Harry Potter and the Dark Arena
By: Tellemicus Sundance
Harry the Gladiator

The roar of the crowd was deafening. He could feel the vibrations of the sound waves trembling through the stone slabs and metal bars of his cell, trembling through the rags he wore, and sending shivers up his spine. He could feel the crowds' dark ecstasy and exhilarations, the outrage and fear, and numerous other unpleasant emotions around him. There were many Dark creatures nearby, their ugly presences polluting the very air of the gigantic underground stadium they were all in. And the foul Darkness was also polluting his own mind, stoking his growing anger and raising the resentment all the more.

There was a great battle coming. Harry had long since lost count of how many he'd already faced. If there was one true constant in his bitter, bloody existence of slavery, it was the simple fact that until he died or was killed, he'd never be free of the bloodshed. Over the years of his captivity, he had learned many great secrets about his magic, the ways it behaved according to his needs and desires, and most important of all how he could use it outside of battle.

For the moment, he was hovering two feet off the ground in a meditative stance, legs crossed and hands on his knees. Though his eyes were closed, there was a faint yellow glow emitting from behind his left eyelid. The eye was dear to him in many different ways. It marked the start of his rise to infamy in the underground arenas, the discovery of his conscious control over his magic power without the need for a wand, and the first true act of kindness he could remember. But, more than that, it was the secret to his continued survival. The eye was a transplanted organ, given to him by one of his former masters after he'd done the seemingly impossible and killed a Liger, the magical offspring of lioness and tiger who were said to be untouchable in combat. It had been given to him as a reward and compensation for losing his original left eye to the very same beast.

But what no one but Harry knew was that the eye gave him an unprecedented power: the power of foresight. With it, he could see the flow of a battle and alter it as he chose. That was how he survived this long. That was what he was doing now. He was trying to find comfort in the foresight. In his visions of the future far beyond the present, he could not see much in the darkness, the churning kaleidoscope of the present constantly shifted and wavered. But what he could see was that he was destined for a massive battle in the near-future and afterwards he could see himself and numerous other fellow slaves fighting and killing in a desperation that told him so much more than any words could. They were fighting for their freedom. He…was going to be free…soon.

He almost couldn't contain his eagerness at the idea. Freedom. It was something that everyone took for granted. Easily forgotten and abused by those who had the abundance of it, but invaluable, priceless really, to those who'd lost it and terrifying to those who've never known it. It was what inspired him to keep living, fighting against the growing odds and obstacles that were filling his life. But he would have it, if only for a few scarce moments!

Looking up as he sensed the approach of his guards, he slowly lowered himself to the ground. Though he enjoyed it whenever he freaked out his guards when they burst into his meditations and saw him floating, they always reacted by shackling him with magic-containment handcuffs. It seemed that they'd taken it as quite a personal offensive to see him capable of so casually performing wandless magic to such a degree that they'd decide to be spiteful and send him out into arena still shackled.

Just as he touched down, the door to his cell burst open and he spotted a quartet of heavily armored and armed Goblins just outside.

"You out!" it barked in a heavily-accented voice.

Not answering, Harry climbed to his feet and walked calmly from his cell. With two Goblins in front of him and two behind watching him extremely closely for any suspicious moves, Harry was marched down the long, winding hallway of the prisoner cells. The din of the crowds overhead had quieted somewhat, but were a still audible rumble like thunder in the distance.

Reaching an intersection of hallways, the Goblins halted their march and forced him into an all-too-familiar hallway that led towards the arena. As he walked calmly down the hall, a large gate lined with sharp and rusty metal spikes slammed shut behind him. But he ignored that he was noticed the weapons' window was open and there was a house-elf watching him expectantly. Walking forward, he held out his hands for the house-elf to magically scan the pair of shackles he'd worn for the past ten years of his life.

