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ACT4CH38 - Defying A Dark Lord Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 09:10:59 +0000 UTCThe courtyard of Azkaban turned into a writhing nightmare as Voldemort raised his wand high, his crimson eyes blazing with cruel intent. The ground beneath the Aurors’ feet trembled, splitting apart with a deep, resonant groan. From the fissures, massive serpents surged forth, their scales gleaming with a slick, obsidian sheen, as though forged from shadow itself.
Each snake was a monstrous abomination, its body unnaturally long, coiled with muscle thick enough to crush granite. Their heads rose high above the shattered courtyard, jagged fangs dripping venom that hissed and sizzled as it struck the ground, eating through stone like acid. Their eyes burned with a sickly green glow, unblinking and devoid of mercy. They moved with terrifying speed and coordination, slithering around the scattered Aurors, cutting off escape from all sides.
One serpent lunged, its fanged maw wide enough to swallow Kingsley whole. Its venomous breath wafted out in a noxious cloud, causing eyes to water and lungs to burn. The bald auror raised his wand just in time, shouting, ‘Protego Maxima!’ The shimmering shield caught the serpent’s strike, but the impact sent cracks rippling through the barrier and the auror sprawling backward, his shield shattering like glass. Rufus Scrimgeour took that opportunity to conjure a spear of hardened rock and hurled it at one of its eyes.
The serpent hissed, the others following, the sound a cacophony of hatred and hunger that reverberated in the very bones of those trapped in the encroaching ring. Their movements were unnatural, almost fluid, as if reality itself bent to accommodate their grotesque forms. Each strike was a blur of motion, jaws snapping inches from fleeing Aurors, massive tails sweeping through the air like wrecking balls, splintering stone and snapping through hastily cast shields.
The air grew thick with the stench of decay and venom. Shadows seemed to lengthen and cling to the serpents, as if they were extensions of the dark magic animating the beasts. Around Voldemort, the serpents coiled protectively, creating a living wall of death, their forms undulating like the waves of some nightmarish ocean.
Above it all, Voldemort watched with a cruel smile, his thin lips curling in mockery as the Aurors scrambled to hold their lines. The serpents weren’t just monsters; they were symbols of his dominance, living weapons of his will, and he wielded them with the precision of a master sculptor carving despair into the hearts of his enemies.
The sky above Azkaban darkened as Voldemort raised his wand, his voice echoing with an incantation so ancient and dark that the very air seemed to recoil. The storm clouds above churned violently, glowing faintly with greenish light, as if infused with venom. Then, with a deafening roar, a deluge of water erupted from the heavens, not rain but a cataclysmic flood that crashed down upon the courtyard in an unstoppable torrent.
The water came alive, surging like a living beast. It smashed into the Aurors, sweeping them off their feet and dragging them into its chaotic depths. The waves twisted and spiraled unnaturally, forming vortexes and towering columns that reached for the sky, each one imbued with Voldemort’s malice. The courtyard was no longer solid ground; it was an endless sea of roiling, poisonous water that hissed and burned like acid wherever it touched.
Beneath the surface, Voldemort’s serpents were transforming. They glided through the water like shadows given form, their black scales blending seamlessly with the venomous depths. Their movements were impossibly swift, darting in and out of the water, striking from angles no Auror or hit-wizard could predict. Fangs dripping with poison glinted as they lashed out at their prey, tearing through shields and dragging screaming victims beneath the waves.
One serpent erupted from the water behind Savage, its jaws wide as it struck with lightning speed. The serpent engulfed the victim before he could even scream, his wand falling uselessly into the water. Another serpent coiled around two hit-wizards at once, their frantically cutting spells bouncing off its enchanted hide as it dragged them down, the venom in the water already seeping into their lungs.
Amelia Bones stood in the center of the chaos, the Sword of Godric Gryffindor held aloft. Around her, the spectral aura of Death flickered like a cold, pale flame. The blade cut through the flood, but for once, it did little to stop the deluge. Death, she was realising, worked magnificently against esoteric curses and enchantments, but against elemental energy, it meant little.
Then she noted the poisonous waters slowly solidifying and pushed a little more Death through the blade.
Her fondness for the blade and Potter’s power grew by the second. She whipped it sideward as the serpents converged on her. Two struck simultaneously, their jaws wide and fangs gleaming. She twisted, bringing the sword down in a sweeping arc. The blade didn’t just cut—it unmade them. One serpent disintegrated mid-strike, its form unraveling into black mist. The second coiled back, hissing in fury, only to be struck down by a volley of spells from the surviving Aurors who rallied around Amelia’s presence.
