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Chapter 23 Events on the Horizon

In the ages since passed, Samhain was celebrated as a period of great importance for many. It was viewed as a time when the borders of the world thinned and allowed those who had passed to return. This belief was not far from the truth but was wrong in just what the result of this 'thinning' was.

This naturally occurring 'thinning' of the world's natural barriers allowed all manner of entities to pass over more freely. Of course, this included those who could be counted amongst the ranks of spirits, but it also allowed many others to transverse the plains with the utmost ease.

As such, it was used by many of the supernatural communities as a time of interaction and cultural exchange. This trend has continued even into the modern era, where magic has since long been removed from the minds of the mundane. Now Samhain is one of the few moments where many diverse groups come together to reaffirm old bonds and even older oaths.

Such is still the case on this Samhain, now almost two whole years since the world of magic was knocked off kilter and reality as it was known for many was changed irrevocably. Nearly two full years since the Herald of the Apocalypse made his presence known and announced the coming catastrophe of the Enemy.

Much had changed in that time; many groups had risen from anonymity, and those who were never far from the spotlight had taken centre stage. Where the Herald roamed, change followed. Where he spoke, voices rose in the chorus, and magic, once more, began to stir.

Hence this Samhain was made special, not by prophecy or the acts of unknown forces but by the curiosity and desires of those who moved and could move others. So in the ancient city of Londinium, a gathering was held, carrying truces and oaths so old they had existed since the reign of the old gods. All manner of creatures could be found, be they elves, dwarfs, goblins, trolls, centaurs, harpies, fiends, any number of half-breeds, the many types of shifters, nightkin, fey or even the obscure outcast human.

But amongst all their ranks, one single being stood apart.

For there was only one Aberrant at this gathering, and it was he who roused magic so carelessly. Herald was preparing his body of confining flesh in a room secluded from the festivities so as not to cause unbalance in the minds of those who needed peace. He was presently driving his fists into a wall, the stone and cement cracking against his course knuckles as they pounded against the magically reinforced earth.

In the room, a small council of trusted associates, friends and allies conversed to the rhythmic beating, their voices mere background noise to Herald. That was until one voice rose above the din to capture his attention. "Student, the time is upon us," it barked, the Scottish accent thick and the rumble of their voice powerful in its sound.

With one final crushing blow, Herald paused in his assault of the brickwork and took a long slow breath as he centred his mind. As his fist pulled back, long sticky strands of unnaturally dark blood bridged the gap between his fists and the cracked stone. Herald gave a facsimile of a smile as he beheld the broken flesh of his knuckles, an inhuman tongue slithering from his mouth to wipe the syrupy substance from his appendage.

"Child… it does not do for you to bleed before your bout," a tall woman sternly admonished, her cloven hooves marching across the floor as she pulled Herald into her grasp and began to wipe at his wounds.

"My apologies, Matron… it is difficult to endure this ridiculous flesh prison… it itches," Herald groused, letting the magical woman wrap his fists tightly, his syrupy blood darkening the cloth immediately.

"Sweet bloody child, for me, endure, for the sake of all who march with your banner, endure." She pleaded, her blackened fingers lightly stroking across the Herald's scarred visage. Her eyes were black as sin but ringed with gold, resembling some form of nocturnal predatory bird staring earnestly into his own orbs that were hiding a forbidden glow.

"Of course… for the coming storm…" Herald uttered, leaning his forehead against the woman's, a peaceful smile appearing on his boyish features.

"Good boy, your sense of duty does your lords proud… you honour them with your conviction, proud Herald," She whispered, stroking her fingers through his oily locks, messy hair done in a bun and knotted with beads and totems. Some gifts, others promises and yet some mere decoration.

"Matron is he ready," the same voice that announced the time before spoke once more. Herald's eyes whipped to the man short of stature but stood as if he towered over any before him. His hair was cut short and neat, its lustre long since lost as it faded from oak brown to bleak grey. His features were weathered yet strangely youthful, his flesh rough and scarred, but his eyes fierce and intense. His face carried a strange asymmetry that Herald found curious, one ear being torn and mutilated, the shredded flesh leaving his head lopsided.

"Aye, he is ready, Hound," the inhuman woman spoke, stepping back, nodding to the youthful old man as she waved a hand to a group of women who looked a lot like her. "Take him; we will cheer with the audience, fight well, Herald… less the 'red one' hears of you lacking."

Herald shot her an affronted look but smiled as he saw her look of mirth. With a shake of his head, he replied curtly but with amusement, "should he hear anything, it best be from me, dear Matron, or I will have no choice but to spend my moon nights elsewhere."

The Matron and her gaggle of cloven woman all laughed at this, the old hound giving a gnarled smile and others in the room their own forms of humoured appreciation. The preparation finished, and goodbyes said, Herald and his teacher, the old Hound, began to make their way into the tunnels back to the festivities. The occupants wished him well before going their ways or falling in as his retinue.

"You face a mountain troll tonight, casting is forbidden, weapons will be permitted but only those already located within the ring… he doesn't have the right to challenge you for your title, but there may be those in the crowd who do and may be looking at this as an opportunity-"

"Let them look teacher, let them see me win or lose, to succeed or be crushed, this fight is but earnest celebration of two who desire 'friendly' conflict… if they desire to pursue conquest on tonight of all nights, they will suffer dearly for it." Herald was quick to state, absently dragging his fingers across the rough stone of the walls, letting the feel of his skin being rubbed raw distract him from the claustrophobic feeling of his own bones.

