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ACT4CH41 - Armageddon
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 14:16:54 +0000 UTCThe atrium of the British Ministry of Magic was a battlefield in everything but name. The great golden Fountain of Magical Brethren was shattered, its once-proud figures reduced to jagged rubble. Smoke and ash hung heavy in the air, the acrid smell of burnt parchment mingling with the sharp tang of spent magic. Shouts echoed from every corner as Ministry personnel rushed to relay reports, secure breaches, and tend to the wounded. Reports of Diagon Alley’s destruction were blaring on the Wireless, alongside accounts of the Forbidden Forest’s activity. The floor, scorched and cracked, was littered with debris and the occasional unmoving body.
Amelia Bones stood in the center of it all, her robes bloodied and torn, the wand in her hand burning with an eerie crimson hue. Her face, pale with exhaustion, betrayed no emotion. Half her forces were gone. Half. And yet she remained standing.
Cornelius Fudge stumbled toward her, his hat missing, his face a pale mask of fear and desperation.
“Do you see what your inaction has wrought, Fudge?” she said, her voice cold. “This isn’t just a crisis—it’s a reckoning.”
Fudge stammered, “We—we’re doing everything we can! And I — I can’t be blamed for this! How would I know? It’s all Potter’s fault. He had no right to tussle with —”
“Because you ignored the signs,” Amelia snapped. “Now we’re facing more than Voldemort. Whatever Ekrizdis unleashed is global. We need coordination with the ICW.”
Fudge hesitated. “You want me to admit to the world that we’ve lost control?”
“The world already knows.”
“Amelia, this—this catastrophe cannot fall entirely on the Ministry! Surely, we must address the public, shift the narrative, find someone—”
Amelia turned sharply, her glare cutting through his words. “Shift the narrative? Half my people are dead, Fudge. The Longbottom boy turned into an Obscurus because of Ministry meddling. Diagon Alley is in ruins. Half of Europe is on fire. And you’re worried about public relations?”
Before Fudge could respond, a golden Patronus soared into the room, its fox-like form flickering with urgency. “This is Gerhardt of the German Ministry. Something has awoken in the Irkstag Forest.”
The Patronus hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. Then, in a voice laced with dread, it added, “The trees are... moving.”
Gasps rippled through the room, and Amelia Bones raised her hand to silence them. Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing, waiting for the fox to continue.
“Our wards along the Schwarzwald perimeter are failing,” the Patronus said. “Several teams sent to investigate have not returned. Witnesses report whispers on the wind—voices calling their names, luring them deeper. One survivor spoke of... eyes. Thousands of eyes, watching from the canopy.”
The golden fox flickered, its light dimming. “We’ve lost contact with Vienna. The Austrian Ministry believes the forest is spreading.”
The Patronus dissolved into motes of light, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. Around Amelia, murmurs of disbelief began to rise. “The Irkstag Forest can’t spread,” one wizard muttered, clutching his wand. “It’s ancient, yes, but it’s just a forest—”
“No,” Amelia interrupted, her voice sharp. “The Irkstag Forest is more than trees. It has old magic, deep magic. Ekrizdis’s breach may have roused it.”
The young Auror who had delivered earlier reports hesitated, then said, “Madam Bones... the rumors... They say the forest wasn’t always a forest. That it was a prison once. For things older than man.”
Amelia’s jaw tightened. “Rumors won’t save us. Send word to the ICW. Germany needs reinforcements.” Her tone softened slightly. “And remind them not to listen to the voices.”
As the message faded, another witch burst into the atrium, her robes scorched. “Madrid’s ley lines have ruptured! Something clawed its way out from beneath the Plaza Mayor.”
Amelia’s jaw tightened. She closed her eyes and counted to five. “The world is in danger, and like it or not, the cause behind it is a decision made by the British Wizengamot, and enforced by the British Ministry all this time. Albus Dumbledore raised a vote to neuter dementors for good after they betrayed the Ministry and joined the Dark Lord’s side, but you and your cohorts did not let that bill pass.”
