Ladies and gentlemen! I welcome you back to another installment of a Bad Moon Rising in which…

It has come.

The Rider on the Pale Horse.

On with the show!


Theodore Nott, Mag Turied.

When the last of the house of Nott agreed to go on a Harry Potter adventure for a second time, he thought he'd be in waaaaaay more danger all things considered. But as it turns out, having a Cloak of Invisibility created by a god was quite handy too, especially when said Cloak could slip through and around solid objects as if they were mist. It made for sneaking up on Death Eaters pretty simple, while not the most honorable tactic in warfare. He was no warrior, so a stunning spell to the back was going to have to do it for his ancestors to smile upon. At least Luna was having fun in this grim work.

The eccentric blonde Ravenclaw was having fun sticking the masked Death Eaters and the seemingly random people they were with to the earth, mostly because she wouldn't stop there. Luna got…creative with her artistic expression after sticking the unconscious Death Eaters to the ground and breaking their wands. Charming their robes bright eyesore colors while also drawing phallic images across their faces with what she had described as a "Permanent Ink Charm" and Theodore couldn't help but trust the "Permanent" part of the spell. If it wasn't so amusing to Theodore, he probably would have found the adorably malicious tone of voice she used to describe it absolutely terrifying.

"Remind me not to piss you off, Luna," Theodore says with a small smile and shake of his head. "Especially if this is what you do to people who upset you,"

"Oh, no. I don't really have to do anything like this normally," Luna admits in her whimsical tone of voice as she stands from where she was kneeling just a moment ago. "If anyone upsets me they normally have to deal with Harry, and he normally gets very grumpy when someone upsets me," she says as she turns to Theodore with a dreamy smile.

The boy opens his mouth to say something before pausing, which was also vaguely terrifying in its own way. Theodore wouldn't want to be anyone who even remotely upset Harry for whatever reason. Walking into the train compartment last school year to settle the blood debt was more than enough to show him that. So, Theodore just shakes his head before parting the Cloak of Mists and gesturing for Luna to get under its protection once more.

"Fair enough, but come on we need to get–" Theodore begins to say, but freezes. An inhuman chill runs up his spine, a cold sweat breaks out across his forehead, and terror ceases his heart for a laugh so cold and terrible echoes from every shadow around him. Not even Luna, as odd and innocent as she is, was immune. Theodore vaguely registers Luna whipping around to face the fortress before backing away toward Theodore, still frozen in fear as if the dark was coming to get him.

"Theo, Theo, we need to leave, now," Luna says, backing towards her friend, her voice shakes and cracks with fear, sounding oddly serious to Theodore's ears. "Theo, we need to get to the beach, now. Theodore!" Luna snaps at him uncharacteristically, causing Theodore to look at the odd girl in shock.

"Wha- what is-" Theodore tries to say, but his own fear chokes the words in his throat as his legs begin to shake.

Luna reaches out and grabs his hand before she begins to pull him down the hill that leads to one of the small beachheads on the island. He could feel how sweaty and clammy her hands were, how much they shook as she pulled him. "Harry failed, the Formorians are free," Luna says, her voice tight with worry and cracks with fear as they start to run.

"No, no, fuck, no," Theodore thinks to himself as he ran hand in hand with Luna. "This is bad, this is really bad," Theodore yells as he feels the adrenaline dumping into his system. "What about everyone else!?" Theodore yells, worried about those he called friends and his last remaining family.

"We can worry about them, we have to trust-" Luna begins to say before a blinding light illuminates the island. A pillar of light streaks across the sky, bright and angry, like the finger of a god falling upon some unforgivable soul. It's soon followed by a voice of righteous anger filling the night sky with a roar that shakes the heavens.

"IBAR!"

They both stop to watch the pillar of light strike a shadow standing over the broken walls of the castle and utterly destroy it. Another shadow falls on the first before the island shakes like it was hit by a quake, knocking both Theodore and Luna to the ground. The sounds of earth-splitting battle so sang out around the island as Theodore pushed himself back to his feet, turning to pull Luna up as well.

"Sounds like the Dé Danann has shown up," Theodore says with a relieved smile as he helps Luna stand.

Luna has her face set in a grim look of determination not often seen on the odd girl's face as she turns back to Theodore. "We need to get to the beach," she says, her words are hard and final.

"But why?" Theodore ask, they should be looking for a way off the island or even the Order to get off the island. "I'm not Harry, Luna. I can't conjure a boat yet," he tells her as she grabs his wrist and begins to move once more.

"I'm not looking for an escape, we will get off the island, but I'm going to call someone here before we do," she explains as they race down the hill.

"Who?!" Theodore asks, irritated that the girl he swore to protect was leading him deeper into danger. He was honestly thinking that Harry's headstrong attitude had rubbed off on the normally odd girl.

"He's lazy," Luna explains, her voice sounding both so very irritated and fond of whoever she was talking about. "He doesn't like to work unless he absolutely has to, he'd rather sit around and watch over the coming and going of souls in his realm, or heading to Dún Scaith to fight with Scáthach," she explains, shaking her head and smiling all the same. "He's the absolute worst, he acts like a spoiled brat or a perverted lazy old man, never taking anything seriously for a single moment. But that's why…that's why…" Luna explains before she slows in her steps, coming to a stop not too far from the beachhead. "It's why I love him," she thinks to herself, so sure of that single feeling that even if all the stars in the sky would die, that one truth would remain in her.

"Souls in his realm…" Theodore says under breath, looking at Luna oddly. "Are you talking about-"

-Creeeeeek- went the door that wasn't there, cutting off Theodore as both he and Luna turned to find an impossible sight before them. A door in a chuck of the castle wall, slowly opening with a clawed and angler hand pulling it open.

"Well, well, well," came a voice that echoed down a corridor that could never exist past the door that was never there. "What tasty little morsel do we have here?" Loscenn-lomm says, as it steps through one of its doors, its fractal-like eyes looking directly at Luna. Its wide shark teeth filled its smile stretching its face past anything possible.


Mag Turied.

In the dark shadows that surround the island of Mag Turied, streaks of silver and light could be seen within the shadows. They clash against one another Silver and the Light trying to take over the shadows that slashed and stabbed at them. Each clash let on the scream of metal and cry of some monster in the dark, the sound of beating wings and curses came soon after as the earth shook with each mighty blow.

For Nuadha and Lugh were trying their damnest to kill the king of the Formorians, Indech.

"Come on! Our first proper fight in years and this is the best you can muster, Nuadha!" Indech yells as his blade of shadows strikes the silver arm of Nuadha, pushing him back as Indech's wings flare upwards to come down on Nuadha's head.

"Stop fucking yelling!" Nuadha snaps at Indech before knocking the blade of shadows away before ducking down. Indech wings slice downwards looking to shred Nuadha to bits, but are stopped by the haft of Lugh's spear and a grunt from his breast. Indech swings his sword, looking to take Lugh's head from his shoulders right before Nuadha's Silver arm punches a hole into Indech's stomach. "I'm old, not deaf, ya cunt!" Nuadha yells back before his arm sends out a wave of light that bisects Indech in half.

Indech doesn't even have time to scream before Lugh smashes the butt of his spear into his face, sending the monster flying backwards. Indech smashes into a rock face before landing, supported by his wings he quickly makes it back to his feet. From his right shoulder to hip, he was split down the middle, but the king of the Formorians just laughed as the black muck that was his life blood sewed him back together again.

"Come now, Nuadha," Indech says as he smiles grimly at the former king of the Dé Danann. "Did you really think that paper cut was gonna do anything?" He mocks his old nemesis as he summons forth another inky black blade. "You'll have to do better than that in the dark,"

Nuadha spits at Indech's feet before standing once more with Lugh preparing for another charge at his side, his spear blade beginning to glow as lightning begins to cascade from it. Nuadha's arm begins to glow with more intensity than before as he flattened his hand to cleave the monster of shadow in two. Neither of the two gods say anything, they knew they had to kill Indech and Cichol to send the rest of the Formorians into disarray, to make it easier to deal with them later.

"Well? What are you waiting for!?" Indech yells before folding his wings against himself and charging at the two gods. Nuadha and Lugh meet his charge head on, Lugh going high by trying to pierce Indech's head as Nuadha goes low with a swing of his arm trying to cut the monster in two once more. Indech dodges out of the way of the spear point before snapping out one of his wings and catching Nuadha in the side and sending him flying away. Lugh changes from trying to stab Indech to trying to cleave his head off, so he swings his spear to do just that.

Indech laughs as he deflects Lugh's slash upward with one of his blades and swings at his stomach with his other. Lugh lets go of his spear with one hand to catch Indech's swing before swiftly kicking him in the chest with all his might and tearing off the monster's arm as Indech flies away. Nuadha leaps back into the fry, his silver arm glowing with godly might catches Indech across the jaw and ripping off. The old god of the Hunt then releases a fury of blows against Indech, every hit shattering bone and crushing muscle as they land. Before, for a single instant Nuadha reverts to the form of his youth to deliver a head splitting headbutt to Indech. As Nuadha reverts back to his older form and lets the Hunt settle as he tosses the body of Indech skyward.

Lugh was already there, twisting in the sky to level his spear with Indech's broken body. "IBAR!" He roars before throwing his spear as a pillar of light that slams into Indech, ripping it to pieces and cracking the earth as the spear lands.

Lugh, landing back on the ground from his vault, looks around at the broken and ruined landscape. "Did we finally get his arse?" He asks, as he pulls his spear from the earth and looks at Nuadha. Lugh's answer was the ringing laughter of Indech, echoing around them before, from the shadows, the king of the Formorians reforms unharmed.

"Oh, definitely," Indech says with a smirk as he summons another pair of shadow blades. "I maybe kinda probably not really felt that last one, Lugh the longarm," he says mockingly as his shark-like smile grows on his face as he laughs at them. "Really, trying to kill me while it's dark out, what a laugh, what a gas, what a sad fucking attempt from two former kings," he says as he shakes his head.

"Oh, yeah. Well, fuck you," Lugh yells back at Indech as he levels his spear at the Formorian King once more.

"Oh, simply scathing rebuttal from you, Lugh," Indech says deadpanned at the God of Justice before turning to Nuadha. "What about you, old friend? Have anything better than the welp here?" He asks.

