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ACT4CH40 - Clash Of The Titans
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 18:44:50 +0000 UTCHarry staggered back as the ground beneath him split apart, sending up a shower of glowing shards that seared the air with blistering heat. The vibrations rattled through his bones, and he barely caught his balance before another tremor struck, more violent than the last.
"Going for theatrics now, Ekrizdis?" he called out, his voice strained but sharp, masking the knot of exhaustion tightening in his chest. "What’s next, a monologue about your tragic backstory?"
Above him, Ekrizdis loomed like a storm made flesh, his form twisting in impossible ways that defied comprehension. Shadowed limbs stretched and coiled, a living vortex of malice, as flashes of blinding light flickered across his shifting surface. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t singular but a cacophony—grinding stone, shattering glass, and the guttural murmur of countless voices entwined.
"You jest. Good," Ekrizdis intoned, his words rippling through the air like the tolling of a bell. "But there is no story, little Warden. Only the part where you meet your end and become part of me."
"Funny," Harry rasped, his breath catching as the exhaustion pressed heavier on him, "I thought I was the one with the monopoly on endings."
A surge of golden fire erupted from his wand, its light burning away the advancing tendrils of shadow. The tendrils recoiled with an ear-splitting shriek, dissolving into the air, but the victory was fleeting. Above, the sky tore open with a sound like fabric ripping under strain, spears of warped energy hurtling down in a deadly cascade. Each spear trailed spirals of raw, humming magic, and the acrid stench of ozone thickened the air.
“Shit!” Harry dived to the side, narrowly evading the first barrage. The ground where he’d stood exploded into a molten crater, heat licking at his back as he rolled to his feet. He clutched his wand tightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"All that power! Thousands of souls! Wishcraft! All of that to throw spaghetti at a wall?" he quipped, his voice biting but tinged with strain. A flick of his wand summoned a shimmering net, its threads crackling with energy. The net intercepted several spears, deflecting them harmlessly into the void. Yet, it trembled, strained under the onslaught.
Ekrizdis extended a clawed hand, and the fractured ground beneath Harry surged upward. A massive construct rose on twisted legs like gnarled roots, its molten eyes glowing with unholy light. The air around it shimmered with a palpable, destructive force. When it moved, the grinding of stone echoed like a death knell.
Its first strike came faster than Harry could react, clipping his shoulder and sending him sprawling. His shield of Summer fire flickered as he hit the ground, pain lancing through his arm. His wand slipped, but he clawed for it with bloody fingers, his breath a rasping hiss.
"Oh great, the boss has minions now," he muttered, humor forced and bitter. Blood dripped from his lip as he pushed himself upright. "Because this wasn’t annoying enough already."
Summoning his strength, he retaliated with a surge of Death magic. Black tendrils lashed out, snaring the construct’s core. Its movements faltered as its essence unraveled. Yet, instead of collapsing, it split apart, forming two smaller, equally menacing versions of itself.
“You’re Crabbe, and you’re Goyle,” Harry said, pointing at the pair. Then, with mock reverence, "And you must be Draco Malfoy."
The constructs lunged, their claws slicing through the air inches from his face. He threw up a shield just in time. Each strike sent tremors up his arm, widening cracks in his defenses. The golden light of Summer fire flared again, but it was weaker now, flickering like a guttering candle.
Harry thrust his wand forward, summoning Summer’s heat with every ounce of his will. The golden flames wreathed his hands and wand, burning brighter as the force of life and creation coursed through him. Threads of Binding magic emerged, molten silver weaving into a lattice that crackled with fiery energy. The lattice wrapped around the constructs, burning through them and rushing toward Ekrizdis, seeking to anchor itself to his chaotic form.
The battlefield screamed under the strain as the threads latched on, pulling at the unnatural ties binding Ekrizdis’s stolen power together. Harry’s breath came in shallow gasps, the energy of Death magic seeping into the threads, an icy counterpoint to Summer’s heat. The frost crept toward Ekrizdis’s core, tightening the spell like a spear poised to strike.
