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Harry stood his ground. The tombstones surrounded them like silent spectators to the coming battle.
Godrick's laughter echoed through the clearing, a sound like grinding metal that set Harry's teeth on edge. The monstrosity before him shifted his weight, dozens of grafted arms moving in unsettling synchronicity.
"Such spirit!" Godrick crooned, his mismatched eyes gleaming with malice. "Such defiance! It will make your strength all the sweeter when I claim it for my own."
Harry's mind raced, recalling what he'd learned about grafting. The stronger the original owner, the more power the graft provides. Losing grafted parts diminishes that power. If he could sever enough of those stolen limbs, perhaps Godrick would weaken sufficiently.
Without warning, Godrick leaped forward with startling speed, his massive golden axe sweeping down in a devastating arc. Harry barely managed to dive behind a nearby tombstone, the ancient stone shattering as the axe cleaved through it like butter. Fragments peppered Harry's back as he rolled to his feet.
Too fast. Far too fast for something so large.
Harry channeled his magic, forming a dozen lights above his head. With a gesture, he sent them hurtling toward Godrick from different angles, aiming for the joints where grafted arms connected to the demigod's central mass.
Godrick roared with laughter, swinging his axe in wide, wild arcs that shattered the lights mid-flight. His movements held no technique, no finesse—just raw, overwhelming power. Several of his smaller arms wielded shields that intercepted the remaining lights.
"Is that all, Tarnished? Parlor tricks?" Godrick sneered, advancing relentlessly. "Is that all?" Godrick taunted, already readying another swing. "Margit must be weaker than I thought if you managed to best him."
Harry retreated, keeping tombstones between them when possible. His mind worked furiously, analyzing Godrick's movements, searching for patterns, weaknesses. But the creature before him defied conventional combat logic—too many limbs moving independently, too many weapons to track simultaneously.
Godrick charged again, his massive axe held high. Harry sidestepped, using the brief opening to form tiny motes of golden light—barely larger than fireflies—and send them drifting toward Godrick's back.
"Stand still, worm!" Godrick bellowed, frustration evident in his voice. One of his auxiliary arms—this one grafted near his waist—flung a barbed spear that caught Harry's leather armor, tearing through it and grazing his side.
Pain lanced through Harry, hot and immediate. He gasped, pressing a hand to the wound as he ducked behind another tombstone. Not deep, but it burns. Poison?
"Do you know who I am, boy?" Godrick called out, smashing tombstones as he searched for Harry. "I am of the golden lineage! Distant cousin to Queen Marika herself!"
Harry used the moment to create more tiny golden lights. Keep him talking. Place more lights. Find an opening.
"If you're so important," Harry called back, shifting position to remain hidden, "why are you locked away in this crumbling castle? Why did your family post Margit to keep you trapped here?"
Godrick's expression twisted with rage, several faces embedded in his flesh contorting in sympathy. "JEALOUSY!" he roared, the ground trembling beneath his feet. "They fear my ambition! My divine right to ascend!"
He brought his axe down on a mausoleum, the structure collapsing in a cloud of dust and debris. "I will be a GOD! Not just a lord, not just a demigod—a true GOD!"
Harry darted from his hiding place, sword held in both hands. He executed a perfect diagonal cut—just as Captain Artan had taught him—aiming for a cluster of smaller arms protruding from Godrick's left side.
The golden Carian energy surrounding his blade sliced through one of the grafted limbs—a child's arm, Harry realized with horror—severing it cleanly. The arm fell to the ground, fingers twitching before going still.
Godrick barely seemed to notice the loss, though blood leaked from the stump. "First blood to you, Tarnished!" He laughed, the sound echoing from multiple mouths across his twisted form. "A mosquito bite to one such as I!"
With frightening speed, Godrick swung his axe horizontally, forcing Harry to dive forward, rolling beneath the deadly arc. He came up directly before Godrick, too close for the massive axe to be effective. Harry thrust upward with his sword, aiming for Godrick's torso.
Three of Godrick's auxiliary arms intercepted the strike, sacrificing themselves to the golden blade. Harry pressed forward, trying to maintain the inside position where Godrick's size worked against him. He managed two more quick cuts before a fourth arm—this one massive and pitted with scars—slammed into his chest like a battering ram.
The impact sent Harry flying backward, his sword nearly torn from his grasp. He slammed into a tombstone, pain exploding across his back as stone cracked beneath him. For a moment, his vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges.
Get up. GET UP NOW.
Through sheer force of will, Harry staggered to his feet. His ribs protested with each breath, suggesting at least one was cracked. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, partially obscuring his vision.
"Look at you," Godrick mocked, advancing steadily. "Barely standing, yet still defiant. Such wonderful material."
Harry retreated, placing more tombstones between them. As he moved, he continued to form tiny golden lights.
"Your little sparkles won't save you," Godrick sneered, noticing the faint golden motes that Harry was sending. "What are these supposed to be? Distractions? Fireworks to mark your defeat?"
"You know nothing of true power," Godrick continued, his voice taking on an almost philosophical tone. "These arms, these legs—each belonged to someone strong. A warrior, a giant, even a child prodigy of grace magic." He flexed his many limbs, as if admiring them. "Their strength is now mine. Forever."
"It's stolen strength," Harry countered, trying to keep Godrick talking while he caught his breath. "Not earned. Not yours."
This seemed to touch a nerve. Godrick's expression darkened, and several of the faces embedded in his flesh twisted in synchronized rage.
"STOLEN? I CLAIMED them! By RIGHT OF CONQUEST!" Godrick roared, his massive axe cleaving through three tombstones in a single strike. "As I will claim YOU!"
Harry dodged sideways, but not quickly enough. The edge of the axe caught his left shoulder, slicing through leather and into flesh. The wound burned as if branded with hot iron. Harry stumbled, nearly dropping his sword as blood soaked his arm.
Can't take another hit like that. Need to be smarter.
Godrick pressed his advantage, each swing of his axe destroying more of the ancient cemetery. Harry retreated, staying just ahead of the devastating strikes, all while continuing to seed Godrick's body with tiny golden lights. The demigod remained oblivious to these microscopic additions, his attention focused on Harry's sword and more obvious magic.
"Run all you like, Tarnished!" Godrick laughed, his many arms gesturing wildly. "There is no escape from this place!"
Harry's back hit a mausoleum wall. Cornered. Godrick's mismatched eyes gleamed with triumph as he raised his massive axe for a killing blow.
In that desperate moment, Harry recalled something Ordovis had said during their duel: You think too much about where to place the sword rather than simply willing it there.
