The End of PotDS is so very near, my readers... can you feel the strings of fate drawing in around them? I honestly never contemplated when this first step of the story would be finished, and even though I've already moved on to the next part of the trilogy, I'm still excited as I post this. Prepare yourselves, for the closing scenes await you yet.
Chapter Fifty
Battle of the Lords
"Absolutely magnificent," crooned Lady Ocraadi Nuhok as she entered the caverns that housed the secret entrance of the Gamorrean Sith Academy. "You have done well my adorable apprentice…"
Septin huffed at her, tired with but still willing to accept her silly compliments. The success of their long mission had filled him with a sense of accomplishment that allowed him to tolerate the Togruta's nonsense, for now. As they walked through the dank and dark tunnels, slowly the scent of the air started to grow noticeably icier. The Dark Side was growing in strength the further they descended.
Eventually, they exited the rough stone tunnel, and emerged into a wide chamber with carved and well worked walls and pillars, not nearly as grand as the temple back on Dromund Kaas, but still impressively built. The hall was pockmarked with craters and piles of rubble, giving reference to the class of beings that once roamed the academy: Sith warriors, born and bred, who found ample opportunity to give in to the rage of violence and reap swift destruction upon their enemies.
Lacking in time or patience to admire the architecture, the two Darksiders swiftly made their way across the wide hall, searching for the location of the archives, so that they could secure their prize and leave this wasted world for good. They passed through an infirmary, skirted around several long halls of dormitories, a torture and holding chamber, and finally a mess hall before they found it, hidden in the back behind a powerful blast door.
The doorway was sealed, obviously to protect the fragile items stored within from the brutish hands of the marauders and warriors that lived and trained here, but now the protection was barring the pair from accessing those same secrets.
"No brute force will work here," Lady Nuhok said flatly, running a hand along the reinforced metal, which was dented and scorched in many places from years of students doing exactly what they were about to attempt. "We need to be clever to enter here. Quite possibly a trial of the academy, to weed out the thugs that were unworthy to learn the secrets kept within."
"Then what shall we do to enter, master?" Septin asked blandly, looking around for any sign of weakness in the door or the walls surrounding it. There was none, the years of damage to this section was proof of its strength to a frontal assault.
"Perhaps a delicate touch is needed, proving that the warrior in question could temper their rage for when it was required, and use tact and grace when those skills were more valuable." Ocraadi muttered, more for Septin than herself, and she drug her nailed down the metal, grinning at the shrill noise they produced.
"As you wish… Master…" Septin acknowledged, understanding that she meant for him to pass this test, and closed his eyes, straining to see beyond the door into the interior of the room.
The Force was cloudy, his anger and hatred keeping things muddy except for his goal, to enter and take the treasures within. Drawing a deep breath, Septin attempted to rein in his anger, for the time being, willing it to collect into a small ball of cold fury, to wait for the opportune time to strike, and unleash in an all consuming fireball. The Force obeyed, grudgingly, and his vision slowly cleared of the inside of the room. He could see, through the doorway, that there was a simple lever housed just inside the door, that with a swift tug would unlock and open the barricade.
Exerting the Force with a grunt, Septin allow his anger to funnel into telekinesis, throwing the invisible strength into the rusted switch. The ancient level refused to move, which only angered Septin all the more, causing him to throw more power into trying to move the switch. Stubbornly it resisted, and Septin ground his teeth throwing every ounce of himself into the Force, trying to make the irritating device work.
When it didn't he screamed, slamming his metal hand into the door, "I can see the switch, but it won't move!" he said, frustrated.
"I won't move because you are trying too hard to make it move…" Lady Nuhok said casually, leaning against the nearby wall and watching Septin through hooded eyes. "You must learn control apprentice, and finesse when it comes to the Force… try it again…"
Septin forced himself to control his anger, storing it up in the very back of his mind, and threw his vision into the room again, he once again saw the handle, and the urge to wretch it with a powerful blast of the Force nearly consumed him again. Fighting the desire, Septin tricked Force power around the handle, slowly grasping it, and nudging it ever so slightly to move.
