"I have overcome death itself, Harry Potter- I have stood upon the brink of passing on from this pitiful world and chosen to turn back from it, to endure and survive the cold enclosure of the beyond! What do you think you may do to me that would be great enough to match this feat? What do you possess that is capable of instilling a fear of anything more this world has yet to offer? I am immortal, boy; I will outlast all of your hopes and desires and grind the face of my opposition into the cold, uncaring, unforgiving grindstone of reality- no one who takes up wand or mere thought against me shall be allowed to carry on in the waking world!" Lord Voldemort ranted with his arrogance and power clearly consuming him from the inside out.
Harry Potter flicked his wand out to the side of the graveyard where they met, letting it sail out over the crowd of gathered Death Eaters and to crash against the stone reaper perched over a sullen and defiled grave beneath it. He had met the real unliving creatures in his time, and the stone figure was but a passing imitation of their true likeness, gaunt and grimly smiling as it was. Voldemort frowned at his casual display and discarding of his one tool that might have made a difference in their coming match, and he stepped forward with his anger beginning to grow. "You fool! I will not allow fourteen years of suffering to end on a moments notice! Pick up your wand, boy, and face me like the Wizard you are!" He commanded heavily and most definitely furiously.
Harry ignored it. "I don't need a wand to kill you, Voldemort. I don't need a simple construct of holly and phoenix feather, a base object to focus my magic through, to overcome you. I have long since learned alternative ways to bring my magic to the surface, long since surpassed the point you thought you had raised yourself toward, toward a pitiful height of potency with a shaft of wood held within your grasp- I am beyond focused magic and deep within wandless magic, stronger than you could ever hope to be or dream of matching if you lived a thousand years more. Cast what you will, Voldemort, and watch as I deny and deflect your every intention without a focus in my hands! Watch as I do exactly what I did when I was less than a full year old, and watch as I tear your soul from your body and raze it to the spectral ashes that the reapers hunger for and will gladly devour when this futile situation reaches its inevitable conclusion!" He matched the Dark Lord word for word in arrogance and power, telling no lie in his message of forewarning.
Voldemort hissed lowly, akin to the snake his body had so nearly become alike to, and with a flash like lightning he directed the Killing Curse forward in his rage.
Harry snatched something unseen from his hip and slashed his arm across the air before his face, bending the form of reality into a mirror-like reflection and rebounding the most potent of the Unforgivables back at the one who had cast it at twice the speed.
Voldemort could not dodge at that speed- it struck him in the center of the forehead and speared a knut sized hole straight through the freshly expanded skull, carved a path into the middle of the right and left halves of his brain, and dropped him dead upon his knees, arms held uselessly by his side, as his neck craned back and stared up at the cloudless night sky.
A hushed silence fell upon the graveyard of Little Hangleton at that, as the gathered Death Eaters observed their master's disgrace and death in-person and from very nearly point blank range. Harry thrust his body forward and speared the ethereal wisps of smoke that began to emanate up from the flesh beneath it, as the wraith of Voldemort was returned into that which he had so briefly succeeded from. Anguish untold spread across his mangled, twisted features, as his return to living flesh and mortal body was taken from him by the very same foe that had destroyed his born-in form. Harry swung his unseen object toward the wrath, but to Voldemort's eyes, he saw clearly now the spiritual weapon clasped in the boy-wizards hands.
The Japanese styled sword was long and thin, white as bone marrow, and saturated in his spiritual energy- a shade of emerald green so dark, so black and twisted with power hitherto hidden from view, that it pulsated in shades of violence and thrummed with promised vengeance. Here he turned to flee, having espied a weapon that could indeed harm him, but his speed was diminished and his distant mind hazy with his fear and doubts, and a full third of his body was cut off by the first slash of that deathly katana. His sunken lips pulled part and a bellow of misery lanced out into the quiet air, a screech of hideous pain and visceral depth.
Harry carried forward unaffected and brought his zanpakutou around for the next attack, carving another spread of unliving energy free as it was purified and reduced to the barest aspect of spiritual energy, reiryoku. "You've been a pest for all too long on this world, Tom. Enjoy your non-afterlife as particles offered up to the first hungry hollow that comes forward for it," Harry said with out emotion suffusing his tones. It was a flat, empty message, as his own reatsu began to spiral in the night sky like a beacon for any nearby and roaming creature.
He contemplated the merits of leaving what remained of Voldemort to them, in the hope that perhaps his prophecised nemesis would be able to survive the process and be reborn into a Menos Grande, that he might show enough resolution to endure into Gillian of the highest class and come back as an Adjuchas, and later still perhaps become an Arrancar proper.
Then he shoved his sword through the wraiths purplish, transparent skull and burned his energy apart into reiryoku ashes, because the sooner he got rid of Voldemort and escaped the fucked up hold this dimension had on magic, afterlife, and everything therein and could return to a world that was normal again, the better. He didn't even know how it was possible for his personality to bend as it seemingly always did whenever he hung around too long on one of these worlds, but he was going to make sure he shoved the katana deep within his armory and try to forget it even existed once he was done. He didn't need another personality clashing with him, and he was quite sure this screwed up version that was thinking of sparing Voldemort would clash time and again to try and keep him here if he left it unchecked.
Ugh, Bleach. Why did I write this way back when? A potential piece of history for the DimensionHopping!Harry we are seeing in Last Dragonrider, but don't bloody count on it.