Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, Paris, France.
The crunch of boots echoed along the serpentine pavement of the desolate cemetery, silent tombstones watching on as the group descended along the long-forgotten path.
Well-worn cloaks hugged the oncoming figures, the grey sheen of the draping cloaks reflecting in the moonlight. The group in question moved in a predatory fashion, their movements signalling an air of menace. Each stride was swift and minimal, each footfall an ode to efficiency, their postures hard and calculating. Danger blared around them in warning, lest someone is met with a stern reminder of who was who in the ladder of society.
A hand promptly raised to alert the group to stop, a muttered reply shortly followed. "It's too still for my liking."
The hawk-faced man who'd voiced his concern then turned to meet the inquiring stares of the group. The man's thick grey sideburns indicated a distinct savageness as he spoke again in a gruff voice to reaffirm his thoughts. "Call me paranoid but walking into madness unsettles me."
"Aye." Came the curt reply from Neptune, who stood adjacent to the hawk-faced man. It appeared he too was taking a precautionary stance. But then again, Neptune never really had much to say...
Virgo gave a haughty laugh as she took in the scowling form of the hawk-faced man. Frustration never ceased to amuse the woman. She smirked devilishly, a sinful type of smile that would encroach lust on any lesser male. The group remained unfazed however, they'd been around Virgo too long to take any notice of it. Virgo continued to speak in her usual saccharine-sweet tone.
"Why Romulus, my dear. Paranoia is part of the job."
Romulus just grunted in acknowledgement. It seemed the hawk-faced man wasn't keen on letting Virgo string him along as his eye twitched in annoyance.
Shrugging off Virgo's playfulness, Romulus turned to the last member of the group. A lean man with cropped raven hair and piercing emerald eyes.
"And you Peverell?" Came Romulus' questioning voice of authority.
The raven-haired man simply shrugged and spoke casually. "We're here to eliminate Lestrange." Peverell continued. "Virgo is right, we're heading through the front door of our enemy, paranoia should be second nature."
Romulus grumbled his protest. "I still detest the mission briefing, no intel, no scouting of the location. Damn Confederation ordered a hit and run and we're in the bloody dark."
The raven-haired man inclined his head in agreement. Romulus was a veteran, a grizzled man with a keen sense of awareness, hardened from countless covert operations. If he said something was amiss, then Peverell would agree with his judgement, the ambient magic alone in the cemetery was misaligned, someone or something had broken the natural law of magic here.
Romulus gave a snarl as he spoke decidedly. "We move on, we've got no choice. I don't fancy being memory charmed."
Neptune, Virgo, and Peverell all nodded in agreement. Abandonment of the mission was an immediate call for the resignation and obilvation of any ICB operative. Even though they were honour-bound to follow their oaths, the ICW didn't take any chances of their dirty laundry being aired to the wizarding public.
Peverell wasn't pleased about it either. He had a name once, an identity, but he had fallen like so many before him to the lure of duty. He'd been a green boy back then, working the rungs of a simple Auror in his homeland of Britain, his fame however had rankled him. Storied killer of a Dark Lord, a survivor of a curse that had killed all before, the masses had adored him. He hadn't been able to escape it either. Promotions were thrown at him without judgement upon his skill or merit of ability, youngest junior Auror since the founding of the Ministry, the papers had loved it. But Peverell detested being a prop for the ministry.
The raven-haired man held a sharp grimace. Regret was now an old friend, he'd chosen this path rather than the quiet life he could've had, a married life with children, a garden, and that white picket fence he'd dreamed of having as a child.
A family and home to call his own was nothing but an ill-forgotten notion now.
Harry Potter… Yes, that was once his name, long before he joined the Aurors, long before he took Saul Croaker's offer to join the Unspeakables as a field operative when he sought refuge from the eyes of the public. He'd been good though within the ranks of the Unspeakables, too good. Violence came to him like a breath of air and the ICW, The International Confederation of Wizards came knocking after hearing rumours of his prowess with a wand.
An invitation to join the ICB, a chance to become an International Confederate Battlemage, the elite of the elite. Just how could he refuse? To be an ICB operative was the daydream of an Auror and the hope of any Unspeakable. You couldn't simply just find the ICB either, no. They had to find you.
He was an International Confederate Battlemage now, the biggest, baddest fish in the sea. You had to be more than deadly to join the ranks, you had to become a nightmare made flesh.
Peverell had been thrilled at first, finally, someone was acknowledging the merit of his skill, bestowing to him the highest honour possible to any law enforcement agent in wizarding society. He'd accepted immediately, ready to begin the next chapter of his life.
Then the conditions came…
Only later did Perverell realise the full implications. You couldn't just leave the ICB, the only way out was death or "infancy." You either died on the job or got memory charmed back to the earliest days of your childhood if you tried to leave. The oaths taken were unbreakable. The lucky few lived their days out as instructors.
Corruption was rampant within the ICW, the missions Perverell had taken since his recruitment was a testament to that.
Romulus headed the group towards the entryway of the Lestrange Mausoleum, Neptune and Virgo standing adjacent to the savage looking man.
Still to this day, Peverell didn't know their real names. ICW honour oaths forbade the exchanging of identities and complex enchantments barred most of the public from remembering their faces. ICB operatives were ghosts, shadows of society.
Through the weathered years of their formation, Peverell suspected their real identities, Mages were few and far between, Archmages even less. Romulus, the Wolf of Attica. Neptune the Trident of Sofia and Virgo the Red Maiden. Codenames that gave some credence of information to their past, he himself kept his given codename as Peverell, the Herald of Death from his time as an Unspeakable operative.
Their code names were the only things left of the past they had to cling on to, the last semblance of identity the ICW granted them before they were mandated to cut off all connections to family and society. Civilian life was a luxury that all of them doubted seeing again.