At first, the object didn't budge, but Septin persisted, and ever so slowly, the lever started to give, inches at a time. If he pushed too much it would lock up and refuse to budge, only small doses to almost shake the level into position. Minutes passed, with him minutely moving the leveler bit by bit, until at last it clanked into place, and the door ascended out of their path.
Opening his eyes, and seeing their way opened, Septin allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. It was indeed a challenge to keep his frustration in check with every slip up, but in the end he learned that it was possible. "You're well deserving to be proud of this accomplishment, apprentice," Nuhok said, stepping beside him and facing the now opened pathway. "You are well on your way to becoming a powerful warrior of the Sith armies."
"Thank you, Master," Septin replied, and together the pair entered the restricted library of the Warrior academy.
At first it was pitch black inside, but as they moved inward, braziers flared to life, illuminating rows of datapads, several downright ancient consoles, tables of preserved tomes and scrolls, and an antechamber behind another door. Approaching intently, Septin activate the panel that controlled this new door, and gapes in awe as it swung aside, revealing a small compartment, more of a small shelf set in an alcove. Sitting on these shelves was a quartet of Sith Holocrons, each humming with dark power, beckoning to Septin to activate them and learn all their secrets.
"Lord Millennial will be pleased with what we've found this day," he said aloud, and his master cackled in delight as they began plundering the treasure they discovered.
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The last week before the third task was filled with moments of purest bliss for Veneficus. News of Dennis Creevey's mysterious death traveled the school like wildfire, and while he coached the older brother of the deceased to be passably distraught and heartbroken for those who asked millions of questions, the Sith Lord was greatly pleased with the joy that his loyal servant expressed in private about the brat being gone.
Colin was certain that, now with his younger brother out of the way, his father would have no choice but to love him instead. Veneficus remained silent on that course of thought, knowing in his insidious mind that the boy was in for a most rude awakening, and soon he would have another permanent servant on this world.
The one downside to the whole affair was that Dumbledore, ever the interfering annoyance that he was, he become even more infuriatingly nosy into the Sith's business, dragging Colin away several times to 'make sure he was holding up alright with the recent tragedy.'
Veneficus had trained the boy in what ways he could subtly block the old man from peering into his mind, and for the time being it had been sufficient for Colin to prevent them from being found out, but Veneficus knew that the Headmaster suspected greatly the scenario that led to the younger child's death.
As Veneficus was the Hogwart's champion, he was exempted from the end of year examinations, and therefore passing this year absolutely freely, he had the entire morning before the third task to do as he pleased. Sitting in the great hall as the other children began to file out, he ran a mental checklist to make absolutely sure that everything he needed was in place.
That majority of his plan rested with Barty Crouch Jr. and the man's absolute loyalty to the Sith was comforting to rely upon, for the time being. It was still a sensation that Veneficus did not want to make a habit of.
As he sat, pondering the plan that would at long last buy him the revenge on his greatest enemies, Veneficus was interrupted as the Transfiguration Professor, McGonagall, approached the table where he sat.
"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," she said briskly, and Veneficus could detect her lack of warmth toward him that had cooled considerably after the previous year, thanks to the meddling old man.
"I was not aware that we require a full day in special preparation for the task…" Veneficus replied, smoothing his featureless mask over his face, it would not do for the resentment for the Headmaster to show during the last moments before his triumph.
"No, no, nothing to do with the task," McGongall clarified, "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task. This is simple a chance for you to greet them and spent some time with loved ones before the task this evening."
Veneficus shrugged, and the Professor departed, her message delivered. It was not that big of a deal to Veneficus. Millennial, as a school governor, had been present to each and every task thus far, but he supposed that in this instance he was going to play the part of the considerate guardian. It was fitting that things would come round back to where they all started, before the end of the Sith's time on this waste of a world.