"No, I'm with the kid on this. Fuck you," Nuadha says as he bends himself forward like an animal.

"Am I so cursed to not have at least intelligent banter during combat?" Indech asks, mostly to himself, with a sigh. His wings extend once more before leveling his swords at both Nuadha and Lugh. "Come now, old friend and pain in my ass, you two must see the futility in trying to kill a being of darkness and shadows when there isn't a sun out, yes?" He asks as both Nuadha and Lugh begin to circle him. "You have no hope here, no battle that you can win. The Morrígan threw both of you at me in hopes to get rid of the competition for the crown, so how about we be smart about this and go kill her instead? What do you both say?" Indech asks with a charming smile, just before using his wings as shields to stop the twin attacks of light trying to kill him.

Indech just rolls his eyes. "Fine, have it your way," he mutters before knocking both of the other two gods back from him. He turns and focuses on Lugh first, slashing and weaving in and out of Lugh's counterattacks. The God of Justice locked weapons with Indech, each trying to overpower the other until Indech raised his wings to shred Lugh to ribbons. Nuadha appears behind Indech, silver arm cocked back and ready to once again punch a hole through the fear of shadows. "Gotcha!" Indech yells as his wings snap back and aiming down towards Nuadha.

Nuadha's eyes widened at the sight he had once lost his arm to, he was already in the middle of making a retreat, but the wings fell faster than the elderly god could move. Light begins to shine over the battlefield, like the dawn of a bloody new day.

"Why is it getting so bright?" Indech thinks to himself as his head snaps Eastward just in time to see it. A comet of burning solar flames coming right at him, Indech tries to retract his wings, but like Nuadha, he doesn't move fast enough as that comet of solar energy cuts right through his wings. Indech doesn't even have time to scream before Lugh punches him in the face and sends him rocketing into a boulder.

"My apologies, Great Ones, for interrupting your duel," a voice spoke from the smoking hole where the combat had landed, the melted earth still glowing with intense heat as a shadow rose in the smoke. "But I have been sent here on order of my Lady to assist you in combat against this festering wound up on the world," the voice was flat, betraying no emotions, as if this was just another day at work for him. A golden Trident cuts through the smoke as a tall man with paper white skin and red eyes steps from the crater he made upon landing. From neck to foot he wore golden armor that seemed to be fused to his body, except one large patch over his bicep. A small black cloth hung from his shoulder to hide the gap in his armor.

One of the golden armored hands crushes a small crystal vial, letting the blood that was contained within fall and seep into the earth. "I am Kedeer, the reincarnation of Karna, please order me as you wish to see this monster dead," Kedeer of the ICE says as he takes a step forward to the hoddled and wingless Indech.


Mag Turied.

Rage was a rare emotion that he felt, he didn't like to be angry or wrathful, to have the seas churn and turn with his anger. No, Mannanán would much rather be a peaceful god, one who brings gifts to the mortals and carries them to where they want to go. So, no, not many things stirred his anger, or at least, he tried not to let much do that.

The rare show of emotion upon the small dock of the Hut-on-the-Rock was understandable, what with his realm in ruin and his wife's soul nowhere to be found. For very few things in this world could bring his rage to bear like gnashing bloody teeth like those who try to harm his wife. So, when he felt the body that his beloved Fand's soul was kept safe in touch the seas and tinged in with her very life's essence, his rage had grown monstrous. This act came not even a moment after dealing with his beloved grandmother's soul that was delivered to him by the faithful Dullahan with the yellow riding helmet.

Even in death, Fúamnach refused to rest, refused to stay put, and all but demanded to be delivered to the waters of reincarnation so that she may start anew.

He had delivered her soul personally, and had just let her go into the flowing blue river of souls when he felt it. Fand's soul touching the waters of the sea, Fand's blood spilling into the sea, and her pain echoing into the depths of the Irish Sea. Rage may be a rare emotion for the God of the Otherworld, but that didn't mean he never felt it and as he felt Fand's pain echo in his realm, Mannanán saw red. It only took a moment for him to appear on the shores of Mag Turied, and only a few more for his mists to spread to nearly engulf the island that the Formorians were sealed upon. He could feel the other Dé Danann spread over the island, fighting their Formorian counterparts, but he cared little for that.

No, what he cared for was right in front of him.

Loscenn-lomm, the Twisting Deceit, the fear of madness holding Fand's incarnation up off the ground by her throat. Young Theodore, blood of his blood and Fúamnach's descendant laying not a few feet away and bleeding heavily from wounds he received trying to defend Fand's incarnation. He was yelling at the monster, screaming at Loscenn-lomm to take him and not Luna as the monster infected her with visions and terror.

He never involved himself in the fight with the Formorians or The Fir Bulg for the simple fact that it wasn't his problem. Other than the seas, he had no claim in the mortal world, he had no attachment, he had lent Lugh his armor and sword when he asked because he was like a son to him.

But this? This had crossed a line there was no coming back from.

"You dare," Manannán whispers harshly, his anger barely contained to his words. The winds begin to pick up, the sea around the island begins to turn and roil in his rage as he steps forward, his hand moving to the handle of his sword.

Loscenn-lomm freezes when it hears Mannanán speak, its jaw unhinged and open to devour Luna whole. Its fractal eyes, wide with unspoken terror, turn to see the King of the Mists looking at it, his face the picture of unspoken rage. "Gilla Decair?!" It says in shock, not wanting to believe who stood before it in a rage. "What are you-" was as far as the foul cretin got before Manannán moved.

The ring of Manannán drawing The Fragarach sung throughout the island and was quickly followed by the screams of Loscenn-lomm as Manannân severed its arms from its body. As Loscenn-lomm's knees hit the earth, the curse of Manannán blade reduced the monster to the strength of a woman in childbirth. Manannán catches Luna before she could begin to fall, he quickly steps to Theodore who looks up at him in shock. Manannán holds Luna close to his chest as he kneels before Theodore and gently places Luna down, lying her on the ground.

The young girl's eyes open, little by little, to look up at the God of the Sea before she graces him with a smile.

"You came," she whispers, raising her hand as Manannán plants his blade into the earth to take her hand into his own.

"Always, little moon," he says with his own, softer, smile. She was bleeding from long gashes across her shoulders and back, from where the monster had held her with blade-like fingers and slashed her as she tried to run toward the sea. Each drop of blood was like an insult, each wound he felt like his own, and each pained look she gave him from her wounds only fed his rage. But he kept himself calm as he looked at her, to not to scare her, to not show her those dark emotions.

"Help them," Luna asks weakly as she grips his hand with all the strength she has left in her body. "Please, Scáthach, something happened and she isn't here, please, please help them," she asks of him, pleading with him.

Manannán shushes her gently before lying her hand down on her chest. "That is all you need to do, little moon, for your wish is my command," he tells her with the same soft smile before turning to Theodore. "Can you walk?" He asks.

"Y-yeah, I think I can," Theodore says with a small nod.

"Good, I will send you both back to Dún Scaith. You will arrive on the banks of the Black Lake, from there I intrust Luna to you, get yourselves to the infirmary as quick as you can before the infection sets in," Manannán tells the boy, but Theodore hesitates for a moment, his eyes shift to the fortress before looking back to Manannán.

"But the others-" Theodore begins but Manannán holds up his hand to stop him.

"You have done well, Theodore and brought honor to both yourself and your circle, but you are done. I will see to the others myself, do not fear," the God of the Seas says before standing, his cloak of mist wrapping around them both as Theodore relaxes slightly. "But know this Theodore, Fúamnach has fallen in battle," he tells the boy mournfully watching as the boy turns to him with wide, tear filled eyes.

"Wipe your face, Theodore," Manannán says firmly. "For now is not the time for tears, we will have time to mourn later but for now, you must stand as a man on your own and get yourselves to the infirmary, do you understand?" He says in a hard voice as he watches Theodores face contort in pain before bringing up the sleeve of his robes and wipes away his tears. Theodore nods to Manannán before reaching over and sliding his arms under Luna's form to pick her up. The Mists from Manannán cloak wraps around them and sends them away to the banks of the Black Lake.

Manannán stands, tilting his head back and takes a deep breath. He would need to take his own advice to heart and steel himself for the upcoming fights, he would mourn his grandmother later, he would shed tears at her tree and leave gifts before it later. For now, he had monsters to slay. He turns back to Loscenn-lomm, the curse of Fragarach having run its course as the monster's arms begin to regrow. Manannán reaches for the golden hilt of his sword, before pulling the single edge black straight sword from the earth.

"You have committed an offense that I can not forgive," Manannán says as he looks upon the Twisting Deceit with cold fury in his burning green eyes. "You have harmed something I consider more precious than anything in my kingdom. So you, and the rest of your kind, will learn just why sailors so fear the wrath of the Gods of the Seas," he says as he takes a step forward.

Loscenn-lomm takes a step backwards from Manannán. "Gilla, wait! I didn't know, I didn't know who it was? How could I even tell?" It says it's voice full of fear, trying to buy more time for its arms to regrow, and it was right. The Formorians had no way to see a soul and who it belonged to, but Manannán knew better to trust the words of Loscenn-lomm.

Loscenn-lomm would have seen the moments of his victim. It would have seen Manannán kneel before Luna, it should have at least had an inkling of who the girl was to Gilla Decair, to Manannán. But it chose its victim because it was hungry, and that had sealed its fate.

"You are but a small boat," Manannán tells the Twisting Deceit, his rage showing in his words and on his face. "Lost adrift in an angry sea!" He roars before dashing forward.

"Wait, no-" was all it could say before Manannán's blade cut its lower jaw and lying tongue from its body.


Voldemort.

Everything had a magical signature. Be it a tree, a rock, a wizard or a witch, they all gave off some passive magic that fueled the world. Even Muggles, with all their weakness and repulsiveness, they too had weak magical signatures. One could argue it was the pulse of life, for the very few things that did not give off the passive pulse of magic were dead things. Be it a cadaver, or a dried up plant, no things that were not drawing some kind of breath gave off that passive pulse of magic.

But as Voldemort looked upon Harry Potter, he felt nothing.

No magic, no life, just an ungodly amount of nothingness. He watches in shock and awe, uncertain of just how the boy was alive, as Harry Potter starts to pat himself down with a confused look on his face.