“It was important. Azkaban —”
“Is now bent on destroying the world. We are drowning in catastrophe, and your answer is to ‘shift the narrative?’” She raised her wand without hesitation. “You are done, Cornelius.”
Fudge stammered, but the words turned to gasps as glowing ropes of magic coiled around him, binding his limbs. He toppled backward, his protests muffled as the bindings tightened.
The silence that followed was broken by the hurried click of heels. Dolores Umbridge stormed into the room, her bandaged hand clutched against her chest. Her saccharine smile was replaced with a snarl. “Madam Bones! This is outrageous! I will have you arrested for treason—”
A spell fired from behind her, and she froze mid-step, bound by shimmering cords. A female Hit-Wizard stepped forward, her wand still raised, her expression cold. “Newt Scamander warned her not to touch the containment circle on the Longbottom boy. She forced us to destroy it. The Obscurus rampaged through Diagon Alley because of her orders.”
Amelia’s eyes burned with quiet fury as she looked at Umbridge. “Dolores, your incompetence and arrogance have cost lives. You’ve ruined Diagon Alley and set Europe ablaze.”
Umbridge spluttered, her face mottled with anger. “You will rot for this, Bones! I’ll—”
“Take them both to custody,” Amelia interrupted, her voice ice-cold. “Call Emmeline Vance. Let the Obliviator Office have their way with these two. I want every shred of information on what they’ve been up to.”
“But,” stammered an auror. “That’s the Minister. Do we have authority —”
“You have authority because I give it,” snapped Amelia. “I deployed Martial Law the moment Azkaban was breached and our entire force was held hostage. If anyone wants to debate legislation at this point, send them to my office. My wand will do my debating for me.”
She paused. “Also, does anyone know where Albus Dumbledore is?”
“He was helping us restrain the Obscurial,” said Stebbins. “Then, he received a patronus from Lord Greengrass and departed shortly.”
Amelia frowned. “And the obscurial?”
“Contained. But Professor Scamander claimed it and disappeared.”
“He’s a ICW-registered magizoologist. And we have bigger problems at hand.”
She paused again, and remembered the tiny pouch that Harry Potter had given her. Surprisingly, it had survived the struggle against Voldemort.
Give it to Daphne Greengrass, he had said.
Normally Amelia would have put this on the backburner, but her instincts claimed otherwise. Between Joshua Greengrass calling Albus Dumbledore away, which in itself was a surprise, and Sirius being… lost to the Anima, she’d be better off not making assumptions.
“I’ll be making a quick trip to the Greengrasses to meet Dumbledore,” she said, as the Hit-Wizards dragged Fudge and Umbridge away. “Anything else?”
A young Auror, trembling, stepped forward. “Madam Bones... there might not even be a world left at this rate. Reports from France say their dragons have broken free. Poland has a Siren situation, and something weird is happening at the Veela enclaves all over Europe. And there’s Azkaban…. Is this really the end?”
Amelia’s gaze turned sharp. She had some idea what was happening in Azkaban now, and what was causing all these magical catastrophes all over the world. If Ekrizdis was truly unleashing the Anima, then it meant that either Harry Potter was fighting him, and failing, or had already failed. Either way, the aftermath wasn’t something she could deal with by herself.
Amelia sheathed her wand with a sharp motion. “Until the moment the world stops spinning, we assume it intends to keep moving. Get to work. All of you.”
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The battlefield was a chaotic maelstrom of collapsing light and shadow, twisting tighter with every moment into a vortex of destruction. Harry stood trembling, blood dripping from a gash at his side, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of exhaustion. Across from him, Ekrizdis emerged from the spiraling chaos, still wearing Harry’s face—yet his form was both divine and grotesque. He loomed tall, a shimmering amalgamation of light and darkness, radiating an aura that defied comprehension.
