The moment they collided; the clock tower shook to its foundations. A shockwave ripped outward, rattling the air. Lamar's maniacal laughter twisted through the clash of steel, his massive scythe spinning and arcing, catching every furious strike from Godric and Asriel. Sparks burst with each deflection, flames whipped with the crack of lightning, filling the battlefield in a storm of heat and light.
Godric moved like living lightning, each footfall shattering the floor as he darted around Lamar, his blade coming in at blinding angles but every strike met the unyielding bite of steel. Lamar parried each one, his scythes never faltering.
Asriel's claymore came in with the fury of a tempest, blow after blow crashing against Lamar's armor. Steel rang, but the black plates held, flawless beneath the onslaught. Lamar vaulted back, boots skidding across stone, before planting against the wall and launching himself forward. Godric intercepted mid-leap, sword glowing with a crimson heat, unleashing a flurry meant to overwhelm. Lamar crossed his scythes, caught the assault, and forced the blade wide before ramming the blunt end into Godric's chest, sending him skidding backward.
Landing in a roll, Lamar pushed off the floor, only for Asriel to meet him mid-air, his boot crashing into Lamar's face. The impact spun him down to the stone, but he caught himself in the roll, snapping upright. Asriel surged forward, claymore raised, but Lamar stepped into the swing, driving his knee into Asriel's gut. The air left him in a choked gasp. Lamar seized him by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the floor, stone cracking under the blow. He then kicked him in the side, sending him barreling across the floor.
Godric surged forward, lightning flaring in jagged bursts around him, his blade raised high as flames roared along its edge. "Calidus Gladius," he cried, the heat intensifying. "Infernus!"
The explosion tore through the clock tower floor, stone erupting in a shower of fractured debris. Heat washed over them in a blinding wave. Godric staggered back, the hilt trembling in his grip, his hands raw and bloodied, skin blackened where the fire had bitten deep. His teeth clenched against the pain.
Lamar brushed the last licks of flame from his armor, his eyes dropping to the boy's hands. "Oh, that looks positively agonizing, boy," he said with a slow tilt of the head. "I know your sort. Grit, spirit, and stubbornness enough to drive you past the point where your body starts to break… until you're crawling on fumes, still convinced you can win." He chuckled darkly. "Just like Wilhelm Reinhardt. But here's the truth—limits exist for a reason. And yours," his eyes narrowed, "is closing fast."
His gaze swept down to Godric's legs, noting the faint tremor in them, the subtle unsteadiness in his stance. "All that training's made you stronger, I'll grant you that. But even I know a spell like Vis Vitalis tears through you like rot. How long before it takes you down, not me?"
Godric gave no answer. Instead, he straightened, fingers finding the tattered crimson scarf at his neck. He pulled it free, winding it tight around his right hand, binding sword to flesh. The cloth strained as he bit down, tugging it into place. Then, with a sharp slash through the air, he gripped the hilt with both hands, his circuits flaring once more before vanishing in a burst of lightning.
In an instant, he was upon Lamar. The scythes rose to meet the strike, steel screaming as they locked. They moved in a whirlwind of blows. Godric's blade cutting from every angle, Lamar's scythes deflecting each one with practiced precision. Sparks flashed, steel rang, and neither gave ground.
From behind, Asriel came in fast, his claymore sweeping for the kill. Godric's blade lifted to meet the next strike.
Lamar's smirk returned, the crystal core on his chest pulsing brighter, the circuits of his armor lighting in response. Just as Godric's strike descended, Lamar vanished in a blur, reappearing at his flank. Godric turned sharply, too late. The scythe swept in; he caught the blow, but the tip hooked and tore across his arm, shredding his jacket and drawing blood. The pain jolted through him as he staggered, tumbling across the stone before rolling back into a crouch.
Lamar caught the descending claymore on his raised arm, the blow ringing against his armor with a harsh clang. In the same breath, his scythe swept low, the blade carving across Asriel's side and drawing a wince of pain. He drove the weapon's haft up into Asriel's face, the crack echoing through the hall, before seizing him by his wrist.
With a sudden pivot, Lamar hurled him aside, spinning with the motion. Asriel twisted in the air, landing in a crouch, one hand clamped over his wounded side. His breath was sharp, strained. Yet before he could recover, Lamar was already there, materializing in a blur.
Amber eyes widened in alarm—too late. The older man spun, his boot slamming into the back of Asriel's head. The impact drove him face-first into the stone with a deafening crunch, the floor splintering beneath him. Blackened blood spattered across the cracks.
