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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 283
🕑 Added 2025-12-03 19:03:14 +0000 UTCChapter 283: Thunderlord Takes the Stage! Living Painting: “Dead Dragon Fulsanx”!
"What… what is happening?!"
"Why did it suddenly go dark? Have I gone blind?"
"Look!"
Cedric shot to his feet, pointing at the pitch-black sky with a gasp. "Merlin… are those wings?!"
Everyone craned their necks.
The "curtain" of darkness above was slowly moving.
Look closely, and you could see it.
It was a pair of vast, jet-black flesh wings, spread across the heavens and blotting out the light over every single head.
Thunderclouds boiled up.
Within that mass of shadow, a pair of blood-red eyes snapped open.
In an instant, the roaring stands fell almost completely silent.
A crushing pressure from on high swept over them, making every chest tighten.
No one dared breathe too loud, for fear of drawing the monster’s gaze.
"Shh."
In the quiet, the black-haired boy at the edge of the arena lifted a finger to his lips.
Magic flared from the wand he had driven deep into the ground.
Ethan raised his dazzling cobalt eyes, bared his teeth in a grin, and enunciated each word.
"The first task’s objective: defeat the Dead Dragon Fulsanx."
"Now, please… listen to the dragon’s roar."
The last word had barely fallen when a bellow shattered the world.
It tore across heaven and earth like a thunderclap.
[ROAR!!!]
"Mm!"
Up in the stands, Hermione, like everyone else, clapped her hands over her ears as a shudder ran right through her soul.
She stared blankly at the terrible black dragon, eyes full of fear.
And awe.
So strong. So beautiful.
A tremor ran through her. She was entranced by the sheer, brutal beauty of its power.
On the judges’ platform, Durmstrang Headmaster Karkaroff all but threw himself against the rail.
His eyes bulged as he stared at the dragon that had turned the sky and earth dark, and he shouted, voice breaking, "Wh-what in the world is that?! A dragon?!"
From its form, there was no question it was a dragon.
But he had never seen a dragon this enormous.
A dragon’s strength generally scaled with age.
Something on this level could only be a primeval elder dragon.
Which was impossible.
Even if such creatures had not yet gone extinct, Ethan could not have just dragged one into the school.
Not like this—appearing out of nowhere.
Like a warhammer straight to the skull, the sight smashed Karkaroff’s mind into chaos.
In that moment, he had only one coherent thought.
So this was the country famed for being "conservative" and "hidebound."
Far too advanced.
Beside him, even Dumbledore’s beard twitched as his mouth tried not to smile.
All around, dragon roars rolled like waves.
Bolts of blood-red lightning crashed down from the clouds.
"Ahhh!"
Students screamed, shoving backward on the stands.
They quickly realised, though, that every strike dissolved harmlessly against a dome of translucent force surrounding the arena.
The protective enchantment All Spells End.
Dozens of assisting witches and wizards knelt half-crouched on the ground, gritting their teeth as their magic poured out of them at a terrifying rate.
Squinting against the gale, they stared at Ethan in disbelief.
What an unbelievable reserve of magic.
He alone was bearing more than half the burden.
Next to this boy, they were only background and support.
"Impossible. That power belongs to a wizard who has not even come of age…"
"If he ever joined the Aurors, there would be no dark wizards left in the world."
"Astounding…"
Human joys and sorrows rarely match.
While the support casters marvelled, the actual champions already felt half-dead.
"W-we have to defeat… that thing?" Fleur whispered.
She trembled as she stared up at the mountain of black scales before her, feeling all her earlier courage and resolve flake away like old plaster.
Ethan gave her a curious look and smiled. "Of course not."
Her pupils shrank. A spark of hope lit in her eyes. "Truly?"
"Naturally."
Under clouds churning with black whirlpools like storm-torn seas, Ethan spread his arms.
His dark hair whipped about his face, robes snapping in the wind.
A sun-bright smile lit his features.
"Just a dragon would be dull. We have to add something more interesting."
As Fleur’s face froze mid-relief, a card wrapped in crackling scarlet lightning appeared between Ethan’s fingers.
"Painting: Thunderlance."
With a sound like the world splitting, a storm of lightning fell.
Crimson light washed over heaven and earth.
The bolts converged on the dragon’s foreclaws, coalescing into two spears that seemed to pierce the sky.
Lightning writhed up and down the crimson shafts, hissing and crackling with lethal promise.
Ethan’s grin sharpened.
This was one of his masterpieces.
Modelled on the Norwegian Ridgeback that lurked in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, it was a Third Tier, Golden Legendary living painting.
The ancient dragon Fulsanx.
At first, he had wanted to paint its weapons directly into the same piece.
Then he had discovered he simply did not have the magic.
It made sense. This was not some distant echo of an Old One.
It was a flesh-and-blood ancient dragon.
As the mightiest of all draconic bloodlines, the cost in magic soared accordingly.
So Ethan had an idea.
Like a serpent swallowing its own tail, he split the weapon off and painted it into a separate piece.
At the crucial moment, he could fuse the two, achieving the same effect while keeping the strain just within what his body could endure.
[Name: Thunderlance, Signature Weapon of Dead Dragon Fulsanx]
[Tier: Second Tier, Golden Legendary]
[Type: Weapon]
[Effect: A weapon created using Deathcurse Stone. The brutal power sealed within can only be wielded by a dragon; any lesser being would be shattered. It draws down scarlet lightning laced with curses to deliver a mortal blow.]
On the judges’ stand, Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons shot to her feet, white as a sheet.
"We withdraw. We are withdrawing!" she shouted, slamming a fist the size of a soup bowl into the rail.
Sweat beaded on her brow.
Then she met Crouch’s hard stare.
"Chosen champions are bound to compete," he said flatly. "And you signed the liability waiver, did you not?"
How could she have known the very first task would be an ancient dragon?
Was every British wizard insane?
Dumbledore, having enjoyed the spectacle long enough, finally cleared his throat and offered comfort.
"There is no need to worry, Madame Maxime," he said. "Ethan has a fondness for theatrics, but he is a good-hearted child. He will not truly harm anyone."
"I seem to recall you have lost several Slytherins these past few years," she replied, one brow arching.
Dumbledore coughed.
Those had been accidents. Accidents.
In any case, they were here. It was far too late to call a halt now.
Within the scarlet arena shield, Ethan clapped his hands once.
Wind lifted him into the air.
He looked down at the nine champions below. The mask of the courteous gentleman cracked, and an eager, feral smile showed through.
"Come then. Use every ounce of strength you have and kill this ancient dragon."
"Earn the right to challenge me."
His cobalt eyes curved as he added, slowly and clearly, "Warm reminder: a dragon’s fatal weak point is just under its jaw."
