A Song of Fools and Heroes, Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Stygai, Shadow Lands, 278 AC.

A figure draped in a heavy black robe stood with hands clasped, their skeleton-thin fingers interlaced. Both the face and head were entirely wrapped in wispy layers of exquisite but threadbare silk. They turned their head back and forth in front of a shining object, as if surveying something inside it with heavy anticipation and glee.

Suddenly a feminine voice of arsenic honey purred in delight. “What's this? Guests from beyond the Veil?” she tittered excitedly, her joy barely contained. “Have you come to bear witness? Now is not the time, but do not despair; I have such delights to show you.”

For someone with so much power to wield, her bedchamber did little to show it. A simple frame held a low bed off the floor, the blankets were just grey wool. At its foot sat an iron-bound chest. In a corner stood a small writing desk, as a scribe in a monastery might use. In front of the spidery woman was a candle fashioned from obsidian, giving off an unpleasantly bright light that did strange things to colours. The only object given over to vanity was a small mirror that hung on the wall, though it was concealed by a sheet.

“Oh, my golden lion!” she called out. Evidently she had to wait for too long to get a response, because on a dime her cheerful demeanour instantly changed to cold fury. “Slave, come to me. NOW!” the command wasn't bellowed, but it echoed throughout with power nonetheless.

Sharp yowls of indescribable pain echoed outside the room, sounding like a noise between beast and man. Scraping and shuffling could be made out before the door was thrown open none too gently, letting it impact against the wall loudly. The claws on every one of its four huge paws seemed as if they were about to fall off. Its golden fur was torn and bleeding, with overdeveloped muscles so big they burst through the feline silhouette and revealed the beast to be a grotesque and terrifying imitation of a lion. Bones peeked through here and there, some stuck out while others laid bare in a bloody ruin. Sinews coated with gore bent and stretched as the creature moved, its undead body a horrifying amalgamation of beast and man.

On its hunchback sat a greatsword of rippled steel. The metal was such a dark grey colour that it almost appeared black. Blended into it was a crimson as deep as the grey. Both colours ran through the blade, lapping over one another without ever truly touching. Both the cross-guard and pommel were made of by now tarnished gold, the latter intricately crafted to resemble a lion's head.

“Be a dear, take some of my miscreations and invite our guests of honour to my humble abode.” she told the aberration. “It's one women and a child. You can't miss them.”

The creature clearly wanted to growl, judging by the fierce twitch of its maw, but didn't. Instead it simply nodded slowly and made to do as asked.

“Oh, and Tommen?” the witch called out after the undead lion. “I'd be very disappointed should you fail. You're so very dear to me and I'd hate to see you hurt.”

With that motivator she left him to his preparation.

Stygai, Shadow Lands. 278 AC.

In a wide space betwixt towering peaks of the Mountains of the Morn, there lied a curious valley. A titanic dent of cyclopean scale rested in gentle repose as a green-glowing river spread a sickly pall around. Accompanied by a shimmering blanket of white moss covering its grey and black, stony flesh. No true plants grew inside the city, having little access to light. Others said that plants were as afraid to reach out here as humans. Only the translucent Ghost Grass grew outside of it, and that in abundance. Legend told of each blade being a caged soul from a fool trying to reach the cursed city.

In this valley of shadow sat the ruined city of Stygai; a true feat of architecture that lied nestled within the core of the mountain called the Shadow. Once home to an alien civilisation unknown to man, now nothing more than a ruin brought about by an event none could remember today.

Only during noon were the sun's glorious rays not blocked by the gigantic mountain or the surrounding cliff-side, casting its large shadow over the ancient city. Hence the name of the range being the Shadow. Though, what little light arrived was barely felt due to the greasy black stone the city was built with devouring nearly all of it. Every wall, building and even the streets were made out of a black stone that showed no sign of erosion or other blemishes. Nor any indication that the stone had been worked by masons of a normal kind.

The ancient city was kept in an architectural style no other place in the world outside of Asshai possessed, with flying buttresses, pointed arches and full of decorations. There was no concern for structural possibility, but rather the feeling of the building. Some of them reached far into the sky, as if to try and grasp the heavens themselves and defy the gods, but never managing that and only ever catching darkness. Not helped by various surrounding volcanoes belching out their black fumes in lazy plumes to conceal the sky completely.

Though, today there were no visible stars present in the firmament of Stygai.

