On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads

Enigmaris

Chapter 51: Voldemort Brings the War

Summary:

Voldemort knows pain. At this point it's all he knows, and he loves it.

Notes:

It's part one of the big battle! This is going to be written in more than one part so I apologize ahead for the cliffhanger this week!

Chapter Text

It had hurt the first time.

He could admit now to being surprised at the pain of it. No other dark magic spell had filled him with such agony as that one did. He had been breathless with it, kneeling in that girl's bathroom, his journal on the ground in front of and Myrtle's corpse by his side. The blood on his hands would never truly wash out, he would always see it, spotting his fingers and knuckles and he would revel in it.

When the ritual had finished, he had felt stronger, invulnerable.

And numb.

But that was the same thing wasn't it? The lack of feeling made him better than anything else had. He was unassailable now. No one could touch him or defeat him. No one would stop him from his purpose, not Dumbledore not even the god that his caretakers back at the orphanage kept insisting would punish him. He was a god now.

The second time he did it, it hurt, but he expected the pain, he was prepared for it. The pain felt lesser somehow, as if he'd become inoculated against it. Or like his soul had finally bowed to his will and realized the necessity of it all.

He kneeled on the ground and placed the diadem at his knees and let a part of him enter it and it became him.

The third and fourth time, it felt similar to a pin prick. Pain was his constant friend, he welcomed it into his life like a familiar lover. The same pain he spread out to others. He watched as the golden cup turned brassy with him and the locket hardened into a thing beyond the strength of man. He was better, stronger, more. The gods would cower before him, the very Fates themselves would bow to him. He knew it, he had become eternity. The fifth time felt natural to him. He took the ring that had belonged to his worthless family and he let it tarnish with his soul, he had looked at the ugly stone and sneered. Now it was something more, something greater.

It was the sixth time that something went wrong.

He was left in agony. True agony. A bodiless wraith made up of nothing but rage and malice. The pain was all he knew until it ended when he received his new body.

He blamed the woman for it and it had taken him far too long to figure out what she had done. Dumbledore and his ilk believed it was love but he was no fool. Love was not as powerful as him. It never would be. In the end it had been his own folly, promising his loyal follower Severus a reward for the information on the prophecy. Severus had wanted the woman to live, to be taken in as his mudblood whore and Voldemort had been willing to indulge him.

The prophecy had been the norns attempt to stop him and Voldemort was no fool. That child would not grow to match him power, he would not allow it. But it had seemed a little thing to promise the mudblood's life to his most profitable servant.

That had been his error.

The dark mark's magic had inadvertently made his words into a magical binding and when Voldemort had given the woman a chance to live (three chances), it had sealed it into a vow. Of course, magic had punished him for killing her. It had nothing to do with love and everything to do with the immutable laws of magic. Once he had discovered this, he had rested easily within himself. There was no power Potter had that was greater than his own, no strange force of love that he could not comprehend.

Of course, he had punished Severus for this, torturing him far more often than normal just to make a point of it. But he allowed the man to live, he was still his only in at Hogwarts and that had saved the potion master's life.

Then he had made his sixth horcrux with his beloved Nagini and it felt like pleasure to him, to sever that final part of himself into a seventh piece. What was left in his magically constructed body was the best part of his being, the part that had survived everything possible. The part that had worked through the starvation, the cold and fear of his youth, the piece of him that had remained resolved despite every setback in his rise to power. It was the shard of his very being that had remained after his body had been destroyed, that had possessed Quirrel and had nursed itself back to strength on Nagini's venom.

It was the only part of him he appreciated, the only part that mattered.

He could no longer see the blood on his hands. He no longer remembered the names of those he had killed. They were ants to him. He was greater than a god, greater than the forces that governed their world. He was beyond pain, beyond regret. The earth would be his and then every realm would fall at his feet. He would own it all and he would bathe every planet in blood and gore.

Then the ring was destroyed, and Voldemort saw the cracked and damaged version on Albus' finger.

And if he had thought he'd known pain before.

The destruction of a very piece of him, carelessly burnt into nothingness was like an eternal torment. His very being was racked with it, laid over coals and destroyed. The flame of fiendfyre was unlike any other and Voldemort was almost jealous that he had not been able to cause that sort of pain himself. When the pain ended, he still thought himself safe. There was no way Albus would discover there were more.

Then Nagini had been burned.

He didn't waste time letting himself scream, instead he began to rush towards Malfoy Manor, desperate to stop what had already occurred. But Potter, it had to be Potter, had already escaped along with Narcissa, deep into the night.