But Ekrizdis’s laughter rang out, low and thunderous. With a single, deliberate motion, he raised a clawed hand and swiped through the air. The searing spear struck his palm, the force of it rippling across the battlefield. Yet Ekrizdis stood unyielding, the light of the spell dimming as he absorbed its energy.
“Trifling tricks won’t hold me.”
The backlash from the failed spell knocked Harry to his knees. His wand arm trembled, the exhaustion now bone-deep. A sharp realization struck him like a blow: he could channel only one type of magic through his wand at a time. Summer surged hot and demanding, but it faltered when he tried to thread it with the icy precision of Death. Binding, caught in the middle, frayed under the strain. Without the balance of the Sword of Gryffindor, the delicate equilibrium he’d once wielded so effortlessly was slipping beyond reach.
Above, the sky split wide as Ekrizdis raised both arms, his form convulsing with chaotic energy. A swirling mass of darkness coalesced above him, twisting and folding into an enormous obsidian spear laced with veins of crackling crimson light. The weapon pulsed with raw destructive energy, its surface shimmering with the unsteady glow of Wishcraft. With a guttural roar, Ekrizdis hurled it toward Harry, the air screaming in its wake.
Harry’s eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body tensing. He raised his wand, and with a flick, summoned the full force of Summer. Golden fire erupted around him, flooding the battlefield with blinding heat and light. The flames surged forward, forming a radiant barrier that met the incoming spear with a thunderous impact. The ground quaked as the energies clashed, the spear’s dark magic pushing against the searing brilliance of Summer.
Sweat streamed down Harry’s face as he gritted his teeth, his entire focus consumed by the struggle. The barrier wavered under the relentless pressure, cracks forming in the golden light as the spear’s crimson veins pulsed brighter. Harry poured more of himself into the magic, the heat of Summer searing through him like a second heartbeat. With a roar of defiance, he thrust his wand forward, channeling everything he had into a final surge.
Harry staggered, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the golden flames flickering as he struggled to maintain his footing. He could barely stand upright, much less react when the constructs surged forward again, claws aiming for his exposed side. His spell fizzled as he attempted a wandless shield, his magical strength already drained to its limits.
At the last moment, a flash of silver streaked into his hand. The Sword of Gryffindor’s familiar weight steadied him, its edge gleaming with ethereal light. Without hesitation, he channeled Death magic into the blade. A wave of icy power erupted, cutting through the constructs like smoke. The air fell still, heavy with the chill of Death as Ekrizdis’s minions dissolved into nothingness.
Harry stood trembling, the sword clutched in his hand, its edge still glowing faintly. His breath came in ragged bursts, but his grip tightened as he turned back to Ekrizdis. Defiance burned in his eyes.
“Guess I’m not done ruining your day after all.”
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The Greengrass Manor was eerily quiet, its usual calm transformed into a suffocating stillness. Daphne Greengrass sat curled up on a plush armchair in the drawing room, her pale hands clutching a teacup that had long gone cold. Her mind raced with a storm of conflicting thoughts, each one darker than the last.
Rumors had spread like wildfire—Neville Longbottom transforming into an Obscurus, unleashing destruction that left Diagon Alley in ruins. Whispers of blame and fear circulated throughout the wizarding community, some accusing the Ministry of negligence while others speculated about Harry Potter’s role in the chaos. To many, the devastation was not just a tragedy but a chilling reminder of the fragility of their world—and of the dangerous forces that Harry seemed to attract wherever he went. St. Mungo’s nearly destroyed by a Death Eater ritual that Harry had disrupted. The chilling news that Azkaban had fallen to dementors and Death Eaters. And through it all, Harry was at the center. Her Harry.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest tight with worry. The devastation, the danger—it all felt so far removed from the quiet life she had known until now, yet it was crashing into her world like a tidal wave. She couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was even still alive.
Across the room, her father, Joshua Greengrass, paced by the hearth, his usual composure slipping under the weight of the situation. He held a glowing communication mirror, his voice tight as he addressed an unseen contact.