Time seemed to slow. Harry stopped thinking about techniques, about angles of attack. Instead, he simply willed his golden blade to where it needed to be.
As Godrick's axe descended, Harry slipped sideways and thrust his sword forward in a single, fluid motion. The golden energy surrounding the blade extended, reaching farther than physically possible. It found its mark—a cluster of grafted arms on Godrick's right side.
Three limbs fell to the ground, severed cleanly by the golden energy. Godrick howled—not in pain, but in outrage—as he stumbled backward, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden loss.
"YOU DARE!" the demigod shrieked, his voice distorted as multiple mouths screamed in unison. "MY COLLECTION! MY POWER!"
Harry didn't waste the opening. He darted forward, sword flashing in precise arcs that severed two more small grafted limbs before Godrick could recover. Unlike before, Harry could feel the difference—Godrick's movements had slowed, if only slightly. The theory was correct: removing grafted parts did weaken him.
But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Godrick recovered quickly, rage lending him renewed strength. A wild swing of his axe forced Harry to dive behind a fallen column. The massive weapon embedded itself in stone, giving Harry precious seconds to gather his thoughts.
Godrick wrenched his axe free, stone crumbling beneath the force of his pull.
Harry pressed his back against a shattered tombstone, breathing heavily as pain radiated from his wounded shoulder. Blood seeped through his torn leather armor, warm and sticky against his skin. Across the clearing, his friends remained bound to the ancient trees, their struggles growing weaker as time passed.
I can't beat him directly. Not yet. But I can free them.
Godrick stalked through the cemetery, crushing tombstones beneath his misshapen feet, the ground trembling with each step. His axe swept back and forth, destroying anything in its path as he searched for Harry.
"Come out, come out, Tarnished!" Godrick called, his voice echoing from multiple mouths. "Your death delays the inevitable!"
Harry's hand moved to his belt, fingers closing around the small spirit-stone Roderika had given him. He'd only used it a few times in practice, never in actual combat. The wolves it summoned weren't particularly powerful, but they might provide the distraction he needed.
Waiting until Godrick turned away, Harry focused on the stone and searched the memories of the stone, images of the wolves fighting flashed through his eyes, focusing his will into the small sound. "Lone Wolf Ashes," he whispered, channeling grace magic into the summoning.
Three spectral wolves materialized around him, their forms translucent but substantial, glowing with ethereal blue light. They turned their ghostly heads toward Harry, awaiting direction.
"Attack Godrick," Harry commanded, pointing toward the grafted monstrosity. "Draw him away from the trees."
The spirit wolves bounded forward without hesitation, silent as they weaved between tombstones. They reached Godrick's blind side and leapt as one, spectral fangs bared.
Godrick roared in surprise as the first wolf sank its teeth into a grafted arm, the second tore at his leg, and the third latched onto his back, ripping at the faces embedded there. Though the wolves couldn't do significant damage, their attack forced Godrick to focus on them rather than Harry.
"Miserable vermin!" Godrick bellowed, several of his smaller arms drawing daggers to stab at the spectral wolves while his main arm swung the massive axe wildly. "Is this the best you can do, Tarnished? Send pets to do your fighting?"
Harry didn't waste the opportunity. Keeping low, he circled the edge of the clearing, using the tombstones as cover as he made his way toward the trees where his friends were bound. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his injured shoulder, but he pushed forward, driven by desperation.
Ten of Godrick's soldiers stood guard beneath the trees, their grafted appendages making them more monsters than men. They remained at their posts despite the commotion, weapons ready.
Harry stopped behind a fallen monument, assessing the situation. Too many to fight head-on. Need another approach.
He concentrated, forming thirty small golden lights above his palm. With careful focus, he merged them into three golden daggers, each pulsing with explosive potential. Taking a deep breath, Harry aimed carefully at the soldiers furthest from his position.
The first dagger streaked across the clearing, catching a guard in the throat before he could react. It penetrated deeply, then exploded in a burst of golden fire that consumed two additional soldiers. The remaining guards shouted in alarm, scanning frantically for the source of the attack.
Harry didn't give them time to locate him. The second dagger flew true, detonating among four more soldiers and sending their grafted limbs flying in different directions. The explosion illuminated Harry's position, and the remaining guards charged toward him, weapons raised.
The third dagger met them halfway, its explosion less controlled but equally devastating. When the golden fire cleared, only one soldier remained, staggering forward with his grafted arm hanging uselessly at his side.
Harry rose from cover and met the soldier's charge. The soldier swung a crude mace, but Harry parried the blow, redirecting its force as Captain Artan had taught him. In the same motion, he pivoted and brought his sword across the soldier's chest, cutting through armor and flesh with a single, clean stroke.
Across the clearing, Godrick had dispatched two of the spirit wolves and now turned his attention back to the larger battlefield. His mismatched eyes widened when he spotted Harry standing among his fallen soldiers.
"NO!" the demigod roared, abandoning the remaining wolf to charge toward the trees. "MY PRISONERS!"
Harry had precious seconds before Godrick would reach him. He sprinted to the trees, forming more golden lights as he ran. These he shaped into thin, precise discs, like circular blades.
"Hold still!" he shouted to his friends as he directed the golden discs toward their bonds.
The discs sliced through the ropes binding Captain Artan first. The soldier fell to his knees, his arms numb from being restrained for so long. "Harry," he gasped, his voice hoarse. "Behind you!"
Harry spun to see more of Godrick's soldiers emerging from a side entrance to the castle, at least twenty forming a line to protect their lord. Godrick bellowed orders as he continued his charge, his massive axe held high.
Turning back, Harry sent the remaining discs to cut Nepheli and Roderika's bonds. Nepheli fell awkwardly, unable to catch herself with her broken left arm. She grimaced in pain but immediately reached for a fallen soldier's axe with her good hand.
"We need to move!" Harry shouted, helping Roderika to her feet. The spirit trainer was pale and shaking but conscious. "Godrick's coming!"
"Too late," Captain Artan growled, struggling to stand as he retrieved a sword from one of the fallen guards. "He's already here."
Godrick had reached the edge of the trees, his massive form silhouetted against the setting sun, grafted limbs writhing like snakes around his central mass. The soldiers formed a semicircle behind him, closing off any escape route.
"Did you think I would let you take what's mine?" Godrick sneered, his voice distorted as multiple mouths spoke in near-unison. "Your friends will be grafted to me, and you will watch before joining them!"