Romulus, Neptune and Virgo had never queried if he was The Harry Potter. If they knew, they simply shrugged it off, or simply didn't care. They all knew the relationship of the squad was best kept professional. The ICW had broken them into disciplined killing machines.
Four years, four years was how long Peverell had been a puppet of the ICW. Four years he'd been running missions as part of the Black Malaclaw squad. The name was fitting, only bad luck and misery befall any unfortunate soul who decided to stand in their way.
The rapt sheet the Black Malaclaws had developed had become legendary. Assassinating the stardust kingpin Mirza Rahmani, toppling the Venezuelan Ministry of Magic, underground battles with necromantic constructs that guarded the staff of Merlin. Infamy had become the group in succeeding where others had failed.
Peverell knew better however, the Black Malaclaw squad were the show ponies for the ICW. Their exploits were announced with great gusto in their victories for making the world a better place. But the truth, well it had been bitter ash for the Raven haired man to swallow. The ICW had reaped the rewards, the higher ups funnelling their pockets.
The stardust was now managed by the elitist groups of wizarding society who had connections to the ICW. Purebloods and Oldbloods choked the streets of Magical Europe and Magical America with the deadly narcotic. With Rahmani gone, border control concerning magical imports from the Middle East had become lackadaisical. Go figure that the wizarding elite wouldn't want their profits stemmed now that the tariff was removed from Rahmani's homeland of Lebanon.
Magical Venezuela saw its problems as well, the Black Malaclaw squad had been too meticulous in their removal of the dictator Aguilera from his pedestal as Minister of Magic. The puppet government that had been inserted as per the wishes of the ICW were a nasty bunch indeed. The few remaining vestiges of the Latin-American Veela colonies in Venezuela had been forced into the international sex trade as a consequence. Social reforms had come into play to demote all Veela as second-class citizens. You could almost see the red tape by the ICW, the confederate in the media boasted about a new era of peace for Venezuela, while behind the backstage, seedy politicians channelled the Veela minority into the hands of Magical Oligarchs and criminals for generous donations in their re-election campaigns.
Even the staff of Merlin had been pawned off to some wealthy patron of the ICW, rather than placed in a museum. That's all it was in the end, countless missions and countless strings of corruption taking hold.
The raven-haired man clenched his fist, experimentally testing the elasticity of his fingers. 'No need to dwell in your memories,' Peverell told himself. They were here for Lestrange after all. A smirk appeared on the Raven haired man's face, delight flickered in the subtle glow of his emerald eyes. Rastaban Lestrange was finally going to meet his fate.
Peverell had hunted the last Lestrange for over a decade but the aging wizard was crafty, hiding had become a second skin for the last supporter of Britain's former Dark Lord. Peverell wasn't happy about it either, the demise of Lord Voldemort had left Rastaban to flee into the safest hole he could find.
The youngest Lestrange had become more erratic over the years dealing with the grief of his brother's death. During Peverell's stay at the Auror Department, a warrant had been issued for the arrest of Rastaban Lestrange, the green light given to kill Rastaban on sight. Still even as the last Lestrange became more and more prone to madness. Reports continued to crop up of Rastaban's volatile nature and spree of murders as he battled his grief. Rastaban had become more elusive and all the more dangerous in his desperation for revenge.
Magical Britain had implored the ICW to take the matter into their own hands, but the ICW had waved them off stating that Rastaban was just another Dark Wizard.
The ICW had made the rogue Lestrange a priority of little concern as he traversed magical Europe leaving innocents short of life. All of this was fine in the eyes of the ICW, they monitored a multitude of Dark Wizards, some were even benefactors.
Except Rastaban crossed a line in his ever frequent outbursts of rage. It seemed the last Lestrange had killed another person, or the right person Peverell supposed.
Thierri Herbert, a French diplomat and liaison to the ICW. A man of some significance of who's who in the world met his end at the other side of Rastaban's wand in a downtrodden bar in Nice.
Naturally, the ICW had been furious, you couldn't just eliminate one of their own and live to tell the tale. No, Rastaban's demise was to be a message to all budding and veteran Dark Wizards. ICW members were off limits.
No questions had to be asked why the Black Malaclaws were dispatched and given the task of seeing justice done for Thierri Herbert. The usual vitriol of pride, country and honour were spilled to the masses about seeing the "deranged Lestrange" paying the price.
Peverell just wished Rastaban had picked someplace less conspicuous to hide. The Père Lachaise Cemetery was smack bang in the middle of Paris after all. If the last Lestrange decided to put up a fight, then the obliviators were going to have a field day cleaning up the fireworks.
The Raven Haired man frowned. He understood why Romulus was unsettled. It was almost as if Rastaban knew he was going to die and simply accepted his fate. The intel provided by the ICW had placed Rastaban as camping out in the Lestrange Mausoleum.
The Mausoleum was coming upon them as they verged closer. Peverell's hand instinctively clamping down upon the grooves of his wand, Snakewood. Basilisk heartstring, 11 and three-quarter inches in length. 'Let Lestrange come,' Peverell thought. He was a war hardened Battlemage, time and time again he'd come victorious, his wand a witness to his power as a mage. "Only the powerful may call themselves a mage, only the powerful." The raven haired man murmured.
Neptune flicked his wand up, swirling it in the air before casting a wordless Homenum revelio. The charms expert of the group, then banished the spell towards the rest of the group wandlessly, letting the spell ripple out and sink deep into the ground.
Transparent blue shades of enemy hostiles blared into the vision of Romulus, Virgo and Peverell.
"Hmm.." Romulus mused. "It seems Lestrange has company."
Peverell's nostrils flared. Company was an understatement, eighty to a hundred enemy combatants were entrenched within the cavernous catacombs of the Lestrange Mausoleum. The majority seemed to be based at the antechamber, guarding the main chamber Peverell surmised. Descending would be dangerously deadly but within reason for a group of their calibre.