Draining the last of his beverage before him, Veneficus slowly stood and made his way to the designated room. The French girl was jabbering with her family on the far side of the smaller antechamber, while Krum was in the opposite corner, conversing in rapid Bulgarian with a pair of similarly featured adults, and waiting for Veneficus by the fireplace, looking as calm and collected as ever, was Lord Millennial.
Approaching swiftly, Veneficus inclined his head to his Master, feigning an ounce of sentiment between the pair of them that the two other families were sure to not pay any attention to, so involved were they in their own children.
"So we come to the end of the fourth year you have studied here," Millennial said slowly, inclining his head toward the door, indicating that he would like to talk a stroll around the outside of the castle.
Veneficus obeyed, and together the two robed Sith Lords made their way to the sunny grounds of the castle. Off in the distance, they could see the Quidditch pitch, where Veneficus knew the maze of hedges awaited for them. "Indeed I have," he replied as they walked, and Millennial looked somberly thoughtful.
"I wonder, if you've grown somewhat comfortable here," he commented, looking around the grounds at the sunlit grasses and plentiful locations that Veneficus knew instinctively, "perhaps you'd even wish to stay the remaining three years before considering leaving this world?"
"Never," Veneficus replied hotly, refraining from the normal address of 'Master' that was sure to eventually draw the attention of Dumbledore. Inside the castle or not, it was not worth breaking their cover for even a moment with the infuriating wizard around, snooping where he was not wanted nor belonged.
"This is the final year," Veneficus continued, "and then I will be done with this planet for good, and ready to join you where we belong."
Millennial nodded, pleased with Veneficus' response, "I can feel power swelling within you," he added absently, "your time here has not been wasted needlessly. Our future will be well in hand between the two of us…"
Veneficus simply smiled, saying nothing about his future with the Sith Master.
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Albus felt the tension rising in waves from the Great Hall that evening during the feast prior to the Third Task. Cornelius and Ludo were present at the staff table, representing the British Ministry and the International Confederation of Wizards for the finals of the event, but their presence was relatively meaningless to Albus in comparison to the final adult at the staff table.
Instead of joining his ward at the Slytherin table, Lord Blackmoore had joined them as a member of the school governors. Although it didn't seem to bother Harry that his guardian wasn't taking every opportunity to be with him, it greatly worried Albus. The man's aura, ever present to Albus now that he knew what to look for, was flowing around the evil man like a mantle, subtly tainting everything around the man.
It was an abomination to Albus, but for the moment he tolerated such a creature in his castle, if he was to spring the final trap and rid his world of this darkness before it could destroy all that Albus held dear. Glancing over at Alastor, Albus caught the ex-auror's eye and gave a subtle nod. The man grunted roughly, before standing and stomping out of the hall.
Albus had already explained what the man had to do for his plan to work. The Triwizard cup had to be changed from a portkey into a trap, preventing the one who touched it from fleeing or fighting. Albus had no doubt that Harry would emerge victorious, and the trap would ensnare him while Albus dealt with Blackmoore. He fully expected the encounter to break down into violence, but the Elder wand had carried him through terrible battles before. Only when the man was defeated or dead could Albus even hope to begin to guide Harry back to the light.
As the sky outside, represented by the enchanted ceiling, darkened to a dusky purple, Albus rose. "Ladies and gentlemen," Albus stated when silence had taken the Great Hall. "In five minutes time, I will be asking you all to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now."
The three champions rose to their feet, but Albus' eye were on only Harry as the black haired boy exchanged a glance with his guardian at the staff table, before abruptly turning and marching out of the hall with the others, Ludo jabbering at them as they walked. Not for the first time in a short while, Albus had the distinct feeling that there was more going on than he was aware of, and he hoped beyond all hope that the trap he had placed for Harry would hold, at least long enough for Albus to free the boy from Blackmoore's influence.
If not, the whole of the world could be lost.
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Veneficus tolerated Bagman's endless chatter until they were down at the side of the maze, where he finally broke away from the man and stared into the opening of the maze, gathering the Force around him in preparation.