Harry positioned himself between Godrick and his weakened friends, his golden sword held before him despite the trembling in his arms. Blood loss and exhaustion were taking their toll, but he couldn't falter. Not now.
"Harry..." Nepheli's voice was strained as she clutched her broken arm. "We can't fight like this."
A soft golden light materialized beside them, coalescing into Melina's familiar form. Her presence brought a momentary calm to the chaos.
"I told you I would be here when needed," she said to Harry, her single visible eye reflecting the golden light of his sword. Without another word, she knelt beside Nepheli, gentle hands cradling the warrior's broken arm.
Golden light flowed from Melina's fingers, taking the form of a miniature Erdtree that wrapped around Nepheli's injury. The warrior woman gasped as bone knit back together, muscle and sinew repairing under the influence of grace magic.
"That's all I can do for now," Melina said, rising to her feet. "The rest is up to you."
Before Harry could thank her, Melina faded from view, her form dissolving into particles of light that scattered on the wind. But her brief intervention had been enough. Nepheli flexed her healed arm, her expression hardening with renewed determination.
"Give me a weapon," she demanded, glancing at the fallen guards. Her eyes settled on dual hand axes strapped to one of the corpses.
Captain Artan had already armed himself with a sword and a small crossbow looted from the guards. Roderika remained unarmed but had positioned herself behind a tree, her face set in grim determination.
"I can summon spirits to help," she offered, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. "Just give me a moment to focus."
Godrick's laughter echoed across the Field of Graves as he observed their preparations. "How touching! The sheep band together before slaughter!"
The demigod raised his massive axe, signaling to his soldiers. "Kill the extras. The Tarnished is mine."
The first wave of Godrick's soldiers crashed against them like a tide of twisted metal and flesh. Harry met the onslaught with his golden sword, the Carian energy surrounding the blade slicing through grafted limbs and crude armor. Beside him, Nepheli whirled like a dervish, her dual axes describing lethal arcs that left dismembered soldiers in her wake.
"Form a circle!" Captain Artan shouted, his sword parrying a thrust from a spear-wielding guard before riposting with practiced precision. "Back to back! Don't let them surround us!"
Behind them, Roderika had taken cover behind a fallen mausoleum. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but her eyes burned with determination as she clutched a spirit-summoning stone similar to Harry's own.
"I need time!" she called out, her voice barely audible above the clash of weapons. "Just a few moments!"
"You heard her!" Nepheli shouted, decapitating a soldier with a powerful swing of her right axe while blocking another's attack with her left. "Keep them off Roderika!"
Harry formed more tiny golden lights, sending them to join the others while fighting off the seemingly endless wave of soldiers. Each light was a promise—it was Hope.
Captain Artan used his crossbow to pick off soldiers attempting to flank them, each bolt finding an eye or throat with unerring accuracy. Between shots, his sword kept attackers at bay, his movements economical and precise—a stark contrast to the frenzied attacks of Godrick's grafted soldiers.
Above the melee, Godrick towered like a mountain of mismatched flesh, his massive axe carving through the battlefield, indiscriminately killing his own soldiers if they stood between him and his targets. His focus remained primarily on Harry, those mismatched eyes tracking his every movement with predatory intensity.
"You think yourselves clever?" Godrick roared, his voice emanating from multiple mouths simultaneously. "Your resistance merely adds flavor to the feast, and those lights CAN'T HELP YOU!"
Harry braced himself, knowing they couldn't hold out much longer against both the soldiers and their lord.
"Now!" Roderika's voice rang out, followed by a sound of cracking.
The air shimmered beside her, coalescing into a massive humanoid form that towered even over Godrick. An ancient warrior composed of stone and metal, its body covered in moss and lichen, its single eye glowing with spectral blue light. A spirit golem.
"I can't maintain it for long," Roderika gasped, her body trembling with the effort of the summon. "Use it while you can!"
The golem lurched forward, each step leaving craters in the cemetery ground. It waded into the mass of soldiers, massive fists sweeping them aside like toys. Those caught in its path were crushed beneath stone feet or smashed to pulp by granite knuckles.
"To me!" Harry called to Nepheli and Artan, seeing their opportunity. "Godrick! Now!"
They disengaged from the remaining soldiers, leaving them to the golem's tender mercies. As one, the three warriors charged toward Godrick, spreading out to attack from different angles.
Godrick laughed at their approach, his body shifting to face this new threat. "Come then! Let me add your strength to mine!"
Nepheli reached him first, her axes blurring as she targeted the joints of his grafted limbs. She ducked beneath a wild swing of Godrick's axe, her weapons finding purchase in what might have once been a giant's arm grafted to Godrick's right side. The limb spasmed, golden blood spraying from the deep wound, but Godrick merely grunted in annoyance.
Three smaller arms suddenly extended, each wielding a different weapon. Nepheli managed to parry the first two attacks but was forced to retreat from the third, a wicked-looking halberd that sliced a shallow cut across her ribs.
Captain Artan approached from Godrick's left flank, crossbow raised. He fired three bolts in rapid succession, each aimed at a different face embedded in Godrick's flesh. Two found their marks, eliciting howls of pain from the demigod. The third was caught mid-air by one of Godrick's auxiliary hands.
"Insects!" Godrick snarled, his axe sweeping horizontally in a blow that would have cleaved Artan in two had the captain not dropped to the ground at the last instant. "You cannot harm one chosen by the Erdtree!"
Harry circled to Godrick's rear, using the distraction provided by his friends to create more tiny golden lights.
Drawing on his remaining reserves of strength, Harry channeled blue energy into his sword. The Carian magic briefly flickered before transitioning to brilliant gold, extending the blade to twice its physical length. With the enhanced reach, Harry slashed at the cluster of faces embedded in Godrick's lower back, the golden energy cutting through three of them in a single stroke.
Godrick's roar of pain shook the very ground, tombstones cracking under the sonic force. The demigod spun, his axe whistling through the air toward Harry's head.
Harry raised his sword in a desperate parry, the golden energy meeting the ancient axe with a sound like breaking glass. The impact sent him staggering backward, his arms numbed by the force of the blow. Before he could recover, one of Godrick's auxiliary arms—this one ending in a spiked mace—swung toward his chest.
"Harry!" Nepheli shouted, throwing one of her axes. The weapon spun through the air, embedding itself in the arm wielding the mace. The limb spasmed, the mace missing Harry by inches.
Using the opening, Harry retreated to safer distance, gasping for breath. Blood dripped from fresh cuts on his arms where Godrick's attacks had found purchase. Across the field, the spirit golem was decimating the remaining soldiers, but its movements were already slowing, its form becoming less substantial as Roderika's strength waned.
