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Harry Potter and the Shattered Ring Chapter 20 (A Fight of Bronze and Magic)
🕑 Added 2025-04-01 21:04:25 +0000 UTCHarry Potter and the Shattered Ring Chapter 20 (A Fight of Bronze and Magic)
Harry widened his stance, Lordsworn's Greatsword held before him in what he hoped was a proper guard position. Despite weeks of training with Captain Artan, he still felt like a novice with the blade—especially facing someone like Ordovis.
The Crucible Knight drew his massive bronze sword. The chamber's golden light caught on its edge. Ordovis raised his shield—a heavy bronze round shield with a wicked horn protruding from its center—positioning it at a perfect angle to protect his torso while maintaining visibility.
He didn't even need a shield last time, Harry thought bitterly, remembering how easily the knight had batted him and Nepheli in their previous encounter.
"The proper stance for a greatsword is feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot slightly back," Ordovis said, his resonant voice echoing within his helm. "Your grip is too tight. It restricts blood flow and slows your reactions."
Harry scowled. "Thanks for the lesson. I'll keep that in mind while I'm cutting you down."
Ordovis tilted his head, the gesture somehow conveying amusement despite his featureless helm. "Your confidence has grown. Let us see if your skill has followed suit."
They circled each other slowly, the distance between them closing by inches. Harry's heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline flooding his system. Waiting was torture—he needed to move, to act.
"To hell with this," Harry muttered, and lunged forward with an overhead strike.
Ordovis didn't even use his shield. His bronze sword swept upward in a perfect parry, deflecting Harry's blade with such force that the impact traveled up Harry's arms, numbing his fingers. Before Harry could recover, Ordovis stepped into a perfect middle guard, blade held horizontally at chest height, and thrust forward.
Harry barely twisted away, the bronze edge slicing through his leather armor and grazing his ribs. A thin line of fire erupted across his side.
Too fast. Far too fast.
Harry backpedaled, trying to create distance, but Ordovis pressed forward in a relentless series of strikes—a diagonal slash from high to low, a horizontal cut aimed at Harry's neck, a lightning-quick thrust toward his stomach. Each attack flowed into the next with mechanical precision, forcing Harry into a desperate defense.
"The sword is an extension of your will," Ordovis lectured as he continued his assault. "You think too much about where to place it rather than simply willing it there."
Harry parried a thrust, the impact sending shockwaves up his arms. "Is the—" he grunted as he blocked another slash, "—the running commentary—" he ducked under a horizontal cut, "—really necessary?"
"Education," Ordovis replied, smoothly transitioning to a low guard stance, "is always necessary."
Harry spotted a brief opening and struck, driving his sword toward the knight's exposed shoulder. Ordovis pivoted, bringing his shield around in a fluid motion that caught Harry's blade and deflected it wide. Off-balance, Harry stumbled forward—directly into Ordovis's waiting shield.
The impact drove the air from Harry's lungs. He staggered backward, gasping.
This isn't working. I need another approach.
Harry concentrated, focusing on his grace magic. Golden light coalesced around his left hand, splitting and forming into fifteen small orbs of light, each about the size of a golf ball. With a thought, he sent them flying toward Ordovis from multiple angles.
The knight reacted instantly, shield raised to intercept the orbs coming from his left while his sword swept through those approaching from the right. The orbs exploded on contact, golden fire blossoming against bronze. Ordovis stepped backward, the concussive force of the explosions finally putting him on the defensive.
Harry pressed his advantage, diving forward and swinging his sword in a wide arc. Ordovis caught the blow on his shield, but the force behind it caused him to take another step back.
"Better," the knight acknowledged. "You've learned that not all battles are won with steel alone."
Harry didn't respond, already forming another volley of golden orbs. These he concentrated into six larger spheres, each pulsing with energy.
"Your grace is strong," Ordovis observed, settling back into a middle guard stance. "But unrefined. Wasteful."
"As long as it gets the job done," Harry retorted, launching the spheres.
Ordovis moved with impossible speed. He dropped to one knee, shield planted firmly before him. The first sphere struck the shield and detonated with a thunderous crack, the explosion washing over the knight in a wave of golden fire. The second and third hit in quick succession, the combined force pushing Ordovis back several inches, his metal greaves leaving furrows in the stone floor.
The remaining three spheres curved around, approaching from behind. Without looking, Ordovis rolled forward, the explosions missing him by inches. He came up in a perfect stance, sword and shield ready.
How did he—? Harry's thought was cut short as Ordovis closed the distance between them in two massive strides.
The knight's sword came down in a devastating overhead strike. Harry raised his own blade to block, the impact driving him to one knee. Metal screamed against metal as the bronze edge slid down toward the hilt of Harry's sword. They were face to face—or rather, face to helm—locked in a contest of strength that Harry was rapidly losing.
"Improved," Ordovis said, his voice betraying no strain despite the exertion, "but still lacking. Your grace is strong, perhaps the strongest I've seen in a Tarnished. Yet you wield it like a club rather than a scalpel."
Harry's arms trembled with the effort of holding back the knight's sword. "I'll take—that under—advisement," he grunted through gritted teeth.
"See that you do," Ordovis replied. Then, with a sudden twist, he disengaged his sword and stepped back, leaving Harry off-balance.
Before Harry could recover, Ordovis's shield slammed into him, sending him sprawling across the polished floor. Harry rolled to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, vision blurring momentarily.
"You are not without talent," Ordovis said, returning to a defensive stance. "But talent alone will not defeat me. Nor will it defeat Godrick."
Harry wiped blood from his eyes, breathing heavily. His side burned where the bronze sword had caught him, and his arms ached from the force of Ordovis's blows. Conventional sword fighting wasn't going to work—the knight had centuries of experience on him.
Time to try something else.
"We're just getting started," Harry said, steadying his breathing. He adjusted his grip on the Lordsworn's Greatsword, feeling the weight of it, thinking of how it could work with his other abilities. "And I've got more than just talent."
Ordovis nodded, approval evident in the gesture. "Good. Show me what a Tarnished from beyond the fog can truly do."
"Enough assessment," Ordovis declared, his voice suddenly hardening. "Now we fight in earnest."
