AMagicWriter
patreon
Harry Potter and the Shattered Ring Chapter 14 (Dungeons and Dragons' Blood)
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 19:46:06 +0000 UTCHarry sat cross-legged near the warm glow of the Site of Grace, its golden threads of light dancing around him like gentle fireflies. His emerald eyes reflected the ethereal light as he tried to find the right words to describe what he'd experienced. Nepheli stood with her back against a cold stone wall, her warrior's posture never fully relaxing, while Melina knelt beside Harry, close enough to offer comfort.
"It wasn't like hearing someone speak," Harry began, running a hand through his perpetually messy black hair. "It was more like... feeling words inside my head. Similar to when I hear Parseltongue, but different. These voices felt ancient, desperate." He paused, searching for the right comparison. "Like listening to an echo of something that happened long ago."
Melina's golden eye studied him intently, a flicker of concern crossing her features. Her fingers absently traced patterns in the dust beside her, unconsciously drawing symbols that resembled the grace's flow. "What exactly did these voices say, Harry?"
"They begged for help," he replied, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
Nepheli pushed herself off the wall, moving closer to the light. "I've explored much of this castle in preparation for confronting Godrick," she said. "There are many dark secrets here, but I've never heard voices like you describe."
"I couldn't hear anything either," Melina added softly, and Harry noticed how her hand moved slightly closer to his before pulling back. "But the boundaries between worlds are growing thinner. The influence of Outer Gods seeks any crack, any weakness to seep through."
Harry pulled out his golden ring, watching it glimmer in the grace's light. "Could it be connected to this? To being Tarnished?"
"Not necessarily," Melina replied, and Harry caught her watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read before she quickly looked away. "The gift of grace is a blessing from the Greater Will, but other entities exist that are just as powerful, if not more so. Some are ancient beyond measure, their motives unknowable."
"Like the Goddness of Rot?" Harry asked, remembering their earlier conversations about Caelid's corruption.
Melina nodded, tucking a strand of her brown-red hair behind her ear. "Yes, but there are others. The Formless Mother, the Blood Star, the Fell God..." She trailed off, then added in a softer tone, "Each seeks champions, vessels, or simply chaos."
Harry absorbed this information, unconsciously rubbing his lightning bolt scar. "At Hogwarts, hearing voices others can't hear is never a good sign," he said with a weak attempt at humor. "In my second year-" He stopped himself, noticing Nepheli's confused expression. "Sorry, that's my school. Where I'm from."
"A school for magic?" Nepheli asked, interest clear in her voice. "Like the Academy of Raya Lucaria?"
"Similar in some ways," Harry replied, grateful for the momentary distraction. "Though we use wands instead of staves, and our classes are a bit different. No glintstone sorcery, for one thing."
Nepheli shifted closer. "Your magic from home and the powers you're developing here - they're distinctly different, right?"
Harry nodded, creating a small golden sphere above his palm to demonstrate. "This feels... purer somehow. Raw. Like I'm channeling something fundamental." The sphere cast warm shadows across their faces. "When I use my wand, it's like directing a stream. But this..." He let the sphere expand slightly, its light intensifying. "This feels like becoming the stream itself."
Nepheli studied the sphere with professional interest. "And you've mastered this in mere weeks? Impressive."
Harry felt his cheeks warm at the praise, but he noticed Melina's slight frown. "Not mastered," she corrected gently. "Harry has a natural affinity, but there's still much to learn. The powers of grace are not to be taken lightly."
"You're a good teacher," Harry said to Melina, and was surprised to see a faint blush color her visible cheek before she turned away, pretending to adjust her cloak.
"We should discuss our approach to the dungeons," Nepheli said, pulling out a crude map she'd sketched. "The prison cells are in the lowest level of the castle, but Godrick's forces will be expecting rescuers."
Harry let his sphere dissipate, leaving them in the softer light of the Site of Grace. "How many guards are we likely to face?"
"Under normal circumstances, at least a dozen," Nepheli replied, tracing a path on her map. "But after your victory over Margit, they've probably doubled that number."
"We'll need to be careful with your grace powers, Harry," Melina added, her tone carrying a hint of protective concern that made Harry glance at her. "You're still recovering from the last battle, and we can't know for sure what that voice was."