Ten hands extended outward from Ekrizdis’s body, each glowing with a different hue of magic, their long, elegant fingers tipped with claws that pulsed with chaotic energy. His heads—many heads—floated around a central core, each bearing a distinct face. Some were human, serene and beautiful, their eyes closed in a semblance of peace. Others were monstrous, their mouths twisted into snarls, their eyes blazing with fury and hunger. They turned independently, whispering and screaming in countless languages.
The rest of his body shimmered like liquid gold, carved with intricate glowing runes spiraling across his chest and arms. His feet hovered inches above the ground, surrounded by a halo of crackling energy. He was neither man nor beast but something transcendent—a divine force manifest.
Harry recognized the form instantly. It resembled the depiction of the Lord of the Universe from ancient Indian texts. Of course, Ekrizdis’s ego was vast enough to position himself as the god of the insane creation he sought to bring forth.
One of Ekrizdis’s many hands raised, forming a glowing orb of pure energy in its palm. The orb hurtled toward Harry with the force of a collapsing star. He barely managed to dodge, the searing heat grazing his side as it obliterated the ground behind him. The shockwave sent him sprawling, the Sword of Gryffindor skidding from his grip. Gritting his teeth, Harry scrambled to his feet and summoned the blade back to his hand with a flick of his fingers.
Ekrizdis’s ten hands moved in perfect unison, weaving a vast web of light and shadow that stretched across the battlefield. From the web erupted countless tendrils of energy, each streaking toward Harry with lethal intent. He swung the sword, and hammered the air, creating a kinetic dome to intercept the barrage, but the overwhelming number forced him to retreat, his feet skidding across scorched earth.
“I know how you must feel,” Ekrizdis said, his voice a cacophony of grinding stone and whispers. “The Vessel of Death, brought so low. You have endured so much, only for it to mean nothing in the end. Does that frustrate you? The weight of inevitability?”
Harry tightened his grip on the Sword of Gryffindor, his expression grim but defiant. “The only thing that frustrates me,” he growled, “is how much you talk.”
Ekrizdis chuckled, the sound grating and hollow. “Ah, but godhood requires reflection. To be misunderstood is the price of transcendence.”
Harry’s hands trembled as doubt began to creep in. The sword was mighty, but it wasn’t enough. He needed balance—he needed that wand. His magic stirred within him, ancient and undeniable, resonating with a bond older than any vow. The Elder Wand was not just a relic; it was a fragment of Death itself, a piece of him. He didn’t need to summon it. It would come because it was his, and he was its master.
“I swore I’d never call for it,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he parried another wave of Ekrizdis’s attacks.
Ekrizdis tilted his many heads, as if sensing Harry’s hesitation. “What will you do, little Warden? Call upon the power you fear? Or will you join me in the Eternum, where all such burdens will dissolve?”
Harry closed his eyes, the roar of battle fading into the background. A storm of emotions surged within him—fear, guilt, and the bitter weight of his promise. He had sworn never to wield the wand, to resist its corruptive power. But the battlefield offered no mercy, no room for principles. His eyes opened, glinting with desperate resolve. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Come.”
The world seemed to hold its breath. The air bent and rippled, folding in on itself as reality obeyed a higher will. A low hum resonated, growing into a crescendo that silenced even Ekrizdis’s laughter. In a blaze of dark brilliance, the Elder Wand spiraled through the air and settled into Harry’s outstretched hand.
Power surged through him, raw and unyielding. The wand recognized its rightful master, aligning Harry’s magic into a seamless whole. Summer’s golden fire roared brighter than the sun, the icy grip of Death sharpened through the wand, and Binding united them in perfect harmony. For the first time, Harry was no longer fighting against his power—he was its nexus.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM.”
The battlefield froze as three forms emerged. A spectral Thestral, its translucent wings radiating Death’s chill, siphoned the Anima’s energy. Beside it, a blazing golden Bison stamped its hooves, sending waves of Summer’s heat surging through the constructs. Circling them was a sleek Black Jaguar, its presence unraveling Ekrizdis’s magic with each deliberate step. Together, they formed a Trinity of Power—Death, Summer, and Binding united as one.