"Feeling all right, Harry?" Bagman's irritating voice sounded right behind him, and Veneficus whirled, grabbing the man and pushing him back roughly.
"Idiot!" he snarled, "Don't you know better than to walk up behind someone who clearly doesn't want to speak to you. Get out of my sight!"
The man staggered, clearly taken aback by Veneficus' seeming personality change.
"I…I'll just leave you to it then…" the man stammered, frightened, and back away to speak with the other two champions.
Five minutes later, the stands started to fill, the rumble of hundreds of feet and excited voices piercing the quiet that they had enjoyed previously. The sky was now a deep, clear blue, with the first of the stars showing themselves. Several of the Hogwarts professors approached, stating that they would be patrolling the outside of the maze if any of the champions needed or wished at this point to withdraw, to which Veneficus snorted. Like any of them would willing withdraw at this point.
As they all made their final preparations for the task, Bagman turned to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with ninety points is Mr. Harry Potter of Hogwarts!"
The crowd cheered, although there was a distinct section that refused to react to Veneficus' success. He ignored them, but waved to the crowd all the same.
"In second place," Bagman continued, "with eighty points is Mr. Victor Krum of Durmstrang Institute!" another explosion of noise followed, but not nearly as large as the one for Veneficus.
"And in third place," Bagman finished with a flourish, "is Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" Slightly less cheering followed, but not enough to really seem different from the applause for Krum.
"So… on my whistle, Harry!" Bagman said. "Three… two… one…"
The whistle blasted, and Harry steadily strode into the maze. The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and due to an enchantment placed on them, the sound of the crowd was silenced the moment he crossed into the maze. Smirking to himself in the gloom, Veneficus strode ahead, coming to a fork in the pathway about fifty yards in.
Knowing that there was little anyone could do to stop him from this point, Veneficus veered to the right, the hilt of his saber flicking into his hand with a sharp gesture. The whistle blew again, and Veneficus smirked as the first of his many victims entered the maze after him. Several seconds later it blew a third time, meaning that the other two champions were seeking the cup as well now.
Not that their interference meant anything compared to the raw power of a Sith Lord. As he walked, Veneficus took his time and allowed the Force to flow through him, guiding his path toward the source of the wild power within the hedges. The path ahead of him remained clear, and Veneficus knew that his servant, Crouch Jr., acting on the orders of Voldemort was making sure that he arrived at the Cup first.
But despite this, there were a select few things that Veneficus had to accomplish to bait his perfect trap. Lingering in the shadow of an intersection, the Sith Apprentice patiently waited for his prey to come to him, like a spider awaiting a fly.
It didn't take long. Soon enough he heard the sounds of running feet, and Miss. Delacour stumbled into view, looking around wildly for which direction to turn next. The girl was so frightened already by the events of the tournament, that it was a very simple thing to seize her with the Force the by throat. She coughed and spluttered, unable to muster the breath to scream, and Veneficus chuckled darkly as he turned her about to face him.
Fleur's eyes widened moments before Veneficus snapped her slender neck. She crumpled to the ground with hardly a sound, and Veneficus was already moving along, towards where the cup awaited, hoping that Krum would cross his path before he arrived. The crimson blade leapt to life in his hand, eager for blood and humming in the silence.
The sound would lead Krum to him, Veneficus knew this, and he refused to remove the smile from his face at the thought of Dumbledore's reaction when he found the other two champions quite dead. The Bulgarian Champion wasn't so easy to take out however. When Veneficus found him, staring down a long corridor in the hedges toward the golden light of the cup, the older boy whirled; spells leaping off his wand at Harry, even as the duck footed Bulgarian ran for the light.
What the boy couldn't have been prepared for was Veneficus' saber, deflecting each spell back at Krum, who had to hastily raise a shield to protect himself from the counterattack of his own spells. During that time, Veneficus channeled the Dark Side through himself, increasing how quickly he could move, and sprinted after Krum.