"Now, where is it?" The boy mutters to himself, as he pats the front and back of his pants as he still kneeled in front of him. "I know he always keeps it on-ahha! Found it!" The boy says, in the discordant double sounding voice he started to speak in just moments ago as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out something silver. "Alright, now which one was it again?" He asks himself in a mutter before pinching something in between his fingers and pulling up on it. The small object transforms into a short silver sword, causing the boy to frown. "No, that's not it," he says before transforming it back into the small object. The boy's scar, the one he had carved into his forehead fourteen years ago, was split open and leaking blackish ichor down his face as black veins spread across his face.

"What the hell are you?" Voldemort asks quietly as he continues to look upon the boy in bafflement. He knew that the boy wasn't controlling his body. He, himself, learned how to possess weaker willed beings long ago and knew what to look for and the boy's eyes were a dead give away.

The boy pauses in his deliberation to look up at him, a small, twisted, smile blooming across his face. The boy raises a single hand and points upwards, and Voldemort follows to look skyward before wishing he didn't. "Where did the moon go?" He thinks to himself in near shock as he faces the sky, he couldn't comprehend it, he couldn't process what he was looking at or what he felt. It was like he was at the bottom of a fathomless ocean, deep in its icy depths. The cold filled him, crushing his lungs and freezing his heart, it froze his bones and paralyzed his entire being.

Then, as he looked up at the endless darkness of the sky above, he felt it look back at him.

His skin crawled at the feeling, his knees buckled as he fell to them, and his entire being screamed out in rejection of the phenomenon before him. But still this- this thing! Weighed him, measured him, and took in his worth as if he was a Galleon on a scale. It counted his years as mere moments in an endless march forward to oblivion, and found it just a drop in the bucket of an existence worth of blood and calamity filled it. Compared to the heart of all the stars it had snuffed out with but a thought, he was nothing. He was a spec of dust on the window seal of time, and an insignificant amoeba that climbed onto its dinner table and decided to become snarky with it.

And under the weight of that insignificantes, Voldemort does the only thing he can do.

He leans forward and becomes sick.

"Ah! Found it!" The boy says, Voldemort looks up in disbelief, bile and spittle dripping off his chin to see the boy smiling widely at the crimson spear laying on the ground before him. He watches in complete shock as the boy grips the spear by the blade, severing his fingers from both of his hands. "Fuck!" The thing wearing Potter's face curses before looking at the ruined hands, frowning in confusion at them before his eyes narrow at the stubs. "Okay, so we don't hold it there," he mutters as the severed fingers vanish and reappear attached to his hands anew. He flexes them for a moment before reaching out and gasping the spear like a cricket bat.

"Okay, that works. Now just to- shit!" The boy says, trying to stand on shaking legs but they buckle underneath him and he falls back down to his knees like a newborn fuan. "How do you beings do this?! These forms are so- so limiting," the boy says in frustration as he uses the spear to help him stand on shaking legs with a sigh.

"What are you?! Who are you!?" Voldemort hears himself growling out at the being riding Potter's body, but it's answer was just to laugh at him.

"Hahahahah!" Escapes the boys mouth, but it sounded as it echoes all around the world. And all Voldemort could know, it did. "What a novel question! Most don't ask what or who I am when I come for them, most only ever think to ask is-" a wicked smile crawls across the boy's lips, "-Why. Why me? Why them? Why him? Why her? Why why why," it says before giggling like a loon at him. Potter's knees bend as the being in his body stretches them, testing them as if trying to figure out their function. "But I admit that I don't really have a name. Sure, you beings have given me many over the millenia's since you climbed up on the sands from the sea. Terminus being one of my favorite, as well as the last and greatest terror," the boy says in an almost amused whisper as the thing finally figured out how legs worked and stood under the boy's power.

"As for what I am, well. That is the far more simple question," the boy speaks as he runs a single finger up the blade of his spear. "I am simply The End," he says before looking at Voldemort with an almost mournful smile. "The end of you-" the boy says with a gesture toward him, "-the end of Harry-" he gestures to himself, "-and the end to it all. For when the last star dies, I'll wipe down the countertops, put up the chairs and lock up the universe when I'm done," he says with a soft smile.

"But that is a long way off for now, and I'm only here now because I saw an opportunity and took it. I shouldn't be here, not like this, my very existence is an antithesis to all of this," the thing using Potter's body says, and as just to prove its point, it runs Potter's hand over the wall he had conjured to stop Black from getting Potter's wand. The granite wall crumbles to nothing but sand and dust, piling on the floor before him before even the sand and dust all but vanishes under the power of this thing. "Even now, I feel the other two push against me. Trying to force me out of this plane of existence, so I sadly do not have much time," the boy says with a smile as he looks back at Voldemort.

"Time to do what?" Voldemort asks, unable to stop his voice from shaking in share terror of what was before him.

"To end you, of course," the boy says with a grin. "A sad fact is that even I, as powerful as I am, is still bound to the story that one of the others penned. So, in order to get what I want, I need to end you, but I can't do that with my own power, it has to be with what my Harry was born with and has earned," it says, the boys name said on something akin to a whispered lover as it shakes the crimson spear back and forth.

Voldemort swallows the lump in his throat. Whatever this thing was, it was looking to fulfill the prophecy between him and Potter by killing him, and Voldemort honestly didn't like his odds against whatever was puppeting Potter's body. He needed to flee, he needed to fly, he needed to get the hell away from whatever was controlling Potter's body.

"Don't," the boy says as he looks at Voldemort, pity filling his black eyes as he does. "You can not run, Tom, you can not hide. There is no deal I will make nor will any begging deter me," the boy says as he takes a few steps forward and opens his arms wide. "Just stop, Tom. No more running, no more flight from me, just…stop," the boy says, his face and smile growing softer as he spoke. "You've lived a long life, and You've done many great things that have cemented your name in the annals of the world. But it's time, it was time fourteen years ago, and even after scorning me for so long and so many times, I am more than willing to accept you," the boy says in a loving tone, speaking of bondless forgiveness and eternal acceptance of him in his entirety.

"Come to me, Tom. Accept it this time, and come to me in your wholeness. Let me take away all the pain, all the doubts, and all your hunger, so I may deliver you into everlasting dreams in myself," the thing said using the boys voice, and the worst thing of it all? It sounded wholly and completely sincere. As if all it wanted to do was end his pain, to end his suffering, to lull him to sleep with a gentleness he had never experienced before and watch over him eternally. Voldemort would have been less insulted if the thing spat in his eyes.

Voldemort's face twists in defiance as he stands shakily to his feet. "I do not bow to anything, nor will I give in to whatever end fate has decreed for me. I alone am the master of my destiny, for I. Am. Eternal!" He roars before leveling his wand at the boy and with all the rage and want in his soul he shouts. "AVADA KADABRA!"

The poison green curse rushes toward the boy, the light of the spell blinding Voldemort to the look of heartbreak that overcomes {Fathomless Black Eyes}.

And does nothing as the spell ends before even touching Harry.

Voldemort flinches in disbelief as he feels his magic suffocates and dies midair. "I really do hate that spell," the being said, the boy's face twisting in ancient rage at Voldemort. "Kicking and screaming it is, but never say I didn't give you a chance, Tom," the boy's mouth speaks before he starts to advance on him, slowly and inevitably.

"No!" Voldemort screams, raising his wand and spinning his arm in a wide circle about his head and calling forth the Fiendfyre he had set loose earlier to him. It gathers to a single, concentrated point just above the tip of his wand before he levels it at the advancing being. He lets it fly straight and true as a single beam of hellfire to burn away the being and Potter in one go. But all the body of Potter does is blow air past his lips, and like it was blowing out birthday candles, it extinguishes the Fiendfyre with a single sharp breath.

"No!" Voldemort screams again. His wand moves in a flurry as the earth comes alive around him, splitting and multiplying into hundreds of serpents that gather and swarm the boy. Jaws open wide to inject deadly venom, hissing at the boy, but all the being puppeting the boy's body does is swing the crimson spear and his serpents all become nothing.

And still, it advances slowly.

"NO!" Tom Riddle roars in defiance of his end. His wand moves like a blur as he chains spells, curses, jinxes, hexes, and everything else he could think of until his core burns. But still, it did nothing to it. Any spell that got within a foot of the boy's slowly advancing body simply ended, no puff of smoke, no spark, no sound or smell, they were simply ended.

The boy finally stops in front of the terrified mortal, a frown deeply set on his face as he looks at Tom in nothing but unending pity. Tom raises his wand once more, but as he does, the boy's arm lashes out. The bard and hooked blade catches his arm, just below his elbow and slices it off with the crimson serrated blade. Tom lets out a cry of agony as he finally stumbled backwards, stubbornly refusing to take another step back from the boy. He doesn't waste time clutching at the stump but instead summons his wand back to his remaining hand.

"You're not eternal, Tom," the thing speaks with the boy's mouth once more. "Only I am, for I was the first and I will be the last, for I am eternal in endless sleep," the boy tells him as a grim fact that only it knew.

Tom takes another step away from the boy focusing on regrowing his arm, but to his horror, he can't. He tries once more, refusing to believe that he couldn't but still all the stump does is bleed. "How…" Tom says, his voice sounding so small and weak at that moment, even to him.

"The cessation of propagation of life," the boy says as he continues to look at him in bottomless pity. "I can't confer much to my Harry, even as a Magician, he is far too small, far too weak to hold even the smallest fraction of my power. But this?" It says as it lifts the crimson spear, dripping with Tom's blood. He eyes the spear with fear and trepidation as the boy inspects it with a soft smile. "This was created with only one thing in mind, it was formed and molded around the apotheosis of my gift to my siblings creation. So long as I exist as a small fraction inside of my Harry, I can channel that gift into this spear to fulfill the promise my Harry has become," the being says before looking back at Tom.

"It stops the regeneration of any wound via magic or natural power, much like his other spear can. In other words, it-" it tries to explain but stops as over on the far side of the island, a second, smaller sun is born. The being turns to watch as the ball of fire burns and consumes all shadows across the island as the scream of Indech could be heard.

Tom takes the moment that the being is distracted by the advent of another, albeit, smaller sun to do the only thing he could.

He turns and flees the end of all things.


Harry Potter, Age: seven, Godric Hollow.

