AMagicWriter
patreon
Harry Potter and Shattered Ring Chapter 19 (Borrowed Strength, Borrowed Time)
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 14:54:29 +0000 UTCThe corridor beyond the inner gate stretched before them, surprisingly empty. Harry kept his sword ready. He looked around, ready for an ambush, but there wasn't one. Dusty light filtered through narrow windows set high in the stone walls, revealing abandoned guard posts and overturned furniture.
"The soldiers have fled," Melina observed, her ethereal form gliding beside him. "Word of your advance has spread through the castle."
Harry grunted acknowledgment, his focus on a soft golden glow emanating from around the next corner. As they turned, he spotted what he'd been hoping to find—a Site of Grace, its golden tendrils reaching upward like delicate fingers.
"Perfect timing," Harry murmured, approaching the small manifestation of grace.
He knelt beside it, extending his hand into the golden light. The familiar sensation washed over him—warmth spreading from his fingertips through his entire body, mending his wounds and easing the bone-deep fatigue that had settled into his limbs.
As the healing energy faded, Harry rose to his feet and gazed beyond the Site of Grace. An ornate staircase climbed upward. The staircase led to what appeared to be a massive stone bridge stretching out into the distance, suspended impossibly high above the ground.
And at the end of that bridge...
Harry squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. A tower rose into the sky, so tall it seemed to pierce the clouds themselves. Not just tall—colossally, impossibly tall. Three miles at least, its upper reaches lost in the haze of distance.
"Blimey," he whispered, the familiar expression from his old life slipping out. "What is that?"
Melina glanced up, her visible eye briefly following his gaze before she looked away almost too quickly.
"It's not important right now," she said, her tone unusually clipped. "The throne room isn't far. We should hurry if we want to reach your friends before—"
"Melina," Harry interrupted, turning to face her directly. "What's up there?"
She hesitated, something he'd rarely seen her do. In all their time together, Melina had been forthright with information, even when the truths she shared were uncomfortable. This reluctance was new.
"It's called the Divine Bridge," she finally said. "It leads to a place we don't need to visit."
Harry crossed his arms. "You're being evasive."
"I'm being practical," she countered, a hint of irritation coloring her voice. "Your friends are in danger, and you want to sightsee?"
"I want to know what you're suddenly so keen to avoid telling me about," Harry said firmly. "That's not just any tower, is it? You've never hesitated to explain the landmarks of the Lands Between before."
They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent battle of wills. Finally, Melina sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"It's the Divine Tower of Limgrave," she conceded. "Each region has one, connected to the legacy of its ruling demigod."
"And Limgrave's demigod is...?"
"Was," Melina corrected. "Godrick is merely a distant relation, playing at lordship. The true demigod of Limgrave fell long ago, during the Shattering."
Harry turned back to study the distant tower. "What happens at these Divine Towers?"
Melina's expression became carefully neutral. "They are places of power, where Great Runes—fragments of the Elden Ring—can be restored to their full potential. But Godrick keeps his rune close. There would be no reason for us to visit the tower right now."
Something in her tone made Harry suspect there was more to the story. He opened his mouth to press further when a sound froze him in place—a long, mournful howl that echoed through the castle corridors, followed by another, distinctly unnatural in its timbre.
Harry's hand went instinctively to his sword. "What was that?"
"Nothing good," Melina replied, visibly relieved by the change in subject.
Beyond the staircase, through one of the high windows, Harry caught a glimpse of the Erdtree in the far distance. Unlike the tower, which merely stretched to impossible heights, the Erdtree dominated the entire horizon—a colossal golden structure that dwarfed everything in the Lands Between. It stood at least six miles high, its countless branches reaching into the heavens like a massive hand cradling the sky itself. Golden particles drifted from its luminous foliage, visible even at this distance.
Another howl cut through the air, closer this time. Harry glanced at Melina, noting the tension in her posture, the way she deliberately avoided looking back at the tower.
She's hiding something, he thought. Something about that tower matters.
But the howling was growing louder, more urgent. Whatever secrets the Divine Tower held would have to wait.
