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The Omnipotence Paradox

Chapter 2: The Unrelenting Force

Harry Potter was no stranger to pain, in fact one could say that Harry was more familiar with pain then he was with joy and happiness. Life hadn't been very kind to him, and many of Harry memories, from past to present, bore the corrupt tint of sadness and pain. His earliest clear recollection wasn't that of a mother's love or a father's pride, it was of being dragged by his uncle by his hair and thrown into his dark, tiny cupboard for burning breakfast due to exhaustion from the previous day's chores. Harry's childhood consisted of vivid memories of being picked on by his peers, being beaten up by Dudley and his gang of hooligans, and of being put down and verbally abused by his relatives. Harry was sure there were happier memories somewhere drifting about in his mind, but they were just buried under the endless piles of painful recollections of his 'loving family'.

Harry's memories become more cheerful starting form the age of eleven, after discovering there was somewhere where he could belong and that he wasn't some 'freak' that was all alone in the world. But even in this new magical world Harry seemed destined for pain: from fighting the mind numbing pain in his scar from the presence of the dark spirit of Voldemort himself in his first year, to the jagged pain of a Basilisk's fang and the feeling of acid in your veins from it's venom in his second year. Harry's third year was uniquely stressful as he had his first experience with Dementor's and had the few precious happy memories he possessed sucked from him, leaving him with the only conscious recollection of his parent's he would ever have: his mother's screams and pleads for his life just before she was murdered. Harry's fourth year would set a new record for hospital visits needed as he was forced to compete in the dangerous Tri-Wizard Tournament; He was slashed by an angry Hungarian Horntail in the First Task, scratched at by Grindylows in the Second Task, and bitten by an Acromantula in the Third Task. However that didn't compare to being forced to participate in Voldemort's resurrection ceremony, where he had his arm sliced open with a knife and was repeatedly tortured with the painful Cruciatus Curse. Harry's fifth year of school almost seemed tame compared to his fourth; He was only forced to carve "I must not tell lies" into his hand repeatedly by a sadistic toad bitch that happened to be his teacher and have his mind repeatedly ransacked by a hateful greasy bat that happened to be another teacher. He could bear it all, until he went to the Department of Mysteries saw his Godfather fall through the veil…

But even all this 'training' in pain held nothing on what he was currently experiencing. Harry felt like his skin was bubbling as the tissue fibers in his muscles felt like they were being destroyed and reformed into something else entirely different throughout his entire body. The bones in his body felt as though they were all shattering, just to be painfully reformed to be shattered again. Harry's eyes felt like they were exploding in their sockets as bright lights and colors that Harry didn't believe were possible flashed through his vision. His mind felt as though it was being stretched and warped beyond anything that could remotely exist within the realm of possibility, and as Harry's sense of perception was expanding beyond anything he had ever experienced before, he could feel his mind, his very sense of self, start to crack and erode as the splinters of his old mind fell into the ever growing void that had begun encasing Harry's world.

'Is this what madness feels like?' one tiny shard of Harry's old self seemingly whispered into the void, before it too was swallowed up in the ever encroaching darkness. Those last few quiet words seemed to echo through the constantly expanding vacuum as all that Harry Potter was, is, and would ever be vanished into the swirling maelstrom that used to be a person.

As the last remnants of Harry Potter ceased to exist, a tiny ray of light cracked through the seemingly infinite darkness that had swallowed him up, and expanded outward, illuminating everything it touched in waves of purifying energy. It continuously expanded outward, beyond the physical space that Harry had one occupied, traveling through his bedroom and into the rest of the house. Waves of light and heat continued to travel outward, engulfing Privet Drive before moving onward, until the entirety of Little Whinging was encased in a brilliant dome of sheer power.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the residents of Little Whinging were encased in the most blissful sensations: warmth, affection, tenderness, strength, and love. Everyone encased in the shimmering dome felt as though they were being gently caressed lovingly in raw power. This feeling of absolute euphoria lasted less then the blink of an eye, before the entirety of Little Whinging exploded in a dazzling display of raw, unbridled energy, adding its own strength to the earthquake that was caused by a similar, simultaneous blast elsewhere in the United Kingdom that rocked the British Isles and the rest of Europe with it's raw power.