The reason for it was high up in the sky; a bright red celestial phenomenon whose radiance was bathing the antediluvian city in its eerie glow. Up there in the night sky a full moon as red as blood hung, bathing Stygai in its eerie glow. Beside it was a comet, a bleeding star blazing across the firmament that cut the heavens open to bleed as it carved a path through them. Both glared fiercely down onto the land; like radiant, baleful eyes. Their light falling to earth like the tears of a god. The Red Priests all over Essos called it the Sword of R'hllor. It's terrible luminescence falling to the earth only for them to be swallowed by the black stone, ash and darkness.

The only things Stygai was made of today.

Harry came to himself with a groan, his body protesting violently, aching all over. He tried to open his mismatched eyes, but was promptly confused when he still only saw nothing before him. As such he closed them again with a frown and thinking.

The last thing he remembered were the whispers of vows permeating through the Room of Death, hearing them as if they were still present. Their origin, the Veil of Death, had rippled as eerily as ever, having beckoned him to step through. An irresistible promise of peace and rest carried towards his ears by its ghostly murmurings before it changed through his actions.

So immersed in his memory was Harry that momentarily his surroundings vanished completely, falling away like autumn leaves. In this moment Harry was completely deaf to the happenings taking place around him. That was until he remembered what happened in-between worlds. It was followed by a swarm of gentle witch-light around him, causing him to flinch from the brightness. As if his eyes had become so accustomed to darkness that illumination now hurt.

'Dying again doesn't seem so bad after you've done it once.' Harry thought rather calmly. A fate he no longer saw as quite so grim. Despite the seemingly macabre line of thought, and what he knew happened, Harry clearly felt cold stone under him. It was uneven, with many rocks and roots pressing into his back. His clothes were also still present. Though, they had hoped to not die after utilizing the Deathly Hallows correctly.

'However, it seems we were right in our assessment!' his thoughts were accompanied by a sigh of relief. Still, some melancholy welled up inside him because of what happened before he stepped through the Veil. And the reason as for why this drastic measure was necessary in the first place.

The wizard was shaken out of his thoughts by a weight suddenly appearing on his chest. The object began squirming with remarkable vigour followed by calming down once it got comfortable. He then noticed a shadow falling over him.

That did bring him out of his reverie. More unwelcome memories began flooding his brain all at once as his eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly to acclimate. He noticed he was staring directly into pure black orbs that were heavily hooded and framed by long eyelashes. The face these abyssal eyes belonged to was definitely feminine and youthful, about twenty years of age. A heart-shaped face, striking features and full luscious lips were present. The beautiful face was framed by thick, shining hair of golden bronze that fell in ringlets down her delicate shoulders.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, concern evident in her melodic voice. Though, her mirror-like eyes conveyed humour as a still sleeping Delphini snuggled into him. Most might find those pools of darkness concerning, or the fact that she seldom blinked – one of a few remnants of being a vampire – but by now Harry was used to it.

With his natural grace he stood up, thankfully his body didn't betray him just yet. Harry was instinctively cradling Delphini safely to his chest with his left arm, shielding her from any harm that might befall her. “I'm fine, Hermione.” he grunted out, swaying a little from the ordeal. Not wanting to burden her with what happened. It earned him a disbelieving snort carrying an undertone of amusement and chastisement from his companion.

“Foolish man.” Hermione sighed out before helping him steady his body.

Harry grinned ruefully. “Guilty as charged, but I'm your fool.” He then looked around, taking in the ruin they had arrived at in his search for an escape route. Right now they stood in a massive and perfectly circular crater, looking as if anything inside had been blown away by an unseen scorching wind that pulverised anything in its path. They were just so able to look over the ledge. Past that everything was uneven, with rubble big and small strewn about. All of it left not much opportune ways to flee fast should it be necessary.

Then Harry and Hermione clearly heard the strange sounds emanating from nearby; shockingly familiar whispers.

He turned around to confirm the source of the whispers, only to be greeted by a perfect replica of the Veil of Death. It was one thing to theorize about the Veil being a bridge of sorts and leading to a different location other than Limbo, but quite another to confirm it with his own eyes.

Two massive piers of fused stone framed an opening several yards wide. It was a tall stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked and crumbling that it was amazing that it still stood, especially as it was not supported by any connecting wall. A few thin, dead vines still clung to it, one reaching all the way to where the rise of the arch began. The bevelled stones, fused together with no mortar, reached their perfection of design at the great keystone. On the face of this keystone were the worn swirls of a chiselled saying, now lost to time. The ghostly curtain of rippling souls flickered before dissolving into rapidly fading mist.

