Hoffa stared blankly at the calm Aglaia and asked hoarsely, "You … What have you experienced?"
Clap clap clap!!
However, his question was interrupted by a thunderous applause.
He turned his head to look for the source of the applause, but he saw no one.
At the same time, a strong sense of dizziness surged into his brain. The dizziness grew stronger and stronger. Then, the space he was in was stretched infinitely. Aglaia's transparent body was like a red moving star in the universe, getting further and further away from him.
Everything in front of him was blurred and deformed. The crucible, the crypt, and Aglaia were all stripped away. Finally, a stage was formed.
Outside the stage, there were countless ghosts clapping for him. Behind the ghosts, there was an endless void. In the void, Avada's black head, which was as big as a planet, held the microphone and the stage with one hand. He bared his white teeth and shouted fanatically, "Look, another man who has reached the last challenge. In this feast of life, how many people can know the future, how many people can know fate and be incomparably calm? My answer is ZERO!!
Then, let us now invite the final challenge of the Death God Game, the last opponent of the legendary Wizard Hoffa Bach, the future self, the master of the chaotic consciousness, the guide from the depths of the soul — the God of Nightmares!! "
Tick tock.
The stretching of space stopped abruptly. Avada's voice also disappeared from Hoffa's ears. The ghosts, Avada, the universe, the stars, the stage, all disappeared.
Like an electric switch being tripped, his vision plunged into darkness.
"Wait …"
"Wait!?"
Huo Fa yelled anxiously, "What have you been through? Aglaia, tell me … "
No one answered.
He groped around in the darkness, grabbed a person, and shook with all his might, "Tell me, tell me!"
"Tell you what?" Someone struggled to speak in the darkness.
Tell me what …?
Hoffa himself was confused for a moment. In a trance, he lost some of his memories. Everything that had just happened was quickly forgotten.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself grabbing the collar of a black bartender. The black bartender held up a white cloth and looked at him suspiciously.
"Hey, brother, can you not do it? What can't be solved by drinking?"
"Sorry," Hoffa mumbled and slowly let go of his hand.
He found himself standing in a completely unfamiliar place. It looked like the interior of an English street bar. The bar was decorated quite stylishly, with crystal lights, mahogany bar, inverted glasses, and elegant soft music. At first glance, it was obvious that this was not a place for ordinary gangsters to spend money. Most of the drinkers sitting here were dressed like elites in the workplace. They sat very quietly in the same place and drank, rarely speaking much.
"What do you want?"
The black bartender asked.
"What alcohol do you have?"
Huo Fa asked casually. He was a little uneasy.
"Here is the menu, take a look."
The bartender took out a drink list from under the table and handed it over.
Huo Fa took the menu and took a look. The menu that was originally labeled as a wine had turned into some strange terms, such as' good-for-nothing ',' family discord ',' father and son killing each other ',' save me '… All along the way down, there were all sorts of strange terms.
"What the hell?"
He was puzzled. He looked behind the bartender at the small blackboard with today's special offer. The names of the drinks were also "Save Me". Or something like SOS.
This made him curious, so he pointed at a random drink. "Give me a drink of Father and Son Fighting."
The black bartender nodded and picked up the shaker and ice cubes professionally. With the help of the smooth silver surface of the shaker, Hoffa found that he had returned to his normal appearance. Gray hair, golden eyes, and very young.
After a while, the black bartender put a mixed drink in front of Hoffa. "Your Father and Son Fighting. Enjoy."
Huo Fa picked up the ordinary-looking cocktail and was about to taste it, but Huo Fa didn't say anything.
Rumble!
The sound of thunder and rain came from outside the bar.
A young man in a suit pushed open the door with a bang and stumbled to sit on the high stool beside Huo Fa. Panting, he asked, "What is this place? Are we out yet?"
Hoffa looked at the young man in the suit sitting beside him. He had chestnut hair and pale skin. He looked almost the same as Miranda, except that he had no chest. The rain flowed from his wet hair and dripped on the bar counter along his sharp chin. It was heartbreaking.