The knight's stance shifted—weight forward, shield angled close to his body, sword held in a lowered posta di falcone position. Before Harry could process the change, Ordovis exploded into motion.
For someone clad in heavy bronze armor, the knight moved with surprising speed. Three powerful strides closed the distance between them, his sword sweeping upward in a devastating diagonal cut. Harry raised his blade to parry, angling it to deflect rather than block directly as Artan had taught him.
It wasn't enough.
The impact jarred every bone in Harry's body. His parry, technically correct but lacking the necessary strength behind it, merely redirected Ordovis's strike slightly. The bronze edge skidded along Harry's sword and caught him across the shoulder, slicing through leather and into flesh.
Harry staggered backward, warm blood seeping down his arm. Too strong. Too fast.
"Your defense improves," Ordovis observed, advancing methodically. "But deflection requires both angle and force. You provided only the former."
"Thanks for the tip," Harry growled, channeling grace magic into his injured shoulder. Golden light flickered beneath his fingers, stemming the bleeding but not fully healing the wound. He couldn't spare the concentration for a complete healing, not with Ordovis pressing his advantage.
The knight continued his relentless assault, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next. High cut to low thrust. Shield feint into horizontal slash. Overhead strike transitioning into a lightning-quick pommel strike aimed at Harry's head. Harry defended desperately, his sword a blur as he parried, dodged, and occasionally blocked when he had no other choice.
Even as he retreated across the chamber, Harry noticed the pattern in Ordovis's attacks—they were systematic, designed to probe his defenses and force mistakes. This wasn't random aggression but calculated pressure.
He's testing me, still. This isn't even his full strength.
"Your thoughts betray you, Tarnished," Ordovis said, as if reading Harry's mind. "You recognize the gap between us. Good. Recognition is the first step toward improvement."
Harry ducked under a horizontal slash, sweat stinging his eyes. "Do you ever—" he grunted as he parried a thrust, "—shut up?"
"Words are weapons too," Ordovis replied, seamlessly transitioning to a posta di donna stance, sword raised high above his right shoulder. "They sow doubt, divide attention."
Harry saw an opening—the stance left Ordovis's lower body exposed momentarily. He lunged forward, aiming a thrust at the knight's midsection. Ordovis didn't even attempt to block. Instead, the knight stepped slightly aside, letting Harry's blade slide past him by mere inches. Before Harry could recover, Ordovis brought his shield edge down on the flat of Harry's sword, driving it toward the floor.
Harry's momentum carried him forward, directly into Ordovis's waiting knee. The armored joint slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Only instinct saved him from the follow-up strike, a desperate roll carrying him beyond the arc of Ordovis's blade.
On his hands and knees, gasping for breath, Harry felt something change in the air—a sudden electric charge that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He looked up to see Ordovis sheathing his sword, the knight's posture shifting in a way that seemed fundamentally wrong.
Ordovis lowered his head, his spine curving unnaturally. Golden-red light gathered around his helm, coalescing, stretching, taking form. Within seconds, an enormous spectral horn had formed from his forehead—wickedly sharp, pulsing with ancient power.
"Behold the gift of the Crucible," Ordovis intoned, his voice deeper, resonating with inhuman power. "The primordial form of all life."
The knight charged, moving faster than Harry thought possible. The spectral horn extended ten feet before Ordovis, trailing particles of golden-red light that hung in the air like embers. Harry scrambled to his feet, throwing himself sideways as the horn tore through the space he'd occupied a heartbeat earlier.
Not fast enough. The edge of the spectral horn caught Harry's side, shredding leather and skin. It wasn't a deep wound, but pain exploded through his torso like fire. This wasn't ordinary pain—it burned hotter, deeper, as if the horn carried some primal energy that rejected human flesh.
Harry hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact. His side felt like it had been branded with molten iron. Through watering eyes, he saw Ordovis turning for another charge, the spectral horn still protruding from his helm.
Can't dodge again. Need to stop him.
A desperate plan formed in Harry's mind. He forced himself to stand, ignoring the screaming pain in his side. His left hand extended toward Ordovis, while his right gripped his sword.
"BOMBARDA!" Harry roared, channeling not just the Hogwarts spell but infusing it with grace magic.
Golden light erupted from his palm, coalescing into a sphere that shot toward Ordovis with blinding speed. The knight raised his shield, bracing for impact. The enhanced spell struck with concussive force, detonating in an explosion of golden fire that filled the chamber with brilliant light.
The blast threw Ordovis backward, his armored form sliding across the polished floor. For the first time, the knight seemed genuinely staggered, his perfect posture disrupted, the spectral horn flickering briefly before stabilizing.
Harry didn't waste his advantage. Concentration narrowed to a razor's edge, he formed three golden discs above his head—each as thin as parchment but lethally sharp. With a gesture, he sent them hurtling toward Ordovis from different angles.
The knight was recovering quickly, shield raised to intercept the first disc. Golden sparks showered as the disc collided with bronze, leaving a smoking groove in the metal. Ordovis swung his arm to block the second disc with his vambrace, but the golden construct sliced through the bronze armor like it wasn't there, drawing a line of crimson across the knight's arm.
Blood—actual blood—dripped from beneath Ordovis's armor, splattering on the stone floor.
The third disc curved at Harry's thought, aiming for Ordovis's exposed back. At the last moment, the knight spun, the horn on his helm catching the disc and shattering it into particles of light. Despite the wound on his arm, Ordovis moved as if he weren't wounded.
"Creative," the knight acknowledged, examining the cut on his arm with apparent curiosity rather than concern. "Your discs cut deeper than expected. Few things pierce Crucible bronze."
Harry formed three more discs, maintaining them in a hovering orbit around him. "There's a first time for everything."
"Indeed. The first time witnessing magic I haven't seen before, for instance." Ordovis flexed his injured arm, seemingly unbothered by the wound. "That explosive spell—'Bombarda,' was it? Not grace, not incantation. Something else entirely."
"A spell from my world."
"I see, and I wonder what else you can do, but enough talk."
Without warning, the knight charged again, spectral horn leading the way. Harry was more prepared this time, diving to the side while simultaneously launching his golden discs. They sliced through the air toward Ordovis's flank, but the knight pivoted, catching one disc on his shield while the others missed entirely.
