FFOmega

Part II: Crimson Rain

Prologue

The smell of burned rubber and melted metal rode the wind in every direction, signifying the arrival of the resulting fire. The buildings were aflame, the glass having melted and falling in scorching and horrible droplets like some kind of punishing precipitation from the frames they once stood proudly in.

The cold of the night wasn't warmed any by the raging fires, and if anything the cold only served to make it clear just how hot the flames were.

The blood stains were left behind in pools in the holes the footprints created, and the asphalt was melting and becoming porous and bendable. Cars were overturned and lit ablaze, and every so often the shake of an explosion sounds, but no one was around to care.

The only ones left alive in the damned city had other things to worry about.

Sword dragging through the slowly liquidizing concrete behind him, he trudged forward. His eyes were hidden by his hair, and his footsteps were strong and powerful as he pulled his foot from the grasp of the heated asphalt path beneath him, freeing himself every time he lifted his foot, fighting for every step, just to plunge his foot back into the melting pavement once again to begin the battle anew. But with each footfall came the echo of his blade cutting seamlessly through the melting concrete. And as if to answer, every echo was answered by a scream.

The wind was against him, but he had enough enemies to not even realize the addition of another. He was heading toward a large form in the middle of the street, in the middle of the city. It was the lone thing that had survived the cleansing fires that swept the streets.

With a final stride, he looked up to the statue in the center of the city. It was a statue of a person, a large form with a reptilian look to him, red gems for eyes, and long, outstretched wings reminiscent of a dragon's. The figure's arms were spread out wide, and its head raised, almost as if somehow wishing to rise up into heaven. And under the figure a plaque read, "Supreme Overlord Voldemort hereby christens this city Slytherin's Haven. A new world will arise from the fallen ashes of this accursed modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, a true and pure place."

Staring up at the statue, the figure raised the sword he wielded and with a slash that seemed tired and more powerful due to gravity than his own strength, he beheaded the stone and marble statue. And right down the middle the statue cracked and began to fall apart. And turning and walking away, the figure continued dragging the sword behind him.

And as the statue behind him cracked and fell to the ground in final defeat, behind it, a sign burned. The sign read, "Welcome to Downtown London!"

Suddenly there was a shout and a person ran from one of the burning houses. With a loud blast, the person slumped as they were shot directly in the head with extreme accuracy, placing a bullet right between the eyes. The chrome handgun spun in the armed figure's hand before it was put back in its holster. He looked around for a moment, and the fire danced across his form as he surveyed the place once more before he turned and crouched low and leapt.

He landed atop the only building left in the general area, a cathedral. Grasping onto the large steeple and looked down at the burning ruins of the heart of London for a long moment, he let out a sigh before turning his head as if to look away, and shut his eyes.

"Riddle, your ass is mine." He muttered, before his eyes shot open. The pure and bright emerald green radiated almost like a beacon in the flaming mass of red flames and gray ashes. He pushed his hair back once more, before he kicked the side of the steeple, breaking it off and sending it from the top of the cathedral down, where it impaled a figure that had been trying to aim a long staff of some sort up at him. Looking up into the sky, the clouds opened up with not a sound, but a blanket of unnatural silence, muting out even the sounds of the raging fires. Sweeping onto the city, it didn't build up slowly from a drizzle, it was a full on storm from the moment the clouds deemed it time to open up and release their burdens.

From the sky fell drops of not purest water, but ruby blood. It was a crimson rain onto the city, and it seemed to do nothing to calm the burning inferno that was once London, but instead almost seemed to spur it on, as if it was some sort of cheerleading force for the flames to work double-time to destroy everything in it's wake without any regard for what it was doing, or even natural law.

The flames crawled up the side of a building, over the roof in a solid trail, and seemed to literally jump across gaps between buildings as it continued on toward it's path toward the man standing atop the now steeple-less cathedral, with no signs of thinking anything about stopping or slowing down at all. All it did was consume and destroy what was in front of it.

Glancing at the fire on its way to him, seemingly spurred on by the bloody downpour above, it reminded the figure of something. It was so much like the man in which the statue he had destroyed was a likeness of. All Voldemort did was destroy things without any regard for what it caused. Only way to win against something that destroys anything it sees with ease, is to do that which it does, just much better.

Sighing as the crimson rain fell from the sky onto him, doing anything but cleansing and rejuvenating him as rain was supposed to, he took one last look at the city that had once housed so many people, reduced to ashes. And with that committed to memory and a new sense of anger and resolve attached to his being, the man once known as Harry Potter, but known simply as Knight to those who feared him and worshipped him just alike, crouched low and leapt off into the distance of the night, disappearing into the deep, angry and unforgiving darkness of the sky.