Harry nodded, he was happy that Melina seemed to believe his word about the voice instead of just dismissing it.
The fight with Margit had pushed him to his limits, and while the Site of Grace helped restore his energy, he knew Melina was right. "We'll try stealth first," he decided. "I can use smaller spheres for light without draining too much power. And if we do have to fight..." He patted the Lordsworn's Greatsword at his side, "I'm not completely dependent on grace magic anymore."
"A wise choice," Melina said softly, and this time when her hand moved closer to his, she didn't pull it back. The warmth of her fingers near his was subtle but reassuring.
"There's a secondary entrance through the lower kitchens," Nepheli continued, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the moment between her companions. "The guards there are usually more concerned with their meals than their duties. If we time it right..."
As they continued planning, Harry found his thoughts drifting back to the voices. Something about it had felt familiar in a way he couldn't explain - not like the basilisk's calls in his second year, but more like an echo of something he should remember but couldn't quite grasp. The memory slipped away like water through his fingers.
"Harry?" Melina's voice brought him back to the present, and he realized she'd been speaking to him. Her concerned expression made something flutter in his chest, though he attributed it to anxiety about the upcoming rescue.
"Sorry, just thinking," he said, standing up and adjusting his armor. "We should get moving. Captain Artan and the others have been Godrick's prisoners long enough."
Nepheli rolled up her map and nodded approvingly. "Agreed. We strike while the castle still reels from Margit's defeat."
As they prepared to leave the Site of Grace's comfort, Harry caught Melina watching him with that same unreadable expression. When their eyes met, she quickly looked away, busying herself with checking her dagger's position at her belt.
"Ready?" he asked his companions, receiving determined nods in response.
❾¾
❾¾
The air grew colder as Harry, Melina, and Nepheli descended deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of Stormveil Castle. The flickering torches on the walls did little to dispel the oppressive gloom, and the uneven stone floor beneath their boots seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Harry held out his hand, summoning a cluster of small, golden orbs that floated around them, their warm glow illuminating the dark passage ahead.
The corridor stretched long and narrow. It felt less like a castle and more like the belly of a beast—alive, suffocating, and waiting to devour intruders. The golden light from Harry's orbs pushed back the shadows, revealing just enough of the way forward to make the group feel exposed.
"This place is a maze," Harry muttered, his voice low. "How does anyone find their way through it?"
"They don't," Nepheli replied, her grip tightening on her axe. "That's the point. Godrick designed it to confuse invaders, force them into ambushes, or drive them mad. Stormveil doesn't let anyone leave the same way they came in."
Harry glanced at her, frowning. "You seem to know a lot about this place."
"I've fought in castles like this before," she said, her tone sharp. "Stormveil's a monstrosity, but it's not unique. Keep your eyes on the walls, the ground—everything. It'll try to lead you astray."
Melina, walking slightly ahead, turned her head just enough to glance back at them. "The design serves a darker purpose. It's not just to trap intruders—it's to keep the victims inside. Prisoners, experiments, even Godrick's own soldiers. Few leave these dungeons unchanged."
As they rounded a corner, the faint sound of voices reached their ears—a guttural mix of snarls and low murmurs. Harry extinguished his golden orbs with a thought, plunging them into near darkness. He motioned for the others to stop.
Nepheli leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. "Patrol. Two soldiers, maybe three. They'll have grafts—watch for extra limbs."
Harry peered into the gloom, straining to see. The golden glow of a torch bobbed in the distance, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots. Soon, two figures came into view, their armor mismatched and grotesque. One had a second arm grafted onto his back, the limb clutching a jagged axe as if it had a mind of its own. The other bore a head fused to his chest, its mouth moving silently in tandem with the soldier's own.
Harry grimaced. "That's... horrifying."
"They're stronger than they look," Nepheli murmured. "But slow. We can take them if we keep it quiet."
Melina raised a hand, her gaze sharp. "Silence may not be an option. There are more behind them."
Harry followed her gaze, his stomach sinking as he noticed more shadows moving beyond the pair—a larger patrol, at least five more soldiers. He whispered, "Stealth it is, then."