Less effective against elemental energies, she noted, but against transfigured creations, it absolutely obliterated them.
Amelia pointed the sword toward the water, channeling the power of Death into its depths. The spectral aura surged outward, freezing the waves in a ring around her. For a moment, the poison in the water receded, creating a circle of calm where the remaining Aurors could breathe.
Voldemort’s frustration reached out as a violent wave of disorientation, and Amelia cast a quick runic barrier to hold back the blast. The Dark Lord began commanding the serpents in that twisted serpentine voice, and the snakes began a coordinated assault, their massive forms breaking through Amelia’s calm zone from all directions. One serpent launched itself from the frozen water, striking like a battering ram and forcing Amelia to leap aside, the shockwave shattering nearby ice. Another rose high above her, its venom spraying in an arc that melted through protective enchantments.
Two more serpents struck from below, their coiled tails smashing into the Aurors’ ranks, sending wizards tumbling into the depths. Their teamwork was terrifying, and Amelia sensed Voldemort’s mind behind it. That the man could manipulate so many flows of conjured consciousness all at once only spoke of his prowess. The violent churning water made it impossible to stand, forcing the Aurors to cast spells blindly. Their panic intensified as the serpents drew closer.
Amelia, her breath ragged but her resolve unbroken, thrust the sword into the water beneath her feet. Death surged outward like a shockwave, a ripple of stillness that froze the serpent’s mid-attack. Their massive bodies quivered, their scales cracking as the unnatural chill consumed them.
But Voldemort’s power was relentless. With each passing moment, the water turned a darker green, the poison intensified, and noxious fumes rose in the suffocating clouds. The Aurors coughed and gagged, their shields faltering as the venom seeped into their very magic. The serpents, though slowed, continued their assault, breaking through the deathly aura with sheer ferocity. One serpent breached the frozen water near Amelia, its jaws closing around her in an instant.
Amelia swung the sword with all her strength, cleaving the serpent in two. Its halves fell into the water, dissolving into a viscous, steaming black liquid. But the toll was heavy—her limbs ached, and the poison in the air clawed at her lungs.
This is it, she thought. I’ve failed.
Dementors rose around her, their aura of despair gnawing at her resolute will. The cold bit deep into her bones, sapping the last reserves of her strength. Around her, the world was deathly still—a frozen battlefield of shattered stone and venomous ice. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one burning from the lingering poison in her lungs. The spectral aura of Death still flickered faintly around her, but even its relentless inevitability seemed fragile now, on the verge of extinguishing.
Like I failed Gideon.
Aurors and hit-wizards lay scattered, some unconscious, others barely clinging to life. The frozen water shimmered in the pale, eerie light of Death’s power, a chilling void that promised no mercy.
Like I lost Sirius.
Above it all, Voldemort stood unyielding, his dark presence dominating the battlefield. His wand twitched, and the shattered remnants of serpents stirred, fragments of them twisting and reforming like shadows reborn.
Like I led my people to their doom. Harry Potter did so much, and even with his power, I failed everyone.
Amelia gripped the Sword of Godric Gryffindor tightly, the blade heavier than ever. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, despair clawed at her heart.
I… I am a failure. I can only lose. I —
She paused and felt her hand shake. No, it wasn’t her that was shaking. It was the sword. The resonance wasn’t harsh—it was warm, a deep hum that seemed to echo from her very soul. The heat surged through her numb fingers, spreading up her arms and into her chest. It wasn’t Death’s cold clarity this time; it was something different, something alive. A memory flickered in her mind…
Gideon’s grin, cocky and full of mischief, as he leaned over the map of enemy positions to steal a kiss. “We’re fighting for tomorrow, Amelia,” he had said, his voice a mix of stubborn optimism and sheer will. “And you’ll be there when we win it.”
And there was more.
A rare night of peace, their laughter mingling with the hum of summer insects. Gideon had spun her around an empty field, the warmth of his hands steadying her as the world melted away. His voice had been soft, playful, as he said, “One day, we’ll have nights like this without war looming over us. Promise me you’ll wait for that.”
And not just him.
Sirius’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, his storm-gray eyes earnest as he held out the ring. “I know I’m a mess, but I’m your mess. Marry me, Amelia. Let me give you the chaos, and you’ll give me the calm.” The way he’d laughed when she tackled him in answer, whispering yes repeatedly as he kissed her.
Memories surged within her, a tapestry of light woven through the shadows of loss. Gideon’s courage, Sirius’s passion, their love for her — they were more than memories. They were the foundation of her strength, her roots. They weren’t gone; they lived in her, fueling her fight.