Harry heads down the stairs, groggy and hungry on Saturday morning. The smell of sizzling sausages and hash browns waking him from his sleep, his short legs carrying him downstairs as he clutched his wolf stuffed animal to his chest. Wearing his favorite pajamas of full moons and stars, he makes it to the sitting room while rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Mom?" He calls out before yawning loudly.

"In the kitchen, sweetheart," the voice of his mother, Lily Potter calls back to him -her voice dead of all emotion-. Harry follows the smell of food to the small kitchen that makes up the back half of their home. She was standing at the stove, cooking a big breakfast of all his favorites, her long blonde hair hung in ringlets down her back. She was wearing her own pajamas as she always did on Saturday with an apron over them, she turned to look at him with a smile, her black eyes twinkling with love and admiration.

"Where's dad?" Harry asks as he moves to the table, pulling out a chair before climbing into it and putting his wolf on the table.

"He got called into the office today, you know how his job is," she says, her smile -looking like it was stapled on- never leaving her face as she places a plate of his favorite foods in front of him. Harry looks down at the -empty- plate of food with a frown.

"Is he gonna be back in time?" Harry asks, looking back up at -not- his mother. She gives him a bright smile, and her hand -cold, so very cold- runs through his hair gently.

"Of course dear, the department won't keep him from your birthday," she says with a loving smile before turning back to the hob to clean up. Putting away the messy and dirty pans back into the cupboards are the kitchen as Harry ate -Nothing-. After finishing, Harry moves to the living room, the shattered remains of furniture scattered about like always, looking as if someone had fought a war in the room -because someone had-. Harry looks around wondering what he should do, he hadn't lived here before…

Hadn't he? He doesn't remember staying here, in this house for long, he didn't want to stay in it only to collect a few things with… with… who did he come here with?

His face twists in thought, trying to remember who he came with. It was his dad, right?

Knock, knock, knock!

The sound of someone knocking at the broken front door drags him from his thoughts as he moves to open the front door. It was Didi, pale as death and with spiky inky black hair, her large child-like smile was the first thing he saw, and her {Fathomless Black Eyes} was the next thing. She stood as tall as Harry with a manic energy around her like always, always excited to see him.

"Harry!" She cried before throwing her arms around him in a hug and clung to him like he was going to leave forever. He'd always known Didi, she had always been there ever since he was one and she held him in his crib. "Happy birthday," she whispers into his ear as she clings to him for dear life.

"Hey Didi," Harry says with a laugh at his best friend's antics. "Thanks," he says as he prays her off of him. "What are you doing here this early, the party isn't until later,"

"Oh, I saw the opportunity to show up a bit early, and I took it," Didi says with a wide excited smile before grabbing his hand. "So come on, let's go to the park and play! I've never done that before!" She says excitedly as she drags him out the door.

"Okay, okay, let me just tell Mom," Harry says with a large smile before turning back and calling out to his mom. "I'm going to the park with Didi, Mom!" Harry yells before turning and running off with Didi, his mom never answering back -but why would she?-.

They ran down the empty cobblestone street in the dead village overgrown with plant life and old dried blood stains creating drag marks on the very cobble they ran on. The Thestrals wandered in between the houses and feasted on the rotting dead lining the streets. Didi and Harry laugh as they hurry down the street, passing the old man and his cloak. Harry turns, watching as the old man stops and turns to look at him, his weathered face set in a look of deep sadness and his hazel eyes look at Harry in equal parts fear and recognition.

"Don't mind him, Old Man Iggy is a huge scaredy cat and won't hurt a fly, well, not anymore anyway," Didi says with a knowing giggle as they run past the graveyard with each coffin sitting on huge piles of dirt. They make it to the park in the middle of it all, Didi climbing on the swing set made of tendons and ligaments, shaking in barely contained excitement. "Push me, Harry! Push me!" She tells him, hopping up and down on the swing seat made of old dry flesh.

Harry rolls his eyes at Didi's antics before walking up behind the swing and begins to push her. "Isn't it my birthday today? Shouldn't you be pushing me?" Harry asks with a small smile, not really meaning his words.

"It's not your birthday yet, not till you cross over, dummy," Didi says with a giggle as Harry pauses in his pushing of the swing, a frown coming over his face as he looks at Didi's bare back. He just notices she's not wearing clothes, but she's never worn clothes, has she? The large section of missing flesh looked back at him from her back, he could count the ribs and see the muscles move.

"But there's no blood," Harry murmurs to himself, and no sooner as he says it, Didi begins to bleed from her wound.

"Harry?" Didi says, sounding concerned when he doesn't push her again. "What's wrong?" She asks as she steps off the swing and turns to face him.

Harry blinked, confusion and pain filling his chest as if something heavy was lying on him. [Atalanta!] The cry echoes around the churchyard as Harry takes a step back, the feeling of loss almost overwhelming him. "Where are your clothes?" Harry asks, as his chest becomes heavy and the corner of his eyes begins to burn with unshed tears.

"Clothes? What are…" Didi begins to say before looking down at Harry dressed in his own, his jacket covered in blood and muck -when did he put it on-. "Fuck!" Didi snaps, turning to look away from Harry, uncertainty and shock coming over her face.

"Didi, you shouldn't say-" Harry tries to say but Didi cuts him off.

"No, no. It's okay Harry, I can fix this! We just- we just need to start again! That's all!" Didi says in a panic, looking around as if she was searching for something. "Not here, can't be here. Iggy is already on his way, he's finally found some shred of courage after all these years, no, he'll warn you," she mutters to herself, indecision flooding her eyes. "Oh! I know! How about one of yours, it will be nice, familiar and comfortable! And this time I'll remember the stupid clothes!" She says as she snaps her fingers before looking back at Harry with a wide smile.

"Didi, what are you talking about?" Harry asks, clutching at his chest, the smell of ash filling his nose.

Didi turns to him with a reassuring smile, opening her mouth to say something but she's cut off by another voice, an older voice. "No child! No! You mustn't believe it! It's lying to you! You must w-" Harry turns and sees the old man running at him, desperation in his eyes, the cloak fanning out behind as he runs. Didi's ice-cold hands place themselves on either side of his face and Harry's world spins, dissolving into the sounds of children laughing and the smell of barbecue.


Albus Dumbledore, Mag Turied.

Dumbledore watches passively at the highest point in the north of the small island, his eyes scanning the battlefields below him where ancient myths clash in pitched battle. He watches, with a detached look in his eyes, as streaks of orange light shoot across the sky only to impact something not too far from its origin. The impacts culminate into explosions that light up the night sky and he could hear at the peak. The wind from the seas bring the stench of burning flesh with it as, in the light of the explosions, he could make out the silhouettes of great and terrible blades wrapped in a pink and gold hue be brought down on to a great and twisted beast. He could barely make out the streaks of spellfire off to the southern beach head as the Order fought against Tom's Death Eater. He watches as the thick mist that came with the sudden storm out on the Irish Sea begins to coat the island in a blanket that tasted of blood and rage on the wind.

It was a sight, in all of its terrible glory, that he wished from the bottom of his heart to never see again. He had fought in the latter years of Grindelwald war against the war, freed from the bounds of his blood oath with his former love. He had fought against Tom years later on his own home soil, with the hope that it would have been the last war he would see. But now it had returned to his home once more, far greater and terrible than before.

Fawkes coos softly from his perch on Albus shoulder, causing the elderly headmaster to softly nudge his old friend with his head. The Phoenix let's add a single note of its song, filling Albus with a hope that he would be able to do what must be done this night. He turns to the silhouette standing behind him, his face set in grim determination.

"Are you almost done, my dear?" He asks softly, his arms folded behind his back as his midnight blue robes below in the angry winds coming from the sea. His only answer was soft chanting and the sound of dripping blood that lasted for almost ten more seconds.

"It's complete here," the voice of Tomoe Makoshi answers him as she turns to look at him. "But until Ozwalt and Olezka get to the other two cardinal directions I will not be able to use my magic properly," she states as she steps beside Dumbledore, the elderly man frowns as he produces his wand to wave it over Makoshi's wounded hand, healing it.

"Will that hinder you too much?" Albus asks, his brow raised in question but relief soon floods him as he watches Makoshi shake her head.

"No, while it will give us an advantage against the snake, I do not truly need it. My skills in combat are quite compadent, whether in magic or in melee, Albus," she answers easily enough before bringing her hand up to a small metal device wrapped around her left ear. It was a curious little thing, when one would first look upon it, they would think it would be some ornamental earpiece but the old headmaster knew better. As soon as Makoshi's hand finds the cool metal, it begins to glow a soft red. "All points, report," she states calmly.

"I am nearing the southern point, eta three minutes," Albus here's the voice of Olezka Voyna calmly saying from the ear piece.

"Running, heading there, now, eta ten," the voice of James Ozwalt says, huffing and puffing as he was no doubt running across the sloping hills of the island.

"Double time it, James. No excuses," Makoshi says sternly back.

"I'm going as fast as I can! I don't have magic like you weirdos do!" James shouts back, causing Makoshi's lips to twitch upwards.

"Dame Makoshi," the voice of Brynhilda Ruine-Tochter, speaks up from her own communication earpiece. "Shi and I have encountered two of the creatures on the island, they were being engaged by Auror Tonks and Dame Delacour as well as one of the Dé Danann. We are assisting the best we can but…" Brynhilda says slowing down as she wheezes and coughs. "One of them is an entity of illness, Shi is fine, of course, but I do not know how long the rest of us will hold out. Even with the Healer of the Dé Danann's help, please advise," Brynhilda asks, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke.

Makoshi sighs as her eyes narrow over the battlefield. "Shi, focus your efforts on the plague bearer. Either kill them or force them to retreat by any means necessary," she says in a calm voice.

"Bù Lā shǐ, what do you think I've been doing?" Shi's voice comes through brimming with anger.

"Holding back to get a better fight?" Makoshi asks with a hint of a smile that continues to grow as Shi doesn't answer back for a long moment.

"I hate you, I hope you know that," Shi's sharp and unforgiving tone says into Makoshi's ear, honestly making the older woman chuckle only for it to stop short when she hears Shi scream in anger. "Get your own punching bag, Cāngbái de liǎn jībā xīpán!"

"What happened? Report?!" Makoshi yells right back as Albus watches her head snap over to where she had sent Shi and Brynhilda to.

