Please note that I do not own Dungeons and Dragons,their relevant editions, Pathfinder or Harry Potter. Dungeons and Dragons are owned by Wizards of the Coasts, Pathfinder is owned by Paizo and Harry Potter and its franchises are owned by JK Rowling. The following story is just for my enjoyment and hopefully yours as well.
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Chapter 12: All Of Us Born Again
Draco grimaced as he paced around the castle, Eroges watched him with the intensity of a cat watching a wounded mouse. The kill was coming, the Diabolist knew. He tried to keep calm, took a deep breath and said, "What is the will of Hell?" The devil simply grinned and turned to face the haunted castle, "Oh, punishments and recriminations are in order. Our superiors will be very angry but in any case both of our skins will be safe. For the moment of course," the devil turned to him, "Coincidentally we have another assignment for you. With similar parameters. The coordinates will be sent to you summarily"
Draco gaped and then frowned, "You knew I would fail. This whole charade was to…get me to fail or something," The devil laughed, "Failure was calculated and an acceptable risk. Another archmage in Hell's pockets was a sweeter prize than a million souls. Do you know how many wash up on our shores at any one moment?" Eroges made a waving motion, "More than this tiny world could ever contain"
The Diabolist sputtered, "But Ira and Hermione, not to mention the others!" Eroges chuckled, "Harry and Neville were never our goal and neither were Luna or Hermione. I suspect the one they serve will punish them severely. As for your erstwhile master, his fate is somewhat surprising and fortuitous. He will be a most useful ally in the centuries to come" Draco grimaced, "I don't understand" The contract devil grinned, "None can ever truly guess at the minds of true devils, Draco. One day you will come to know that fact quite well. Now let us leave this place. I personally am tired of this broken world. We have greener pastures to bring to the fold, Draco and you will help us reap it" The Diabolist grinned at that and went off to places even he didn't know existed.
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Ginny walked the fields just outside her home. For the last few months, her walks had become a daily thing, a mantra of sorts to stave off the madness of losing her magic. Her family attempted to deal with it in their own ways. Her elder brothers Percy and Charlie were still somewhere out there, unable to reach the Burrow as the Floo Network and Apparating could no longer be used. Her mother was constantly cooking, cleaning and trying to keep busy with house chores just to stay sane. Her father was in a sort of waking catatonic state. Losing three sons and magic were just too much. It was all they could do just to keep him fed and alive.
For her, magic had always been a given. Nowhere in their entire history had there been anything about the loss of magic. Now, she was hearing of rumours, brought by peddlers that managed to come this way every few weeks or so that the whole world was empty. Something or perhaps someone had stolen every one away or at least a good portion of the world. Her thoughts so wrapped up, she didn't notice the rock that caused her to trip and fall. Falling flat on her face, the soft earth felt comforting, like being buried.
Perhaps she should stay still and just die. Food and water would run out and they couldn't reach the outside reliably. The last few visitors had brought some food but it was beginning to taper out. The people that found them were more in need of food and her parents wouldn't say no to charity. One day, someone would come and take from them everything they had left and there was nothing they could do about it. Ginny heard about it before, though it wasn't talked about much.
During the last Wizarding War, young witches caught would be raped, if they were suitably pure-blood they would become breeding stock for the Death Eaters. In these current times, her life would be taken if that meant someone could have a cup of water or crust of bread. It would be better just to remain still and let her life leave this world.
Nonsense, a voice heavy with perfect and powerful spoke, why leave now when you can rule this pitiful world? She awoke and got up, startled but the voice continued, Don't be alarmed. I am a friend, more than that even, I am your saviour.
"Who" she began to say but the voice told her to turn around and she did. Blinding light consumed her and she saw. An angel, so achingly beautiful, she lacked the words to express his beauty. Two pairs of white feathered wings, silky bronze hair and such perfect marble skin. The eyes were like the stars. The angel floated before her and she found herself kneeling, crying with fear and hope, "Who are you?" she blubbered.