The spectral horn faded as Ordovis drew his sword once more, returning to a classic posta di fiore stance—blade held forward at eye level, shield close to the body.
"Your discs are formidable but predictable," the knight said. "They follow linear paths, easily anticipated."
Harry gritted his teeth, sweat and blood dripping down his face. "Then I'll just have to be less predictable."
He focused his magic, not on discs or orbs this time, but something new. Golden light swirled around his left hand, coalescing into a thin, bright filament that extended from his fingertips—a whip of pure grace magic. It was experimental, something he'd only tried once during training, never in battle.
Ordovis tilted his head, genuine surprise evident in his posture. "Interesting. You adapt quickly."
"You haven't seen anything yet," Harry replied, managing a confident grin despite the pain lancing through his side.
In truth, he was running dangerously low on stamina. The wound from the spectral horn burned like poison, and his shoulder throbbed where the bronze sword had cut him. But he couldn't show weakness—not to Ordovis, and not to himself.
Keep fighting. Find a way. There's always a way.
The golden whip crackled with energy in his grip as Harry and Ordovis circled each other.
The golden whip crackled as Harry snapped it forward, the bright filament cutting through the air with a sound like tearing silk. Ordovis stepped aside with ease, the whip passing inches from his armored form.
"Too telegraphed," Ordovis critiqued, his shield arm suddenly thrusting forward.
Harry's eyes widened as the wicked horn protruding from the center of Ordovis's shield hurtled toward his chest. He twisted sideways, the bronze horn grazing his already-torn leather armor. Even that glancing touch was enough to tear through the reinforced material like paper.
Too close!
Still off-balance from his dodge, Harry instinctively flicked the golden whip in a desperate defensive maneuver. It arced through the air, heading directly for Ordovis's exposed flank. The knight pivoted, raising his shield to intercept the attack.
The whip struck the shield with surprising force. For a split second, golden energy clashed with ancient bronze—then the whip sliced clean through the shield's horn, severing it with a sound like breaking glass. The bronze horn clattered to the floor, its edges smoking where the whip had cut through.
Ordovis paused, looking down at his damaged shield. "Impressive. Most impressive."
The moment of respite was brief. The golden whip—its energy expended in that single powerful strike—dissipated into particles of light. Before Harry could form another magical construct, Ordovis was upon him, sword flashing in complex patterns that forced Harry into an increasingly desperate defense.
Gone was the measured, almost instructional quality of the knight's earlier attacks. Ordovis advanced relentlessly, his sword a bronze blur as he executed a lightning-fast combination—a thrust aimed at Harry's throat transitioned seamlessly into a diagonal cut toward his shoulder, followed by a vicious pommel strike that nearly connected with Harry's temple.
Harry backpedaled frantically, his parries growing sloppier as fatigue set in. Sweat poured down his face, stinging the cut on his forehead. The wound in his side from the spectral horn throbbed with each movement, a constant reminder of how outmatched he was.
Can't keep this up. Need something more powerful.
Memories of Melina's teachings flashed through his mind. "Carian sorcery draws upon the power of the moon, the counterbalance to the Erdtree's golden grace. Some say it comes from the stars themselves."
Decision made, Harry changed tactics. He disengaged from Ordovis's assault with a desperate backward leap, gaining precious seconds to concentrate. Blue light flickered along his fingertips, climbing up the blade of his Lordsworn's Greatsword like liquid sapphire. The azure energy enveloped the physical blade, extending beyond its steel length and broadening until the sword appeared twice its original size—a massive ethereal construct of glowing blue magic with his physical sword at its core.
"Carian sorcery," Ordovis observed, shifting to a more cautious posta di finestra stance, sword held high in a window guard.
Harry didn't waste breath responding. The Carian-enhanced sword felt lighter despite its increased size, as if the magic itself helped bear its weight.
With renewed confidence, Harry pressed forward. The reach advantage granted by the Carian Greatsword allowed him to attack from safer distances. He swung in a wide horizontal arc, forcing Ordovis to back away for the first time in their battle. The knight raised his shield, but seemed reluctant to test whether Carian magic would slice through bronze as easily as the golden whip had.
Harry pressed his advantage, delivering a series of powerful strikes that drove Ordovis backward. Each impact of the Carian Greatsword against the knight's shield sent azure sparks flying, the magical construct humming with power.
"Better," Ordovis acknowledged, his voice betraying the slightest hint of strain as he weathered Harry's assault. "You learn quickly."
For a brief, glorious moment, Harry thought he might actually win. The Carian Greatsword gave him reach, power, and speed that nearly matched the knight's own.
Then Ordovis planted his feet firmly, catching Harry's next strike directly on his shield. Instead of giving ground, the knight held firm, absorbing the impact without moving an inch.
"Enough," Ordovis declared.
The knight's armor suddenly pulsed with that same golden-red energy Harry had witnessed before. But this time, instead of forming a horn, the energy gathered behind Ordovis, swirling and coalescing into a massive, spectral tail—scaled and segmented like a dragon's, twice as long as the knight was tall.
Recognition flashed through Harry's mind. This is what hit me last time. This is what sent me into the abyss.
"Behold another gift of the Crucible," Ordovis intoned, "the ancient form from which all life sprang."
The spectral tail lashed out with impossible speed, arcing over Ordovis's head. Harry raised the Carian Greatsword to block, but the tail simply curved around it, adjusting its trajectory in mid-air. It struck Harry's chest with devastating force, sending him flying across the chamber.
Pain exploded through Harry's body as he slammed into one of the ornate columns. His concentration shattered, the Carian energy dissipating from his sword. Worse, the impact jarred the physical blade from his grasp, sending it skittering across the polished floor. Harry slumped to the ground, ears ringing, vision blurred, every breath a struggle.
Get up. Get up NOW.
Through sheer force of will, Harry forced himself to his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the polished stone beneath him. His ribs screamed in protest as he tried to stand, suggesting at least one was cracked, possibly broken.
Ordovis approached methodically, sword sheathed, spectral tail still swaying behind him. "You've improved remarkably since our last encounter. But improvement is not enough against centuries of experience."
Harry managed to stagger to his feet, swaying slightly. His sword lay on the floor twenty feet away—too far to reach before Ordovis closed the distance.