They pressed themselves against the wall as the patrol approached, the soldiers' grotesque grafts making faint squelching noises with every movement. The lead soldier, the one with the grafted axe arm, paused and sniffed the air.
Harry held his breath. The warmth of his golden orbs had dissipated, but he could still feel the faint hum of grace in his veins. The soldier's head turned, its second arm twitching like an animal scenting prey.
"Move now," Nepheli mouthed, her eyes locked on Harry.
The group slipped around the corner, hugging the wall as the patrol continued past them. Harry's pulse pounded in his ears, but he kept his steps light, careful not to disturb the loose stones beneath their feet. When the soldiers were out of earshot, he exhaled shakily.
"That was close," he muttered.
Nepheli smirked. "You've got decent instincts for someone who's never been in a dungeon like this."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
As they ventured further, the corridors grew narrower, the walls lined with grotesque murals depicting scenes of conquest and torment. One particularly vivid carving showed a monstrous figure—likely Godrick—standing atop a pile of severed limbs, his hands outstretched as if drawing power from the suffering below.
"Charming decor," Harry muttered, glancing uneasily at the mural.
"Godrick sees himself as an artist," Nepheli said, her tone laced with disgust. "He doesn't just conquer—he mutilates, twists, remakes everything into his own image. That's why his soldiers look like... that."
Ahead, the corridor opened into a larger chamber. The room was dimly lit by torches placed in sconces along the walls, their flickering light revealing a horrifying sight: a mass of bodies fused together into a shambling creature of limbs and heads. It moved with a sickening lurch, its many arms clawing at the air as it dragged itself across the stone floor.
Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. "What the hell is that?"
Melina's voice was calm but cold. "A Grafted Mass. A failed experiment, perhaps. Or a success, depending on Godrick's perspective."
The creature let out a low, guttural moan, its many heads turning in different directions. Harry tightened his grip on his sword. "How do we kill it?"
"Quickly," Nepheli said, raising her axe. "Aim for the joints—where the limbs connect. It'll be slow, but don't get caught. Those arms can tear you apart."
The Grafted Mass noticed them before they could plan further. It let out a bone-rattling scream, its heads wailing in unison as it lunged forward with surprising speed. Harry reacted instinctively, summoning his golden orbs and sending them hurtling toward the creature. The orbs exploded on impact, blasting chunks of flesh and bone from the mass, but it didn't stop.
Nepheli charged in, her axe swinging in wide arcs. She severed one of the creature's many arms, but another lashed out, nearly catching her. Melina moved to the side, conjuring a burst of flame that scorched the creature's back, sending a foul stench wafting through the chamber.
Harry created a larger orb, fusing several smaller ones together before launching it at the creature's center. The impact sent it reeling, but it quickly regained its balance, its many legs scrambling for purchase.
"It's still coming!" Harry shouted, dodging a swinging arm.
"Keep at it!" Nepheli yelled, burying her axe into the creature's torso. It let out a shriek, its movements growing more erratic as it thrashed wildly. Harry saw his opening and summoned the Carian Greatsword, the ethereal blade glowing with an intense blue light.
With a shout, he brought the blade down on the creature's center, cleaving through its twisted mass. The Grafted Mass let out one final, pitiful wail before collapsing into a heap of lifeless limbs. It's runes being absorbed by Harry.
The chamber fell silent, save for their labored breathing. Harry wiped sweat from his brow, the glow of his magic fading as he let his exhaustion catch up with him.
"That... was disgusting," he said, staring at the heap of flesh.
Nepheli smirked, though her expression was strained. "Welcome to Stormveil."
"We can't stay here," Melina said as she opened a door that led further downstairs. The room was covered in darkness, and it felt like they were walking into hell itself.
"Great," Harry muttered under his breath, right now, he would much rather go to the Chamber of Secrets all over again.
The dungeon's air hung thick with the stench of mold and human suffering. Harry's small golden sphere cast eerie shadows across walls slick with condensation, illuminating rows of iron-barred cells that stretched into the darkness. Their footsteps, despite their best efforts at stealth, echoed softly against the stone floor. Soon, they reached a large room with multiple cells with a large circle clearing in the middle.