He tried to gather the horcruxes, to protect them. But he failed time and time again. They would be destroyed without warning, leaving him weak and mortal. It became familiar to him but the pain never lessened. He thought he had gathered the locket from it's hiding place and he did not think to check deeper. He was numb from it all, he could not tell that the locket was not a part from him, not until the real one was destroyed by the blade Potter carried.

The moment that occurred, he prepared for war. He would not allow Potter to live on anymore. He would destroy both him and Albus and then he could create a new and final horcrux. He still had enough soul left for that. He would do it. He would regain his godhood. But Potter needed to be destroyed now. He had let that pustule survive too long and he had only grown more powerful. No one knew how the boy had increased in power, not even him. The boy had managed to block their connection to an enormous degree and Voldemort could no longer look inside and see.

But that didn't matter. The boy was not prepared for the forces he brought with him.

16 covens of vampires, along with countless inferi. 4 thunders of giants. 6 packs of werewolves. Dozens of dementors. Hundreds of death eaters. He had even gathered trolls and bound them to his service. His army was vast and when he was done Hogwarts would be no more. That little bubble of rebellion would be popped and all those who stood with Potter would be ground into the dirt. The children who had betrayed him and his cause, who had removed their marks, would be tortured and he would make it last. The Avengers would be destroyed and so too would Loki if he refused to join him.

He was ready. He had gathered his power, he had protections put in place for that damnable god of thunder. He had set out smaller forces to major American cities as distractions so that the Americans could not stop his invasion. It would end today. The prophecy would be fulfilled and Potter would fall, just as he should have as an infant. He could feel his surety fill his veins and he ordered his forces forward, through the forbidden forest and towards their target.

He could sense the wards in front of him. Powerful walls of magic that would attempt to bar him entrance. The wards had been strengthened since he had last been here, hiding beneath Quirrel's stupid turban. The magic was stronger, it blocked animagi from passing beneath it, and it was strong enough to withstand a standard frontal assault. It was smart of Albus to strengthen the wards, but it was not smart enough. Voldemort did not do standard assaults.

When they reached the edge of the wards, Voldemort stepped forward. He lifted his yew wand, and he wordlessly let the first of his many attacks land on the wards. A bolt of yellow light burst from him and slammed into the wards, the wards in reaction formed a translucent shield around the perimeter of the grounds. The light latched onto the shield and spread out, like an infection, digging its claws into the very threads of the magic that protected the castle within.

He pushed forward into the very soul of the wards, his magic filling it with malice and disease. The wards began to wobble as Voldemort's magic ate it from the inside out, consuming bits and pieces of it in his rage. The wards began to yellow with decay and illness and Voldemort smirked, pushing further. He was more powerful in this body than he had ever been before, horcrux or no, and this power served him well.

In front of him he saw the small pitiful forces of the school gathering, not truly ready to face him. Potter and his two friends stood at the helm of the party. They stood on the steps of the castle, weapons and wands in hand as if their resistance mattered. Just as the wards began to crack, he heard Potter shout out a denial, sending a blast of purple magic right at the wards, buffeting them. Voldemort grit his teeth as Potter's magic began to soothe over the infection Voldemort had brought, trying to excise him out.

"No." He gritted. "Not today."

He sent a second spell, a cunning thing that draped around Potter's own magic and then turned into a version of the cruciatus. Pain flooded through Potter, torturing him through his own magic and staying there as long as the foolish boy continued to fight against him. The boy screamed loud enough to be heard over the vast distance between them and his magic blinked out. Moments later the wards failed with a thunderous crash, causing the earth to quake and tremble.

"Attack."

The giants and werewolves moved forward as one. Their thundering steps further shaking the ground and the stones of the castle. Above them the skies were cloudy and dark, Voldemort himself had cast the spell blocking the sun from shining so that the vampires could move freely. Even if Thor came he would only call more storm clouds to the sky not less. The vampires had also been outfitted with protective cloaks just in case, Voldemort would not allow something as inconsequential as the sun slow his forces down.

The only people outside ready to defend the castle were a smattering of older students, the staff and Potter and his ilk. A pitiful force for what Voldemort had brought. All this time Potter and Albus had had to prepare and this is what they brought. Wards that had toppled like a stack of cards and a small force of magic users that would not withstand his army. What a joke.

"HEIMDALL!" Potter yelled. "NOW!"