And just like that, she understood. Without hesitation, she raised her wand, her voice trembling but resolute.
And she wasn’t the only one that did.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
From the tip of her wand erupted a blinding golden light, brighter and fiercer than any patronus she had ever conjured. It surged outward, and with it came warmth—genuine warmth, not just heat, but the essence of life itself.
And hers wasn’t the only one. Lights exploded out of every team member’s wand, simultaneously exploding and coalescing. The venomous cold that clung to the battlefield was driven back in an instant, melting the frozen water into a pure, flowing current. The noxious green haze dissipated as though swallowed by the sun, the poison purged from the air and from the bodies of the fallen Aurors and hit-wizards.
The light coalesced into a massive form: a bison, larger than any beast of the natural world, its spectral body shimmering with the vibrant hues of Summer. Golden flames licked at its hooves as it pawed the ground, and its eyes burned with a fierce, unwavering determination. It roared—not a sound of anger, but a primal call of defiance and renewal that shook the very stones of Azkaban. The sounds of a thousand birds chirping filled the air, and the clouds above spun overhead. Lightning with no thunder flickered across the sky, a toll that sounded oddly musical, like the after-tone of a vast gong.
The bison charged forward, its hooves pounding against the water and stone, sending ripples of radiant energy across the battlefield. Wherever it moved, it left trails of grass and wildflowers, vibrant and alive, undoing the desolation wrought by Voldemort’s dark magic.
Shock and fear flitted across the Dark Lord’s expression as the bison’s charge swept through the remnants of Voldemort’s serpents. The shadowy fragments writhed and twisted as the light engulfed them, disintegrating into harmless wisps of smoke. The water, once a deadly trap, now flowed pure and clear, washing away the poison and ichor. Around Amelia, the Aurors stirred, their wounds closing as the golden light bathed them in its warmth.
The bison turned its glowing eyes toward Voldemort. For the first time, a flicker of something unfamiliar crossed his pale, serpentine face—hesitation. The beast roared again and charged directly at him, its form blazing brighter than the sun.
And in that light, even the towering presence of Voldemort felt shaky, uneasy, broken.
....
....
....
Harry had never truly felt this desperate before.
This world. Reality itself. It was the playground for the forces of the eternal cosmos until the end of Time. And if there was one duty he had to carry out as Death’s Vessel, it was to protect it from the corruptive forces of Magic itself. Even Ignotus, his twisted ancestor, who had despicably attempted to deceive him several times, understood and agreed to that. The different forces of the cosmos could do whatever they wanted, and have things play out in myriad ways, and it was still acceptable. The same held true for Harry himself. But in return, Harry’s job was to ward Reality against anything that wanted to warp it beyond a certain degree. Witches and wizardry could create a thousand problems and he wouldn’t blink an eye, but one attempt at going beyond the limits of the laws was intolerable.
The Warden must defend his dominion.
And yet, though he struggled with every ounce of his power, he faced the one enemy who could defeat him. And in his soul, he felt a twinge of fear at the realisation.
Ekrizdis was an agglomeration of souls, and fighting him was synonymous to fighting an entire army of witches and wizards, all of them thinking, acting, and reacting through a single hive-mind. It was the quintessential example of using quantity to counter the limitations of quality. A single bit of sand had too little mass and gravity to make any difference at all, but gather enough sands and form something the size of the moon and it would cause tides in the oceans.
What Ekrizdis had done was nothing different. Deviating from the limitations of Wenlock’s Arithmancy, he was operating on Hecate’s Principles — letting the Abstract flow into the Real. to use a simpler analogy; it was like taking all the power and intent of a witch or wizard and pushing it in the realms of accidental magic — the best example of wishcraft in everyday life. One held no wand, one cast no spell, yet what one intended came to pass. Combining that, with the entire power churned by the tens of thousands of souls, and the result was something that even the Demon would be hard-pressed to counter on his best day.
And that was ignoring the fact that Amelia Bones was constantly siphoning his power.
Damn Voldemort. He really spoils everything!
The starshard silver homunculus was steadily rising high into the air, its features morphing as a multitude of ethereal energies began shaping it in ways Harry couldn’t even comprehend. And on the floor, on the walls, even in the air itself, ritual circles formed, glowing with ethereal energies that made the circle above the hospital look like child’s play. The body adjusted in size, the silver slowly gaining a human-like texture, complete with flowing wizard robes, an angular face with messy black hair and —
Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me!
….green eyes.
“It’s like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?” It spoke, matching Harry’s voice to a T. Not even remotely surprising, everything considered, except for the metallic reverberation that accompanied its words. Raising a single finger, it dug into his left cheek, tearing out a thin stretch of starshard silver made tissue. Its face rippled and healed before the liquid metal dripped onto the floor.
