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"Can it really kill gods?" the soldier suddenly asked as he looked at Godslayer Greatsword.
Roddard's helmet swiveled toward him. "Why do you care? Eager to die for a scrap of power? That's worked brilliantly for everyone else in this rotted wasteland."
"It's not for me," the soldier said quickly, hands raised like he was surrendering. The firelight caught the elaborate etchings on his pauldron, a lion devouring stars.
"Then who?" Harry asked. "Who needs a god-killing sword?"
The soldier looked saddened for a moment before gathering his composure. "Do you know what happened to General Radahn after his battle with Malenia, the Red Decay?"
Harry felt Millicent flinch beside him at the nickname.
Roddard's armor creaked as he leaned forward slightly. "Rumors reached us. They say the General isn't himself anymore. The Scarlet Rot took his mind."
"Took his mind?" The soldier let out a laugh that had about as much humor as a funeral. "That's like saying a dragon gave someone a warm hug. The Rot drove him mad, turned him into something worse than a beast. He's still alive—if you can call it living—but there's nothing left of the man who mastered gravity itself."
Harry remembered Gowry's story about Radahn learning gravity magic just so he could keep riding his childhood horse. The image of someone that devoted being reduced to a mindless beast.
"His own soldiers want him dead?" Harry asked, realising now why the soldier wanted the sword. Sometimes death was kinder than the alternative.
The soldier straightened, and Harry could see pride warring with pain in his eyes. "We're still his army. We are all that he has left. Been centuries since the battle, and we're still here, still trying to give our General the death he deserves. A warrior's death, not this... existence."
"You've been trying to kill your own commander for centuries?" Harry couldn't hide his amazement.
"We've tried everything," the soldier continued. "We attacked in groups, a few of us even tried to use gravity spells against him, but nothing worked, then we started...spreading the word for him, hoping powerful warriors would come to fight him, to claim one of his shards of the Elden Ring he has, but all the champions met the same fate as everyone else. He's too strong, too far gone. Doesn't recognize us anymore, just attacks anything that moves. Last group that tried... well, we found pieces of them scattered across a mile of beach."
Harry tried to imagine commanding such loyalty that soldiers would spend literal centuries trying to give you a merciful death. It was both beautiful and horrifying.
"The sword could end it," the soldier said, his eyes finding that empty space where Blaidd had made the weapon disappear. "Let him rest finally."
Blaidd's ears flattened slightly. "You understand what that weapon is? The Godslayer's Greatsword isn't something mortals wield. The Death Flames would consume you before you could take a single swing, let alone face one of the most powerful demigods in existence."
"Even weakened?" the soldier pressed. "Even mad and rotting?"
"Especially then," Blaidd rumbled. "A mad beast with the power of a demigod is more dangerous, not less. General Radahn holds back the very stars with his will. That power hasn't gone anywhere—it's just unfocused now, lashing out at everything."
Harry thought about Professor Lupin transformed into a werewolf—dangerous enough as a mindless beast, but he didn't want to imagine facing something like Radahn.
"How big is he?" Harry asked, immediately regretting the question when everyone turned to look at him.
"Bigger than this cathedral," Aldrich said quietly from where he sat with Perran. "When he stands fully upright, which isn't often anymore. Usually he's on all fours, like the beast he's become."
Harry's mind helpfully supplied an image of Fluffy scaled up to cathedral size and given cosmic powers. He really needed his imagination to stop being so helpful.
"There must be something," the soldier said desperately. "Some way to end his suffering. He was the mightiest of all the demigods, the one who learned gravity magic from the disciples of the Alabaster Lords themselves. To see him reduced to this..."
"The Rot corrupts everything it touches," Millicent said softly. Everyone turned to her, and Harry saw her chin lift slightly, meeting their stares. "My mother's curse spreads without mercy or meaning. I'm sorry for what happened to your General. Truly."
The soldier studied her for a long moment, emotions warring across his face. "You look like her," he said finally. "When she walked through our ranks before the battle, General Radahn wanted to negotiate with her. Beautiful and terrible, like a poisoned blade wrapped in kindness."
"I'm not her," Millicent said firmly.
"No," the soldier agreed, his face softened a little. "No, you're not. She never would have apologized."
"What's he like now?" Harry asked wanting the attention to go away from Millicent. "General Radahn, I mean. If he's mad, what does he do?"
The soldier's face went distant, remembering something that clearly haunted him. "He wanders the Wailing Dunes, feast on the corpses of friend and foe alike. Sometimes he howls at the sky, like he's trying to remember something important but can't. The worst part is the moments of almost-clarity. Sometimes he'll stop, look at his horse—"
"The tiny one?" Harry interrupted, remembering the story.
