A/N: Welcome back to another wonderful installment of…TGP's angst slash fics! This time, we've got a little something different… Everyone is dead. That's right folks, this story starts out killing people off. Problem is…Death is only the beginning. Have fun
Warnings: Butchery of Mythology, angst, blood, gore, battling, slash
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Tom/Severus, Sirius/Remus
Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor any Greek Myths belong to me.
Prologue - Of Mice and Men
There was blood. Oh, was there ever blood… It coated everything. The people, the plants, the ground, the buildings… It was amazing just how much blood there really was. Magic wasn't always clean and without mark. Even the raging werewolves and giants didn't cause as much bloodshed as the spells. Wizard against Wizard in a final battle.
In the middle of it, there were two. They were silent in the center of it. Motionless. Both were bathed in the red blood and had more death on their hands than any other in the town. All around them, spells whizzed by and people fell. Beasts ripped things apart and murder ran rampant. Screams and howls alike filled the air. It was the third day of battle and the ground was littered with bodies.
Three days. They had finally met. The Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived. The shield had been a mutual agreement. They were each other's prey. They would be the ones to bring the end to each other. Only one would leave the protective dome of magic, yet…Neither had moved since it was erected.
Outside, Harry saw Draco Malfoy fall to a spell. Likewise, Voldemort watched a tall red haired boy do the same. They saw endless lives snuffed out in instants, and others forced to suffer slower, more painful deaths.
"Neither of us will survive this," Harry said suddenly. Voldemort's cold red eyes settled onto the boy. He was small, even at eighteen years old. It was glaringly obvious, even in his school robes, that his body was far too skinny. Unhealthy was the pallor of his skin. His green eyes had stopped sparkling long ago.
Voldemort's snakelike visage had disappeared days after his rebirth. Harry didn't know how he had been returned to a human look, nor did he care. The careless black hair fell around his hair, messy and over his blood eyes. His skin was still pale, with a look almost like scales. Limbs were still long and thin, fingers bony around his wand. The robes were well made.
There was so very little difference between the two men standing there. They could have been brothers, if it weren't for the glaring hatred in their eyes.
"Why do you say that?" Voldemort asked. Harry smiled bitterly.
"Because I will kill you, and then I myself will die."
Voldemort laughed. "You will die even after you've killed me?"
"I'll kill myself."
"It's strange you don't let me simply off you and be done with it, as close to suicide as you are right now," smirked the man. Voldemort looked over the boy, searching.
"I am not a murderer," whispered Harry. His rival laughed again, high and horrible.
"You're so sure."
"If I don't kill you myself," vowed the boy, "then the last spell on my person will."
Voldemort looked to be wondering if the boy was bluffing. There was nothing on Harry's face and his green eyes were hard. Slowly, the Dark Lord let himself relax. His eyes unfocused and for one, he finally looked. At once, the magicks woven about the boy's body were blaringly obvious.
"What have you done?" Voldemort wondered aloud.
"A precaution," replied Harry. His eyes flashed. "As I said, neither of us will survive this."
They clashed. It was not clean. It was not practiced. It was brutal. The inside of the dome slowly turned to match the outside. Blood spattered the shield and ground and each other. Screams filled their space as curses and incoherent words sputtered from their lips. The wands snapped under the pressure. Then, they were upon one another. They bit and tore and scratched and raged. And finally, they stopped.
Outside, the battle was over. The world was horribly still. Few bodies shifted or even moaned in pain. The sky was dark and angry, lightning flashing over the clouds. Too much magic had agitated the weather. On the ground, survivors picked through, piling dead bodies and trying to save the injured. Others had gathered around the spinning gold dome. These stood still and silent. They could hear nothing from inside, nor see anything. It was as if they were staring at another world completely cut off from their own.
Suddenly and without preamble, the gold fell. And in the center of it, looking like a blood covered fallen angel, sat Harry Potter, straddling his fallen enemy. No one approached the boy, nor said a word. Indeed, he looked as dead as the man below him. Voldemort unmoving body was mangled to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Harry's face was bruised and bloody to almost the same point. They looked more like brothers at that instance than ever before.
Slowly, Harry got up. His blood and sweat soaked hair hung limply around his face, covering his eyes. His expression was blank and his body held the tone of a man drunk. He staggered, taking only a few steps before vomiting. The others only watched as their savior got up again and finally faced them.
"Harry," whispered a voice. He looked towards it and stared at Albus Dumbledore. The aged wizard looked horrified but he knew it wasn't because of the body on the ground. Harry smiled.
And then Harry fell down.
A/N: Why do all my HP stories seem to start off with things like this? I dunno...I guess because I like Post-Voldie stories.
Anywho, hopefully someone likes my new story. It gets really weird after this.