Lamar straightened, fingers combing back his hair.
"It's not quite Vis Vitalis, boy," Lamar said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk, "but it comes close enough. Especially when you're only capable of wielding a fraction of its true potential."
He leaned back slightly, as if weighing the moment. "I'll grant you this—I was intrigued when I heard you'd stumbled upon fragments of a long-lost magic from a bygone age. But like everything you've scraped together, it's a pale imitation. As I've said before, books will only carry you so far, and without a master's hand to guide you, all you've done is carve your mistakes into habit."
His scythe came to rest on his shoulder as he went on. "That being said," his tone shifted, edged with pride, "I never had a teacher."
With sudden force, he drove his boot into Asriel's back, forcing the man down. Asriel turned his head, eyes blazing up at him, but Lamar only looked down with cold amusement.
"Like Valerian here, every skill I possess was forged in battle. Every warm body I cut down, every fool arrogant enough to stand before me, was nothing more than practice." He gestured dismissively with one hand. "Now you—your foundation is solid, I'll grant you that. But you're only ever as strong as the man who taught you. Whoever he was, perhaps he was a master in his time and place, but a far cry from warriors the likes of me."
"You'll not speak ill of my uncle, you bastard," Godric said, straightening. "He's ten times the man you are, and ten times the man you'll ever hope to be."
Lamar rolled his shoulders with a casual shrug. "Oh, I've no doubt of that," he said evenly. "A king of fools remains king so long as he's surrounded by fools." His sneer deepened. "You call me a fraud, Gryffindor, yet here you stand, a patchwork warrior stitched together from scraps of magic and skill you've scavenged along the way. Tricks, fragments, borrowed power, all pieced together to give yourself the illusion of strength."
Lamar's eyes narrowed to slits. "You cherry-pick what serves you, never mastering a thing. Whether through lack of time or lack of true expertise. Just enough polish to make it useful before you scuttle off to the next trick." His smirk curved, steeped in contempt. "That recklessness of yours might have carried you through the rabble in the Congregation, but I assure you," he leaned in slightly, "I am a far cry from that pitiful wretch you humbled—Volg Dryfus."
His words hardened. "I am the Reaper of the Reeds. The Butcher of Clydesdale. The Grim Reaper. Director of the Clock Tower. And soon… the ruler of Avalon."
He spun his scythe, steel whispering through the air like a promise of death. "And now, Gryffindor, my patience has not merely worn thin—it is gone."
Purple lightning coiled around Lamar's frame, the air thickening with a violent charge. The crystal in his chestplate flared, and in an instant, he vanished. Godric's circuits blazed to life, crimson eyes snapping toward the blur that reappeared before him. Scythes already in mid-arc.
Time seemed to slow, every motion dragging like bodies through molasses. Then it all snapped back. Their weapons met in a deafening clash, and the space erupted into a storm of movement. They chased each other through the chamber at blistering speed, every step fracturing the stone beneath them, every swing gouging deep scars into the walls. Each collision sent gusts ripping through the room, carrying dust and shards outward in violent bursts.
Asriel rose, bracing himself with his claymore as his amber gaze tried, and failed, to track the fight. All he saw were two blurs, yellow and purple lightning colliding in a chaos of afterimages, their weapons flashing like streaks of steel across the air.
To Godric, Lamar's movements no longer slowed. Having matched his speed, they were crystal clear, every attack telegraphed and countered with compact, lethal precision. Dust and rubble seemed suspended around them, frozen in time as steel screamed against steel. Sparks burst in showers with every impact.
Lamar's expression was unhinged, eyes narrowed to pinpoints, his grin a slash of madness. Godric's strikes hammered against the armor to no avail, his blade skittering over obsidian plates that refused to yield. Lamar's scythes, however, tore through Godric's battle garb, fabric shredding, the bite of steel carving shallow lines across his skin. A thin trail of blood traced his cheek.
Yet Godric's stance never faltered. His grip was locked. His gaze fixed on the man before him. But as a raw cry ripped from his throat, his sword met Lamar's scythe in a grinding clash, braced against the weight bearing down on him.
Then it hit, sharp and merciless, a sensation he knew all too well. It tore through him like a needle piercing every sinew, every nerve, until his breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened. This was it. The edge. The breaking point.
His footing wavered, and something surged upward from his gut to his chest. He convulsed, blood spilling from his lips and splattering against the stone at his feet. Pain raked through his body in a relentless wave, as though every muscle clenched in unison, locking him in a cage of agony.