Ekrizdis recoiled, his many eyes wide with disbelief. “What is this?”
Harry raised the Sword of Gryffindor, its blade wreathed in fire. “You were right about me being the Nexus Child,” he said, his voice steady and cold. “But you never understood what that means.”
Ekrizdis answered that with a colossal hand of lightning rushing down from the heavens.
Harry smiled grimly. “You extend God’s hand to me? I’ll take it.”
With a surge of power, Harry drove the sword into the ground. The earth rose in defiance, forming a titanic hand of its own. Mud, stone, and shattered debris surged upward to meet the descending lightning.
The two forces collided, and the world was bathed in white.
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The room was thick with tension, the air shimmering with magic as Albus Dumbledore stood over Daphne Greengrass. Her screams echoed through the stone walls, her body writhing against the invisible bonds that held her in stasis. Dumbledore’s face was a mask of concentration, his original wand—slender and elegant, a relic of his early years—gripped tightly in his hand. Streams of silver light flowed from the wand, forming a cocoon around Daphne, but the blood curse etched into her very veins writhed like a living thing, resisting every effort to contain it.
Nearby, Andromeda Tonks moved with urgency, her hands deftly assembling ingredients for a potion that glimmered faintly under the firelight. On a pedestal, Fawkes sat, his golden-red feathers dulled, his mournful cry reverberating through the room. Tears fell freely from the phoenix’s eyes, while Andromeda collected them with precision in a vial, her face tight with determination.
Daphne let out another piercing scream, her body arching violently despite the stasis. “Albus, she won’t hold much longer!” Andromeda shouted, her voice breaking.
“I am aware, Andromeda,” Dumbledore replied, his voice calm but strained. The shimmering bonds flickered momentarily, and his wand flared brighter as he poured more of his strength into the spell.
The fireplace roared to life, emerald flames crackling as Amelia Bones stepped through, her sharp gaze taking in the chaotic scene. “Albus, I came to—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. “What’s happening?”
“A blood curse,” Dumbledore said tersely, his focus unbroken. “A particularly insidious one, tied to Daphne’s lineage. We’re holding it at bay, but not for long.”
Amelia frowned, reaching into her robes. “Harry told me to deliver this to Daphne if I found her,” she said, pulling out a small leather pouch. She handed it to Joshua Greengrass, who stood pale and frozen near the wall. “He said it was for her.”
Fawkes let out a sudden trill, the sorrow in his cries replaced by something triumphant. The pouch glowed faintly, and from within it rose a stone no larger than a human fist, pulsating with golden energy. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look. Fawkes released another melodic trill, this one gentle and warm, and vanished in a burst of flame.
Andromeda gasped, her eyes wide. “That energy... It's like Fawkes’s, but stronger. Purer.”
Joshua’s hands trembled as he held the glowing stone, its light casting Daphne’s pained face in a golden glow. He stared at the energy with wide eyes, his breath catching. “I was right,” he whispered, his voice shaking with conviction. “I told you. I told all of you. Harry Potter is the Greengrass Vessel.”
Andromeda glanced sharply at him, her hands pausing over the potion. “What are you talking about?”
Joshua’s gaze didn’t waver. “Our family magic, the power of Summer—it chose him. Somehow, it chose Harry to carry it forward. This—this proves it.”
Dumbledore stepped back slightly, his wand lowering, though his eyes remained fixed on the stone. “Summer magic,” he murmured, his voice soft. “The essence of her family’s legacy.”
Amelia arched a brow. “The Greengrass Family Magic? I thought it had been dormant for generations.”
“Not dormant,” Dumbledore replied, his voice heavy with realization. “Perhaps simply waiting.”
“But Harry is —”
“I know, but what I hold in my hand is also true.”
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore transfigured a set of equipment, while Amelia assisted Andromeda in preparing the tools to channel the stone’s energy. The potion Andromeda had been working on now glowed faintly gold as the stone’s magic was leached into it, an intricate web of spells guiding the process.