Even as the Durmstrang Champion recovered from his own spell, he couldn't react fast enough as the crimson blade severed his wand arm. With a howl of pain the boy fell to the ground, but even still he groped with his other hand for his wand. It was pure delight to listen to the boy wail as Veneficus impaled his remaining hand with the crimson saber, leaning over to pluck the boy's wand from the severed arm. The hornbeam wand joined Fleur's in Veneficus' robes; the first of what would soon become a great many trophies, moments before the boy's head was separated from his body.
Turning toward a small explosion of fear from outside the hedges, Veneficus could sense that Snape had placed to illegally watch him during this part of the tournament, and the Sith smirked as he sensed the man flee back to his master. There would be time enough for Veneficus to slip away, thanks to Voldemort, and by then it would be far too late for Dumbledore to even consider stopping him.
All barriers to the cup removed, Veneficus strode casually the remainder of the distance, carefully observing the cup from all angles before moving to touch it. Crouch had promised that it would transport him to where Voldemort was waiting, as was originally planned by the pseudo-dark lord, but one was never overly cautious in the end stages, especially where a creature like Dumbledore was concerned.
Seeing nothing amiss, Veneficus firmly grasped the glided handles, disappearing with a swirl of color and light. Landing gracefully, Veneficus noted the location in the graveyard where he was, right be the gravestone of Tom Riddle Sr., exactly as he had foreseen.
Turning toward the entrance of the graveyard, Veneficus spotted the arrival of a figure, hooded and cloaked, and reflexively withdrew a slender stick that he had hidden in his robes before the third task. "Who is there?" he called innocently, watching the figure approach through the rows of headstones.
Without even speaking, the figure raised a wand, and the stick was blasted from Veneficus' hand, followed by roped encircling him. Relaxing into the embrace of the enchanted rope, the Sith Lord allowed the short man to bind him to the large stone over Riddle's grave.
"Pettigrew…" he commented lazily as the man's face came into view, and the pathetic coward struck him for the sound. Drawing upon the hatred that the man inspired within him, Veneficus bided his time, even as the disgusting man began his ritual to restore his master to a semblance of life: bone of the father, unknowing given, flesh of the servant, willing given, and blood of the enemy forcefully taken. As the dagger pierced his arm, taking what blood was needed, the Sith Lord allow his eyes to revert to their true color, smiling as he gather the full power of the Dark Side around him, unnoticed by Pettigrew in the man's agony of a severed hand.
Let the 'Dark' Lord come, the Order of the Sith Lords had dealt with such fools before, and would rise over all competition by lesser pretenders.
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Millennial felt a tremor in the Force, even as his apprentice's presence vanished from the stadium. So the plan had begun with all haste, it seemed. Moments before, Snape had arrived and spoke quietly in the Headmaster's ear, and Millennial had seen the man pale considerably at the information he received. Rising to his feet, even as Dumbledore and the other judges did, he turned to the Headmaster. "What has happened Albus? That pulse of magic was not something I was informed of regarding the resolution of this task."
Albus turned to Millennial, concern and distrust in the piercing blue eyes. "No, it was not, come…" he beckoned, descending with all haste and bee-lining for the maze, wand out and waving in a complicated pattern.
Millennial followed a short distance, even as the older man entered the maze ahead of him. With a banishing movement, Albus removed the inside of the maze, clearing the field of obstacles. Two objects lay on the ground between them and the central pedestal where the Triwizard Cup ought to have rested.
"Oh no…" Albus muttered, recognizing the bodies of the fallen champions. Millennial laughed inside at the foolish man's weak sentiments for those who had no use to him personally.
What he didn't expect was for the old man to turn on him. A flash of silver, and a glittering sword was in the man's other hand, even as the opening in the hedges sealed itself. "Harry may not be here," Albus said, all trace of fear or weakness gone, replaced by a steel that the Sith had expected dwelt within the frail body, "But I can still follow through with eliminating your evil from the world."
