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SD:CH145 - Oneiros Spindle
🕑 Added 2025-01-05 06:06:15 +0000 UTCYou have chosen to gain a Coupon.
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Ding! Here’s your chance to wield the relic Oneiros Spindle. Handle with caution or become history’s next cautionary tale.
The message scrolled with an irritating cheeriness that belied the gravity of its content. I read on, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
To initiate activation requires substantial energy contribution from yourself and your lilims. Proceed with caution or reckless abandon — the choice is yours!
"Typical," I muttered, as the absurdity of it all began to sink in. I scratched my head—figuratively, since I hadn't yet developed an itch—pondering whether 'Relic' had any special meaning in this world beyond the usual ancient knick-knacks and Founder’s artifacts. And even if it did, I couldn't see how giving up two perks I knew nothing about, plus some energy, would entitle me to some long-dead sorcerer’s junk. Magic, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a vending machine.
“Something on your mind?” Narcissa probed, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and faux innocence.
I scanned the group, noting the persistent red glow in their eyes, a curious blend of intrigue and worry across their faces.
Then it clicked. Narcissa and Anastasia had just been promoted to Lilims, which meant new admin rights in the realm of eye-based pop-ups.
"Uh, Narcissa, Anastasia, do you see something... unusual floating in front of you? Like, a rectangle?" I ventured.
Narcissa frowned, "Not exactly. More of a scroll."
"Same," Anastasia piped up. "Though it insists on calling itself a Status Window."
I blinked. Hestia had mentioned a Screen, but I hadn't asked for a detailed description. Caught up in its contents, I had missed the UI design discussion entirely.
"It was definitely a window for me," Emmeline interjected, her tone suggesting a minor revelation. "Wait, does that mean these two—"
"Became my Lilims, yes. Save the applause, we'll slice the cake later. First, we’ve got a snag," I interjected, my gaze swinging back to Narcissa and Anastasia. "I'd wager you two might have a question or two."
Narcissa raised a finger, cutting through the tension. "It’s not that I’m uninterested or skeptical about these visuals. It’s that I’m too intrigued to care. You speak of Lilims, forebears to the current succubi line-up. And yet, the Dark Ages supposedly swept all your lot out of Reality with yesterday's garbage. And yet here you are, Potter, playing Incubus. Plus, you've mentioned future demon summonings by the Dark Lord—seems like there’s a whole otherworldly carnival waiting out there. I can’t wait to buy tickets."
"Uh," Anastasia added, "Ditto to all that. Except, maybe hold the demon meet-and-greet."
Considering Narcissa, whose curiosity seemed to drive her more effectively than any broomstick ever could, I wasn't sure if she was genuinely indifferent, merely humoring me, or too polite to call out the ridiculousness. But it seemed that as long as I could keep her curiosity fed, she’d play along nicely under any bizarre circumstances.
"Well, it looks like I might have just tripped over a breakthrough here," I admitted with a half-smile. "But there's a catch." I paused, recalibrating. "Does the term 'Relic' ring any bells?"
Narcissa shook her head, "Not unless you’re talking about family heirlooms or something monumental like a Founder's artifact or the Deathly Hallows..."
The mention of the Deathly Hallows sent a shiver down my spine, which I promptly ignored for the sake of maintaining whatever composure I had left. But it also confirmed my suspicions.
"Right, well, it appears we might need to redefine what 'Relic' means in this context," I said, turning back to the group. "Because if my hunch is correct, we're not just talking about a dusty old artifact. We could be dealing with something that bends the very fabric of magic as we know it."
Their faces mirrored my own mix of dread and excitement—a strange blend that seemed to be the hallmark of our adventures.
“So, it appears I’ve stumbled upon a Relic, and activating it requires a little magical charity from each of you,” I declared, managing a grin.
Their reactions were priceless—four pairs of eyes bulging as if I’d announced free tickets to the apocalypse.
“Where exactly is this Relic?” Narcissa asked, her skepticism barely masked by curiosity.
“Still in the ether, apparently. We'll know when it decides to make an entrance.”
“And its purpose?” probed Hestia, ever the pragmatist.
“Remains shrouded in mystery,” I confessed with a theatrical shrug.
“This isn’t one of your board games, Harry,” Emmeline scolded.
“Oh, come now, Vance. Everyone loves a good mystery,” Narcissa countered, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
Emmeline’s left eye twitched—a telltale sign of her fraying patience.