"Not... done... yet," Harry gasped.
Golden light gathered around his hands once more, splitting and coalescing into small orbs—dozens of them, floating in a protective swarm around him. With a thought, Harry combined them into six larger spheres.
Ordovis didn't slow his advance. "A desperate measure. Your reserves are nearly depleted."
"Maybe," Harry admitted, forcing a grin despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "But I've still got enough for this."
He sent the six spheres hurtling forward, not aiming directly at Ordovis but at the floor between them. They detonated on impact, the combined explosion filling the chamber with blinding golden light and concussive force. The shockwave slammed into both fighters, though Harry had braced for it while Ordovis had not.
The knight staggered backward, momentarily disoriented. Harry used the precious seconds to stagger toward his fallen sword, each step an exercise in agony. His hand had just closed around the hilt when Ordovis recovered, the spectral tail lashing out once more.
Harry tried to dodge, but his battered body responded too slowly. The tail caught him squarely in the back, sending him tumbling across the floor. He came to rest against the far wall, gasping for breath, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
Before he could rise, Ordovis was there. The knight's shield slammed into Harry's chest, pinning him against the wall. The pressure made breathing nearly impossible, black spots dancing at the edges of Harry's vision.
"Your magic is formidable," Ordovis acknowledged, his helm inches from Harry's face. "But you've exhausted yourself. Your grace sputters like a dying flame."
It was true. Harry felt hollowed out, drained. The golden explosions had depleted his remaining reserves, leaving him with barely enough energy to stay conscious, let alone continue fighting.
I can't win like this. I need something else. Something he won't expect./
With his right hand still pinned, Harry managed to angle his left palm against Ordovis's armor. Summoning the last dregs of his concentration, he channeled not grace magic but Carian sorcery. Small motes of blue light—barely larger than raindrops—formed at his fingertips. Four tiny spheres.
"What's this?" Ordovis asked, noticing the faint blue glow. "A last—"
The four spheres shot from Harry's hand, adhering to different points on Ordovis's armor—one at the shoulder, one at the elbow joint, one at his knee, and one directly on his breastplate. Before the knight could react, they detonated simultaneously.
The explosions were small but precisely targeted. Cracks spiderwebbed across Ordovis's bronze armor at each impact point. The knight staggered backward, his crushing pressure on Harry suddenly released.
Harry didn't waste the opportunity. Despite the screaming protest from his ribs, he pushed off the wall and leaped—not away from Ordovis, but up and over him in a move that would have made his Seeker training proud. He twisted in mid-air, pushing off a decorative column for added height.
For a heartbeat, Harry hung suspended above Ordovis, the knight still recovering from the unexpected explosions. In that frozen moment, Harry extended his hand not toward his fallen sword, but into empty space. Blue light coalesced between his fingers, stretching and forming into the shape of a massive spectral bow—Loretta's Greatbow.
A blue arrow materialized as Harry drew back the spectral string. Suspended in the air behind Ordovis, Harry took aim at the knight's exposed back, and let the arrow loose.
Ordovis spun, raising his shield just as Harry released the azure arrow. The magical projectile streaked through the air, its tip striking the center of the bronze shield.
What happened next defied Harry's expectations. Instead of exploding on impact or bouncing away, the arrow simply... stopped. Its glowing tip connected with the shield, blue energy pulsing where they met. For several heartbeats, nothing moved—the arrow suspended in perfect stillness, neither advancing nor dissipating.
Then, the arrow began to sink into the shield, its azure light being absorbed into the ancient bronze. The shield itself began to glow with an eerie blue-gold light, vibrating violently in Ordovis's grip.
"What sorcery is this?" the knight demanded, genuine surprise evident in his voice.
Harry landed heavily on his feet, equally bewildered. "I have no idea."
With a quick motion, Ordovis hurled the shield upward. It spun toward the vaulted ceiling, glowing brighter with each rotation. Twenty feet up, it exploded with catastrophic force, sending bronze shrapnel in all directions. Both fighters shielded themselves as fragments rained down across the chamber.
"Fascinating," Ordovis said, examining a shard that had embedded itself in the floor beside him. "Your Carian magic... it reacted with the ancient bronze. Such a thing has not occurred in living memory."
Harry was barely listening. The momentary advantage had given him precious seconds to think, to assess. His conventional attacks—whether sword, grace magic, or Carian sorcery—weren't enough. Ordovis adapted too quickly; it was magic he was familiar with. Harry needed something the knight couldn't possibly anticipate.
Something from my world. Something he's never seen before.
As Ordovis turned his attention back to him, sword drawn and spectral tail lashing behind him, Harry closed his eyes briefly. He reached deep within himself, beyond the grace magic he'd learned in the Lands Between, beyond even the spells of Hogwarts. He reached for the purest magic he knew—the magic born of joy, of love, of hope.
He thought of Ron and Hermione. Of Sirius, alive and free. Of Hagrid's booming laugh. Then newer memories: Melina's gentle guidance, their shared journey across Limgrave, and her kiss on his cheek. The moment she'd embraced him, relieved to find him alive.
Happiness. Connection. Love.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The words echoed through the chamber with unexpected power, reverberating as if spoken by multiple voices. Golden light erupted from Harry's outstretched hand.
The light coalesced, taking shape before him. First, the magnificent antlers—a crown of golden tines that sparkled like stars. Then the powerful body, twice the size of any natural elk, muscled and majestic. As the Patronus fully materialized, its hooves touched the stone floor, leaving small blooms of golden light with each step. Its eyes were fixed on Ordovis.
The knight went utterly still. For the first time in their battle, Ordovis seemed genuinely shocked.
"What manner of summoning is this?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "It is not of the Lands Between... yet it bears the mark of grace."
The golden elk pawed at the ground, ethereal steam rising from its nostrils. Unlike the spirit summons common in the Lands Between, the Patronus radiated a palpable sense of presence—not just a construct, but a manifestation of Harry's very soul.
"Something from my world," Harry replied, straightening despite his injuries. "Something you've never faced before."
Without command, the Patronus charged, its massive antlers lowered like spears of light. Ordovis raised his sword, bracing for impact. The spectral tail lashed out, attempting to intercept the golden elk, but the Patronus sidestepped.