Moments before the giants reached their destination a gigantic beam of rainbow light blasted from the sky and bashed into the earth before him. Asgardian warriors began to stream from the light. Gods and goddesses in armor with gleaming weapons in hand. The warriors streamed in forming a barrier between Voldemort's army and the school. When the light finally faded Voldemort could see an older god with an eyepatch on one eye and a golden spear in one hand.

"No. Impossible."

"Master?" One of the Death Eaters said.

"Did I say stop?" He snarled looking back at his hesitating forces. "GO!"

Why Asgard was here he didn't know. But it did not matter. He would still win, even if he had to kill the king of the gods to do it.

The war had begun and it would end today.

The aesir immediately began to fight the giants and trolls. The gods used their strength and weapons to topple giants and behead them. Some were even wrestling trolls. As well as the feral werewolves, who were still much stronger than a normal man, hyped up on magic like they were, which apparently made them good wrestling partners. The death eaters and other magic users began to fill the air with spell fire. The acrid scent of magic mixing with the stench of troll sweat and giant blood.

To his left magic users were casting fire spells to burn at the inferi while others cast sunlight spells to ward away the vampires. The undead creatures were forced back but then Death Eaters blocked these attacks by attacking the magic users and letting the undead through. The dementors spread their fog through the air, covering the battlefield and weakening Potter's forces.

Voldemort cast killing curses indiscriminately, killing aesir warriors and human magic users with the same brutal efficiency. He moved through the crowds killing anyone on his way as he made his way towards Potter. Potter was his goal. He would kill him and then no one would stand in his way, the world would be his once Potter fell. This was his destiny. To his left he saw Odin, taking on a troll head on with his spear. Voldemort fired magic from behind, a killing curse right at the king's head. Abruptly a rock was levitated up right into the trajectory of the spell. The spell hit the rock and exploded instead of killing Odin head on.

"All-Father!" Granger shouted. "Behind you!"

Odin turned, ready to attack him, but Voldemort apparated away before he could get a shot off. That damn mudblood stopping him. She'd die after he got to Potter. Voldemort's strategy was set as he searched for Potter in the mayhem. He would attack, kill, and maim anything he could and apparate away the moment a god of real power spotted him. He could not afford to be injured by any of them until he had Potter in his grasp.

Around him the earth was being drenched in blood and covered in corpses. The giants were attacking the towers and walls of the castle, sending giant stone debris into the battle field while the trolls mashed their enemies with their clubs. The dementors were being repelled in some places by patroni but the casters couldn't hold the protective spell for long in the chaos of the battle.

The Order began arriving soon enough, a small force that attempted to augment the pitiful group of magic users Potter had gathered to his side. Voldemort ignored it as the pointless annoyance that it was.

The Avengers came after and this was slightly more serious. Thankfully the battle was in full swing and none of the Avengers could actually get to him as he moved through the bloodshed on his way to Potter. That didn't stop Thor from trying. But Voldemort was ready for him, he'd studied what the god was capable of and he knew how to counteract both. When Thor finally landed in front of him, lightning gathering in his eyes and around his limbs and thunder clouds thickening in the sky, Voldemort stood his ground.

Thor roared a war cry and fired a bolt of lightning right at Voldemort. When the energy was mere inches from him, he reached out and grabbed at the lightning with his bare hands. The lightning burned at his palms and fingers, but he only gripped harder and let his magic pour into it, twisting it until it turned yellow and putrid, then he shot it right back at the stunned god of thunder.

Thor flew backwards into a group of warring death eaters, toppling them like cards, as the pain curse did its damage. The god got up and threw his hammer right at Voldemort, he knew from experience that not even apparating would allow him to dodge the hit, but that was fine. He allowed the hammer to fly directly at him, opening a portal right at the last moment. The hammer flew through the portal leading it right to Antarctica and Voldemort closed it before the hammer could turn and correct its course.

"Pathetic." He said. "Let's see how long the great god of thunder can survive without his hammer."

He fired a barrage of spells right at the god who rolled out of the way, not retreating as was sensible but still moving towards Voldemort with murderous intent. Their duel began with Thor summoning lightning that Voldemort redirected with ease. Thor was good at dodging spells while moving closer and closer to Voldemort. Voldemort kept the distance between them so that he could continue his range attacks without risking hand to hand combat. Now that the hammer was out of play Thor's failure was a matter of when and not if.