“Any hints at all about what we’re dealing with here?” she pressed, her tone bordering on exasperation.
Pausing a beat, I weighed the merits of disclosure. Narcissa was my Lilim now; withholding information would be counterproductive. “It’s called the Oneiros Spindle.”
“Never heard of it,” she replied, her voice flat.
That drew a collective murmur of non-recognition from the group, which admittedly, sent a thrill of relief through me. If Narcissa, the human equivalent of a dark arts encyclopedia, hadn’t heard of it, we were likely in uncharted waters.
“Unless,” Narcissa pondered, her gaze sharpening, “it’s stashed away in some arcane Family Vault. Us Blacks, for instance, are notorious for squirreling away relics predating Hogwarts.”
So much for my brief moment of elation.
“But, there would be specific conditions for its discovery...” she continued, narrowing her eyes. “You’re an Incubus Lord, Harry. Maybe it’s something that resonates with your...unique condition?”
“Harry has been sporting those Incubus Lord credentials for a while now,” Hestia chimed in.
“True, but those wings are a new addition, aren’t they?” Narcissa pointed out with a gleam in her eye.
I nodded, and she almost bounced with excitement. “A Relic that vibes with your demonic flair? Oh, the possibilities are spicy!”
“Thrilling,” I drawled, unable to suppress a smirk. “So, we're all on board? Proceeding may tap into your powers. The specifics are a bit fuzzy, so let’s just brace for, well, anything.”
“Alright,” I said, exhaling. “Proceed.”
In books and movies, apocalypses get the deluxe package: thunder, lightning, maybe a plague or two, all conveniently scheduled at the witching hour. You know, for effect. But for me, Harry Potter, bringing about the apocalypse was less Hollywood and more technology special—just one little coupon away from catastrophe. Who knew a single ding from my Screen could be so apocalyptic?
Like… who needs ancient prophecies when you’ve got push notifications?
As soon as the last word escaped my lips, I could practically hear fate chuckling in the background, ready to unfurl its latest trap. Every time I've dabbled with these coupons, I've had to wrestle with choices that would make even a seasoned philosopher sweat. They're like those offers that scream “free,” but you end up paying with your soul—or at least a substantial chunk of your destiny. From being rocketed up to Incubus Lord status to swapping perks like trading cards in a schoolyard, these little devils have reshaped my path in ways I didn't sign up for.
So there I was, essentially throwing my name into yet another cosmic raffle, hoping this time the universe might just toss me a bone instead of a booby trap. The usual theatrics began, and Hestia, Narcissa, Anastasia, and Emmeline reacted as though someone had flipped their power switch to max. Heads thrown back, beams of crimson energy shot out like they were auditioning for a role in the next big laser light show.
Now, the smart move would have been to run a detailed risk assessment, maybe even draw up a pros and cons list. But who has time for that when you’re busy being an impromptu power conductor at the world’s most chaotic symphony? No, I threw in every bit of incubus might I had, which, by all accounts, was akin to throwing gasoline on an already blazing bonfire. My energy alone doubled what the four women had mustered—it was like directing a firehose at a teacup, overkill in its finest form.
Instinct took over, and I threw every bit of my own incubus energy into the mix, stirring the pot to create a magical maelstrom that felt suspiciously like being inside a blender set on apocalypse mode. The power didn't explode; it imploded, sucking in everything with the force of a black hole at a bargain sale.
The force of the implosion was monumental, yet bizarrely localized. Imagine setting off a nuclear bomb inside a teacup—dramatic, overkill, and yet somehow neatly contained within the fine china. The room itself was an odd sense of calm chaos. No furniture was tossed about, no windows shattered—it was as if the storm of power was too proud to bother with such mundane expressions of its strength.
And in the eye of this storm, something happened. Something new. A manifestation of sorts. I didn't know what it was supposed to look like, or even if it was supposed to appear at all. All I knew was that suddenly, amidst the chaos of power and light, there was a... thing. A presence, a new player entering the game without so much as a by-your-leave.
This wasn't part of the usual program. Whatever was showing up was making its entrance like an uninvited guest who not only crashes your party but also rearranges your furniture and reparks your car while they’re at it.
The aftermath was like the silence after a particularly impressive fireworks display. We all just stood there, part dazed, part amazed, and thoroughly out of our depths. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the light I was finally able to make out….