Harry used this distraction to dash toward his fallen sword, scooping it up from the floor with renewed determination. Blue light immediately enveloped the blade as he channeled Carian sorcery once more, the magical construct extending beyond the physical steel.
Ordovis found himself caught between two opponents—the relentless Patronus circling and charging from one side, Harry advancing with his glowing blade from the other. For the first time, the knight was forced into a purely defensive posture, his spectral tail and sword moving in constant motion to ward off attacks from both directions.
"Fascinating," Ordovis said, parrying a thrust from Harry while simultaneously dodging a charge from the Patronus. "You fight as one, yet the creature acts independently. Most spirit summons require constant direction."
"He's not a spirit summon," Harry replied, coordinating his attacks with the Patronus's movements as if they shared a single mind. "He's a part of me."
Together, they pressed Ordovis from both sides. When the knight focused on blocking Harry's Carian-enhanced sword, the Patronus would dart in, forcing him to divide his attention. When Ordovis turned to fend off the golden elk, Harry would strike at his exposed flank.
A spark of hope kindled in Harry's chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could win this fight after all.
The golden elk reared up on its hind legs, hooves flashing like miniature suns as they struck at Ordovis's helm. The knight ducked, but not quickly enough to avoid a glancing blow that left a dent in the bronze metal. In that moment of distraction, Harry lunged forward, his Carian Greatsword slicing through the air toward Ordovis's unprotected side.
The blade connected, cutting through bronze plate with a sound like tearing silk. For the first time, Ordovis let out a sound of pain—a sharp, resonant cry that echoed within his helm.
"Impressive," Ordovis acknowledged, his voice tinged with something approaching respect. "But wounding me once does not ensure victory."
The spectral tail behind him suddenly pulsed brighter, growing longer and more substantial. In the next heartbeat, it lashed out—not toward Harry, but at the Patronus. The golden elk dodged, its hooves leaving trails of light as it sidestepped the attack.
Harry seized the opening, darting forward with his Carian Greatsword raised for a decisive strike. Too late, he realized his mistake. The tail attack on the Patronus had been a feint, drawing Harry into overcommitting. As he closed the distance, the tail reversed direction, catching him squarely in the chest.
The impact drove the air from his lungs. Harry felt himself lifted off his feet, suspended for a brief, weightless moment before being hurled across the chamber. He slammed into a marble column with bone-jarring force. The Carian energy surrounding his sword flickered and faded as his concentration shattered.
Ordovis didn't press his advantage against Harry. Instead, the knight turned his full attention to the golden Patronus. The elk charged, antlers lowered like spears of light. Ordovis stood his ground, sword held in a perfect longpoint guard. At the last possible moment, he sidestepped, his blade sweeping in a powerful diagonal cut that caught the Patronus mid-charge.
The bronze sword passed through the golden elk's spectral form. Unlike a physical opponent, the Patronus wasn't halted by the blow—but something unprecedented happened. Where the blade intersected with golden light, the Patronus's form wavered, dimming like a candle in strong wind. A keening sound filled the chamber, neither human nor animal, a cry of pure emotion that resonated in Harry's very bones.
"Fascinating," Ordovis murmured, studying his blade where it had passed through the Patronus. "Not flesh, not spirit, but something else entirely."
The Patronus staggered, its movements suddenly less fluid. It retreated several steps, shaking its magnificent head as if trying to clear it.
From where he'd fallen, Harry felt a strange sensation—a sympathetic pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. He could feel the Patronus's distress.
He hurt it. He hurt a part of me.
The realization brought a surge of anger, hot and clarifying. Harry struggled to his feet, using the column for support. His ribs screamed in protest, and blood trickled from a fresh cut above his eye, but he forced himself upright through sheer determination.
Ordovis advanced on the weakened Patronus, sword raised for another strike. The golden elk backed away, its light diminishing further with each step.
"Stop!" Harry called, his voice ragged but commanding.
Ordovis paused, helm turning toward Harry. "You create a construct of your soul and expect me not to target it? All is fair in battle, Tarnished."
"Then target me," Harry replied, retrieving his fallen sword. "I'm still standing."
The knight seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish."
Ordovis turned away from the Patronus, facing Harry directly. The spectral tail whipped back and forth behind him, eager for another strike.
Harry's attention was briefly drawn to his wavering Patronus, but then something strange began to happen to the Carian Greatsword in his hand. The blue energy surrounding his physical blade flickered, as if responding to the Patronus's distress.
Motes of gold appeared within the azure energy, like stars igniting in a night sky. They spread rapidly, bleeding through the blue until both colors swirled together. Then, with a sound like distant bells, the transformation completed—the Carian Greatsword was no longer blue, but a brilliant, radiant gold that outshone even the light of the Patronus.
The golden energy hummed with power, sending vibrations up Harry's arm and through his entire body. The sword felt different—lighter yet stronger. Golden particles drifted from the blade, reminiscent of the light that fell from the distant Erdtree.
What is this? Harry thought, awestruck by the transformation. Carian sorcery is blue, grace magic is gold... but this is something else.
Was this the result of Melina's teachings somehow merging with his Hogwarts magic? Could it be connected to the silver ring Ranni had given him?
Ordovis had frozen in place. "Impossible," the knight whispered. "The Carian royals' magic cannot merge with grace. The moon and the Erdtree are opposing forces."
Harry smiled grimly, settling into a stance that felt natural, perfect—his body suddenly knowing what his mind did not. "I'm not from your world, remember? Your rules don't apply to me."
He crossed the distance between them with startling speed, the golden Carian Greatsword leaving trails of light in his wake.
Ordovis recovered quickly, dropping into a perfect posta di ferro stance, sword lowered and angled for a rising cut. The spectral tail lashed out, aiming to intercept Harry mid-charge.
Harry twisted in mid-stride, the tail passing through empty air where he had been a heartbeat earlier. His newfound agility surprised even him.
Ordovis didn't waste time on another tail attack. Instead, the spectral horn formed once more from his helm, golden-red energy coalescing into the deadly appendage. The knight charged, the horn aimed directly at Harry's chest.