"Leonard, yes. The horse is still alive, still carrying him despite everything. In those moments, Radahn almost seems to recognize him, tries to pet him gently. Then the madness takes hold again, and he's back to being a monster."
The image of a mad god trying to pet his childhood horse was somehow worse than everything else. Harry thought of Hedwig, how she always knew when he was upset, how she'd nip his fingers affectionately. The idea of forgetting her, of becoming something that might hurt her...
"We should help," Harry said suddenly, surprising himself. Everyone stared at him like he had gone mad.
"Help?" Roddard's voice carried the particular tone reserved for people suggesting obviously suicidal activities. "You want to fight a mad demigod who commands gravity itself?"
"Not fight," Harry clarified, though honestly, he wasn't sure what he was suggesting. "But there has to be something. This needle we're looking for, could it help him and Millicent?"
"The needle can only halt the Rot's progression," Millicent said gently. "It can't restore what's already been lost. His mind is gone, Harry. Has been for centuries."
"Besides," Blaidd added, his pragmatic tone cutting through Harry's nascent heroic impulses, "You told me you were already on a mission, are you sure you want to get sidetracked?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. He couldn't save everyone. Some problems were just too big for one person to solve.
"When this is over," the soldier said, looking directly at Harry with something like hope, "when you're stronger... would you consider it? Giving our General peace?"
Harry met his gaze, thinking of all the impossible things he'd already been asked to do in his short life. "If I can," he said simply. "If there's a way that doesn't involve cursed swords that want to eat my soul, I'll try."
The soldier nodded, seeming to take comfort in even that uncertain promise. "That's more than we've had in centuries."
"Right then," Harry said, trying to lighten the increasingly morbid mood. "Any other demigods need putting down while we're making impossible promises? Got a list we should know about?"
That earned him what might have been a snort from inside Roddard's helmet. "Give it time, boy. In the Lands Between, the impossible tends to find you whether you volunteer or not."
"Brilliant," Harry muttered, but he was almost smiling. "Just like home then."
For the next hour, Harry slept, he didn't know when he closed his eyes, but, he remember now opening them, for a brief moment, he hoped he was back at Hogwarts, he wouldn't mind even if he was in Snape's class, as long as he was home, but when his eyes saw the red sky, the destroyed church they were staying on, he remembered where he was, he was still there...in the Lands Between. Harry rose up, looking around, and he noticed that the wolf man was still awake, his eyes looking at him now that Harry was awake.
"What exactly is your mission?" Blaidd asked. "Princess Ranni mentioned aid, but not specifics."
Harry shifted, trying to find a position where his ribs didn't remind him of being a Deathbird's chew toy.
"We're looking for Commander O'Neil," Harry said, noting how the soldiers around them perked up at the name. "He's supposed to have something called an unalloyed gold needle. It could help Millicent with..." He gestured vaguely at her, not wanting to say 'the plague that's slowly killing her' out loud.
"You mentioned it," Aldrich leaned forward, his earlier exhaustion replaced by sharp interest. "We'd heard rumors, but most thought it was just another fairy tale. Like the Haligtree itself."
"Prince Miquella crafted it," Millicent said quietly. "Before he vanished. Commander O'Neil was meant to deliver it to me, but..."
"But that was centuries ago," Perran finished, wincing as he adjusted his injured arm. "If O'Neil's still alive, he's probably as mad as General Radahn by now."
"Or worse," the third soldier added cheerfully.
"Where would we find information about O'Neil's whereabouts?" Blaidd asked.
"Redmane Castle," Roddard said immediately. "If anyone tracked his movements after the battle, it would be Radahn's forces. They kept detailed records of enemy positions."
"Assuming those records weren't eaten by the Rot," Harry muttered, earning what might have been agreement from inside Roddard's helmet.
Aldrich straightened, something shifting in his expression that Harry recognized—the look of someone about to do something noble and probably stupid. "We'll guide you there."
Everyone turned to stare at him. Even Perran looked surprised.
"Captain," Perran started, but Aldrich raised a hand.
"We owe them a debt," Aldrich said firmly. "They saved us from the Deathbird when they could have left us to die. The least we can do is guide them to Redmane."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, we do," Aldrich interrupted. "It's not far from here. Half a day's march if we're not interrupted by anything trying to kill us. Which, granted, is unlikely in Caelid, but we can hope."
The third soldier, who Harry really needed to learn the name of, nodded slowly. "The castle's still defended. The Crucible Knight there doesn't take kindly to visitors, but between all of us..." He shrugged, the gesture saying everything about their odds.