"True… but wisdom is not a trait all possess," his teacher remarked, pulling his hand off the wall absentmindedly, Herald giving him a pout in return.

"They will not break the truce; it is older than this country, older than some of the factions that gather here… its power will not be broken by any who celebrate tonight," Herald assured his teacher, bumping the man's hip with his elbow.

"… I only advise caution… while many are aware of the truth of your being, others remain steadfast in their ignorance… a certain birdy being a prime example of such," Herald's teacher jested, a cunning gleam in his eye.

Herald's response was the flashing of blazing orbs and cracking of his lips as flesh warped unnaturally for a mere blink of an eye. "She is so bloody annoying! Why can she not accept that I fight with a handicap? It is not by my own choice, dammit! There is no offence, no transgression, yet she still acts as if it is a personal slight!" The Aberrant raged, looking for his whole entourage as nothing more than a child amid a tantrum, though many knew better.

"Ahhh… young love," the Hound jested, earning a swift punch that sent him spinning into the wall, laughing all the way.

"Horny mutt," Herald sniped, getting dragged into a headlock by the older man.

"Whiny alien!" He bellowed, twisting his student about, the two devolving into a tussle that was only broken when both heard the beginning announcements. Both gave each other a glance before breaking apart and hurrying towards the tunnel's exit.

Thanks to the power of some enchantment, the crowd's roar was only truly experienced as the two exited the tunnel. Then it was as if a wave of pure energy and noise rushed over them, the entire audience coming to life at the sight of one of tonight's fighters. The arena was designed much like an amphitheatre, with the audience seated up to the ceiling and some perching in unique rafters above the fighting ring. There were two stone bridges to allow entrance into the fighting ring as it was otherwise separated by a channel that smelled strongly of seawater and ozone.

The seats were filled with all manner of folks, the variety creating a colourful audience only exacerbated by the banners and signs waved in excitement. Herald's eyes shot to his corner, seeing Matron and her entourage cheering him along proudly. For the most part, the audience was diverse in their siding, as a large portion attended the spectacle to observe.

Above the cage but below the rafters was a massive metal cage shaped like a dome, the structure forged by many races as a symbol of cooperation; its creation was explicitly for all treaty events as it was enchanted with many magics meant to ensure peaceful outcomes to fights. Herald had felt its power before, and despite his alien nature, he found that even he would struggle to power through such magics. It was amusing to him that the many creatures of the magical races had come together to design a fighting ring that strictly inhibited the taking of life.

His teacher quickly hurried him to his corner, pulling his coat from his shoulders, revealing a well-worn singlet beneath that left his maimed and marked arms bare to the world. He knew that many eyes came to rest on the etched and scarred flesh, Herald smirking as he felt some old injuries twitch as his inhuman blood began to stir. He knew he was unlikely to receive a new mark upon his jail this day, as the fight would be more friendly, but the slight hope remained. 'Twas always enjoyable to see his prison further warped, further marred, hence his penchant for that marking and etching of his flesh in addition to the prevailing wounds.

"Right, you've fought trolls before, but this one is a fighter, so watch yourself and remember you won't be able to cast, so don't be afraid to dance with him if you got to," his teacher instructed as he pulled off Herald's shoes and socks.

"Mm, weapons?" Herald asked absentmindedly, his eyes watching for his opponent to enter the ring.

"Strapped to the cage, will be conjured in after a minute or earlier if the fight stalls; it's an exhibition match, after all."

"Understood… and here he comes," Herald nodded, smirking as the audience roared anew.

His opponent was tall, their dark greyish skin marking them as a mountain troll, thick flesh baring many a ceremonial etching. He wore a simple skirt, the heavy item some kind of leather, possibly wyvern, judging by the scaled look. The weighty apparel was strapped about his hips by multiple thick belts and a few chains. He had an underbite, teeth jutting into his upper lip like tusks, a nose that was oddly bent to the left, and one eye seemed more prominent than the other. But Herald mostly noted the troll's grin, proud and bulging, excitement oozing from his yellowed teeth as he strutted to the ring.

His gut was firm, little fat to be had on their sizeable mass, and his arms were like steel girders; his size was so impressive he could easily pass for a younger giant. As he walked into the arena proper and the cage began to lower, Herald took note of his right foot, the limb heavily coated in burn scars and missing a few toes. The same leg had a variety of bangles on it; rather than obscure the scar, they were placed to highlight it, presenting a frame around the formidable injury. The addition of a thick necklace adorned with bones and stone laying against his chest made Herald think his opponent was perhaps a touch vainer than most other mountain trolls.

As he sat in his corner, his entourage, a gathering of goblin and smaller troll species, immediately prepped him for the fight, removing jewellery and lighting an incense pot to inhale. He looked at Herald and gave a traditional troll greeting, the deep barking grunt like gravel being crushed, bringing a smile to the Aberrant's face. Herald returned the favour, his grunt sounding airy with a strange echo but was received with an appreciative grin.

"~You speak good; most daykin don't have the gut for such strong speak.~" Herald's opponent complimented in his native tongue; his accent marked him as a troll who spent much time around other races. Probably from a troll market or a Bazar, it was good to see that despite his cultural exposure, he spoke his native tongue proudly.

"~Thank you, but I don't think it proper to count myself a daykin~." Herald replied with his speech accented, showing he spent more time with trolls native to the far north. The troll seemed shocked at Herald's fluency but gave a guffaw after a moment of thought.