The room filled with golden light as the potion was administered to Daphne. Her spasms ceased almost instantly, her screams fading into silence. Her body relaxed, the curse’s black tendrils dissolving into nothingness. Andromeda let out a shaky breath, watching as the glow enveloped Daphne, suffusing her with warmth.
“She’s safe,” Andromeda said finally, her voice heavy with relief. “Even when he’s not here, Harry saved her life.”
Amelia crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between Daphne and the stone. “And Harry entrusted it to me,” she said softly. “He knew.” She paused, and looked around.
“Albus, where did your phoenix go?”
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The Chamber of Secrets trembled as the Sunken Vault roared with chaos. The jagged maw of the Tunnel of Horrors pulsed with a sinister energy, its fissures radiating a sickly, otherworldly glow. Malevolent forces clawed their way into the world: tendrils of shadow, shrieking specters, and creatures of incomprehensible form spilled forth, twisting the air with their unholy presence.
Before the Tunnel, Ananta-Shesha, the seven-headed Runespoor golem, loomed, its obsidian body coiled protectively around the fissures. Runes carved into its scales blazed with molten gold as the heads moved with deadly precision. One spat streams of runic fire that incinerated an advancing abomination, while another lashed out, smashing a spectral figure back into the Tunnel. The remaining heads worked together, chanting incantations in forgotten tongues to seal cracks that threatened to widen further.
But the Tunnel’s assault grew fiercer with each passing moment. A colossal wraith, its body a writhing mass of serpents and bone, emerged from a widening rift. It unleashed a deafening howl, sending shockwaves across the chamber. Ananta-Shesha struck, one head spewing fire while another conjured a barrier of shimmering gold. The wraith staggered but did not fall, its form regenerating as the Tunnel’s energy fed it.
“It’s only a matter of time!” It hissed. “The Tunnel won’t hold.”
Ananta-Shesha hissed a low warning, its seven heads twisting in her direction. Even the guardian was growing weary. It coiled back, ready to defend against the surging wave….
Then, a piercing cry cut through the chaos. From above, a golden-red streak descended like a comet. Fawkes, the phoenix, blazed into the chamber, his feathers glowing with radiant light. The shadows recoiled from his presence, their forms dissolving under the purity of his song. He circled once before diving toward the largest rift.
Fawkes did not come alone. From his fiery talons, he released an immense form that crashed to the ground with a resounding thud. Hecate, Harry Potter’s bonded Runespoor, uncoiled her massive body, her purple-and-black scales shimmering and reflecting Fawkes’s golden vistas. Each of her three heads moved with purpose, though not without a constant, chaotic argument among themselves.
“Brilliant idea dropping me here!” the left head hissed sarcastically, golden mist already pouring from her mouth to seal a crack. “Let’s just throw me on top of a battlefield.”
“Why complain? This is where we must be at this time, dearie dove!” said the right.
“Oh shut it,” snapped the middle head, its calculating gaze fixed on the largest rift. “I’m the one staring the prey in the eyes while you play decorator.”
Each of her three heads moved with a distinct purpose. The left head hissed sharply, spewing a dark mist that began to harden over cracks in the floor. The middle head, calculating and steady, fixed its gaze on the largest rift, analyzing the chaotic flow of energy. The right head muttered incessantly, emitting a low hum that resonated through the Vault and seemed to disrupt the rhythm of the shadows.
Ananta-Shesha paused for a fraction of a second, its seven heads turning toward Hecate. A silent exchange passed between them—a recognition of shared purpose and ancient knowledge.
“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” the left head screeched, her tone hysterical. “There’s a giant shadow thing over there, and it’s LOOKING AT ME! Why is it looking at me?! Why does everything horrible always look at me?!”
The right head groaned. “Because you never stop whining! If you’d focus for one second—”
“I AM FOCUSED,” the left head bellowed. “Focused on NOT DYING!”
The middle head cut in, voice clipped and sharp. “If we don’t all work together, we’ll ALL be dead. Now, concentrate!”