"Right then," Harry said, pushing himself to his feet despite his body's protests. "We should get ready to leave."
He turned to Millicent, studying her face in the firelight. She looked pale—paler than usual. "How are you feeling?"
"I can travel," she said immediately, which wasn't what he'd asked.
"That's not—" Harry started, then caught the stubborn set of her jaw. Arguing would be pointless. "At least let me check your temperature."
He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, trying to ignore how natural the gesture felt. Her skin burned with fever, but not worse than before. Small mercies.
"We should gather supplies," Roddard said. "The cathedral might have preserved rations, medical supplies."
They scattered to search, leaving Harry momentarily alone with his thoughts. He watched the others moving through the cathedral—Aldrich helping Perran stand, Blaidd examining the perimeter, Roddard checking his equipment with mechanical precision. When had he become responsible for all these people? Three weeks ago, his biggest worry had been the Firebolt's confiscation.
A laugh escaped him, bitter as Pepperup Potion.
"What's funny?" Millicent asked, appearing at his elbow with several water skins she'd found.
"Just thinking about how Hermione would react to all this," Harry said. "Me, turning down powerful magical artifacts. She'd probably check me for Confundus Charms."
"This Hermione sounds wise," Millicent said with a small smile. "Though I think she'd understand. Power that costs you yourself isn't really power at all."
Harry thought about the Godslayer's Greatsword, the way it had whispered promises of ending. "Yeah, maybe. Still feels weird, saying no to things that could help us."
"You're helping by staying yourself," Millicent said softly. "We have enough monsters in Caelid already."
Before Harry could respond, Blaidd returned with what looked like dried meat wrapped in oiled cloth. "Preserved rations," he announced. "Should last us to Redmane."
"If we can stomach them," Roddard added, returning with medical supplies that looked older than Dumbledore. "Though after eating nothing but Gowry's mysterious conjured food for a week, our standards are already low."
They spent the next few minutes organizing supplies, during which Harry discovered that:
Aldrich had once been a wine merchant before joining Radahn's army ("Better profits in war," he'd said with dark humor)Perran collected poems about battles he'd survived (currently at forty-three poems, which seemed both impressive and depressing)The third soldier's name was Marcus, and he'd joined the army because the recruiting poster had promised "glory and purpose" (he'd gotten Caelid and madness instead, which Harry thought was false advertising at its finest)
"Ready?" Blaidd asked, his massive frame blocking the doorway as he surveyed their ragged group.
Harry looked around at their unlikely alliance—two soldiers who'd wanted to kill Millicent hours ago, a knight who'd tried to kill Harry when they'd first met, a half-wolf serving a mysterious four-armed witch, and Millicent herself, beautiful and determined to live anyway.
"Ready as we'll ever be," Harry said, helping Millicent onto his back again. She settled against him, her arm draped over his shoulder, her cheek pressing against his, and he heard her sigh, a sound that made him shiver a little.
"Try not to die immediately," one of the cathedral guards called out as they passed. "We just cleaned the floors."
"We'll do our best," Harry called back, managing something like a grin.
They emerged into Caelid's eternal twilight, the blood-red sky greeting them like an old enemy. The air tasted of copper and rot, familiar now in the worst way. In the distance, something howled.
"Cheerful," Harry muttered, adjusting his grip on Millicent's legs.
"You should see it during an ash storm," Marcus said cheerfully. "The whole world turns grey and everything tries to kill you twice as hard."
"Something to look forward to then."
They began walking, their shadows stretching long and strange across the corrupted earth. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched—probably because in Caelid, something was always watching.
As they crested the first hill, Redmane Castle appeared in the distance—a massive fortification that looked like it had been designed by someone who really, really didn't want visitors.
"Home sweet home," Aldrich said with false cheer. "Or it was, before the world ended."
Harry thought about Hogwarts, about the way the castle had felt like home from the moment he'd first seen it. Would he ever feel that way about anywhere in this world? Did he even want to?
"Come on," Roddard said, already moving down the path. "We've got ground to cover and probably several things trying to kill us between here and there."
The landscape of Caelid had a way of making everywhere look equally miserable, but Harry thought this particular stretch might win some kind of award for Most Unpleasant Place to Walk. The ground squelched under his boots with each step, and he tried very hard not to think about whether he was stepping on corrupted earth or something that used to be alive. Probably both, knowing Caelid's luck.