"~Of course, lord Herald I apologise for any slight. You just look 'umie is all,~" The troll apologised in that blunt way Herald had found most larger troll folk were fond of.

Herald could not help but sigh; the years had not made enduring his cage any easier, nor did having it pointed out, but he knew the power of first impressions. "You got a name?" Herald asked in English, curious to test the troll's ability.

"Name is Twog, but me ma always called me Apple," The troll replied in some of the best English Herald had ever heard from a troll.

"Apple?"

"Slept in apple crate when me small," Twog explained, hefting the burning incense bowl to his face and breathing in the smoke deeply. Herald waited for his opponent to finish his preparation as he did not want to delay the fight longer than necessary, only speaking when Twog lowered the bowl to the floor.

"… Your ma, she was a deep troll, wasn't she," Herald stated, eyeing his opponent's markings closer and noting the faint shimmer on some of them. They were more than tribal accessories; they held power.

"~Why don't you come find out, Herald,~" Twog challenged, raising himself back up to his feet. Herald also rose, walking forward, his blood already beginning to warm as his true nature stirred in the depth of his flesh prison. The two stopped exactly one of Twog's strides away from each other, both opponents eyeing the other with eager ferocity.

The two were soon joined by their respective seconds, Herald his teacher and Twog by an entity that looked almost like a human man, aside from its missing ears, nose and oily skin. With all parties gathered, the seconds stepped forward and shook hands giving greetings before turning to the announcer and confirming the fight was to proceed.

The announcer was a tall, lithe man. He had long hair that practically dragged on the floor and was coal black. His skin was the colour of fresh hay, and the visible parts were covered in eye-catching body paint. He wore a loose white shirt with many buttons undone, revealing his chest and the art on it. His pants were long and navy blue, covering his legs but loose and fluttery, the hem ghosting over the top of his bare feet. His feet were also covered in paint, as were his nails, leaving his flesh to appear as if it possessed rainbow streaks like an aroura. His face was half covered by a copper mask that hid his mouth and nose. His ears and eyes, however, were curious as while his ears appeared human, his eyes were a powerful golden colour and seemed to emit an aura.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fiend and fey, giants and goblins, the moment you have all been waiting for, an exhibition match between two fighters for the thrill of combat and competition. Do remember on this day of truce that both fighters have sworn to bare no grudge or take anything from this bout other than the pleasure of fierce battle and the memories of broken bones!" The announcer roared into an ornate horn, the item embossed with gold and silver iconography that carried his voice to every eager ear.

"On the west side, we have the one and only Herald of the Apocalypse, chosen of 'Them', Bringer of the end and one of the Lord champions bearing his title from Wallachia and fighting as the volunteered opponent!" The announcement was met with cheers and excited whispers; many had not had the pleasure of seeing him fight, but those that had knew just how fiercely he performed.

"And on the east, our brave challenger Twog of clan Urkmont, bearing no titles but with a string of victories from Norway to the coasts of Africa, only a measly two losses and more courage than most… he stands today against an Aberrant ready to test his mettle!" The announcer bellowed Twog earning a powerful string of barks and grunts and a decisive bout of stomping as many of the underkin made it clear whom they were cheering for.

"I, Heimr, will be your humble announcer; this bout will last until yield or a fighter can no longer continue as determined by their respective second. There will be absolutely no fatalities on this day of truce, so if you came for slaughter, you might as well head out…." Heimr proclaimed, eyeing the audience, his gaze glancing at a pack of goblins apparently in the midst of taking bets. His gaze lingered when the group continued to chitter and swap money with those interested in gambling on the fight.

"… Are you done yet?" Heimr asked loudly, his ire evident, earning a light clutter of laughter from the crowd and a snort from Twog.

"Apologies! Betting's closed!" A younger goblin hollered, sitting down as another slammed a chest overladen with gold shut, a loud and obvious click signalling that it was locked.

"Right then. This fight will be strictly no casting, so external magic is forbidden. There will be no items aside from modesty clothes as agreed upon by the seconds. After a minute, ring-approved weapons will be made available to both fighters to use at their leisure. There will be a protective cage for the audience's sake, and both fighters will take a challenger oath already pre-agreed upon." Heimr finished explaining to everyone present; the audience riled into a quiet storm of excitement.

"Fighter of the west! Are you ready?" Heimr roared out, getting a nod from Herald. His childish body practically vibrated as he rolled his head about and lifted his closed fist out, an unbidden smirk on his face. In an instant, runes and magic floated about his raised limb as his human flesh bubbled, his magic leaking out as he prepared to accept the bout.

"Fighter of the East, are you ready?" Twog, in response, grunted, taking a knee and holding his fist out, his tattoos coming alive as similar runes and magic coiled about his extended limb.

"Fighters! On your ready!" Heimr bellowed excitedly before hopping back out of the ring as the cage lowered down fully; both seconds also made their way out until it was only Herald and Twog in the caged arena. Both fighters stared for a bit longer, the audience's cries background noise as their fists remained ready. The moment their flesh met, the deal would be set, and the fight would commence.

This was the last chance for a fighter to back out.

Neither budged.

And then, as one their closed fists met, knuckle to knuckle, as the magic settled and the runes faded away, their duty accomplished. With the fight sealed, Herald pulled away, slowly moving back a few steps as he began to rock back and forth, shifting his weight eagerly. Twog gave an appreciative snarl, raising off his knee, the troll instantly assuming a hunched defensive stance. The Audience was a clamour of cheers and jeers as the fighters eyed one another, each measuring their opponent's actions and postures.