“Where the hell are you, Sirius Black?” Joshua said, his tone sharp. “For Merlin’s sake, reply!”
Nothing answered, leaving the room in tense silence. Joshua sighed, running a hand through his graying hair, his thoughts a storm of guilt and helplessness. Every fiber of his being told him to act, to do something, but the weight of their predicament pinned him down like an invisible chain. He turned to Daphne, his daughter, the one person he had always sworn to protect, and felt the bitter sting of failure creeping into his heart.
“Daphne,” he said softly, his usual sternness softened by concern. “You’ve barely spoken since the news arrived. Are you all right?”
She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and haunted. “No, I’m not alright, Father. How could I be? Diagon Alley is in ruins. St. Mungo’s is barely standing. And Harry—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her lips to steady herself. “Harry’s been in the middle of all of it. What if he’s—what if he doesn’t come back?”
“He’s got —”
“No one,” Daphne shot back. “Sirius isn’t responding, is he? Something must have happened to him inside the hospital. You said Harry came out of the hospital, and went with the Director to Azkaban, but there’s no news about his godfather. What if he’s — he’s —”
Joshua crossed the room and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Harry is a survivor, Daphne. If anyone can navigate this storm, it’s him.”
That he didn’t include Sirius Black in that statement spoke volumes.
Before he could continue, the ground beneath them shuddered violently, sending ripples through the room. Daphne gasped, clutching the armrests of her chair as a minor tremor shook the manor. The teacup on the table rattled violently before tipping over, spilling its cold contents onto the carpet in slow rivulets. The tremor reverberated through the room, a subtle but insistent reminder of the chaos growing beyond their walls. It wasn’t just a stray quake—it felt deliberate, like a warning that the fragile stability they clung to was about to shatter. Joshua steadied himself against the mantle, his expression alarmed.
“What — what by Merlin was that?” asked Daphne.
Her answer came from a voice that crackled through the wireless set on the mantle. It was a grim and urgent broadcast from the Wizarding Wireless Network.
“This is Fenella Fleet with a breaking update." The broadcast crackled with a grim urgency, the reporter’s voice tight with barely restrained fear. "Reports are flooding in of catastrophic events across the globe. Mt. Krakatoa has erupted with unprecedented force, sending shockwaves felt as far as Australia. Mt. Vesuvius is frothing, threatening another violent eruption. Severe tectonic shifts are occurring, triggering earthquakes across continents. Magical experts are linking these events to the recent unleashing of uncontrolled, dark magical forces, though the full extent of its influence remains unknown. Warnings have been issued to wizards and witches in all regions to exercise extreme caution. This is no ordinary calamity—it’s Armageddon." Mt. Krakatoa has erupted with unprecedented force, sending shockwaves felt as far as Australia. Mt. Vesuvius is frothing, threatening another violent eruption. Severe tectonic shifts are occurring, triggering earthquakes across continents. Magical experts are linking these events to the recent unleashing of uncontrolled, dark magical forces, though the full extent of its influence remains unknown. Warnings have been issued to wizards and witches in all regions to exercise extreme caution. This is no ordinary calamity—it’s Armageddon.”
The room fell silent as the broadcast continued, describing a world spiraling into chaos. Daphne’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of her chair.
“Dad,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t just about Harry anymore. The whole world… it’s falling apart.”
Joshua’s expression hardened, and he strode to the wireless, turning up the volume. “It seems we’re running out of time to act. I need to find out what's happening immediately.”
Just as he spoke, Daphne let out a sharp, strangled cry and collapsed forward in her chair. Her hands clawed at her chest, and her body convulsed violently as though subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. Joshua’s eyes widened in panic as he rushed to her side.
“Daphne! What’s happening?” he shouted, his voice trembling with fear.
“It hurts!” Daphne gasped, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “It’s… the curse. The blood curse… it’s burning me alive!”
Joshua knelt beside her, his hands hovering helplessly. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It hasn’t flared in years like this. Why now?”
