This is a time travel high sci-fi story, set partly in the Potterverse. A mathematician's musings on magic. Warnings: implicit sex, some OOC, a very very dark story.

The year is 502 AI (Anno Imperii), Lord Voldemort is a god, he controls all of the former British Empire and more.

The Planet Eldor is long dead, perhaps the inhabitants were to blame?

What are all those weird aliens up to anyway?

What is the immortal Nicolas Flamel doing with his time?

What kind of person is Harry Potter?

Why do "gods" seem so lazy?

The warnings:

Sex: sex exists and sometimes I do it, I don't care to write about it explicitly.

OOC: Time does funny things to minds, sometimes I write about different timelines.

Morality: I write about very different cultures and times, some of their practices will appear distasteful to some in the audience. There will be non-graphic descriptions of immoral acts. We're talking Hitler-level stuff here, guys/gals. I will of course give more specific warnings for each chapter that deals with such material: effects of rape, effects of incest and child abuse, genocide and the horrors of war, serial killers (the minds of psychopaths), starvation and intense poverty, the horrors of mind control and insanity.

None of the acts are given in explicit detail: but I will explore some very dark concepts.

You have been warned, this story will be very dark at times, I am forcing no one to read this.

Disclaimer:

The following is true: I do not own any of the rights to Harry Potter or of the Legacy of Kain series. Further I do not own the rights to Star Trek, nor of any of Arthur C Clarkes' work. It would be foolish indeed to assume I own the rights to Lord of the Rings.

I make absolutely no money from interweaving others' ideas. It should stay this way. This is merely an exercise in creativity; my own ideas should be obvious from the text.

I use both Open Office and my fingers to write this. My greatest thanks are reserved for the programmers/creators.

Introduction, (0,0). Incognitos.

The sky cries on the planet Eldor. The clouds tumble and and burn. In the centre of the maelstrom lies the Eye of God. It is always watching. The slaves trudge away for glory of God. Twisted visages glance out at the fire in the sky. They do as their master commands.

The Monuments are epic structures built from the suffering of all things, they are towering buildings. They bring war to many worlds. Gigantic Warpgates.

Introduction, (1,0). 502 AI. 314/366.23…

Lord Voldemort is diefied. Over time he became less human, and more… Divine.

The sky cries. Tumbling and burning like white hot fire; flashes of lightning illuminate all. Lord Voldemort was mortal once. Long ago. Few know the truth: he was a boy; then he was an adolescent, striving for power; a man be became, some power was his. Now he is a "God", he is a deity with far sight.

Londinium, is the heart of The Empire, a palace for Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters. It is a huge pyramid-like structure. Upon the flat top, The Dark Mark is embroidered. The Mark can be seen from space.

The surrounding area used to be called London. A better name for it now would be "Cesspit"; the rotting corpse of the British Empire.

Within Londinium there is a chamber. Within this chamber is The Mass, partly the centre of his government, and partly a space-twisting cannon; designed by the mad genius of Voldemort. He would have surely won a Nobel Prize for the achievement; had he not turned Scandinavia into a breeding ground for Dementors.

Today Harry Potter is a dead man.

He lies the below a great machine; both political, and physical: The Mass. It is his executioner. The Mass is a glorious piece of engineering; articulated pincers twitch, manipulating the power of life: Magic.

Harry lies in chains; a block of True Iron. It suffuses his mind, breaking his connection to Mana. The Block was specifically designed to hold him, there is a divot only for his face. He can see his doom approach him; a gigantic pulsating crystal amidst the loving embrace of the arms of The Mass.

Introduction, (2,0). Godric's Hollow, October 31, 1981. Twilight.

Albus: Tom, it's over.

Tom's nostrils flair and his hood twitches; Albus Dumbledore is a worthy opponent.

Tom: You could have been great…

Tom whirls around, his robes flickering in the heavy air; heavy with great things.

Albus moves with fluidity, conjuring a green whip of fire.

The whip cracks against a purple dome, desperately brought up by Tom.

The dome fractures, but Riddle is cunning: shards of the shield rip through the air.

The bullets fly at Dumbledore, a sonic boom reverberates through the village.

Albus drops to the floor, small orbs drop from the back of his robes.

Tom: Haha!

The orbs float above the ground. Tom is taken aback. The orbs pulsate.

Albus (from the ground): I have taken the great pleasure in depriving you of certain liberties...

Albus' tone is deadly. He rises to his feet.

Tom: No… It cannot be.

Albus: It is time to put you down. Heil, mein Übermensch!

Introduction, (3,0). Incognitos.

Harry awoke in the dark. He remembered little of what happened. His eyes slowly adjust. His world is a dark place.