Captain Artan had reloaded his crossbow and was circling to Godrick's right, looking for another opening. The demigod tracked his movement, several smaller arms reaching for throwing weapons.
"Artan! Look out!" Harry shouted.
A barbed javelin caught Artan in the face, tearing across his left eye and cheek in a spray of crimson. The captain staggered, dropping his crossbow as he clutched at the ruined eye, blood pouring between his fingers.
"First blood of many!" Godrick crowed, already turning his attention back to Harry. "Your strength will sustain me for centuries!"
Nepheli rushed to Artan's side, helping the wounded captain retreat to where Roderika stood. The spirit trainer's summon was fading rapidly, the golem becoming transparent as her exhaustion mounted.
Harry found himself alone against Godrick, the golden sword suddenly feeling impossibly heavy in his grasp. Not enough. We're not strong enough together, let alone apart.
"And then there was one," Godrick's voice dripped with malicious satisfaction as he advanced on Harry. "The last Tarnished standing."
Harry backed away, maintaining distance while assessing his options. The golden lights could work, but he wasn't certain they would be enough.
"Running away?" Godrick mocked, his mismatched eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "There's nowhere to hide, boy. Your friends are broken. Your strength is failing."
As if to emphasize the point, the spirit golem finally dissipated, Roderika collapsing to her knees as the summon failed. The few remaining soldiers regrouped, forming a loose ring around the battlefield to prevent escape.
Harry feinted to the right, then dove left as Godrick's axe embedded itself in the ground where he had stood a moment before. Using the brief opening, he rushed past the demigod, heading toward his friends.
He never made it.
One of Godrick's grafted arms—longer than the others, tipped with wicked claws—lashed out like a whip, catching Harry's ankle. He crashed to the ground, his sword spinning from his grasp. Before he could recover, Godrick was upon him.
The demigod's massive foot pressed down on Harry's chest, pinning him to the blood-soaked earth. Ribs cracked under the pressure, sending white-hot pain lancing through Harry's body. He gasped, struggling to breathe as Godrick's weight threatened to crush his lungs.
"So predictable," Godrick sneered, leaning down to examine his captive. "Rushing to your friends' aid. Such weakness."
The pressure increased, drawing a strangled cry from Harry's lips. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision as his body screamed for oxygen.
"I won't kill you yet," Godrick continued, his voice almost conversational despite emanating from multiple twisted mouths. "The grafting works better when the subject is alive. I'll take your arms first, I think. Such fine, slender limbs." His mismatched eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Then perhaps your eyes. Such an unusual color."
Through the haze of pain, Harry saw his friends struggling against the soldiers restraining them. Nepheli fought like a wild animal, her remaining axe claiming two lives before she was subdued. Captain Artan, despite his grievous injury, managed to run one soldier through before being struck from behind. Roderika had already been captured, too exhausted to resist.
Now. It has to be now.
"You know what your problem is, Godrick?" Harry wheezed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. Despite the pain, he managed a smile that contained no humor whatsoever. "You talk too much."
Confusion flickered across Godrick's misshapen features, quickly replaced by rage. "Insolent worm! I'll—"
"Explode," Harry whispered, channeling the last of his strength into the golden lights dotting Godrick's body.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, simultaneously, every tiny mote of light adorning Godrick's back flared with blinding intensity.
The explosion was deafening, a cascade of golden fire that engulfed Godrick's upper body. Grafted limbs separated in bloody chunks, flying in all directions as the carefully placed charges detonated in perfect synchronicity. The faces embedded in the demigod's flesh were obliterated, reduced to charred remnants that peeled away like burning parchment.
Godrick's agonized scream transcended sound, becoming something physical that shook the very air. The pressure on Harry's chest vanished as the demigod staggered backward, trailing smoke and golden fire from the ruined mass that had once been his back and shoulders.
Nineteen grafted limbs lay scattered across the Field of Graves, still twitching with residual life. The faces that had adorned Godrick's back were simply gone, leaving charred craters in the demigod's flesh.
Harry rolled to his side, coughing blood as his broken ribs grated with each movement. Through watering eyes, he saw his sword lying just within reach. With trembling fingers, he grasped the hilt, using it as leverage to pull himself upright.
Godrick had fallen to one knee, his remaining arms clutching at the smoking ruins of his back. Golden blood poured from dozens of wounds, steaming where it hit the ground. His axe lay forgotten beside him as he howled in rage and agony.
"ATTACK!"
Captain Artan and Nepheli seized the moment, breaking free from their distracted captors. Nepheli retrieved her fallen axe while Artan claimed a sword from a dead soldier. Even Roderika managed to slip away in the confusion, hiding away, and pulling out another spirit crystal.
Harry raised his sword, golden energy flaring to life around the blade. This was their chance—Godrick was weakened, disoriented. One decisive blow might end this nightmare.
He staggered forward, each step an exercise in agony, blood dripping from his mouth and the various cuts across his body. Just a few more steps. Just one clean strike to Godrick's exposed neck.
Then everything changed.
More soldiers poured from the castle entrance, dozens of them forming a protective wall between the wounded Godrick and his attackers. Unlike the previous waves, these were elite guards, their armor more complete, their grafted parts more seamlessly integrated.
"Protect Lord Godrick!" their captain bellowed, a massive figure whose helmet had been fused directly to his skull, leaving only his lower jaw exposed. "Form ranks! Stand fast!"
The soldiers locked shields, creating an impenetrable barrier.
"Hold them!" Godrick's voice boomed from behind the wall of soldiers. "Give your lord but a moment!"
Behind the shield wall, Harry could glimpse Godrick's hunched form. The grafted lord had dropped to one knee, blood pouring from the ragged stumps where arms had been attached. His mismatched eyes burned with fury, fixed not on Harry but on the dead dragon impaled against the ancient tree.
"What's he doing?" Nepheli gasped beside Harry, her axes dripping with the blood of Godrick's soldiers. Harry cut the head off one soldier, but with their shield forward, it was difficult to advance.
Harry had no answer. His attention was divided between the immediate threat of the soldiers and whatever Godrick was planning. One of his spirit wolves—the last surviving from his summons—crouched behind a broken tombstone to Harry's right, awaiting command.
Then came a sound that chilled Harry's blood—the unmistakable noise of an axe cleaving through flesh and bone.