"We'll talk about this later," Harry said, not quite making it a question.
Melina met his eyes, her gaze steady but unreadable. "If that's what you wish."
The howling grew louder, echoing off the stone walls with an unnatural resonance that made Harry's skin crawl. He gripped the Lordsworn's Greatsword tighter.
"Stay behind me," he murmured, though he knew she could simply fade into light if danger approached.
The corridor ahead curved sharply to the right, the howling emanating from just beyond the bend. Harry crept forward, keeping his footfalls light as Artan had taught him. Three steps from the corner, he paused, listening intently. The howling had stopped, replaced by a wet, slavering sound and the click of claws on stone.
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, then spun around the corner, sword raised.
Two massive wolves stood in the middle of a circular chamber, their massive bodies easily reaching Harry's chest in height. Their fur was a mottled patchwork—some patches sleek and black, others mangy and gray, stitched together like a child's crude stuffed toy. But it wasn't their size or their patchwork pelts that made Harry's stomach lurch.
It was the human heads grafted onto their necks.
On the right and left side of both wolves' heads, human faces protruded from the thick fur—male faces with hollow eyes and slack jaws, their skin pallid and stretched unnaturally. Their mouths opened and closed independently of each other, as if trying to form words that never came.
"By all the gods," Harry whispered, revulsion churning in his gut.
The wolves' heads snapped toward him in perfect unison, four human eyes and four wolf eyes fixing on him. A low growl rumbled from their chests, teeth bared in twin snarls that looked obscene on human faces.
"What are these things?" Harry asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the abominations.
"Godrick's prized hunting beasts," Melina answered, her voice tight with disgust. "He grafts the heads of those who displease him onto wolf bodies. They retain enough of their human minds to follow complex commands, but their wills are broken, reshaped to serve Godrick alone."
The larger of the two wolves—its body a patchwork of black and brown fur, its human face bearded and gaunt—took a step forward, muscles tensing beneath its mismatched hide.
"They're sent to hunt escapees," Melina continued. "The grafted heads can speak, calling out to their former friends with familiar voices, luring them from hiding."
Harry felt a cold rage building inside him, washing away his initial disgust. "Sick Man."
The bearded head opened its mouth, and what emerged was a horrific approximation of human speech:
"F-fresh... meat... for... Lord... G-Godrick..."
The wolves launched themselves forward with explosive force, powerful hindquarters propelling them across the chamber in perfect synchronization. Harry barely had time to raise his sword before the first wolf crashed into him, its weight nearly bowling him over.
He pivoted at the last possible moment, using the wolf's momentum against it. The beast hurtled past, claws scrabbling on the stone floor as it tried to arrest its charge. The second wolf—smaller but quicker, with a younger, clean-shaven face—darted in from the side, jaws snapping at Harry's sword arm.
Harry leapt backward, but not quickly enough. Teeth sank into his forearm, tearing through the leather bracer and into flesh beneath. Pain lanced up his arm, bright and immediate. With a shout, Harry brought the pommel of his sword down hard on the wolf's grafted head. The beast released him with a yelp, backing away with blood—Harry's blood—dripping from human lips.
"They're coordinating their attacks," Harry grunted, flexing his injured arm. He could still grip his sword, but the wound burned like fire.
The larger wolf had recovered from its missed charge and now circled behind Harry while the smaller one faced him directly. Classic predator behavior—one to distract, one to attack from behind.
"Clever," Harry muttered. "But I've got a few tricks of my own."
He raised his left hand, focusing on a happy memory—not from his old life, but from this one. Melina's embrace when she found him alive, the warmth of her lips on his cheek. Joy, relief, connection.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Golden light erupted from his palm. Taller than Harry by half, its antlers spread in a magnificent crown of sharpened tines that glowed like miniature suns. The golden elk let out a loud whistle
The wolves faltered, momentarily confused by this new threat. Harry seized the opportunity, spinning to face the larger wolf behind him.
"Go!" he commanded the Patronus.