Hecate surged forward, her colossal form smashing into an abomination that had slipped past Ananta-Shesha’s defenses. Her middle head snapped at the creature, releasing a burst of concentrated light that obliterated it instantly. Meanwhile, Fawkes soared above, his wings igniting the air with trails of fire. He dived low, releasing a cascade of flames that consumed a wave of advancing horrors.
The combined might of phoenix, Runespoor, and golem held the line, but the Tunnel’s assault did not abate. Shadows deepened, and a rumble shook the Vault as the largest rift began to pulse violently, its edges cracking wide. From within, a shadow darker than night coalesced, a monstrous form taking shape. Its limbs, twisted and serpentine, writhed as it stepped forward, exuding an aura of raw malice that even Ananta-Shesha hesitated to confront.
Hecate’s middle head turned sharply toward the entrance of the Vault, hissing urgently. Her warning was clear: their master, Harry, was needed. This battle was only the beginning, and the Tunnel’s horrors were far from contained.
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Harry raised the Elder Wand, and with a flick, the air around Ekrizdis warped, the threads of his magic unravelling as Death cut through them with a precision that bordered on impossibility. Even after his significant experience with unravelling spells, thanks to Fleur’s Mirror-Room, his go-to approach had always been to unravel the entire spell with a concentrated burst of Death-energy.
Now? It was like taking a pair of extremely long and flexible scissors and making perfect incisions wherever he wanted. His eyes and his knowledge of arithmancy allowed him to spot gaps in the threads Ekrizdis was weaving, and it was so much better to just undo tiny portions and let the enormous magic collapse upon itself rather than tackling it head-on. His casting felt so much more fluid, like he had been drawing with fingers all this time, only to pick up the finest brush.
For the first time, Ekrizdis staggered, his massive form flickering as cracks began to spread across his shadowy surface.
The battlefield surged with conflicting energies as Harry stood at the epicenter of the chaos. Before him, the three Patronuses—the Thestral, the Bison, and the Black Jaguar—moved like extensions of his very soul. Each carried the essence of his power, his determination, and the weight of his role as Gatekeeper.
Ekrizdis recoiled, his monstrous form flickering with instability as the Thestrals spectral wings beat against the rising tide of the Anima. Its silent, implacable presence began to siphon the chaotic energy, stabilizing the portal piece by piece. The shadow-born constructs that poured from the tear faltered, their ethereal forms crumbling under the relentless aura of Death.
The Greengrass Bison, radiant with the heat of Summer, charged forward with a bellow that shook the earth. Its golden light seared through the battlefield, reducing the nearest constructs to ash. Where the Anima’s influence had blackened and twisted the ground, the Bison’s presence restored it, grass sprouting in its wake as life pushed back against decay.
The Black Jaguar moved with lethal precision, its form a flicker of Binding threads in motion. Each leap and swipe severed the chaotic ties holding Ekrizdis’s constructs together, the thestral diving into one of them, the Binding instantly causing the others to instantly unravel as a result. The jaguar prowled in a tight circle around Harry, its glowing eyes locked onto Ekrizdis as if daring him to strike.
Ekrizdis didn’t seem terribly put off.
“Even with them, you cannot match me, Warden. Your little magics are specks of light swallowed by an eternal abyss. I am—”
“Mouthy.”
Harry released the spell he was forming within his cloak, the purplish bolt missing Ekrizdis by a couple of inches and hitting home into the Eternum.
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Harry, instantly vanishing as a meteor of flame crashed in his direction, before appearing again. The Cloak of Invisibility wasn’t just shielding him from the worst of the Anima’s energy, it was isolating him. It made sense in hindsight — if Ignotus was able to supposedly hide from the eyes of Death for an entire lifetime — then the Cloak was likely capable of enacting a similar mystery.
“Seriously. You’re crazy, rash, and pretty much evil. And I get all that you’ve turned yourself into a God. Or God-ling. But I’ve got annoying amounts of experience fighting you and your ilk for the last few hours. Would you please die? I’m in a terrible mood.”
