Chapter 92 The Rose and the Snake 32
He picked up the cup and walked to the bed.
The tall figure brought a strong sense of oppression, and the shadow shrouded Abraxas' pale face.
He leaned over, grasping Abraxas' jaw roughly with one hand, forcing his bloodless lips slightly open, while with his other hand he brought the rim of the cup closer.
"Drink it, Malfoy." Voldemort's voice was low and hoarse, carrying an unquestionable command and a hint of cold expectation. "The care of the system's love."
Abraxas's sluggish gray-blue pupils moved slightly, as if trying to focus on Voldemort's face, but in the end they just drooped weakly.
He had no strength to resist, and with a faint gurgling sound coming from his throat, he obediently (or rather, unable to resist) let the warm pink liquid with a strong strawberry scent pour into his mouth.
Voldemort fed slowly and patiently, making sure every drop went down Abraxas' throat.
He could clearly feel Abraxas's fragile Adam's apple rolling hard under his palm.
After the liquid flowed into the gray-blue eyes, the pupils seemed to dilate for a moment, and then became more distracted and confused.
Time passed in silence, and the fire in the fireplace crackled softly.
Voldemort was like the most patient hunter, quietly waiting for the drug to take effect.
His scarlet eyes were fixed on Abraxas's face, capturing every subtle change in his expression.
About ten minutes later, Abraxas' breathing seemed to become slightly steadier, but his eyes had completely lost focus, as if covered with a layer of mist.
His pale cheeks even had an abnormal, sickly blush.
The time has come.
Voldemort released the hand that was gripping his jaw and instead gently brushed his fingertips across his heated forehead with a creepy tenderness.
The voice lowered even lower, like a whisper between lovers, with a strange, bewitching magical fluctuation: "Tell me, Abraxas... what is that dagger on your chest...?"
Abraxas' lips moved slightly, uttering vague syllables: "Dagger... brand... systemic... punishment..."
"No," Voldemort's fingertips slid across his hot cheeks, his voice like poison soaked in honey, "It's not systematic. It's deeper... more ancient... Tell me, where does it come from? Who is it related to? That elf CC? Or... something else?" He deliberately guided, trying to connect the dagger with the totem or prophecy in CC's eyes.
Abraxas shook his head in confusion, his gray-blue eyes like dusty glass beads: "No... I don't know... it hurts... it hurts so much... it's... eating me..." His voice was crying, full of helplessness and fear.
Voldemort frowned slightly.
Something about the Veritaserum's effects seemed... off. Confusion and fear were normal initial reactions, but Abraxas's reaction was more like pure pain and confusion than revealing any crucial information.
He decided to change the topic to one that was more direct and stimulating to the other party.
“Horcrux…” Voldemort’s lips were almost touching Abraxas’s ear, his hot breath spraying on his sensitive skin, his voice carrying a piercing power that went straight to the soul, “Tell me… all the secrets you know… about the Horcruxes… the golden cup… the crown… the diary… the locket… and… the others…”
The moment the word "Horcrux" came out of his mouth, Abraxas' body suddenly stiffened.
His dilated pupils suddenly contracted! A strong sense of resistance, deep within his soul, swept through him like an electric current. His throat felt as if it were instantly filled with an invisible rose stem.
"Uh... uh uh..." He struggled in pain, scratching his neck unconsciously with his hands, his face flushed red.
A few gorgeous, dew-covered red rose petals, mixed with pink honey residue, were coughed out uncontrollably from his clenched teeth, sticking to his pale cheeks and pillow, a shocking sight.
World line protection mechanism! No leaking of the future!
Voldemort's pupils suddenly contracted!
Roses? A physical gag?! This is the taboo Abraxas encountered when he tried to reveal the future?!
The scarlet in his eyes instantly swelled! Rage and the humiliation of being toyed with by the rules almost made him lose control!
He stood up suddenly, and his bloody left hand was like an iron clamp, tightly grasping Abraxas' fragile neck!
“Speak!” Voldemort’s voice was distorted by rage, and his handsome face was as ferocious as a devil. “Tell me the secrets of the Horcruxes that you know! Otherwise, I will make you speechless forever!”
He exerted force with his fingers, his knuckles turning white from the exertion, and Abraxas's neck bones made a slight "crackling" sound as he could not bear the weight!
Abraxas struggled violently due to suffocation, his gray-blue eyes turned white due to lack of oxygen, his chest heaved violently, and the thorn mark pulsated and contracted wildly.
However, at the brink of death, under the dual stimulation of the intense feeling of suffocation and the soul shock caused by the secret of the Horcrux, the dark magic fragments belonging to Voldemort in his body that were temporarily suppressed by the truth serum, as well as the spider venom and ice-blue blood magic absorbed last night, underwent drastic and unexpected changes deep in the mark.
The power of the pink truth serum was like a catalyst for chaotic magic. Instead of destroying Abraxas' will, it was forcibly distorted, purified, and mutated under the pressure of multiple conflicting energies.
An extremely strange stream of pink magic with strong mental suggestion and psychedelic effect, like a living poison ivy, suddenly burst out from the depths of the mark, along the symbiotic link of the thorns, upstream, and fiercely rebounded into Voldemort's left hand that was pinching his neck.
"Well!"
Voldemort groaned! An extremely strong, electric-like pleasure, mixed with an indescribable strong possessiveness and twisted protective desire for the cold and fragile body in his arms, exploded without warning in the depths of his mind and body.
This feeling came so suddenly and so violently that it instantly dispelled his murderous intent.
The fingers that were pinching Abraxas' neck loosened suddenly as if they were burned.
At the same time, when Abraxas got a chance to catch his breath, his dilated pupils briefly regained some clarity due to the impact of the mutant drug and the strong feeling of suffocation.
He saw Voldemort's scarlet pupils, slightly dazed by the strange pleasure, so close to him, and saw the other party's hand with the mark of thorns on it, strangling his neck.
A bold and crazy idea flashed through his collapsing consciousness like lightning.
Instead of pushing the hand away, his cold fingers, stained with rose petals and residual honey, trembled and with an almost sacrificial determination, gently and slowly covered the new, bleeding thorn mark on the inside of Voldemort's left wrist.
The moment the cold fingertips touched the burning brand—
“Sizzle!”
Like cold water dropped into boiling oil!
A strong, two-way soul-shaking feeling swept over the two of them!
Abraxas used up his last bit of strength, and his fingertips moved extremely slowly over the burning mark, with endless mockery and yet like a whisper of love. The broken sound was like a candle in the wind, but it was clearly transmitted to Voldemort's ears, which were slightly distracted by the impact of pleasure:
"Kill... me? Are you... willing... to let... this... brand... cool... down...?"
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