The Charles Becomes a Wizard

While Hogwarts was experiencing a scene that no one had ever seen, or should be almost no one had ever seen, of the devil tearing the Grim Reaper apart, Undertaker had already brought Ciel back to Phantomhive Manor.

After the undertaker put Charles on the bed, Charles immediately curled up into a ball and kept shaking. His body was cold, but his forehead was burning hot. The wrist where the bracelet was worn was red and swollen, as if it had been severely burned by a branding iron.

"What happened to Ciel?!" Eric couldn't calm down. Seeing his brother in such a miserable state, he couldn't help but question the undertaker. "When will he wake up?!"

Even though he was extremely anxious, he still tried to lower his voice, fearing that it would disturb Charles who was still unconscious.

But what Eric didn't know was that now even thunder couldn't save Charles from the dark quagmire.

Undertaker's pale fingers gently brushed Ciel's wrist, his inhuman eyes quietly looking at the boy who seemed to instinctively want to exclude everything from the outside world: "If the curse cannot be lifted, he will fall into an eternal sleep."

"Before death comes, his consciousness will remain trapped in this body, unable to escape or leave."

The long black nails touched the boy's unconsciously frowned brows, and the undertaker's voice became weird.

"Hehehe, if that's the case, it would be better to just kill him. Maybe it would be more comfortable for him..."

"How is this possible?!" Eric's eyes were full of panic. His reason told him that Undertaker was right. A man as proud as Charles would never like to lie in bed like a useless person.

Can......

How could he give up his brother?

Eric raised his hand and gently touched Ciel's forehead. The burning temperature made his fingers curl unconsciously. He glanced at the undertaker beside him: "Actually, you have a way to wake him up, right?"

"Hehehe, of course I can do it." Undertaker tilted his head, his long silver hair falling from his shoulders, his yellow-green eyes were cold, without a trace of emotion. "However, my method may directly drain the young master's vitality, are you sure you want to do this, young earl?"

Eric opened his mouth and lowered his head in frustration. The expression on his face was complicated and difficult to read. After a long while, his voice was heard again in the room: "I have prepared everything you mentioned before."

"Ah," Undertaker stretched out his index finger and lifted Eric's chin. His cold finger was like a poisonous snake with its mouth wide open, coiling around Eric's neck. "Has the young earl made up his mind?"

"Even if the final result is likely to be failure?"

"of course."

Even if Charles would end up hating him, he couldn't just sit there and watch Charles leave...

“Hahahahaha.” Undertaker touched the corner of Eric’s eye with his bloodless fingers, and a hint of nostalgia flashed in his narrow eyes: “That’s a really good look. I hope you can be so happy when you take action later.”

Eric, what are you going to do? ! !

Don't do anything stupid!

Trapped in darkness, Charles could clearly sense everything that was happening outside. When he heard this conversation, he suddenly had an ominous premonition in his heart. He tried to struggle and shout hard, but even if he tried his best, he couldn't open his eyes.

His body was like a solid cage, with long thin chains trapping his soul firmly inside.

He felt his body being picked up again and walked through the long corridor. The temperature around him seemed to drop suddenly.

here it is......

A cellar?

Why bring him here?

Trying hard to calm himself down, Charles tried to collect more information and figure out the undertaker's purpose, but he had too little time.

He was placed on a cold platform. Eric's warm forehead was gently pressed against his forehead. Cold liquid fell on his face, then slid down the corners of his eyes and into his temples.

He heard Eric say to him in a low, pleading voice: "I'm sorry, Charles, please don't hate me, okay?"

Eric...

What a fool.

Why would you want to save him?

I know clearly that even if I save him now, his soul will eventually be devoured by the devil...

There's absolutely no point in sacrificing yourself for something like this.

In the darkness, Charles curled up his body, hugged his knees tightly with his arms, and his gem-like blue eyes were covered with a faint watery light.

"Little Earl, are you ready?" The undertaker, holding the long scythe of death in his hand, looked back at him.

"Ah..." Eric, who was kneeling on Charles with his legs apart, responded softly, the sharp dagger in his hand flashing coldly in the dim candlelight.

"Then it's up to you from now on..." The Grim Reaper's scythe flexibly twisted into a flower in his hand. Undertaker's eyebrows slightly lowered, and his yellow-green eyes flashed with excitement: "The troublesome guy is here."

The sharp sickle cut through the dark mist, and the collision between the chainsaw and sickle in Sebastian's hand produced a series of sparks in the dim cellar.

“Ahhhhh, my Death Scythe!!!” Grell Sutcliffe, whose weapon was taken away, screamed. “Sebastian, be a little gentler!!!”

That face that was beaten so badly that its nose and face were swollen and its true appearance could no longer be seen, but one could still see the look of pain.

"Undertaker, what are you going to do to my master?" Heavy malice enveloped Sebastian's heart. He clenched the chainsaw in his hand and fought against the Grim Reaper's Scythe.

"Hehehe, the next step is a very important one, and I will never let you disturb them." Undertaker raised the corners of his lips slightly, and used the force to leap back, and the sickle in his hand fell again.

The sickle's wide attack range is unmatched by the chainsaw, and Sebastian had no choice but to dodge.

"Oh, is that the only ability you have?" Undertaker snorted. "No wonder the young master got hurt under your protection..."