Harry James Potter, the wizard, had ceased to exist.

How does one define the feeling of life? Through the shared collective experiences that exist within the conscious thoughts of all sentient beings? Through the rush of adrenaline that pumps through the veins, leading to a rush of vigor that is experienced by the daredevil risk takers that gamble with their very lives for the next hormone high? Through the erotic bliss obtained during sex, as one's body and heart synchronize in the pinnacle of passion that people call love, launching someone into euphoric ecstasy at the height of completion?

No, they were all wrong. He had peered into the mind's of countless others; seen the same event from numerous angles and perspectives; and read the various memories from untold numbers of others, connecting to their very thought waves and seeing every intimate detail and experience of their lives. He had battled the greatest duelists of his age; fought in untold wars on unknown battlefields; and traveled to the very brink of death and beyond, only to return to life, stronger and fiercer then ever. He had seduced the most beautiful women in the world; bewitched the mindless masses to bow to his every lewd thought and commit acts of debauchery in his name, and made untold numbers of females scream his name as he took them to the highest pinnacle of ecstasy to sedate his own lustful desires.

'Fools, the lot of them,' he thought. The true feeling of life was in the intimate knowledge that you could do anything, be anything, that your greatest dreams and darkest desires were possible with just the briefest thought; The power to unravel time, space, and all the known laws of the universe, with just the tiniest wave; The power to re-shape the world in your own perfect image. Anything and everything at your command – that was the ultimate experience, the ultimate high, the ultimate ecstasy.

He was a God, and this was now his world to shape, to let it prosper or to completely destroy.

What a rush.

He knew this would take some getting used to - was he even a 'he' anymore? Was he now an 'it' or a 'what'? He supposed he would consider himself a 'he' for now, as completely changing one's thought process was difficult, even for a God.

His physical appearance didn't seem to change all that much; Voldemort had always had a very clear image of himself in his mind: Tall, thin, and imposing. His frame had filled out a little, but aside from that, his was still pale, and his face bore a rather striking resemblance to that of a snake, giving him a frightful appearance. His glittering crimson eyes now literally glowed with power that the Dark God had no intention of hiding, and his robes were now made from a material that simply didn't exist: condensed darkness. His robes were softer then silk and lighter then air, and seemed to absorb the light and heat around them as if they were a living being, similar to a Dementor. The final change was the raw power that swirled around him, radiating in waves that could be felt. The seer volume of energy that Voldemort emitted could force people to their knees in subservience, making them comply with his every command.

As Voldemort gazed down of the fortress of Azkaban from the sky, he tried to not see what it was; instead he started to picture what it could become. The earth began to tremble as the ocean around Azkaban Island parted, revealing the dark, ragged ocean floor. Cracks started to form in the ground as geysers of heat and magma spewed forth. Slowly, the foundations of Azkaban Island began to rise, followed by lava flows that streamed out onto the ocean floor. The dark island rose into the sky, followed by an eruption of lava, and streams of molten rock began to circle it, reinforcing the island and enlarging it. Massive outcropping of gagged rock began to form along the islands edges, giving it a vile, sinister appearance. The fortress itself, a tall, thin, imposing obsidian structure began to warp, expanding outward to become more like a dark castle, with high parameter walls and numerous turrets that stretched upward towards the heavens.

Voldemort gazed upon his new creation while he closed the seas over the lava flows. It was suitably dark, imposing, and terrifying; it would serve well as a mobile fortress as he 'purified the world'.

Dementor's swirled around the floating fortress before flying towards their new ruler and hovering before him. As one they all bowed, causing the Dark God Voldemort to grin maniacally.

With a final flick of his wrist, he changed the orbit of the Moon, having it cover the sun in a solar eclipse that hid the sunlight from Britain until the Dark God Voldemort changed his mind. He thought that a total eclipse would be a far worthier marker for a Dark God then just his old Dark Mark, the Morsmordre Spell. Everything was falling into place.

