Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

The spiral staircase seemed endless.

The raven into which Ian transformed silently followed, always keeping to the shadows thirty steps behind. His Eye of the Raven could not only see things but also secretly cast a hidden magic called "Path Mark" — every time he walked through a Level 7 step, he left a nearly invisible silver rune in the air, as if marking some sort of pattern.

This was an expression of caution and prudence.

Ian had to be prepared for any accidents at any time. He noticed that the distribution of moss on the walls was not random — every seven steps, there was a particularly dense area.

This moss did not grow naturally; every seven levels of steps, there appeared a particularly thick clump, slightly oval-shaped, with edges that glowed faintly.

Together, they seemed like a counting method, or as if signifying something being born, related to the number seven, which is considered a Divine Artifact in the Harry Potter World.

At the end of the spiral staircase, cold, damp air mixed with a sweet and rotten eerie smell hit him. The Ghost Bride dragged the Scepter Priest by the ankles, leaving a winding trail of blood on the moss-covered stone steps. The Priest's white robe was already worn and tattered, his bony fingers clinging desperately to the cracks in the steps, oblivious of his broken nails.

"No… please… I can do many things for you, I am very useful…" The Priest's voice was hoarse and barely human, his single eye filled with bloodshot veins.

The Ghost Bride had no reaction, her red veil dress gleaming with a bloody sheen in the darkness. Her steps were mechanical and precise, each just right on the densest moss node. Ian's Raven Form glided silently, his sharp sight capturing every detail — the moss patterns were clearly inverted Eye of Horus.

"Forty-nine…" Ian counted silently in his heart. As the seventh set of seven steps was completed, his vision suddenly expanded, and the stairway finally met its end.

A giant door made from human bones stood at the end. The door frame was pieced together from seven different types of bones — ribs formed a spiral pattern, finger bones arranged into hieroglyphics.

The most unsettling feature was the door handle: a living human eyeball rotating at the center of two crossed femurs, its pupils contracting, exuding an eerie light of intelligence.

Such a setup was evidently not appropriate for any legitimate establishment.

"I swear! I swear allegiance! I can write new scriptures for you! I can summon all priests to join! Please… do not devour me! I am still useful! I am still useful—!"

The Scepter Priest's voice echoed within the narrow stairway, but no one responded, only the light, wind-like footsteps of the Ghost Bride, and the swishing sound of her wedding dress trailing on the floor.

Like the whispers of the God of Death.

Under the watchful eyes of the hidden Ian.

The Ghost Bride stopped her steps.

She released the Priest, extending pale fingers, her nails suddenly growing three inches long like blades, slicing her own wrist. Blue-black blood dripped onto the eyeball.

The pupil abruptly contracted, and then the dull sound of mechanisms moving came from inside the door.

"Witness… Return…" The Ghost Bride's voice turned into a layered texture, though Ian could discern that the third sound within was distinctly the sharp pitch of an embryo.

The door slowly opened inwards, making a piercing metallic scraping sound, like a tomb long unopened, and inside, thick darkness surged out like a living thing.

The Ghost Bride grabbed the limp Priest and stepped within.

The raven Ian transformed into spread its wings, gliding along the shadowed wall and eventually stopping on the copper-green covered branch of an ancient bronze bracket lamp. The lamp was long extinguished, but its verdigris-covered surface provided the perfect "perch" for his concealment. He held his breath, his consciousness immersed in the gap between reality and illusion, ensuring that nothing would detect him.

Inside, stood a gigantic underground hall, the sight enough to make even the most worldly Wizard tremble — in the center of the hemispherical cellar floated a golden embryo as tall as a three-story building, its surface pulsing with veins following some rhythm. Seven sturdy golden chains extended from the egg, connecting to seven crystal skull containers, each holding a brain soaked in a golden liquid.

The dome high above was immeasurable, hanging with hundreds of mummified corpses like inverted bats, skin dried like paper, limbs warped, yet still emitting low chants from their mouths. Their voices converged into a peculiar harmony, akin to ancient prayers, though belonging to no known language.

On the ground, hundreds more mummified corpses were arranged in concentric circles, kneeling in worship, their hollow eye sockets all directed towards the embryo, jaws mechanically opening and closing, emitting uniform scripture chants. Most terrifying were the empty holes on their foreheads — where the symbol signifying the third eye ought to be, now embedded with a micro golden flesh bud, twitching in sync with the chanting rhythm. All the mummified corpses were praying towards the same place.

In the center of the hall, suspended a golden embryo.

It was about three meters tall, oval-shaped, its surface covered with flowing golden patterns that pulsated like veins. It had no facial features, yet imparted a sense of "gazing" — as if the whole space were within its perception. Surrounding it were twelve mummified corpses, clad in torn High Priest's Robes.

They seemed to hold a prestigious status.

All held their hands high, palms facing upward, releasing streams of emerald green magic light, guiding the entire ritual.

Ian's pupils narrowed — these mummified corpses were not entirely dead, but reformed by some Evil Art, becoming the embryo's "live priests."