The Wild Campione
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Campione
Hey folks,
Thanks for all the reviews you have sent. Many of you have also pointed out that there is no such thing as overkill, so our hero may, I repeat may, get both a verethragna like authority and a sentient weapon but I will hold off a final decision until more reviews come in.
Also, by popular demand, Voban will be meeting a horrible and humiliating end by the hand of our intrepid hero. I will probably make for this for the equivalent of third year of canon Harry Potter due to Remus Lupin, a werewolf, appearing in the third book. So hold your horses until I can get down to a fur flying melee battle.
I am also still waiting on Wargamer08 to get back to me.
Lastly, I await reader input for weapon god and avatar god possibilities.
Now on with the show!
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
The massive plane carved the air as it was pushed to its limits under the the weak middle afternoon sun. Its propellers churned violently as they kept it in the air but some feat of strange physics.
Though the ride for the passengers was far from... Comfortable.
"Tell me again," spoke a wavering and very green Italian, "why we didn't just use that teleportation Authority of yours."
Harry sighed with exasperation, having already explained it to his older peer several times before.
"For [Light Messenger] to be able to teleport me and others to a certain spot one of three requirements must be filled." He explained once more, his head leant back against the metallic walls of the bay of the aircraft.
"One, a person in that place must give a sincere prayer to me and speak my name. This is unavailable to us due to having nobody on sight. Having a merperson attempt it may have worked but I was not willing to chance something going wrong in this instance.
"Two, I must have already been to or seen the location. Again I haven't been there before.
"Lastly, it must be within my 'line of sight'. Even a live video feed would allow me to do this. It is similar to what I did to get us to the Undercity but that was a gamble because I used my recent memory. This option is also taken from us, so that leave getting by ourselves in the efficient manner possible."
"You and I have very different ideas of efficiency," Doni growled, looking ready to tear his little brother to pieces, only to pale and gulp heavily as the cargo plane hit a bit of turbulence that rattled the area.
"Stop being a baby," Harry scoffed, "we'll be fine. You'd have a better chance of being eaten by sharks than this Ol' bucket of bolts giving out on us," he finished giving the plane wall a firm smack.
"The fact you call it a 'bucket of bolts' does not fill me with any confidence," Doni rumbled, his head between his knees in an attempt to relieve his sickness.
Harry only chuckled at his suffering colleague. 'A Campione, a Godslayer, the vaunted King of Swords, brought low by a simple cargo flight... The world is certainly ironic.'
Salvatore's next question, however, chased away what humour he had gained from the Italian's suffering.
"What had you so on edge when that mermaid mentioned the place?" The Italian groaned abruptly, his sick voice leaving little other way to speak.
"What makes you think I was, how you say, 'on edge' ?" The pre-teen responded tensely, a fragment of his ire almost searing the air.
"Apart from your reaction now?" Salvatore answered, a glimpse of his face through his upraised legs showing a small quirk of his lips, "you were pale as a ghost after she gave you the 411," his eyes sharpened, showing that beneath his loud and foolish demeanour lurked the spirit of a killer of the divine, "methinks that you know something. Something that concerns that particular spot."
Harry was quiet for a time, his thoughts running wild. His face a grimace of distaste and anger as though the very idea of speaking of the dreaded place was blasphemous to him. Ironic as his own existence would have been considered blasphemous to the many people in the that still worshipped the gods.
When he spoke it was as though his very teeth were being pulled.
"Tintagel and Merlin's Cave in particular, are powerful places of magic. It was where legends were made and myths were formed. It was a place where gods had walked.
"And they never truly left.
"Gods are powerful. You know this, having faced several. The very air and land becomes saturated in their power if they stay there long enough. Even if they are killed or banished or removed by some fashion or another, echoes of their power still haunt the area, like the lingering smell of blood on an ancient battlefield.
"And sometimes those echoes can take form."
Harry stopped speaking, his face like granite as Doni looked at his colleague in disbelief before the Italian his railroading thoughts.
"Are you saying," the King of Swords stated slow and whispered, his face beginning to brighten to a scarlet flush of rage, his illness left forgotten, "that there are some form of Heretic Gods on that island, that have been there for heaven's knows how long and no one has done anything about them?" The end of his question came out as a distant thunder. Hard, fierce and warning of what was to come.
Harry shook his head violently enough for his braid to flip around his throat, "No. Or at least not exactly. The best way to describe them would be ghosts of gods. Imprints with no real existence. The difference between the two is like a real Heretic being a full symphony orchestra performing an opera to the ghosts' fragmented and scratched part of a poor quality recording of a single instrument. Almost no comparison. They are bound to the form and place that their originator once strode upon and are nigh invisible to even the most perceptive of magi and possibly some deities. Their ability to effect the physical plane is also limited enough as to be non-existent. Maybe an ominous presence, an ethereal emotion or a flicker of a ghostly form. They are no threat in and of themselves."
"Then what is the problem?" Doni asked, confused frustration evident in his deeper voice, "there doesn't sound like there is one. Just ignore them, if they even appear, and we're good."
"Moron!" Harry snapped violently, his hackles up and beyond annoyed at the seeming obliviousness of the other Godslayer, "think for a moment. That residual power, left by their true selves, is still a part of them. Remember one of the basic laws of magic. 'Like calls to like'."
Doni frowned at the response, finding it annoying that his little brother had kept information from him but expected him to understand the meaning of it. Such a confusing boy.
