"Clarke said that the struggle is to treat guests to dinner, and you can't have illusions!"

Hermione leaned against the wall, her wrists were shaking and hurt, but her eyes exuded a fearless, indomitable light.

"So, please, die!"

Thin black smoke, like boiling water, gushed out from the back of Quirrell's head, forming a dark cloud above his head.

With the death of the host, Voldemort could no longer possess Quirrell.

It's not that he never tried to possess a dead body before, but the only thing that can nourish him is the fresh vitality. The dead body is like a rotten smelly fish, which cannot satisfy the appetite of the Dark Lord at all.

With the disintegration of Quirrell's magic power, the whirlwind tied to Clark's body also collapsed, and the pressure on his chest disappeared. Clark took a deep breath. He has never felt the air of freedom so sweet like now.

"Yeah, Lord Voldemort, times have changed." Clark staggered in front of Hermione, took the pistol from her sore little hand, and gave her a big smile, "Nice job, Hermione. Min."

After speaking, he pointed the pistol steadily at the cloud of black smoke.

"Seven bullets? Wouldn't it be enough to add a non-marking stretch charm to the magazine? So, you can bet now, do I still have bullets in my gun?"

The black muzzle exudes a different kind of deterrent power at the moment. After a violent tumbling and squirming, the black smoke slowly shows an ugly face.

"Little guy, you can't kill me with just a gun."

Voldemort's words were very hard, but Clark could hear that his tone had become much softer. Is this a guilty conscience?

Of course Clark didn't believe in the famous Dark Lord, so he firmly implemented his fighting beliefs and pulled the trigger directly.

"boom!"

The sound of gunfire was like a thunderous explosion, directly shaking Voldemort's soul into a dizzy, heart-wrenching crack.

But the Dark Lord is the Dark Lord after all, and the tiger in distress is bigger than the hound. He still mobilized the last little "power of Yemengade" he had left, spitting out a small The smoky long snake met the bullet.

The white-gold bullet collided with the long black smoke snake, as if the tip of the needle was on the wheat awn, derived from the devouring power of the mythical ancient snake, greedily trying to swallow this Muggle creation, but the complicated carvings on the bullet The pattern is stimulated by black magic, and it blooms with pure white light.

Countless holy lightnings jumped on the bullet. This time, even the power of black magic slid away from the bullet. Under Voldemort's shocked eyes, it pierced through the black smoke snake like a broken bamboo.

"This…"

Before he could say a word, the white-gold bullet pierced the sky with a flash of lightning.

Just like the ancient Greek god-king Zeus, he threw out the thunder in his hand and pierced the black mist.

"This bullet is made of the sharp horn of the unicorn you hurt, so you can taste it!"

As soon as Clark's voice fell, the rays of light exploded in the black mist, and countless white rays of light penetrated from it, tearing Voldemort's face to pieces.

For Voldemort's remnant, that holy power was no less than thunder and electric shock and fire.

In the wailing that he couldn't remember the number of times, he completely abandoned his last remaining power of darkness, leaving the black mist as a bait, and with another resentful soul, he swooped towards Clark.

The cold force rushed towards his face, and Quirrell's unwilling resentment was blocked in front by Voldemort. On his translucent face, he could still see his resentful eyes, but the target of these eyes was not Clark, but the one blocked by him. Hermione.

It was Hermione who shot and killed Quirrell just now.

Although wizards do not pay attention to the so-called karma like Buddhism, a ghost with resentment can still play a similar role in the hands of Lord Voldemort, the master of curse.

Humans are born with a fear of death, as well as things related to death, such as darkness, such as ghosts.

However, Clark stood firmly in front of Hermione, and the young body looked extraordinarily tall and straight.

He looked at the ghost rushing towards him, and in his ears was a terrifying scream that hit his soul, the unwilling cry of the dead, and a curse on the living.

But in such a terrifying situation, his muzzle did not tremble in the slightest, pointing steadily forward without blinking his eyes.

When the road meets, the brave wins!

In front of the masculinity of the boy's body, all the monsters and monsters are paper tigers!

Not to mention he has a gun.

"boom!"

Gunshots sounded.

In the spiritual duel between one person and one ghost, and the competition of willpower, Clark, the newborn milk tiger, won after all.

The more experience the Dark Lord has, the more clearly he knows that the kind of bullet Clarke had just now definitely won't kill him, but it can certainly leave him wounded.

But Clark didn't know the serious consequences of being entangled and cursed by a ghost.

Under the poor information, the ignorant are fearless, but Voldemort was timid at the last moment.

He still has a bright future. A big boss who has been lingering for so many years in a state of immortality, how could he choose to trade with a small soldier?

So, at the moment when the gunshots rang out, Voldemort grabbed Quirrell's soul, made a silky leap, and slammed him into the air in front of him.

The dead soul seemed to have turned into a sharp sword in Voldemort's hands, and in an instant a dark crack opened in the void in front of him, and then the Dark Lord plunged into it without looking back.

It is advisable to use the remaining brave to chase the poor bandits, and not to be called the overlord of learning.

Seeing that the enemy fled in a hurry, Clark only had time to chase after his tail and fired a few more shots, but unfortunately the rest of the magazine were ordinary bullets.

Clark also cheated on Voldemort. The unicorn named Golden Mane was very stingy. Even if he knew that Clark was going to deal with the bad guys who hurt him, he was only willing to donate his horns. That short piece.

Therefore, Clark's gun actually only has a pure magic-breaking holy light bullet, and the rest is just coated with a layer of excess powder during polishing, and some ordinary bullets.

Of course Voldemort didn't know this, but he escaped faster under the thunderous gunfire.

"I will remember you..."

The lament of the loser went away like this, leaving only a long and narrow dark gap in the void, overflowing with a faint cold and dead air, like the white fog after opening the refrigerator, but it was suppressed by the golden light in the room.

Clark did not expect that the battle with Voldemort would end in such a way. Tonight's battle was too difficult. He even thought that Voldemort, who had nowhere to escape, would choose to fight himself to the death, and then parasitize himself. on the body.

In that case, with the godhead fragments in his mind, he might be able to harvest a remnant soul.

However, the Dark Lord, with a fresh soul and a little knowledge of the occult, tore a hole leading to the underworld from the defensive barrier of Hogwarts Castle.