to have materialized out of thin air and were now silently watching him from the shadows. They were all his enemies. They all wanted him dead.
But now... now they were in the same boat.
"We need to find Fenrir Greyback," he said, and his voice sounded confident. "He was the last one to see Smith. Perhaps he has some information that can help us."
"Fenrir Greyback?" Voldemort sneered. "That pathetic werewolf? He's unlikely to help us in any way."
"Perhaps he is in danger," Fujimaru insisted. "Or, at least, he can..."
"Before we go looking for this... puppy," King Arthur said slowly, "we need to solve a more pressing problem."
Fujimaru felt a chill of anxiety. He understood what the king was talking about.
"Smith won't be limited to just the Archetype," he said, addressing Voldemort. "He will spread. Change everything around him. Turn people... into himself."
"Into himself?" Voldemort frowned, not understanding.
"He can create copies," Fujimaru explained. "Exact copies of himself. And each of them will possess his power. His consciousness."
"He has already started doing this," Medusa said quietly, and her words sounded like a verdict. "I saw his... scouts. They look like..."
She hesitated, as if searching for words.
"Like metal octopuses," Fujimaru added, recalling what he had seen in the sewers. "They penetrate everywhere. Into houses, shelters, any crevices. And they look for new victims."
"This... this is impossible," Voldemort whispered, and Fujimaru heard genuine, unadulterated fear in his voice for the first time.
"It's possible," Fujimaru said coldly. "And we need to act quickly. We need to isolate the city. Block all underground communications. Otherwise..."
He paused again, not wanting to say out loud what everyone present understood. Otherwise, London would turn into a giant hive inhabited by thousands of copies of Smith. And then... then they would have no chance at all.
"And one more thing, Voldemort," Fujimaru looked intently at the Dark Lord. "Warn your people. No one, I repeat, no one should go down into the sewers. Under no circumstances. Otherwise..."
He didn't finish, but his gaze said more than any words. Smith is waiting. And he does not forgive mistakes.