Make out….
What the hell was that?
For a moment, my brain froze solid, like someone had shoved an entire bar of ice into it. The best I could make out was a central spindle-like structure that glimmered, liquid yet solid, the surface constantly shifting with dreamlike images: faces and moments and strange symbols that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. It was tiny, barely the size of my thumb. It was also stretched infinitely long, stretching into dimensions I couldn’t possibly perceive, with threads spiralling around it in chaotic yet harmonic patterns. There were shades of midnight black and ethereal violet for the most of it, but the interspersing iridescent blues and silvers were also dominant. It emitted a faint hum, like a heartbeat overlaid with distant whispers.
The screen, ever the harbinger of chaos wrapped in humor, flashed its message with the snark of a seasoned barkeep:
Congratulations, Incubus Lord! You've just actualised The Oneiros Spindle!
Description
Imagine controlling dreams and sculpting realities, all with the convenience of this handy, unassuming artifact. Who needs straightforward power when you can dabble in the subconscious of friends and foes alike?
The spindle—if that’s what you could call this interloper—hung in the air, an artifact of immense power and absolute mystery, born from our collective magical frenzy.
Damned if I did, indeed. But as I stood there, catching my breath and trying not to think about how many laws of nature we might have just violated, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement—a spark of curiosity about what doors this spindle might open. Or what doors it might slam shut, locking us on one side or the other. The universe had thrown down the gauntlet, and like any good gambler at the end of his luck, I was already reaching to pick it up.
So, with a wary eye on the spindle and a mental note to maybe consider a career in something less apocalyptic—like knitting—I prepared myself for whatever came next. Because when it comes to magic, especially the kind you get from coupons, you can bet it's going to be one hell of a ride.
Warning
Side effects may include but are not limited to: unexpected existential crises, unsolicited visits into others' nightmares, and an overwhelming sense of being in too many places at once. Handle with care, or just throw caution to the wind and see what happens!
Bonus Feature
Comes with a complimentary enigma wrap! Because we figured you didn't have enough mysteries to solve. Enjoy your new reality-bending toy, but remember – with great power comes great potential for everything to go hilariously wrong.
Use at your own peril, or delight, depending on how you look at it.
The message hung in the air, its last line flickering slightly as if chuckling at its own joke. I couldn’t help but smirk. Trust the universe to deliver life-altering power with a side of sarcasm. As if handling arcane forces that could warp reality wasn't daunting enough, now it was packaged with a cautionary reminder of my potentially precarious future.
Well, if the spindle was as potent as advertised, things were about to get a lot more interesting—and complicated. Here’s to hoping it’s more delight than peril, though I wouldn’t bet my last Galleon on it.
The message on the screen scrolled with an air of nonchalant menace:
Activation Required: Speak Your Truth.
The instruction was deceptively simple, yet laden with the weight of unseen chains. Speak my truth? I glanced around at the expectant faces of my companions, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. The red shafts of light, I was assuming, was a mix of their own emotion and magic, and now, they were all physically and magically exhausted, if their features were any clue. I myself was still standing, though my wings had vanished,and with it had come a sensation of sullenness, a strange restraint from being able to access the terminal of my other extreme’s powers. Whatever this Spindle was, it was not to be taken lightly, and its demand for a personal truth as a key to its activation was a price that bespoke its potential.
I went with the obvious.
“My name is Harry Potter.”
Nothing — just the dull, indifferent hover in the air.
“I garner it wants more than just your name, Harry,” said Emmeline. “It —”
She paused, right then, her face pinched in discomfort, the color draining from her cheeks.
“...What?”
“Nothing, just… felt like I had been stung. Really hard.”
That was weird.
I started with trivial truths, tossing them out like breadcrumbs in hopes of appeasing the spindle's appetite. "I prefer pumpkin pasties over treacle tart. I am an Incubus Lord. All four of you are my Lilims. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are my friends! Hestia Jones is my secretary!”
The Spindle still didn't react, and the room's atmosphere grew tense. Beside me, Hestia clenched her teeth, a spasm running through her body. It was subtle at first, but unmistakably a sign of distress.
I glanced at Narcissa and Anastasia, noticing similar twinges of pain flickering across their expressions. The realization hit me hard; my attempts at light, inconsequential truths were costing them, each failed attempt seeming to affect them. It could simply be a powerful stinging charm, like Emmeline claimed, or it could be something worse.