It was infuriating. He was winning—his spells struck true, his magic burned brighter, and yet... It made no difference. Ekrizdis would unravel every Binding, subvert every flame, and return stronger. The abyss in Harry’s heart deepened as doubt crept in. Maybe it was futile. Impossible.
No, it isn’t, he told himself, repeating his newfound mantra. You’re not allowed to give up. You’re only allowed to solve the problem.
Magic, at the end of the day, was all about using a force of creation to solve your problems. It didn’t matter if you were crafting a spell to count the number of sneezes a person made during the day, or orchestrating millions of spell flows to coordinate together and be stable inside a magical construct as large as Hogwarts. However, you couldn’t solve them all at once. There was always the larger, overarching question — the big target. But if you obsessed with the sheer enormity of it, you lost focus.
Kind of like he had been, until now.
The key was to start small. Focus on building solutions for problems he could answer. Build some dry ground to stand on. And after you have put some work in, and were lucky, then the mystery of the overarching question becomes knowable. Like stepping back from a photomontage to witness the ultimate image revealing itself.
He had to separate himself from the fear, the paranoia, and the sheer frustration and simply tackle this problem as if he were back in the lair, pondering over the list of questions he had decided to tackle and solve.
Build some dry ground to stand on.
The overarching question that plagued him in the moment: How to close that damned portal? There was, as much as Harry hated to admit it, no way to answer that. He had vague ideas and suspicions of course, but suspicion led to bias, and bias never led to the truth.
How could he kill Ekrizdis?
No. Still too big.
How could he cut Ekrizdis off from the Eternum?
Still too big. Too vast. Too many variables.
He needed to narrow the field of data.
He needed to start with the simplest question.
How do I neuter Ekrizdis’s power?
Death would not work on the Deathless. Anything he used Binding on, Ekrizdis could unbind them. Summer’s energy was being met by a myriad of powers, arising from Wishcraft alone, not to mention the other Family Magics. He could use Death to destroy the souls that constituted the Eternum, and yes, that would definitely cut Ekrizdis out of the picture for good, but it would also get the world to end that much faster.
Without the Eternum, there would be nothing to bottleneck that portal.
He needed an ace. Something that he could use not on the creations, but on Ekrizdis himself. His power, his essence, thrived on disruption and flux, feeding on every shift in the battlefield. Every spell Harry cast only fed that energy. His attacks weren’t just futile; they were fueling Ekrizdis’s strength.
Flux….
There had been one more person he had met that had a similar trait. Nymphadora Tonks. One who was as much a girl as she was a boy or a pigeon or a goat. Her soul had mutated to the extent that by becoming the concept of Change, she had lost her fixed sense of identity. Ekrizdis definitely had his own identity but the moment he became the Eternum and activated the portal, he….
The realisation hit him like a cold waver. Ekrizdis wasn’t an opponent to be overwhelmed. He was a force to be denied.
Harry’s mind raced. If Ekrizdis was Change, what if there was no change? Theoretically, if you took the concept of Death forward, it would dissipate magic, dissipate the bonds, dissipate the very energy of the atoms until all motion would cease to exist. Hell, the entity would have ceased its existence on all levels far, far before such a state could even be reached.
A state of Permanence.
But what if one could bypass the steps and reach that step directly? The soul stayed, the magic stayed, the body stayed, yet a localized field prevented them from moving? Hadn’t Croaker done something similar, by enacting a temporal bubble by….
By robbing them from the concept of temporal progression.
Harry was no chronomancer. Neither was he trained by the Unspeakables in using chronomantic spells as part of his training.
But he didn’t need that, did he?
He hadn’t had this option before, but with the portal to the Anima open, a new path was open to him. One that he didn’t have before.
Grinning, he got to work.
Comments
Henry_Hopeful
does anyone know what's going on with the pokemon fanfiction ascension
Afterdark230
Nothing like stacking the deck! Badazz Harry incoming!