He let his thoughts focus under the ferocious scowl of the British born warrior. Like calls to like. He began to dredge up old half-forgotten lectures. That was an old rule that he had studied when he attempted to become a Knight despite his poor understanding and ineptitude for the Art. It worked on the principle of similarity or sympathy. Particularly in Vaudaun or Voodoo as it was commonly known. By taking an object that symbolises, in some form or another, the target of your spell, then what happens to the symbol is reflected onto the target. It was one of the first spells used in history in just about every culture, mainly for vengeance but sometimes for protection as well. All trivial and well known information but...
How did it apply here?
The Italian lord's eyes furrowed deeper as he went over the facts. A very old and, probably, very powerful heretic goddess had arisen and chosen, for some as yet unknown reason, targeted the, arguably, strongest Hime-Miko currently in existence. Succeeded in capturing her (much to his chagrin at falling for such an, in hindsight, obvious ploy) and whisked her off to an Island of such rich magical history and power that it was haunted by the ghosts of gods.
...
The life of a Campione is truly strange.
Seeing his partner still struggling to understand, Harry decided to throw the man a bone.
"Here's a clue," he snapped, still annoyed, "Voban."
The invocation of the name of the Devil of the Balkans made Doni clench his fists. Anger, bordering on hate, briefly taking charge of his limbs. It was no secret that he and Voban did not get along (an understatement of truly epic proportions), even if he was, by chance the catalyst of hi-.
Doni felt his guts freeze for a moment, shock overwhelming his mental faculties as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Voban had kidnapped various Hime-miko around the world and had used them in a ritual to summon the Heretic God Siegfried using the sword Gram as a catalyst which he had interfered with and through a subsequent series of events had become a Campione.
Salvatore slowly licked his suddenly dry lips as he voiced his conclusion.
"You are thinking that Ereshkigal is attempting to summon another Heretic God?" The Italian born male asked, still shocked at the possible implications. Facing one Heretic God was a feat in and of itself. To face more than one...
The King of Swords was suddenly very relieved and excited to have accompanied his little brother.
Harry gravely nodded, "Just like we posited at the beginning, but that's not all. If the bitch were to use Alice's power to summon such a being, it will end up killing her. Her body cannot take the raw power required for such a feat even if she has the power to do so. That is an event that I will do everything within my power to prevent from coming to pass.
"Another fear I have is that a ritual of such magnitude would give off a heavy power bleed. Heavy and wild enough that those 'ghosts' may, may, incidentally drink in the excess enough for one of two things to happen.
"One, which is the best case scenario, if it happens, is that weak 'False Gods' may develop. Basically the ghosts of gods taken to the nth degree and about the strength of the average, if such a word apply to such an existence, Divine Ancestor though with more use of the associated Authorities but more limited in scope. Theoretically, a prime example would be that a fake Zeus could only draw upon the Authorities associated with that aspect but not upon those associated with Jupiter that the Heretic God Zeus could."
To say Doni was slightly taken aback at this was like saying the surface of the sun was warm. Essentially correct but so way out of proportion as to be on a completely different level. Possibly two... two! Heretic Gods and multiple Divine Ancestor equivalents!
...
...
When this whole SNAFU was over he was going on a very long vacation. Battle maniac he may be but this was a bit much, even for him.
A thought suddenly blasted through his mind as he remembered some of the words of his colleague. An unfamiliar chill of something resembling fear traveled along his spine as he considered the implications of those damning words that rang through his skull like a death knell.
"Best case scenario?!" Doni practically hissing and almost leaping out of the seat he was in were it not for the flight straps, "If facing a veritable horde of Divine entities, all of which will be more than willing to rip our guts out through our noses mind you, one of which has power over the dead, is the best case scenario, then what in the name of things remotely holy is the worst?!"
The answer, when it came, made Lord Salvatore feel as if the Southern Ocean had taken residence in his veins.
Harry's eyes glowed eerily in the dim lighting of the hold as three simple words that nigh damned this expedition to failure passed his pale lips.
"Multiple Heretic Gods."
Those words made the Italian feel awash with dread, even his impossible existence and his fiery drive to fight being banked by the reality of fear.
"Alice, in raw magical power, is the strongest Hime-Miko, beings known to be pathways for higher powers, to currently walk the earth. Maybe even ever," Harry bluntly explained to a stunned amnesiac young man, "it is possible, possible, that the power bleed of a ritual, using her and assisted by a Heretic God, could feasibly interact with the imprints left by previous deities, by complete accident or as a side effect, to bring forth actual Heretic Gods, the majority of which would be of the Steel type due to the influence of Arthurian literature."
Doni could only find one word, four letters long and quite pungent, to express his thoughts on that particular scenario.
"Fuck." he succinctly said, looking like a stunned mullet, "fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck."
"Agreed," Harry snorted, "let's hope that it doesn't come down to that."
Silence fell between the two Campione, the turning and churning of propellers accompanied by the periodic shuddering rattles of the fuselage all that was heard as the two contemplated the current state of affairs. One with equal parts excitement and fear, an intoxicating mix that many berserker like warriors felt before they unleashed themselves without restraint upon the enemy. The other with grim resolve and implacable determination that could carve through a mountain range or any other obstacle between him and his goal.
Doni finally broke the fragile quiet with an exasperated sigh, "you really are an oddball among the rest of us Campione," he said as he shook his head in amusement, "I admit that I rarely think things through and simply focus myself on my desires, which mainly consist of fighting, fighting and more fighting. The others aren't much different. Smith is a superhero. The Prince wanders around looking for possible traces of whatever it is he is searching for. Voban waits only for his next hunt, even if he has to get the prey himself. Each of us don't really care about the world except if it crosses our beliefs, which is far from the average viewpoint of humanity.
"You," he said, pointing a firm finger at the surprised preteen's chest, "however, are more human than that. You have a more human mindset, beliefs... and insecurities.