Millicent's weight on his back had become familiar over the past days, comfortable even, though Harry would never admit how much he'd come to appreciate the warmth of her pressed against him. Her breath tickled his neck as she shifted slightly, and he adjusted his grip on her legs.
"How much farther?" Harry asked, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice.
"See that?" Aldrich pointed ahead, and Harry squinted through Caelid's perpetual red haze.
At first, he thought it was a mountain. Then he realized mountains didn't have towers, or walls, or what looked like giant crossbows mounted on battlements. Redmane Castle rose from the corrupted landscape like something out of a fever dream, all sharp angles and defensive positions that screamed "go away or we'll make you regret existing."
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered. "That's a castle? Looks more like someone built a fortress, decided it wasn't paranoid enough, then added six more layers of paranoia."
Marcus laughed, a sound that carried more nostalgia than humor. "General Radahn believed in being prepared. Said an impenetrable defense was worth ten brilliant offensives."
"Clearly worked out brilliantly," Roddard said dryly, his helmet turning to survey the corrupted wasteland surrounding them. "Castle's still standing while everything else rotted away."
As they walked closer, details emerged from the haze. The castle walls were massive, easily forty feet high, built from stone that looked like it could shrug off a dragon's fire breath. Harry counted at least three separate defensive rings, each one probably designed to make attackers deeply regret their life choices. Towers jutted up at irregular intervals, and Harry could see the remains of what might have been magical barriers shimmering faintly in the diseased air.
"It was beautiful once," Aldrich said quietly, noticing Harry's examination. "Before the Shattering. The banners were purple and gold, flying from every tower. General Radahn would host festivals in the courtyard. Contests of strength, displays of gravity magic. People came from across the Lands Between just to watch."
Harry tried to imagine this rotting fortress filled with celebration and failed. It was like trying to picture the Dursleys being pleasant. Technically possible but requiring more imagination than he currently had.
"What happened to it?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. In his experience, everything in this world came back to either the Shattering or Scarlet Rot, usually both.
"Battle of Aeonia," Marcus said, his voice going flat in that way people's voices did when they were remembering something terrible. "When Malenia bloomed. The Rot spread from the Sea of Mother Tear, reached all the way here within days. Half the castle garrison transformed before we knew what was happening."
Harry felt Millicent tense against his back. He shifted his weight, a small gesture he hoped was reassuring.
They crested a small rise, and Harry got his first proper look at the approach to the castle. His stomach dropped.
"Oh, you've got to be joking."
Between them and Redmane Castle stretched what looked like the world's least inviting bridge. It was long, maybe two hundred yards, and narrow enough that they'd have to walk in single file. No railings, naturally, because why make things safe when you could make them terrifying? On either side, the ground dropped away into what Harry strongly suspected was either a very long fall or something worse.
But that wasn't the concerning part. The concerning part was the twenty or so trebuchets positioned along the castle walls, their arms raised like accusing fingers, all pointed directly at the bridge.
"Please tell me there's another way in," Harry said, knowing there wasn't but hoping anyway.
Aldrich shook his head. "Only way across the chasm. Well, unless you can fly, but in Caelid, anything that flies usually tries to eat you."
"The Deathbird was quite friendly," Harry muttered.
"This is a defensive position," Blaidd rumbled, studying the setup with what Harry thought might be professional appreciation. "Narrow approach, no cover, clear firing lines. Whoever designed this understood warfare."
"Wonderful," Harry said. "I feel so much better knowing we're about to die in a well-designed killing field."
Perran, still cradling his injured arm, peered at the castle walls. "Maybe they won't fire? We're their own people, after all."
Marcus snorted. "Perran, when have you ever seen Caelid be reasonable about anything?"
As if in answer, Harry noticed something moving along the castle battlements. Figures, too distant to make out clearly, but definitely human-shaped. Or at least human-adjacent, which in Caelid was probably the best you could hope for.
"Do you think they recognize you?" Harry asked Aldrich. "Your armor, I mean. Surely they'd know their own soldiers."
Aldrich's expression suggested he thought Harry was being adorably naive. "Son, the garrison changes watch every few decades. Last time I was here was eighty years ago, and most of those soldiers are probably dead or worse. The ones manning those trebuchets? They've probably forgotten what General Radahn looked like before the madness, let alone individual officers."
"So what you're saying is we're about to walk onto a bridge while people who don't know us decide whether to turn us into paste."
"That's about the shape of it, yes."
Harry looked at the bridge, then at the trebuchets, then at Millicent on his back. He thought about Ron and Hermione, about how they'd probably have a proper plan that involved research and backup plans and not getting smashed by giant rocks. He missed them with an intensity that made his chest hurt.