And across from him, Lamar's smirk deepened.
"And there it is. You've fought valiantly, Gryffindor," Lamar said. "Against another, you might have won a victory worth singing about." With a violent twist, he curled Godric's sword away, steel shrieking against steel. Godric's eyes snapped wide.
"But you have been weighed…" Lamar's scythe came down in a brutal swing. Godric caught it, but the impact rattled through his arms.
"You have been measured…" Another strike sent him stumbling, boots grinding against shattered stone.
Then Lamar was gone.
Godric's gaze darted—too late. A sharp, tearing pain exploded through his chest. He looked down to see the curved blade of the scythe erupting from his sternum, its steel slick with his blood. His breath hitched, a wet choke breaking past his lips as the weapon was yanked free. Blood poured down his front, spattering the floor in a crimson spray. The tie of his scarf loosened as his sword slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground, its fiery glow dying.
Godric crumpled to his knees, then pitched forward onto the cold stone.
"…and like so many before you. You have been found wanted," Lamar finished, flicking the blood from his scythe in a single, dismissive motion.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Bran. Winston. Rowena. Even Asriel. All frozen, their horror etched into their faces.
"Godric!" Rowena's voice broke, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.
Asriel roared, blackened flames erupting from his blade as his body trembled with fury. He lunged, the ground cracking under his charge. Lamar met him head-on, steel shrieking as scythe and claymore collided, the impact bursting into a concussive shockwave that rattled the walls.
Steel screamed against steel in a storm of sparks, each blow hammering against Lamar's defenses, but the former Director held firm. His scythe spun, and the sharpened butt of the haft lashed out, carving a brutal gash across Asriel's chest. Blackened blood splattered across the stone.
Asriel staggered back, his breath ragged. Lamar surged forward in a blur, his armor sparking with coils of violet lightning. The air cracked under the sheer speed of his charge.
Amber eyes locked on him, Asriel stood his ground, until the scythe came down. In an instant, his form dissolved into a burst of black smoke and glowing embers. The blade struck stone, splitting it in a deafening crack.
Lamar's head snapped up, eyes widening, turning around just as Asriel materialized behind him. The claymore swept in a vicious arc, biting deep into Lamar's face.
The older man reeled back with a cry, clutching at the wound. Blood ran down from a jagged line carved from his left cheek, across the bridge of his nose, and up toward his scalp. Panting, Lamar raised his scythe, catching his reflection in the steel. His eyes narrowed.
"Thought I'd give you a matching set," Asriel said, motioning to the stitched scar running across his own face. "Something to remember me by, every time you look in a mirror."
Lamar's features twisted, the calm giving way to a fury that bared his teeth. With a roar, he lunged.
Steel clashed in a storm of sparks, each blow heavier, wilder than the last. Lamar's strikes came in a relentless rhythm, his scythe whistling through the air with murderous precision. Asriel matched him step for step, vanishing into smoke and reappearing to parry, each impact rattling through his arms.
But the strain was showing. The black fire along his blade wavered. Lamar seized the opening—hearing the hitch in Asriel's breath, feeling the slowing guard. One savage swing knocked the claymore high, the force jolting Asriel's stance open.
And then the scythe came down.
The blade tore clean through flesh and bone. Asriel's scream ripped through the hall as his severed arm hit the ground. The claymore tumbled from his grasp, spinning end over end until it struck the stone with a resounding clang—landing upright, blade-first, before Godric's still form.
Lamar pivoted and drove a savage kick into Asriel's chest, sending him skidding and rolling until he came to a ragged stop before the Ravenclaws.
"Asriel!" Bran dropped to his side, kneeling as blood poured between the Valerian's fingers, the stone beneath them already slick.
Asriel clenched his teeth against the agony, thick, tar-dark blood dripping steadily onto the stone beneath him. A ragged cough wracked his chest, sending a fresh spray down his chin.
Lamar's shadow loomed over them. "So, this is it?" His gaze swept over Asriel like one studying a broken weapon. "The extent of Nemesis' power? The so-called Goddess of Vengeance, and you—her chosen harbinger?" He laughed, low at first, then sharp and derisive. "You clawed your way out of Hell itself just to be dragged back by the very man you swore to kill. Pathetic."
His smirk widened, predatory. "Face it, Valerian. You couldn't kill me then, and you can't kill me now. Not you. Not that pitiful whelp lying at my feet. Not every wretch in Avalon who's dreamt of my end. I've stared death in the face more times than I care to count, and every damned time, it blinked first."