Through gaps in the shield wall, Harry watched in horror as Godrick raised his massive golden axe high, then brought it down on his own left arm just above the elbow. The blade severed the limb in a single stroke, sending it flying through the air to land near Harry's spirit wolf, which growled and backed away from the twitching appendage.
Blood gushed from the self-inflicted wound, but Godrick seemed oblivious to the pain. Instead, he staggered toward the dragon corpse, his remaining arms outstretched in a gesture almost like supplication.
"What in the name of Merlin is he doing?" Harry whispered, momentarily forgetting the soldiers as he strained to see.
His answer came moments later. Godrick reached the hanging head of the dragon, its jaws partially open, tongue lolling lifelessly. Then, the grafted lord thrust his severed arm into the dragon's neck, puncturing it, going deep inside, and brought his arm back along with the dragon's head.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Godrick threw back his head and howled—not in pain, but in ecstasy. Golden light erupted from the point of contact, blindingly bright, forcing Harry to shield his eyes. When he looked again, his stomach lurched with revulsion.
The dragon's head was moving, its neck fusing with Godrick's arm in a grotesque union of flesh and scale. Veins of molten gold spread across the junction, sealing the two beings together. The dragon's eyes—previously glazed in death—blinked open, revealing vertical pupils.
"He's... grafting the dragon to himself," Captain Artan said, his voice tight with disgust and fear.
The dragon's head swiveled on its new joint, jaws opening and closing experimentally. A low growl emanated from its throat, building in volume until it became a roar that shook the very stones beneath their feet.
Godrick raised his arm—now a dragon's head and neck—toward the darkening sky. "Forefathers, one and all... BEAR WITNESS!" His voice carried triumphant madness, echoing across the Field of Graves.
The soldiers who had formed the protective wall turned to look at their transformed lord, awe and terror mingling on their faces.
Harry felt a coldness spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. The fusion was complete. Godrick now commanded not just the strength of a demigod but the power of a dragon as well.
"We need to retreat," Nepheli urged, tugging at Harry's sleeve. "Now, while they're distracted."
But Harry couldn't move, transfixed by the horror. The dragon's head was fully awake now, its eyes focusing on Harry. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and Harry could see an orange glow building in the back of its throat.
The dragon's head opened its jaws wide and exhaled a torrent of flame that engulfed the soldiers standing between Godrick and Harry's group. Their screams were mercifully brief as armor melted and flesh charred, their bodies collapsing into heaps of smoldering metal and ash.
Nepheli grabbed Harry by the collar of his leather armor, yanking him behind a massive tombstone as fire washed over the spot where he'd stood a heartbeat earlier. The heat was so intense that Harry could feel his skin blistering even from behind cover.
Captain Artan dove for shelter behind another grave marker, the edge of the flame catching his cloak and setting it alight. He rolled frantically, smothering the flames against the damp earth.
"Roderika!" Harry called out, suddenly remembering their fourth companion.
"She's safe," Nepheli assured him, pointing to a cluster of tombstones further back where Roderika had taken shelter at the first sign of danger. The spirit tuner had shown wisdom in staying clear of direct combat.
The dragon's fire finally ebbed, leaving a scorched path of destruction across the Field of Graves. Smoke rose from burning grass and the charred remains of Godrick's own soldiers. The grafted lord himself stood untouched in the center of the devastation, the dragon head swiveling on its neck as it sought new targets.
"Such POWER!" Godrick's voice rang out, half-mad with exhilaration. "The dragon blood sings in my veins! I am become death itself!"
Harry peered around the edge of the tombstone, assessing their dire situation. His chest felt like it was on fire, each breath a struggle. Blood soaked his torn leather armor from a dozen cuts and gashes. Beside him, Nepheli looked little better.
"Harry."
The soft voice came from behind him. Harry turned to find Melina materializing from golden light, her expression grave as she took in his injuries.
"Good to see you," Harry managed through gritted teeth.
"Not as good as you," she replied, kneeling beside him. Her hands moved to his chest, golden light spilling from her fingertips as she worked to mend his broken ribs. "But even with my help, you cannot defeat him as he is now. The dragon's power has made him stronger than before."
Harry winced as his ribs shifted beneath her touch, knitting back together with an uncomfortable grinding sensation. "He cut off his own arm," he said, still trying to process what he'd witnessed. "Just... chopped it off without hesitation."
"Because he knew what he would gain in return," Melina said grimly. "Dragon grafting is among the most difficult and dangerous forms of the art. Few survive the attempt, but those who do gain immense power."
The dragon head roared again, sending tremors through the ground. Melina's hands moved to Harry's shoulder, healing a deep gash left by one of Godrick's many blades.
"Nepheli needs you more than I do," Harry said, nodding toward the warrior woman.
Melina hesitated only briefly before shifting to Nepheli's side. Golden light flowed around the injured limb as Melina whispered incantations that made the air shimmer.
Harry used the moment to survey the battlefield. Godrick stood in the center of the clearing, the dragon head extending from his left arm like some nightmarish appendage. His other injuries—the lost limbs, the cuts and gashes—seemed forgotten in his euphoria over his new acquisition. The massive golden axe remained clutched in his primary right hand.
Captain Artan crouched behind a tombstone fifteen feet to Harry's right, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. The veteran soldier caught Harry's gaze and gestured toward Godrick with a questioning expression. Harry shook his head slightly—a direct attack would be suicide.
A plan began forming in Harry's mind, desperate and likely foolish, but perhaps their only chance. If they couldn't defeat Godrick at the height of his power, they needed to remove that power.
"The dragon head," Harry whispered as Melina finished healing Nepheli's arm. "That's the key. If we can sever it from his body, he might be vulnerable enough to defeat."
Melina's visible eye widened. "A sound strategy, but nearly impossible to execute. The head will be protected by both Godrick's skill and the dragon's own defenses."
"We don't have to destroy it completely," Harry argued, thinking aloud. "Just enough to make it useless to him. The neck, the connection point—that's where we strike."
Nepheli flexed her newly-healed arm, nodding grimly. "It could work. But how do we get close enough? That fire breath will incinerate us before we're halfway to him."
Harry peered around the tombstone again. Godrick was advancing slowly, the dragon head swinging from side to side as it searched for them among the graves. The grafted lord seemed in no hurry, confident in his newfound power.
"We need a distraction," Harry decided. "Something to draw the dragon's attention while we circle around."
"I still have my crossbow," Captain Artan offered, pulling the small weapon from his belt. "Not much use against that monster, but it might keep his attention for a few seconds."
"It's not enough," Melina said softly. "You need something that can withstand dragonfire, at least briefly."