"These cells," Nepheli whispered, "they're meant for common criminals, not soldiers who fought honorably."
Harry moved his sphere closer to each cell they passed, his heart sinking at the empty ones and those containing only remains he forced himself not to look at too closely. The cold seemed to seep through his armor, but he pressed forward, Melina's presence close behind him providing silent support.
A familiar voice, weak but unmistakable, called out from the darkness ahead. "Either I'm hallucinating, or that's grace magic I'm seeing."
"Captain Artan!" Harry rushed forward, forgetting stealth in his relief. His sphere illuminated a cell where the captain sat propped against the wall, his usually pristine armor dented and stained with dried blood. One eye was swollen shut, and his right arm hung at an unnatural angle.
"By the Erdtree, it really is you, lad." Captain Artan attempted to smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. "You look different. The armor suits you."
Harry quickly examined the cell's lock while Nepheli kept watch at the corridor's end. "We're getting you out of here. All of you." His eyes scanned the neighboring cells, spotting more familiar faces from the soldier camp.
"Harry?" A timid voice came from the cell adjacent to the captain's. Roderika huddled in the corner, her hood pulled tight around her face. "I knew... I knew someone would come."
"Roderika, are you hurt?" Melina moved to her cell, her gentle tone drawing the frightened girl closer to the bars.
"Not physically," Roderika whispered, her hands trembling as she gripped the iron bars. "But Godrick...he...he..." She choked back a sob.
Harry focused on Captain Artan's lock first, creating a smaller sphere and concentrating its energy into a thin beam of golden light. "Hold on, this might take a moment." He remembered the unlocking charm he'd learned from Hermione but knew his wand magic wouldn't work here. Instead, he guided the grace energy into the lock's mechanism, feeling for its weak points.
"Careful with that, lad," Captain Artan warned. "These locks are spelled against normal magic. Cost me three good men finding that out."
"Grace magic is different," Melina explained, moving to stand beside Harry. "It predates these wards. Here, let me guide you." She placed her hand on Harry's hand. "Feel for the ancient patterns beneath the metal."
Harry nodded. He concentrated, sensing what she meant - beneath the physical lock lay currents of older magic, like layers of sediment beneath a river. He directed his grace energy along these patterns, and with a satisfying click, the lock sprang open.
"Well done," Melina murmured, and Harry caught a hint of pride in her voice before she stepped back.
Captain Artan attempted to stand but stumbled. Harry rushed in to support him, careful of his injured arm. "Easy, Captain. You're in no shape to run."
"Godrick's hospitality leaves much to be desired," the captain said with a weak laugh that turned into a cough. "But I'll manage. Free the others first."
Harry turned to Roderika's cell next, the lock opening more easily now that he understood the technique. She practically fell through the door, clinging to Melina who wrapped her cloak around the shaking girl.
"There were more of us," Roderika said, her voice barely audible. "Godrick... he takes people away. To his grafting chamber. They never come back the same, if they come back at all."
"How many others are still alive?" Nepheli asked, returning from her watch position.
"Four more, down that way," Captain Artan pointed with his good arm. "Good soldiers, all of them."
Harry worked quickly on the remaining cells, freeing three more soldiers he recognized from training sessions and one he didn't know. Each was in varying states of injury, but all could walk, supporting each other as needed. He noticed that Patches was not here, he was about to ask where he was-
"We need to move quickly," Nepheli urged. "The guard rotation will be changing soon."
"Wait," Captain Artan called out as they began to gather. "There's something you need to know, lad. Godrick... he's been asking about you. Ever since word spread about Margit's defeat."
Harry paused in his task of creating a larger sphere for light. "What do you mean?"
"He wants to graft your power onto himself," Captain Artan finished grimly. "Been raving about it, according to the guards. Says combining grace magic with his dragon blood would make him unstoppable."
A distant sound of metal on stone echoed through the corridor, causing everyone to freeze.
The heavy footsteps echoed through the dungeon like tolling bells, each step resonating with ancient power. The Knight emerged from the shadows, his bronze armor gleaming with an inner light that seemed to predate the Erdtree itself. The corridor, already narrow, felt impossibly small in his presence as he walked into the large room where everyone else was.