"There's too few to call in support." Romulus groused. "We're on our own."
"Huh," Virgo said softly in surprise. "Who would've thought that the big bad Lestrange would be entertaining friends."
Peverell growled. "I've tracked Lestrange for the latter part of my life before the ICB. I've never read a report of him being friendly."
Romulus stroked his grizzled sideburns. "It doesn't matter, Peverell. We're here in the moment, if need be we'll carve our way through like so many times before."
"Neptune." Romulus barked. "Cast a wide area identification spell. I want to know if any of Lestrange's associates have any spell signatures that match the Confederate criminal database and any magical markings that correlate to extremist branches on the watchlist."
"Aye Romulus," Neptune replied. "It'll be done."
The Trident of Sofia grunted as he raised his wand to cast to the Revelare sigillum and Revelare notae spells. Neptune grimaced as his spells wouldn't cooperate and turned to voice his frustration to Romulus.
"They've warded themselves in Romulus. Damn near Goblin Grade, runic matrices have been spellbinded too. Whatever is going on, it's on a need to know basis and I don't like it one bit."
The Wolf of Attica acknowledged this. Thinking deeply before turning to Virgo, Romulus snapped at the Red Maiden. "Tear them to the ground, cause an earthquake if you have to."
"Why Romulus." Came the ever so sweet voice of Virgo as she unveiled her hood, "I thought you'd never ask."
The auburn hair of Virgo shined its red lustre as she stepped forward to deal with the wards. The loveliness of her face was only illuminated in the moonlight as the singular black slit eye on the left side of her face began to blaze with a macabre intensity.
An intense look of concentration could be seen upon Virgo's face as she scrunched her brow pinpointing the nature of the wards and where to fracture them.
"Peverell my dear," Virgo gritted felicitously as she withdrew her gaze from the wards and smiled wickedly at him. "Do be a darling and help me in cracking these Runic matrices, their additional protections make splitting the wards nigh impossible."
Virgo finished with a frown. "I've rarely seen wards like this, usually I can make the wards obsolete."
"Enough of the flirting Virgo. You can do that later." Romulus grumbled and questioned sceptically. "Just how advanced are the protections?"
Virgo gave a contemplative look at Romulus for a second before she spoke. "There's a Zoroastrian cremation ward that's a trifle to get around but they get more obscure after that. The Olmec ward I've only encountered once before, the ward issues a thousand cuts. A nasty ward to say the least that bleeds you out. Spelled to be unhealable. The others are a Lethian sorrow and memory loss ward and the other well…" Virgo trailed off. "It's sinister. An Eldritch temporal ward, if I'm not mistaken, absolutely reeks of Black Magic. I can't exactly determine its purpose, only that you'll be stuck in an infinite time loop designed to replay your worst nightmares again and again till you dissolve into insanity.
Virgo shuddered and voiced quietly. "The Olmec ward is preferable to that abomination."
Romulus nodded gravely. If Virgo of all people was concerned with the wards, someone who was gifted with the Eye of the Graeae, able to bulldoze wards with a flick of her wand then it spoke trouble.
"Peverell," Romulus growled. "I want every Runic matrix ground to dust, Virgo's ward splitters should be able to penetrate the fracture points once you're done."
Peverell gave a grim nod and set to work. The raven haired man closed his eyes, reaching outward with his mind to search for the magic in the runic tethers.
Runes were his speciality, the magic that called to him, the magic that spoke to him tenderly as a mother would croon lovingly to her injured child.
Peverell smirked as the light show started to glow around his body. One of the perks of being a Runic was the ability to channel runes through your body as a living conduct.
This was where normal wizards failed, a symbol carved onto a normal wizard was just a symbol, a blessing of luck at best. But Peverell had been granted the ability to absorb runes, he was an exception to the rule of materialism, even though he was an organic construct, born of flesh and blood. Runes could serve him, be bent to his will and it made him all the more deadly because of it.
Standing tall. Peverell glowed like a lighthouse at sea, runes blazed through his grey cloak and robes making him comparable to the constellations in the nighttime sky. One by one Peverell searched for the runic matrices that blocked their entry.
Reaching down with his mind into the vast catacombs of the Mausoleum, Peverell instinctively felt out the Runic tethers and crumbled them into dust.
The first rune matrix, the Raven haired man encountered sitting upon the upper floors of the catacombs was the primary symbol of Faravahar, the symbol was combined with a couple of other lesser symbols of Persian origin. They'd been carved into the first point of the ward lattice. This rune matrix that had been designed allowed the wards to be cohesive and have complete operationality.
Swiftly Peverell shattered the matrix with his ability to bend runes to his will and moved on. Searching and scanning deeper into the catacombs another rune matrix cropped up into his mind. Aramaic inscriptions this time, these runes fuelled the power of the wards, allowing them to maintain themselves without the need for a ward stone. Drawing upon his will, Peverell clenched his fist and cracked the Aramaic inscriptions into fine powder.
"Only the central point and we should be good to go," Peverell murmured to himself as he moved onto the final runic matrix that served as the main focal point for the wards to hold themselves upon.
The runic matrix was alien, the tongue incomprehensible. The very stone seemed to be crying from having to hold the ward, the tongue written upon the stone anathema even to a Runic. Malevolence seemed to be imprinted into the fibre of the stone.
Disgusted, Peverell ground the final Rune matrix to dust and returned to tell the group the news.
Peverell spoke. "It's been done. The matrices are no more, I'd like to question whoever designed the last matrix, however. I was completely baffled and repulsed by it."
"Good. Good. It's a question for another day Peverell, we have a job to do." Romulus said, pleased and continued. "Virgo when you're ready."