"No." He picked up the glass and took a sip. It was slightly bitter in the mouth, but the aftertaste was sweet. "We are in a dream."
"A dream?" Mille asked in surprise.
"Yes."
"Are you kidding? We were fine just now. Just … just …" Mille touched his head in confusion. "What happened just now?"
"You can't remember, right?"
"I'm a little confused …"
Hoffa took another sip and sighed. "People don't remember the specific time and place in a dream. They also don't care what they look like in the dream. They don't even remember how it started."
"Do you remember?"
"I remember a little."
"Why can you remember?" Mille whispered unwillingly.
"Hmph, I don't even know how many times I've dreamed."
Hoffa swirled his glass. The empty glass was full again. He picked it up and said to himself, "These absurd details, this completely illogical transition, and this environment full of foreboding …"
Mille said, "Don't talk nonsense. What happened? Hurry up and tell me. "
"I played a game with the Grim Reaper. Only by defeating him can I take Aglaia and leave Hörheim. Otherwise, I will stay in the Underworld forever."
"And then?"
"The Grim Reaper picked three opponents for me in the game. They are the past me, the present me, and the future me. The past me has been defeated by me. The present me is the monster you saw just now. I have been turned into a pool of blood. As for the future me … "
Hoffa put down his glass and shook his head. He clutched his chest and couldn't say anything.
Countless broken images flashed before his eyes. He thought of the initial transaction between the God of Nightmares and himself. He thought of the empty house in his old age, the gun that was stuffed into his mouth, and the mission that was waiting for him fifty years ago. He felt like there was a mountain on his back and he couldn't breathe.
Mille grabbed his hand. "What's wrong with you?"
Hoffa shook his head and closed his eyes. After taking a few deep breaths, he gritted his teeth and said, "Nothing."
He wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. "The future me can control dreams. This is the dream he created for us."
"The future you …" Mille thought for a while and her face suddenly changed. "So, you have decided to go back fifty years?"
"Do I have a choice?" Hoffa smiled bitterly and shook the glass in his hand. "You should have my shadow in your past. Tell me, what was it like?"
Miller's expression changed several times, from shock to uneasiness, and from uneasiness to indifference. He turned his head away.
"If that's the case, there's nothing to say."
"Why did you learn Aglaia?"
Hoffa said calmly. "Why can't I say it?"
Mille suddenly looked very angry. He grabbed Hoffa's collar. "Listen, I don't want you to go back. Not at all!"
"Oh?" Hoffa was stunned. "That's the only time you've told me that."
"Damn it, Hoffa!" "Everything you do now may change the future. There's no such thing as a fixed future." Miller grabbed his clothes so tightly that his neck was deformed. "Everything you do now may change the future. There's no such thing as a fixed future."
"Why can't everything and every choice form the future?"
Mille opened his mouth slightly. After a while, he actually let go of his hand and stood up. The bottles on the bar table clinked. "No, I refuse to accept your way of thinking."
Everyone in the bar looked at Mille. Hoffa quickly pulled him to sit down. Only then did the people in the bar quietly look away.
The black bartender took another step forward and handed Mille a white towel to wipe the rain. He asked politely, "What would you like?"
"Gin," Mille muttered.
A transparent glass with an ice ball in it was placed in front of Mille. He took a sip of the amber liquid. He put his head close to Hoffa's ear and whispered, "Listen, Hoffa. If you don't admit that this is your future, no one can force a future on you."
"I know."
"No, you don't." Mille said firmly. "I won't allow you to have such thoughts. It's too dangerous. This is denying your own existence. It's no different from suicide."
"Okay, okay, okay." Hoffa raised his hand. "Don't get too excited. Whether this is what I will do in the future or not, the fact is that we have been dragged into a dream. We have to think of a way to get out … or else …"
"Or else what?"
"I don't know either, but I know that the only way to resist the dream is to wake up. If I don't wake up, any random cat or dog outside can destroy my body. Once my body is destroyed, I will lose completely."
Mille took another sip of wine and calmed down. "What do you think about this?"
"First, we have to determine whose dream this is. Generally speaking, the dream will choose a master and form a projection of his subconscious."