Let the cleansing of the world commence.

Words could not accurately describe the terrible mood of Albus Dumbledore; literally, within several hours, his well constructed and thought out world had fallen apart.

First, during the Summer Solstice at Stonehenge, during the sun's peak hour, the entire monument had exploded, as did five other henge monuments, killing well over ten thousand people. The earthquake generated by the blast shook the British Isles, causing great amounts of property damage and crushing people in their homes. But that was nothing compared to the second earthquake generated by a second explosion at Stonehenge less then a minute later, leveling a large section of Wiltshire. Buildings were toppled as far as the mainland, and the ground all over Britain had become unstable, causing numerous rockslides and further loss of life.

At the same time as the second Stonehenge blast, Little Whinging, Surrey, was blown into oblivion, killing thousands more and taking with it the worlds last hope of defeating the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had gone himself to the epicenter of the explosion, #4 Privet Drive, to try and find any trace of Harry Potter or his guard at the time, Dedalus Diggle. What he found there was a barren crater, devoid of life for miles around. There was little to no hope that his friend and the child had survived the blast.

Somehow Voldemort had discovered Harry's home and had fulfilled the Prophesy; Harry Potter, the only one who could possibly vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort, was dead.

Feeling thoroughly depressed and defeated, Dumbledore was summoned to the Ministry of Magic by Cornelius Fudge, who was clinging to the office of Minister of Magic by a slim thread. Within an hour of the Stonehenge explosions, the island fortress of Azkaban had simply vanished. The problem was further compounded by the fact that Britain was now seemingly trapped in an endless total solar eclipse.

"It's absolute madness, Dumbledore!" Fudge literally cried. "The death toll is already well over two-hundred thousand, and it just keeps climbing! Reducto!" Fudge screamed at the owl that entered his office, causing it to explode in a shower of feathers and gore. The unfortunate bird must have gotten past Percy Weasley, Fudge's secretary who had been spending the last hour trying to keep the tidal wave of concerned and angry letters at bay.

"Owls!" Fudge cried, "The Muggle Ministry keeps trying to contact me. Their rioting in the streets! Saying the Anti-Christ has come or some other such rubbish and that the world is going to end! I've taken down the portrait, but the Prime Minister and the Queen won't give up!"

"Cornelius," Dumbledore began calmly, far calmer then he felt, "we mustn't panic. The Prime Minister and Queen may have valuable information…"

"Nothing! They know nothing! I've had Weatherby screen their messages. They just want to yell at me!" Leaning over his desk, with his head in his hands and covered by owl blood and feathers, Fudge looked quite demented. "It's the end. There's no way to sweep this under the rug. The Muggles are going to find out about magic. They'll come after us! The Magical world's going to end!"

"You're not thinking of the bigger picture Cornelius," Dumbledore said quietly," if we don't act now, more then just the magical world will be at stake." Even if you ignored the disturbing events at Stonehenge, Little Whinging, and Azkaban, with the endless eclipse the Muggles would question, as they had already started to, and a full war would break out. Wizards and their magical brethren would not hold back, but Muggle technology had advanced rapidly, far quicker then the magical world could keep up with. If there was a war between the two, it would be a world wide bloodbath, and Dumbledore feared the magical side would loose.

And what had happened at Stonehenge, where all of this had obviously begun? Dumbledore knew Voldemort was powerful, but to be able to change the orbit of the Moon? It was unheard of. But if Voldemort had found a way to unlock that kind of forbidden power, without Harry around to stop him the entire planet was in jeopardy.

Rubbing his temples, Dumbledore tried to tone out Fudge's ranting, who was now chanting, "Its over" repeatedly with an insane look in his eye. Trying to calm down his own nerves, Albus Dumbledore's last thought was 'I wish I had a Lemon Drop' before the entire Ministry of Magic was wiped of the face of the earth, with Dumbledore still inside.