"You withheld information from me, in fear that I would act as a human would. Run like a scared rabbit and hide." Salvatore scoffed loudly, "as if I would. You forget that Campione are. Not. Human.
"We are an impossible existence. A cosmic irony of non-humans being charged with protecting the humans, like wolves guarding the sheep. As separated from humanity as a dragon is removed from geckos. Human laws and conventions mean nothing to us. It is the primal instinct of humans to flee in fear. To us, it is to fight to the death. We serve none but are served.
"You do not understand this because. You. Are. Too. Human."
Doni laughed heartily, amused at Harry's dumbfounded expression and his wide open jaws, "Have no fear, my little brother. I will not run, indeed my spirit, the very core of my soul, will not allow me to run. I will show you what it truly means to be a Godslayer and aid you in all ways until you reach that single inviolate truth yourself and then, oh then, you and I will battle.
"And the very world will shake at our clash."
It was quiet for a moment as the two Godslayers took in each other's reactions. A Mexican stand-off between almost divine beings.
A sudden burst of turbulence ended that.
The Italian turned a pale sickly green and folded back into his seat with a stomach churning groan.
Harry stared at the mercurial European, wondering at the sudden shifts in mood from serious to fearfully panicked to joyful. He shook his head in exasperation, his now slightly relaxed visage adorned with a wry smile as the words of his elder colleague percolated in the back of his mind whilst his heart quietly rejoiced at his ally not turning away from him in spite of the deception he made.
The speakers in the cargo bay squawked, getting his attention and pressed the button that was beside his 'seat' that would allow him to communicate with the cockpit.
"King here. What is it, Captain?" he queried as he raised an eyebrow at the once again ill Campione.
"We are now entering the designated area, your Majesty," the firm voice of the pilot, one of Alexei's better trained Stals, stated, "it would be best if yourself and Lord Salvatore got prepared."
"Thank you very much, Captain," he replied as he frowned at the sickly resident of the Mediterranean as he unstrapped himself from his position and rose with a stretch, "also please land at Truro airport and await us there. If we do not return by dawn contact the Assembly and tell them to 'activate Operation Gleipnir' then get yourselves back to homebase. Is that understood?"
"Loud and Clear, my King," came the swift response, "incidently, sir, I wish you the best of luck and hope you all return intact and with Miss Alice."
"As do I, Captain" he chuckled grimly back, grabbing a large silver pack and strapping it tightly to him, "but I know not to depend on a Campione's luck where Heretics are involved. King Out." he finished and pressed the button to kill the speaker. He then turned to his fellow companion and partner in crime, only to recoil in semi-disgust.
Whilst Harry had been speaking, Doni almost looked like death warmed over. His eyes spun in their sockets, his body lay pale and limp and his whey faced visage dribbled a viscous liquid from his mouth that was almost certainly bile.
It appeared that planes did not suit the King of Swords. At all.
He cut an almost pathetic figure.
Harry simply kicked him in the side. Hard.
The lump that was formerly the King of Swords groaned and stared with uncomprehending and baleful bloodshot eyes at his younger colleague.
"Get up!" Harry snapped, impatiently tapping his foot, causing the bay to ring with the taps echoes, "its time to get out of here."
This seemed to reinvigorate Lord Salvatore as he almost erupted out of his straps with a gleeful yell of, "Yes!"
Salvatore danced for a moment, his elation on getting out of this flying cigar tube overcoming his air sickness.
"Finally!" he crowed wildly, "this flight is about to end. HAHAHAHA!"
"Calm down!" Harry nearly snarled at the imbecilic moron of a Campione, bringing him to a sudden halt "your dancing is both annoying and disturbing. I do not need a headache when I am about to go into battle."
Unbelievably, the swordsman pouted, before becoming his regular and normal (if such a word can apply to him) foolish self.
"Spoilsport," the Italian muttered accusingly, "so where are we landing?"
Harry grinned wolfishly at Doni, who began to sweat, long unused alarm bells ringing in his mind.
"The plane is landing," Harry stressed, grabbing another silver bag, tossing it to Salvatore and gesturing for the Italian to put it on, "we are not."
The King of Swords paused for a moment in strapping in the last buckle of the pack as he glanced, puzzled, at his fellow king that leant against the wall of the cargo hold, right next to a big red button at the very rear of the craft and asked a very pertinent (to him) question.
"The how do you plan to get to the damned island then?" The deeply tanned swords master said as he strode over to his companion.
"We fall."
Doni tilted his head backward in thought and took a moment to try and understand his partner's thinking before the metaphorical light bulb in his mind clicked on.
Only to be shattered by an overwhelming dread.
A pale Doni turned to a now smirking preteen who had his hand on the big red button.
"W-wait a m-moment. Can't w-we just take the planaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" Doni attempted to persuade his little brother... Only for the button to be firmly and gratifyingly pushed.
The rest of the Campione's words were lost as he was sucked out of the swift opening bay doors.
Harry chuckled for a moment, the sound lost over the roaring of the wind, before leaping after him with practised ease into the wild blue yonder, the sun casting its golden light upon his free-falling figure.
The plane continued on calmly towards its destination, its mission accomplished, for the moment.
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
"I can't believe you did that! What type of little bastard tosses his older brother out of a plane?!"
"Apart from pretty much every younger sibling in the world?"
The two comrades in arms, Godslayers, Campiones, strode along the grassy coast of Cornwall at a ground eating lope.
"I could have died!" Doni howled as he trailed behind his younger and shorter colleague, his hair and clothes mussed up and dirtied, with bits of string like rope dragging behind him.
"How is that any different than any other time you go into battle?" Harry questioned him amusedly, his arms and armour shining clean and bright with not a hair out of place, the silver bag he had been carrying, disposed of, with its purpose fulfilled.