But Ron and Hermione weren't here. Harry was, and if there was one thing he'd learned from three years of magical chaos, it was that sometimes you just had to walk forward and hope the universe decided not to kill you today.
"Right then," Harry said, adjusting Millicent's weight and starting toward the bridge. "Let's go meet our potential murderers. Try to look friendly."
"How do you look friendly while approaching a fortress?" Roddard asked, falling into step beside him.
"Smile a lot? I don't know, I'm making this up as I go."
"I've noticed," Roddard said, but Harry thought he detected something almost like fondness in the knight's voice.
They reached the edge of the bridge, and Harry paused, staring across the narrow span toward the castle. The trebuchets loomed larger now, their mechanical arms poised like executioners' axes. Somewhere in his mind, he heard Hermione's voice saying "This is a terrible idea, Harry," which usually meant he was about to do it anyway.
Harry stared at the bridge stretching before them like a stone tongue daring them to step onto it.
"So," Harry said, injecting as much false cheer into his voice as possible. "This is definitely the only way in? No secret passages? Convenient drainage tunnels? Anything?"
"Just the bridge," Aldrich confirmed, and he didn't sound happy about it either.
"Maybe they won't notice us," Marcus offered weakly. "Could be the mad ones inside are taking a nap or something."
The words had barely left his mouth when one of the trebuchets moved. The counterweight dropped, the arm swung upward, and a flaming rock the size of a small car arced through the red sky directly at their position.
"Shit!" Harry's right arm burned as lightning gathered, white-gold energy crackling up from his palm. He thrust his hand forward and the lightning spear shot out, streaking through the air like a bolt from Zeus himself. It hit the flaming projectile dead center, and the rock exploded in a shower of molten stone and sparks that rained down fifty meters away.
Harry's arm tingled, smoke rising from his fingers. "After you," he said, nodding toward the bridge.
Blaidd's ears flattened against his skull. "That's the plan? Rush the bridge and hope for the best?"
"You have a better idea?" Harry shot back, already knowing the answer.
The wolf-man's amber eyes gleamed with amusement or might've been the look predators got before they did something stupid. "You're mad."
"Been hearing that a lot lately," Harry muttered. He felt Millicent's arms tighten around his neck, her body pressing closer to his back.
"Don't die," she whispered against his ear.
"Wasn't planning on it."
Roddard moved up beside Harry, his spear held ready, positioning himself like a shield between the castle and where Millicent rested against Harry's back.
"On three?" Aldrich suggested, though he sounded like a man suggesting they jump off a cliff.
"Sod three," Harry said. "Go!"
They ran.
Harry's feet hit the bridge at full sprint, his legs burning as he pushed forward. Millicent bounced against his back, her slight weight feeling massive as he drove himself faster. Behind him, he heard the others' boots hammering stone, the clank of armor, Blaidd's claws scraping for purchase.
The trebuchets opened fire.
Harry saw the first volley launch simultaneously. Four flaming rocks, each trailing black smoke and burning fire.k
"Left!" Roddard shouted.
Harry dodged right instead, trusting instinct over instruction. The rock smashed into the bridge exactly where Roddard had told him to go, sending stone shrapnel spraying in every direction. A chunk clipped Harry's shoulder, spinning him slightly, but he kept his feet.
Another rock screamed toward them. Harry's right arm burned again, lightning gathering faster this time. He threw the spear and watched it punch through the flaming projectile. The rock split, both halves tumbling past them to crash into the corrupted earth below.
The heat was incredible. Every breath tasted like ash and burning metal. Sweat poured down Harry's face, stinging his eyes. His legs felt like lead, his lungs burned, and they weren't even halfway across.
A third rock came at them from a different angle, this one spinning end over end. Blaidd launched himself upward in a leap. His greatsword came around in a horizontal slash that caught the rock mid-arc. The blade bit deep, and the rock split cleanly in half, each piece tumbling away to either side of the bridge.
Blaidd landed in a crouch that cracked the stone beneath him, already moving forward again.
"Show-off," Harry gasped, but he was grinning despite everything.
"Move faster, admire later," Roddard snapped.
The trebuchets fired again. This volley was close. Two rocks came at them nearly simultaneously, one high and one low.
"I've got high!" Harry shouted, already channeling lightning. The spear launched, and the high rock exploded.
Roddard planted his feet, his spear held horizontal. Wind gathered around the weapon, visible as distortions in the air, spiraling tighter and tighter until it looked like the spear's tip had become a drill made of pure force. Roddard thrust forward, and the wind attack shot out, screaming through the air. It hit the low rock dead center and kept going, drilling through stone like it was wet paper. The rock came apart in chunks, pieces scattering across the bridge.