"Dame Makoshi, another of the Dé Danann has appeared. I believe it's the Sea God, he just dispatched one of the entities," Brynhilda reports before Makoshi relaxes for a moment as the line falls into silence for just as long. "Dame Makoshi! The Sea God chased off the plague entity, he- he just informed us that we should evacuate the island immediately, he's going to sink it!" she says, panic lacing her voice as she spoke quickly. Albus and Makoshi share a panicked look, whatever had angered the Sea God had obviously pushed his patience to the utmost limit.

"Tomoe, the bloods down. I'm going to link up with old mad-eye and tell him we need to get the hell off this rock," Olezka voice comes out quick and sharp like a blade through the magical headset.

"Eta is now five, once the blood is down I'm evacing as well," Ozwalt was the next to speak up, his words almost buried under the rushing winds as he moved as quickly as he could in light of the impending disaster.

"Brynhilda, Shi, get Auror Tonks and Knight Delacour to help you, but spread the word that all friendly forces are to evacuate immediately," Makoshi orders her subordinates, which was quickly followed by a chorus of affirmative to our orders. "Kedeer, did you get that?" She says looking off to the east.

The magical headset crackles a bit before Kedeer's voice comes through. "I am afraid, Tomoe, that I will not be able to follow that order," Kedeer says, his voice strained, pained, and stressed. Albus watches, his face becoming grim at the young man's tone, as Makoshi freezes as Kedeer spoke her first name. For as long as he had seen the two interact, Kedeer had never spoken Tomoe first name. He always held her in the highest respect and called her either "My Lady" or "Lady Makoshi '' never by her first name.

"Kedeer,..."


Kedeer, at the sunset of this life.

"What the hell do you mean by that!?" Lady Makoshi's voice rang in his ear, strong, fiery, and as yielding as when he had first met her. Helpless to stop himself, Kedeer smiles at his Lady's tone of voice as he feels the blood trail from his mouth and down his chin.

The fight had gone well at first, he had burned away the shadows of the monster, scorching his flesh and burning away his wings. But when pushed into a corner, the monster had shown his true colors of dishonor and underhanded tactics. He had tricked Kedeer and he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker before the King of the Formorians plunged a spear of shadow through the opening in his armor. The same opening that Harry Potter carved into it some months ago with nothing but a simple hunting knife, but even in this moment, the moment of his death, he didn't blame the boy nor did he curse him. For it was a marvelous fight, and he refused to dishonor it or the warrior who had wounded him in this life in any way.

But if he was to die here, Kedeer swore to himself that he would see his Lady's last order fulfilled; and kill the monster before him.

Kedeer had lunge forward, wrapping his arms around the monster and held on with all the strength left in his body. Even as the spear dug into his guts, destroying them, he held on through the pain, as the monster of shadow pummeled him with blows that would shatter a normal man, he held on. And as the monster raised his bladed wings to sever his head from his shoulders, the two gods he had fought side by side with stepped in to take the blows and restraining the monster's arms to stop him.

"Kid! Say what you've got to say and do what you've got to do, we'll hold him!" The younger spear wielding god says with gritted bloody teeth as one of the wings digs into his side.

"But hurry the fuck up with it!" The elder one yells with his silver arm locked around the monster's other wing. He brings up his leg and stomps forward and breaks the monster's kneecap, bending it backwards as he plants his foot in it, Making sure it couldn't move. "This shit hurts!"

"You have my thanks, oh honored ones," Kedeer says with a small smile as he looks at the ground where his life essence pools around his feet.

"Kedeer! Get the hell out of there, now! That's an order!" Makoshi yells desperately in his ear.

"I am afraid I can't follow that order, Tomoe. The wound is a mortal one, I will die soon," Kedeer says sadly, his body burning in pain and heavy from exhaustion for the first time in his life.

"Kedeer,..." Makoshi says, her voice sad and hollow as she trails off.

"It has been this life's greatest honor to have served you, Tomoe, and know I have never regretted it; not even once," Kedeer says as he plants his feet. "From the moment I took that oath, kneeling in front of you and my father to this moment, the moment of my death, I have no regrets. I sought no reward for the duty you gave me, for the duty itself was its own reward," he tells his oldest friend as the steel returns to his spine as he begins to raise his head.

"But if I were to ask for anything, it is my sincerest wish that I meet you in my next life. So I may renew that oath I gave and serve as your spear once again, so with that simple, fleeting wish. I wish you a good life, Makoshi Tomoe," Kedeer tells his lady and his friend as he looks into the blind eyes of the forever dark. His own eyes burning as pure white as his soul as his armor begins to glow with the golden light of the sun.

"...May you find your way through Samsāra, Kedeer Singh," Makoshi says sadly, her tone filled with a hardened acceptance of what will happen next causing Kedeer to smile softly.

The asura of shadows thrashes and screams in vain, he curses and spits, his mother tongue showing in this moment as he fights hard to avoid his coming end. But still, the two gods and Kedeer hold on to the thrashing body of the King of the Formorians tightly, refusing to let him go and trapping him.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO NOW!" Indech rages as he tries to throw Nuadha and Lugh off of him. "IF THE BOY GOES, HE'LL KILL YOU TOO! LET ME GO! WE'LL SURVIVE IF YOU JUST LET ME GO!" he roars as he thrashes, driving his bladed wings deeper into Lugh and carving into Nuadha's Silver arm as he does.

"No, it's gonna hurt us, that's for damn sure, but it's gonna kill you! You snake tongue piece of shit!" Nuadha yells right back at Indech, his face breaking into a wide smile that matches Lugh's own.

The ground gives way, not from the force of struggling gods, but from the heat pouring off of Kedeer's body. A wispy red vaper begins to pool and surround the reincarnation of Karna as his blood vaperies with the divine heat of the sun. The earth below his feet melts and cracks as he calls upon his power from his first life. The golden armor he wore melts and burns away as his power alone creates a crater in the island full of molten stone.

"Honored warrior gods, before I pass from this life, I would know your names!" Kedeer calls out in respect as his body and soul become a sun of burning power, consuming all around him as the King of the Formorians screams in pain.

"I am Nuadha, first king of the Tuatha Dé Danann!"

"Lugh, the last king of the Tuatha Dé Danann!"

"Fine names! Strong names! And so, in respect for you, my Lady, and the child who would rival my brothers in courage and will, I dedicate this final feat to you all!" Kedeer yells over the screaming and burning Indech he had in his grip. "Demon of shadows! Know the mercy of the king of gods, for with this final strike! I shall inflict extinction!" He announces to the world as with the divine might of blessed Indra and his father, the mighty Surya, he sacrifices his mortal form and sets his heart ablaze.

And a second sun is birthed over Mag Turied, lighting the world and chasing all shadows away.

And so, the reincarnation of Karna, the son of Surya, dealt a mortal wound to the King of the Formorians.


Harry Potter, Age: ten. Camp Half-Blood.

Harry Potter was rather bored, currently hanging out on one of the thicker limbs of a large tree just inside the bounds of the Camp. Leaning against the trunk on the path that leads to camp. Cecilia had given him the afternoon off from any scheduled activities in camp. Today marked the last weekend of the month, which meant the Hunters of Artemis were coming to camp.

The Hunters had come to Camp Half-Blood during the last weekend of every month for the last two and a half years. Harry was pretty sure it was because Artemis wanted an excuse to see him, and that thought brought a smile to his face. He always missed his sisters in-between the beginning and the end of the month, the cabin feeling empty and nearly abandoned with only him and Cecilia staying in it.

He missed Zoë, the arguments they would get into about anything and everything. Of how she would chase him down after he gave her a bit too much cheek and intended to beat some manners into him, as ways smiling as she chased him.

He missed Sophie and her wild stories and insane way of doing things just for a laugh. Sophie and him often stayed up long into the night when neither of them could find sleep. Either from his nightmares about the life he left behind and her bouts of insomnia,or just because they were both having too much fun making up random stories.

He missed Brittany and how she would pull him aside every time the Hunters were at Camp to teach him a little bit more of tracking, hunting, and trap making. How they would sit outside in the woods some nights watching the stars and talking about nothing and everything.

He missed Strider and their spars together, as she was the first to notice that he was better with a spear than with a sword. Soon after she had gifted him with his own weapon made at the behest of his mother and soon taught him how to use it.

He missed Victoria and her never ending optimism. How they would fight and spar for hours at a time in the woods like a mock war, her infectious laugh and smile after beating Harry up before going on to explain what he did wrong. Victoria wanted him on the front lines of the Hunt with her to help defend his sisters when Harry finally took the oath.

He missed…he also missed…who did he miss again? Harry frowns as he relaxes, annoyed at forgetting one of his sister's names. She was -Wild, like me.- he thinks that she is calm, that she never smiled -Always smiling, no matter what.- Who was she? It annoyed Harry couldn't recall her face only,...only,...-Sandy blonde hair and twitching cat ears, a laugh loud and strong, she was his big sister, she was- Harry couldn't recall but he could feel it, a sense of loss so strong it hurt in a vivid and visceral way it was almost a wound itself.

"Harry!" Didi calls from below Harry's perch, the boy smiles to himself before looking down at the girl who was his first real friend at camp. She smiled up at him with her {Fathomless Black Eyes} glinting in the sunlight filtering through the trees. "What are you doing up there, ya weirdo?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, her long black dress blowing in the cool autumn breeze as her -it's not hers, it was- leather jacket keeps her warm.

"Stalking some prey," He answers easily back as he leans over to get a better look at her.

"No, you're being weird. Everyone knows there are only a few monsters in the woods, and those are on the south side of camp," Didi informs him with a glare and a smirk. Didi was an unclaimed demigod, though everyone who met her swears she'll be one of Hades' kids with how she dresses, acts, and the fact she can kill anything with a single touch. Harry disagreed with them, if Didi's dad was anyone it was probably Thanatos. She had way too much of a bright demeanor to be a sibling to Hitler. But if you were to ask Didi, she'd just laugh it off asking what were parents, she was an oddball like that; but Harry liked her.

"Oh, are you so sure?" Harry asks with a grin as he pulls himself up to balance on the branch just above Didi. "Because I spot some in my sights right now in fact," He says with a grin as Didi blinks at him before what he meant finally sunk in.