A blink later and the arch crumbled on its own, leaving only rubble and dust and legends on the ground. Any hope of return or threat of pursuit dashed with its destruction before it could even manifest, leaving Harry with mixed feelings.

“It seems we can't go back.” Hermione commented mildly, with no particular emotion in her voice other than some curious observation. There was nothing back there for them, after all. “And don't lie to me again by telling you're fine!” she scolded, worry leaking into her musical tone.

Harry sighed in defeat, knowing he normally couldn't hide anything from his best friend and love. Much less so with the existence of the Blood Oath. “It's just another broken heart, Hermione.” the wizard told her as he looked at her. “I should be used to it by now.” the bitter words tumbled from his lips without his consent. One hand on one of his shoulders gave him some comfort, one of his own soon joined them. “All because I wanted to make yours beat once more and refused to let them kill Delphini.”

“Well, we all knew the fickle nature of the Wizarding World.” Hermione told him softly, intertwining her hand with his. A little bit of mirth was in her bottomless eyes now. “Their 'saviour' cavorting with a Vampire didn't help.”

Harry chuckled, squeezing her hand in gratitude at the distraction, smiling crookedly at her. “Don't forget me being dark and practising Necromancy, debauchery with ghosts and making deals with demonic entities!” he said in a scandalized tone of voice, one hand going to his mouth in mock-horror.

Her lips twitched at that, revealing her front pearlescent teeth being sharper than normal peoples, growing blunter and into normal molars further back. She soon cracked causing a giggle to echo like a clear bell. When she was finished her face held a strong mix of emotion in them, ranging from love to gratitude. “How could we forget?” she asked softly and rhetorically, nearly chocking on her emotions as she beheld Delphini. “Not to mention protecting the cursed child of Voldemort.”

“Who knew I'd be guilty of nearly all of them?” came the equally soft reply from the man, gazing at a dozing Delphini. She had fair skin free of any blemish and pale hair like white gold, while her closed eyelids hid eyes of deepest crimson. He then rested his forehead on Hermione's and gazing into her pools of pure obsidian with his own mismatched eyes. Delphini held snugly between all three of them. “Though, I'd do it all over again for you two.”

Hermione put a hand on his cheek. “I hope you don't include dying in that list!” an arched brow made it clear what his answer should be.

“You died for me long before that, lost your witch's magic and were nearly thrown out of Hogwarts due to your state of being!” some harshness crept into his voice before fading. He had lost what little clout he had with his support of her. Not that he cared about fair-weather friends and fickle fame when he had a true friend right there. “My sacrifice pales in comparison to yours!” Harry told her with a voice full of conviction, followed by swearing. “Not that such an inconvenience as death will keep me from you two for long!” referencing the fact that he had come back to her once before.

This time the reborn witch choked up, even able to produce tears in that once more living body of hers. “You prat!” was all she could say.

“Yes, but I'm your prat though.” he grinned before kissing her, feeling her once more warm skin against his own. “Do you think they're confused as to what happened as we stepped through?” the thought of the idiots staring at the crumbling Veil did give him some amount of amusement.

“They're always confused!” came the scathingly true and equally amused reply from Hermione.

Only after separating did Harry notice what lay on the ground beside the rubble, not even truly registering it until now.

The Sword of Gryffindor as always was a thing of beauty and argent radiance. The inscription from Godric Gryffindor was no longer there, after whatever processes it went through over the years. No marks marred the perfect double-edged blade of iridescent silver; a thin shimmer of glimmering nacre seemingly contained within each inch. The metal caught the crimson light from above in an odd, wavering way, a rainbow dancing across its surface like sunlight through a misty rain. The silver hilt was still richly embellished but it now depicted a phoenix; its eyes still rubies, intricately made argent wings formed the cross-guard, while the talons that made up the pommel held a ruby the size and shape of a quail egg in them.

The sword of perfected silver was made eerie by the suggestive and haunting whisper of ghosts, barely at the edge of being perceptible. The blade was cutting the breeze as if to demonstrate its otherworldly splendour to the world.

“What the...?” he managed to bring out in surprise. “I knew I felt it slipping from my grasp as we tumbled through the Veil.” Harry told his lover upon seeing the blade. He should've known that something like that would happen.

Hermione inspected the sword curiously, her inquisitive nature overtaking her. “Interesting.” she murmured, looking it over without touching. Silver wasn't overly friendly to vampires, after all. Even if she no longer qualified as one, old habits were hard to break. “We know it absorbs what makes it stronger, but I didn't think whatever the Veil was was included in that.”