"Nice one!" Marcus shouted from behind them.
They were three-quarters across now. Harry could see details on the castle walls, could make out individual figures moving, could see the gate ahead, massive and iron-bound and probably locked tighter than Gringotts.
The trebuchets fired their third volley.
This time there were six rocks. Six flaming projectiles arcing through the sky, each one trailing fire and smoke, each one positioned to cover every possible dodge.
"Fuck," Harry said eloquently.
"Split!" Blaidd roared.
They scattered. Harry dove right, Millicent's arms clenching around his neck hard enough to nearly choke him. A rock smashed into the bridge where he'd been standing, and the impact felt like an earthquake. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact.
Blaidd took out two rocks in quick succession.
Roddard deflected another with a wind blast, but this one only knocked it off course instead of destroying it. The rock crashed into the bridge's edge, taking a chunk of stone with it.
Harry's arm burned as he threw another lightning spear, catching a fourth rock.
The fifth rock hit Marcus. Not directly, but close enough. The impact threw him sideways, and Harry heard him scream. Aldrich grabbed him, hauled him upright, kept them both moving.
The sixth rock came straight at Harry and Millicent.
No time to channel lightning. No time to dodge. Harry's body moved on instinct, his left hand coming up even though he had no wand, had nothing but desperation and the memory of every spell he'd ever cast.
"Protego!" he shouted.
Nothing happened.
The rock was five meters away. Three. One.
Then Blaidd was there, appearing between them and the projectile like he'd teleported. His greatsword came around in an upward slash that hit the rock from below. The impact drove him to one knee, cracks appearing in the bridge beneath him, but the rock's trajectory changed. It sailed over their heads, so close Harry felt the heat singe his hair, and crashed into the empty bridge behind them.
"Keep moving!" Blaidd growled, already up and running again.
The gate was close now. Fifty meters. Forty. Thirty.
The trebuchets fired again, but they were too close now, too near the castle walls. The angle was wrong. The rocks sailed over their heads, smashing into the bridge behind them but not hitting anyone.
Twenty meters.
Ten.
They hit the gate at full speed. The massive iron-bound doors loomed above them, sealed tight. Harry pressed himself against the wood, gasping for air, his legs shaking so badly he could barely stand. Millicent was still on his back, her face buried against his neck, her breathing rapid and scared.
"Everyone alive?" Roddard asked, his voice calm.
"Define alive," Marcus groaned. His armor was scorched down one side, the metal blackened and twisted.
"You're breathing and complaining," Aldrich said, checking Marcus. "That's alive enough."
Harry looked back at the bridge. It was pockmarked with impact craters, several sections completely destroyed, pieces of stone still tumbling into the abyss below. They'd made it across. Somehow, impossibly, they'd made it.
"That," Harry said between gasps for air, "was absolutely mental."
Harry and the group continued walking upwards towards the gate.
Harry's legs felt like jelly as he leaned against the gate, his lungs burning with each breath.
That's when he heard the clicking.
It started soft, like fingernails tapping against stone, but it multiplied rapidly. Click-click-click. Dozens of them. Coming from beyond the gate, from the courtyard they couldn't see yet.
"Oh, that's not good," Marcus said, pushing himself upright despite his scorched armor.
"What makes that sound?" Harry asked.
The gate shuddered. Not from them pushing, but from something on the other side slamming into it. Then again. And again. The iron-bound wood began to splinter.
"Back up," Blaidd growled, his greatsword already raised. "Now."
They scrambled away from the gate just as it burst open. Wood exploded outward in a shower of splinters, and through the opening came creatures that made Fluffy look friendly.
They were roughly human-sized, maybe a bit smaller, but that's where any similarity ended. Each one looked like someone had taken parts from different animals and stitched them together wrong. One had a tail thick as a python dragging behind scaled legs that bent backwards like a bird's. Another had leathery wings sprouting from its shoulders, too small to fly but twitching constantly. A third had arms that ended in clawed hands, its face a nightmarish blend of human and something reptilian.
Their skin varied from grey to mottled brown, stretched tight over wiry muscle. Some wore scraps of armor or cloth, others nothing at all. Most carried weapons that looked scavenged or stolen: rusted swords, chipped axes, clubs studded with nails.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. There had to be at least fifteen of them, spreading out from the gate like a flood of nightmares.
"Misbegotten," Blaidd said, sounding sad. "Creatures of suffering."
Harry wanted to ask what that meant, but now was not the time to explain anything.