Herald could barely contain himself now; seeing the stance, he knew his opponent was wary of him but still dared to face off against an opponent he knew was dangerous. Herald felt his magic churn like a stormy sea and blood race through his veins like the most savage rapids. Herald continued to sway and rock, his eyes never leaving his opponent, even as a strange green glow began to build in his orbs.

Twog's patience broke first, and with a quick half step, the troll's desk-sized fist hurtled towards Herald in a swift right jab. It was a perfect first strike, the use of his superior reach allowing him to safely test his opponent, his plan to get a feel for Herald likely a pre-thought-out strategy.

Heralds' expression turned manic as he kicked the blow away with a deranged laugh and lunged into the fray. His teeth bared and eyes aglow, Herald cast off any thoughts save the ones that pertained to the here and the now, submersing himself in the thrill of combat. A tiny distraction from the irritant of his flesh cage and the aggravation that haunted him.

The two fighters clashed, flesh met flesh, the crowd roared, Heimr bellowed, and the fight was truly afoot.

And all the while, Herald was granted the pleasure of hearing his choir softly sing a din of war for his ears only.

Dumbledore had changed a lot since the events that saw Harry Potter murdered at the hands of his own family. For one, he dressed far more plainly than he used to, the colourful robes he had once adorned with pride and humour seeming offensive to his senses now. As if he was spitting on the suffering others had endured due to his actions. He was not so morose or blatant as to wear black, but his dress became far more uniform than it once was.

Secondly, where he had once been an active, powerful force of change doing what he could where he could, he was now far more… tactful. Stretching himself to the breaking point in some obscene attempt to try and aid everywhere and help everyone had been what had led to the death of young Harry… and who knows how many other failures.

No, now he preferred to act more akin to a monolith or a beacon. He would happily aid anyone who came to him; he would step in if lines were crossed, but otherwise, he would only be what he needed to be. A stalwart and dependable wizard who would represent his nation and all of wizardkind, and a mentor and guide able to aid the next generation of young witches and wizards.

To facilitate this change, he had taken a step back from both the ICW and the Wizengamot; the only place he would not lax in his duties was Hogwarts. He would not fail another child. By Merlin and magic, he would not. This led to shockwaves in local and international political circles, with certain parties almost immediately testing the lengths he would go to. Those who crossed a line found out swiftly that while he had reeled in his exuberance, he had not toned down his passion.

Sadly he could not say that the changes from that day had been solely ones of a personal nature. Upon his return to his office, he had broken down… he had all but destroyed the room in a fit of rage the likes he had not experienced since his youth. He had gone on to disappear for a while; he had become hellbent on trying to locate Harry's body, but despite his efforts, knowledge and power, he never found the boy's body. Leaving him to conclude that the muggles had somehow destroyed it in such a way that completely inhibited his ability to locate it without some unknown avenue of magic.

However, his absence was noticed, and of course, it had been her who had come to collect him. Worried and concerned, Minerva found him in his humble cottage with his house in a state of utter disarray. He was slumped at his desk, a book written in ancient tongues open before him with three different tomes on translation surrounding it. His hair had been tied off hastily, and his beard knotted up to his neck; he was wearing filthy robes with their sleeves stained and burned, and his fingers were covered in cuts and burns.

She had come and seen to his health, her loyalty and concern for him wrenching at his heart like the razor-sharp beaks of carrion birds. When she had gotten him to a state of coherence, she fed him before giving him a rundown of what he had missed… turned out he had been absent for two months and was sorely missed at his many offices. When he had not immediately sprung into action, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that something was wrong.

When Minerva asked him what was wrong… Asked what was so important that he would abandon his duties without even informing anyone for two whole months… he had broken down.

His confession had come between tears and sobs, his kneeling form not nearly low enough to match how pathetic he felt. When he was done telling the tale, Minerva left. Without so much as a word, she had thrown on her coat and left his house with only the faint pop of her Apperation to indicate her departure. He was not so prideful (anymore) to admit he had remained on the floor for a while before pulling himself together enough to clean up.

He was in the middle of putting his books and research paper away, sans magic, when he heard the pop of Apparition once more, and the wards cued him into Minerva's return. He did not even go for his wand when his door was blasted off its hinges. When she marched in, her hair down and eyes bloodshot, her face showing apparent signs of crying, he felt like he had hit a new low. When her wand came up in a brandish, it was only his instincts that spared him from losing his head as a sizeable hole was blasted through the wall.

He did not try to dodge the follow-up bludgeoning curse or banishment charm.

Thrown painfully into the wall, his arm broken, he did little more than let slip an involuntary groan of pain. Minerva strode forward, and Albus was reminded painfully of the woman who had worked in the shadows of not one but two war efforts. Her usual green outer robe was shucked off, leaving her in a storm grey dress, with her hair down and the air around her wand warbling. It gave her a far more fearsome appearance. When two more bludgeoning curses crashed into his frame, one to the nose, the other to his gut, Albus could do little more than curl up.

As he waited for the following spells, he was shocked when words assaulted him instead of magic. "Get up! On your feet, Albus!" Minerva demanded, whipping her wand and dragging him into a sitting position. A string of foul curses spilled from her lips, her accent thickening in her fury until she finally pounced forward and pulled Albus up by his collar.

