An excerpt from The Dark Lord Voldemort's personal journal, September, 1995:
When I had chosen to become strong . . . to be great . . . I did not fear any higher power. I would be immortal. Why would I take into account God or Satan, when I would never die? Here in the mortal world, I am untouchable. How could an agent of Death reach me in the realm of the Living? If I am destined never to walk across the clouds in Heaven or the sands of Hell, than what force should I cower before?
No. In the ethereal worlds, the Almighty and Lucifer may reign like kings. But here, upon this earth, no one can challenge my strength. I am the highest power here. I am like a god myself. No. I am a god.
That was how I thought, before they came to me. The angels of God, come down from on high to warn me. "Your actions will soon become irreversible. All hope of salvation will be lost. Turn from this path of evil, Tom Marvolo Riddle, before it is too late."
Can you envision my amazement? There in front of me, creatures so alien to this world. And they had powers unimaginable. Great white wings, that carried them effortlessly. Magic that could make my own look almost mediocre. I could tell we were cousins of sorts. The angels of God may have been the ancestors of wizards, perhaps.
But I did not fear them. I was immortal; my Horcruxes were safely hidden. So I called upon my darkest powers and struck down their leader. They fled like startled rats, and so I took the ethereal corpse and began to study it. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Inside of its body, there was nothing but golden blood, pure magic coursing through millions of veins. And its wings? They were much like those of earth creatures, though after careful observation, I realized that every vessel in the angel took the golden blood to the place where wings met flesh.
Obviously, the angels of God expended great amounts of magic to allow themselves to fly. Can you imagine? Such power, such vigor! I wanted it. So I drank a goblet of that golden blood. The consequences would have been deadly, had I not been immortal. Confined to my bed chambers for two months, I recovered, and I thought. Why could I not consume the blood of an angel? Because it was not of this world?
The answers to my questions came seven days after I healed. This time, fallen angels in the army of Lucifer visited me. They were mirror images of the Almighty's charges. Their wings were black as the night sky; they radiated darkness the way God's angels gave off light. And they had a proposition: "You are clearly a man of cunning and ambition, worthy of being at the right hand of our Lord," they had hissed in voices of malice. "Come, and rule under Lucifer for the rest of eternity. Immortality would be yours."
"I will join if you answer me this: Why can I not drink the blood of God's angels?" It was a lie. As I have said, I already had immortality. And I did not want to be second-best in Hell. I would rather be first and foremost on Earth.
The fallen told me that the evil inside of me rejected the purity of their brothers. So I killed their leader, and commanded the devils to return to Hell and never enter my realm again.
I compared the angel and the devil, but found they were nearly the same in anatomy. However, the blood of the fallen was like ink, darker than tar. After much preparation, I raised a goblet of devil's blood to my lips and drank.
The effect . . . I cannot describe. The magic in the black blood was dark and evil; it filled my core and sealed out light. But I did not care. I was stronger than ever. My spells became deadlier and more destructive. I was truly a god.
And now? I train. I will take this world in my fist and clutch it to my breast, and it will be forever mine. None shall challenge my authority. Not even Harry James Potter.
Soon, he would be dead, and Dumbledore would be dead, and I would be Lord Voldemort, God of this Earth, Vanquisher of Heaven and Hell.