A/N: I own nothing, nothing at all in this wide blue world of ours.
Before I start off here, I want to give a quick thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed my story! I really appreciate it everyone, so again, thank you!
Alright, for this story we have a Guild Wars 2 x Harry Potter crossover, with some slight end spoilers from Guild Wars 2. Zhaitan for all of his powers wasn't as infallible as he thought, and he paid the price for his arrogance. Thrust out from his home reality by the missing gods, the Elder Dragon slept within the endless void until that fateful night Voldemort cast the killing curse upon Harry Potter. With barely any soul left in his body, the magics from the mistaken Horcrux creation reached out and grabbed something far more evil than anyone could originally anticipate.
Soul of a Dragon
Once upon a time, in a world not quite like this one, he was a force to be reckoned with. There was no man, woman, or child who didn't know of his name; and even the far corners of the world would whisper fearfully about him.
And they were right to be fearful of him, because compared to them he was a god. No, he was far better than a god, as those entities couldn't even dare strike him down. In a true battle they would fall one by one to his and his kin's might.
The only time he and his kin had ever been dormant was during their past campaign, where their own victory forced them to slumber least they wish to toil away in a mostly dead world. It was a vicious cycle that repeated itself over and over, with him and his kin eating away civilizations and the life on their world until nothing remained; then going to sleep until life began anew.
And with every cycle, he became used to it; to the point he grew arrogant in his own power. Though no one could really fault him, after all, he made cosmic powers look like a flea compared to himself.
But nonetheless arrogance bloomed in his person like a thorny bramble. He thought he could do anything, and no one would be able to strike him down for this. Such thoughts did not brew well with his own boredom that too was bred from the endless cycle.
And that was his ultimate mistake, giving in to his own arrogance and boredom to appease his demented mind. He cared not for the art of subtly or creating an ultimate defense; he just wished to cause an interesting chaos that would keep him amused for decades to come.
To start said chaos, he had risen the fallen continent known as Orr by the sentient beings in this newest cycle of life. It was an easy process, as the sunken land was nearby his last resting place. But it wasn't a peaceful process, as the reappearance of the land had caused violent swells through the ocean, devastating coastal communities along the main continent; as he would learn later.
Such wonton destruction however did nothing to dissuade those few brave souls who had long lurked around the few risen ruins of Orr; all intent on greedily grabbing as much treasure as possible. If anything, the violent reappearance had caused their ranks to swell even further as they invaded the continent for new riches.
Those rash actions would prove the end of them at his own hands, or more like the hands of the long dead Orrians. The once citizens of the land had easily risen under his command much like their home; his own personal ability of corruption seeing to that.
They viciously slew the invaders, each newly dead quick to join their ranks in his newest army. Very few of the pirates escaped his reawakened wrath, fleeing from the unholy land without abandon.
Within the span of a day his new lair was rendered utterly silent. Every sentient living creature far beyond the horizon in their hastes; the only thing left were sunken ships and live stock that were held aboard; and were quickly converted into his own beasts.
It was spectacular, riveting, fun. He had never waged a battle like that before. Unlike his kin, he would keep his minions hidden in the past; their rotting, cold bodies held securely in their graves. And like a plague he would traverse the world invisibly, spreading his vile influence wherever he touched.
Only when he had his minions in every major location would he strike. Using the chaos his kin caused as cover, he would force his minions to break from their tombs and raid the once proud cities and their citizens. Unprepared for the undead creatures, they would all fall in a gory blood bath; no chance for battle against their newest enemy.
It was effective, but boring. And now that he tasted what a real overrunning battle could be like, he was hooked. If anything he wanted a bigger battle, no, he wanted an all out war; he wouldn't be pleased with anything else, as nothing could make the destructive instincts in his veins sing more than war.
But to have a war, he needed an army, and while he had the pirates and the citizens of Orr they weren't exactly enough. So he began to spread his corruption, first going to the wildlife that still braved the waters around him.
The aquatic beings were no match for his undead minions, who's shriveled lungs no longer needed water. They spread plagues and magic through the ocean floors, giving their newest enemies an unforgiving death while warping the lands around them. Seaweed became a choking poisonous weed amongst the waters, only offset by the gaping maws of now giant clams that wished to entrap anything.
The beasts left upon Orr from the sunken ships too fell to his corruption; chickens and bulls becoming decayed creatures far stronger then their living counterparts. Even the avian beasts joined their ranks.
But it wasn't enough for him. Using the considerable magic at his disposal, he warped the ships of his downed enemies into transports for his minions; and using the channels of the ocean had them sail towards the mainland to spread their ire.
Those who didn't make it to the mainland made their new home around the continent as an unbreakable chain; making sure no one got in, or out while he played his destructive game.
And a game it was to him, as he commanded his minions one by one as a hive mind, spreading chaos amongst the races that inhabited the land. And there were many races, new and old to this newest cycle of life. Humans, bi-pedal rats, even plant people were not uncommon in this new land.
But he didn't really care what they were. He unbiasedly cut them down one by one as he began to slowly poison the foreign land. He rose others there as well. Nobles and knights, to even ancient kings like Mazdak the Accursed. No one was safe from his all seeing wrath as he decimated their ranks.
And then everything changed.
The once divided races began to unite. Asura, Charr, Sylvari, Norn, and Human seemed to put aside their differences as they began to purge his forces en-mass. They shared technology and skills, and built together a force they called 'The Pact'. And they were a powerful force.