Daphne writhed in agony, her cries echoing through the room. Each wave of pain tore through her, blurring her vision and twisting her thoughts into incoherent fragments. She could feel the curse’s fire searing her from the inside, a relentless, burning torment that seemed to claw at the very essence of her being. Through the haze, a single thought pulsed like a beacon: she couldn’t let this break her. But with every second that passed, that resolve felt more fragile, teetering on the brink of shattering completely. “Dad, please… do something!”
Joshua’s composure shattered as he fumbled with his wand, attempting every counter-curse and healing spell he knew. None of them worked. He knew that from experience. The curse’s magic was ancient and insidious, digging into Daphne’s very essence, and nothing short of something equally esoteric could help them out of it.
“Harry,” he muttered desperately. “He’s the only one who might know how to stop this, but he’s away. Sirius is missing. I — What do I do?”
The wireless crackled again, a new voice breaking through the chaos. “This is a Ministry alert. Unconfirmed reports suggest that the source of the catastrophic magical surge lies within Azkaban. We urge all listeners to remain calm and indoors as we continue to investigate.”
Joshua’s face twisted with despair as he looked down at his daughter, whose screams had turned to broken sobs. “Hold on, Daphne,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ll find help. I’ll find someone. Just hold on.”
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Ekrizdis gestured, and the earth obeyed his will. The ground erupted in jagged fractures, and constructs clawed their way into existence—faster, fiercer, and more numerous than before. Their forms radiated with a chaotic energy, arcs of power leaping between their limbs as they surged toward Harry.
He staggered, his body screaming for rest as his mind raced for a solution. His wand rose in trembling defiance, but his spells fizzled, their light dim and unsteady. The constructs swarmed him with unrelenting ferocity.
A brutal strike slammed into his chest, throwing him to the ground. Harry coughed, blood staining his lips as he dragged himself upright, his wand barely steady in his grasp. “You’ll have to try harder than that,” he rasped, though the defiance in his voice faltered beneath the weight of exhaustion.
Ekrizdis tilted his head, his ever-shifting features curling into a smile that promised malice.
“Really? Let’s try again then.”
With a flick of his clawed hand, he unleashed a torrent of shadow. Harry raised a dome of Summer fire, its golden light flickering against the onslaught. The shadows collided with the barrier, and the force of the impact cracked the dome like fragile glass. With a final, deafening roar, the fire shattered, and Harry was hurled backward, landing hard against the uneven ground.
Before he could recover, an unnatural pull twisted the air around him. His grip on his wand faltered, and a searing pain lanced through his core as the wand exploded into splinters. The shards scattered like broken dreams across the battlefield, leaving his hand clenched around empty air.
For a moment, Harry was still. He stared at his hand, bloodied and trembling. A guttural sound escaped him—a raw, anguished cry that echoed the weight of his loss. This wasn’t just a tool; it was a piece of him, forged through every battle, every triumph, and every desperate stand. The wand had been his lifeline when his magic faltered, a reminder of his connection to those he loved. And now it was gone.
His breath came shallow, uneven, as the battlefield seemed to blur around him. For a fleeting second, the grief felt heavier than the battle itself. Then, his gaze snapped to Ekrizdis. The grief burned away, replaced by a fury that seared through his veins.
Ekrizdis stood, triumphant and unhurried. “I have entertained you enough. Now stay there, little Warden,” he said, his voice carrying both mockery and finality. “Let me finish my magnum opus.”
With a sharp gesture, he tore the sky wider. The portal above stretched and groaned, its jagged edges glowing with an unholy light. From its depths poured writhing, spectral forms, their shapes a nightmare of indistinct horror. They moved like a tide, glowing faintly with the pale luminance of the Anima, their cries a symphony of anguish.
This was it. This was the end.
“Ekrizdis,” Harry said, his voice cutting through the chaos. Each word carried a razor edge of finality. “Do not do this. If you open the Gates, everything inside will spill out. Not you, not me, not even your Eternum can control it.”