Virgo nodded, the Eye of the Graeae engulfing the right side of her face in a black half coiled mask as the Red Maidan prepared once again to shatter the ward lattice.
Four ward splitters erupted from Virgo's wand seeking to fracture the weak points in the ward lattice.
The wards moaned under the onslaught, the pleading wails however went unnoticed by Virgo as she splintered the archaic ward system up the middle. A terrible shudder reverberated through the ground as the magic within the wards snapped from the shear strain of Virgo's magic charging through the wards like wet paper.
Finally, the reverberations of the wards shattered. A fanfare of reds, greens, blues and yellows erupted from the ground, the very magic collapsing and making its escape.
"Well done." Romulus barked keenly. "It's time to show these meagre wizards what ICB operatives can do."
"Neptune," Romulus announced again. "I want another scan for spell signatures and magical markings. I want to know what we're up against."
The Trident of Sofia compiled recasting the Revelare sigillum and Revelare notae spells wordlessly as the magic sunk into the ground searching for its targets.
A couple of seconds of silence passed before Neptune removed a tattered book from the inside pocket of his cloak and tapped his wand upon it.
Peverell smirked. This little book of beauty was a magical database for all enterprising criminals. Aurors recorded spell signatures dutifully so crimes could be traced to the culprit if they were caught.
The Trident of Sofia frowned as he opened the front page, blue spindles of writing forming along the page.
"There's some good news and there's bad news. I've got a reading but you're not going to like it." Neptune muttered looking up from the pages.
"Give me the good news first." Romulus acknowledged. "I always enjoy hearing the good news, better to see if it's beneficial or not. Best to get an idea whether or not you're going to follow through."
The Trident of Sofia spoke in a hard voice. He was a muscular man, well proportioned from constant combat. Not much intimidated the former Bulgarian native but now even he seemed a little hesitant.
"The good news is Rastaban Lestrange is certainly holed up in the catacombs of the mausoleum. But…" Neptune continued.
"Go on," Romulus said impatiently.
The Trident of Sofia sighed and spoke again. "It seems Grimgor Grigorev is also alongside him."
"That means," Virgo said in shock. However the red maiden was cut off by the return of the Revelare notae, the spell had seemingly found a magical marking.
The symbol appeared blaring its defiance at the Black Malaclaw squad, the symbol of none other than the Cult of Chthon.
Peverell growled his displeasure. The Cult of Chthon were fanatics, to say the least. Worshippers of the Elder God of Cthulhu and practitioners of Eldritch horrors. The raven haired man had tangled with minor branches of the Cult of Chthon before, but Grimgor Grigorev was big news. Grigorev was the current leader of the cult whose aim was to bring back their chosen god Cthulhu from the land of the Nevermore. The Nevermore was a place sealed in time, in a different plane of existence by Merlin to prevent the return of the Elder Gods to earth.
But Cthulhu wasn't Peverell's concern right now. Grimgor Grigorev was an Archmage, one of the very few. It would take the combined effort of the Black Malaclaw squad to bring him down. There was a chance three wizards and one witch of a Mage calibre could attest to bringing down an Archmage but only just. It would be touch and go. Death was a definite possibility.
"We use piercing curses." Romulus finally decided, "I want deadly accuracy, shots to the head or heart. No fancy spells, we'll need to conserve our magical energy for Grigorev."
"It's decided then," Neptune spoke calmly. With Grigorev in the picture, the group had a reason to turn away. The ICW would understand.
"Yes," Virgo replied. "You boys know as well as I that we joined the ICB to make a difference. Grigorev has sacrificed countless innocents in his quest to resurrect Cthulhu.
Virgo continued. "Grigorev is a man bankrupt of morals and I'll see him suffer by my wand if need be."
None doubted the seriousness of the Red Maiden's tone.
"My mind is made up," Romulus announced. "I have no issue killing cultists, taking them down alongside Lestrange is a bonus."
"You'll always have my wand to protect your back," Peverall said in a rare moment of emotion. "Let's take down the rancid scum of an Archmage."
The Black Malaclaw squad resumed their predatory walk towards the wooden bronze hinged doors of the Mausoleum. An aura of despair and death encircled them, their magics perfusing from their bodies in a terrible warning of power. No quarter would be given.
"They're waiting behind the door," Neptune murmured. "Twenty of them."
The Trident of Sofia had now resumed maintaining the Homenum revelio spell. Sure enough, roughly twenty translucent hues of blue could be viewed behind the door.
"They dine in hell tonight." Romulus snarled wolfishly, his magic pulsating like a small hurricane.
"Agreed," Peverell said, his magic spitting like an insurmountable tide.
"Neptune." the Red Maiden called, her magic lashing against the ground deliciously toxic. "Be a gentleman and open the door. It would be rude not to be received by our hosts with open arms."
The Trident of Sofia gave a broad smile and compiled, twirling his wand in a complicated overhand before flicking his wand towards the broad two shouldered doors with a vicious strike.
Neptune however wasn't very gracious. Instead of a simple Alohomora, a torrent of metal burst forth. A large oversized hammer cascaded towards the innocent looking door before the deafening strike. Harðhugaður, the old Norse spell for the Hammer of Thor, devastated the door into wooden spindles.
"Showtime!" Virgo said with an impish giggle as the Cultists of Chthon recoiled from their front door being battered in.
The Cultists barely had time to resume shield charms as piercing curses and Tridents got launched with surgical accuracy.
The Trident of Sofia lived up to his name as conjured Tridents enchanted unbreakable were launched at terrifying speeds. Spearing Cultists left and right.
Romulus, Virgo and Peverell joined the fray as their piercing curses descended like a hail of rain, the cultists unable to match the storm of the mages before them, each cultist trying in vain to huddle behind their magical shields unable to mount an offence.