The golden elk charged the smaller wolf, lowering its head so that its antlers formed a deadly wall of points. The wolf tried to dodge, but the Patronus anticipated its movement, adjusting its trajectory. Antlers caught the beast mid-leap, piercing its patchwork hide and lifting it bodily from the ground. The human head let out a sound somewhere between a wolf's howl and a man's scream as the Patronus carried it across the chamber, pinning it against the far wall.
With the smaller wolf impaled and struggling, Harry focused on the larger one. It circled him warily now.
"Come on, then," Harry taunted, raising his sword.
The wolf feinted left, then sprang right, jaws aiming for Harry's throat. Harry sidestepped, slashing with his blade. The edge caught the beast's flank, opening a long gash that welled with dark blood. The wolf yelped but didn't break its attack, twisting in midair to slam its substantial weight into Harry's chest.
Harry hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. The wolf was on him instantly, its wolf face inches from his own, jaws wide and slavering. He brought his knee up sharply, catching the beast in its belly. It wasn't enough to dislodge the wolf, but it bought Harry precious seconds to jam his left forearm under its chin, holding those snapping jaws away from his face.
The human head stared down at him with eyes that held too much intelligence for a beast, too much sorrow for a mindless hunter.
"Kill... me..." the grafted head whispered, the words surprisingly clear. "Please..."
The moment's hesitation nearly cost Harry dearly. The wolf's claws raked across his chest, shredding leather and drawing blood. Pain flared, hot and sharp. Harry gritted his teeth, summoning his magic not through his wand but through his very being—the way Melina had taught him.
"Glacius!" he gasped, the Hogwarts spell merging with the grace magic in his veins.
Frost erupted from his hand, not as a directed beam but as an explosion of crystalline spikes that pierced the wolf's underbelly. The beast howled, rearing back in pain. Harry seized the opening; he gripped his sword. Blue light coalesced along his fingertips and into the sword, extending outward in the familiar shape of a Carian Greatsword—a blade of pure magical energy.
With a single upward thrust, he drove the spectral weapon through the wolf's chest, the blue light bursting from its back in a spray of arcane energy. The beast convulsed, its mismatched limbs trembling as life fled from its body.
"Thank... you..." the bearded head gasped as the wolf collapsed, its weight pinning Harry momentarily to the floor.
Harry shoved the carcass aside, breathing heavily as he staggered to his feet. Across the chamber, his Patronus still held the second wolf pinned to the wall, though the creature had ceased struggling, its body limp around the golden antlers.
"Enough," Harry called, and the Patronus stepped back, allowing the dead wolf to slide to the floor.
As the golden elk faded, returning to the well of magic within him, Harry approached the second wolf's body. Its human head—younger, with close-cropped hair and a face that couldn't have been more than twenty—stared up at the ceiling with vacant eyes. But as Harry knelt beside it, the lips moved one final time:
"Free... at... last..."
Then stillness. Harry remained there for a long moment, an uncomfortable weight settling in his chest.
"They were conscious," he said quietly as Melina approached. "Aware of what had been done to them. Trapped."
"Yes," Melina confirmed, her voice gentle. "Godrick's grafting preserves consciousness."
Harry's jaw tightened as he gazed down at the wolf corpses, at the human faces forever frozen in a grotesque parody of life.
"When we find Godrick," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous, "he's going to pay for every single one of them."
He turned away from the grisly sight, his eyes harder than before, his purpose sharpened like a blade on a whetstone.
"Let's keep moving." Harry said with a commanding voice. He felt the runes sinking into his chest, but he ignored them.
Beyond the chamber of the wolf abominations, the castle grew eerily quiet. Harry and Melina moved through a series of grand corridors, their footsteps echoing off vaulted ceilings and marble floors. Tapestries depicting Godrick's lineage—each image more embellished than the last—hung from the walls, many torn or stained with what Harry hoped was just wine.
"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, voice low despite the apparent emptiness.
"Fled, most likely," Melina replied. "Those loyal to Godrick will have retreated to defend the throne room. The rest..." She shrugged. "Self-preservation is a powerful motivator."
They passed through an abandoned barracks, weapons and armor scattered as if dropped in haste. A half-eaten meal still steamed on a table, abandoned mid-bite.