“I don't think the Hallows or the Veil were mere objects, Hermione.” Harry replied to her mumblings with a dead smile, remembering the being he met. “Like all wands the Death Stick had some sentience, and who knows about the other three.”

“Speaking of the Hallows. Where are they, Harry?” Hermione questioned, her pit-like eyes scanning his form for the objects and not finding them. As well as feeling his unease clearly.

Both remembered how the they had used the three objects before stepping through the Veil of Death. As per legend only the Master of Death could step through the Veil of Death after using the Deathly Hallows in a specific sequence. However, legend didn't tell them where they'd pop up. Only that it'd be a different world. Even ghosts could forget things after multiple centuries, after all.

Harry answered, knowing he couldn't keep any secret from her. “They were payment for crossing through.” he followed it up with the admittance. “I also… met someone there.”

“Who could you have possibly met there?” came the worried reply from Hermione, eyebrows scrunched together in concern. The rational part of her wanted to say that he must've dreamed it, because the travel had lasted barely a heartbeat for her. However, by now she knew that nothing was ever as simple as that when it came to Harry.

“Death, or some entity insinuating to be that.” he answered seriously.

Hermione barely restrained an exasperated huff, never having believed strongly in the legend of the Deathly Hallows before. Still, she could grudgingly admit to being wrong. “Alright.” the woman sighed out. “It's a shame about the cloak though.” she had to use it often during the day to shield herself from the sun. Otherwise it would've been too expensive for her to be out and about during the day. Even with Harry's insistence otherwise.

“Indeed, but at least we're safe now.” Harry told her, grinning.

The two decided to look for civilisation then, crawling out of the crater which took a good half an hour due to its size. Once outside they could behold the ruins around them.

Despite the ruins looking old, nature had not reclaimed anything at all since its abandonment. More curiously every single tower leaned away from the centre of the now crumbled Veil of Death, bringing crooked frames against sturdy walls of oily stone. Nor did dust cover any corner of the place, despite everything indicating that this had happened a long time ago. The cracked and empty remains of homes rose like the rib bones of a decayed leviathan, long ago stripped of anything of worth or use. The wind going through these hollow structures wheezed like the last breaths of a dying man, carrying the stench of rotten eggs. Long had this city stood abandoned and forgotten, and yet some instinct told them to be wary.

A caution that proved true not too long after.

Something native startled them somewhat fierce a moment later. It was a mix between a human scream and feline roar, booming off the mountain's walls as gigantic bat-like wings appeared with a nine-hundred pound lion body above the edge of a nearby tower. Its grotesque human face was surrounded by a mane of matted, gore-encrusted hair, and the creature’s tail resembled that of scorpion.

Attracted by the roar of the Manticore more monsters spawned from the surrounding landscape in hope of easy prey.

The next beast was as big as a horse, with dragon-like spikes the size of a small daggers running the length of its spine. It also had a serpentine tail extending from a goat’s hindquarters. Somewhere in the middle, a lion and a lizard competed to be its forequarters, granting it deadly claws. Three heads bloomed from its overburdened shoulders: a lion, a horned goat, and something like a red snake.

Not just from the air did the enemies come. A huge and hideous worm-like creature mixed with a snake burrowed its way up through the ground, the earth crumbling down its thick and oozy body in a collapsing mess. It was easily the size of a fully grown basilisk, had shorty stubby legs and arms but no discernable eyes. Only a bulbous body and a mouth filled with countless sharp teeth. Its open maw revealed a furnace glowing deep within, waiting to be unleashed.

Luckily the gigantic orange wyrm ignored Harry and instead went for the Chimera. Evidently not noticing or ignoring the smaller targets, and simultaneously blocking the Manticore's view on them.

On instinct Hermione's wand sprang into her hand. It made Hermione thankful she didn't dispose of it after becoming a Vampire and it no longer having any use to her. In their hurry neither noticed that the usual sudden warmth rising up their arms associated with their connection to their wand was missing entirely.

A moment later the witch tried to apparate to a point further away, hoping to gain some distance with multiple jumps as she promptly turned on her heel.

Nothing happened.

Not the sensation of being pressed through a rubber tube, nor a twisting feeling in her gut that usually was caused by an Anti-Apparition ward being in place. “Fuck!” she cursed out loud, showing the severity of the situation. “Apparition is blocked.” she informed her companion, causing him to curse as well.