“Well, not quite,” it finished.
“You’re leaning into the creepy vibe a bit too hard,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “Alright, nauseatingly evil version of me. Are you going to gloat about your master plan now?”
The effect of his quip died at the look of confusion in the homunculus’s features. “Creepy. I assure you, this is important. I have long grown out of my original form, Harry Potter, and acknowledged myself as the soul. Perhaps the one with the greatest power among all the souls gathered across centuries. But you, you Harry Potter are physical. You have a body. And you are the ultimate piece of my glorious creation. Is it not natural that my magnum opus should look like you?”
And thus, employ Contagion to bind my soul to itself more easily, Harry translated. He hadn’t quite thought of that.
“Well then,” said Harry. “Shall we dance?”
“Let’s.”
And with that, both opponents vanished.
They met in mid-air, roughly twenty-feet above the ground, Harry’s blasting curse meeting Ekrizdis’s protego head on. Before the sound of the bang could even reverberate, Harry had already popped to the ground and begun belching a torrent of flames, while gathering several Inferi bodies, and launching them as missiles at Ekrizdis, casting a transfiguration on them, making the bodies explode with the force of small bombs.
And just like before, Ekrizdis survived. Easily.
Fighting one’s doppelgänger was an eerie experience. There was something utterly eerie about seeing one’s face on the opposing end of one’s wand. That the monster’s fighting style was a perfect opposite to his own somehow made things worse.
A mirror image. In every sense of the term.
But procrastinating wouldn’t help him survive. Decisive action would.
And Harry moved.
“Reducto Maxima!”
A shield that materialized out of nowhere met the outgoing barrage, taking his attack head on, before vanishing. Shifting his weight forward, Harry rushed towards him, throwing an endless number of curses aimed for the body. Had this been human, he would have gone for severing curses. Instead, he chose the dark arts specifically tailored to cause immense property damage — gouging curses, exploding curses, corrosive flames — and the like.
Ekrizdis matched his blows with a mismatch of styles. Absolutely crude and inelegant. A far cry from his own.
And yet, there wasn’t a single opening he could exploit. Every single attack opened the guard, but not even one of them was the product of a mistake. The creature’s every move countered his attacks., instead of flowing into the next. He wondered if the madman merely wanted to nullify his blows, not attack him. Such a style would not land a hit on him in a million years. So why was this thing looking so amused while sparring with him?
After a minute of constant spellfire, he purposely over-extended his stay to see the spell reach over to Ekrizdis, and just as predicted, the homunculus instantly capitalised on it. Harry twisted his body, and formed a bead of Death atop his wand tip and dispersed the incoming severing curse, and sent a blast of Summer at him.
It encountered a freezing spell.
Harry scowled. This constant parrying wasn’t what was annoying him. It was the last-minute actions that did. For ninety percent of the strike period, the homunculus hadn’t so much as moved to expect his movements, but then, in the last tenth of the spellfire period, it cast the exact counter that it needed to defend against Harry’s spell.
Almost as if he knew what Harry was going to cast.
That made no sense. Ekrizdis was a dark wizard, but he was no combatant. He was a researcher, a magical scientist. Being able to fight back with such expertise should be beyond him unless….
The truth hit him like a sack of bricks.
“The souls you have fed on…” he murmured. “You… you’re using their memories, aren’t you?”
The Thing smiled. “I told you, Harry Potter. All those souls are in me. That includes everything they have experienced, every instance of muscle memory, every spell they cast and every enchantment they came up with.”
Harry scowled. He was wrong. He wasn’t just fighting a single being capable of performing magic on the scale of tens of thousands of wizards. No, he was fighting tens of thousands of wizards - their knowledge, their experience, their lifetimes, all merged and controlled by a singular hive-mind.
Still, not enough to impress. Clearly, he was still being underestimated.
“Well?” asked Ekrizdis. “Do not tell me you are already on your last knees, little Warden.”
“I thought I told you, this is a direct challenge between the Nexus Child and Ekrizdis of Azkaban. Instead, you throw me parlour tricks and hope to intimidate me. Stop hiding more than you already are and take this seriously.”
The smile on the homunculus’s face slowly stretched into something inhuman. “Are you sure about that? I can’t truly claim you will be safe, physically at least.”
“Like I said,” said Harry. “I don’t want you to bitch about how you got your spiritual arse handed by a schoolboy because you went easy on him.”
