booktalesy Chapter 562, page 571: Ian the Great Demon God 9
Chapter 562, page 571: Ian the Great Demon God 9
Chapter 562, page 571: Ian the Great Demon God 9
of course.
Ian certainly wouldn't reveal any information about Azathoth's dream to the two of them here, after all, he didn't want to plunge the two old people into a painful philosophical contemplation.
He will only tell Dumbledore and Grindelwald what they need to know.
It is a kind of kindness.
It's also a form of caution.
After all, in the Cthulhu mythos, knowledge itself is a form of pollution.
"Those beings, we call them—the Ancient Gods." Ian chose to say what he could, having already done considerable research on the matter of pollution.
Upon hearing this...
Grindelwald's breathing quickened. Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on Ian, waiting for him to continue.
"One of the oldest and most well-known," Ian said, "is called Cthulhu. It slumbers in the sunken city of R'lyeh, deep in the Pacific Ocean, awaiting the day the stars will return to their rightful place. Its power can corrupt any life, distort any reality, and drag all order into eternal chaos."
He paused, a complex emotion flashing in his deep eyes—a sense of helplessness after experiencing something terrible.
"I have faced it before."
Ian spoke easily.
Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply. Grindelwald's hand trembled, and he nearly dropped his wine glass.
"You—have faced Cthulhu directly?" Grindelwald's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
Ian nodded, a look of profound experience, so unlike his youthful face, appearing almost ageless: "During one of my time travels, on another timeline, the will of Cthulhu attempted to corrupt my world. Its dreams overshadowed reality, its power corrupted the entire dimension. I—fought against it."
He raised his hand, and a faint, dark green light appeared in his palm. Though faint, the light carried a chilling aura, as if it could devour everything. Just a glance at it sent a shiver down the spines of both Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
"This is the power I stole from it," Ian said, "a part of the Old Flame." He withdrew the light and continued, "But that's just a physical manifestation of it in the material world. The real Cthulhu, its true form, still slumbers in R'lyeh, existing in a dimension beyond our reach. Those Old Gods, their existence transcends the material realm, transcends the concepts of life and death. You can destroy their avatars, you can repel their will, but you cannot truly kill them. They are—" He paused, searching for the right words.
But I can't find it.
It can only be expressed concisely and clearly.
"Immortal."
""
Ian spoke softly.
The tavern was deathly silent.
Only the sound of the approaching waves outside the window seemed like some kind of ominous premonition.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, there was no longer fear in those deep blue eyes, only something deeper—determination.
Dumbledore didn't disbelieve what Ian said, because he knew that Ian was Raven, and Raven was also an Old God.
Although it's unknown why Ian woke up in the future.
but.
Ian is indeed an Old God, and a Great Demon God at that, as recorded in many ancient texts. Therefore, it is reasonable for an Old God to fight another Old God.
"So, Tom now—"
Dumbledore wanted to ask something, and he was carefully choosing his words.
"He is becoming a vessel for some deep-space god," Ian preemptively stated the answer. "He is trading his own soul for that power. Once he has fully transformed, his very existence will become a conduit—a conduit connecting this world with those ancient beings."
"That's absolutely foolish, ignoring everything. By then," his voice grew even colder, "they can descend into this world through him."
Ian also despised Voldemort to the extreme.
Grindelwald abruptly stood up, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with unprecedented seriousness: "Then what are we waiting for? We must find him immediately, before he completes his transformation."
“I can’t find him,” Ian interrupted him. “He’s hiding somewhere I can’t sense. He’s just gone through a transformation, been hurt, and is adapting to new powers. This is his most vulnerable moment, and also his most alert. He must be hiding himself very well.”
As he spoke, Ian looked at Dumbledore.
"Moreover, he knew I was there."
Ian knew Voldemort's personality just as well as the two people in the present.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "He knows you?"
Ian nodded: "I destroyed his five Horcruxes. Those clones possessed parts of his consciousness and memories. Although the clones were destroyed, at the moment of their dissipation, what they saw was transmitted back to his original body. He knew that there was a being more powerful than me in this era."
He walked to the table, sat down again, his small figure appearing exceptionally solemn in the chair: "As long as I show myself, he absolutely will not appear. He will hide, wait until he has fully adapted to his new power, and then—"
He didn't finish speaking, but his meaning was already clear.
Grindelwald frowned, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. "So, we need bait. A bait that can lower his guard and make him think there's an opportunity."
His gaze fell on Dumbledore.
Dumbledore did not avoid that gaze, but simply looked back calmly.
Ian looked at Dumbledore, then shook his head: "Too dangerous. He knows Headmaster Dumbledore's strength, and he was just defeated mentally. He won't take the bait easily, unless—"
"Unless I appear weak enough," Dumbledore continued, "weak enough for him to think it's an easy opportunity to kill me."
That's why he's Old Deng.
His long-standing tradition in chess is to immerse himself in the game.
Grindelwald nodded: "His hatred for you is the strongest emotion he has ever felt. If you can appear truly severely injured, so weak that you are vulnerable, he may very well be unable to resist making a move."
"However, there's a problem," he continued, a rational glint in his eyes. "To deceive the senses of a legend isn't easy. Especially a legend undergoing transformation, whose senses may be even sharper. Ordinary disguises, even advanced illusions, won't fool him."
Grindelwald was right. Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds, then looked at Ian, a deep, expectant light gleaming in his azure eyes.
"You mentioned earlier that you can enter the Illusory Realm?" Dumbledore asked.
Ian paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. It's a dimension between reality and illusion, not entirely overlapping with the rules of this world. Entering there temporarily isolates you from all external perception—including the detection of legends. I can indeed travel back and forth there."
A flicker of surprise crossed Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes: "You have this ability? The Enchanted Realm—that's a field even I only dare to study theoretically. Are you sure you can enter and leave safely?"