"In battle we die with honour by the sword," Salvatore growled as he trudged along, "not by turning into human jam after hitting the ground at hundreds of miles per hour."
"You would have been fine," Harry scoffed, "if you hadn't panicked like a frightened chicken your parachute would have delivered you safely to the ground with a slight bump. It was your own fault that you landed like you did."
"You could have told me we were parachuting into the area!" The Italian roared as his temple seemed to bulge out.
"Baby," Harry sniffed with a grin before frowning slightly, "but I suppose I should have informed you..."
"He even admits it!" Doni grumbled harshly to himself.
"If only so you didn't lose your mind enough to cut your parachute strings when it deployed." Harry continued with missing a beat, ignoring his partner's rumble of discontent, "just as well you activated your 'Man of Steel' Authority before you struck the ground, though I think the poor farmer you landed in front of was glad he didn't have to dig out a pond himself... Once he got over his heart attack anyway."
Harry smirked as he heard the wordless grumbles and growls of the King of Swords. He really was too easy to make fun of.
"How far are we from the island?" Lord Salvatore asked tiredly, finally giving up chastising his little brother as a hopeless and lost cause.
Harry sobered at the reminder of the mission they were both on. A mission that concerned the health and well being of his closest friend. A mission that he could not afford to fail.
He orientated himself and stretched his acute mystical senses to determine their whereabouts and the distance from the final destination.
Only to be metaphorically hit a sledgehammer.
"Ugh," Harry grunted, stumbling backward at the sheer force and power currently in existence over the island of Tintagel. A lot more than was previously recorded. A lot lot more.
And completely malevolent and wild.
A firm grip on his shoulder saved Harry from falling to the grass and allowed him to recover his balance.
"I take it that the island is not very far?" Doni stated more then asked dryly.
"Just over the next hill and we should see it fully," the British native answered slowly, his mind still slightly dazed, " but now would be the time to be very damn careful. The sheer amount of power I sensed was ridiculous."
"Then we are too late?" Doni questioned bluntly and grimly as he loosened his sword in its sheath at his hip.
"No!" Harry quickly snapped before calming, "no we're not. From what I could sense, the power is all Divine in origin and the majority of it was leaking from one source. There was no evidence of any of Alice's power, which I am intimately familiar with, within that complex morass. If she were d-dead," Harry stumbled over the word for a moment, dread, relief and grief making his tongue trip over itself momentarily, " or used as a catalyst then her power would be mixed in. She is unique in that she can control her unconscious power output to nothing, allowing her to conserve her precious power reserves."
Salvatore raised an eyebrow at the obvious sensitivity of the preteen's senses but said nothing. Even a Campione's mystical senses were not so acute. At least not by themselves. It was rather obvious that the shorter male had trained his senses to a rather impressive degree.
He would soon see if his battle instincts were of the same level, the fight with the [Bull of Heaven] giving him little in the way of information due to his own focus on the enemy at the time.
These musings were halted as they crested the next rise, only to be greeted by something that seemed to have been crafted from nightmares.
The island of Tintagel was a small grassy island, a short distance from the mainland's shore, that at low tide was linked to it by a long stretch of pebbles. The ruins of a once great castle could be seen as one approached it, giving it the whole island an air of an old and broken king, his kingdom long gone but a trace of his once great majesty still contained in his old and infirm frame.
There was none of that here.
A great black cloud of darkness hovered over the island, like something you would see wreathing high mountains in some documentaries, stretching high into the afternoon sky, a feeling of [Dread] piercing their hearts as their eyes fell upon it. The great crags that lifted the island from the sea, once a dull grey of the native stone, glittered an obscene blue and gold of lapis lazuli. A beauty that belied the contents of the inner depths of the isle.
But it was waters that surrounded it that was the real nightmare.
Just as the mermaid had said, the waters surrounding the isle were a dark crimson, almost black, with spilt blood. The scent of it, even from their current distance, carrying over to the two Godslayers, much to Harry's disgust and Doni's anger.
The gruesome additions to that, however, had them both on the edge of raging.
Hundreds of corpses floated around the small spit of land. Only a few would be considered intact. Rent apart arms and legs, torsos missing heads or lacking a front to hold the slimy organs, the missing heads bobbing amongst the slow waves, eyeless and gaping. They all floated here and there, contained by a invisible circle of power, and lined the edges of the pebbly path that lead to the gaping maw what was once [Merlin's Cave] but was now claimed by the goddess [Ereshkigal].
Doni gripped his sword so hard it began to rattle in its sheath as his anger took hold. His power began to flare, exhibiting his sheer rage and want for blood, before a quick smack to the head by a grim faced Harry ended the gathering power and had him looking at the younger man in anger.
"Stay calm," Harry snapped, interrupting the justified tirade of his elder peer before it could begin, "your rage and power, while justified, will not serve us at this moment. There was a reason I chose to use a plane and parachuting into the area."
"And that would be?" Growled Lord Salvatore, anger still edging his voice though it was clearly held in check by the Italian. To a point.
"Mystical stealth," the British lad answered brusquely, "I have no doubt that the bitch is expecting company and has prepared some form of greeting for us. I would personally like to avoid paying the entry fee and enjoy the bloody show instead. We can't do that if either of us are flaring power like a lighthouse sheds light."
The two stared each other down, two bulls locking horns, a pair of alpha male wolves bearing their fangs. One would eventually have to give.
Doni, surprisingly, was the one to back off, but not submit.
"Fine," he grumbled, "so how do we get in?"
Harry turned back to the island, ignoring the horrors in favour of the defences.