Satisfied with the information that the braces supplied it, the house-elf reached under the counter and extracted a box. Upon opening it, Harry's only response to seeing his beloved pair of gladius swords returned to him for the duration of the match was a slightly raised eyebrow of surprise. Was whatever the sponsors were planning to send him up against so horrible that they decided to give him his weapons of choice? That was the only thing that he could figure was the case, given that they'd actually allowed him a full day's worth of rest before now.

Taking his gladii, he moved into the dressing room. There he donned his typical armor, a simple pair of metal vambraces over his forearms, grieves over his shins, and his renowned claw-scarred chest plate. Strapping on the gladii, he turned and started walking down the long hallway towards the steadily growing din of the crowd.

As he walked, dark thoughts and emotions, influenced by the heaping amounts of Darkness that was around him, began plaguing his mind. This was how he psyched himself up. Blood-stained memories of his triumphs and losses, the pains of torture and torment, the badly-restrained rage against his masters, the hatred of the bloodthirsty spectators who constantly demanded he kill more for their amusement, all of that rose into a twisting, churning cyclone of dark energy inside that demanded release in the most volatile way. Around him, large and small pieces of debris and fragments of the hallway were torn and began bouncing, clashing, and smashing everything around him as his power continued to rise uncontrollably. His golden feline eye was shining brilliantly with power.

'Don't give up, Harry!' an unfamiliar woman's voice cried out frantically, echoing in his mind and causing him to instantaneously freeze. 'Please, come back to me!'

A strange feeling of…anticipation rose inside him. Who was this woman and why'd she want him to return to her? He was just a worthless slave. In his moment of confusion, the debris around him dropped lifelessly to the ground. Raising his face, Harry marched out of the hallway and into the arena without a hint of his former turmoil. He stood ready to face off against whatever new monstrosity the Dark Arena had to offer him.

He paid the suddenly deafening roar of the crowd no mind as he turned his attention to the arena's opposing set of doors. Through the enormous doors he could sense a pair of life-forms hidden in the deep darkness of those shadows. Then, with an ear-splitting shriek and the sound of tearing flesh, one of those life forces was suddenly extinguished. Before Harry had a chance to identify what kind of creature could've made such a shriek, a large body was hurled out of the darkness.

Harry watched it as it arced through the air and crashed to a halt on the ground, not even three meters away from him. Although its entire lower abdomen, ribcage, and all of the organs within were absent, Harry easily recognized the creature as an especially large Hippogriff. He had fought many a Hippogriff in his time, so he knew quite well that not just any creature could toss one around like a ragdoll. That could only mean one of two things for him. He was going to battle against a super-charged giant or, more likely, something far more ferocious and dangerous.

Then a massive form exited the shadows of the doorway. Its body was so tremendously large that it barely fit through it. It looked like a massive dragon on steroids, probably one of the countless illegal magical crossbreeding experiments that were conducted by the arena officials to 'add spice' to the fights. The head was that of a dragon, but its muscular body was that of an enormously oversized kappa. It was smooth and damp-looking, but lined with many large spikes along its forearms and shoulders. Its aura was saturated in the darkest and more vile of energies he'd ever come across. He could feel its undying hunger as it stared down at him. He could feel its sickly, molesting aura wash over his, feeling his own considerable amount of power. Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched the creature open its massive jaws, rivers of drool dropping to the ground below as it let out a hungry roar.

Spreading his arms, one of his recently-perfected powers burst to life around him. Lightning surged up his arms, around his fingers, and danced teasingly between his hands. Raising them up, he pushed a considerable amount of his power into his lightning as he launched it up towards the creature's face as it took several enormous steps forward, reaching for him.

The creature drew back from the shock of impact but quickly recollected its bearings. Quickly seeing this, Harry halted his attack and snatched his gladii. Racing forward to meet the monster head-on, he filled himself up with his magic, allowing it to guide and strengthen his body. Whereas before he'd have tried to channel as much power as he could into himself, this time he restrained himself, choosing to conserve his reserves. With a mighty leap, he leapt up to the creature's face; gladius swords raised and prepared to strike.

He would survive this