The battle between the gigantic wyrm and the Chimera gave Harry enough time to step behind her and against the wall so she could fight the enemies unencumbered. While Harry wasn't defenceless by any measure, he had no wand to speak of. The changed sword he took in his left hand to fight the rapidly approaching Manticore, should it come to it. He knew running away from the creature was futile in his own case without access to magical escape. Not to mention that they were literally backed into a corner right now.

Said Manticore hadn't wasted any time in the interim, its yellow eyes shining with malicious intelligence as it pounced from its high position. It took flight, its bulky form blocking out the light partially, and as its tail whipped forward, spikes were slung from its tip, aiming to end their life.

Hermione simply conjured an invisible shield before their group, reflecting the spikes back with a contemptuous flick of her wand, but they missed the evading monster by inches. Without wasting time Hermione's wand was thrust forward like a spear, causing a purple piercing-hex to fly straight through the beast's left wing membrane. Hermione shot the spell again and again, targeting different points one after another, tearing through the leather and flesh. Each spell grew in intensity as hate rose in the witch's chest. Growing from holes the size of fingers to fist-sized ones until the beast was forced to land prematurely lest it crash.

In the back of her mind the witch noted that the magic here felt different. Not necessarily twisted but changed, more difficult to mould and bend to her will.

Thankfully she had limited the Manticore's mobility with the attacks.

Knowing that the creature's resistance to magic was great and that one sting from a Manticore was enough to kill, Hermione tried to keep it at a distance. To that end she employed the terrain, transfiguring the ground into deadly spikes and launching a few at the beast. Some grazed the Manticore, but it proved too fast and nimble still. Easily avoiding the hazards Hermione had created on the ground, prowling around them and looking for an opening. An obscene grin displayed on its mocking human face, licking its lips provocatively.

That transfiguration was the last spell she was able to unleash before her wand sang mournfully in her hand. She could only stare dumbly at the now slightly smoking wand in befuddlement. As a result Harry traded places with her, pushing Delphini into her arms. Without Hermione or Harry noticing cracks appeared in the wood that slowly grew deeper.

'My magic feels slower, for some reason. I need to cast faster, something more powerful!' Harry growled in his mind, immediately recognising the state of affairs and concentrating fully on his opponent while formulating a plan. In the end he decided to risk becoming open and invite the attack in. As he did so his magic hummed to life in anticipation as he prepared a reckless action. While most spells could be cast without a wand, some were easier to do so than others. The strongest and easiest option being Fiendfyre, due to eagerly aiding in its summoning to try and kill anything it could, summoner included.

Pain suddenly wracked his frame from sheer exhaustion, his body demanding recompense for the travel through the Outer Dark and moulding the dangerous spell. Struggling through the familiar haze of pain, a retaliatory rage engulfed him. He flicked his hand to the side abruptly, making a condemning black demonic fire tear out of it that was baleful and glittering. It sprang forth eagerly, much smoother and burning more hungrily than usually. The liquid sable fire shone a brilliant red, as bright as the wound in the sky, brighter than blood, brighter than the ruddy moon. Though, while summoning it was easier, controlling it was another matter entirely. Its sentience being much stronger and more stubborn than before.

It swept before them in a half circle, creating a massive protective wall of flames against the now pouncing Manticore. A second later it erupted outwards like a wave as a column of blasphemous flames, roaring swiftly towards his foe like a baying hell hound.

Despite struggling to stand, a dark fury sang in his veins as he heard the shrieks of the burning beast among the stench of sulphur. Once that was accomplished the malevolent flames tried to turn on their master. Though, his control and willpower was great enough to deny them their desire. With an effort of will he kept them from devouring him and his. It took more willpower than usual to beat the cursed flames into submission, the heat seemed almost eager to incinerate him. Almost longing in its desire. However, Harry had weathered worse storms and with a dismissive gesture the Fiendfyre thinned and vanished, revealing an incinerated husks of charred and blackened flesh, a cracked chitinous tail, partially molten bone and liquefied eyes dripping from its now malformed skull.

With that done Harry took a knee in exhaustion, his breathing laboured. Normally controlling Fiendfyre did not tax him so. However, the sentience and potency of the flames was even fiercer here than back home, surprising him and catching him off guard. It was as if they were backed by some malevolent will he had no knowledge of. Either that or the celestial phenomenon currently happening empowered Pyromancy to a degree, making summoning Fiendfyre foolish despite its power.

Hermione meanwhile looked at the fight between the massive wyrm and the Chimera as Harry got his bearings. The result was evident by the former chewing its prey leisurely, the lower goat-like body hanging out before being swallowed as well. All the while its throat glowed and smoke escaped its maw as the prey was cooked alive inside.