He can only travel to the future, and cannot fully synchronize with the memories of the future.
Ian smiled slightly, a smile that seemed particularly unfathomable on his youthful face: "I'm sure."
That is one of my special talents.
57
He's pretending again.
Ian has this kind of personality that likes to show off.
Dumbledore's gaze deepened. He looked at Ian as if he were looking at something distant yet familiar, something unattainable. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated. After a few seconds, he finally spoke, his voice hoarser than usual: "In the ancient texts about 'Ravens'—there is a mention of the Enchanted Realm."
He knew that Ian was Raven.
Ian looked at him without saying anything.
"The ancient texts say," Dumbledore continued, his voice growing softer, "that the Illusory Realm is the space between life and death, the boundary between reality and illusion. Those who can freely enter and leave that place—"
He paused, a flicker of pain in his eyes: "It is said to be able to—touch those who have already departed."
Ian's expression shifted slightly. He looked at Dumbledore, and a tenderness, almost pitying, appeared in his deep eyes, completely out of character for his age.
He knew what Dumbledore was talking about.
Ariana
The girl buried in Godric's Hollow, forever frozen at fourteen. The deepest wound that Dumbledore could never heal in his entire life.
Ian was silent for a few seconds, then spoke softly, his voice like a warm current flowing into Dumbledore's parched heart: "Headmaster Dumbledore, I know what you're thinking."
Dumbledore's body trembled slightly.
"About Ariana," Ian said, "About those—those who have left."
Grindelwald's expression changed as well. He knew, of course, who Ariana was—the root of the unbridgeable rift between him and Dumbledore. He looked at Dumbledore, a complex emotion flashing in his heterochromatic eyes: guilt, regret, and an indescribable pity.
Ian stood up and walked to Dumbledore. He looked up, his deep eyes meeting Dumbledore's, clear and resolute: "Don't worry."
"You will meet again someday."
If he weren't afraid that the Patronus would summon Ariana and attract the attention of those beings from the deep space, he could have summoned her right now to show Dumbledore.
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply! In those azure eyes, countless complex emotions surged instantly—shock, disbelief, doubt, anticipation, fear—and a faint yet incredibly bright glimmer of hope, like a candle flame in the darkness.
His lips trembled violently, as if he wanted to say something, but found himself unable to utter a sound. His hands were shaking slightly, and his whole body was trembling.
After a very long time, he managed to utter a few words with difficulty!
"What—what did you say?"
Ian looked at him, his gaze unwavering, filled with a resolute and certain light: "I said you would see her again. Not now, not here, but at some time, in some place, you will meet again."
He paused, his voice becoming even softer: "Some partings are only temporary."
Dumbledore's eyes welled up with tears.
This elderly man, who had weathered countless storms and faced countless life-or-death situations, and who could remain calm even in the darkest of times, was almost brought to tears by a single sentence from a twelve-year-old child.
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and tried to calm himself. When he opened his eyes again, there were no more tears in his deep blue eyes, only an unprecedentedly bright light.
That is hope.
Genuine, heartfelt hope.
"Thank you, child." His voice was hoarse, but incredibly sincere. "Thank you."
Grindelwald watched this scene, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with a complex light. He didn't speak, but simply picked up his glass and took a small sip. In that action were mixed feelings about Dumbledore, a renewed understanding of Ian, and a hint of something—something he himself couldn't articulate—the emotion he felt at the word "reunion."
There was a few seconds of silence in the tavern.
Then, Dumbledore took a deep breath, composed himself, and regained his calm and collected demeanor. But the light in the depths of his eyes remained bright.
"Alright," he said, "let's get back to business. We need a plan."
He looked at Ian: "Once you enter the illusionary realm, are you able to perceive what's happening in the outside world?"
Ian shook his head: "No. The Illusory Realm is completely isolated from this world. Once I go in, I will lose all perception of the outside world."
"Then how do you know when to come out?" Grindelwald asked.
"I need someone to give me a signal," Ian said. "A signal that is strong enough and clear enough."
When Voldemort appears, when the battle begins, when it is time for me to intervene.
He looked at Dumbledore: "You only need to call my name. Call me with all your might, on a spiritual level. Although the Illusory Realm isolates everything, that call from the depths of the soul can, under the guidance of the Phoenix, penetrate the barriers between dimensions." Ian had already experienced this before.
Dumbledore nodded. "Understood."
"So, what about our decoy plan?" Grindelwald asked. "Albus needs to appear genuinely wounded. To do that, acting alone won't be enough. Voldemort's senses are too sharp; he needs to see real wounds, genuinely weakened magical fluctuations."
Dumbledore nodded, then looked at Grindelwald. A complex, indescribable light flashed in his deep blue eyes.
Grindelwald met his gaze and instantly understood what he meant.
silence.
A few seconds of silence.
Then, Grindelwald's lips slowly curled up into a complex smile, tinged with self-deprecation and a hint of mockery.
"Fine, then I'll betray you one more time."
They all had the same plan.
Dumbledore didn't smile; he simply looked at him quietly. In his gaze were gratitude, guilt, trust, and something only the two of them understood.
It is a complex emotion that spans nearly a century.
"Gellert————"
"Stop talking," Grindelwald interrupted him, picked up his glass, and downed it in one gulp. "I know what to do."
I will betray you as always, I will ambush you, and I will make you look like you are seriously injured and on the verge of death.
Voldemort will see it—not only through his senses, but also through his spies planted in the shadows.
He still has a strong sense of the big picture.
Although the word "betrayal" is now clearly pronounced.
But everyone can hear it.
He harbors resentment.
After all, let's stick to the facts.
It was Dumbledore who betrayed Grindelwald.
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