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Rugged yet refined, brutal yet elegant—if Durmstrang's style embodies the precision of German engineering, then the modifications made by Nicolas Flamel represent something quite different. They are not purely the delicate, artistic flair of France. Instead, they incorporate elements of Soviet aesthetics, blending the two into a form of art known only as the style of war.
The external armaments mounted on their backs varied—some had folding tower shields, others carried bizarre large-caliber firearms fitted with chainsaws. There were hive-like launchers riddled with multiple openings and yet-to-be-unfolded heavy cannons, each as menacing as the last.
Despite their common purpose, these combat suits bore distinctive differences. The armor worn by the four boys—Cedric, Wood, Marcus, and Phoenix—reflected the rough, war-like style previously described. In stark contrast, the only girl on the team, Qiu, wore a suit that belonged to an entirely different category.
Lightweight, agile, and even a bit seductive, her full-body armor clung tightly to her form, exuding a leathery sheen. Reinforced metal plates protected vital areas without concealing her natural beauty—if anything, they accentuated it. If the former style reflected more of Harry's design sensibilities, the latter was a pure expression of Nicolas Flamel's artistic tastes—the same man who critiqued fashion shows in his spare time and channeled that aesthetic into his designs.
Regardless of style, every suit was eye-catching at this moment.
"Care to give an introduction?"
Professor Carlisle glanced at Harry—the only one in the group who hadn't changed into a suit. He hadn't brought a combat suit, but he did have his Animagus Armor. However, it hadn't fully fused with his body yet. Wearing it required manual application, which was inconvenient. He planned to save it for the Abyss battlefield. After all, the armor was still in its adaptation phase, requiring considerable time to synchronize with his body. For now, it provided little in terms of combat power—though at least it wasn't dead weight.
"Astartes-class Heavy Power Combat Suit," Harry began. "It uses a Type I solar furnace for internal power generation. After undergoing nineteen integrated surgical modifications, the solar furnace synchronizes its magic output with the wizard's own magic flow. This increases the unit magic output rate by twelve times. The specialized alloy offers extreme resistance to magical energy, and the surface is coated in a magic-insulating layer, enabling close-quarters melee combat against Abyssal demons."
"Qiu is wearing an Astartes-class Light Power Combat Suit for battle nuns," he continued. "It uses a lightweight Type II solar furnace, designed for mid- to long-range precision fire support. Its Lightwing composite weapon system, loaded with custom alchemical projectiles, is theoretically capable of piercing the magic-resistant shell of a Centurion-class demon. It poses a high threat even to Commander-class Demon Lords. The suit also has exceptional mobility, capable of low-altitude, high-speed maneuvering within thirty meters of the ground on the Abyss battlefield."
"Flamel figured out how to prevent magic absorption during melee combat?" Professor Carlisle asked, eyes widening in disbelief. Demons didn't just absorb magic from spells—they could drain it from any enchanted material. Even magic alloys would lose their inner magic upon contact with a demon, leading to total material collapse.
"Yes," Harry nodded. "The outermost alloy is a highly magic-insulative material. It contains no inherent magic and prevents the internal and external flow of magical energy. It's a newly synthesized alloy Nicolas Flamel developed in recent years. Unfortunately, it's difficult to mass-produce. So far, there's no viable alternative synthesis method. He has to manually forge it using magical stones. The most regrettable part is that while this metal blocks magic transfer, its ability to shield from external magical radiation fields is only average. It still falls short of being the perfect insulative material we envisioned."
"Such a shame."
Professor Carlisle had hoped that this new alloy would solve one of the most pressing issues in the modern world: magical magnetic field interference. If it could be overcome, then once technological weaponry could be fused with alchemical enhancements, an electromagnetic railgun capable of launching shells at dozens of times the speed of sound—combined with composite alchemical warheads—could potentially obliterate even a Demon Lord in a single strike. However, electromagnetic railguns are intricate technological constructs, and magical magnetic fields have a profound effect on such delicate machinery. Even the weak magical aura emitted from a wizard's body is enough to cause severe disruptions.
"This problem will be solved eventually. Just look forward to the future, Professor Carlisle."
Carlisle nodded, then turned to address the group.
"Follow my lead. Get ready to move out."
Under the swirling flurry of goose-feather snow, the team sprinted swiftly toward the north. The biting cold and fierce winds were blocked out by the power suits, and the supposedly long two-hundred-kilometer journey didn't seem so far after all.
Though the world around them was blanketed in pure white snow—a landscape where one could easily lose all sense of direction—each of them felt an inexplicable sense of orientation. It was as if an unspoken navigator was quietly transmitting directions directly into their minds, guiding them along the correct path.
After more than two hours of relentless trekking, the faint silhouette of an ancient architectural complex began to emerge at the edge of their vision. These weathered structures bore no clear or consistent design—an eclectic, chaotic mix of styles—but their sheer scale was undeniable.
At first glance, their flat approach made it difficult to discern the full magnitude of the complex. But as they drew closer, the buildings ahead seemed to rise like a curled scroll being unrolled—lifted from the earth, forming an upside-down city suspended in the sky, nearly within reach. The timeworn architecture bore the unmistakable marks of age, erosion, and countless years of decay.
"This is the ancient outpost that once stood at the Gate of Hell," Carlisle explained, stopping the group. "But when the Gate was sealed, the outpost was destroyed. What we're seeing now is just its projection."
He looked at them with solemn eyes. "This place once gathered the world's most elite spellcasters. It was an era of dazzling magical brilliance, a time when mages still lived side by side with ordinary people. But after that era ended, spellcasters began to retreat into their own separate magical realm. Today, only one nation still holds to the old tradition of magical and non-magical coexistence."
"Are you ready, boys and girls?"
Professor Carlisle raised his head to the inverted city in the sky. "The Gate of Hell is about to open."
A massive, pitch-black vortex began to swirl directly above their heads. Rapidly, the vortex spun wider and wider until a thick, oppressive door of deep darkness appeared within its depths. As the door slowly creaked open, an irresistible force pulled the people below upward, drawing them through the sky toward the vortex—toward that looming black gateway—and one by one, they disappeared into its depths.
An acrid, unpleasant scent filled their noses—like burnt ash, dry and suffocating. When they passed through the Gate of Hell and opened their eyes again, they found themselves in a massive, heavily fortified fortress city. The portal had dropped them into the heart of the city, a circular plaza surrounded on all sides by four towering defensive walls.
"Welcome to Hell, you little brats."
A coarse, gravelly voice echoed around them. "If you're not too scared stiff, step aside—we're off duty."
"Oh, and try to enjoy yourselves. Keeping your lives would be best."
(End of Chapter)