Harry's thoughts raced, considering and discarding options. His remaining spirit wolf wouldn't last two seconds against that inferno. Grace magic might create a temporary shield, but maintaining it while approaching would drain his already depleted reserves.
Then he remembered his duel with Ordovis and his first duel with Tree Sentinel, and what had turned the tide in that desperate battle.
"My Patronus," Harry said, certainty hardening his resolve. "It's made of pure magic—not flesh and blood. It might not defeat the dragon, but it could distract it long enough for us to get close."
Melina nodded slowly. "It could work. But your Patronus drains your energy significantly, and you're already weakened from battle."
"I don't have a choice," Harry replied, his grip tightening on his sword. "None of us will survive if we stay hidden. Godrick will burn this entire field to find us."
As if to emphasize his point, another gout of flame erupted from the dragon's maw, setting a nearby tree ablaze. The fire illuminated Godrick's grotesque form, casting strange shadows that made his collection of grafted limbs seem to writhe.
"I'll circle left," Nepheli said, her voice quiet but determined. "When your Patronus draws the dragon's attention, I'll try to hamstring Godrick from behind. Might slow him down enough for a clean shot at the neck."
Captain Artan nodded grimly. "I'll go right, provide covering fire with my crossbow. Aim for his eyes—both sets. Blind them if I can."
Harry glanced at Melina. "Can you help Roderika stay hidden? She's not a fighter."
"I will," Melina assured him, though her expression remained troubled. "But Harry... be careful."
Another roar shook the Field of Graves. Godrick was growing impatient with their evasion.
"NOW SHALL GODRICK KNEEL?" the grafted lord bellowed, his voice echoing across the clearing. "I AM THE LORD OF ALL THAT IS GOLDEN! COME OUT AND FACE ME, TARNISHED!"
The dragon head punctuated his challenge with another burst of flame, this one cutting a swath through a row of tombstones, reducing ancient stone to molten slag.
"Go," Harry urged his companions. "Get into position. On my signal, we move together."
Nepheli squeezed his shoulder once, then slipped away, keeping low among the graves as she circled toward Godrick's flank. Captain Artan followed suit in the opposite direction.
Melina lingered a moment longer. "The dragon head must be severed completely," she warned. "Even partially attached, it will still channel power to Godrick." Her hand touched his cheek briefly. "Be swift, be sure."
Then she too vanished, moving silently toward Roderika's hiding place.
Alone behind the tombstone, Harry gathered his thoughts and strength. His body ached from a dozen wounds, and the mental fatigue of extended combat dragged at his mind like lead weights. But beneath the exhaustion burned a determined fury.
This ended now. No more grafting. No more innocent people torn apart to feed one madman's delusions of godhood.
Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the memories that gave him strength—Ron and Hermione's faces, laughing together in the Gryffindor common room. Sirius's words, promising a home away from the Dursleys. Melina's kiss, still fresh in his mind. The camaraderie he'd formed with Captain Artan, Nepheli, and Roderika.
Warmth spread through his chest, pushing back the pain and fatigue. Harry raised his hand, channeling both his Hogwarts magic and the grace he'd learned in the Lands Between.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The golden elk materialized once more, though noticeably dimmer than before. Harry could feel the drain on his already depleted magical reserves, but they needed every advantage they could muster against the wounded yet still formidable demigod.
The Patronus charged immediately, antlers lowered as it raced toward Godrick. The grafted lord raised his axe to meet the charge, but the elk swerved at the last moment, circling around to Godrick's blind side where the dragon head had been attached.
"Nepheli! Now!" Harry shouted.
Nepheli Loux seized the opportunity, darting in with her twin axes raised. While Godrick was distracted by the Patronus, she targeted the partially severed dragon neck.
The axes bit deep, cutting through scaled flesh and bone, but still couldn't completely sever the connection. The neck was nearly severed, hanging by threads of tissue, but it wasn't enough.
Godrick howled in agony and rage. One of his secondary arms—this one tipped with what appeared to be a lion's paw—lashed out, catching Nepheli squarely in the chest. The force of the blow sent her flying backward, her body crashing into a tombstone with a sickening crack.
"NEPHELI!" Harry cried out. Blood streamed from her nose and mouth as she lay motionless against the broken stone, then she started puking, chunks of blood and teeth escaped her mouth, falling on the gravestone near her.
Godrick advanced on her fallen form, axe raised for a killing blow. "Female warriors make excellent material," he growled, his mismatched eyes gleaming with malice. "Their tendons have such... elasticity."
Before Harry could reach them, Captain Artan appeared from nowhere, throwing himself between Godrick and Nepheli. His sword slashed upward, cutting deeply into one of Godrick's arms and causing the grafted lord to recoil in pain.
"You'll not have her," Artan snarled, his weathered face tight with determination.
Godrick's expression shifted from pain to cold fury. "The defector," he said, his voice suddenly calm and all the more terrifying for it. "I remember you, Captain Artan. You were once loyal. Once worthy."
"I serve a better master now," Artan replied.
Harry was running, pushing his battered body to its limit, but the distance between them stretched impossibly long. He saw Godrick raise his massive golden axe, saw Captain Artan brace himself for the blow, sword raised in defiance.
"ARTAN! MOVE!"
The axe descended. Captain Artan tried to parry, but the sheer power behind Godrick's swing shattered his defense. The golden edge cut through armor, flesh, and bone in one terrible stroke, separating Artan's torso from his lower body.
Blood erupted in a crimson fountain as the veteran soldier's lower half collapsed to the ground. His upper body, severed at the waist, fell backward, entrails spilling onto the blood-soaked earth. By some horrible miracle, Artan remained conscious, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at his own bisected body.
Harry skidded to a halt, horror freezing him in place. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no..."
Godrick turned his attention to Harry, seemingly unconcerned with the barely-living torso of Captain Artan lying in a spreading pool of blood and viscera. The grafted lord's expression was almost serene, as if the slaughter had soothed some inner turmoil.
"Your turn, Tarnished," he said, advancing with measured steps. "But I'll keep you intact. Mostly."
Harry raised his sword, golden light flickering weakly along the blade. His Patronus moved to his side, but its light had dimmed significantly, its form becoming translucent as Harry's magical reserves dwindled.
Desperate, Harry attacked first, launching himself at Godrick with a direct thrust aimed at the grafted lord's heart. It was a reckless move born of rage and grief, and Godrick countered it with contemptuous ease. The massive axe knocked Harry's sword aside, leaving him open for the follow-up attack.