Despite his words, Harry wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to pull this off. He knew he was talented, and between Death, Summer and Binding, he could pull off some really spectacular things if he really went all out. Still, his greatest strength lay in taking advantage of the enemy’s weakness. But in a battle of raw firepower, with Ekrizdis’s speed, experience and versatility far outshining Harry’s own, his position was still underwhelming.
Certainly not enough to pose a threat if Ekrizdis truly went all out. It didn’t help that Amelia Bones was constantly leaching on Death from him.
Still, if it worked with Voldemort and Flamel…
“Stop toying with me, Ekrizdis. Give me your best shot. If you can’t defeat me, you have no chance against the actual players on the other side of the Anima.”
A hungry gleam came over Ekrizdis’s features, and Harry had to admit it was more than a little disturbing to see that expression on his face.
“In that case, I suppose I shall indulge myself a little.”
Ekrizdis raised both hands, and something shifted around him. Harry wasn’t able to pinpoint what the feeling of wrongness was, but the air around Azkaban cracked and groaned as Ekrizdis unleashed his will on the desolate island. The ground beneath Harry’s feet shifted violently, rippling like water as if the earth itself were alive and writhing in agony. Jagged black rocks, wet with the salty spray of the sea, ripped free from the cliffs, floating upward as if he had undone gravity. The rocks hung in the air like dark sentinels, waiting for Ekrizdis’s command.
The sky churned with unnatural energy, clouds twisting into a vortex of shadow and light. Bolts of crimson lightning split the heavens, streaking down and striking the rising rocks. Each strike imbued the stones with a sinister glow, transforming them into projectiles charged with raw elemental magic. Ekrizdis raised his hand, and the stones shot up, floating in the air, transformed into glowing spikes, all of them aimed at Harry.
The sea responded to Ekrizdis’s power, rising in towering waves that circled the island like a colossal serpent. The water shimmered with an otherworldly hue, its surface reflecting not the sky above, but a vast expanse of endless, screaming faces. As the waves crashed down, they did not bring water but a torrent of shadows that clawed and tore at anything they touched, maintaining some inches away from him, seeking to drag Harry into the abyss.
It was like he was transforming the entire prison into a war construct to fight him. The ancient stones groaned and shuddered, their very structure warping as if alive. Walls twisted into spiraling towers, their jagged edges reaching out like grasping fingers. Dementors poured forth, their ragged cloaks trailing behind them as they surged toward Harry, but these were no ordinary wraiths. Empowered by Ekrizdis’s magic, they moved with unnatural speed, their forms flickering in and out of existence like shadows caught in strobe light.
Ekrizdis himself stood at the heart of the chaos, levitating in midair, his form radiating a sickly, pulsating light that seemed to corrode the world around him. His voice echoed, layered and distorted, carrying an authority that the very elements obeyed. “You think the laws of this world will save you, Nexus Child?” he hissed. “I am their antithesis. I rewrite existence as I see fit.”
A yawning chasm, filled with writhing black tendrils and gleaming eyes that blinked and wept tears of blood, opened up beneath Harry, splitting the ground apart. The tendrils lashed out, seeking to bind him, to pull him into the abyss, only to be deflected by Harry’s protego. The air grew heavy, laden with the oppressive weight of Ekrizdis’s magic, a force that suffocated the very light.
Amid the storm of chaos, Ekrizdis raised both arms, and the shadows themselves bent and twisted, forming towering constructs of darkness. These living titans, made from the very fabric of despair, advanced on Harry, each step shaking the ground. Their hollow, featureless faces turned toward him, and a deep, guttural roar echoed from their forms, shaking the very core of reality.
This was no mere battle—it was a rewriting of the natural world into a tableau of horror. Ekrizdis did not simply wield the environment; he remade it, bending it to his will and turning it into a weapon. The battlefield itself became his ally, and every breath Harry took was a fight against the world around him.
“The ritual is ready; the vessel prepared. The Circle, active, the conflict, set. Now, Harry Potter, all that remains is for us to carry it out. You have invoked a challenge, and I have accepted it. When I win, I shall assimilate you into me, and complete the Eternum. And if, through some impossibility, you survive and escape; I suppose I will just wait until I find you again. Perhaps Destiny will favor you, allowing you to kill me and destroy any hope the world has for the return of the Age of the Gods.”
“The world has survived without gods for all this time,” said Harry. “I’m sure it can survive some more.”
“Pity.”
And just like that, the clash of titans began.
Comments
dragongod0117
Ekrizdis is really doing "Random bullshit go!"
Afterdark230
It’s going to be interesting to see how this plays out. You pretty much have a war of the titans and Harry has one hand tied behind his back and a foot on a banana peel.