"Not through the front door," he answered a false calm falling over him as he attempted to control himself, being so close yet so far from his captured friend making it difficult, "part of the bitch's legend was the [Seven Gates]. If we pass through the cave mouth, chances are we will be very greatly weakened. Possibly to the point of being returned to a normal human state."
Salvatore shivered for a moment and clenched his blade tighter in comfort. Such an Authority was powerful and extremely dangerous for them.
Harry examined the island further, his mystical and physical senses taxed to the limit as his mind attempted to come up with a solution.
There was a heavy silence between them before Harry gave a feral smirk as he turned to his companion.
"I've got an idea but it's going to be loud, explosive and we won't have a second shot."
"What about your so called 'magical stealth'?" Doni said with a raised eyebrow.
"It only needs one of us to be stealthy. The other can be as loud as he wants."
Doni smirked back as he unsheathed his sword letting it glitter in the setting sun.
"Then what are we waiting for!"
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbppbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbp bpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbp
The White Princess of the Witengamot hung heavily in the cold iron chains.
After she had wept her bitter tears of sorrow she began to attempt to think of a way out, despite the miniscule, almost non existent, hope because of the sheer power of her captor.
She wasn't strong enough to be able to break the chains that held her. Even if she were to boost her physical capabilities with magic, her body was already suffering the effects of her overusing her magic, leaving it otherwise weaker than it could be, the Apples that Harry had given her finally wearing out. Even if by sheer luck that she could break the chains, she would be easy pickings for the goddess or her demonic servants that looked at her hungrily when they passed.
She also wasn't able to project magic due to the chains that held. Being made of 'cold iron', a form of metal that was known to have powerful anti-magical qualities, essentially the opposite of Mithril and Adamantine, even in the days of old. It was a form of metal that was rooted in the 'earthly' realm whereas magic was formed on a 'spiritual' foundation. Basically one canceled out the other if they were of the same or equal power. And these chains looked to be a masterwork.
Alice had some very interesting suspicions on where the deity, who had no basis in her legend of having or creating such items (or even needing to), had obtained them.
She also threw out the idea of possibly deceiving one her unearthly guards into freeing her. Their horned heads looked at her with a deathly intensity, waiting for her to make a wrong move to punish her for but also clearly would not do anything to jeopardise their mistress's plans.
In the back her mind, Alice was rather annoyed at the competence and discipline of the Heretic's subordinates. It seemed the darker half of the world had the advantage in getting 'good help'.
She had yet to even have a skerrick of a good idea when the time she was dreading came along.
The goddess had swept in with her obscene entourage and began barking orders in a choppy yet lilting language to her bestial servants. They leapt into motion, lifting the seats filled with the chained victims and pulled them to the side of the dank cave, herself included, and dragged the immense and obviously heavy oaken round table to the centre of a magical circle the goddess had inscribed into the very stone with a few gestures. The dim green light that followed the table's shifting did little to allow the Hime-miko to see the details of the circle making her more than a little apprehensive and her heart began to despair.
It only increased when she was ripped from her seat by the rough hands of the demons and dragged, feebly protesting in what manner she could, towards then table and was roughly thrown, face up, upon it.
A snap of the Heretic's Goddess' fingers had her chains loosening and arranging themselves, like a nest of metallic serpents, around her so her limbs were free. Before she could react, they were quickly shackled by the chains and cuffs attached to the large table, leaving her spread eagled and chained to the wooden altar like a sacrifice.
...
...
Which is exactly what she was.
The strange smoky emerald green orb, once content to float above the wooden construct, now sat directly above the emerald pendant, stock still and burning consistently like a blowtorch rather than the smoky and flickering candle it had been.
The demons had by now dragged the human filled chairs back to their places at the table. Her own previous seat now lay empty and sat at the seeming head of it, Ereshkigal draping herself sensually over the tall backing with an amused smirk, like a sultry consort attempting at getting her way from her significant other. Her rather... Large milky pale assets both squashed and emphasised by the hard and dark wood. The smirk only grew as the Witch, once again, futilely attempted to break the chains before she finally gave up and hung limply.
"Prepare the sacrifices, worms," the Divine figure hissed, her eyes shifting to a slitted blue flame momentarily, "this one desires a husband's embrace before the rise of the moon,"
Her servants hastened to her bidding, six of the seven beasts each standing between two of the seated sacrifices with their blue and gold weapons drawn, their mistress still reclined on the back of an empty throne like chair. The last one, significantly larger than the others, stood at her side with his sceptre drawn, its blackened glow showing his readiness to protect his mistress.
To the captive Alice, it was a sign that they knew that something was coming and a fragment of true hope dawned in within her breast. Her friend had not abandoned her. It was only a matter of time before he arrived and then all hell would descend upon the haughty bitch's gold crowned skull.
Speaking of the bitch...
Ereshkigal languorously stretched from where she had been leaning, her supple body catching the dim green light of the flame and giving her an spectral presence as it reflected off of her pale skin. She calmly prowled and the table until she was at the six o'clock position, at the feet of the Witch and looking across its length to the slightly risen blond head of the member of the Witengamot, slightly obscuring the seat of the throne like chair she had previously been laying upon like a great cat. The hardened blue eyes, like a chilling cross between a serpent and flint stones, locked with emerald gems full of fear, determination and the slightest bit of hope.
Something she would be glad to shatter.
A heaviness in the air, like the hand of a giant pressing down on her, was Alice's first clue that her time amongst the living was now very limited. The shadows of the dank cave seemed to gather around the now rigidly standing goddess, swirling and twisting like a blackened cyclone made even more eerie by the emerald flame, that hovered above the Witch's heart, casting its light over the deity, mixing with the fleeting shadows in a devilish dance of ethereal power and mystery.