Not liking their current predicament Harry and Hermione didn't attack the beast outright, holding their breath in the hope that it would ignore them and go away. The head of the great worm, like the bud of a profane blossom, rose from its slimy, pock-encrusted coil of a seamed and sectioned body. Poised like a cobra, the mouth opened wide. From the centre, the tooth-ringed mouth, appeared a set of tongues. All of them long, pink, and tapered. They moved as if testing the air for something sensed not seen.

Unfortunately the abomination seemed to notice them just fine with it, letting lose some ghastly shriek before evidently preparing an attack. Its throat glowing like an inferno waiting to be unleashed as its whole body was set aflame without warning.

Harry didn't waste time and took the wand from her. Already having prepared his own attack in anticipation of such a thing happening. As evidence of it one could smell the sharp, acrid scent of ozone, and every hair on the wizard's neck stood on end.

“Be careful. The magic here is different.” Hermione cautioned warily, knowing he probably was aware but feeling the need to do so anyway. Not having expected her wand to react in such a manner, even though it made some amount of sense. After all, they were on a different world, and it stood to reason that magic worked differently here, with different rules.

The wizard felt the energy in his teeth, in his eyes, and the roaring in his ears. However, the problem began as a flavour on the tongue, like a bloody morsel of roast boar. Soon the twisted and more primal arcane energy of this place was a conflagration of wrath in his body, twisting his blood until only burning oil beat through his veins. It was hot and heavy, flowing through his heart, and filtering into her limbs like boiling poison. He was forced to crush and twist this unfamiliar magic to suit his needs, bending it to his iron will until it fit the shape he required.

“Try verbalising the spells!” Hermione called out her advice, knowing it would give an usually unneeded kick to any spell.

As most times, he took her suggestion.

“Fulgur!” Harry's voice boomed like distant thunder, speaking aloud the word to wield the storm as the massive wyrm made to lunge. He finished a last twirl of the wand and jutted it out, the small hairs along the arm holding it stood straight one after another. Then, with the fury of the tempest, he unleashed it all. Every single bit of the considerable power at his command and then some were put into this one attack.

From the wand's tip, coruscating bolts of blue-white lightning arced for an instant before blasting out in a mostly straight line, lashing everything in its path with raw electric power. The jagged bolt of lightening bursting forth filled the air with crackling energy, and clouds of dust and debris as it carved a path towards it's intended victim. The spell easily impaled his opponent's body, flying into the mouth before it could react and electrocuting the grotesque beast. Spasms wrecked its body violently before it fell in a paralysed heap before his feet headfirst.

Despite Harry not knowing exactly why, it worked much better than the previous two uses of magic. However, before he could even stop the lightning escaping, the wand's cracks glowed erratically; the volatile energies flowing through it making his hand shake. A moment later the cracked wood splintered and curled up pathetically and parts of it flaking off. He cast it aside in his hurry.

Not wasting any time to curse, Harry ignored the pain, gripped the Sword of Gryffindor with both hands and pierced through the wyrm's hide. He stabbed directly into the disgusting head a few times, letting the venom do its sinister work. Even going so far as to pull the blade and drag it along its length to gut it, letting boiling liquid and hot gore spill out.

So hot was the red liquid that it caught fire as it made contact with the ground behind him.

“What the hell was that thing?” Harry panted as he eyed the creature distrustfully, flicking the steaming blood from the blade.

Hermione – now standing more steadily – readjusted her grip on the sleeping Delphini as she inspected the creature curiously. She commented. “I definitely haven’t seen its kind before. Such unique morphology...”

Another roar-like sound from nearby interrupted their short reprieve, sounding much more bovine than a usual Chimera.

With no option left Harry resorted to the art he was most proficient and powerful in: Necromancy. For that he had never needed a wand, nor somatic or verbal components to cast them proficiently.

Harry swiftly began a necromantic spell, weaving the familiar magic with an ease that contrasted sharply with his earlier spells. There was a smoothness to it now that he hadn't felt ever before as the magical energy swelled within him. Then again, they were standing in the corpse of an ancient civilisation, a considerable boon for a necromancer. A sensation like spreading wildfire burned through his body as the spell imbued him with false life, invigorating him for its duration.

Hidden in the darkness of a nearby alley of collapsed buildings was the arrival of dim, red lights – four pairs of glowing eyes fixed on them. The creatures emitted mighty roars and their eyes burned brighter, illuminating their faces as they came out of the darkness: each possessing a massive bull’s head stacked on broad, humanoid shoulders, nostrils and mouth dripping with strings of frothing saliva. A stench like brimstone and the heat of a forge-fire flooded the space between them.