"Why damn you! Why didn't you listen to me? I warned you that they were awful and no good for the boy! Where are they, Albus? Where have they dragged their worthless, festering hides? You will not keep them from me!" Minerva hissed, getting right up in Albuses face, her bloodshot eyes alight with power and hate.

"They're gone… Vernon's dead," Albus explained, his voice nasally and weak.

"Good!" Minerva snapped, releasing Albus to slide back to the floor pitifully. "Curse you, Albus, always so bloody sure of everything, but ever since Grindelwald, you have had that thrice-damned blind spot! So eager to distance yourself from him and the past that you ignore what is right in front of you!" Minerva raged, looming over Albus even as fresh tears began to build in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…." Albus breathed.

A swift crack rang out as Minerva slapped Albus across the face, and a fresh wave of anger bloomed on her features, "not good enough," she hissed.

"I know."

"… by Morgan Albus…" Minerva choked, "he was just a boy… had he not been through enough already… he was their son!" Minerva exploded, backstepping away from Albus's crumpled form.

"I know."

"Oh, Lilly… James…" Minerva sobbed painfully, clutching at her heart.

"… Minerva-"

"Be silent! Don't… I trusted you… too much, it would seem, you have betrayed and failed not only me but Lilly and James as well, but that pales compared to how truly you have wronged Harry. May he rest in peace." Minerva explained each word noxious with hurt and disgust.

"… I'm done… do not try to contact me, Albus. If you don't see me back at Hogwarts, do not come looking for me. From this day forward, our relationship is dead, all debts are null, and expectations… gone. I have sacrificed much on the pyre of your ambitions and served dutifully beneath your leadership but no longer." With her piece said, Minerva had stormed from the house, only glancing back to spit across his threshold a venomous, "goodbye, Dumbledore."

That was a dark period for Albus; with Minerva gone and his former master unreachable, he was alone. Surrounded by those he could lead but none with whom he could confide in, Albus was truly alone.

He was left in the brief darkness with haunting thoughts and a melody of maddening feelings. It was almost too much for Albus, the strain almost driving him to do the unthinkable and seek companionship from the only person whom he could still assuredly call an equal.

It was Fawkes who saved him from falling back into old habits.

Albus had thrown himself into his top priority, which should have always been his top priority. He didn't know how long he went over the Hogwarts orderly papers, but by the time it was done, he was almost positive that he had cleaned out the entirety of the Hogwarts backlog. An achievement, to be sure, considering there always seemed to be more than there should be. A fact that itself deserved looking into if he was being honest, his school job should not provide more paperwork than his duty as chief Warlock.

That was the start of his change in mindset and is what led him to the now, sitting in on an ICW meeting in his chair as Supreme Mugwump letting the events before him unfold. Truthfully, it was interesting that despite the upheave in his life, the world turned on. As a prime example of this, the day's topic was once again the Russian ministry's supposed abuse of their authority to abduct the magical children of non-magical parents. This topic had caused Albus to wear a strained look on his face for the entire meeting, the cause being that his position as chairman meant that many a poignant question seemed posed at him rather than the body as a whole.

"What say you, my fellow members? How can we call ourselves upstanding witches and wizards if we knowingly allow this evil to continue?" One of the ambassadors bellowed, his voice baiting. Albus leaned back and let the returning shouts ring out, his mind drifting as he heard an irritating noise scratch at his ears.

Scratching, niggling, gnawing, humming, crying, whispering, howling…

"-Dumbledore?"

Albus shot forward, his eyes darting about, looking for the cause of the mysterious sound that had haunted him for years. But just as always, the source seemed to dance off the periphery of his senses, both magical and mundane. His brow furrowed as he dragged a hand down his face and rubbed over his ear roughly.

"… Supreme Mugwump?" the same accented voice asked, causing Albus to eye the young ambassador.

"Yes," Albus asked, his voice airy as his eyes continued to observe the young man closely, taking in his youthful appearance. He was easily amongst the youngest of the august body members.

"I… I was asking for your opinion on the current subject matter," the young man asked, his deep voice unable to hide his hesitancy.

"I see… tell me, young man, which country do you represent? I must admit I do not recognise you," Albus declared, his voice inflecting only curiosity but carrying with it the authority of a teacher as a lesson was most assuredly in need of teaching.

"I am Fr-"

"I did not ask for your name, young man, only to which country you are the delegate," Albus interjected, his tone crisp as a swatted ruler.

The young man seemed to backpedal for a moment before he looked about uselessly for some guidance; at last, his voice returned but weaker. "I am the delegate for Hungary."

"I see, and as such, you speak for Hungary; now tell me do you know what my duty is and whom I represent?" Albus asked, gesturing to himself in relation to all the other delegates in the room.

"You are the Supreme Mugwump. You don't act as a representative of any nation?" the young delegate spoke, confused.

"Correct, I do not represent a nation. I represent the entirety of this body; I do not seek to further an agenda other than the betterment of witches and wizards everywhere." Albus explained, his voice carrying across the room as he let his eyes bounce between particular delegates who had forgotten that fact.

"My seat does not have an opinion; it is a seat that gets to make a choice. So debate, argue, bluster and compromise… that is one of the many reasons for this body's existence after all, but do not for a second presume that it is the duty of this body to waylay a nation's right to self-govern. While the ICW can and will get involved in incidents that jeopardise the entirety of the wizarding world, it will not ever exist to rule or dominate. Not again." Albus finished picking up his wand and waving it above his head to initiate one of his privileges as Supreme Mugwump.