But it was the eyes that held the mortal magi's attention.
The hardened blue, so like cold sapphires and freezing ice, was now seemed to a burning flame of power, incandescent and all consuming, burning torches amidst the chaos that surrounded her, that seemed to seize her heart and squeeze.
An eerie feeling, similar yet so different to the goddess, slipped in and out of the Witch's senses, like there was more in this chamber than what she could see. The fleeting feelings held a cold detachment, as if they were not even alive, and could only watch as the ritual began.
When the immortal spoke again it was concise, short, a brisk purr of cold feline apathy, expecting what they wanted to be done. Immediately.
"Kill them," the heretical being ordered, her burning eyes alive with desire and power, eagerly awaiting the emergence of the one she intended to bind onto her.
The horrible subordinate demons all obeyed.
Blue and gold, of many shapes, swung towards their victims. Once. Twice. Blood flew and bone was crushed. Alice felt the twisted emotions of sorrow/grief/anger/fear/rage as she felt the shock of the formerly comatose and now dead captives of the bitch Queen. Horrified, her spiritual allowed her to feel the last moments of their life, surprise and shock as they were lifted from their sleep only long enough to die.
Then the true terror began.
The languid goddess eyed each of the sacrifices, their blood splattering upon the round table as the husks of flesh dangled limply in their restraints, satisfied with the crimson carnage. Then she began to chant, the air pressing down on the Witch once more.
Only far more powerfully.
"Hear my voice, the voice of the Dead," the ebony haired woman chanted, a melody of power, dark and chaotic, "I cry to you, the emblem of Justice,"
It was the beginning of the end for the powerful Witch. Alice could feel the sheer power behind the words the Dark Lady spoke, throbbing the dank and damp air like a great drum from the depths.
And she could feel her the power of her enemy, one she barely defeated through great sacrifice of others and herself, answering. The pendant that lay beneath the roaring green flame and between her breasts, began to grow warm. The emerald jewel at its centre, catching the light just so, seemed to writhe and twist in response to the goddess' words of power.
Those ephemeral fleeting feelings, so light as to barely be noticed, also grew on strength. Silvery ghostly figures, barely humanoid and featureless, wavered in and out of existence behind the Great Lady Under Earth, who seemed unaware or heedless of their appearance.
The chanting continued.
"Break thy shackles o Holy King," the pendant warmed further, "Let slip thy chains, o Warlord," it was now rattling on the end of the silvery necklace chain, reaching desperately to touch the hungry emerald flame as the goddess, demons and ghosts watched on. The life blood of the prisoners slowly rose, glowing a vile crimson, from the surface it landed upon and seemed to dance in a disturbing and macabre manner about the emerald flame.
'It looks beautiful... In some chaotic and mad manner,' she thought dazedly, her power answering to the ritual's needs, rushing out of her body despite the almost bone wracking pain and the blurred senses it caused her. She had almost forgotten the pain that she had lived with for such a long time before Harry and his apples.
Harry...
"King of Knights, absolve me of sin and bless me with thy presence," Ereshkigal continued, her voice building up to a vocal climax.
The pendant was now rigidly standing from the Witch's neck, the once loose chain now straight as an arrow with enough force to begin cutting into the back of her neck, an inner light in the accursed jewel seeming to writhe and twist, a reflection of the yearning emerald fire. The glowing scarlet liquid spinning around both a twisting high speed lava lamp.
The silvery forms, now slightly more defined, had now moved, floated or drifted, away from the wild goddess and taken up positions behind the restrained corpses, the horned demons either ignoring or unknowing of their presence.
"I call you by thy deeds. The Sword of the King, Knights of the Round, He Who Is Just. Quester, Arbiter, Warrior, Ruler, Saviour, Messiah. Dragon-Blooded, The Burning Light, King in his Mountain." The chants continued. The goddess was by now grinning openly and wickedly, licking her crimson lips as she observed the blood swirling around the orb of emerald luminescence, as vague humanoid shape being crafted and outlined by it. The Witch, chained beneath the emerging figure's feet, seemed to scream silently as he back began to arch in sheer agony even as the chain that held her jewellery made the back of her neck bleed from the raw and sawing force of it.
The air seemed to shake and ripple with the raw combined power of the goddess, Witch and emerging deity. It seemed to take on a warped and watery cast, distorting the world.
The ghosts, their own names and natures long forgotten by even themselves, unconcerned with the happenings around them, focused only on the power that floated around and using it for their own subliminal desires. To live. To fight.
Slowly, these forgotten and ignored pieces of broken spirit, began to enter the recently vacated bodies. All the while, those others, so much more powerful, within the dank cave, ignored them, deeming them inconsequential. Except for one, the one who was enduring the agonies of pain, who saw and acknowledged them for but an eye blink, before she was once more thrown back into the depths of pain.
"I call to you, command you," Ereshkigal practically roared, the voice now reverberating in the cavern as the volume of voice matched her eagerness and anticipation of finishing the ritual as red blood and green flame reached toward the stone ceiling, twisting and cavorting around the almost solid figure within its heart.
"Come!" she boomed.
The figure shook. The Witch now screamed aloud, pain and agony entwining.
"Come!"
The shape became a knight, blood and fire twisting around the red mould. Alice screamed more, the pain blinding and unending. The pendant reaching its limits as the chain started to crack from the strain.
"Co-!"
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
"Aaaaaaaargh!"
SMASH!
CRACK!