"Harry Potter! Don't you da-" Didi says, but Harry had already pounced on her. Falling from the branch gracefully before landing on the girl and bringing her to the ground as they both laughed and rolled around in the dirt. Didi was stronger then she looks as her and Harry wrestle on the ground and is easily able to overtake him. "You're such a jerk, Harry!" Didi half screamed, half laughed at him as she pinned his arms to the ground while sitting on his chest. She looks down at him with a soft smile before a blush over takes her cheeks as she realizes how they were positioned. Her -Ice cold- hand moves to his cheek, caressing it softly. "I've waited so long for this, who knew years, things I count like seconds on a clock, could feel like an eternity," she murmurs to herself.

She bends forward now, closing her eyes and bringing her face closer to Harry's causing the young boy to blush like mad. Harry had never kissed a girl before,...right? Faces flash through his mind, memories for a time long away and not too long ago all the same. A girl with blonde hair and purple eyes, and another with dyed hair and bright blue eyes, both laughing, both blushing.

-A token from a fair maiden, to be returned upon your inevitable victory,-

-Come on, Pot-head. Let's go find some trouble.-

-You're going to fall so hard and so fast for so many, and love so deeply and true,-

Didi stops an inch before her lips meet his, her eyes snap open with the unmistakable look of rage in her eyes as her head snaps up. "What are you doing here?" She says with such visceral hatred.

Harry tilts his head back to look at who Didi was talking to, and is surprised to find a woman standing in the middle of the woods. Her copper skin reflecting the sun like a Mosaic, her short, choppy black hair sways in a breeze he couldn't feel. She was dressed in a frankly indecent looking short white linen dress that was filthy with dirt and dried blood from the middle of her chest. She wore pitted and worn down golden jewelry for ages past set with jewels that had long lost their luster and brilliance. But the thing that stood out most about her, other than her fierce deep brown eyes, was the nubs that where wings once sat but had since long torn off.

"Doing what I was created to do, defying you," the woman says, with just as much raw scorn as Didi.

Didi growled at the woman. "You stupid acolyte of my stupid sibling! You have no right to be here, this is my realm! You deal with the chaos and pain of the world, but here, in my realm, there is nothing but order, nothing but peace," Didi says as she pushes herself up and off of Harry, her eyes blazing at the perceived insult of the woman's intrusion. "I don't even know how you got in here but you are ruining my time with him, begone you half dead thing!" She snaps at the woman, but she doesn't move, the woman's glare slowly transformed into a smirk at Didi's tiny form.

"I am here because of the sacrifice done in my domains name calls to me, I came here because you've tried to erase many firsts for the boy that are cemented in his heart," the woman says with a glare at Didi, her dark eyes glimmer and twist in the sunlight, flashing the color of cool sapphires for a moment as she looks down at Harry.

"He doesn't need them, he doesn't want them! All they do is cause him pain, so I took them away," Didi snaps back, her teeth bared at the woman and anger in her tone.

All the woman does is laugh at Didi. "Something you don't understand, something a thing like you can never understand. Always the last kiss and never the first, always counting the dead after the battle and never the passion that started it," the woman says flatly, she then turns to look at Harry, her eyes hard and filled with a harsh truth. "It's time for you to wake up, child of the Hunt, to end these-"

"Shut up!" Didi roars before waving her hand and all things in front of her fade to ash, dust, and nothing. Didi's head snaps to the left before she yells again. "Not you, Tom! Now stop running, I said stop running!"

"Didi?" Harry says, shock and fear coloring his tone as ash choked his lungs and tasted like burnt fat as he looked at her with wide eyes from the ruined earth below her.

Didi looks down, her eyes wide with surprise as if she had forgotten that he was there. "No, no, fuck! Damn you Ishtar, I should have kept your sister alive, at least she would have listened," Didi curses to herself looking around wildly, her eyes narrowed and angry, scaring Harry. "I can fix this, I can fix this I just need- I need- shit, I need to take myself out, fuck! I wanted- no, time for that after," she quickly says to herself before raising her foot and bringing it down on the earth, cracking and breaking the crust so Harry fell deeper still into peaceful dreams.

Soft and caring hands catch him, pulling him gently away from the roars and cheers of the Quidditch pitch and pulling him into shadows and thorns.

"SCÁTH-" Didi begins to roar, rage red in her tone as if someone had committed an unforgivable trespass on a sweet moment never meant to be shared. But even her scream was drowned out in the clashing of spears and the screams of another girl.


The Morrígan, Mag Turied.

The goddess of fated death looked upon high at the blot in the sky, she knew what it was, it was the final judgment of all the gods. What she didn't know was why it was here!? It has only shown itself a few times in all the worlds history, and those times it left the bodies of the divine behind, butched and dead pantheons of foolish gods that did not abide by the will of the domains.

She looked on, for the first real time in her existence, with terror in her heart.

The Morrígan had no idea who had called it or even how, but it was here and the oddest thing was none of them were dead.

As The Morrígan frowns at the cosmic anomaly in the sky, she barely hears the grunt of pain from Scáthach as she tries to push herself to stand from her kneeling position. But her wounds are too great and in her weakened state she falls back down to her knees, cut off from most of her divine power for some reason.

"No, no, no, no!" Scáthach cries out in frustration at her weakened state. "Come on, move! Get up!" She growls to herself as she fights against the futility of her actions.

"Enough Scáthach," The Morrígan says softly, not even turning to look at her. "Even if you could stand, I doubt even you could do anything to stop it," she says plainly to the goddess of swift death, her eyes never leaving the sky.

"Fuck you!" Scáthach growls out as she turns to The Morrígan, rage and hatred in her black eyes as she glares at The Morrígan. "This is your fault! You are to blame for this, if you hadn't pulled Harry into this scheme of yours he would be safe at Dún Scaith! He would have never come here!" she roars at The Morrígan, who doesn't even grace her with a look as she continues to look forward. "I don't care about whatever game you're trying to play here, Morrígan, if anything happens to Harry; I will kill you," the Queen of Shadows tells the Phantom Queen who now turns to her counterpart.

"Do not tempt me, Witch!" The Morrígan growls herself with teeth bared at Scáthach. "It would be all too easy to kill you as you are, you're barely even a god. I could erase you but with a finger," she snarls. And the thought was oh so tempting to her, to finally kill the annoyance that had plagued her for so many millenia. To take Dún Scaith and do what Fudge had attempted to do and fold it into the government as it should be, so tempting was the thought her hand began to rise to do just that.

"You lift that hand any further-" a voice spoke from the mist and the dark from behind the two queens, causing both to turn to look into it. "-and I will remove it and your forked tongue, Morrígan," Manannán says with such vivid hatred it causes The Morrígan to pause as the old man of the sea steps into what little the goddesses could see in the roaming mists of the Otherworld. His young and handsome face seemed to be carved from ice and chiseled with rage, his mouth twisted in a sneer as he looked upon The Morrígan with pure malice.

"Manannán, what a surprise-" The Morrígan tried to say, hoping to calm the wroth of the sea. But before she could speak her words out, Manannân had crossed the distance and swung his sword at her neck.

He stops just short of taking her head as he glares at her. "One reason," he hisses out at her. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't remove you lying, conniving head from your shoulders," he spoke softly, but his rage was painted across his face and eyes with broad and forceful strokes. The Morrígan swallows the lump in her throat, because she does not doubt that he would go through with his threat, heedless of the consequences.

"Manannán, I can explain," The Morrígan says soothingly, raising her hands in surrender.

"Explain? Explain!?" The God of the Seas roars, the island he stood on trembling with his rage. "You wish to explain to me why my grandmother is dead! You wish to explain why the mortal incarnation of my wife was on this domain forsaken island?! Why did I find her almost devoured by Loscenn-lomm!?" he yells at The Morrígan, who flinches away from his wrath.

"The girl was stubborn, she refused to be left behind and demanded that she would be allowed to come. She knew the risks, Manannán, besides the worst thing that could happen was her soul would-" The Morrígan tried to explain her reasoning to the irate god before her, but Manannán drew his sword back and swung it. It cleaves against the earth by The Morrígan's feet, shattering it and up heaving a large portion of it to create a new mound not two feet from her.

"I found her! On the banks of my sea! Wounded and her mind almost in tatters! Drawing on memories that she should not have! Her mind is fractured and being drawn between who she is now and what she truly is, do you have ANY IDEA what that will do to her!?" Manannán screams, the island quacking as the storms at Sea begin to turn into typhoons that ravaged the coast. The Morrígan wisely stays quiet. Allowing the Overlord of the Otherworld and one of the only three gods that could challenge her power a moment to collect himself. Manannán closes his eyes, sucking in deep breaths of air through his nose and letting it out of his mouth. Trying to quiet the storm that was his emotions that reflected on the seas he so embodied.

After a moment, The Morrígan speaks in a soft and tender voice. "I am sorry about Fúamnach, I mourn with you for her. I tried to keep them both back at Dún Scaith, but you, of all people, know how stubborn both can be. Fand's incarnation was adamant that she was needed here, and Fúamnach wouldn't let anyone tamper with the seal to the Formorians without her stepping in herself," she says, letting for the first time since the third war began her emotions carry her words. Her tone was somber and full of pain, she didn't want Fúamnach to die, and she didn't want to endanger children in any way. "I'm sorry, Lord Manannán, I truly am,"

Manannán faces shifts and twists like the currents out at sea between heart wrenching sadness and pure rage. He closes his eyes, fighting back his own tears and turning away from The Morrígan in disgust. After another moment of mastering the storm of emotion in his mind and heart, and quelling the storms that ravaged the coast, does he finally open his eyes.

"What is that doing here?" He says, nodding toward the sky as he sheaths his sword and turns to Scáthach and gently pulls her to her feet with soft eyes. His anger quelled for now. But before The Morrígan could answer, another voice speaks up from behind the three gods, as a forth joins them.

"If I was a betting girl, I'd say it's here for Harry," Brigid says walking up to them, wiping spider webs from her shoulders and flicking her hands to cast them away. Her outfit was scuffed and dirty, one arm of her leather jacket was torn off and her shirt was covered in black muck, but most importantly, her hat was missing. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked up at the sky with a frown.

"The boy?" Manannán says with a frown as he turns to Brigid as he supports Scáthach. "But why?" He asks, sounding confused.

All Brigid does is shrug. "Wouldn't know, you'd have to ask it, if ya fancy a close call with the end of all things that is," she says with a sigh.