He leaned forward, his tone mocking. "You've failed, Valerian… just as you failed your precious Tala."
Rowena couldn't tear her eyes from Godric's motionless form. Her trembling hand inched toward him, fingers quivering in midair, as if afraid that touching him would confirm what her heart already knew. "Please… get up," she whispered, the words splintering under the weight of her fear.
"And now," Lamar tightened both hands on the scythe, his grin curdling into something equal parts rage and grim satisfaction, "I'll be rid of every last wretched nuisance. Tearing out the thorns that have seen fit to claw at my ambitions."
His gaze locked on Winston, cold and unwavering. "My only regret," he said, "is that I didn't do it sooner."
With a roar, Lamar hurled himself forward, the war cry rattling through the chamber as Winston, Bran, and Asriel scrambled to their feet to meet him.
****
For Godric, the world had slowed to a crawl. Each second stretching thin, as if time itself refused to move. His shirt clung to him, heavy and wet, the warmth leeching away with every drop of blood leaving his body. His heartbeat thudded against his ears, slower and slower. He raised his head, the metallic tang of blood coating his tongue, each cough tearing more from his lungs and splattering the stone at his feet. His crimson eyes locked forward, unblinking, fixed on the scene unfolding before him.
Lamar's steps cracked the floor beneath him, arcs of purple lightning crawling across his armor. Winston and Bran rushed to meet him, wands gripped tight. The sharp, chilling caws of ravens split the air, black wings cutting through smoke and dust before dissolving into shadow that coiled around their wands. A deep, consuming glow burst to life, then faded, leaving weapons reborn: blackened bows of obsidian, sharp and cold as midnight.
Asriel moved to shield Rowena, his remaining arm outstretched in defiance. But Godric knew, deep in his bones, it would not matter. Not against Lamar. Not against that armor. His teeth clenched at the truth. He was going to die. Rowena would follow. Her family would fall. Excalibur would be crushed. Caerleon would join Dah-Tan in ruin, and Burgess would plunge Avalon into a darkness unseen since Sarkon and the Calamity.
Unless…
His gaze settled upon the black claymore before him. The thought crept in, dark and dangerous. His eyes shifted to Rowena. Her sapphire gaze wide with fear, tears streaking down her cheeks. His jaw tightened.
Pain flared through every muscle as he forced himself upright. His body screamed in protest, every breath wet and ragged, but he didn't stop. Step by step, he closed the distance, eyes fixed on the sword. A cry ripped from his throat as his hand closed around the hilt.
And then, the world went black.
****
Godric stood in a world without horizon. A boundless void. Yet it was not darkness, for he could see himself clearly. His hands rose instinctively into view. They were whole, unburned. The wound that Lamar's scythe had torn through his chest was gone.
Beneath his boots, the ground was slick, as though a thin layer of water clung to a glassy surface. His reflection stared back at him from below, distorted in the faint ripples that spread with every movement. Then, a sensation crawled up his spine. A presence behind him.
He turned. His breath caught.
A figure stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black armor unfamiliar to any forge he knew. Wisps of smoke curled from the plates as though the man's very form bled shadow. His skin was pale, almost ashen, but his face was born of nightmares. Thick, tar-like blood streamed from empty sockets, clinging to his skin like a grotesque mask. Where eyes should have been, there was nothing, only an unending void that seemed to look straight through him.
Godric didn't know him. And yet, somewhere deep within, he already did.
"Who… who are you?" Godric's voice came low, uncertain.
The man's reply was a thunderous boom, too deep to be human, the sound reverberating in Godric's bones. "I might ask you the same, boy. But I am far more curious as to why."
He took a step forward, the creak of his armor echoing in the void. "Why do you seek the power of the sword?"
Godric's eyes widened in realization. "You… you're Damocles."
"The first Avenger," the figure intoned. "Harbinger of Nemesis, Goddess of Vengeance… and of every successor who took the blade after me." His head turned slightly, as if glancing toward a memory. "As did Asriel Valerien."
His empty gaze fixed on Godric once more. "But you still have not answered me, boy."
Godric stood firm under that eyeless stare, yet something in him recoiled as if the void itself were peeling him apart. The black water beneath his boots rippled outward in slow, deliberate rings, and in the silence between them, the sound of his own heartbeat was deafening.
Damocles stepped closer, the air thickening with each creak of his armor. "Why do you seek the sword's power?" The question hung in the air.