"We are in recess, and I advise all delegates to consider the matter at hand truly; when next we speak, let there be some progress regarding this debate or let it be tabled. Young man, I advise contacting your predecessor, Heinrick was very experienced, and there should never be shame in seeking the wisdom of your elders, don't you think?" Albus finished rising from his seating and leaving the room. The sound of his steps was quickly followed by many others as groups and coalitions departed to meeting rooms and offices.

Albus sat in his office immediately opening a letter on his incoming box, Fawkes barely sparing him a glance before resuming his nap. Albus began to read the note, a missive sent to him addressed to his position as Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot; all the while, his senses focused on the wards at his door. Many knew that he no longer desired to play an ineffectual peacekeeper. Instead, most sought guidance or a heads-up regarding his opinion on a particular matter.

And as if clockwork, a knock was heard at his door, and delegates from Germany and Austria sought an audience. Albus quickly wrote a reply before tucking the letter in the outgoing box and shooting a quirked brow at his resting phoenix.

"Old friend, must you mock me with your fair fortune?" Albus asked as the Phoenix gave a particularly happy sleeping trill as it nuzzled its head further beneath its wing.

"Cheeky chicken… Come in!" Albus called as he prepped himself for what would no doubt be an eventful meeting; if not, it should serve as a fair distraction.

Either way, it kept that haunting noise out of his ear.

The thunderous cries of the crowd were matched only by the ferocious roars of the combatants. Each entirely lost to the haze of battle. The hearty guffaws of Twog matched Herald's manic grin; both were utterly covered in injuries, but neither seemed hindered in the slightest. The crowd were in an erratic state, especially since Heimr had begun to allow random audience members to choose a weapon to introduce to the pit.

Now the arena was a litter of broken arms and slews of blood as Twog and Herald seemed to be competing to see who could endure the most punishment and inflict it. Neither so much fighting to win as to give into some primal need to thrash and maim merely. Twog, his hardy trollish constitution was proving invaluable as his body was already bathed in his blood, numerous lacerations and impalements making sections of his thick hide droop like leather.

Herald was in no better state, his arms shattered and hanging limply at his sides like dangling discoloured sacks of meat, his teeth bashed from his mouth, making his deranged grin all the more disfigured, and his nose destroyed so severely it left his face nearly unrecognisable. Speech had long since stopped being a priority for the two, and now the only communication came from grunts and blood spilling.

Herald rolled as Twog barreled past him, the Troll wielding an impressive battle axe that he swung with heavy but precise arcs. Each attempt targeted Herald's midsection; the troll knew that a decapitation might be received rather harshly. But Herald, who had long since succumbed to his own battle lust was all but dancing with the axe swings. His partially broken body moved like an enraged hornet wanting to strike.

Another near miss was all the opening Herald needed as he flung himself into Twog's leg, his much smaller Knee managing to wedge into the gap of Twog's patella for a brutal strike that nearly dislocated the troll's limb. But again, Twog was saved by Herald's restricted strength and his tough flesh; instead of a maimed limb, he was only knocked off balance.

Herald capitalised, going straight for his opponent's throat. A single pounce like some massive, inverted feline had his heels crashing into Twog's trachea with a wet crack. But in an amusing twist, Herald found his ankle crushed between Twog's chin and clavicle. Both contestants let slip their pain, one with an insane laugh, the other a gurgling hiss.

Twog flicked Herald away with a jerk, coughing and gagging as he cupped the dent in his jugular. Herald smacked into the dirt limply, his form flat as he chuckled, the spasms in his chest alerting him to the fact that he probably had some broken ribs.

But both were left in states that would make continuing the fight all but impossible.

At least for the moment.

Magic was a wonderous thing, and the truth was that it allowed for incredible feats for many species, especially if one was trained to wield it. For example, if one wishes to channel the reality-bending powers of magic, they can shift the very fabric of existence and bend nature to their will. But with the handicap that neither party was allowed to cast, they were strictly prohibited from using any magic that affected the world around them externally; the handicap was referred to as 'no casting' for ease.

Luckily, both, through their own separate means, possessed the ability to recover at an impossible rate. Twog had his natural hardiness making everything but life-threatening issues barely a concern already, but on top of that, he had long since had the magics of his people imbued into his flesh and bone. So he held his nose shut and proceeded to blow as hard as he could, his trachea expanding with wet, crunching pops like some macabre balloon. His many tribal markings came alight as he did so, an obvious indicator that the arcane was at work.

Herald's method was one impossible to anyone else but himself, as he let his Aberrant nature shred apart the damaged parts of his form, allowing the pressure of the World Soul to reconstitute his flesh prison to its original state. The pain was maddening, but Herald had found that pain was translated differently in this 'human' body, the sensation being one of the few things that felt… real in his flesh cage.

So it was that his choir grew louder, and his face seemed to fizzle as his teeth were replaced by the sheer power of the World Soul as it combated his true nature. Fixing his arms was much the same, only instead of a slight spatial distortion, it appeared as if his limbs began to stretch unnaturally only to spring back as if made of elastic in their original shape.

The two fighters were soon on their feet, eager and ready, flexing their repaired injuries at each other. A childish taunt and challenge to the other to show that their attacks were pointless. Twog scratched his repaired throat while Herald stretched his arms above his head, giving a toothy smile. A scattering of amusement could be heard from the audience as the two fighters displayed their childish taunts.