Peverell snarled grimly as he speared Cultist after Cultist on sharpened bolts of metal. Death fell before him in the relentless casting of the piercing curse. The Shield of Horus, a spell of Egyptian descent, coursed a brilliant gold that was maintained on his other arm wandlessly as the raven haired man continued to seek destruction on his enemies till there were none left.
Romulus gave a heavy breath as he inspected the surroundings of the front door of the Mausoleum. All that was left of the cultists were the dripping puddles of their lifeblood.
"We descend now," Romulus affirmed as he turned behind to meet the inquisitive stares of Neptune, Virgo and Peverell and spoke again.
"Standard practice, we rotate the front position to conserve energy."
All three nodded in understanding. No more words needed to be said.
It was a grim half-hour that was spent spearheading through the catacombs of the Lestrange Mausoleum. Cultists tried fruitlessly to prevent the advance of the Black Malacaws, but the squad was an efficient machine. Each deadly curse was dealt with in accordance with its risk level; marble was conjured to deal with the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse. The imperious curse was simply ignored, no cultist had the strength of will to overpower the mind of an ICB operative. Other obscure curses were battered away wandlessly or flicked back with deadly precision.
The Cultists began to dwindle in numbers, as again and again each of their number was mowed through with predatory grace. No cultists could match the Malaclaws in their agility or ferocity in close-ranged combat.
The antechamber eventually fell before the Malaclaws, no less than three dozen cultists were left.
"Lestrange and Grigorev lay ahead." Romulus said in a gruff. "Remember our training, we stick like glue and we don't separate. We're facing an Archmage, a titan of might. Throw your worst and hope for the best."
A cultist emerged from the main chamber of the mausoleum, a sickly green cloak hung around him. Face scared beyond recognition as he spoke in a high shrill voice.
"Bow down before the might of Cthulhu, may your worthless lives achieve a higher purpose by being sacrificed to the Lord of the Sea."
The cultist made to speak once more on the subject of his lord but Romulus, fed up with the devoted servant, launched a Guillotine Curse that separated the cultist's head from his body.
"Did I mention I hated Cultists?" Romulus muttered as he stepped over the body and walked towards the main chamber.
The main chamber flared in the torchlight, it was a wild expanse of stone stairs surrounding a raised circular dais in the middle. Seven altars could be seen with innocents upon them to sacrifice. It appeared a ritual was underway.
"You should've listened." A cold cutting voice said, resonating around the chamber.
The cold voice came from a man in a brown cardigan with a yellow-stained beard and gnarled teeth. The man in question was looking at them curiously and spoke. "I would've made your deaths less painless if you simply accepted the offer."
The man continued to muse to himself before muttering. "But now it's a matter of principle."
Romulus asked testily. "Grimgor Grigorev I presume?"
"The one and only," Grigorev replied with a menacing smile.
"Now that the introductions are out of the way." Virgo announced disdainfully, "Shall we become acquainted with our wands?"
"Ah!" Grigorev replied with delight. "You look familiar. Hmm, yes I see it. You must be the infamous Red Maiden, jailer of men's hearts."
"Unfortunately, sweetheart," Virgo said coyishly. "It's not your heart I've come to collect."
"That is a shame," Grigorev said in faux disappointment before continuing. "I suppose our dear friend Peverell is gladdened by the news. Tell me how long it has been, two years, three years?"
Virgo snarled and voiced dangerously. "He scratches my itch, that's it."
"Oh, I'm sure he does," Grigorev said in relish. "That little hotel apartment in Geneva was quite lavish wasn't it?"
Virgo seemed lost for words as she stared into the gleaming black orbs of Grigorev trying to decipher how he knew.
"How?" The Red Maiden finally whispered.
Grigorev grinned. "I have agents everywhere my sweet but have no fear, I won't reveal your secrets. After all…" Grigorev trailed off. "We are all friends here aren't we?"
Romulus growled. "I'd rather be friends with your lord, old squid face himself."
"Now, now." Grigorev tuttered. "Just what would your daughter think of you being so blasphemous. Heidi isn't it? little blonde thing of eight I believe." Grigorev said speculatively. "I'm quite hurt you never sent me an invite to that birthday party, only recently too. Heard it was lovely."
Romulus hand twitched, the latent magic around him swirling aggressively as he spoke. "It's a shame hell is your paradise Grigorev, but I'll settle for your death all the same. You crossed the line mentioning my daughter."
"Enough." Peverell voiced with authority as he snarled at Grigorev. "I won't you see getting under our skin. You've said your piece, now let me make it your last."
"Potter!" Came the delirious giggle of a man behind Grigorev. "Why is it really you? Do you know how long I've waited to slice your throat?"
It appeared the man was one of the few who could see through his recognition enchantment.
Peverell inspected the shabby man with long grey streaked black hair, the man was positively unhinged. He knew the face all the same...
Peverell greeted him. "Rastaban Lestrange, can't say it's a pleasure."
"But for me, you are a sight for sore eyes Potter," Rastaban replied before speaking with vitriol.
"You, ickle bitty little Potter are the reason Rodolphus and Bellatrix are gone. The reason my Lord is gone."
Peverell replied sarcastically. "If it bothers you, you'll be reunited soon enough."
"Well isn't that interesting," Grigorev said in elation butting in. "The elusive Harry Potter is none other than Peverell the Herald of Death."
Peverell looked at Grigorev sharply. "My oath prevents me from confirming or denying but I'm glad you'll know whose hand you'll fall by."
"Big words from a mage." Grigorev snarled. "But I suppose you do have the credentials to back it up."
Peverell grinned and spoke amusedly. "What can I say? Dark Lords are my speciality."
Grigorev returned the smile evilly. "Then let's dance Potter, let me show you the true power of a wizard."
"Begin the ritual." Grigorev continued in a shrill, flicking his wand and discarding his cardigan.
