Chapter 1298 One Half-Angel, One Half-Demon
At the border of Wiltshire and Oxfordshire lies a forest perpetually shrouded in thick fog. As the sun slowly sinks below the horizon, discordant bursts of air and black-and-white vortexes distorting space explode at the edge of the forest, shattering its tranquility.
A dark figure stumbled out of the whirlpool, struggled to regain his balance, and ran unsteadily into the forest.
There were no ready-made paths. The dark figure moved almost in a straight line through the bushes and low branches, not caring that his cloak, stained with dust and dark red dirt, was torn. He rushed straight into a seemingly ordinary stone mound covered with vines deep in the forest.
Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be a stone house that is half-buried underground.
The dark figure staggered open the door, startling the accumulated dust into flying everywhere.
The interior of the stone house was not completely dark; several kerosene lamps embedded in the walls lit up automatically.
The dark figure closed the door, panting heavily, raised his left hand, grabbed his right sleeve and tore it open, revealing a wound that looked like it had been scorched by high temperatures.
Perhaps because I tore it too hard, some of the dark red scabs on the wound were also torn off.
The shadowy figure showed no reaction, as if the bleeding arm did not belong to him. He even reached out his left hand and used his fingernail to completely peel away the scab along the edge of the wound.
More blood gushed out, meandering down his pale, bloodless arm and dripping onto the dusty stone floor.
After doing all this, he staggered to the stone sink, put his right arm on it, turned on the brass faucet, and washed his wound with clean water.
Next, he walked to a workbench filled with various crystal bottles, crucibles and precision instruments. Relying solely on memory and touch, his left hand moved swiftly among the dozens of bottles and jars.
The shadowy figure placed the materials one by one into a small crucible, then picked up a thin, long silver rod and stirred it repeatedly with an astonishingly stable frequency and amplitude.
A cool, bluish-white smoke quickly rose from the crucible. After the heat source was turned off, the liquid inside rapidly solidified into a translucent paste.
The shadowy figure carefully scooped out the ointment and then applied it evenly to the wound on his right arm.
The moment the ointment came into contact with the wound, the edges of the swollen, white wound, which had been rinsed with water, miraculously began to shrink.
He took out a roll of magical bandage soaked in some kind of potion, and skillfully bandaged the wound on his right arm with one hand and his teeth.
Throughout the entire self-treatment process, apart from the necessary movements, he did not make a single extra sound, remaining as calm as if he were handling an experimental specimen rather than his own body.
After treating his arm, the dark figure slowly walked towards the washroom.
He faced a blurry mirror, raised his left hand to grab the hood covering his head, revealing a head of slightly messy, but still smooth, dark brown short hair.
Immediately afterwards, he untied the thin straps securing the half-face mask, letting it fall onto the washbasin.
The face reflected in the mirror was so distorted that it was unforgettable, a mixture of the eerie and the terrifying.
His right side of his face, not covered by the mask, was quite handsome. His skin was pale from not seeing the sun for a long time, his eyebrows and eyes were clear and deep, his nose was high and straight, and his lips had thin and clear lines.
The left half of his face, which was originally covered by the mask, was a different hellish sight. It was not a simple scar, but a permanent mark left after being eroded by strong acid and fire in turn and barely healed.
The skin on this half of the face has completely lost its original texture and color, covered by uneven, proliferating tissue. Some areas are taut and shiny, while others are deeply sunken, with twisted muscles and blood vessels faintly visible beneath the skin.
The horrific scar raged down from his left forehead, not only destroying the shape of his left eye, but also spreading across his nose and cheek, finally disappearing into the depths of his collar like a vicious vine climbing down his neck.
Compared to the pale, handsome right half of his face, this other half was a living hell.
The shadowy figure—no, Aiden Selwyn—quietly gazed at himself in the mirror.
Half angel, half devil.
There was no resentment towards the injustice of fate or pity for his own plight deep in his intact right eye, only a bottomless, icy pool, and a twisted flame burning fiercely at the bottom of the pool.
He raised his newly bandaged right arm and moved his fingers.
The treatment was successful, and even years after leaving St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries, he still possessed top-notch skills that surpassed his peers.
This injury, and the "thing" that caused it, undoubtedly served as an unprecedented wake-up call for him.
The two Muggles who suddenly broke into the East End dock warehouse in London were not only immune to the effects of the Confusion Charm, but their "iron wands" could also fire high-temperature beams.
Aiden initially thought this beam of light was the same as the one he had encountered before, and confidently cast the Ironclad Charm to defend against it.
However, he misjudged the situation. The high-temperature beam of light "melted" the barrier. The attack happened so suddenly that he could only block it with his right arm.
Despite not understanding it, he made the wisest decision—to escape.
Fortunately, he carried some special potions with him. The moment the potions were broken, the mist that came into contact with the air formed a one-time curse.
Relying on this curse that could corrode internal organs, he ran into the escape tunnel and repeatedly used irregular short-range Apparitions.
This stone house was once the secluded residence of a dark wizard who was on good terms with the Selwyn family.
Decades ago, the dark wizard sent himself and his laboratory to their deaths during a dangerous experiment, leaving behind only this stone house, which was enchanted with the Unseen Stretching Charm and the Muggle Expulsion Charm.
Three years ago, Aiden used some of his savings to acquire the ownership deed for this place from a bankrupt distant relative. Afterward, he cast a forgetting spell on the relative, causing him to disappear completely.
But over the years, he has been reminded of that terrible accident every time he closes his eyes.
He wanted revenge, revenge against those ignorant Muggles, he wanted them to know their suffering.
After a long wait, the opportunity finally arrived, and relations between the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle government suddenly became tense.
Things should have gone smoothly; Aiden's opal necklace, crafted specifically to spread pain, would have cast a shadow over the bustling metropolis of London.
Just as he was reveling in the thrill of revenge, an accident occurred.
First, he encountered a group of Muggle agents in Kensington Gardens, and then Wayne, the young Dark Lord, flew over London on a dragon, making him afraid to act rashly again.
Today, two Muggles broke into his stronghold, and his carelessness ultimately led to an injury to his right arm.
Since when have Muggles become so dangerous?
How could they possibly possess such efficient magical defense and attack techniques? Has Muggle technology advanced to the point where it can analyze magic and even weaponize it?
This thought sent a chill down Aiden’s spine like never before.
If that's the case, his revenge will have to be put on hold.
He was forced to remain trapped in this stone house for the rest of his life.
……
……