"Shields!" Heimr proclaimed from atop the cage as a smattering of shields littered the area, conjured in a flourish. Some lay on the floor, others strapped to the pen over the pit, their sizes varied greatly, some as large as cathedral doors, others tiny bucklers.

"~Do they really count as weapons?~" Twog asked, his brutish trollish speech coming out a little rougher with his freshly fixed throat.

"~You can beat someone to death with them,~" Herald replied with a shrug examining a kite shield, the sharp angles looking lethal enough to him.

"~Yeah, I guess, but couldn't the same be said about a mug?~" Twog grunted, heaving off a massive slap of rock that looked more like a piece of molten stone that had been cooled into a tower shield.

"Careful, you'll give them ideas," Herald jested, gesturing to an eager audience.

"Mm, not bad if mugs had good brew, could drown you in mug… good way to go," Twog thought offhandedly as he held his selected shield aloft, the colossal thing looking weighty even in Twog's sizeable arms.

"I will keep that in mind," Herald snorted, strapping a buckler to his left hand while a sturdy kite remained on his right.

"Done talk. Now fight!" Twog bellowed, charging forward with his large stone shield ready to crush. Herald skittered back the large shield giving Twog even more presence in the pit as there was even less room to dodge. Too slow to react, Herald was soon crushed between the shield and the cage walls, his shielded arms barely holding the colossal stone wall at bay as the enchanted metal dug painfully into his back.

Heimr announced something that sent a fresh wave of energy through the audience, but the noise was dull to Herald as blood pounded in his ears. Herald could feel the bones in his arms ache as Twog dug his feet in and pushed with his admirable might. But Herald had fought stronger and knew he could not succumb quickly, even with as many handicaps as he was forced to endure.

His pride forbid it.

With strength drawn from impossible reserves, he pushed back the massive mountain troll and got his feet pressed against the cage wall. Now perpendicular to the floor, he slowly walked up the cage, his hands keeping Twog and his stone wall from turning him into a smear while his feet found purchase on the cage bars. This went on until Herald finally had enough elevation that he was above Twog, the troll now being forced to hold his stone shield aloft to keep Herald pinned. With a bloodthirsty smirk, Herald stopped pushing against Twog and darted across the stone structure and towards the troll's head. The sudden shift caused Twog to take a recovering step forward, lest he lose his footing entirely. In that one movement, Herald had forced Twog to expose his head and shoulders, leaving him off balance with Herald lunging from atop his opponent's shield.

"Rargh!" Herald gave a barely human roar as he crashed atop Twog's head, his target a readily accessible organ. Trolls were a truly varied race; they came in many shapes and sizes, and in truth, their cultural complexities are one of the things that made them fun to Herald. There was always something afoot with trolls, be it their magic, markets or food.

Mountain trolls were hardy; they could crush boulders, had decent resistance to sunlight, burning instead of petrifying, and with their vast feet, were a pain to knock over. But like many trolls, they had big ears that fanned their heads, perfect for tracking sounds in caves and mountain ranges. A vulnerability in a fight, though, it was not uncommon for trolls to lose an ear in a scrap, the exposed organ often being victim to gnashing troll teeth.

Herald intended to take a page out of their book; with his left hand gripping forcefully into the sensory flap, he held on for dear life and began to drive the edge of his kite shield into Twog's vulnerable nose. The pointed cartilage did not take three hits before cracking loudly, a spurt of thick troll blood covering Herald as he continued his assault.

Twog, in pain and panic, with no choice but to protect his face, swiftly moved his hand to cover his nose… with no thought spared for the vast stone shield he had been holding above his very head.

The behemoth of a shield crashed against the troll's thick skull, almost knocking Herald loose, but luckily it slid over the shoulder opposite the one Herald was perched against. Twog, in pain and disorientation, stumbled into the cage clutching at his busted nose and cradling his rattle head. Herald saw his chance to take his victory and reacted, hooking the bloodied kite shield in between the cage bars for leverage. He tugged on Twog's ear, expecting the troll to pull away from the pain.

When Twog's head moved away from the cage wall, Herald felt the colossal strain on his too human arms. The muscles and sinew beneath screamed in pain, but he was not torn in two through his alien nature, so when he pulled back with inhuman strength, an already rattled troll skull collided forcibly with the arena cage.

Then it did so again.

And again.

And again once more.

Herald had endured many fights since coming to Earth, and learning about the fighting circuit from his kindred, Ares, had been a blessing. It turned out that a cage of flesh did little to dull his cravings, his natural inclination towards war and conflict. With the assistance of Ares and his other allies, Herald quickly implemented himself into the fighting circuit, travelling across the world to fight for his glorious enjoyment. At some point, he stopped to look back and realised he had gathered a sizeable following and even more acclimations, earning the title Lord Champion.

Through his ventures, he had fought his fair share of trolls and had learned their strengths and weaknesses. Mountain trolls were amongst the largest species; they had power, durability and a hardy magical fortitude, but they had one flaw that other trolls lacked. Despite their thick, resistant hide, powerful corded muscles, spongy layer of fat and bones hard enough to turn stone to powder, they retained somewhat vulnerable organs.

Lacking the regenerative abilities of swamp trolls and the graft abilities of many cave trolls, their organs were unprotected. Only the friendliness of this bout stopped Herald from targeting said organs with his usual enthusiasm. So with his options limited and fighting under an even stricter batch of handicaps than average, he was left with one option.

The brain.