"They left in a hurry," Harry observed.
"Word of your advance spread quickly. Few wish to face the Tarnished who returned from the abyss."
Harry smiled grimly. "Good. Fewer people to fight means fewer people get hurt."
After navigating a final corridor, they emerged into blinding daylight. Harry raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the brightness.
"The main courtyard," Melina announced.
It was vast—at least thrice the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall, possibly larger. Flagstone paths wound between elaborate fountains where water still flowed, though the basins were fouled with leaves and debris. Statues of warriors and nobles lined the perimeter, their faces defaced or limbs broken off, as if Godrick couldn't bear the sight of intact bodies he hadn't "improved."
At the far end of the courtyard stood a set of massive doors, easily twenty feet tall, carved with scenes of conquest and grafting. The entrance to Godrick's throne room.
And guarding it...
"Tree Sentinel," Harry murmured, recognizing the distinctive golden armor.
The armored figure sat astride a heavily armored destrier. A massive halberd rested across the sentinel's saddle, its edge glinting wickedly.
Melina touched Harry's arm lightly. "Be careful. You barely survived your encounter with the last one."
Harry glanced at her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That was weeks ago, Melina. I've learned a few things since then."
Before she could respond, he stepped forward onto the flagstone path, his boots scuffing deliberately against the stone. The sound carried across the courtyard, drawing the Tree Sentinel's attention.
The armored head swiveled toward them, the featureless golden helmet regarding them for a long moment. Then, the sentinel raised its halberd and pointed it directly at Harry.
"Last chance to reconsider," Melina whispered.
Harry rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension that had built there. "Watch this," he said, confidence evident in his voice.
The Tree Sentinel spurred its mount forward, the armored horse breaking into a gallop that sent tremors through the ground. The sentinel leveled its halberd, clearly intending to impale Harry on the charge.
In his first encounter with such a foe, Harry had dodged desperately, spending the entire fight on the defensive. Now, he stood his ground, feet planted shoulder-width apart, sword held low at his side.
"Are you mad?" Melina hissed. "Move!"
The sentinel bore down on him, the thundering hooves closing the distance rapidly. At the last possible moment, when the halberd's point was mere feet from his chest, Harry moved.
Not away, but toward the charging sentinel.
He ducked beneath the halberd's shaft and spun to the side of the charging horse, swinging his sword upward as he turned. The blade caught the joint between the horse's leg armor, slicing through the exposed flesh beneath. The destrier stumbled, its momentum carrying it forward as it crashed to the ground, sending the Tree Sentinel tumbling from the saddle.
The armored figure hit the flagstones with a resounding crash, rolling several times before regaining its footing with surprising agility. The wounded horse struggled to rise, then collapsed again, blood pooling beneath its injured leg.
The sentinel regarded Harry for a moment, then raised its halberd in salute—a warrior acknowledging a worthy opponent.
Harry returned the gesture with his own blade. "Nothing personal," he called. "But you're in my way."
The sentinel charged, its heavy armor somehow not impeding its speed. The halberd whistled through the air in a horizontal swing that would have decapitated Harry had he been standing a second longer. But he was already moving, sliding beneath the arc of the weapon with the grace of a dancer.
Harry came up behind the sentinel, slashing at the back of its knee. His blade struck true, but the armor held, the metal ringing but not yielding.
The sentinel pivoted faster than should have been possible, the butt end of the halberd jabbing toward Harry's face. He barely managed to lean back, the metal shaft missing his nose by inches. The momentum carried him off balance, and the sentinel pressed the advantage, bringing the halberd around in a vicious upward slash.
Harry couldn't dodge this one. Instead, he channeled grace magic into his blade, golden light erupting along its edge as he met the halberd's strike head-on. The weapons connected with a thunderous clang and a shower of sparks, the force driving Harry back several steps.
"Is that all?" Harry taunted, sliding his left hand free from his sword's grip.
Golden light pooled in his palm, rapidly splitting and coalescing into three spinning discs of light—each as thin as parchment but impossibly sharp along their edges. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them flying toward the sentinel.