The Family Magics were not just power. They were the underpinnings of reality itself, concepts too vast and fundamental to bend to a mortal’s will. If unleashed, they would shatter the fragile laws that held existence together.
Ekrizdis’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes,” he said, almost lazily. “The Family Magics will be tricky. But I have prepared. I’ve gathered enough souls—nearly every clan of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. My countermeasures should suffice.”
“Should?” Harry’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “Do you even comprehend what you’re doing?”
He had seen it—in the Anima, in the Prison of Possibilities. The Family Magics unleashed were not just destructive; they were catastrophic. It wouldn’t stop with Britain or Europe. The very fabric of the universe would unravel.
Ekrizdis’s smile deepened. “Why do you think I let my half-converted prey leave Azkaban with that oblivious woman? My power takes root in every being that sets foot on my island. Every. Single. One. Amplified by you, I will reach them all.”
Harry’s heart sank as the realization dawned. “You…”
“Yes,” Ekrizdis said, his tone almost triumphant. “I will turn them into dementors—my feeders, my collectors. They will feed endlessly, adding more souls to balance against the Family Magics. Together, we will tame them, rule them. We will become gods.”
Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “You’re not just insane,” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “You’re a rabid dog chasing extinction.”
Ekrizdis chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “Say what you will. But you cannot stop me, little Warden. You have already lost your primary weapon. Even with the blade, there is little you can do to stop me. Take some comfort in the fact that you stood in defiance of Eternity’s will until the very end. Most would not have had the courage, and I truly admire you. If you wish to close your eyes and relive your moments with your loved ones, it may give you some peace.”
Harry wanted to laugh. To cry. To scream like a madman. He had finally come full circle. Back then, he had rejected the Elder Wand, the Deathstick — not because he was afraid of that power, but because it had seemed like the best way to counter Ignotus Peverell’s efforts to make him choose Death. Choose the Demon over Life, over Magic, over everything. He had chosen Life, chosen freedom, chosen love, chosen to stay human, even if it meant to stand at the very crossroads and defy powers that should not, could not be defied. Even if it meant a lifetime full of struggle, to slowly give away part of your soul little by little until there would come a point when he wouldn’t even be able to look back and see any resemblance to the wide-eyed eleven-year-old staring at the castle on a moonlit night.
And now, to ensure that the very same balance wasn’t shattered, he would have to make that very same choice he did not want.
Clenching his teeth, he came to a decision.
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Andromeda Tonks knelt beside Daphne, her wand tracing precise arcs as she muttered counter-curses and spells of stabilization. Her expression was grim but focused, her silver magic weaving a fragile lattice around Daphne’s convulsing body. The oppressive silence of Greengrass Manor was shattered by the sharp cracks of apparition as Albus Dumbledore appeared in the center of the drawing room. His piercing blue eyes swept the scene with urgency, his long silver beard swaying as he moved with purpose.
“Dumbledore! Thank Merlin you’re here,” Joshua Greengrass said, his voice trembling with desperation. “Madam Tonks has been trying, but the curse… it’s relentless. It’s tearing her apart.”
“My apologies,” Dumbledore replied, his voice calm but grave. “I came as quickly as I could. How did this happen?”
“It flared out of nowhere, right when the tremors began,” Joshua explained, his voice raw with frustration. “It’s been dormant for months, and now… this.”
Both men glanced at Andromeda, her hands steady despite the sweat on her brow. Her spells were precise, her knowledge of such dark magic evident in every movement. The silver glow of her magic pulsed, holding back the dark tendrils of the curse with the precision of someone intimately familiar with its cruelty. Yet even her mastery seemed insufficient as Daphne’s body convulsed again, her cries piercing the air.
Joshua turned sharply to Dumbledore, desperation etched in every line of his face. “Can you stop it?”
Dumbledore knelt beside Daphne, his wand moving in intricate patterns as a soft blue light began to probe the ancient curse. His expression darkened as he spoke. “The curse is worsening. This magic is old, insidious, and reactive. It is drawing strength from something—someone.”
“And Sirius is nowhere to be found,” Joshua growled.