The next few seconds as the Goddess began her last word to summon the young Steel god had been confusing. She felt the seven walls of her [Realm of the Dead] breached almost simultaneously, a feat achievable only by raw brute strength, power and speed. The literally screaming projectile had collided with her only striking the various chairs and a corner of the round table, sending the ritual furnishings flying around the cavern like a tornado had hit them.
Then she was struck.
It was so fast that she had no time to react except for a widening of her sapphire blue eyes in shock before it felt like she was by a flying statue sent at hyper sonic speeds. It carried her along with it and implanted itself in the wall behind her, sending blinding pain through her body, making the old stone crack and crumble beneath the combined weight and power of both individuals, making an interesting sight, if someone were to see it. A human male figure, dressed in a loud beach shirt and shorts and sandals, implanted into a rock wall, face first, whilst the outline of a mature female figure was punched through the same wall not two feet from the male.
It was interesting sight to say the least but far from the worst.
A well known fact among magic users, magi, warlock or otherwise, is that random interference with an ongoing ritual is a BAD THING. All capitals and in bold type. Rituals can be disrupted and ended or stopped without consequence easily enough, if someone knows the base purpose and mechanics of it. To take one apart, a scalpel's approach works best.
However rituals are also delicate things, affected by even the most minute of details. A rune misaligned, a wrong catalyst, a different power type or even a mispronounced word. All of these and more besides can change a well used and simple ritual into something a great deal more dangerous, mostly resulting in powerful explosions if not being completely being twisted from its original purpose. They are also very susceptible to power fluctuations.
And the more powerful the ritual, the greater the consequence.
And you don't get much more powerful than a Heretic God.
So when a UFI (Unidentified Flying Idiot) barrelled into the Heretic Goddess performing a ritual, cutting off her words and making her lose her magical focus for a moment...
The consequences could have been expected.
The table and chairs were sent tumbling once more, smashing into the cavern walls and even the ceiling's stalactites with a few of the smaller pieces. The Gallu, loyal minions of the Great Lady Under Earth, were thrown about like leaves in the wind again. The lolling corpses were tossed around in their restraints. The eerie figure of blood, power and flame seemed to waver for a moment before being snuffed out like a weak candle in the wind.
Alice, luckily, was sent flying along with the table, still dazed with pain and exhaustion from the interrupted ritual and her neck felt like a saw had been taken to it thanks to the damned jewel she wore around it. Her luck was in as the table struck the cavern at such an angle as to smash into four easy pieces. If she was careful then she would have her mobility back soon enough, weak though it may be due to her body suffering the backlash from magical overuse, even if it was forced, and hampered by the weight of the chains, which were still wrapped around her, and the wood on the end of the shackles.
The other occupants of the now exposed cave slowly came back to themselves, the shock, surprise and resulting chaos having finally been recovered from. The Gallu were quick to move, their weapons singing a dirge of bloodlust as they blurred, to Alice's eyes, toward the staggering male who had just so recently become one with several rock walls. They thought, if they could really think beyond their Mistress' orders, that this strange human would be easy prey.
Obviously they had forgotten what happened when they had met him last.
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
Salvatore Doni, Sixth Campione, Strongest Knight of Italy, the King of Swords, was doing something he rarely did.
Regretting.
When he had heard that his little brother had a plan, he had been more than willing to go along with it. Battle plans were not really his forte except if it was duel. Harry, however, had shown in the mock battles with the Stals that the Italian had observed, that his insight was damn impressive and his tactical and strategic acumen had been just as good. So deferring to the younger man's judgement was something he could do and trust him to do it well.
When Harry asked to activate his [Man of Steel] Authority to its highest level, he had been somewhat... apprehensive, not understanding but trusting the little man. After he had done so Harry had quickly activated his own [Light Messenger] after ducking behind the now rune inscribed automaton that was Doni.
It was then to Doni's surprise that Harry used another Authority. One he had only seen once before. [Molten Core].
Deep red flames erupted around the Italian, like something out of the depths of Hell, but ignored it at his fellow Campione's urging. The heat, if one could call the bone melting inferno such a mundane thing, was oppressive and if his power was not being used then Doni thought he may have been the blue plate special.
The flames began to gather tighter and tighter around him, to the point that it seemed to an outside observer that he was wearing an armour of pure fire.
Then Harry got serious.
Words reverberated in the air, commanding and majestic, full of power and might, that spoke of roaring flame and scorching earth.
They were Words of Power.
"O destroyer," Harry began, "break and crush, burn and ruin, lay waste to all before you. Wipe away all that is within your sight in a sea of stone and fire. Then, from the ashes, craft anew the world."
As Harry chanted those words, the fire and flames began to change. No longer was the heat eating away at his body of [True Steel], the pale blue runes glowing fiercely before receding from power of the burning depths. It was now skin tight on him with the flames a golden hue. It was a strange feeling. His body seemed lighter, as if he were floating. He flexed his steely hands, noticing the faster response he had than when he used it at such a level. It was quite intriguing if he was honest with himself.
Though why did he have this feeling of foreboding...
"Brace yourself." Harry had said abruptly, breaking him from his wandering thoughts.
"Brace for whaaaaaaaaa-!" The Italian answered before he was launched from where he stood.
In the brief moment of time between when he was launched like a golden glowing ICBM that broke the sound barrier many times over by his companion's Authority to when he first struck the lapis lazuli wall that replaced stone of the island with his hardened facet there was only one thought that ran through his mind, firmly directed to his sly companion.
You will pay, bastard.
The initial collision with the wall was jarring but easily ignored. The second was about the same, no damage was done. As was the third and fourth. The fifth slowed him slightly. The sixth had him almost chewing the face of the semi-precious mineral.
The seventh, after he had hit several things he had been unable to identify due to the sheer velocity he was moving at, did have him chewing the local stone.