Harry stepped forward, positioning himself between the knight and the others. His hand tightened on the Lordsworn's Greatsword, though some instinct told him the weapon would be of little use against this opponent.
"Harry, this is a Crucible Knight, be careful." Nepheli said, sounding wary and on edge.
From her voice alone, Harry knew this one was not someone he could understimate.
The Crucible Knight's armor is crafted from a dark, burnished metal that gleams with a dull, golden-bronze hue, evoking the earthy tones of the Crucible's chaotic life force. It has an aged, weathered look.
The armor is adorned with intricate carvings and engravings, with swirling, organic patterns that resemble vines, roots, and flames. These motifs mirror the natural chaos of the Crucible. Small embellishments, like spikes and ridges, give the armor a fearsome and intimidating presence. The armor is heavy and angular. The pauldrons (shoulder plates) are particularly large and have jagged edges. The chestplate is wide and reinforced, with a raised design depicting an ancient sigil of the Crucible.
The helmet of a Crucible Knight. It has a high, flared crest at the back, resembling the horns of a stag or the flames of the Crucible itself. This crest curves dramatically.
The face is obscured by a closed, angular visor with narrow slits for eyes.
The Knight was wielding a greatsword. The blade is wide, heavy, and inscribed with faint, glowing runes linked to the Crucible's primal power.
"So," the knight's voice rumbled from within his helm, "this is the Tarnished who defeated Margit." The voice carried the weight of ages, like mountains speaking. "I am Ordovis, Knight of the Crucible, and you... you are a child playing with powers you don't understand."
Harry created several golden spheres around him, their light reflecting off the knight's armor. "I understand enough to know we're leaving with these people."
Ordovis tilted his head slightly, studying the spheres. "You think you channel the Erdtree's power, young one? No. What flows through you is far older. You draw from the Great Tree itself, though you know it not."
"The Great Tree?" Harry's confusion was evident. "You mean the Erdtree?"
A sound emerged from the knight's helm that might have been a laugh, but it held no warmth. "The Erdtree is but a pale imitation, a golden parasite that grew upon the true tree's corpse. Grace, gold, order - pretty words for pretty chains."
The knight took a step forward, his great shield bearing strange, twisted symbols that made Harry's eyes hurt to look at them. "You think the world was whole before the Shattering? That some golden age was lost?" Ordovis's sword scraped against the stone wall, leaving glowing marks. "If you survive to reach the Capital, boy, venture beneath it. See the bones the Golden Order built their paradise upon."
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, his spheres pulsing with his growing tension.
"The age of the Crucible was cruel, yes," Ordovis continued, raising his shield. "But it was honest in its cruelty. We did not hide our nature behind gold and grace." Bronze wings began to unfurl from his back, scraping against the corridor walls. "The dragons understood this. The giants understood this. Ask yourself why they were really put to the sword."
Melina stepped forward. "Harry, be careful. The Crucible Knights are-"
"We are what remains of truth," Ordovis interrupted, his wings now fully extended. "And you, young Tarnished, will learn that truth through combat, as all things were meant to be learned."
"Run," Harry told the others, never taking his eyes off Ordovis. "Get them to safety. I'll hold him off."
"Harry-" Melina started to protest.
"Now!" Harry commanded, his spheres blazing brighter as he prepared for this fight.
"Your name was Melina, well, they are not in condition to fight, so bring them to safety." Nepheli said as she stood beside Harry, gripping her axe with a small incantation. Her axe glittered gold.
"I will not leave, my duty is to guide Harry and protect him." Melina said stubbornly.
"Melina. I would feel much better if they were not here. Please, do this for me. You can come back after they are safe." Harry said with an almost pleading voice as he unsheathed his sword; it started glittering blue as he was preparing his Carian Great Sword against the Knight.
Reluctantly, Melina started leading the others away as the knight let out a hollow laughter behind his helmet.
As the others began their retreat, Ordovis's final words echoed through the dungeon: "Come then, child of the Great Tree. Show me if you're worthy of the power that chose you... or if you're just another golden lie."
Comments
Pines
Harry combat stance : Get over here !