The Misbegotten advanced slowly. They made sounds that might've been speech, clicking and hissing that formed patterns, but nothing Harry recognized as language. Their eyes, glowed red faintly, making it clear the Scarlet Rot somewhat influenced them.
Harry carefully shifted Millicent higher on his back and took a step forward, his free hand raised. "Wait," he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "We don't want to fight you. We're just looking for information about Commander O'Neil. That's all."
The Misbegotten closest to him, one with a thick tail and carrying a rusted sword, tilted its head. For a second, Harry thought maybe it understood. Maybe they could avoid this.
Then it shrieked and charged.
"Damn it," Harry swore, lightning already gathering in his right palm. He didn't want this. Didn't want to add more deaths to the list that was getting longer every day in this cursed world.
The first Misbegotten came at him with its sword raised high. Harry threw a lightning spear that caught it center mass, the electricity arcing through its body. It collapsed mid-stride, smoke rising from charred flesh. Harry felt the now-familiar sensation of runes flowing into him, like warmth spreading through his chest. He hated how normal it was starting to feel.
Then they were all attacking at once.
A Misbegotten with wings leaped at Harry, its clawed feet extended. Roddard's spear took it through the chest before it could reach them, the force of the thrust pinning it to the ground. Roddard wrenched the spear free and immediately spun to intercept another one coming from the left. Every thrust, every block was positioned to keep himself between the attackers and where Millicent rested on Harry's back.
Blaidd was a force of nature. His greatsword moved in wide arcs that bisected anything caught in their path. One swing took down two Misbegotten simultaneously, their bodies separating at the waist. Another strike caught a third mid-leap.
Harry channeled another lightning spear, catching a Misbegotten wielding a spiked club. The electricity cooked it from the inside, and it dropped without a sound. More runes flowed into Harry, and this time he noticed they felt heavier somehow. Harry quickly ducked and grabbed one by the throat and channeled his electricity, causing the creature to scream in pain until it died.
"Below, Harry." Millicent shouted as Harry threw another lightning spear at a small one, causing it to die, but then another big one approached. Millicent threw herself off his back and placed her hands on the ground, causing veins of scarlet rot to quickly grow and tie around the legs of the big one, and Harry used his sword to slice his head off, earning more runes than from any other Misbegotten he killed so far.
Marcus and Aldrich fought back-to-back. Marcus used his sword to parry a rusty axe while Aldrich's blade found the exposed throat of another attacker.
Even Perran contributed despite his injury, using a fallen Misbegotten's spear to trip one that was trying to flank Roddard. The creature stumbled, and Roddard's spear found its skull.
A Misbegotten with reptilian legs tried to circle around to Harry's blind side. Harry saw it at the last second, turning and bringing his sword up just in time to block a downward chop that would've split his skull. The impact jarred his arm, sending pain shooting up to his shoulder. He pushed back, channeling lightning through the blade like Gowry had taught him. The electricity traveled down his sword and into the Misbegotten's weapon, then into its body. It convulsed and fell.
More runes. Harry's chest felt full of them now, a warmth that was almost uncomfortable.
The battle lasted maybe three minutes. When the last Misbegotten fell, its skull crushed under Blaidd's boot, Harry found himself standing in a courtyard full of corpses. The smell was terrible, burnt flesh and blood.
Harry's right arm trembled from channeling so much lightning. His shoulder ached where he'd blocked that strike. Millicent's arms around his neck felt tighter than before; he hadn't realised that she was back on his back again, and he could hear her breathing.
"Such a shame, these poor souls," Perran said under his breath, a look of pity in his eyes.
Harry looked at the bodies scattered around them. Fifteen Misbegotten. Fifteen more deaths. He'd killed at least six of them personally, felt their runes flow into him like cold coins dropping into his pockets. The sensation made him think of that moment in first year when he'd watched Quirrell die, felt responsible even though it hadn't been his choice.
Except these deaths had been his choice. He'd thrown those lightning spears, swung that sword, channeled that electricity. His hands, his magic, his decisions. The Misbegotten hadn't spoken English, hadn't understood his attempt at peace. But they'd been alive, and now they weren't, and Harry had made that happen.
"You did what you had to," Millicent said softly, like she could read his thoughts. "They would've killed us."
"I know," Harry said, and he did know. Understanding didn't make it weigh any less. "Doesn't make it feel better though."
"It shouldn't," Roddard said, surprising Harry. "The day killing feels easy is the day you've lost something important. Remember that."
Harry nodded.