With a growing sense of urgency, I pushed deeper, the truths growing significantly weightier. "I… I cheated my way through the victories I have had in the summer,” I confessed, my voice quickening. The spindle remained silent, but the spasms grew worse. Emmeline let out a soft groan, her body contorting with a sharp jolt of pain.
Panic edged into my voice as I saw their agony intensify. "The Order of the Phoenix and the people of Wizarding Britain have no idea what I did recently. If they did, they would never give me any accolades they currently are,” I admitted. “Sometimes, sometimes I think I am just a fraud. And when I look at those I should trust the most, I wonder if they look at me and see me as a liar!”
The words kept rushing out, and still, the spindle floated impassively, its demands unmet, while the pain visibly wracked my lilims with increasing severity.
"I manipulated people's perceptions of me, played to their beliefs of being the Boy-Who-Lived, to achieve what I have. I have betrayed others with belief, deluded by love, and tricked with sex! I — I have killed Lucius Malfoy with my bare hands and drove the bloody dagger into his chest for power and power alone!”
Desperation seeped into my bones. I couldn't stand there doling out palatable truths while they suffered. The next truth came out in a rush, a dangerous gamble,
The air thickened, the spindle pulsed slightly—recognition at last, but not enough. The spasms didn't cease; instead, they intensified, screams beginning to pierce the air.
Fear and resolve hardened within me. "I… I committed spiritual genocide on the Finals of the World Cup.”
I pushed out the stark, haunting truth, the words heavy with guilt. The spindle spun slightly, an acknowledgment that I was getting closer, yet the torment around me didn't abate.
Despite the pain, all four women turned to look at me with increasing degree of shock and appraisal. But they were my lilims. They had to be made to understand!
“I did it. I did it because I wanted to save Amelia. I did it because I wanted victory. I did it because those that were freshly dead were already gone and those dying would not survive the night either way, so they’d better be of some use for me. So I used them. I used their bloody souls! I used them to carve a new soul for Amelia to bear, to resurrect her, to make her whole, make her powerful. I used it to raise the army of wraiths to ensure my ultimate victory that very night!”
They say that Karma is like a rubber band. You can only stretch it so far before it comes back and smacks you in the face. Looks like it was my turn for the smackdown, given the frozen expressions on all four faces surrounding me.
But I couldn’t care less. For they were still screaming in unbearable agony. With each confession, I edged closer to the brink, the ultimate truth I had guarded all my life now on the tip of my tongue. "I am not just Harry Potter. I am an infiltrator from another world.”
The Spindle glowed powerfully, but only for a moment, as if to say — NOT ENOUGH.
“I know exactly what happened to people in the war!”
NOT ENOUGH.
“I used my powers to alter Reality to change Fate.”
NOT ENOUGH.
“I am the reason the timeline deviated from the original way it was WRITTEN!”
This time the glow was the brightest.
Damnit! I knew what it was demanding of me. What it wanted me to reveal. My deepest secret. My darkest truth!
“From where I am from, this world is nothing but a piece of FICTION!” I finally declared, the words echoing with the force of my desperation. It was what I thought was my most profound truth—that I was an imposter, that this world to them was just a paperback fiction to me.
So colour me surprised when the Oneiros Spindle seemed to shrug off my declaration like I had just confessed to preferring tea over coffee. There was no grand acceptance, no magical click; just a deepening horror as Hestia, Narcissa, Anastasia, and Emmeline continued to contort in agony.
"Why isn’t it enough?" My voice cracked, frustration boiling over into desperation. This was supposed to work. The Spindle, however, remained as impassive as a wealthy dowager at a street mime’s performance, continuing its ruthless siphoning of their life forces.
It was a mad, painful circus, and I was the ringleader, inadvertently cracking the whip. With each twitch and grimace from my friends, guilt stung at me, relentless and sharp. This wasn't just about flipping the right magical switch; it was about stopping their suffering—now.
Pacing like a caged Niffler in front of a pile of unreachable gold, I ransacked my brain for something I might have missed. The solution eluded me, taunting me with the slipperiness of a greased Occamy. Had I been dishonest? Was I still hiding behind a curtain of half-truths?
The hint came floating back to me, a snippet of advice from the Incubus Lord manifestation I had met inside the Shrine.
Living The Role perk only works when you Live The Role yourself.