"Where's Bres?" The Morrígan asks, her mind turning back to the reason why she had called the Dé Danann back to Mag Turied in the first place.

Brigid frown turns into a scowl as she answers. "The fucker tuck his tail and ran as soon as that showed up," she informes her mother, The Morrígan frowns at the information. "The fuckin cunt stole my hat too," Brigid mutters to herself with a slight growl to her voice.

"Balor, Cichol, Bagna, and Indech so far," The Morrígan lists off, they had taken three of the most powerful Formorians off the board in the same night. While a victory, it had also cost them the greatest witch of their age and the way to seal the fears once again. Fúamnach had taken that information to the grave with her, refusing to hand it over to any God after what Midir did to her with her own spell. It would take a few decades for the Formorians that fell this night to reform from the collective fear of the world, and hopefully, by then they would be ready once more to face them.

"You can add Loscenn-lomm and Omna to that list, I dispatched them myself. Which reminds me," Manannán says as he looks back at The Morrígan. "I'm sinking this island once and for all, something I should have done ages ago," he says watching as The Morrígan makes a disgruntled face but otherwise says nothing as he turns back to look at the sky.

"No, no!" Scáthach hisses in anger. "You need to wake up Harry, you need to stop it. Please, Harry, please wake up," she says looking off in the distance, her pleas full of fear. "It's in your hands, Harry. Not-not the-" Scáthach mutters to herself, her voice becoming faint just before her eyes roll into the back of her head and she collapses into Manannán arms.

"Scáthach!" The Sea God yells in surprise as he catches her, gently pulling her to his chest before turning to glare at The Morrígan.

The Morrígan rises her hands in her defense. "I had nothing to do with that or her current condition," she quickly says, Manannán scoffs before turning away from her to worry over the other goddess in his arms.

Brigid watches all of this with a frown before turning to look back at the sky, where she couldn't help but to wonder. "Would this be your second meeting with it, boyo?" To herself.


Harry Potter.

The sounds of battle was something new to Harry, he had only been in a few short duels during school and only a few training spars at Camp Half-Blood when he was there for a short time. He found himself oddly good with a spear during the few short weeks he was at camp, wanting to avoid a bow they had tried to force into his hands. He had wanted nothing to do with Artemis or anything that remotely brought him closer to her, he had no want to be a hunter, nor any skill that would help with that.

It was only when a few of the Ares Campers had tried to reenact Dudley's games of Harry hunting did he finally grip the shaft of a spear. His sister had tried to step in, tried to help him with the bullies but they had expected that and quickly captured her. Teasing and mocking Harry for how weak he was, kicking him while he was down.

But when he had picked up that spear, everything had changed. It just felt…right in his hands, he moved without thought, danced without instructions, and before he knew it he had taken down two of the biggest numbers much to his sister's shock. They had talked after that, under the light of the full moon, they had moved past the resentment and the anger. Of the feeling of loss that they both dealt with in different ways, Harry shoving everyone away not wanting to lose anything again and Jasmine clinging on for dear life, not wanting to lose him again.

When Sirius had shown up at Camp, sane and working toward his freedom thanks to Artemis, it had mended the rift between her and Harry somewhat. But they both knew Artemis had a long way to go, and in the middle of what should have been a joyest reunion, the Oracle had descended from her attic and spoke a prophecy into existence.

In whispered wind and starlit sky,

Two bound by blood, the moon doth tie.

From goddess' arms, to isles they tread,

To waken voices, long thought dead.

Hunt and Moon, a dance so rare,

Changing realms, thinning air.

But ne'er the twain shall hold the two,

Balance must in all things brew.

Beyond the Fields We Know, where magic hides,

A guide awaits, where fate confides.

Through trial and fire, their hearts will be tried,

By one who seeks, to stand by side.

Below stone walls, where secrets sleep,

To Skye's gate, the depths run deep.

Drawn to a realm, by ancient song,

Where shadows tell, of rights and wrong.

Dreamt visions of a lily once red,

Hints of lineage, tales long dead.

Seek they must, for signs unclear,

The fate of isles, in balance here.

They chose to embrace it together, twin souls sharing one destiny, one fate carved into unmoving stones. So back to the isles that they tread once together when they were still in nappies. They found the trial by fire in Fleur, where they learned they could switch demi-god powers. Harry had the moon, and Jasmine the Hunt, and with a simple high five they could switch. Jasmine becoming a witch and Harry a Hunter. With Fleur's help and a promised kiss from Harry, they had slipped past the hedge and into the lands beyond to meet Macha.

They had freed The Morrígan from her seal, and her thanks? She had tossed them through a gate of blood red mist into a land of shadows where they were being attacked by one of the very Celtic gods they had come to free. They had tried to explain what they were here to do, but the goddess didn't listen, she had no care for words, only actions, only combat. She talked during the fight, seemingly loving the sound of her own voice, she knew them by name. she had asked about their lives in between correcting Harry's form and braiding Jasmine for not looking out for her brother.

And the worst thing was, Harry knew her voice.

He had heard her voice in the screaming memories brought on by the Dementors brought to him. But it couldn't be, it wasn't possible, she- she couldn't be her!

Harry watches from the ground of the plateau as his twin sister is batted away from the woman in leather, the mourn veil covering her face to hide it from them. "Jasmine!" Harry yells before scrabbling to his feet, blindly running to his down sister.

In a blur of movement, she was on him. Dance and slashing, spinning and carving, the serrated blade cutting easily through his leather jacket. "Is this all you have, Harry? Is this all you can muster to save your little sister!?" She yells at him in such a haunting voice.

It couldn't be, it couldn't be, it couldn't be! Harry chanted in his mind as he tried to defend himself, but the thoughts consumed him and soon he lost focus and lost his footing. She had knocked his legs out from under him, knocking him onto his face once more. Harry tries to push himself to stand once more, but the jagged butt end of her crimson spear comes down on to his shoulder and forces it out of socket. Harry screams in pain, clenching his eyes shut, his grip on his silver spear all but forgotten.

"Come now, S- Harry, you must do better than that if you wish to defend yourself and your little sister," her voice catches, she hesitates for an impossible second as Harry looks up at the woman. A slight wind blows, her veil is lifted just enough for Harry to see her eyes.

The eyes that looked back at him he had only seen in the mirror and old moving photographs.

They were the eyes of his mother, of Lily Potter.

"A wonderful and touching dream, Greaca," a new voice says, cutting through the shadows and stocks of iron thorns. "But I never Incarnated into a mortal form, and certainly not that of Lily Potter, in repetice for what had happened to my students all those years ago," the voice was soft, yet stern. One that knew to take a joke but had no tolerance for disrespect.

"Scáthach!" The lands of shadows shook with rage from an unspeakable being.

Harry flips over onto his back and sees- he sees- "Teacher?" He asks, confused before turning back to the one that was just attacking him and Jasmine. He could immediately spot the differences between them. While the one that had attacked him was dressed in Scáthach catsuit, she was much thinner, more willowy with deadly grace and speed. His Teacher was dressed in the purple regal gown, her body was more muscular from years of training her body and honing it to a deadly degree. "I don't- what is this? What is going on?" Harry asks, confused.

His Teacher smiles at the adorably lost look on his face. "It is rather confusing to you, isn't it?" She asks with her smile as gentle as the first snowfall of winter.

"Scáthach! Don't you dare! I forbid it!" The unearthly voice screams, shaking the land of shadows.

"But I believe, in a time like this, the Headmaster's words would be best. After all, his is terribly good with his words and hard fought wisdom," his teacher says, her smile never wavering in the face of such overwhelming and otherworldly power. "Remember Greaca, it does not do to dwell on dreams-" she says softly to him before a roar cuts her off.

"Nooooooooo! He! Is! Mine!" The terrible voice screams and the endless expanse of the Lands of Shadow; ever teeming with death, crumpled under the unspeakable might of the roaring voice.

But as Harry falls into swaying ballroom gowns and dress robes. The memory of the first time he ever truly spoke to the headmaster sparks through his mind, as crystal clear as if it had happened yesterday.

"And forget how to live,"


Mag Turied.

Voldemort was running, for every time he tried to fly, the magic of his spell was ended. Voldemort was running, but no matter how fast he ran into the dark of the night; the boy was right behind him. Voldemort was running because he was truly and deeply afraid of his Promised End.

No matter what he tried to do, no matter the spell or tactic, the boy was right behind him. He had lost track for how long he was running for, but his side pinched in pain and his lungs screamed for a rest. But he didn't stop, he couldn't stop, for if he did it would be his end and he refused to die.

"Come now, Tom," the being said using Potter's voice, mocking him in every way it could. "Don't you think this chase has lasted long enough?" It says as a whooshing sound cuts through the air before the hooked, barbed, and serrated blade of the crimson spear slices through his back again.

But still Tom Riddle doesn't stop running from his fate, intent on forging his own.

"Because I have," the being says dismissively before another whooshing sound comes from him, but this time, it cuts the tendons in the back of his knee. Unlike his back, sides, and shoulders it had carved up the last two dozen odd times it swung before. Voldemort screams as he crashes to the ground, breathing heavily as a boot kicks him over to face the moonless night sky. The face of the boy looks down upon him, his {Fathomless Black Eyes} now devoid of the pity he saw in them earlier. They were now filled with simple and all consuming finality.

"You really should have accepted my deal, Tom. You wouldn't have suffered so much if you had, but alas, life is pain and death but a bliss sleep," the being says with a sad sigh before turning the crimson spear in the boy's hand to where the point of the blade was aiming down as it rises it above Potter's head. "I would say goodbye, but this is really a hello between you and I, Tom. Don't worry, I've already forgiven you for scorning me so many times, but now its-" the being stumbles to the side, Potter's eyes widen as it does right before his free hand clamps over his right eye.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Harry! What are you doing?!" The being whispers to itself as it catches itself out of the stumble. It's voice changing back and forth from possessed to Potter's normal voice.

-ballgowns spins and dress robes follow them as couples dance, someone is shoving their way through the crowd-

"Please! Harry! Don't do this!"

-A man with a blurred face laughs a bark like laugh as he dances with Zoë, happiness filling the air during the Yule Ball-

"You need to stay asleep! I can finish this, I can end him! Please, Harry, my Harry, let me end this!"