"You know my name, child, as I know yours," the angel smiled revealing pearly fangs with two pairs of elongated canines, "and I have come here to find mortal messengers. I want you to be the first of my mortal heralds, my hierophants" the angel leaned closer, "will you serve?" She nodded dumbly and power wracked her frame. The might of her god, Aziral, made her moan in pleasure and pain.
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"Ginny, what went on out there?" Molly called to her daughter as the red haired girl came back into the house. She gripped something in her palm, "What's that you got there, love?" it looked like a silvery amulet of sorts, an open palm with two pairs of wings coming out the back. When she came closer, she saw the centre of that palm held a tear made out of a ruby. It looked like blood. Ginny smiled, "Don't worry mother, it will be alright. I found him, the answer to all our troubles"
Molly frowned, "Found who, dear?" Ginny looked like she had gone through something traumatic but then again they all had hadn't they, "Found who, Ginny and tell me this instant!" Her daughter chuckled and gripped the amulet, in actuality a holy symbol tighter, "God" and then a spell held Molly Weasley tight. Her daughter went and picked up a knife and she died, unable to voice her screams.
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Ginny stood naked, watched the burrow burn and with it, her weakness and mortal failings burn with it. Her mother had been sacrificed to Aziral and she had been a strong soul. Hopefully her mother's spirit would serve her god much better in the lord's realm than in the mortal world. Somehow she doubted her mother would have bent the knee to god. As for her father, she didn't bother with the knife. She merely held him in spell-thrall and let the fire do the work. She turned and the shadows of the flames, along with the shadows of the setting sun, formed her god who smiled beneficently at her, "I knew you were strong Ginny. How fortunate I am to have you as my voice here in this world"
Her god's tone made her blush as she knelt to him. The holy symbol on its chain he gave her felt warm on her chest, clutched between her breasts. Her god came closer and touched her forehead. She felt fire, power and understanding flower in her. She was being given great might, to carry out his will all the more swiftly. When she awoke, her god was gone from her presence, only physically though. She felt him, inside and around her. She knew his overall plans for this world and smiled. Gripping the symbol, she spoke the words of power. Space buckled and she was elsewhere.
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Avery, one of the Death Eaters that had personally accompanied the Dark Lord, grumbled and vomited one more time onto the dirty patch of dead leaves. Stuck in some forest somewhere, he had been forced to eat raw roots and other detritus. Water was easy to come by, it rained frequently here but food was another thing. His last meal, a dead rat-like animal was coming back up more frequently than he had held down. His strong features had sagged in his days here, sapped of much of his strength.
He slumped on his side, heedless of the mess he sat onto. His black robes had been stained by far worse things in those early days. The loss of his magic, which had been the one thing he couldn't accept or believe in. Everything else suddenly didn't seem to matter all that much anymore and he felt like taking his own life. However, every time he found something sharp, like a twig to plunge into his eye or even a small puddle to drown himself in, he stopped.
He cried again, curling tighter around himself. Maybe a stray animal would find him and end his misery. He was weak, powerless and pathetic. Better death than this living hell. Hell is real but so is salvation, mortal, a voice said and Avery looked up. Power, light and fire met his eyes and he wept in joy and fear as the being, an angel looked upon him.
Black armour, fiery wings and golden eyes. The dark yet light marble skin and its fire veined mace made it look malefic but beautiful. At once, its name came to Avery and hope began to win over, "Kyrel" The angel looked upon him and smiled, revealing vampire-like fangs, "You are adequate enough. My lord has me for a protector and his priests shall share in that same relationship. Rather than do it myself, you will be the first. You shall be their Left Hand as I am to my master," the angel nodded to itself, "yes, the first of the Left Hand indeed" Avery slowly rose, as he did power filled him, giving him nourishment and strength, "What do you mean?" he managed to stutter.
The angel, his master Kyrel smiled, "You will know power again," the angel placed its palm on his heart, "and with it you shall have singular purpose, eternal and unending" Avery screamed, not in pain but in revelation.