The old Archmage was now short of clothes from the waist up. Let it be said he presented an intimidating sight. His now bare chest was highlighted with flowing bronzed muscles and countless scars.
Grigorev snarled menacingly at the Malaclaws. "This little fight shouldn't take long."
With that Grigorev lashed out.
The expanse of the main chamber became suffocated in the miasma of Grigorev's power, the surrounding stone becoming saturated and enveloped in the sheer aura Grigorev surmounted.
Peverell gritted his teeth as he faced down the unholy aura of Grigorev. Pure malevolence radiated back. Thick coils of black vapour churned like a tidal bore, a whirlpool of malice and hate swirling erratically around the Archmage.
The tendrils of magic lashed forward, twirling dangerously, condensed manacles of viciousness and cruelty. 'Damn Grigorev,' Peverell thought. He knew exactly what the old Archmage was doing. Emotive binds. Grigorev, brilliantly, had weaponized his very emotions to spell cruelty and death to all those that touched the snapping tendrils of fury. This was pure unadulterated magic on another scale, no spell was needed. Grigorev merely needed to wrangle his emotions and magic into a singular purpose and that purpose was misery and death.
Peverell barely had time to raise a Helian shield to defend himself against the black ropes of death that came streaming forward. The sunlight shield groaned under the esoteric tendrils of magic. The raven haired man breathed a sigh of relief, the Helian shield held. Thankful; Peverell braced himself for another onslaught of pure magic.
Romulus could be seen with a wolfish grin as he slashed at the tendrils of death with the Flame of Ra. His very wand had burst forth into a sword of fire, encompassing its very essence: light, warmth, and growth as Romulus slashed again and again, slicing tendril after tendril. An Atlas shield could be seen maintained wandlessly on his other hand to protect himself from unsuspecting strikes.
Neptune pitted his very magic against Grigorev. Calling forth an Archon, an archon was the avatar of a wizard or witch's magic, a mobile human shield, indomitable to all but the Killing Curse. The Trident of Sofia's archon did its job well, deflecting any tendrils of Grigorev's magic while allowing Neptune to try to hone in on the Archmage with one of his piercing tridents.
Virgo had opted to use the Declinatio Spell. A kinetic shield that wrapped around the caster's body offering absolute protection from head to toe, the spell was complicated to master as whilst the spell offered insurmountable protection, no spell could be sent from the caster whilst the shield was active. It was a spell of pure defence that one had to cast on and off in conjunction with offensive spells for any devastation to be achieved.
Virgo did that wholeheartedly as the kinetic shield blinked in and out of existence around her as she barrelled towards Grigorev with volleys of the Eviscero and Depletura curse. It was clear by the Red Maidens choice of the Entrail-Expelling Curse and Bloodletting Curse that she wanted Grigorev to suffer before he met his downfall.
Peverell scowled as he looked down at Grigorev, the old Archmage was batting down Neptune's tridents and Virgo's spells with horrifying ease. 'Time to up the ante,' The raven haired man thought, delving deep and thinking out the spell he wanted. 'Scythen Domini Temporis'. A quartet of keenly sharp scythes materialised around Peverell, the Scythes of Kronos to be precise.
Each scythe spiralled in the air wickedly behind the raven haired man before Peverell flicked his wand forward. Peverell didn't expect the scythes to take out Grigorev. No. All Peverell needed was a nick, just enough to draw blood. The scythes of Kronos manufactured hysteria upon contact, allowing the target to be taken down easily after.
Grigorev in the maelstrom of his aura simply gave Peverell a look of annoyance and flicked his hand, wandlessly banishing the scythes as if they were a trifle to deal with.
Peverell wasn't done however and rummaged into a subset of magic all Runics had, Rune binding. Unlike normal wizards and witches, Runics could transcribe runes and glyphs upon the air. If said Rune or Glyph was banished forth upon the target and the right rune or glyph was selected. Troublesome was an understatement.
Quickly Peverell began his rune chain, Eihwaz for death, Thurisaz for defence and lastly Laguz transcribed upside down for weakness. Peverell banished them forward.
Grigorev was too preoccupied with managing to combat Neptune, Virgo and now Romulus who'd finished up with his slicing of the Tendrils.
Romulus was now grounding the tendrils against his Atlas shield whilst spitting Ethiopian Withering Curses and Cremation Curses from his wand, much to the chagrin of the Archmage.
Still, Grigorev maintained his composure taking the combined efforts of the Malaclaws without breaking a stride. Banishing, vanishing and sending out emotive binds of death came easily to the Archmage and his well of power was a cacophony of malaise never subsided.
It seemed Grigorev was too drunk on his power to realise the rune binds darting forth, however, too preoccupied with the efforts of Romulus, Neptune and Virgo trying to send him to an early grave. Grigorev was momentarily stunned when the Rune of Death came head on to send the old Archmage to meet his maker.
There was a reason though Grigorev gained his infamy and a Thureos shield coalesced, the shield of faith blocking the rune. Grigorev snarled as the next rune came in.
The Thurisaz rune had been carefully sent by Peverell, instead of being thrown straight at Grigorev like most Rune Bindings, Peverell had swiftly seen the chance to latch the Rune onto one of Neptune's tridents.
A singular trident gleamed through the horde of tridents Neptune sent at the old Archmage. Most were banished away but this one found its mark, clanging against the Thureos shield, with devastating force, the added buffer of the Thurisaz rune shattered the shield.
Grigorev was on the backpedal.
Desperately Grigorev tried to conjure another shield to see out the battle but Laguz, the inscription now reversed for weakness rather than strength, hit true. The old Archmage had been too late in stopping the last Rune.
Grigorev had tried to raise a Tarquinius shield, named after Tarquin the Proud. A shield of absolute unassailability but the Laquz rune had bound Grigorev's strength and the Tarquinius shield faltered.