An essential organ for most species, for a mountain troll who was a trained fighter, versed in the magic of his kind and strengthened by who knows what… it was Herald's only hope of victory shy of major maiming. And the truth was it would probably not be in the spirit of today's celebrations for him to disembowel his opponent in a friendly bout.

Well, at least not with this particular audience.

Herald did not let up, continuing to bash Twog's brain box into the cage over and over, his unnatural strength, in combination with the troll's thick skull filling the stands with the powerful ringing of beaten metal. Again and again, Herald yanked until the audience was silent, and Twog's eyes looked foggy and unfocused.

His too-human arms burning from the incredible strain they had endured, ached as he relaxed his hold on Twog's abused ear. With nothing left to hold him aloft, the mountain troll swiftly stumbled back before impacting the floor with a crash that rang with finality. Left dangling by his right arm Herald reached up and unhooked himself from the kite shield sending him plummeting. His landing was rough, and his first few steps were off-kilter as he felt a wave of exhaustion trying to find purchase in his muscles. The sound of the kite shield clattering to the floor was like a gunshot that set off an explosion.

All at once, the audience roared.

Cheers and groans, excitement and disappointment, roars and cackles… a wave of pure emotion and energy. It was second only to the rush of combat itself, the surge of pure intent in this magic-rich environment like a shot of pure stimulant that managed to pierce through the horrific slog of numbness that pervaded his cage of constricting flesh and binding bone.

"There it is, folks, a climatic end as the challenger of the west succumbs under a furious floggin of the noggin; what more could you ask for on such a splendid day!" Hiemr cheered atop a chair as the cage was lifted off the pit, and both fighters' entourage rushed to their respective fighters' sides.

"You holding together?" Herald's teacher asked, holding up the rest of the followers, caution in his eyes.

"Don't worry, old Hound; it was a good fight. I am in control…." Herald uttered, scratching at his greasy black hair. A few tresses had come loose from their bindings but were kept from being too unruly by the blood that matted his hair down.

"Good, get 'em cleaned up," the Hound barked; two individuals, probably some form of fey Herald guessed judging by their sweet scent, rushed forward with towels. Herald did not even flinch as they began to dab and wipe at his form, the cloths coming back with a thick layer of his and Twog's shared blood.

"No persisting wounds?" Hound asked, looking Herald over with a critical eye.

"In about like this? Of course not. All my injuries were physical and easily done away with…." Herald mumbled as a towel brushed across his face, pulling teeth fragments with it.

"I guessed as much, but you know I must be thorough… Matron will have my hide otherwise," the Hound grumbled, his eyes darting to a section of the stands.

Herald gave a slightly buzzing laugh, genuine amusement leaking from his human throat, "you earn her ire so easily, old Hound… perhaps you should lay yourself at the foot of her bed and act like a good pup?"

"I ain't no damn guard dog… there has already been one of those, dammit…." Hound groused, slapping Herald up the back of the head, his touch light.

"Good boy," Herald teased.

"Arghhhhh…" Twog groaned, rolling himself back to a sitting position, his face particularly bloodied.

"~You win?~" He asked, still dazed, his voice sounding far different with his devastated nose.

Herald brushed away the fey, trying to clean his face as he replied, "~I did~."

"~… Good, I had fun,~" Twog smiled, shuffling over, so he sat closer to Herald, who gave back an earnest smirk.

"~You fought well. If more mountain trolls had your dexterity, you truly would be a terrifying race,~" Herald admitted happily.

"~You flatter me lord Herald~," Twog admitted bowing his head.

The two fighters continued to speak, comparing their notes on the fight, Herald admiring Twog's aggression and speed, Twog amazed by Herald's strength and ferocity. The audience slowly made their way out, collecting their winnings and returning to the festival. After all, a single bout, no matter how splendid, was but a single event at a festival as wonderous as Samhain.

But outside of the festival, a lone figure stood on the docks of London, removed from the protective enchantments that hid the magical celebration. In his hands, a talisman weaved with magics that the ministry would at best call dark was pulled as if by some invisible force towards an undistinctive warehouse.

The sharp clack of his staff on the concrete and the creak of his prosthetic leg was unheard on the windy night as his one good eye gazed at that warehouse in a daze. However, his other eye whizzed about madly in his skull, letting him see the strange aura surrounding the building. Reaching for his back pocket, he took a quick mouthful of his favoured concoction as a gnarled smile carved its way onto his grizzled features.

"… I finally found ya," he mumbled, his voice part amazement, part satisfaction. Swiftly he pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket, scribbling some hasty words on it, coded, of course.

Constant vigilance.

He decided to use an archaic delivery spell to double down on his precautions, his stave scratching the old runes into the solid stone as scorch marks. With a mutter and a flare of magic, the message was away, and he was already moving to a more secure location, eyes darting about to ensure that none had detected his use of magic.

No chances could be taken.

Dumbledore's mistake would be rectified.

A.N.

Hey, so I know I have been doing most of my writing over on my other project Grimm Nightmares, but I kinda lost my job and have been feeling like a hot bag of shit, so I decided I would put some work into this project just as a nice change of pace.

As I said, I am by no means done with this fic, and now that I have some more time on my hands, I will try to get back into the swing of it. I just know that more people like my other fic, so I try to give that more attention.

Any way hope you all enjoyed this update, here's hoping I can keep my collective shit together and get another one out asap.

Remember, if you find yourself really, really, really liking my writing and want to show some financial support, I'm AceReaper on Pat re on, the same icon as my FF account.

As always.

Until next time.