The armored figure raised its halberd defensively, batting away the first two discs. But the third curved around, slicing through the sentinel's right arm at the elbow. The limb fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the halberd clattering beside it.
The sentinel staggered, golden ichor pouring from the severed limb. But it wasn't finished. With its remaining arm, it reached to its back and drew a massive golden sword—clearly a backup weapon.
"Persistent, aren't you?" Harry muttered, forming three more golden discs above his head.
The sentinel charged again, swinging the sword in wide, powerful arcs. Harry weaved between the strikes.
He found an opening as the sentinel overextended on a diagonal slash. Harry stepped inside the sentinel's guard, too close for the long sword to be effective. Blue light erupted along the length of his blade, the physical steel becoming encased in the azure glow of Carian sorcery.
Harry pivoted on his heel, channeling his weight into a single devastating strike. The Carian-enhanced blade sliced through the golden armor with a sound like tearing silk, finding the gap between breastplate and backplate where the metal was thinnest.
The sentinel's armor gave way beneath the magical assault, golden plate parting to reveal the person beneath—a man of flesh and blood, his skin marked with patterns that resembled tree bark, veins pulsing with golden light beneath the surface.
Harry didn't hesitate. He drove his enchanted sword deeper, the blade penetrating through the sentinel's body until it emerged from the other side. The sentinel froze, its golden helmet tilting down to regard the weapon embedded in its chest. A strange, resonant sound escaped from within the armor—not quite a gasp of pain, but something like acceptance.
Then it collapsed, armor clattering as the life within it faded. Golden particles rose from the fallen sentinel, streaming toward Harry and sinking into his chest. The rush of power was familiar now—runes, the currency of strength in this world, flowing into him.
Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the new energy settle within him. He turned to Melina, sheathing his sword with an ease that would have been impossible for him just weeks ago.
"Satisfied?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of pride from his voice.
Melina stood motionless, her visible eye wide with amazement. "That was..." She shook her head slightly. "When you first arrived in Limgrave, you could barely hold your own against common soldiers. Now you've defeated a Tree Sentinel as if it were a training exercise."
Harry approached her, rolling his shoulder where the sentinel's halberd had grazed him. "I had a good teacher," he said, offering her a small smile.
"No," Melina replied, studying him with newfound respect. "You had potential. What you've become... that's something else entirely." She glanced toward the massive doors at the end of the courtyard. "Godrick won't know what hit him."
Harry's expression hardened as he followed her gaze. "Good. Let's keep it that way."
They crossed the courtyard together, stepping over the fallen sentinel. The massive doors to the throne room loomed before them, the final barrier between Harry and his captive friends.
"Ready?" Melina asked softly.
Harry nodded, his jaw set with determination. "More than ready."
The massive doors creaked open under Harry's push, revealing not the throne room he expected but an antechamber of sorts. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, supported by columns carved to resemble twisted, grasping limbs. Braziers of molten gold cast flickering light across marble floors inlaid with the emblem of Godrick's house—a twisted tree with countless arms.
But no Godrick. No captives. The chamber was eerily empty, save for the shadows that danced along the walls.
"Something's wrong," Harry muttered, his grip tightening on his sword.
Melina had vanished upon their approach to the doors, as she often did when combat seemed imminent. Harry advanced cautiously into the chamber, his footsteps echoing in the vast space.
"Godrick!" he called, his voice bouncing off the distant walls. "Show yourself! Where are my friends?"
A low chuckle resonated through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. "The Lord of Limgrave doesn't dirty his hands with common Tarnished."
From behind the central throne—a grotesque monstrosity of gold and grafted limbs—stepped a familiar armored figure. Ordovis, the Crucible Knight who had cast Harry into the abyss.
"You," Harry growled.
"You live," Ordovis stated, a note of genuine surprise coloring his words. "The abyss spat you back out."
Harry's hand moved to his sword hilt but didn't draw it yet. "Disappointed?"
A sound like distant thunder emanated from the knight's helm—a laugh, Harry realized with surprise.
"Curiosity, not disappointment," Ordovis replied. "Few return from where I sent you. Fewer still return... changed." He tilted his head slightly.