"Whatever are you talking about Albus," Millennial said casually, slowly moving a hand to his belt, where the hook handled saber yet rested. It had been a while since he fought an opponent that he considered a challenge, and he hoped that Albus Dumbledore would fill the void that it had caused within Millennial.
"Oh, dispense with the lies, Blackmoore," Albus said sternly, "I can see the darkness that dwells within you, not magic but something equally powerful, and evil."
Millennial smiled, drawing the hilt of his precious weapon casually, "Evil is a term of the weak, Albus… Power, Survival, Greatness for the individual, those are what I stand for, and if you will not step aside and allow me to claim what is mine, I will have no choice but to strike you down myself."
"We will see if you can back those words with action, monstrous Lord…" Albus replied, raising sword and wand in a defensive stance.
Sighing to himself at the stubborn foolishness of these wizards, Millennial shed his outer cloak, ridding himself of the potential hindrance to his movement, and dispelled all illusions of his person. Relishing the look of abject horror on Dumbledore's face at the sight of him, Lord Millennial raised his saber in a Makashi salute, red beam igniting to the heavens, "So be it, wizard…" he stated flatly, even as the Force sent him leaping into action.
Despite his apparent age, Albus Dumbledore moved like lightning, and even with the Force enhancing his reflexes, Millennial failed to land a blow during his initial flurry of blows. Regardless, the old man seemed to be flailing to keep up with such a brutal pace, and his blade work was unrefined and clumsy, a result of a life of ease and intellectual prowess instead of martial might.
As though thinking along the same lines, Dumbledore immediately leapt backward, his wand snapping into his hand, bolts and blasts flying from the tip as the man leapt into the power of the Wild Force. Reenacting his standard blaster bolt training, Millennial launched into Soresu's total defense, deflecting multicolored jets in all directions.
Drawing a large amount of power into himself, Dumbledore shot a massive blast of white light at the Sith Master, who countered with a torrent of lightning from his free hand. The energies met in an explosion of light and power.
As the smoke cleared from their blasts of the Force, Dumbledore stared wide eyed at Millennial, "What are you…?" he asked breathlessly.
Lord Millennial smiled, lifting his saber to a ready position, "More than you possibly imagine…" just as he was going to attack again, a tremor in the Force caught Millennial's attention, turning him toward the south. Veneficus' power was building back toward the manor in Hangleton. Turning back to Dumbledore, who looked pained at the same sense of great power in the distance, "That would be my apprentice… I'd love to stay and chat, but… duty calls…" Millennial taunted, drawing a portkey that he had attuned to the boarders of the graveyard of little Hangleton, near where Veneficus had mentioned his visions describing.
Even as he vanished from the Hogwart's grounds, catching a final look at Dumbledore's bewildered face, Darth Millennial wondered just what he was about to find himself.
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Voldemort breathed in the first breath of his reformed life, free at last from the agony of his slow and tortuous phases as both spirit and homunculus. Turning from the boy that had been his initial downfall, he examined the reordered flesh, flexing his long and slender hands, and tested the limits of his magic. It was perfect.
"My Lord…" Wormtail choked pitifully, "my Lord… you promised… you did promise…"
The Dark Lord considered altering his deal with the witless worm, but instead lazily commanded for the traitor's arm, laughing when Wormtail eagerly thrust his bleeding stump toward him.
"The other arm, Wormtail," Voldemort laughed, drinking in the pathetic man's whimpering. The man only cried out pitifully, and Voldemort sighed. There was no avoiding his needing to do the act himself. Bending down, relishing the height that had returned to him, he seized the man's good arm, and ruthlessly yanking back the sleeve to expose the Dark Mark, uncaring of the jolting pain that it may send through the rest of the worm's body. Let him squirm a little longer.
"It is back," Voldemort said softly, admiring the deep skull and snake of his personal brand for his followers, "they will all have noticed it… and now, we shall see…. Now we shall know…" Even as Lord Voldemort pressed a long white finger to the brand, he honestly wondered how many would renew their loyalty to him, and who would be foolish enough to think they could escape him.