Using everything at their disposal the Pact took over an ancient fortress outside of his domain which they renamed Fort Trinity. Using their weapons and ships they charged forward, mowing down his minions left and right; they even took down his champion dragon of all things!
It was absurd, implausible, impossible, and altogether frightening. It was when he began to know anxiety for the first time, and fear. It was a little niggling feeling, so very strange and foreign. He didn't like it.
He tried to drown it out, through assuring himself and gorging himself upon magical artifacts of great power. But nothing erased the growing unease. He knew something was going to happen, and it was going to be right.
And he was right, it was bad.
In the holy city of Arah, where he weaved his own corruptions upon the world was he confronted by a group of people. A member from each race, they fought him viciously. They swung their swords, aimed their bows, and channeled their magics upon his undead hide. And when that proved to not be good enough they took their cannons and launched it upon his body.
It was a hard battle, both physically and mentally as they warred against one another viciously. And in the end, he lost. The group of heroes who set out against him slew him, undoing his melded body of corpses as if it was the most easiest thing in the world.
And he, the greatest elder dragon, Zhaitan fell, experiencing death for the first time.
But his battle wasn't over from there. In the ephemeral afterlife he was confronted by the entities the humans called gods. The arrogant group had dared to put his soul upon trial, judging their elder as though he were a child; and decided to banish him from their reality.
He roared and fought back viciously, and even wounded the upstart group. But his true death had weakened him, and the upstarts were able to banish his immortal soul from their plane of existence, sending him tumbling into the great void that separated the multitude of realities.
And in the void, he slept, and waited for the day he would one day reawaken.
Lord Voldemort sneered at the little baby that looked up to him with curious green eyes. His own eyes sparkled with spite in their pale ruby pools. Never before had the wizard felt so insulted in his long life; even when he was in the orphanage he wasn't humiliated as much as this.
Then again, when he was a kid there wasn't a prophecy that a baby of all things would be the one to defeat him. Mind you, it probably meant when the child themselves grew up. But the fact that a baby held the power to defeat him, Lord Voldemort, the greatest and darkest wizard of the century, was enough to make his blood boil.
What was worse was that he was sincerely paranoid of the child. While many a witch and wizard discounted divination as nothing more than fallacy; a fake branch of magic used to con other people.
But he knew better, both he and the ancient pure-bloods who kept to tradition knew it so very well. Fate was an actual being, a god-like entity who presided over their world of magic very heavily. It was she who put things into motion when their society began to stagnate, and in a way one could say she was the reason magic existed.
However despite her almost omnipotent presence, she wasn't an absolute power. People could break away from her plan, and defy her if they were smart enough, which was the reason why Voldemort had attacked the Potters this fine evening.
Using the power granted from Halloween night to all dark magic users, he would use his strengthened abilities to kill the child of prophecy and circumvent his fate. He wouldn't allow the child to grow powerful enough to defy him; and he couldn't take any chances since he didn't know the full prophecy.
So now here he stood, in front of little Harry Potter's crib, below him the cold dead body of Lily Potter lying to the side as if discarded. His yew wand was held stiffly in his hand as he glared balefully at the child who made little noises.
"It seems your family line shall die off today Potter. It's such a shame too, your family was quite a noble pure-blood line; even with that mudblood Evans. But they defied me just one too many times, and I can't allow you to grow up and defy me like them. So goodbye Harry Potter. Avada Kevadra!" The dark lord monologue before flicking his wand in a familiar motion.
The spell flared to life, its sickly green light darting towards little Harry Potter. Closer and closer it traveled, each centimeter causing the dark lord to smile even wider. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as it inched its way across the short expanse, but really it was only seconds before it hit its intended victim.
Brushing up against Harry's head, the sickly light of the killing curse seemed to glow around the child, causing Voldemort to balk in both confusion and a little bit of horror. And then little Harry Potter's eyes glowed. It wasn't the glow of the killing curse, nor was it the glow of his normal emerald eyes, but it was green. So very, very green, like the most sickly sweet poison waiting to rob everything of its life.
Voldemort goggled at the sight, his face comically contorted in confusion. And then everything exploded in a flurry of magic. The room's walls were practically ripped asunder under the unknown magical assault; splintering them and various knack knacks into very small pieces, if not dust. Voldemort himself screamed in rage as his own body was practically disintegrated by the powerful assault, and he screamed even more as his spirit was practically flung from the abode. The only one left unaffected by the maelstrom of power that shifted around them was Lily Potter, who was left untouched on the floor.
But just as soon as it started did it end. The magical forces dying down and the little baby in his crib falling to slumber; his ever glowing green eyes not changing back. Upon his brow, right above his recently closed eyes rested a new scar in the most peculiar lightning bolt shape.
It was this time that Albus Dumbledore rushed into the battered Potter house, only seconds late to miss the spectacle.
From there things went in full swing, with Dumbledore arranging for Harry's new place of residence and handing the sleeping baby off to Hagrid as he went to do damage control. The news of what happened had already leaked within the Wizarding World, despite barely and hour passing since the event in question; causing the wizards and witches of Britain to cheer and hail the name of Harry Potter.
All the while Harry Potter slept as he was taken across the isle by a flying motorcycle, unaware of what exactly had taken place, and even further unaware of the alien presence that began to seep heavily into his mind like lazy sludge.
Meanwhile, miles away at the Potter's home in Godric's Hollow, on the second floor in the nursery, Lily Potter's body gave a violent twitch, as it slowly began to rise up.