Ah. There it was. The spindle didn’t just want a truth. It wanted the truth. My truth. Not the safe, edited highlights, but the raw, uncut director’s version of my life story.
Taking a deep breath that felt like my first true gulp of air in ages, I squared up to the spindle. “Okay, you insatiable antique, here’s the real scoop. I am Harry Potter. Yes, I’m from another reality—guilty as charged. But here’s the kicker: I’m not just playing house in this world. I am genuinely, irrevocably, and completely woven into the fabric of this reality. I’ve bled here, I’ve cried here, I’ve loved here. This world is as real to me as it is to anyone else, because I have chosen it, embraced it, lived it. And so, I am Harry Potter that woke up the night Sirius Black was killed. I chose to become the Incubus Lord. I chose to activate the Horcrux. And I chose to become the Twilight Walker, no matter what struggles it pushes in my way. I am also a time-traveling wizard who became an incubus, sure, but that’s just the headline. The story is that I belong.”
The spindle seemed to pause, as if digesting this new, unvarnished truth. Several portions of it contradicted the others, but what was my existence other than contradictions? If I had to speak my Truth, it had to be both sides of the coin.
Then, almost begrudgingly, it began to vibrate, its hum deepening into something that sounded suspiciously like approval. The gruesome siphoning halted abruptly. Color washed back into my friends’ faces like dawn breaking over Diagon Alley. Their bodies relaxed, freed from invisible shackles. Their eyes were closed, as if asleep, their bodies glowing softly as the magic slowly released them.
I nearly collapsed, relief and exhaustion battling for dominance. The spindle, now satisfied, spun with a contented purr that filled the suddenly tranquil room.
I would’ve made a quip about honesty being the best policy, but refrained. Apart from the delicious irony, honesty had just fucked me over several times. Lilim or not, I didn’t know how I was going to explain the contradictions to them.
As I looked around at their recovering forms, a mix of emotions swelled within me. There was the undeniable thrill of having conquered this arcane challenge, yes. But more profoundly, there was a sense of homecoming. Not to a place, but to myself.
In admitting my whole truth, I had not just activated a spindle; I had affirmed my place in this world—this very real, very vivid, magical world that was as much a part of me as I was of it.
The Oneiros Spindle, now fully alive and spinning gently, seemed almost like a beacon—a lighthouse guiding ships through foggy nights. It promised new adventures, yes, but also whispered of dangers lurking in unseen depths.
I’d half expected the spindle to throw a parade, maybe unleash a confetti cannon, or at the very least, give a polite round of applause. But no, it hung there, glowing with a newfound power, indifferent to the existential crises it had just triggered.
Then, without warning, the spindle's gentle spin escalated into a frenetic whirl. Its glow intensified, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters across the walls. "Oh, come on," I muttered, my brief relief evaporating as quickly as it had come. "What now?"
Before I could respond, the spindle launched itself straight at me with the precision of a seeker's snitch. It was so fast, a mere blur of light, and I barely had time to brace myself. The spindle struck me squarely in the chest, not with the force of a blow, but with the eeriness of a ghost passing through a wall. It felt cold, electric, and inexplicably familiar, like a forgotten dream surfacing abruptly into waking thought.
There was a moment of pure, intense silence, as if the entire world had paused, holding its breath. Then, a sensation like ice and fire combined spread rapidly across my chest. Looking down, I saw a sigil forming—a complex, intricate pattern that seemed to be written in the language of dreams themselves. It glowed softly, a mix of obsidian and deep blue, right over my heart.
“What?” I asked wryly. “That’s it? Do I get a manual, or does it come with a ‘figure it out yourself’ disclaimer?”
Congratulations, Incubus Lord. You are now officially too deep into everyone's personal nightmares. Sleepwalking has nothing on this.
“Hey, I was only…”
And the Spindle activated.
Comments
Rydo
Hello! I'm a free user. Can I ask why none of the newer chapters have opened up yet? Usually you can read 1 ahead of what's posted on the fanfic site but right now Patreon is behind this site by 2 or 3 posts.
Victor Weismann
“From where I am from, this world is nothing but a piece of FICTION!” Really...? Like, really? For real? I'm done with this, seems like the author do not know what to do anymore, and he chose the worst decision possible, whatever dude, have fun.
frosty gamur
Definetly
KirbyLover
Prolly one of my fav chapters you’ve ever written, highly anticipating the aftermath