To think of these creatures as part man and part bull was an insult to both. Their massive bodies better resembled an ogre both in size and stature, with bulging but misshapen muscles and coarse hair all over their bodies. And while their heads bore great bovine horns, the iron-ringed snouts from which chains hung outstripped any animal in their fearsome ugliness.

Moments later the Minotaurs heaved into a charge, horns first.

A cold sensation twinged in every joint of Harry's body and a strong scent of decay fell over the area. He could smell the sweetness of overripe fruit as he pointed to the first target, speaking the words of the spell to enhance its effect. “Rzydu'un!” A ray of black energy surged from his fingers, howling like a ghost it needled its way into his target’s muscles, bones, and mind. The monster directly in front went rigid, dropping his blades as it toppled to the ground in a heap. Moments later, the corpse began to twitch and groan.

The other three ignored their fallen brethren and went on without stopping. “Depulso!” One was banished backwards by Hermione, visibly caving its chest inward as if struck by a canon. Her hand trembled as she channelled the magic of this unfamiliar world through herself, strangely not struggling with that spell as much as with the others before. Despite doing so through a wand previously. For what reason Hermione did not know.

“Vlaakith!” Harry once more incanted in a tongue only known as Acheronian; ancient language of necromancers. Immediately black tendrils of power shoot out from the wizard’s hands, slaying one of his remaining enemies agonisingly and rapidly while the second sidestepped. Each thread of midnight cut through the beast's skin like a hot knife through butter, making the abomination howl in agony before it was reduced to a pile of sludge as it decomposed rapidly.

The last was stopped in its tracks by the reanimated Minotaur now gripping one of its former ally's cloven hooves, causing it to fall. That was followed by the undead ramming its mace straight into the chest of its downed opponent with unholy might. The victim gurgled incoherently as its ribs were crushed. In return the undead's head was removed with a lucky swing of the axe from the flailing and dying beast.

Both collapsed shortly afterwards. The decapitated one collapsing onto the other.

“We probably should leave!” Harry panted out, the false life beginning to leave him by bleeding away into the ether. Once more the fatigue from enabling the travel between world slowly but inevitably returned to him like the tide.

Hermione simply nodded, making to support Harry and Delphini while searching for a safe space to rest. However, rest was not something permitted to them as many fast footsteps signalled the arrival of new opponents.

Skeletal figures – dozens, if not a hundred of them – stood in regimented formation, armed and armoured in their burial garb. As they stood in rank-and-file, a beastly figure walked up on a undead limbs with burning red eyes. It briefly inspected his troops for any sign of weakness before giving the signal to charge. The illusion of any order was shattered quickly as the living came into view. The shambling dead spilled outward into the city square, clogging the streets and alleyways with their rotting forms. Otherworldly moans filled the air as they surged toward their prey caught in the streets, even clambering over one another to reach their meal.

“Kr'y'izoth!” Harry cast before clenching his held out hand into a fist.

Immediately the air around the undead bore the haze of pipe smoke, but from no pipe or leaf. From every wound or orifice a translucent miasma – their life-force; a purple thing like noxious swamp gas – exited their mangled bodies in swirling streams, stunning them momentarily. Something of this pall around them was alive, turning slowly on itself regardless of the wind, colder than the air that held it.

The next second he was pulling it towards him with a motion as if to rip the smoke out of the very air. What followed was a strange combination of afterlife energy and electrical firing hisses and pops; then it surged, crackling, from the air towards the Necromancer. Every single of the minor undead collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. Leaving the their presumed leader – due to Harry feeling a poor excuse for a soul in him – still on this plane.

Letting the swirling mass of purple vapour float in the air, Harry dealt with the remaining undead by approaching the downed being and cast. “G'hel.” all the bones of his opponent quickly turned gelid and soft; unable to support the massive creature any longer, and causing its body to deflate a bit as if truly becoming jelly. Once he deemed it safe enough Harry made to put his hand over where the creature's heart would be; the centre of the soul. His next act was no spell of any kind, but something much more than that.

Shadows bent and warped around his hand in a swirling corona of darkness before he latched on. Then, he gripped and pulled.

Slowly, like stretching a thick rubber band, Harry pulled and pulled; dragging wispy soul-matter from the creature. Thankfully, extracting a poorly attached soul went faster than one that was healthy and properly anchored. Much less agonising as well.