"Projection of the subconscious …"
Mille raised his head and looked around. "I've never been here before. Is this your dream?"
Hoffa shook his head. "I rarely drink, and the number of times I go to bars is even fewer. If I were to project my dream, I would never choose a place like this."
Mille touched his chin and said slowly, "So … this is Buddy Jr.'s dream?"
Hoffa realized that someone was missing from his side. He turned his head and looked around. Where was Buddy Jr? Where did he go?
.....
As he was thinking, a faint voice came from the table next to him.
.....
"You have to make a decision, Mr. Crouch. If Connelly Foggy gets hold of this information, it will be difficult for you to maintain your current status, let alone run for the position of Minister of Ministry of Magic."
"Is there no other way?"
"You can't clear your name. You worked with a wizard like the Mysterious Man. Even if you hire the world's most famous lawyer, it won't work. Also … forgive me for being blunt, but your son's way of doing things is a little too arrogant. "
"Damn you, little bastard."
The man slammed the table angrily. "How did I give birth to a son like this?"
In front of the bar counter, Hoffa and Mille looked at each other. They could see each other's surprise. Among the two people drinking in the corner, one of them was Barty Crouch Jr's father, Old Barty Crouch Crouch.
At the moment, Old Barty Crouch was wearing a gray cloak, deliberately hiding his appearance. However, Hoffa could still see that his face was haggard and gray under the hood.
The old man opposite him was dressed like a Muggle elite. He wore a suit and had a big belly. His sparse hair was neatly combed, and he wore a monocle. He was taking out documents from his black briefcase and handing them to the haggard man in front of him.
After carefully reading the documents, Old Barty Crouch rubbed his temples with a headache. "What about the limit? How far can you go? "
"My idea is to first sentence him to life imprisonment, then delay it for a few years. When the public has forgotten about Mr. Crouch Jr., you can think of other ways." After a pause, the old man dressed like a lawyer said, "Maybe it won't take a few years. You know … the public forgets faster than goldfish."
"Alright."
Old Barty Crouch's face softened a little. He rubbed his forehead. "Do you have anything else to say?"
"Yes."
The lawyer added, "This case must be dealt with as soon as possible, and you must judge this case yourself."
Hearing this, Old Barty's face that had just calmed down instantly tensed up. It was even more serious than before. He said in disbelief, "What? You want me to send my only son to Azkaban with my own hands?! "
"That's right," the lawyer said firmly, "And you must do it yourself. You must be ruthless and heartless. Only then will you leave the department with the impression that you're selfless. It will also prevent others from adding insult to injury and leaving a bad name for you and your family."
After a pause, the pot-bellied lawyer made a sweeping gesture, "This is to stop the losses in time, Mr. Crouch. If you don't do this, the losses will expand to an unimaginable extent. You are a popular candidate for minister, and there are countless pairs of eyes staring at you …"
"Enough! Benson, say no more. "
Old Barty Crouch's voice was suppressed and pained.
However, the lawyer did not shut up. He said with a heartless tone, "A person of your status will definitely understand. As long as you survive these few years, you will still have hope."
Old Barty remained silent for a long time.
Finally, he closed his eyes and cursed. He took out a few bills and threw them on the table before striding out the door. He left the lawyer sitting in the same spot. He slowly put away the documents and drank as though nothing had happened.
"Follow him and pay the bill," Hoffa said to the black bartender.
"Thirteen pounds."
Hoffa reached into his pocket, took out a bill, and pushed it over. The picture printed on the bill wasn't the Queen of England, but a picture of Buddy Jr. sprawled in a cage as he roared outwards.
They left the bar.
It was raining heavily outside the bar, making it impossible to see anything clearly. But strangely, the rain didn't fall from the clouds. Outside the bar wasn't a street, but a dark corridor that was lit by flames. It was raining heavily in the corridor.
"Where are we going?" Mille asked Hoffa loudly in the storm.
Hoffa pursed his lips tightly as he dragged Mille behind Old Barty Crouch. He more or less had a premonition about his destination.