Godric opened his mouth to answer, but Damocles' words cut through him like a blade. "Do not speak lightly, boy. The sword is no gift to be claimed. It is a burden. A chain. It answers only to those who would bleed for its cause… and burn for it."
He circled Godric slowly, each step measured, predatory. "You carry rage in you. I can feel it gnawing at the edges of your soul. You wish to wield vengeance as your weapon but is it for justice or for your pride?"
Godric's fists clenched, the reflection at his feet warping with the force of it. "You already know why I'm here. I want Lamar Burgess dead. He stole from me the one I loved more than life itself, and for that I'll see him bleed. I'll hear him scream. I'll watch him suffer for every vile thing he's ever done."
"Lies," Damocles growled, the sound carrying a weight that seemed to crawl into the marrow. "Do you think yourself the first to chase this power on the back of falsehoods?" He lifted his head slowly, pausing as if weighing the thought. "No… perhaps not falsehoods in their entirety, but neither do they hold the whole truth."
Godric swallowed hard, his chest tight beneath the weight of the old general's words.
"Every man who has grasped this blade believed himself worthy," he continued. "Most were not. They reached for vengeance, retribution, convinced that they were entitled to strike back at those who had wronged them. Oft for the pettiest of slights. And when their will faltered…"
He stopped directly before Godric, the void where his eyes should have been locking on him with suffocating weight. "The sword devoured them."
The air grew colder still. Every breath Godric took misting in the dim light.
"The power of Nemesis," Damocles carried on, "does not answer to the self-serving. It will not heed the call of those who seek to play the victim's champion, only to inflict the same cruelty they have suffered. It does not bow to childish notions of justice, nor to cowards who use strength to grind their oppressors beneath the same yoke they once bore."
His shadow fell across Godric as he leaned forward. "No. Nemesis answers to a singular will. One that acts not for pride, nor for petty vendetta, but to make the wrong things right. That is the only truth she recognizes. That is the truth I served."
The void stirred as Godric instinctively stepped back. Shadows thickened, curling and twisting like smoke until they coiled around him. Shapes formed within them. Flashes of memory, projected as if upon a phantom screen.
Each image cut deep. Blood on stone. Screams that scraped bone. Innocents butchered while their killers laughed, their faces twisted with joy.
"I have no doubt you seek vengeance, boy," Damocles said.
Godric's breath caught at the next memory, and his blood turned cold. Raine, her face streaked with tears as she clung to him desperately, begging through broken sobs. The image wavered, then shifted. She was falling into Bran's arms, limp, her eyes closed. The vision dissolved, leaving only emptiness.
"That man, Lamar Burgess," Damocles went on, "is worthy of your ire. He has earned your hatred. He may not have struck the final blow, but make no mistake, the fault lies with him." His tone hardened. "And yet… his sins touch more than you."
The smoke shifted again, twisting into a scene from another life. Godric's eyes narrowed. From Asriel's perspective, the world was sideways, face ground into stone as rough hands pinned him down. Before him, Tala was held down by two men, screaming, sobbing, pleading, but they ignored her cries. They tore her clothes off and struck her every time she tried to resist. Then they took her. Again. And again. Godric had to look away. Asriel roared with threats and desperate pleas, but the men only smirked, feeding on her terror. The vision burned, then scattered into nothing.
"Tell me, boy," Damocles asked, "does your vengeance hold a candle to his? The law may have stolen Raine from you, but she lives. She breathes. I will not deny your pain but to claim your burden outweighs his? To presume yourself as worthy of the blade he wields?"
Damocles shook his head.
"So, I ask you one final time, Gryffindor," he said. "Why do you seek the power of the sword? More importantly, why do you believe you are worthy of it? Not the answer you think I wish to hear—the truth. Speak it, or be cast aside as another name the blade will forget."
Godric's breaths came sharp and uneven as he looked up at the towering figure."I want revenge. I won't deny it. For months I've dreamt of running my blade through his heart. I've seen his face on every training dummy I've cut down, imagining each strike carving away the grief that's chained me for so long. And I'll admit it, my grievance may seem small, even petty, compared to the suffering others have endured."
He paused, swallowing hard. "But the pain remains. It has never loosened its grip."
Damocles stood unmoving, a monument of shadow and steel.
"You wanted the truth, so here it is." Godric's gaze hardened, locking onto the figure before him. "Right now, Lamar Burgess is going to slaughter everyone I hold dear, and he won't stop there," he said. "He'll raze Avalon to cinders and crown himself over the ashes, unless I stand in his way."
