Chapter 74 The Rose and the Snake 14
Voldemort stood there, looking at the direction where Malfoy and his group disappeared, and then glanced at the scorch crater left by CC's disappearance.
His handsome face, illuminated by the remaining green light of the magic barrier, looked so gloomy that water could drip out of it.
He slowly retracted his wand, but the low pressure emanating from his body caused the temperature of the entire garden to drop sharply.
"Find it."
He whispered to the most core Death Eater around him, his voice as soft as a venomous snake's tongue, but it was filled with murderous intent that could freeze the soul.
"Dig out that filthy elf with eyes that shouldn't be there. Live or die... and see those eyes."
"Yes, My Lord!" The Death Eaters bowed their heads and quickly disappeared into the shadows.
Voldemort took one last look at Millicent, Clarisse and the others, and that look made them feel as if they were falling into an icy cave.
Without another word, his black robe billowed like a giant bat's wings, and he disappeared in an instant, leaving behind a dead, messy Ministry of Magic garden filled with fear and suspicion.
Malfoy Manor, master bedroom.
The strong smell of blood and the bitter aroma of potions filled the thick velvet curtains.
The house-elves were silent as they changed the blood-stained sheets and bandages.
Abraxas Malfoy lay on the cold four-poster bed, his face pale, his lips chapped, his chest wrapped in thick potion bandages, the dark red thorn brand beneath it emitting burning pain as if it were alive.
Although Voldemort's rough "treatment" last night saved his life, it was like planting a cold seed in his body, tearing it apart with the dark poisonous dragon entrenched in the magical ruins, bringing him continuous, bone-deep pain and weakness.
Lucius was standing by the bed, his face equally pale, his eyes tired and complicated.
His father's embarrassment and Voldemort's humiliation were engraved on his heart like a brand.
After an unknown amount of time, Abraxas' eyelashes trembled and he slowly opened his eyes.
In the gray-blue pupils, the initial confusion was quickly replaced by sharp pain and cold clarity.
Everything that happened last night - the scarlet demon eyes, the piercing pain, the backlash of the brand, CC's escape, Voldemort's rage and the final humiliation - suddenly flooded into his mind like an icy tide.
"Father...Father?" Lucius' voice was a little nervous.
Abraxas didn't look at him, his eyes fixed on the intricately carved ceiling, and a dry, sandpaper-like sound came from his throat.
Every breath involves the scar on the chest and the hidden injuries in the body.
Humiliation, anger, pain, and a hint of... twisted pleasure in using the rules of the Thorn Brand to inflict pain on Voldemort, all intertwined and churned in his heart.
Just then—
[Ding! Detected that the host has escaped the near-death state! ]
[Mandatory Quest: 'Personally knit a loving sweater for our capture target, Lord Voldemort, to convey your warmest wishes!']
[Materials distributed: 'Acromantula Venom Gland Silk' (Primary Purified Version).]
[Time limit: 48 hours. Failure penalty: Pain synchronization rate +10%, random deprivation of one sense.]
[Task Tip: If you love him, knit a sweater for him! Every stitch is a testament to your love~ (*▽*)]
The system's notification sound, with its shrill "cheerful" sound and pink love bubble special effects, forced its way into Abraxas's chaotic and painful consciousness.
"Cough... cough cough cough!" Abraxas suddenly coughed out a mouthful of blood mixed with icy chips, his gray-blue pupils contracted with extreme absurdity and anger.
Knitting a sweater? With silk from the poison glands of an Acromantula? For Voldemort? In this moment of despair?!
Love? Warm feelings?!
This damn system is pushing him into a dead end and also pushing Voldemort into the abyss of madness!
A rage mixed with severe pain, nausea and desire for destruction rushed to his head. He raised his hand suddenly to smash something, but it affected the wound. The pain made his vision black. He could only clutch the cold silk sheets under him in vain, his knuckles turning white.
Lucius was startled by his violent reaction: "Father! You need to rest! Don't be angry..."
Abraxas gasped violently, the thorn brand on his chest burning faintly with his anger.
After a few breaths, the surging anger and sense of absurdity in his ice-blue eyes were replaced by a deeper and colder calculation.
Poison Gland…Brand of Thorns…Synchronicity…Voldemort…
Every stitch...with heart...
He slowly loosened his hands that were clutching the bed sheet, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was only a bottomless cold pool inside.
"Help me up..." His voice was hoarse and broken, but it carried an unquestionable command, "Go to the study."
"But father, your injury..."
"Go to the study!" Abraxas interrupted him with a firm tone.
The pain and humiliation were like a tempered hammer, completely smashing his last bit of weakness and hesitation.
Since this damn system wants "love" and a "sweater", and wants to tie him and Voldemort together in a more twisted way... then, this "poisonous sweater of love" will be woven by him personally, becoming the most deadly spider silk wrapped around the Dark Lord's neck!
Lucius didn't dare to disobey anymore and carefully helped his father up.
Every step Abraxas took was extremely difficult, as if he was walking on the edge of a knife. Cold sweat soaked his forehead, but he straightened his back, and his gray-blue eyes stared directly at the oak door of the study in front of him. There, wriggling poisonous spider silk and the absurd "love" mission were waiting for him.
In the study of Malfoy Manor, heavy curtains blocked out the daylight. The pale flames in the fireplace danced, stretching the shadow of Abraxas Malfoy on the wall into a distorted and lonely one.
He leaned back in the high-back chair, his face still pale, but the dark red thorn brand on his chest no longer burned and pulsated as it had last night, leaving only a deep, dull pain like a burnt scar.
Within his body, the fragment of dark magic belonging to Voldemort, after absorbing part of Cruciatus's power, grew stronger and colder, like a poisonous dragon entrenched in the ruins of magic, temporarily dormant, but emitting a disturbing pressure.
His gaze fell on the desk. The blood-stained dress from last night's banquet had long been disposed of, replaced by a colorful, wriggling ball of yarn that exuded a faint stench of sulfur—the venomous silk of the Acromantula.
Next to it, there was an open Muggle book titled "Teaching You How to Knit a Sweater of Love" with a pink heart bubble on the cover.
The thoughtful projection of the system elf Hermes was flickering above the pages, demonstrating how to start sewing.
[Host, good morning! The 'shattered feeling' left by the pain and the 'battle-damaged beauty' left behind by the branding increases your Charm by 10%!]
'Love Sweater' quest countdown: 48 hours. The material's toxicity has been reduced by 70%, so please use it with confidence. (Note: Only the mortality rate has been reduced; the paralysis, hallucination, and skin ulcer effects remain.)
[Capture target 'Voldemort' emotional analysis: Killing intent 85% (locking on the elf CC), Pleasure 10% (recalling the host's pain?), Curiosity 5% (for the sweater quest). Please keep up the good work, host!]
The system's mechanical sound carries the same "cheerfulness" and bad taste as always.
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