Novel & Cerita Why Was Dumbledore's Hand Black

It should be illegal to look this nerve wrecking. The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a patch of clear slightly tanned skin. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the prominent veins that ran up his back hand. I felt the breath hitch in my wind pipes as our eyes met, his mesmerizing green stare made my cheeks flush and my knees go weak, it was like I was paralyzed as I stood there while his eyes still roamed me. "I don't think I've introduced myself. Damon Blackwood" his husky voice made my heart rate pick up. A smirk crawled unto his features as he stretched out a hand for me and I just stared in awe, his words sinking in.

He had transformed into a mighteous beast as he stared at Summer whose eyes now took the shade of two colors. One green and one red. "She has the eyes of her father and mother, she's sure an abomination." Voldemort thought to himself and charged speedly towards the abomination when all a sudden, a strong light appeared from nowhere, blinding his eyes and the eyes of the others as a teenager came out of the portal, he was the same age as Damon and Dorian. But he was black! "It's okay Amber." He softly said and chanted some inaudible spells which blinded the eyes of Voldemort and when he regained his sight they were gone.

Not ordinary fire—this fire was black, yet hotter than any normal flame. It raced up the blade and onto the sorcerer’s hand, burning through his glove and skin. “AAARGHH!” He screamed in agony, throwing away the ice blade, which melted into boiling water. His pale face turned bright red, and his body shook violently from the unexpected heat. At the same moment, I felt a powerful surge of magic from behind me. Dorian appeared at the far end of the corridor, one hand outstretched. His eyes glowed pitch black, and a dense, terrifying aura of darkness radiated from him.

A new quick fkick of my fingers doused it, my eyes still burning with rage and desperation for survival. I continued the purification spells, watching the dark power shrink. That was when I saw it. A black cauldron. How did it get here? The black energy seemed to be receding into it. My feet left the ground and I opened my palm. A massive arm formed entirely from ice and thunder assembled behind me, claws extending from it, tough, and deadly. With a single thought, it smacked down on the cauldron. Wails multiplied in the room, and I felt something powerful collide into me. I tilted mid air and barely managed to catch myself. Almost immediately, the pot shattered, disappearing, alongside the

Now, he saw his rival die in a pitiful manner, not even allowed to rest in peace after death. BOOOOM… While he was still in shock, seven chains appeared, binding the giant black hand. The old man who saw this immediately calmed his anger. The seven chains of different colors made him tremble uncontrollably. He did not understand why the black hand was sealed to his rival's bones.

He pauses, gaze narrowing. “And yet he interfered,” the Black Mage mutters, bitterness dripping from his voice. “The White Wizard. He couldn’t save the girl, but he stole the bloodline from my grasp—smuggled it into shadow. Preserved it. Watered it like a weed, hoping it would bloom again.” He raises both hands now, dark magic crackling between his fingers. “Well, let it bloom. Let them try. I will burn it root and stem this time.” The cursed circle beneath his feet pulses with rising heat.

" I said, and he shook his head. "No... I didn't..." he said, and I chuckled. "You might not have killed her, but you were the cause she is dead, and that is why you will suffer for it," I said, and he trembled. Then, out of the blue, his trembling form started changing. His body suddenly felt stronger, and when he touched my hand, it burned, forcing me to release him. "You thought your stupid white magic could handle my darkness?" he said, and I took a deep breath.

He let out another cough that caused pain to seism through his body. He closed his eyes in pain and when he did open them, for about two seconds after, everywhere around him was pitch black. Professor Ericson took his hand away from his neck and looked all around. He found what he was looking for, Francis' wand and as he took it from the ground, he pushed it into Francis' bloody, shaky hands. “Do a spell. Heal yourself!” professor Ericson urged. He was begging. Francis let the wand slip out of his hand and stained with it was a gooey slush of blood.

The runes ignited, threads of light weaving up her arms and into the Mark. The air thickened. The ground trembled. And from the shadows at the edge of the room, something stirred — not an Echo, but something worse. Figures began to form — twisted silhouettes of men and beasts, remnants of those the Black Moon had touched. They moved like smoke and screamed like memory. Zevran’s blade flashed. “Here we go again.” He fought without hesitation, cutting through shadows that reformed as fast as he struck them. Each one that fell fed the light around Kaelira’s spell, fueling her strength.

Armadale fumed. Jeremiah felt guilty and then he wiped his hand on his brand new white robe, “Amy, I saw the curse spells from the second and third pages have the same embellishment…” “Yes, it's a curse spell level 2, Jeremiah.” Armadale answered, “The one who killed King Victor Blackfrost and Harold Whitewood is clearly a skillful black magician.” “I see…” “Why did you suddenly ask that? I thought you already moved on from your vengeance…” Armadale sneered, “or are you having a change of heart?”