Dumbledore’s frown deepened. “Even if Sirius were here, this is beyond him.”
“It’s Black Family Magic,” Andromeda interjected, her tone resolute. “I can feel it responding. Someone has unleashed it.”
“Sirius?” Joshua asked, his voice wavering between anger and hope.
Andromeda shook her head firmly. “Sirius may be the Lord, but he isn’t a vessel. I’ve seen him use the curses in the Black Library, but controlling the Family Magic at this level? It’s not him.”
“If Harry were here, he could do something,” Joshua muttered, his fists clenching. “But even he—”
“Harry is in Azkaban,” Dumbledore interrupted. “He is aiding Amelia Bones in rescuing the captured DMLE staff.”
“Why would anyone send him there?” Andromeda demanded. “Why not you instead?”
“Because Harry is uniquely capable of handling such circumstances,” Dumbledore admitted. “And because I have been occupied restraining Neville Longbottom.”
“Longbottom?” Joshua’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Is it true? He’s transformed into an Obscurus?”
Dumbledore’s nod was somber.
“Where is the boy now?” Andromeda asked, her tone softening.
“Safe and under Newt’s care,” Dumbledore replied. He turned back to Daphne, his tone urgent. “We have little time. The curse is accelerating, feeding on external forces. Harry was researching ways to counteract it through Death magic, but without him here…”
Daphne let out another anguished scream, her body arching as her limbs spasmed uncontrollably. Andromeda steadied her with a firm hand on her shoulder, her silver magic flaring brighter to push back the encroaching darkness.
Dumbledore joined her efforts, weaving golden threads of magic into a protective cocoon around Daphne. The combined spells forced the curse to recoil momentarily, and Daphne’s breathing slowed, her cries diminishing to soft whimpers.
“It’s working,” Joshua whispered, a flicker of hope in his voice.
“Not for long,” Dumbledore warned. The golden threads trembled, fractures forming as the curse surged with renewed vigor. The cocoon shattered, a wave of dark energy rippling outward. Daphne screamed, her body twisting in agony.
Joshua’s eyes narrowed as he caught a critical detail. “You’re not using the Elder Wand,” he said, his voice tight with disbelief. “Why?”
Dumbledore hesitated, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “The Elder Wand resists. It is a weapon of conquest, not salvation.”
Joshua’s face darkened, his voice filled with desperation, but his movements were hesitant. “If you can’t wield it to save her, then I will!”
His hand trembled as he raised his wand, a flicker of doubt flashing in his eyes. “I… I have to do something. I can’t just stand here and watch her suffer!” He pulled out his own wand, raising it as if to disarm Dumbledore. “I won’t stand here and let my daughter die!”
“Joshua, stop!” Andromeda snapped, stepping between them. Her voice was sharp, her tone commanding. “This is not the time for arguments. Daphne needs us. Focus on her!”
Dumbledore looked down, his expression filled with regret. “The Deathstick… It is a burden I have carried too long. Every use draws me deeper into its shadow. I would have gladly parted with it, but it can’t be you, Joshua. It can only be —”
Snikt!
The Elder Wand wrenched itself free from his holster. It shot through the air, disappearing into the shadows of the room. The three froze, their eyes darting toward where it vanished.
“What have you done?” Dumbledore demanded, his voice sharp.
Joshua raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything!”
Dumbledore’s gaze darkened as he murmured, “The wand… it seeks its true master.”
Silence fell, broken only by Daphne’s labored breathing. Andromeda’s expression hardened. “If it’s gone to Harry, then he’s in the middle of something far worse than we imagined.”
Dumbledore nodded grimly. “Harry Potter rejected the wand once. If he has summoned it now, it means he faces a darkness even I cannot fathom.”
The room remained still, the weight of Dumbledore’s words hanging heavy. Whatever battle lay ahead, the Elder Wand had chosen its master—and its purpose.
Comments
Tamen Dutta
Has the release schedule changed??
Henry_Hopeful
pardon me but what ever happened to the pokemon fanfiction called ascension you wrote