“Wha... where.. am I?” the confused spectre rambled on a little more, completely out of it. Tattered holes of varying sizes were all over his intangible body, as if someone had ripped things out of his very being. What could be made out spoke of a once handsome man, with long curly locks and aristocratic features. Tattered clothes from ages past hung on his frame, a crown decorated his brow. All weathered and marred by scars and torture, insanity and magic.

Not waiting for the apparition to collect itself, Harry – with but a simple gesture – threw the accumulated life-force into the ghost with another gesture. The air became heavy and oppressive, as if a great storm was brewing. The spectre was staring straight ahead, focused on the Necromancer, his expression serene and content. Closing his eyes, the ghost floated into the air, buoyed by invisible currents and began to glow with blinding, ethereal light. When the dazzling illumination subsided, they saw him again… but he was much less diaphanous.

The accumulated necromantic energy enough to temporarily patch the holes in his soul.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded, starting with an easy question to get things on track. Once more glad that he could perfectly understand the many ghosts he came across, be they controlled by him or not. Hermione called it the Language of the Judged, most likely working similar to Parseltongue. He also knew he sounded very different to ghosts than the living. For most it made them more receptive towards him, though they still largely kept their personalities and opinions. If the person had been an arse then they'd stay one, just not towards Harry himself.

The sight before him struck Tommen mute for a moment. Light and sound seemed to defer to the being in front of him; shadows darkened as he approached and when he spoke, other sounds – even Tommen's own thoughts – dampened. He had trouble meeting the wizard’s utterly mismatched eyes, and his gaze was naturally drawn to whatever he pointed or looked to. Besides his newfound clarity of thought he wasn’t inclined to become angry or violent – it just seemed inappropriate in front of one such as he.

“I'm...” there was a long pause, the ghost clearly struggling to remember what was asked of him, taking considerable effort. “Tommen Lannister?” he finally replied, the words more question than answer. The cobwebs infesting his memories and mind briefly dusted off. Tommen then added uncertainly. “Your Majesty.”

Harry tilted his head at the formal form of address, inspecting the floating ghost up and down. “What happened here?” he motioned towards the destruction all around them before pointing at the abominable corpse before him. “How did you get here and who did this to you?”

“You're in the lands of Stygai, which stood before the first Dawn according to legend. However, it is now nothing but a forgotten memory.” Tommen explained to him.

The ghost became lost himself in his own reverie then. “As for how I came here? Pure folly and madness, I'd have to say.” the shame emanating from him was palpable. “In my pride and lust for treasure I led an expedition to the lands of cursed Valyria, wanting to gain glory so that House Lannister would be remembered for all time.”

“Valyria, what's that?” Hermione questioned in English, surprising Harry by being able to talk with the ghost. The language barrier should've made that impossible. Though he was not surprised by her being ever curious to learn more, especially so about this new world they found themselves in.

Harry intervened, asking perplexed. “What language are you speaking, by the way?” only then shooting the huffing Hermione an apologetic look for barging in.

“I'm speaking the Old Tongue right now, only really spoken in the North or the Iron Islands of Westeros anymore.” he knew it because he had been an explorer at heart. “The rest speaks High Andalic, also known as the Common Tongue of Westeros.” the ghost answered deferentially, prioritising Harry utterly. “It is mostly used by the nobility of Westeros to facilitate easier communication. While the smallfolk only speak the regional languages.” only then did he address Hermione's question. “Valyria was once the home to the greatest civilisation of the Known World, or so History would have you believe.” the ghost spat out venomously, his empty eyes gaining a fire in them. “It may have even been true, once. But I only came to know the horror and madness, those twin rulers of Valyria.”

“It is said as punishment for their cruelty and godlessness the gods punished them. It was known as the Doom and it let the Fourteen Flames – fire mountains on the Valyrian peninsula – erupt all at once. The calamity destroyed the Valyrians and their empire, causing destruction elsewhere and starting the Century of Blood that ravaged Essos when I made my way over here to explore.” the former king visibly struggled with his tale. “Every man knew the Doom still ruled Valyria when I sailed off. The very sea there boils and smokes, but fool that I was I set out anyway. Only glory and fame were on my mind, but Valyria only gave me suffering and death for my efforts.”

He waved at his corpse with a mournful sigh, lamenting. “As for why I'm here and my body's condition; it was the work of Valyrian remnants, a Dragonlord. An Archon of Valyria she claims to be, and I am inclined to believe her. She dragged me here, looking for magical lore to grow in power.”

“Then, it seems we have much to discuss.” Harry commented, glad that not all of this world was blighted beyond repair.