His eyes dart around the room, slowly he makes out a window, a dark figure stands at the threshold; observing the grounds. Harry opens his mouth to speak. It must be Master.

"Good" The figure smacks his lips. "You're awake."

The figure slowly turns, like the spring in a clock. His face is shrouded in the dark of his hood. Harry feels heavy. The spectre looks into his eyes. "You have suffered a great deal."

Introduction, (4,0). Incognitos.

Nicolas Flamel sits at his desk; it is made of white marble. The drawers were eroded over eons; they and the desk are one. Magic is an odd business.

The alchemist sat back in thought. His hand reached for a drawer, it opened at his gesture. Many papers littered the softly lit surface of the marble desk. Numerous alchemical writings and papers, and tables of the properties of plants. Nicholas' hand slowly withdrew from the drawer, revealing a pipe: a long gnarled piece of oak.

Nicolas' eyes gazed absently at the door; wood lived. At the wall; stone never lived. He closed his eyes; I live. He softly smiled…

Philosophical masturbation; oh how he adored it. Perhaps…

Chapter One, (3,1). Incognitos.

"You have suffered a great deal" said Albus, with a grimace. His eyes looked up and down Harry's comatose form, he then took a step forward.

"How are you alive?" Harry ground out, his tongue felt heavy. Sedated.

"I am not the man you think I am." 'Albus' slowly turned, on a foot, back to the window. "I am no one. Not any more..." he trailed off, looking morose.

Harry struggled to stay conscious. His world is pain, more so now than ever before. He could not move.

"We're not really... here..." The figure spoke. His eyes looked over the grounds, at the blue grass, and the twilit trees. The sun was low in the sky, and pure white against the backdrop of space. "But that doesn't mean that this isn't real…" he paused, glancing back at Harry.

"I don't understand" Harry slurred. His eyes drooped. He is paralysed and broken, his mind drifted in and out: "Nor do I" the figure said honestly. "I am a part of you... ...you will remember more... ...you will not want to remember more..." He turned to perch on the windowsill. "...I will keep that which will only burden you. I love you."

Chapter One, (0,1). Incognitos.

A sibilant whisper pierces the air in a dead language: The Blade… The whispers continue, too numerous for any human to pick apart.

Eldor is a dead world, the sky was torched long ago, it is a husk and no life grows here. Eldor used to be beautiful, tall gleaming crystalline towers covered the world. Eldor was majestic, everywhere you could see the stars. Long ago there was a war between two sentient species: ones who could use the Mana; the Eldar, and ones who could not; the Trueirons.

The Eldar were vastly intelligent, and essentially immortal; they renewed their bodies periodically, mutating. When physical death occurred, the Eldar distributed their knowledge among their number.

The Eldar were masters at subterfuge, the Trueirons rarely ate them, even if they could be found.

Eldar were always few in number, and lived far apart; they sucked in Mana and sustenance from the world around them. Too many in one spot would cause problems.

They could also siphon off Mana from other creatures, they would gain some traits of the victim. The Eldar generally found the practice distasteful. But there were some who partook in the activity.

Reproduction was done telepathically; they would ensure that the next generation would be optimal for the predicted future; they would pick new physical forms from the smorgasbord of evolved traits. New consciousnesses would emerge from time to time: in line with the carrying capacity of the planet. The new consciousnesses, would again, gain traits from the population as a whole.

The Trueirons were immune to all but the truly powerful, or truly "maline", Mana, they could eat Mana for sustenance, reproduced in vast numbers, and lived in hives; they were selected based off colony strength. They built vast machines; very industrious creatures.

What happened to Eldor? Maybe the Trueirons destroyed the titan planet? They had had little regard for the environment, they lived short lives, and were hardy creatures. Perhaps it was the Eldar who destroyed the world? Their wisdom meant little in the face of unyielding malice...

Much has been lost to the sands of time.

NB: For those confused by the story, and the formatting of it: I am a mathematician. This is a story about many different things and I am also making it up as I go along. If anyone has questions, I am very happy to give mysterious riddles as answers. If you have ideas, then you're welcome to talk about them in the comments, who doesn't like a discussion?

On my weird interpretation of grammar: yes, I do need grammar lessons, and this chapter should be updated once I learn the proper structure. I really have no excuse: English is my birth language.

The weird Cartesian coordinate system I use for the different parts: it will become very necessary later (this story will get a little nutty, because I'm a little nutty). Remember that numbers aren't always whole... and sometimes they're "fictitious".

Only the battle scenes are written in pseudo-script format. I believe it is the best way to describe such fast-paced things. But I'll let the reader/ff decide.

Update: in my createlust (a word I just made up) I forgot to expand the summary! Fixed!