Scion Of Florence
By Infinite Parenthesis
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the works of J.K. Rowling. I do not profit from this in any monetary form. I do not own Harry Potter nor any affiliated content, characters, trademarks and/or patents. All code in this fanfiction are under the MIT License.
(ns Infinite_ _Of_ _1)
Chapter 1 - The Tyrant Returns
TANTO NOMINI NULLUM PAR EULOGIUM. Those were the words that adorned one of the numerous monuments in the churchyard of the Basilica di Santa Croce, final resting place of Galileo and Michelangelo. It has stood there for generations, yet it looked as if it were hewed out of a solid piece of marble only days ago, signs of wear and tear seemingly non-existent. Calcium carbonate, otherwise known as limestone or marble, tend not to remain unscathed after generations of punishment thanks to the onset of the industrial revolution that heralded in the age of the acerbic downpour. However, this particular monument was was flawless, it was the only one that did not require any sort of restoration work among all the others. If one was to scan the surface with an electron microscope, he would find that an aura of unnatural energy permeated the electron clouds, holding the nuclei together. A quick test with a wedding ring would reveal that this material defied every single law of chemistry, but alas, of the countless weddings held there, none of the partakers was actually observant enough to notice the material's deviation from the laws of conventional chemistry.
At two meters tall, the figure standing in front of the grave towered over almost everything else, his body was covered with what seems to be a cloak of dark energy, invisible to those who are not magically-inclined and has yet witnessed the quietus of another. When he spoke, the voice resonates in your very soul, bringing up memories of your darkest nightmares, macabre images of death and destruction. UNFORTUNATELY, IT SEEMS THAT YOUR TIME IS UP. YOU HAVE MADE YOUR CHOICE. A single tendril of dark energy leapt from the thing and hit the smooth surface of the monument. A crack smaller than what can be seen by the naked eye appeared before rapidly branching out, increasing in speed and energy. Before long the surface of the sepulcher was criss-crossed with a web of fluorescent lines that vaguely resembled a seal used by the sovereign of Italy a couple centuries ago. There was a tinkling sound not dissimilar to those of shattering glass, and wind whipped through the empty courtyard. The earth shook. The fluorescent green lines coalesced into a single point of energy before erupting from the gravestone, leaving behind a piece of lifeless, crumbling marble. A ghostly apparition of a man now floated opposite Death, green fires simmering in where the eyes should be. "It has been a long time...fool." For a moment, anger was written all over the man's complexion, before he forced it into a blank mask. Death twitched, a wave of cold energy blossomed from him and expanded outwards, frost formed instantly on the surface of the stained glass windows of the basilica. A squirrel on the nearby tree let out a tiny squeak before keeling over, life force draining from its body. A cat howled from a place outside the church and fled the vicinity in search of a less dangerous place, its limbic system going into overdrive, pumping out adrenaline as fast as possible as primal fear engulfed its feline mind.
The ghost flinched, a lesser man would have whimpered and cowered before Death, but not him, he has ruled countless plebeians and laid foundation for modern political philosophy, he refused to be terrified of something that is not even alive. "They are still alive, aren't they?", he inquired, watching Death carefully. The air stilled. I AM UNABLE TO GO NEAR THEM, YET. There was a note of finality in Death's voice. The ghost threw back his head and laughed hysterically. So the alchemyst won, he thought, now it wouldn't do if don't show up and rain on their parade would it? He tested his magic, it was still a bit on the low end, after all, he was still a spirit. He gathered his energy and chuckled darkly as he felt his form solidify. Pulling back his arm, he roared and thrust his fist into the dark folds of Death's cloak. There was a pause as he vaguely sensed discomfort from the figure before he was forcefully thrust from the divide between realms and into the world of the living.
A man in a handmade Italian suit that cost slightly more than a small fortune stumbled into existence in the middle of the basilica's churchyard. He stood at 1.8 meters and had a round scholarly face, there was a fine layer of fuzz where hair should be and he had eyes the color of teak wood, if you look closely, you would find that they seemed to burn with a steady green fire. He raised his hand in farewell to a figure that only he could see and marched out of church, shoving pass a startled pastor who did not expect to find anyone inside at 3am in the morning. With a sigh, green flames engulfed the Tyrant of Florence and turned him into a fiery vortex. It shrunk until it was no more than a nimbus of energy the size of a basketball before accelerating north towards the dwelling of his last descendant at Number 4, Privet Drive, England.