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Voldemort howled one more time to the uncaring night sky but his voice came out in a strangled gurgle. No one seem to care, the least of those being his servants, his last remaining dozen Death Eaters, out of the many he had led against the French Aurors in that forsaken forest. Somehow, when their magic had left them, they managed to stumble onto the coast, though how they did that had been much of a blur. The last few weeks, months maybe, had been a blur.
Many other dark wizards had left, broken and lost, but those that remained hoped that their master would somehow find a way to regain their magic and win the war. Time passed and they lost all hope for even that. Now, their days were spent gathering wood for fire, trying to find something to eat and tending to their lord who had become erratic, unstable and perhaps insane.
The magical draught that Draco had been giving him had been a powerful narcotic, and without it, Voldemort had gone through withdrawal. Unlike most narcotics however, this one had been fashioned in one of the Nine Hells, with ingredients from a few of the Lower Planes. The withdrawal Riddle was enduring made him increasingly paranoid and weak, with hallucinations, twitches and sudden fits becoming a daily occurrence. The Death Eaters had discussed whether or not to kill their mad master, since they had no idea he had been drugged and attributed his behaviour to the loss of magic.
However they couldn't do much now. All their efforts were focused on survival and it had become an activity to which to stave off their own impending mental breakdown. Some of them had already taken the easy way out, walking into the ocean until they drowned or walking into the woods and having something rip their throats. Others simply lay where they had fallen and refused to get up, dying from dehydration and hunger.
The remaining dozen tried to hold on but that was going to change soon enough. As they huddle across their meagre fire, watching their master pounding his fist into the coastline –Voldemort stayed away from them and their fire- Avery walked to meet them. His communion with his god had changed him and he stalked like a wolf among sheep.
His fellow Death Eaters stirred at his coming but none got up to talk to him. He smiled and took out his holy symbol, silvery metal in the shape of a mace from which the handle sprouted a pair of wings. He incanted a spell, the symbol cutting into his hand and drawing blood. No gift from his god was free and Kyrel expected suffering from his chosen for every gift bestowed. The men rose at the stirring of power and bawled in mute surprise as food began to appear around the flame. Fresh baked bread, juicy fruits, decanters of wine and finally from the fire appeared a sizzling rack of lamb. They looked at him once and he nodded to them. They fell over themselves, like rabid animals to get at the meal.
When they ate their fill and they felt strong again, they began to approach him, full of fear, questions but most importantly, hope. Avery sat cross-legged, patient and understanding and he told them. About his encounter with the angel and how his life was now different. He explained the faith of Kyrel, the Left Hand of God, who was a god unto himself and of the faith of Aziral. He gave healing and strength to them and when the sun rose, they pledged their fealty to him, the Left Hand and to the one Kyrel bowed to.
Voldemort who had been busy crying and fidgeting all night near the surf, hadn't paid any attention, not until strong hands gripped him. They dragged his kicking, screaming self to Avery who looked upon him with pity. Riddle cried out to Avery, oblivious of what was to come. The newly minted High Priest began to chant and the others chanted, although they didn't understand any word of it, somehow they spoke it with fluent ease. By the end of the chant, Avery clasped his hands around his former master's throat.
All his weakness, fear and mortality began to shed as a red glow spread from Voldemort's gasping body to Avery. It spread to the others as well and by the end of it, Riddle lay dead. The High Priest rose and his twelve disciples followed him. Avery spoke a spell and teleported elsewhere with them. He knew what he was to do.
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Voldemort screamed as he made his way through the rainstorm of souls. He couldn't see the black-red sky or hear the screaming. Instead he was pulled down and down, a force more powerful than anything he had ever encountered before in his life. It pulled him into some crater and at the periphery of his vision; just as he plunged in he could see a few silvery forms following him. At once, vision and colour returned and even though he was the greatest dark wizard on Earth, he gaped in horror and amazement.