Harry didn't retreat. Instinct guided him as he pivoted at the last possible moment, letting the horn pass within inches of his side. In the same motion, he brought the golden Carian Greatsword down.
Ordovis anticipated the strike, raising his bronze sword in a perfect parry. The blades met—
—and the golden Carian Greatsword passed through the ancient bronze as if it were mist, not metal. The knight's blade separated cleanly, the severed half clattering to the floor with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
Shock registered in Ordovis's entire being. His posture faltered for the first time. He stared at the ruined sword in his hand, the cut edge still glowing with golden heat.
"How—" the knight began, but Harry didn't let him finish.
With a cry that contained all his pain, all his determination, Harry drove forward. The golden Carian Greatsword swept in a horizontal arc, cutting through Ordovis's bronze breastplate as easily as it had his sword. Ancient metal parted, revealing flesh beneath, the skin patterned like tree bark with veins of golden light running beneath the surface.
Blood erupted from the long wound, gushing forth in a crimson waterfall tinged with gold. Ordovis staggered backward, one hand pressed to his chest in a futile attempt to stem the flow.
Harry didn't hesitate. With another battle cry, he lunged forward, driving the golden Carian Greatsword directly into the center of Ordovis's chest. The blade sank deep, golden energy piercing through bronze and flesh alike, emerging from the knight's back in a blaze of light.
Time seemed to stop. Ordovis stood impaled, his helm tilted down to regard the golden sword embedded in his chest. His spectral tail and horn flickered, then dissipated into motes of light.
"Well struck," the knight whispered, his voice suddenly weaker, more human somehow. "I didn't think... it was possible..."
Harry held the sword steady, his eyes locked on Ordovis's helm. "What wasn't possible?"
"For one being... to channel both the stars and the Erdtree. The very thing... she sought..." Ordovis's voice faded, each word requiring visible effort.
Golden light began to seep from every joint in the knight's armor, pouring from the gash across his chest and around the sword still embedded there.
"You have proven... worthy," Ordovis managed, his voice little more than a whisper now. "The path is yours to walk... Tarnished. Remember... Nokron..."
With those final words, the light within Ordovis's armor blazed blindingly bright for one magnificent moment—then collapsed entirely. The armor crumpled to the floor, empty save for golden particles that rose like embers from a dying fire, swirling upward before dissipating into nothing.
Harry stood over the fallen knight. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one sending spikes of pain through his injured ribs. But he had won. Against all odds, he had defeated a Crucible Knight in single combat.
Across the chamber, his Patronus had regained its solidity, watching him with intelligent eyes that reflected his own exhausted triumph.
As the adrenaline of combat faded, Harry felt the weight of his injuries returning. He swayed slightly, using the sword as an impromptu crutch. Questions swirled in his mind, chief among them what had happened to his magic. The Carian Greatsword remained golden, showing no signs of returning to its original blue state.
Another mystery to solve, Harry thought wearily. After I find my friends.
The golden Carian Greatsword finally flickered and faded as the last of Harry's strength ebbed away. He sank to one knee beside Ordovis's empty armor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood trickled from a dozen wounds, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his battered body.
Across the chamber, his Patronus gave a soft, musical call before dissolving into particles of golden light that drifted upward like embers from a dying fire.
"Harry!"
Melina's voice echoed through the chamber as she materialized near the fallen knight's armor. Her usual ethereal calm was gone, replaced by naked concern as she rushed to Harry's side. Her single visible eye widened at the sight of his injuries.
"You're alive," she breathed, kneeling beside him. "When I saw that spectral tail strike you..."
"Takes more than that to finish me off," Harry managed, attempting a smile that became a grimace as pain lanced through his cracked ribs.
Melina shook her head, a mixture of exasperation and admiration crossing her delicate features. "You defeated a Crucible Knight in single combat. Do you have any idea how extraordinary that is? Warriors with centuries of experience have fallen to Ordovis."
Harry looked down at the empty armor, golden particles still rising from its joints. "He was... teaching me, in a way. Even while trying to kill me."
"The Crucible Knights have their own code," Melina agreed, her gaze following his. "Their own purpose." She turned back to Harry, her expression softening. "But enough about him. You're grievously wounded."
She placed her hands gently on either side of Harry's face, her touch impossibly warm against his skin. Golden light blossomed between her palms, coalescing into the familiar shape of a miniature Erdtree, its branches spreading outward in delicate, luminous patterns.
"Hold still," she instructed softly.
The golden light flowed from the miniature tree into Harry's body, spreading through him like warm honey. Wherever it touched, pain receded. He felt his cracked ribs knitting together, torn muscle mending, open wounds closing. The sensation wasn't entirely comfortable—a strange pressure, an itching heat—but the relief that followed made it more than worthwhile.
As the healing light faded, Melina's gaze fell on the Lordsworn's Greatsword lying beside him. "That Carian magic you were using," she began, a note of wonder in her voice. "It turned gold. How is that possible?"
Harry shook his head, flexing his newly-healed sword arm experimentally. "I have no idea. It happened when Ordovis attacked my Patronus. I felt this... connection between us, and then the Carian energy just... changed."
"Carian sorcery draws on the power of the stars and the moon," Melina said, her brow furrowed in thought. "It's fundamentally opposed to the golden grace of the Erdtree. They cannot coexist, let alone merge." She studied Harry with renewed curiosity. "Yet you somehow channeled both simultaneously."
"Maybe it's because I'm not from this world," Harry suggested, recalling what he'd said to Ordovis. "Your rules don't fully apply to me."
"Perhaps," Melina said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Or perhaps there's something about you specifically that allows for this convergence." She glanced at the silver ring on Harry's finger—Ranni's gift—but said nothing more on the subject.
Harry gathered his strength and attempted to stand. His body, though healed of its major injuries, still protested the movement. Melina placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
"Wait," she said, her voice suddenly serious. "Before we proceed... are you certain about this? About facing Godrick?"
Harry met her gaze steadily. "You know I don't have a choice. He has my friends."
"There's always a choice," Melina countered softly. "We could seek help. Nepheli Loux might rally her father's warriors. Or we could attempt to free your friends through stealth rather than direct confrontation."
Harry shook his head. "Godrick would expect that. He'd move them, or worse." His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "No, this ends now. Today. I didn't defeat Ordovis just to back down at the final hurdle."