The courtyard stretched before them, a space that might've been impressive before Caelid's corruption. Stone pillars rose on either side, some toppled, others standing but cracked. The ground was paved with flat stones that had probably once been level but now tilted at odd angles, creating gaps where crimson weeds pushed through. At the far end stood the actual castle entrance, a set of massive doors that made the gate they'd just destroyed look like a garden entrance.
"This was the parade ground," Aldrich said quietly. "General Radahn would review his troops here before campaigns. Thousands of soldiers standing in perfect formation, banners flying, horses stamping. It was magnificent."
That's when something hit the ground in front of the castle entrance.
The impact cracked stone, sent shockwaves through the courtyard that Harry felt through his boots. Dust exploded upward in a cloud that briefly obscured everything. When it cleared, Harry saw the figure standing there.
It was a Misbegotten, but not like the ones they'd just fought. This one stood was easily three times the size of the largest one they had fought a minute ago. Its legs were digitigrade, ending in clawed feet. A thick tail, scaled and muscular, lashed behind it like a whip. But what caught Harry's attention.
Bright yellow hair, almost golden, grew in a thick ring around its neck and shoulders. The hair looked like the mane of a lion. The mane gave the Misbegotten an almost regal quality.
In its hands, it held a strange greatsword. The blade was dark metal, pitted and stained. The creature's face was a blend of human and feline, its eyes amber and disturbingly intelligent.
Those eyes found Harry.
The Leonine Misbegotten opened its mouth and roared.
"Back away," Blaidd growled, stepping forward with his greatsword raised. "That's a warrior. I will kill this one." He said, and the soldiers were happy to step back, but not Harry.
"No," Harry said.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"What?" Roddard's voice carried disbelief. "Boy, this isn't the time for heroics. That thing will tear you apart."
Harry carefully, gently, lowered himself to one knee. Millicent slid off his back, and he felt the immediate absence of her warmth like losing a blanket in winter.
"Harry, no," she said immediately, reading his intention. "You don't have to do this."
"I do though," Harry said. He looked at Roddard. "You've been protecting me since the Scarlet Church. All of you have. Blaidd saved us from the Deathbird. You've all been keeping me alive, and I'm grateful, I am. But I can't keep letting others fight my battles."
"This isn't your battle," Roddard argued.
"It is though," Harry insisted. He looked at the Leonine Misbegotten, at the way it stood waiting, its greatsword planted in the stone beside it. "Look at it. It's waiting. It knows we're here, could've attacked while we were talking, but it's waiting because it wants a proper fight. A challenge."
"You'll die," Marcus said bluntly.
"Maybe," Harry admitted. The fear was there, cold and solid in his gut. But so was something else. Determination. The need to prove, if only to himself, that he could do this. "But I helped killing a dragon. Fought Lupin when he was a werewolf. Survived everything Caelid's thrown at me so far. I need to know if I'm strong enough."
"Strong enough for what?" Aldrich asked.
"To get home," Harry said simply. "To protect my friends. To be someone who doesn't need saving every five bloody minutes."
He thought of Hermione and Ron, wondered if they were searching for him. Thought of Sirius, who'd just gotten free and now had to deal with his godson vanishing into golden light. They needed him to be strong enough to find his way back. And he couldn't do that if he kept hiding behind others.
Millicent's hand found his, squeezed tight. "You're already strong," she said softly. "You don't have to prove anything."
"Yes, I do," Harry said, squeezing back before letting go. "To myself, if nobody else."
He walked toward Roddard, who stood like a statue, his spear still held ready. "Keep her safe," Harry said quietly. "Please."
For a long moment, Roddard didn't move. Then, slowly, he lowered his spear and stepped aside. "Potter, I forbid you to die," he said. "I didn't spend all that time teaching you sword work just to watch you get carved up by an overgrown cat."
"I'll try my best," Harry said, managing something like a smile.
Blaidd's amber eyes looked at him for a long moment. "Princess Ranni sent me to help you grow stronger," the half-wolf said slowly. "Perhaps this is how." He stepped back, his massive frame moving to join the others. "But boy, if you're going to do this, do it properly. No half measures. No hesitation. You fight to kill, or you don't fight at all."
Harry nodded. He drew his Lordsworn Greatsword. Lightning crackled along his right arm, white-gold energy that lit up the courtyard. His fingers tingled with power, the dragon heart's gift ready to be called upon.
He walked forward, each step feeling significant. The Leonine Misbegotten watched him approach, its amber eyes tracking his movement. When Harry was about twenty feet away...
The Misbegotten roared again.
Harry growled back at him, lightning exploding along his blade in response.
And then they charged.
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