"Where is Godrick?" Harry demanded, taking a step forward. "Where are my friends?"
"Your companions are with Godrick," Ordovis replied, his voice resonant within his helm. "He awaits you beyond this chamber, in Greveyard Field. A fitting place for your final rest, wouldn't you agree?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Step aside. I don't want to fight you again."
"Again?" Ordovis tilted his head. "Our previous encounter was hardly a fight. More an... introduction." The knight took a step forward, hands still empty of weapons. "How did you survive the abyss, Tarnished? It has claimed countless warriors far more seasoned than yourself."
"That's my business," Harry replied curtly. "Now move, or I'll move you."
Ordovis studied him for a long moment. "Such resolve. Such purpose." Another step forward. "You wonder, perhaps, why a Crucible Knight stands in Godrick's hall."
Harry blinked, momentarily thrown by the statement. "The thought had crossed my mind."
"The Crucible Knights serve a higher purpose than pretenders like Godrick," Ordovis said, beginning to circle Harry with measured steps. "We have guarded the secrets of the Crucible since before the Erdtree first took root. Godrick is but a pale shadow of the bloodline he claims, unworthy of the title he grasps at with his stolen hands."
"Then why are you here?" Harry asked, turning to keep Ordovis in view. "Why serve someone you clearly despise?"
"I follow orders," Ordovis replied simply.
"Whose orders?"
The knight paused, helmet angled slightly as if considering the question. "There are wheels within wheels, Tarnished. Some turn slowly, over centuries. Others spin rapidly, completing their purpose in days."
"Try speaking plainly," Harry challenged. "I've had enough riddles since coming to this world."
Ordovis nodded, as if approving of his directness. "You are not like other Tarnished I have encountered. There is something... different in you." He stopped, facing Harry directly. "What drives you, Tarnished? Do you seek the shattered ring? Aspire to lordship like so many of your kind?"
"I'm not from this world," Harry said finally. "I don't care about becoming Elden Lord or whatever you call it. I just want to save my friends and make sure my world stays safe from this world."
The knight went still, the admission clearly unexpected. "Not of this world?" Ordovis murmured. "That would explain the strange grace that flows through you." He studied Harry with new intensity. "You speak truth where others would dissemble. A rare quality in these broken lands."
"Glad you think so," Harry replied dryly. "Now, if you don't mind—"
"If you survive," Ordovis interrupted, "if you defeat Godrick and live to continue your journey, seek Ultherion."
"Who?"
"The Commander of the Crucible Knights. You will find him in Nokron, the Eternal City that lies beneath the shattered sky of Caelid." Ordovis's voice had dropped lower, as if sharing a secret. "Tell him what you have told me. Tell him you bear the mark of Those Who Live in Death."
Harry frowned. "Why would you help me? You tried to kill me."
"Did I?" Ordovis asked, and Harry could hear a note of amusement in his voice. "Or did I send you precisely where you needed to go?"
Before Harry could process this, Ordovis reached over his shoulder and drew his massive sword.
"Regardless of my opinion," the knight said, settling into a fighting stance, "I have my duty. To pass beyond, you must defeat me in honorable combat. Those are my orders, and a Crucible Knight's word is eternal. Our Word is Eternal. That is the Word of all Crucible Knights."
Harry raised his own sword, golden light beginning to shimmer along its edge. "Then let's not waste any more time."
Ordovis nodded, a gesture somehow conveying respect despite the featureless helm. "One more thing, Tarnished." His voice had taken on a solemn quality. "The path you walk is older than the Erdtree itself. Few even know it exists. Fewer still would dare to tread it."
"I'll be the first to finish it, then," Harry replied, his resolve hardening.
"Perhaps you will at that. Show me the strength that carried you from the abyss."
Comments
oWell
After Godrick is defeated.
Jack Lee
Will Harry have a proper break from the hectic nature of Elden Ring to explore more relationship stuff with Melina or is this more for combat writing? Either or is perfect for me. Just wondering what is the intention
the dark
Que elden ring theme at the end XD