-Arms clad in silver leather shot out from the crowd, calloused hands from countless hours of training grip the shoulders of Daphne Greengrass before slamming her into a wall. "Stop it!" Cried emerald eyes brimming with tears-

"No, no, no! You need to stay asleep! I can end this, I can take all the pain and suffering away! Please Harry, let me take it all away! We can be together finally!"

-"No! You're not Daphne! Stop using her face!" Emerald eyes scream into {Fathomless Black Eyes}. "Stop messing with my head! Stop with the dreams! Just- just-" emerald eyes voice hitches as he tries to resist the pull of its dreams-

"Please don't do this, Harry! Let me help you, I've been protecting you! Please let me take it all away!"

Voldemort watches the boy thrashing back and forth, swinging the crimson spear to and fro as Potter fights against the control of whatever the hell had him in its thrall. But as enraptured as he was by the spectacle before him, he was paying attention. "Stay asleep? Is Potter unconscious in himself?" Voldemort thinks to himself just before an insane idea hits him, and he levels his wand at the boy.

"Please don't do this! Harry!"

-"Just GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Emerald eyes roar, making his will clear for all of himself to know.-

"Rennervate!" Voldemort yells, and watches as Potter's thrashing stops as he turns to look at him, but not really seeing him. The hand that had covered his right eye fell away to reveal one emerald eye to the fathomless black one in his left socket.

"And you were having such wonderful dreams," the being whispers to itself, to Potter, just before the black eye fades away back to the emerald color of Potter's. The boy, now back in control of his body, blinks once. He looks at the butchered and mangled body of Voldemort then turns to the spear he held in his hand, dripping with blood.

As memories that he rather not recall flood his mind, Harry Potter's eyes roll into the back of his skull and he knows no more.


Voldemort

Voldemort watches as Harry Potter collapses to the ground, falling flat on his face. He looks toward his wand, before looking back at the downed boy, then, hesitantly, he looks skyward. The shadow that had blotted out the moon and stars was vanishing little by little, and before long, it too was gone. He looks back at his wand before collapsing backwards onto the sickly grass, looking up at the full moon taking in deep and even breaths.

"Fuck Merlin," Voldemort says to himself in a daze of blood lost and adrenaline. "I am the greatest wizard to ever live," he says with a grin before letting out a single mad laugh.

He brings his wand around to the stump of an arm and tries to regrow it anew, but still, nothing happens. He lets out a growl at a problem he would need to fix later, but for now he conjures the same liquid silver that he uses to give Wormtail his cursed hand. It fuses with his flesh and stops the bleeding before growing into a fully functional arm once more. Voldemort does the same for his severed tendons in his leg, before pushing himself back up to stand. He wobbles a bit before jabbing his back with his wand, crystalizing his blood and closing the wounds on his back.

He then turns to the downed form of Harry Potter, unmoving on the ground.

"This, all of this, is your fault," Voldemort says in a surprisingly soft voice. "If you had the good graces to die in that crib, if your mother had just listened and stepped aside when I asked. Or hell, if your mother and father just joined me when I had asked them too, none of this would have happened," he says with an angry sigh and a shake of his head, disgusted with it all. "You could have been running around with your divine mother and not being a royal pain in my ass!" He screams at the downed boy, venting his frustrations at him.

"But it doesn't matter now," Voldemort says as he straightens to his full, towering height over the boy. "You have no more mother's and sisters to sacrifice themselves for you, no more father or godfather to fight for you. This is the end of the line for you Potter," he tells the unconscious teenager, leveling his wand at his head as the island around him begins to shake. "I would say it's been a pleasure, Potter, but honestly, just fuck you," he levels one last insult at the greatest pain he has had since his school days with Dumbledore.

Voldemort decides to forgo the killing curse, nothing over the top, something simple. The bludgeoning curse at full power would absolutely do the boy in, an ill-elegant death for an ill-elegant beast such as Harry Potter. As he begins to cast the spell, a song begins to sing throughout the island, causing his wand to shake in his grasp as the Phoenix song plays.

"What-" Voldemort cries just in time as a scarlet plumage descends from the sky, sinking its claws into Potter. "NO!" Voldemort roars and tries to lashout at the bird, but it is too late. Fawkes, Harry Potter, and his stupid fucking spear vanish in flames.

"A lovely night for a walk, don't you think, Tom?" A grading irritating grandfatherly voice calls from Voldemort's left, he turns and looks with a sneer at the elderly face of Albus Dumbledore.

"You," Voldemort hisses in rage at his old transfiguration teacher.

"Yes, me, Tom," Dumbledore says with a small irritating smirk and a nod of his head. "It's over," the old goat says, his smirk falling from his face. "The monsters you saw let loose upon this world are scattered, leaderless, and being hunted by the Tuatha Dé Danann as we speak. You've failed, and now you will fall, but if you don't mind answering a small query of mine before, we get to it, as the kids would say," he asks politely with a raised brow.

"Why I did it? If I am to guess," Voldemort says as he and Dumbledore begin to circle one another as lightning splits the sky and the island trembles once again.

Dumbledore lets out a small, scoffing laugh. "Hardly, the reason for that is easy to figure out. You had hoped they would destroy one another, the Formorians fighting the Dé Danann for its food, and the Dé Danann fighting to protect the island, and you at the end of it all ready to swoop in and take over in the power vacuum," the old goat says, shaking his head as Voldemort frowns deeply at Dumbledore, he had figured it correctly.

"No, putting aside the arrogant and foolhardy plan that was, I was wondering something else," Dumbledore says, pausing his steps now that he and Voldemort had switched positions on the field. "On my way here, I ran across the body of Atalanta, the hunter in the silver jacket. I've never known her to hunt alone, and I've not seen Sirius Black leave her side since she had shown up, so my question is this: what happened to Sirius Black?" He asks, tilting his head back a bit, looking down at Voldemort as if he is a mischievous student back at Hogwarts.

It irked Voldemort to no end for this man to look down on him, when the old goat should be cowering before him, worshiping the ground he walked on.

"The blood traitor is dead," He tells Dumbledore, His smile is cruel when he says these words as he sees a look of pain cross the old goats face. "It was a merciful death, I killed him with Fiendfyre," he informs Dumbledore and saves the sight of the old goat's face twisting in despair and his eyes closed in pain before letting out a soft chuckle.

"I see," Dumbledore says, his words coming out small and mournful before looking back at his old student. His eyes had changed, gone were the soft eyes of a doddering old grandfather, soft eyes of a kindly headmaster were crushed under the dread weight of the glacial ice that replaced them.

This was no longer Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, no…

This was Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald. The man who single handedly ended the world wide wizarding world through sheer brutality and mastery of magic.

"Do you really think you can defeat me, Dumbledore?" Voldemort mocks with a sadistic grin.

"I am humble enough to know that you are far more powerful than me, Tom," Dumbledore admits, bringing an even bigger smile to Voldemort's face from the sweet music it was to hear the old goat finally admit that. "But I am also humble enough to know when to ask for help, something you never learned," Dumbledore says as he discards his outer robe, letting fly off in the high winds that begin to pick up across the island as the storm bears down on it.

Voldemort's face twists in confusion, lost as to what Dumbledore meant. Until another voice calls out behind him, calling over the cracks of thunder and pelting rain, calling out to him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," a female voice calls out from behind Voldemort, he turns to face the newcomer. "I am Tomoe Makoshi of the ICE, with the power invested in me by the International Confederation of Wizards, you are hereby under arrest for a litany of crimes that I do not care to repeat here. You are to throw down your wand and surrender yourself immediately to my mercy, if you fail to do so, I will resort to force," she orders him, her voice cutting clear across the winds, rain, and thunder.

Voldemort's face twists into a sneer as the foreign bitch dares bark orders at him. He knew of her of course, how could he not? She was touted to be as strong as himself and Dumbledore but bowed and begged at the feet of lesser men. Voldemort doubted it honestly, she was just some jap bitch with a stick up her ass and waved around like a puppet for the ICW. A bluff, nothing more.

But she had come dressed for the occasion, her white kimono flapping in the whipping winds showed him the armor she wore. Gauntlets, grieves, and some type of midriff armor for her backwards homeland he never cared to learn the name of. Her white buttonless shirt was folded over itself and tucked into dark blue baggy britches that looked to come right out of an old samurai movie. In her left hand she held a small foreign dagger still in its scabbard with no wand in sight.

Voldemort laughs at her proclamation, tilting his body back as he does. He could feel his robes grow heavy as the rain soaked into them. "Mercy? What mercy? The mercy to be dragged before a court that thinks it can judge me?" He asks with a sneer, honestly feeling insulted more than anything at the moment.

"No," Makoshi says just before the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder rocked the island, the final storm was upon them all. "The only mercy I have for a monster like you, is a swift death when I take your head from your shoulders. So thank the gods for this storm, and wash your neck, monster," she says calmly but so full of bloody intent.

Voldemort laughs again, his high pitch and cold laugher getting lost in the squalls and thunder of the typhoon trying to sink the island they stood upon.

"Do you really think, that either of you, can kill me!?" He roars into the storm like the monster he was.

Makoshi's left hand moves the handle of her dagger, slowly pulling it from its scabbard in an elegant motion.

"Between the seven continents and seven seas, there is nothing under the heavens that I can't kill," Makoshi states as she draws her weapon fully, from the small scabbard she held. She draws a full length katana. Lightening blessed and touched by the God of the Storms of her homeland, so the storm rages off the blade. Lightning splits the area around Makoshi as the air becomes tinged with ozone. Her sword was a treasure gained when she had slayed one of the three great evils of her homeland by herself, the great eight headed serpent.

And as Dumbledore's own legendary one falls into his hands, Voldemort cries with the thunder and the roaring winds.

"Come and try then!"


Chapter over!

LOOK UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR!

I STAND ON MY PEAK WITH OZYMANDIAS LOOKING UPON YOU ALL WITH A SNEER OF COLD COMMAND!

I rewrote this chapter three fucking times until I got it just right. I have written most of this with only two hours of sleep, spite, nicotine, and caffeine. I have skipped sending it to my editor to post it today because I refuse to let this sit for another day! But this is it folks, this is my peak! We get no better than the last five chapters

Kingsaxcul, out!

"And on the pedestal these words appeared: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare.

The lone and level sands, stretch far away."