It took him a moment or two before he was able to haul himself from the foot deep impression he made before he stumbled around the cavern he found himself in, his brain rattled despite the Authority he was using. A nigh indestructible, heavy and steel-like body he may have had, even that couldn't simply shrug off being sent through multiple walls of mystical might.
Even Steel can be broken if struck hard enough.
So dazed was he that he almost missed the incoming attack, the axe gleaming a devilish gold and frosty blue as it cleaved the damp air for his seemingly vulnerable neck.
Clang! Crack!
The axe blade stopped dead upon contact within the Campione's rune ridden skin with the sound of metal meeting Steel - before simply shattering like spun glass. The Gallu who struck watched, in slow motion, mesmerised in disbelief, as the shards danced in the dim light of the full moon that now entered the cave.
His now no longer dazed opponent looked at the horned demon, the corner of his warrior's eyes glimpsing the shocked frozen forms of the rest of his brood, before smirking slightly.
"That all you got?" He quipped before smashing his fist into the beast's face, sending it flying backward with the sheer strength of his Steel arm.
As he swiftly unsheathed his blade, somehow still attached to his waist despite the unexpected missile impersonation, to face the others of the brood that reacted to the pain of their colleague, he wondered where the brat was.
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
Within the rubble of the cave wall, there a small shifting. A pebble twitched. The dust stirred for a moment. Then all was silent aside from the sounds of battle.
FWOOSH!
A feminine milky pale hand adorned with bangles of beautiful craftsmanship ripped through the load of stone upon its attached body seemingly grasping for something.
A simple gesture of the hand moving the many heavy stones that lay upon her, sending them flying, ended such speculation.
A growling tore the air as the dusty and battered Goddess rose from where she had been forcefully thrown, her shaking limbs and burning eyes having nothing to do with weakness and all to do with pure rage.
"Scum!" she hissed to herself as she stood on her own two feet, "thou wilt pay dearly for such disrespect!" She ended with a feral growl, her flashing a slitted green for a moment.
Ereshkigal took a deep breath, as if to calm herself before she approached the massive hole her own body created, her steps were firm but light, filled with a controlled purpose. With a cursory glance, she easily identified the participants of the battle, her Gallu loyal to the end. She was also able to place the Campione, for who else would have the power to storm her stronghold, as the foolish King of Swords, who had also slain her Consort/Pet.
She would take her pound of flesh from the blonde haired fool of swordsman at a later time. Maybe even make him her pet.
...
...
Or not. She had her standards. His particular brand and level of idiocy was far from acceptable to her.
She dismissed the unimportant imbecile, unconcerned with being detected and attacked by the insignificant man child of a Campione due to the her Authority, and sought her true prey, the Witch.
She was found easily enough. The girl was still in an insensate state, probably still exhausted and in a fair amount of pain from her interrupted ritual, amongst the still billowing dust and remnants of the furnishings she had used in her summoning. An issue she would take up with that fool in time. But not now, now was the time to reclaim her prize.
She calmly stood over the White Witch, a feline smirk of cruel pleasure marking her somewhat mussed features as she took in the sheer fear that filled the young woman's brilliant green eyes.
"'Twas unexpected for the vaunted King of Swords to make an appearance," the Queen of Irkalla said with mirth, "thy fool of an acquaintance even halted this one's ritual," the Queen frowned slightly, "this one will ensure to handle the matter at a later time but," the cruel smirk returned to the pale features of the Goddess as her deceptively delicate hand reached for the prone and defenceless Hime-Miko's white throat, "this one always finishes what hast been st-urrrk!" Ereshkigal felt herself once more sent flying by a blow she didn't anticipate.
She flew a short distance before tumbling and rolling to her feet all in one motion, her face split between shock at the blow she didn't detect and rage that she had been struck. Her face flushed a deep scarlet in rage, her flashing a slitted green for a bare moment. Her eyes locked upon the one who had dared to do so.
"Thou dare?!" She snarled with hate, "thou dare strike me, worm?!"
Her assailant, locked his brilliant green eyes with her own blue, hardened steel and a fierce anger alight in their depths, as he stood protectively before the Witch. The dust swirled around his legs, so thick as to obscure them from even her keen sight and keener senses, putting her slightly off of her game.
But it was his armour that surprised her.
It had to be armour, as despite impressive magical strength she could sense running through the skin tight iridescent metallic scales that covered the boy it did not have the aura of sheer feel of a Divine power.
It made him look like a human with snake scales.
"I dare," the youngest Campione responded, his voice quiet and lethal, "and now I dare once more."
As the younger boy exploded towards her with his ruby spear raised, Ereshkigal couldn't help but grin as a sickle sword of lapis lazuli appeared in her grip as she too shot towards her enemy.
It would a battle for the ages.
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
Away from the battles, ignored by the combatants, the corpses of the ritually slain began to twitch.
And around the neck of the almost paralysed and exhausted form of Alice, the pendant began to glow once more.
Pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb pbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb
Well folks, what do you think?
I hope you like the chapter and my apologies for not showing Doni's new Authority yet. I promise it will be in the next chapter.
Also I have decided that Harry will have both a avatar like authority similar to Verethragna but it will not be him or Vishnu that Harry obtains it from. Heck, it is not really based on avatars but it will be a multiple choice authority.
He will also have a weapon god and I have just the one to choose. Even if many of you out there will probably raise a hue and cry about it.
Incidentally, after this arc is over, there will a mini arc where Harry will make an appearance at Hogwarts, even if he won't be seen by any within the castle. Check out my story again and see if you can guess why.
Thanks for reading folks and remember to review.
Flamers shall be cast into the sea of fire
Cheers,
Kujikiri21