Melina searched his face for a long moment, then nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I knew you would say that. It's who you are."
She stood gracefully and extended her hand to help him up. As Harry got to his feet, he noticed a soft golden glow emanating from the far end of the chamber—a Site of Grace, its tendrils reaching upward like beckoning fingers.
"Perfect timing," Melina said, leading him toward it. "You should rest, if only for a moment."
Harry approached the Site of Grace warily, eyeing the massive doors beside it. They were even larger than the ones leading into the antechamber, carved with scenes of battle and grafting that turned his stomach.
"The Field of Graves lies beyond," Melina said, following his gaze. "Godrick awaits you there, according to Ordovis."
"With my friends," Harry added grimly.
He knelt beside the Site of Grace, extending his hand into its golden light. Warmth flowed up his arm and through his body, restoring his depleted reserves of energy. The aches and pains that Melina's healing hadn't quite erased faded completely.
As he rose, Harry turned to Melina.
"Melina," he said quietly, "I want you to know... you've been a good friend. The best, really." He swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. "I'm grateful you're my companion on this journey. I couldn't have made it this far without you."
Melina's visible eye widened slightly, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words—an unusual state for his normally composed guide.
"Harry," she finally said, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it, "don't die."
Before he could respond, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hands came up to frame his face, warm against his skin. Harry barely had time to register his surprise before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was gentle, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through Harry unlike anything he'd experienced—not the painful shock of a spell or wound, but something infinitely more pleasant. For a brief, perfect moment, everything else faded away—Godrick, his captive friends, the Lands Between itself. There was only Melina, her lips soft against his, her scent like wildflowers after rain.
When she pulled away, Harry stood frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. His first kiss, in the antechamber of a mad demigod's throne room, of all places. If circumstances had been different, he might have laughed at the absurdity of it.
"For luck," Melina whispered, the blush on her cheeks deepening. She stepped back, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'll be with you, when the time comes. I promise."
Harry nodded, words temporarily beyond him. His heart hammered in his chest, and it had nothing to do with the coming battle.
After a moment, he managed to regain his composure enough to reach for his sword. As his fingers closed around the hilt, he focused his will, calling forth the Carian magic once more. Blue light flickered along the blade—but only for an instant before shifting to brilliant gold, the transformation happening much faster this time.
"Well," Harry said, a small, determined smile forming on his lips as he gazed at the golden energy surrounding his blade that slowly left the blade after he stopped channeling his grace, "at least we know that wasn't a one-time thing."
He turned toward the massive doors. Beyond lay Godrick, his captive friends, and the next chapter of his journey through the Lands Between.
"Let's finish this," he said, squaring his shoulders.
With a deep breath, Harry pushed open the doors to the Field of Graves.
The massive doors swung open with ease, as if eager to admit Harry to whatever lay beyond. A gust of cool air rushed past him.
A wide stone staircase descended before him, leading down to what appeared to be an enormous square clearing. The setting sun cast long shadows across the space, illuminating row upon row of tombstones arranged with meticulous precision on either side of a central path. Ancient trees grew among the graves, their gnarled branches reaching skyward.
Harry's grip tightened on his sword as he took the first step down.
This must be the Field of Graves Ordovis mentioned.
As Harry descended further, the full expanse of the clearing came into view. At the far end, another staircase climbed upward, leading to what appeared to be another section of the castle—perhaps the true throne room. But it wasn't the architecture that drew Harry's attention.
His friends hung suspended from the upper branches of the trees flanking the distant stairs, bound with thick ropes that cut into their flesh. Captain Artan struggled uselessly against his bonds, while Roderika appeared unconscious, her head lolling forward. Nepheli Loux thrashed violently in her restraints, her warrior's strength evident even in captivity.
Ten soldiers in Godrick's livery stood guard beneath the trees, their armor adorned with small grafted appendages—fingers, ears, in one case what appeared to be an entire infant's arm protruding from a shoulder pauldron. The sight made Harry's stomach turn.
"Harry!" Nepheli's voice carried across the clearing. "It's a trap! Be care—" A soldier struck her with the butt of his spear, cutting off her warning.
But Harry barely registered her cry. His attention had fixed on the figure standing in the center of the clearing—a monstrosity that defied description, yet Harry's mind struggled to capture every horrific detail.
The creature—Godrick, it could only be Godrick—stood at least three meters tall, though its posture was hunched and uneven. What might once have been a human torso now served as merely a central hub for dozens of grafted limbs. Arms—human arms of every size, from infant to giant—protruded from his shoulders, back, and sides, creating a grotesque crown of grasping appendages.
But most disturbing was what those arms were doing. Godrick stood beside the corpse of a dragon—not a massive beast like Harry had imagined from stories, but still impressively large, perhaps the size of Hagrid's hut. The creature's body was embedded in one of the ancient trees, as if it had been impaled there. Its head hung downward, neck broken, serpentine tongue lolling from partially open jaws.
One of Godrick's many arms—larger than the others, clearly not originally his—gently caressed the dragon's scales, fingers caressing the thing with such tenderness, as if it were a sleeping baby.
"Mighty dragon," Godrick crooned, his voice surprisingly melodic for such a grotesque being, "thou'rt a trueborn heir." His fingers continued their gentle exploration of the dead creature's scales. "Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights."
Harry remained frozen on the steps, the scene before him so bizarre, so utterly wrong, that his mind struggled to process it. In all his years at Hogwarts, all his encounters with dark creatures and darker wizards, he had never witnessed anything that radiated such fundamental wrongness as Godrick the Grafted.
This isn't dark magic. This is something else entirely. Something... broken.
"Harry, run!" Captain Artan called out, his voice ragged with urgency. "He's too powerful!"
Roderika had regained consciousness, her face pale with terror. "Please, Harry! You promised to protect us, not die for us!"
Nepheli continued her struggle against her bonds, her warrior's pride refusing to call for retreat.
Harry kept his attention fixed on Godrick, aware that any distraction could prove fatal. The blue light of his sword seemed to draw the grafted lord's attention at last. Godrick turned slowly, his movements unnaturally fluid given his patchwork anatomy.