A flat plain of green grass stretched out as far as the eye could see, going on forever into eternity. Huge castles spread out all over, towers of black steel and keeps of bright iron shining in the cool light of day. He flew on, compelled by something he couldn't touch but only felt with his very being. He was pulled to a central structure, somehow he knew this, a huge edifice that reminded him of the Vatican, when he had visited there once in his arrogant youth. Towering statues of angels, actually all looking like one angel, he noticed but before any details could filter in he was pulled within the structure.
Past a grand hallway of black stone, a few of the silvery forms were drawn to the floor. Before him hundreds of horrific creatures made blasphemous noises, in time with an angelic beauty, who led the song and kept plunging her dagger into something on the altar in front of her. Whatever it had been was unrecognisable now. Voldemort was pulled upwards, through shafts in the stone. He flew through blackness and finally he came upon the god.
Reclined in an immense throne of red metal was another angel but of a magnitude beyond the one in the prayer hall. Perfect marble white skin, four blazing wings flicking, the angel's face was beautiful and malefic at the same time, the eyes like that of dying stars. Dressed in scarlet robes, the angel lap was occupied by a naked being, something that was sensual, erotic and carnal even though it was clearly a male. Riddle didn't fancy any particular gender, loving only power but as he watched this being, constantly cycling through face and form like him flicking his wand, all he wanted at that moment was to be with this being.
The angel gestured and he crawled to him. The being lifted his chin and spoke in a voice of perfection and profane power, "Look at me Riddle. Look at the freak now!" Voldemort did and sputtered, "No…you can't be…Gold?!" The angel boomed in laughter, "Yes and no. I am Ira and I am Aziral" The sensual thing seemed to pout and the air crackled, "He's not even whole, love. Look at him, he's so," the being hesitated and the air seemed to do the same, "fractured" The word made Voldemort shiver.
"Yes," Ira/Aziral purred, "my love, behold the lichdom of this one Earth. Horcrux if memory serves right. Avery has delivered but fractured though he may be I still will enjoy this" Power flowed from the dying stars and gripped Voldemort, forcing the dark wizard to look into those cursed eyes, "You will keep your memories," the god purred, "I give you this much. You will serve me well, but if I die the true death you die with me. I promise you this much mortal, you vexed me in life, in death you will do no such thing" And Tom Marvolo Riddle also known as Voldemort screamed like never before and then he cackled as he was remade, a demon to serve his true god.
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Aziral cupped his beloved closer to him as he waved his hand. Bubbles appeared before him, clear and representing worlds beyond counting, each one a possibility for power and the spreading of his faith. Syril, constantly changing and shifting like the sands nuzzled his neck and moaned to him in a thousand different languages, all of them carnal and obscenely pleasurable. The demon lord chuckled and watched worlds flow before him, so many different worlds.
In one world, five kings vied for a throne made of melted swords, in another magic-users operated under the supervision of a White Council, in another men travelled the stars in ships of metal under some sort of Federation while in another a huge man-made machine akin to a moon was being prepared to deal death to worlds. Before his throne, Voldemort now renamed Marvolonos the nabassu fed on some human traveller. The man's screams had been already cut off. The human turned demon had gone for the throat immediately.
He turned his star eyes to his love and Syril decided to fix his form into that of a curvy blonde. Aziral cupped his perfect behind and the incubus paragon stretched his body further into him, "Where do you want to go next my dear? So many worlds and so much time" His beloved looked at the myriad worlds and pursed his lips, placing a finger on his cheek, tap-tapping away. Finally, Syril turned and gave him a beaming smile, "I think we should choose," they both turned to one of the spheres, "this one!"
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So ends the tale! Thank you all for staying with me this long. I don't plan on doing a sequel so this will be the end of it. As for the future of these characters who knows? Draco in Hell, Neville in some corner of the multiverse being a crazy sadist, Harry being aloof and keeping to himself while Hermione and Luna constantly try to kill the other in the service of some shadow demi-deity.
As for Aziral/Ira and Syril, I like to think they just keep to themselves and occasionally play in some worlds. For Syril being with his love is the most important thing, ditto with Aziral but power as well. Thanks to all my readers for all the support! Until next, fare you well on your journey!