Grigorev was unable to stop Romulus's Ethiopian Withering Curse honing in. The curse colliding into the chest of the archmage, black murky ink splats expanding rapidly through the now frail man's body.
"You shouldn't have said anything about my daughter," Romulus growled and voiced aggressively. "We might've seen the use in taking you in for questioning."
Grigorev gave a wheeze and coughed. "It doesn't matter, my, my. " Cough* "Legacy is secure, all that's left is my final piece of magic."
The Malaclaws tensed, expecting Grigorev's last act of defiance was to send some horrible piece of magic at them. If only it was true…
"Immolo animam meam," Grigorev whispered. Light crescendoed around the old Archmage before his body dispersed into nothingness.
"Shit," Peverell muttered.
Grigorev had intoned the prayer of Devotio, first uttered by Publius Decius Mus when he vowed to offer himself as a sacrifice to the infernal gods.
A ripping sound could be heard above them as a warp appeared shimmering ethereally.
Further down the chamber Rastaban cried."Yes, we've done it!" It was then the Malaclaws realised they'd been too late. The seven altars that once housed the innocents upon them were now bled out.
"Done what?" Romulus growled.
"We've resurrected our lord of course!" Rastaban exclaimed. "A Lord who can never die!"
"Quiver before me, worthless mortals." An alien voice spoke in a harsh tongue beyond the warp. "For after millennia of imprisonment you will face my judgement once again."
Staring down at them from beyond the warp was none other than the Lord of Sea, Cthulhu and it appeared he was once again about to make his entry into the world of humanity.
"It's not possible," Virgo said ashen faced. "Merlin himself imprisoned the Elder Gods in the Nevermore."
"But you see the brilliance now don't you!" Rastaban inquired and carried on. "Merlin imprisoned the Elder Gods millennia ago in this very room."
"Lestrange," Peverell growled. "Even for your madness, this goes too far."
"Madness and genius are the same things," Rastaban said deliriously as he delved in a monologue. "The name Lestrange means 'outside, foreign'.
Rastaban continued excitedly. "This mausoleum isn't meant to just house the line of Lestrange, no this very Mausoleum is a space-time axis to the Nevermore. The Noble family of Lestrange were trusted to be the gatekeepers of the nevermore. We were supposed to keep 'The strange away.'
Rastaban then grinned and voiced perplexedly. "But I've broken the oath of my lineage, why should we keep beings greater than ourselves locked away?"
"Is there any way to stop it?" Virgo questioned dangerously.
The warp above them continued to expand and expand.
"No," Rastaban said happily. "That's the beauty of it."
Peverell snarled at Rastaban, disgust evident on his face. A flick of his wand and the Percutio curse punched a hole in the last Lestranges head. Rastaban didn't even have time to blink before he slumped to the ground.
Romulus, Neptune and Virgo didn't miss a beat either, the remaining cultists who watched on were cut down swiftly before they could even try to fight back.
Virgo directed her gaze back to the gaping maw of the warp, a inhumanly long green finger was beginning to push through.
"Can we think of anything to stop it?" The Red Maiden said softly with a voice that lacked her usual enigmaticness.
"We're in the last stand now," Romulus muttered. "All I can think of is that we stay and fight it out. Give a chance for humanity to prepare herself."
"We stay. I agree." Virgo said in conviction. "We give humanity a chance. "
"Aye," Neptune said in joint agreement. "We'll send a Patronus to the ICW, warn them what's coming. It'll be an honour for me to die by your side."
"And yours my friend," Romulus replied to Neptune.
Virgo laughed and replied dejectedly, "We dug too deep this time boys, it's been a wild ride but at least we'll leave in a blaze of glory."
Peverell hadn't chosen to comment, the raven haired man at the moment was brooding, playing with a pendant around his neck.
"No," Peverell announced, having made his decision. "I won't see you fall for no reason other than self-sacrifice."
The raven haired man continued and sighed. "I'll stay, I'm the only one who has a chance."
"But. Peverell." Virgo said in shock and disbelief. "You can't. There's no way you can battle an Elder God on your own."
Peverell smirked at Virgo and spoke curiously. "Who said I was on my own?"
The pedant floated off Peverell's neck and into his hand, splitting into three objects of storied legend as they swirled around.
"The Hallows," Virgo whispered.
Realisation gleamed in Romulus's and Neptune's eyes as they understood why Peverell elected to stay behind, they all knew the power of the trinity of Death.
"Yes," Peverell replied. "With their assistance, I'll be able to keep Cthulhu away long enough. But you can't be here, I won't allow it."
"You're a good man Peverell," Romulus said gravely and chuckled. "Possibly the best I've met and I've met a damn lot of people in my time."
"Thank you, Peverell," Neptune said quietly in a deep baritone. "You will be missed."
Virgo, however slightly teary, smiled wickedly at Peverell, before Peverell even had a chance to react, the Red Maiden dragged him into a steamy kiss.
Once satisfied she drew back and said softly in a mournful tone, "If we'd just gone down a different path, we might've had a chance."
Peverell gave Virgo a warm smile and spoke. "I wish the same but It's in the past. All we can do is look to fate for tomorrow."
Virgo just nodded, tears beginning to streak down her pretty face.
Romulus coughed, breaking up the tender moment and nodded his goodbye. "We'll meet again Peverell."
Neptune murmured his agreement. "Of that, you can be sure."
Peverell watched the solemn figures of Romulus and Neptune leave the main chamber with a teary eyed Virgo. His heart panged to see them go but he damn it, he didn't have a choice.
With a wave of his wand, the pendant returned back to its triangulated form. The three objects of legend amalgamating back to the true power of the Hallows. Swiftly, Peverell threw the pendant on the cobbled floor of the chamber and spoke. "It's time, old friend."