He paced there, between Potter, still bound to his father's headstone, and Wormtail, who stayed on the ground in agony. Looking back at Potter, Voldemort's first instinct would have been to taunt the boy, but for some reason he had no desire to do so. The boy was calmly staring back at him, a smirk spreading over the pointed pale face.
Voldemort was about to question what the boy found so funny, but suddenly the air was full of the sounds of apparition. From the shadows they came, his loyal Death Eaters. One of their number, Nott from the sound of the voice, immediately fell to his knees, "Master… Master…" the man murmured, triggering a chain reaction through the others. As they fell into their normal places in the circle, the Dark Lord was able to see the gaping holes where many of their numbers were missing for various reasons.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said quietly, laying on the dramatics for the purebloods before him. "Thirteen years… thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"
Voldemort started to throw his head back and continue lording his power over these men, but Potter started to speak, the snide comments flowing from his mouth like water. "I sense a great fear in you all, and it is well that you should fear. Bred from weakness, and following a fool to your own destruction..."
The boy laughed as Voldemort turned on him, red eyes glinting. Powerfully Dark or not, the boy would suffer for his arrogance three years previously when he destroyed the Philosopher's Stone and prevented his return longer.
Looking around swiftly, Voldemort paused. There were more gaps than he had thought there would be. Lucius was missing, and continued past the boy around the circle, he found the spaces created by Snape, Crouch, Karkaroff, and another three who had been slain. Still turning, the Dark Lord noted the spaces where his most loyal should be. The three LeStranges, still imprisoned in Azkaban, how he missed Bellatrix's willing obedience, and fierce devotion to his causes. They would be reunited soon enough.
Turning back to Potter, Voldemort smiled. "Now you see my true family, boy, and now the time for your punishment will begin, however, I have information that I need from you, and it would be wisest of you to not resist me..."
The boy smirked in return, "If you expect me to look impressed or afraid you're going to be sorely disappointed..." With a flash of crimson and a most peculiar hissing sound, the boy broke free of the ropes that held him. Voldemort eyed the pillar of deep red fire that the boy held in his hand. The weapon look particularly muggle in origin, and it disgusted the Dark Lord that Potter would bring such a thing into his presence.
Before the Dark Lord could even react the bladed weapon vanished from sight again, and the boy was nonchalantly striding through the gravestones toward him, as calm as a summer morning. It unnerved Voldemort to see one so fearless before him.
"Supposed dark lord Voldemort..." the boy started, smirking at him and the Death Eaters around them, "this night is the end for you..."
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Veneficus couldn't remove the smirk from his face as Voldemort laughed at his pronouncement. "You presume much if you think that you, a pathetic boy with little magical training could hope to defeat me, the greatest Sorcerer in the world!" the snake-faced man announced loudly, sending his minions into fits of laughter.
Veneficus waited until the pathetic excuse for a dark lord stopped, noting immediately that the Sith had not reacted in the slightest to his scorn. Flicking a hand, Veneficus tapped into the oppressive aura of the Dark Side that had been present since the ritual returned the man to a true body, and uncovered his trump cards in the man's supposed immortality.
Buried from sight, behind gravestones and other hide-away places rose several objects: a ring, a golden handled cup, a tarnished tiara, and an ornate locket. Even Voldemort's familiar, an enormous serpent rose into the air from the grasses where it had been hiding, writhing in the air now as it floated. Veneficus savored the look of abject horror on Voldemort's face at the sight of his precious treasures.
"I see you recognize what I'd found in the last few years..." Veneficus commented lazily, before he stretched out a hand, "Let's even the playing field for our final confrontation, shall we?"
Feeling the magic and life essences that comprised these soul containers, the Sith Apprentice drew on the pathways that bound them all to him and Voldemort, and tore the magic free of the objects. The snake hissed, screaming in agony through the language of its kind, and the objects all began to smoke and crumble. The only thing that survived the process was the ring, which Veneficus found most curious of an object out of them all to have survived, but he set that information aside for the moment, relishing Voldemort fear as his assurance against death was demolished before him.
