Chapter 82 The Rose and the Snake 22

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds..."

Abraxas' voice sounded, cold, flat, and without any ups and downs, as if he was reading out a boring document from the Ministry of Magic.

Each syllable was clearly heard in the dead silence of the garden, with a biting irony. He was forced to tilt his head back slightly, the line of his jaw was tense, and his fragile neck was exposed to Voldemort's hot breath.

Voldemort sat back in a high-backed chair like a throne, his posture looking lazy yet in control of everything.

His other hand rested casually on the armrest, his fingertips tapping occasionally on the cold gilded carvings.

His handsome face wore his usual, impeccable, gentle smile, as if he was just enjoying an interesting drama.

However, only Abraxas, who was closest to him, and a few sharp-eyed core Death Eaters could catch the frozen crimson light deep in his eyes, like polar ice, and the subtle muscle lines under that perfect smile, tense as he tried to suppress some emotion.

His left hand, the one tightly clasping Abraxas' wrist, beneath the cuff, a newly formed golden system pattern wrapped in thorn shadows was emitting a scorching glow.

He could clearly feel every faint beat of Abraxas's pulse in his wrist, and the almost imperceptible stiffness of his body caused by humiliation and suppressed pain.

What made him even more furious was that the damn system panel in his mind was madly flashing the cold reminder "Mission in progress... Pleasure value +1%... +1%..." with every word Abraxas said!

Pleasure? Voldemort felt only a rage of destruction and a sickening feeling of being force-fed rottenness churning in his chest.

Deep in his scarlet pupils, he reflected Abraxas's fragile neck, which was forced to be raised, and a crazy idea began to grow - as long as he exerted a little force with his fingertips, he could end this absurd farce like pinching the stem of a flower!

“Admit impediments. Love is not love…”

Abraxas' voice continued, his gray-blue eyes scanned the words on the parchment empty, but it seemed as if he could see through the paper and see deeper.

He could feel Voldemort's grip on his wrist unconsciously increasing, the burning gold pattern pressing against his skin like a branding iron.

What made his heart churn even more was that the dark red thorn mark on his chest was now emitting waves of strong and strange contractions.

It was as if countless invisible thorny vines were growing out from the depths of the brand, tightly squeezing his heart and lungs.

Every time the brand pulsed and contracted, it brought a suffocating pain and a stagnant feeling as if the magic circuit was being forcibly squeezed.

Cold sweat instantly soaked through his back, and his face turned from pale to a near-death gray. He knew this was the system's punishment for his "passive slacking," branding him with pain synchronization, pressuring him to invest his "emotions."

[Warning! The host's recitation emotion index is detected: -100%! ]

['Thorny Brand' penalty activated: Synchronous contraction rate 10%! Pain amplified!]

[Tip: Host, please immerse yourself in the role as quickly as possible and perform with deep emotion! Otherwise, the shrinkage rate will continue to rise!] The system's cold warning was like a death knell.

Abraxas endured the sharp pain of his heart being clenched and the fishy sweetness rising in his throat, his gray-blue pupils slightly contracted due to the pain.

He tried to regulate his breathing, but the contraction of the brand was like an iron hoop, making every breath he took feel like swallowing a razor blade.

He was forced to open his mouth slightly, trying to inhale more air. To others, this action looked like a slight gasp due to "deep affection".

Just as he opened his mouth, Clarice Black, who had been lurking in the crowd like a poisonous snake, staring at him with resentful eyes, suddenly had a flash of ecstasy and ruthlessness in her eyes.

Chance!

While everyone's attention was drawn to the "passionate recitation" on the throne, and while the waiters were busy serving wine, Clarice, with trembling hands, took out a crystal bottle, only the size of a fingernail and as clear as obsidian, from her handbag inlaid with black swan feathers.

Inside the bottle was a sticky liquid that shimmered with an ominous dark blue hue—the water demon's heart poison. It was odorless, highly toxic, and slow in onset, yet capable of completely corroding the core of magic power. It was the killer weapon she had obtained from Knockturn Alley after using up her last savings!

Her target was the nearly untouched crystal goblet of amber mead that lay before Abraxas.

She pretended to be tripped by her skirt, staggered forward, and with the help of her wide sleeves, she reached out for the cup of mead as swiftly as a poisonous snake spitting out its tongue!

“O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark…”

Abraxas' voice trembled slightly due to the excruciating pain of the brand.

The moment he said this, the corner of his eye keenly caught Clarisse's unusual movement and the fleeting cold blue light on her cuffs!

Poison! The target is him!

Almost instinctively, he wanted to dodge sideways and raise his hand to knock over the wine glass.

But Voldemort's left hand, gripping his wrist, was like a steel vice, holding him firmly in place.

The brand on his chest suddenly contracted due to his violent emotional fluctuations and his intention to resist.

"Ugh!" A suppressed groan of pain finally broke through Abraxas's clenched teeth! His body suddenly stiffened, and the recitation stopped abruptly.

His grey-blue eyes instantly lost focus due to the severe pain, and the edges of his vision began to turn black.

Clarice's fingers had already touched the cool wall of the crystal glass! With just a flick, the drop of deadly blue venom would fall into the wine.

At this critical moment!

“Buzz!”

A terrifying pain that was ten times stronger than the contraction of the brand and came from the soul connection was like a giant red-hot spear piercing his chest, exploding inside Voldemort's body without any warning.

"Ugh!"

A short, suppressed roar filled with incredible pain burst out from Voldemort's clenched teeth unexpectedly! The perfect gentle mask on his face shattered in an instant.

His handsome face was distorted by the sudden, far greater pain than he had anticipated! His scarlet pupils suddenly dilated and blurred. His left hand, tightly gripping Abraxas' wrist, instantly lost its grip and loosened.

His strong body jerked forward uncontrollably.

His chest slammed hard into the back of Abraxas, who was forced to sit on his lap.

To outsiders, this action seemed like the Dark Lord couldn't help himself and hugged his "lover" deeper into his arms.