It took more than a minute of continuous combat for Thor to falter and get hit with a blasting curse that sent him to the ground again. Voldemort raised his wand to cast the final blow, then he felt a disturbance, his magic sense warning him of danger. He turned and lifted up a shield just in time to block the incoming arrow from Weasley's bow. The arrow stopped inches from his face and dropped to the ground at his feet, useless. Next to the blood traitor was Potter, finally ready to face his death.

"Potter." He snarled.

"It's time to end this Tom." He said, his voice carrying over the battlefield.

The boy had a sword in one hand, there was no wand, which likely confirmed the wandless magic rumor that had reached his ears. Potter's two friends stood by his side, one carrying a bow and the other a battle axe of all things. The blade of the axe and the sword both were crimson and wet, and all three children were marked with various injuries.

"You've come to face your death then?"

"Could say the same to you."

Around them the battle didn't quiet, most people didn't even notice the confrontation of a lifetime was finally happening over the chaos. But the space between the two of them was clear and the surrounding mayhem became even more irrelevant to him. People on both sides of the conflict were dying, breathing their last breaths into the blood tainted air. But none of that mattered because the battle foretold by prophecy was about to begin.

Potter stepped forward, his two friends allowing him to go on alone as they watched his back. The boy lifted his sword and Voldemort lifted his wand. There was a moment of absolute stillness between the two of them, red eyes meeting green, neither of them showing a hint of fear.

Then it began.

Voldemort sent a wave of five separate killing curses right at the boy in a wide enough range to keep him from dodging. The boy lifted up the earth beneath his feet so that he was in the air, well above the curses. Then he fired three blasting hexes right at Voldemort, who blocked the spells with a shielding spell.

Relashio!

Crucio!

Oppungo!

Expulso!

Avada Kedavra!

Confrigo!

They traded spells and attacks, quicker and quicker. Potter switched between shielding with magic and using the sword to deflect spell fire. Around them the fighters moved out of the way, desperate to avoid the heat of their magic. His arms and legs burned with the exertion but his magical core sang as they moved closer and closer to their goal. Above them the clouds were heavy and the air was dark with smoke and fog.

"Diffindo!" The boy shouted.

"Reducto!"

Their two spells hit each other mid-air and instead of matching each other like they had in the graveyard they exploded upon impact creating a concussive blast of heated air that sent everyone in the immediate vicinity to the ground. Voldemort pushed himself up, glaring at Potter who was doing the same.

"Give it up Potter!" He shouted. "I will defeat you and the world will be mine!"

"No Tom." Potter said, almost infuriatingly calm. "The world is never going to be yours. Your horcruxes are gone and even if you kill me, nothing will change your mortality."

"I am a god!"

"No." Potter said, a grin gracing his features. "But I am half of one."

Potter cast a spell, conjuring a wave of bright purple flame, forcing Voldemort to shield with a water spell. The water hit the magic flame and created a violent flash of steam. Voldemort grit his teeth against the pain and fired another spell. What did Potter mean half of one? The boy didn't give him time to think as he pressed his advantage and started using all of his magic to crowd Voldemort back and back towards the walls of the castle. Voldemort fought back as best he could but the boy was relentless, for every spell he blocked there was two more forcing him back.

When he was three feet from being cornered, he spotted the mudblood from out of the corner of his eye. He smirked and lifted his wand, shooting a killing curse right at her. The girl was distracted, fighting against a vampire, and Weasley was just as distracted, keeping a Death Eater from attacking Potter from behind. The only one who saw the spell coming was Potter. Potter who had always been a fool, who was stupid with weakness and sentimentality.

Voldemort watched as the boy yelled out a warning, one that wouldn't reach the mudblood in time. The boy rushed forward, pushing Granger to the ground right as the girl finished cutting off the vampire's head. The killing curse hit Potter right in the side, sending his now lifeless corpse to the ground with a ragdoll like thud.

A moment later, a flash of familiar pain rushed through him. The destruction of a piece of him. He gasped with it as he realized the true nature of his connection to Potter, he could not even roar out a victory cry, so great was the pain in his chest.

"NOOOO!" Loki yelled out, bursting through the crowds, he stopped at the sight of Potter's corpse and Granger leaning over his body and crying. Slowly the god's head turned to look at Voldemort, there was something icy in his visage. "You killed my son."

I am half of one.

Oh. Voldemort's mind reached several conclusions as Loki's hands light with green flame. The most important of which was that he had the blood of a demi-god flowing through his body and that? That would make killing the vengeful god in front of him quite easy indeed. Potter was dead, the prophecy fulfilled, and no one would defeat him again.