Godrick's secondary arms lashed out, three different blades slicing into Harry's unprotected chest and side. Pain exploded through his body as steel cut flesh, drawing lines of fire across his torso. He staggered backward, blood soaking his tattered armor.
Before he could recover, Godrick struck again. This time, the flat of the golden axe caught Harry's right arm with crushing force. Bone snapped audibly, sending white-hot agony shooting up to his shoulder. His sword fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the blood-slicked ground.
Harry collapsed to one knee, his broken arm hanging uselessly at his side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and spots danced at the edges of his vision. His Patronus flickered once, twice, then faded entirely as Harry's concentration shattered under the weight of his injuries.
"Better," Godrick said, standing over him with axe raised. "I need you alive for the grafting, but not necessarily intact." His misshapen mouth twisted in a grotesque parody of a smile. "Your sword arm will make a fine addition to my collection. And those eyes... such an unusual color. They'll look splendid on one of my faces, don't you think?"
Harry tried to rise but couldn't find the strength. His body had reached its limit, pushed beyond endurance by the long battle and grievous wounds. He glanced at Captain Artan's bisected body, at Nepheli's crumpled form, at the partially severed dragon head still twitching on the bloody ground.
I've failed them, he thought, despair washing over him. I've failed everyone.
A movement behind Godrick caught Harry's eye. From her hiding place among the distant tombstones, Roderika had emerged. Her hands were raised, golden light swirling around her fingertips as she wove an incantation. Harry recognized the gesture—a spirit summon.
Spectral blue forms materialized behind Godrick—not wolves this time, but armored knights with glowing swords. They attacked immediately, their ethereal blades cutting into Godrick's back. The grafted lord roared in surprise and pain, spinning to face this new threat.
The distraction gave Harry precious seconds to gather what little strength remained. He couldn't stand, couldn't fight effectively with a broken arm and bleeding wounds, but he refused to surrender. His fingers closed around the hilt of his fallen sword.
Godrick made short work of Roderika's spirit knights, his axe cleaving through their spectral forms with brutal efficiency. Each cut dispelled more of the summoned warriors until none remained. But their sacrifice had accomplished something—two more of Godrick's grafted limbs had been severed in the chaos, falling to the ground where they twitched with independent life before going still.
The grafted lord turned back to Harry, his breathing labored but his stance still strong. "Clever," he admitted grudgingly. "But futile."
A wet, gurgling sound drew both their attention. Captain Artan, impossibly, still lived. His upper body had dragged itself several feet, leaving a slick trail of blood and entrails behind it. His face was ashen, death clearly moments away, but his eyes burned with fury.
"Harry," he called, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own blood bubbling in his throat. "For Limgrave."
With trembling hands, Artan raised his small crossbow. The bolt was already loaded, the weapon aimed directly at Godrick's face.
Godrick laughed, genuinely amused by the dying man's defiance. "What do you hope to accomplish with that toy, Captain? You couldn't kill me when you were whole. What chance do you have as half a man?"
"Not trying to kill you," Artan replied, blood spilling from his mouth with each word. "Just trying to blind you."
He pulled the trigger. The crossbow bolt flew true, striking Godrick's left eye with a wet sound. The mismatched orb burst, viscous fluid running down the grafted lord's cheek as he howled in agony, his hands flying to his ruined eye.
Artan managed a blood-stained smile, his gaze finding Harry's one last time. "Make it count," he whispered. Then his eyes glazed over, his head slumping forward as the last of his life ebbed away.
Grief and rage surged through Harry in equal measure. Captain Artan, who'd defected from Godrick's army to help him, who'd taught him swordsmanship, who'd fought beside him despite knowing the odds—was gone. Dead because Harry hadn't been strong enough, fast enough, to save him.
"YOU FILTH!" Godrick shrieked, blood streaming from his ruined eye. "YOU DARE? YOU DARE WOUND THE FACE OF A GOD?"
The grafted lord staggered toward Artan's corpse, massive axe raised high. "I'LL HACK YOU TO PIECES! I'LL GRAFT EVERY SCRAP OF YOU TO THE LOWEST, FILTHIEST PART OF MY COLLECTION!"
Something broke inside Harry—The silver ring on Harry's finger—Ranni's gift—suddenly flared with brilliant blue light. The energy surged up his arm and into his blade, which transformed before his eyes. The golden glow of grace magic was replaced by the azure brilliance of Carian sorcery, the blade extending and broadening into the familiar form of the Carian Greatsword.
Godrick turned to face Harry, ready to end this, but because he was focused on Harry, he didn't notice something else.
Harry's last surviving spirit wolf, which had been hiding among the tombstones since earlier in the battle, suddenly emerged. It charged silently across the blood-soaked ground, teeth bared in a spectral snarl.
The spirit wolf leapt, clamping its jaws around Godrick's face. Its ethereal teeth sank into the grafted lord's remaining eye, drawing a scream of pain and rage that shook the very stones of the Field of Graves.
"GET OFF ME! FILTHY BEAST!" Godrick thrashed wildly, his axe swinging in uncoordinated arcs as he tried to dislodge the spirit wolf. One blow connected, dispelling the summon in a burst of blue light, but the damage was done—both of Godrick's eyes were ruined, leaving him blind and disoriented.
With a wordless cry, Harry charged. His body screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain, channeling every last ounce of strength into this final attack.
Godrick sensed his approach too late. The grafted lord swung his axe blindly, but without sight to guide the blow, it passed harmlessly over Harry's head. Harry ducked under the wild swing and drove the Carian Greatsword directly at the junction where the dragon head remained partially attached.
The azure blade cut through the remaining tissue and energy tendrils like they were mist. The dragon head separated completely, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. The golden energy connecting it to Godrick snapped, causing the grafted lord to stumble.
"NO!" Godrick wailed, his voice suddenly weaker, more human. "MY POWER!"
Harry didn't stop. Pivoting on his heel, he channeled his remaining grace magic—not into his sword but into Godrick's massive right arm, the one that wielded the golden axe. The arm wasn't just one grafted limb but many, fused together to create a monstrosity of unnatural strength.
Tiny golden lights—similar to those Harry had placed earlier—formed within the grafted flesh, unseen by the blinded Godrick. With a thought, Harry detonated them.
Godrick's primary arm erupted from within, grafted flesh and bone spraying outward in a grisly shower. The golden axe fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the ground as the arm that had wielded it disintegrated into its component parts—dozens of severed hands and forearms raining down around them.