As the last object crumbled away and was absorbed into Veneficus, he smiled again at the supposed bane of the wizarding world, "Not so confident now are we, lord Voldemort?"
The man screamed in rage, wand swinging through the air to point at Veneficus, but the Force was with him, and even as the enraged dark lord flung his telltale curse of death, the Sith apprentice was already in motion, igniting his blade and deflecting the curse back into the traitorous worm, slaying the rat even as the blackthorn wand traded places with the lightsaber in Veneficus' hand.
Allowing his rage at this man to flow through him, and the knowledge gained from the various soul containers aiding his spell casting, Veneficus flung dark curses back at the dark lord that destroyed his first family, and denied him the opportunity of growing up in a loving environment. Blood boiling curse, severing hex, bone breaker curse, and a half dozen others leapt from the wand as Veneficus regained his footing, forcing Voldemort on the defensive.
Veneficus pressed the attack, dancing to the side every time the weakened and enraged wizard managed an offensive spell, and managing to score several decisive hits on the man, but nothing fatal. It was too soon to end this fight, he needed to make absolutely sure that the intended audience had arrived before destroying the man, and also he wanted to taste the vengeance that had burned within him ever since he learned of Voldemort's involvement in his falling into the hands of Millennial.
Voldemort moved to apparate, and shift his position to try and outflank the Sith, but a powerful telekinetic blast threw the man off, preventing his concentration from making the teleport, at the same time that Veneficus' next spell landed, snapping the man's right thigh with a powerful crack.
So newly returned to a body, Voldemort must have been highly unaccustomed to physical pain, as he cried out, his grip on his own wand loosening. Quick as lightning, Veneficus tugged on the object with the Force, disarming the man completely and having the yew wand smack into his own hand. It pulsated with pure power, and would receive a place of honor in his pile of trophies.
"W…what are you?" Voldemort said, even as Veneficus dropped his illusions and loomed over the fallen man.
"Something far beyond anything you could possible comprehend…" Veneficus said snidely, even as he flung out both hands, torrents of blue Sith lightning raking over the false dark lord's body. Veneficus threw his head back and laughed as the man roared in pain.
"Fall before the power of the Dark Side, pretender…" Veneficus shouted over the crackle of his lightning. All around the pair, the Death Eaters started to try and stop Veneficus, but a wave of Force energy knocked them all back.
Even as he did, Voldemort tried to stagger to his feet, "I won't allow… some upstart child to try and defeat me." Another short burst of lightning silenced the puny dark wizard. As Veneficus slowly turned back to consider the man before him, he felt his Master's presence entering the graveyard.
"Lord Veneficus…" the three eyed mutant acknowledge as he stepped through the gravestones. "Dumbledore should be here momentarily, so you had best be on with eliminating this waste of an obstacle…"
"How dare you!" Voldemort raged from his position on the ground before Veneficus, still trying to maintain any semblance of dignity.
Eyes gleaming with dark power, Veneficus smirked down at Voldemort, "It's sad really," he said to the man, "In another life you may have been my greatest nemesis, but alas, you are nothing but a gnat in the face of a Sith Lord. But in any case, you may yet serve one purpose, adding your power to my own, and I will use it to conquer the Galaxy…"
Before the man could reply, Veneficus happily started draining the very life force from Voldemort new body. Energy and raw power flooded into him, and knowledge of forbidden dark magic entered his mind. It was magnificent; the rich blackness of Voldemort's full magic united at last.
"Harry, stop!" Albus Dumbledore said, horrified. The old man had arrived at last, but Veneficus ignored him, waiting until Voldemort was nothing more than a smoldering corpse, all his power and life essence fleeing him to enter into Veneficus. Turning to Dumbledore, Veneficus relished the look of horror in the man's face at his first glimpse of Veneficus' true visage.