Shadow and vapour streamed from the pendant as a skeletal figure rose, with a gleaming elongated scythe and said. "It's been a while, master. How may I serve?"
"Death," Peverell replied. "You should know I only call you out of necessity."
"And what is the necessity this time?" Death rasped.
The grimace on Peverell's face was evident as he voiced coldly. "An Elder God is making its emergence."
The raven haired man then pointed to the clawed hand trying to push through the warp and said. "I can't fight him alone."
Death cackled in excitement. "Finally a worthy adversary, we shall put this Elder God to the test."
Peverell nodded and simply watched on in silence as this Eldritch creature from aeons ago made its reemergence. The primordial being of evil continued to strain against the warp but finally, after moments untold, the Lord of the Sea walked the mortal plane once more.
Peverell smirked as Cthulhu made its gangly fall from the warp. Leaving a devastating impact upon the ground, rising soot and dust. Who would've thought a God could be so graceless?
The Lord of the Sea was smaller than imagined, not the hundreds of meters tall as the stories told. Cthulhu was maybe thirty feet in height and a sixth of that across.
Peverell stared down the creature head-on, monster was a more accurate description. With its anthropoid outline octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. Peverell could admit the unknown number of tentacles surrounding its supposed mouth was a little unnerving.
The Lord of the Sea finally surfaced from the ground. Towering into the air of the main chamber. Cthulhu then pointed at Peverell with an oversized finger and asked sinisterly.
"Who are you to stand before me?"
"I am Peverell." The raven haired man replied. "The Herald of Death."
"Shall we send this caricature of a human back to the depths master?" Death asked from behind. The personification of death had chosen to wait in the shadows for their opponent.
"Indeed Death," Peverell said disgustedly. "The world has no place for this abomination."
The duel of Gods began.
The Lord of the Sea bellowed its rage at the insult, tentacles outstretched in a vicious snarl. The multi-ton behemoth lumbered forward, keen on snuffing out Peverell from existence.
"Now," Peverell called as he and death became one.
Shadow coiled around Peverell as he faced down Cthulhu like an unshakable monolith of might, for Peverell was now Death and Death was now him. Souls screamed out to him in the expanse of the world, Peverell feeling the strings of fate attached to all of them. Briefly, he acknowledged he would be the collector of souls and their guardian, there wasn't a chance he'd allow an upstart like Cthulhu to infringe on his domain.
The elongated Scythe spun upon Peverell's hands as he faced down the foe. Umbra leaked out from his very aura, shadow and vapour screaming its resistance. Death was duality, existence and nonexistence and the very Elder God before him opposed all that was sacred.
Peverell snarled and flew through the air to meet the oversized green elephant head-on.
The deafening clang of conflict reverberated around the chamber as each immovable force of power sort dominion over the other.
Cthulhu bellowed in pain as Peverell slashed down with the strength of ten thousand men, the green blubber peeling open like a pulped orange. The Lord of the Sea reared back at the mortal blow, screaming its outrage.
The stakes raised as a tidal wave of water began to fountain around Cthulhu.
Peverell gritted his teeth as the once green ichor that had gushed out of his enemy was now transparent scars, the damned leviathan had healed itself.
"You should have taken care with your strike, Peverell." The Lord of the Sea goaded maliciously. "Now all you'll find is a watery grave."
Sickly green orbs of energy were spun into existence suddenly. Cthulhu's Eldritch might streamed out in vile undertones of foulness. The sickly green balls were launched forth and Peverell's umbra of power met it toe-to-toe.
Green and black swirled in an unholy matrimony of violence, the very room beginning to crack under the strain of the Eldritch and the Arcane. Still, the duel continued as the two powers of calamity tried to knock their opponent down.
Balls of pure magic rained back and forth, some deflected, some reflected, the only certainty in the battle of titans was each opponent was trying to obliterate the other.
"Peverell." Death cried in warning.
"Yes?" Peverell thought annoyedly as he returned a barrage of Arcane energy at the Lord of the Sea.
"The room!" Death continued to cry from the vestiges of Peverell's mind. "It's a space-time axis, it's sensitive to energies beyond the mortal norm."
Death tried to emphasize just what the risks could mean if the space-time axis was shattered from within. But it was too late, the battle had swelled to its zenith.
Peverell and Cthulhu on their last legs amounted to one final dance of the Eldritch and the Arcane. The depleted foe's shooting two great spheres of energy that collided with each other. The spheres hovered in the mid air, protesting vehemently, each trying to surmount the other. It seemed a stalemate would be reached as an unmovable force was met with another.
Peverell desperately tried to gasp some air into his lungs and recover from the battle, but surprise crossed his eyebrows when both Eldritch and Arcane energies began to fizzle, expanding and expanding.
Peverell saw the old squid blink and scramble to get away. Then it came into his mind. 'On second thoughts, this isn't good.'
Death's voice cropping up in his mind once again rasping urgently. "Peverell. This is bad, very bad."
Peverell could only stare in horror as the two energies detonated, the cacophony so loud that the Raven haired man could only equate it to a continent being split in two.
The last thing Peverell heard before blackness engulfed him was Death's voice. "Well done, Peverell. You've shattered the space-time axis."
I await a guardian: Hello to my readers! This is another premise for a story I will be deliberating between working on consistently. An experimental piece to delve into worldbuilding and magic systems for my main work "The Odyssey of the Arcane." If you do enjoy this piece and wish to see more regular updates, do leave a review, follow or favourite. Your feedback will be the main motivation that keeps this story chugging along.
A side note: Disclaimer. All rights, licenses, etc belong to JK Rowling. I merely play in the sandbox. Should this alarm you, which I doubt. Reviews will be the only payment I accept so leave your thoughts and critiques!