When Harry awoke next to the great lake at Hogwarts, he instantly knew there was no one at the school. The teachers had either run or died fighting, and Fawkes had returned to his home on Mount Everest after his bonded had died. All the elves had left; they had banded together with the other elves in Britain to fight the new Dark God during his attacks on the country and most had perished. The Centaurs and Acromantula's in the Forbidden Forest had fled, fearing Hogwarts would be attacked next. Even the creatures of the Black Lake were gone, trying to find deeper waters to hide.

Don't ask Harry how he knew this, he just did.

It had been a week since Stonehenge and Little Whinging had blown up, and since then the new Dark God had turned Azkaban into a massive floating fortress before destroying the Ministry of Magic. The next location he targeted was the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix at #12 Grimmauld Place, destroying the home and a small chunk of London during an emergency meeting with all the members still inside. He had then attacked Buckingham Palace, obliterating it in a swirling dark vortex that left another large crater, before moving of to the British Muggle Government and Army, tearing his way across the country. The British threw everything they had against him and his flying fortress of Azkaban, magical and technological, but nothing worked. The United Kingdom fell in less then three days.

As the Dark God Voldemort crossed the English Channel towards France, the remains of the ICF (International Confederation of Wizards) and the UN (United Nations) combined their strength and launched an all-out, no hold barred attack of Voldemort and Azkaban. The 'battle' lasted less then ten minutes – it would be more aptly named a slaughter.

During his campaign against France, a simultaneous nuclear attack was launched against Azkaban by the panicking Muggle nations of the world; not a single warhead made contact with the ground. Voldemort had saved France from becoming a nuclear wasteland just so he could conquer it – what irony.

France fell in less then two days, before he moved on to Spain, which fell in one day. At that point the nations were surrendering to spare the lives of its citizens; and when Voldemort next went after Italy he spared the magical population who surrendered, but completely destroyed the Muggle Government. Voldemort never showed any mercy towards the Muggles, and Italy fell in less then a day, before he moved on to Switzerland, then Austria, then Germany…

113,499,784 people in total had lost their lives so far since the first explosion at Stonehenge, all within the span of one week. Don't ask Harry how he knew this, he just did.

As Harry stared at his reflection in the lake's empty waters, he examined the outfit he now wore. Harry was wearing a large black leather jacket, over a crimson hoodie with a golden undershirt. He wore fitting black jeans with a gold trim down the sides, with thick, dark dragon-hide boots on his feet and fingerless leather gloves on his hands. All of his clothing looked new and were of high quality, which was something Harry was not used to. Don't ask Harry where the clothes came from, they just appeared on him.

Still watching his reflection, Harry noticed he could see perfectly, even better then perfect, but wasn't wearing any glasses, and were his eyes…glowing? Weird.

The total solar eclipse no longer cast its shadow on Britain; it had followed its vile commander along his bloody campaign across Europe and was now over Germany, Voldemort's current target. Germany would fall in three hours; don't ask how Harry knew this, he just did.

Harry struggled to remember where he had been for the past week. He remembered an all encompassing pain, before being swallowed up in endless darkness, then a piercing light, and…a transformation? Harry shook his head, which seemed filled with endless knowledge of the past and present, as well as possibilities for the future. He almost felt like all three ghost from Charles Dickens 'A Christmas Carol'.

Harry was really messed up. As he lifted his head and stared up at the sky, he couldn't help but notice the all encompassing silence around him, the raw loneliness of the Hogwarts grounds. For a brief moment, Harry wondered if this was what it felt like to be the last man on Earth. Closing his eyes, Harry gave into his sadness and whispered, "Sirius, I wish you were here," into the silence.

"Harry?"

Startled, Harry quickly spun around, and came face to face with an equally surprised Sirius Black. Sirius slowly looked around him, before lifting his hands and examining them closely. He began to slowly run his hands over his body, along his head, chest, legs, and sides as if to make sure he was all there. Finally satisfied that he was actually 'here', Sirius lowered his arms and, still looking shocked, looked Harry in the eye.

"But…How?" Sirius rambled incoherently. "You were just…and I was just…huh?"

Staring at his still gobsmacked godfather, Harry could only think of two words to adequately express how he currently felt.

"Holy shit."