His face, when it came into view, nearly broke Harry's resolve. It was twisted, features asymmetrical and stretched, as if the skin had been pulled too tight over the skull in some places and left sagging in others. Eyes of different colors—one brown, one blue—stared from sunken sockets. His golden cloak fell away as he turned, revealing his back—a nightmare canvas of fused flesh, with faces—actual human faces—embedded in the skin. Some appeared adult, others unmistakably children, their features frozen in expressions of eternal torment; twenty or so hands were grafted into his back.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat. All the horrors he'd witnessed— the Chamber of Secrets, the wolf abominations—none had prepared him for this. He swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea through sheer willpower.
Focus. For your friends. For everyone he's hurt.
"Well," Godrick's voice rasped, his misshapen mouth forming a sneer. "A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord."
The grotesque lord's primary right arm—massive and clearly stolen from some giant warrior—reached for a weapon leaning against a nearby tombstone: a double-headed golden axe taller than Harry himself. His secondary arms, at least a dozen smaller ones, each grasped smaller weapons—swords, daggers, hand axes—creating a bristling arsenal of blades around his misshapen form.
With strength, Godrick brought the massive axe down, slamming its edge against the ground. Stone cracked beneath the impact, fissures spreading outward like golden-edged lightning. The earth itself seemed to tremble in response to his power.
"I command thee, kneel!" Godrick roared, his voice echoing across the Field of Graves, causing the tombstones to vibrate. He raised the massive axe again, pointing it directly at Harry. "I am the lord of all that is golden!"
Harry descended the final steps into the clearing. Despite the terror clawing at his insides, despite the revulsion threatening to overwhelm him, his resolve hardened. He thought of Ordovis, of the power he'd discovered within himself, of Melina's kiss still warm on his lips.
"Release my friends," Harry called out, his voice steadier than he felt. "This is between you and me, Godrick."
"The Tarnished speaks! And with such authority!" He tilted his head, several smaller arms gesturing theatrically. "Does the sheep command the butcher? Does the ore dictate to the smith?"
Harry took another step forward. "I'm not ore, and you're no smith. You're just a thief, stealing parts that were never meant to be yours."
This brought another grinding laugh from Godrick. "Thief? THIEF?" Several of his smaller arms clenched into fists. "I am GODRICK THE GOLDEN! Distant relation to Queen Marika herself! These—" he gestured to his many grafted limbs, "—are merely my divine right. The strong may claim the weak. It is the way of all things."
Godrick's expression suddenly shifted to something almost cordial. "I must thank you, actually."
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. "Thank...me?"
"For disposing of Margit, of course." Godrick's main face smiled, a grotesque stretching of misaligned features. "That interfering wretch."
"Margit?" Harry's brow furrowed. "The one who guarded the gate? I didn't kill him. He retreated."
"Retreated, defeated—the result is the same. He no longer blocks my path." Godrick caressed the dragon's scales once more, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper though it still carried across the clearing. "You see, dear Tarnished, Margit wasn't there to keep you out." His mismatched eyes glinted. "He was there to keep me IN."
Harry's grip tightened on his sword. "What are you talking about?"
"Politics, my boy. Divine politics." Godrick's many arms gestured in different directions, creating a disturbing tableau of movement. "The Two Fingers don't want any of us Shardbearers wandering about too freely. Especially not one with... ambitions... such as mine."
One of the smaller faces embedded in Godrick's flesh seemed to mouth the words along with him, a detail that made Harry's skin crawl. "Two Fingers?" Harry questioned, remembering that he had once dreamed of three large fingers, but that was before he came to the Lands Between for the first time.
"Indeed, they think they control everything. But now," Godrick continued, his voice rising excitedly, "with Margit gone and my soldiers ready, I can finally leave this crumbling castle! Expand my collection!" He beamed with horrific pride. "And you've proven yourself most worthy material."
"Material?" Harry repeated, though he already knew the terrible answer.
"For grafting, of course!" Godrick exclaimed, as if explaining something wonderful to a child. "You defeated Margit! You slew a Crucible Knight! Such strength would serve me well." His main eyes narrowed, studying Harry with disturbing intensity. "And that golden sword... I've never seen its like. Curious. Most curious. Perhaps I'll take your arms first, to better wield it."
Captain Artan shouted from his bonds. "He's mad, Harry! Completely mad!"
"SILENCE!" Godrick roared, several of his smaller arms pointing accusingly at the captives. "The materials do not speak while the artist contemplates his work!"
Harry felt a cold fury replacing his initial revulsion. "I'm not going to be part of your sick collection, Godrick. And neither are my friends."
"Oh?" Godrick tilted his misshapen head, amusement playing across his features. "And who will stop me? You? A lone Tarnished against a demigod?" He spread his many arms wide, weapons glinting in the fading light. "I am the Lord of all that is Golden! The last true heir to the royal bloodline!"
"Lord of all that is Golden?" Harry's voice dripped with contempt. "I've seen chamber pots with more nobility than you. You're nothing but a sad, broken thing hiding in a castle, stitching together stolen parts because you're too weak to earn real power."
The golden light of his sword flared brighter, reflecting in Godrick's widening eyes.
"You know what I see?" Harry continued, taking another deliberate step forward. "I see a coward who had to be locked away by his own family. A 'demigod' so pathetic that his guards are deserting him. A 'lord' who has to tie up his enemies because he can't face them in fair combat."
Harry pointed the glowing blade directly at Godrick's grotesque form, his green eyes hard as emeralds.
"I've faced worse than you before I even knew what magic was. You're just another monster who doesn't know when he's beaten." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow carried across the entire clearing. "I will free those limbs, every single one of them will finally be free again, and I will reveal the real you to the world. Hiding behind all that grafting, you must really hate yourself, and I will make sure you will feel that self loathing again before I put you down."
Comments
oWell
I understand Harry suddenly getting stronger might feel like an asspull, but it will be explained later why this happens, and it will be very costly for Harry.
WeedLovingUxion
Hm, so my first thing to say is that the fight between Ordovis and Harry was really well, though imo, it dragged on a little bit too much and maybe this is a weird complaint but a few asspulls ngl. But hey, media has done way worse then what you did. Honestly, if I had to compare, it felt like something out of the Bleach Manga of just hanging on by a thread.