Godrick fell to his knees, blind and mutilated, most of his grafted collection now lying in pieces around him. Blood poured from the stumps where his primary arms had been attached, forming a growing pool beneath him.
"Impossible," he gasped, his voice suddenly small, almost childlike in its disbelief. "I am... of the golden lineage... I cannot fall to a mere Tarnished..."
"You fell the moment you decided other people's bodies were yours to take," Harry said, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.
Suddenly, the Carian Greatsword flickered and vanished, the blue energy dissipating as Harry's reserves hit their limit. He was left holding just the ordinary Lordsworn's Greatsword, its steel edge notched and bloodied from the battle.
Godrick, sensing Harry's power waning, began to crawl backward, leaving a trail of red and golden blood in his wake. Without his grafted limbs, without the dragon's power, he moved like a wounded insect—pathetic and desperate.
"Wait," Godrick gasped, his ruined face contorting with fear. "Mercy, Tarnished! Show mercy!" His remaining limbs scrabbled uselessly at the blood-soaked earth. "I am of royal blood! I can reward you! Power, riches, knowledge—all can be yours!"
Harry approached slowly, each step deliberate despite the blood leaking steadily from his broken arm. His face was expressionless, green eyes cold as winter as he watched the once-mighty lord reduced to begging.
"Please," Godrick whimpered, his voice rising to a desperate pitch. "I'll serve you! I'll teach you grafting! Think of what we could accomplish together!"
Harry said nothing. He reached Godrick's legs—still intact, still strong enough to carry the grafted lord away if given the chance. Without hesitation, Harry swung his sword in a perfect horizontal cut, severing both limbs at the knees.
Godrick's scream echoed across the Field of Graves. He collapsed onto his back, the stumps of his legs spurting blood, his remaining grafted parts twitching.
"You can't," Godrick sobbed, all pretense of divinity gone. "I am Godrick the Golden! I am—"
"You're nothing," Harry said, his voice flat and cold as a frozen lake. "Just do me a favor and die already."
The sword fell once more, cleaving through Godrick's neck in a single, perfect stroke. The grafted lord's head rolled to the side, his mismatched eyes wide with final disbelief. Blood—red blood, human blood, not the golden ichor of his divine pretensions—pumped from the severed neck, pooling beneath his headless corpse.
He turned to survey the battlefield, his vision blurring from exhaustion and blood loss. Captain Artan's bisected body lay still, his sightless eyes staring at nothing. Nepheli remained crumpled against the broken tombstone, though Harry could see her chest rising and falling—still alive, if barely.
Roderika emerged from her hiding place, hurrying to Nepheli's side. Behind her, Melina materialized from golden light, her expression grave as she took in the carnage.
"Harry," Melina called softly, moving to his side to support him as his legs threatened to give way.
"Artan," Harry managed, his voice cracking. "He's—"
"I know," Melina said gently, guiding him to sit on a relatively intact tombstone. "He died a warrior's death, saving his comrades. There is no higher honor in the Lands Between."
The words brought little comfort. Harry stared at the remains of Captain Artan, the man who had defected from Godrick's army to help him, who had taught him swordsmanship, who had stood beside him against impossible odds.
"It's my fault," Harry whispered, his throat tight with unshed tears. "If I'd been stronger, faster—"
"No," Melina interrupted firmly. "The blame lies with Godrick alone. Captain Artan chose his path, just as you chose yours." Her hand rested gently on his uninjured shoulder. "And that path led to victory. Godrick the Grafted is no more."
Harry looked at the fallen demigod, at the scattered remains of his grotesque collection. So many lives destroyed for one man's twisted ambition. So much suffering.
"What now?" he asked, suddenly aware of how very tired he was. His body ached, his broken arm throbbed with each heartbeat, and exhaustion pulled at him.
"Now," Melina said, beginning to channel healing magic into his most serious wounds, "we tend to the injured. We honor the fallen. And then..." Her visible eye met his, determination clear in her gaze. "We continue our journey. The path to the Erdtree stretches beyond Stormveil, and there are greater challenges ahead."
Harry nodded wearily. The battle was won, but at a terrible cost. Captain Artan would never see the lands beyond Stormveil. How many more would fall before this journey was complete? Suddenly, he felt a burst of warmth in his chest, and he realised that he was absorbing Godrick's runes, and Harry could not remember ever absorbing as many runes from one single kill.
I'll remember, he vowed, watching as Roderika and Melina carefully moved Nepheli to safety. I'll carry your courage with me. And I'll make sure your sacrifice wasn't in vain.
As Melina continued channeling her healing magic into his wounds, a strange sensation washed over Harry. He looked down at his hands to find them glowing with a golden light that seemed to emanate from within, growing brighter by the second.
"Harry?" Melina's voice was sharp with concern.
The golden glow intensified, spreading up his arms and across his torso. Harry's eyes widened in realization—he had stayed too long in the Lands Between.
The sensation was neither painful nor pleasant, but distinctly unsettling. "My world—I'm returning to it."
Melina's hand tightened on his shoulder. "But your wounds—you're not fully healed!"
"I'll return," Harry promised urgently, feeling the pull growing stronger. "As soon as possible. I won't abandon you or this world."
Melina reached for him, her expression alarmed. "Something's wrong. This isn't how the transition should—"
Her words were cut off as the golden light flared blindingly bright. Harry felt a wrenching sensation, as if his very being was being torn across some vast, impossible distance.
Then, abruptly, he was elsewhere.
Harry grunted in pain as he crashed onto a hard wooden floor, his broken arm sending waves of agony through his body. The familiar smell of furniture polish and the stale air told him where he was before his vision even cleared—his bedroom at the Dursleys' house.
Blood leaked steadily from his many wounds, soaking into the cheap carpet. His Lordsworn's Greatsword clattered to the floor beside him, its metallic ring seeming impossibly loud in the quiet suburban house.
I need to heal myself, he thought frantically, trying to focus through the pain. The Minor Erdtree incantation—if I can just create a small healing tree...
But his concentration was shattered by the sound of his bedroom door swinging open. Harry looked up sharply, expecting to see Uncle Vernon's purple face contorted with rage at the mess.
Instead, a young woman with bright pink hair stood in the doorway, her wand aimed directly at his heart. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in his blood-soaked appearance, the strange sword on the floor, and the grievous wounds visible through his torn clothing.
"Harry Potter?" she asked, clearly stunned by the scene before her.
Harry managed a weak nod before darkness claimed him, his last thought a desperate hope that whoever this witch was, she might help him before he bled to death on his bedroom floor.
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