Indeed, after walking a short distance, Old Barty stopped in the corridor that was raining heavily. He pushed open a door at the end and walked in. Hoffa followed behind him and walked in as well.
Bang!
At the instant the door closed, the storm disappeared. The scene turned into a dark and gloomy dungeon.
There was a gloomy and gloomy atmosphere in the dungeon. There were no portraits on the walls, no decorations. There were only rows of long benches that were arranged in a staircase. From all the seats, one could clearly see the chair with chains in the middle of the dungeon.
It was an interrogation room.
Hoffa looked around and saw Dumbledore sitting beside Old Barty Crouch on the highest seat of honor. The others sat below while he and Buddy Jr stood at the entrance.
The room was quiet except for the sobbing of a weak witch beside Old Barty Crouch. Her trembling hands held a handkerchief to her mouth. Hoffa crossed his arms and looked at the woman, thinking that she should be Barty Crouch Jr's mother.
"Bring them in."
Old Barty's cold and emotionless voice echoed in the silent dungeon.
The door in the corner of the room opened and six Dementors walked in with four people in tow. Some of them began to whisper to each other.
The Dementors placed the four people on four chairs with chains in the middle of the dungeon. One of them, a short, fat man, looked at Old Buddy Crouch blankly. The other man, who was thinner, seemed more nervous. He kept glancing at the audience. A woman with thick, shiny black hair and long eyelashes had a triumphant look on her face.
There was also a seventeen or eighteen-year-old boy who looked completely petrified and trembling. His straw-colored hair was scattered across his face and his freckled skin was as pale as paper.
The moment he saw him, Hoffa recognized him. Although he was much younger, he was Barty Crouch Jr.
(Mille moved as if he wanted to take Buddy Jr away on the spot, but Hoffa grabbed his arm and pressed him into the chair. This was the Nightmare World, not the Meditation Basin. If Mille acted rashly, he would immediately trigger a backlash from his subconscious. In the Dream World, no power could be measured by common sense.)
After the four people were brought to the court.
Old Barty Crouch stood up and looked down at the four people with extreme hatred on his face.
"You are brought before the Law of Magic Committee to be sentenced," he said clearly, "Your crimes are so terrible …"
"Father," Barty Crouch Jr. shouted in horror, "Father … I beg you …"
"This is a rare case in this court." Mr. Crouch raised his voice and drowned out his son's voice, "We have heard the charges against you. The four of you kidnapped an Aura, Frank Longbottom, and used the Heart-Drilling Curse on him in an attempt to find out the whereabouts of your master, the person whose name shall not be mentioned —"
"Father, I didn't!" The boy who was tied to the chair screamed, "I didn't, I swear, Father, don't send me back to the Dementors —"
"The charges go on," Mr. Crouch roared, "Frank Longbottom? When Longbottom refused to give you information, you used the Heart-Drilling Curse on his wife. You plotted to make the person whose name shall not be mentioned rise again, to restore the violent life you lived when he was powerful. Now I ask the jury — "
"Mother!" The boy shouted. The small witch next to Crouch sobbed and swayed back and forth, "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do those things, it wasn't me!"
"Now I ask the jury to vote," Mr. Crouch said loudly, "raise your hand if you agree with me that these crimes should be punished by life imprisonment in Azkaban!"
The wizards on the right side of the dungeon raised their hands in unison. Barty Crouch Jr. began to scream.
"No! Mother, no! It wasn't me, it wasn't me, I don't know! Don't send me there, stop him! "
The Dementors slowly walked in again. The boy's three companions stood up silently from their chairs. The woman with long eyelashes looked up and shouted to Crouch, "The Dark Lord will come back, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban, we'll wait! He'll come back and save us. He'll give us a special reward! We're the only ones who are loyal! We're the only ones who are trying to find him! "
The audience roared with laughter. Some people stood up and whistled, some even gave the woman the finger. But the woman walked out of the dungeon proudly.
Buddy Jr. Crouch tried to get rid of the Dementors, but it was useless.
"I'm your son!"
He shouted to Crouch. "I'm your son!"
"You're not my son!" Old Barty Crouch's eyes bulged and he roared furiously, "I don't have a son!"
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