Harry Potter: Archmage of Another World

Snowflakes danced as the temperature plummeted, enveloping the valley in a thick layer of frost. The sprawling battlefield was blanketed in snow, the four-pointed star array drawing to its final stroke. In the sky, a crystalline fountain of ice appeared, cascading down like an inverted Milky Way. The earth, as the icy stream flowed, crystallized into layers of frost. The chilling torrent swept into the demon army's ranks, freezing minotaurs and goat-headed demons into statues of ice.

Floating in the sky, the scythe-wielding demons were caught in the biting winds of the star array, frozen mid-flight like figures in a still-life painting. The battlefield fell eerily silent, except for the wizard's side and the two high-ranking demons at the rear. The rest of the demon forces were annihilated.

"Did we win?" Harry adjusted his glasses, his voice trembling with relief. From the outset, he'd never imagined that a group of inexperienced students could defeat a demon army head-on. Of course, their contribution accounted for less than 10% of the victory. Yet, in disrupting the demons' coordinated assaults, their efforts were not insignificant.

"Now," Loki said, turning to the demon commander and the evil sorcerer trapped in the lightning array, "shall we discuss the whereabouts of the captured wizards?" His voice was calm but commanding. Sparing them wasn't an act of mercy—it was necessary to gather information about the missing Hogwarts comrades. This was, after all, the demons' territory, and wiping them out entirely might make finding the captives near impossible.

Raylos, the demon commander, calmly parried the last bolt of blue lightning. His elegant longsword struck the array's core with precision. Removing his white tactical gloves, he stepped out of the array with a refined demeanor.

"It's far too early to discuss terms," Raylos said with a slight smile. "Do you really think you've won? As your senior, perhaps it falls to me to teach you this: playing your trump card too soon is always a blemish on any masterpiece. The most dazzling moments in art are reserved for the critical juncture."

Thor's deep blue eyes gleamed with faint mockery. "Preemptive strikes win battles. Holding back only creates opportunities for your enemies. Your so-called trump card may well be nothing more than a blank slate to us."

"Feel free to test that theory," Raylos replied, his tone calm but laced with challenge.

"Very well," Thor said, his gaze steady and provocative.

Raylos's black eyes flickered with a hint of fury. Slowly, he sheathed his longsword at his waist, adjusted his immaculate black uniform, and gave a slight nod to Sudri, the evil sorcerer beside him. Then, kneeling on one knee, he faced the altar at the center of the battlefield.

On the back of his hands, two black sigils of sword and halberd glowed, emitting a consuming dark light. The brilliance surged into the altar above, and a massive, celestial eye in the void slowly opened. A golden pupil, cold and divine, emerged from its depths.

The black gate of light yawned open, revealing a vast cosmos filled with flickering stars and dimming galaxies. In the next moment, a slender, alabaster hand pierced through the veil of the gate.

"Commander of the 48th Legion, I humbly welcome Lord Agares's arrival!" Raylos declared, his voice reverent, his kneeling posture unwavering.

"Lich Kel'Thuzad's Ninety-Third Division, Sudri, greets Your Lordship," Sudri said, bowing deeply with his staff in hand.

Through the black gate of light stepped a solitary figure. Though his frame was slender, an overwhelming aura of oppressive power radiated from him. Darkness and light intertwined, coalescing around him. The elements of the world seemed to submit, circling his presence. Beneath the vast starry sky, it felt as though only he existed.

He was clad in a golden military uniform, and upon his sharp shoulder rested a jet-black eagle, its gaze imperious. His flawless, almost ethereal face bore golden irises, cold and crystalline.

He stood there in silence, as though he were the sovereign of this world. No force, no being, could shake him. He was a towering, immovable presence, like a sacred mountain holding the heavens aloft and anchoring the vast earth.

Before him, even the mightiest would feel insignificant. Resistance was futile; life and death rested in the mere flicker of his thoughts.

An icy silence pervaded the air, stretching into eternity. Beads of sweat formed on Raylos and Sudri's brows as they trembled under the weight of his gaze. Finally, Agares spoke, his voice low and deliberate.

"Do you know your error?"

Raylos lowered his head in submission, his voice quivering. "My Lord, I was wrong."

"What was your mistake?" Agares asked, his golden eyes fixed on Raylos, his tone calm yet unyielding.

Sweat drenched Raylos's face. He looked wretched, but before Agares, even anger was a luxury he could not afford. "As the commander entrusted with this domain, I failed to fulfill my duties. I allowed the Tree of Life to self-destruct, disrupting Lord Mammon's plans. I am unworthy to live."

"Well said," Agares replied indifferently, nodding slightly. He turned away, his voice cold as frost. "Then die."

Lifting his hand, Agares clenched his fingers into a fist. With a casual motion, he punched forward.

There were no dazzling lights or dramatic effects, only the purest, most straightforward display of immense power—a blow imbued with unstoppable force.

The bright starry sky dimmed instantly. Stars, galaxies, the vastness of the cosmos—all seemed to vanish beneath the overwhelming might of that single punch.

All eyes, all minds, all souls were drawn to it, unable to focus on anything else.

This punch was everything. It transcended limits, defied comprehension, and crushed all resistance. It obliterated all thoughts, leaving only awe and reverence in its wake.

This was Agares—one of the seventy-two demon lords of Solomon.

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