Godric drew a sharp breath, his jaw set. "And for that, I need your strength."
Damocles tilted his head slightly. "You seek the power of vengeance… to become the harbinger of Nemesis… not to punish, but to protect?"
A faint, mirthless sound escaped him.
"Perhaps Lamar Burgess was right, you are a fool. Our power was never forged for virtue. Those who bore this blade were not heroes, but executioners. Punishers. You come seeking Nemesis for a cause she does not serve. If that is all you offer, then you have wasted your time."
He turned, his footsteps echoing in the void.
"Wait!" Godric cried out as he stepped forward. "I need you! I need your power, your help! Without it, they'll all die!" His hand clawed at his chest as though to tear his heart free. "Take my life, my soul—I offer them willingly!"
Damocles kept walking.
Godric's fist clenched at his side, jaw tight. "Fine, keep your damned power!" he spat. "You and Nemesis… you're nothing but cowards."
The general halted mid-step. Slowly, his head turned over his shoulder. From the darkness ahead, shapes began to form. Silhouettes bathed in shadow, too many to count. They were of every size, every race, yet all faceless, eyeless, and still, Godric could feel the weight of their unseen stares pressing against him.
"What good is vengeance?" Godric exclaimed. "What good is retribution? You kill the ones who wronged you, fine. You make the wrong things right, fine. But then what? They're still gone. The ones you loved, the ones you cherished, they're never coming back."
"Nothing erases what was done. And you, every one of you, gave your souls to Nemesis knowing you'd never see them again. Not in this life, not in the next. You're tarnished, cursed, to walk the depths of Tartarus for all eternity."
He began to pace forward, eyes sweeping over the legion of shadows.
"But I'll bet every one of you has thought it, what if you could have stopped it before it happened? What if you'd been strong enough? Maybe… they'd still be alive. Maybe they'd still be here."
He pressed his hand tighter to his chest, his gaze burning.
"And right now, I can. I can stop this. It's not too late to save them." He met the empty gazes without flinching. "Help me. All of you. Help me make this right."
A stillness settled over the void. Damocles turned fully toward him, his posture rigid, as though ready to speak. But the words never came. His head tilted slightly, then lifted, gaze fixed upward at something far beyond Godric's sight. Whatever he saw, or sensed, rooted him in place.
Slowly, he lowered his head again, the unseen distraction fading from his focus. His gaze locked with Godric's, and in that moment, the space between them seemed to contract, as if the entire void held its breath.
****
Lamar's scythes blurred, the arcs of steel near-impossible to follow. Bran barely had time to draw before a blade ripped across his side. His cry was cut short by a brutal kick to the gut, the force slamming him flat against the stone.
Winston loosed arrow after arrow, the spectral bolts shattering into fading motes as Lamar swept them aside. In the same breath, the Reaper was on him, slashing across his torso and hurling him to the floor.
"Bran! Grandfather!" Rowena cried out.
Lamar didn't stop. His scythe plunged into Asriel's abdomen, the curved blade punching clean through. Blackened blood splattered the stone as Lamar spun, wrenching the weapon free and flinging Asriel like a rag doll into the wall. The impact left a crater; he slid to the ground in a tar-like trail, his breath ragged.
Rowena's world narrowed to the man stalking toward her, that terrible grin stretching across his face, his eyes shrunk to feral pinpoints. The blunt end of the scythe came fast, not to kill—no, he wanted her breathing, trapped, his prize.
Steel crashed between them in a burst of sparks. Lamar's eyes went wide.
Godric was in mid-motion. His skin was ghost-pale, his crimson eyes gone, replaced by amber burning in the hollow sockets of a blackened, blood-smeared mask. Tar-dark streaks bled down his cheeks, dripping from the corners of his eyes. In his grip were two swords: his own, and a black longsword veined with molten fire. The black blade shoved Lamar's scythe aside. In the same motion, the flaming sword in his other hand arced for Lamar's neck.
The clash detonated in an explosive shockwave of fire and fury. Lamar skidded back, gouging the floor with his scythe's haft to stop himself. His gaze rose to meet Godric's, and for the first time, something flickered in his expression that wasn't smugness.
Rowena stared at the black sword, horror dawning in her eyes. "Godric… no…"
From where he struggled to rise, Asriel's voice rasped. "Gryffindor…"
****
Damocles studied him for a long moment, the void around them still as stone. "How… interesting," he said at last, the words drawn out, heavy with judgment. "Our Goddess has heard you. She has seen the lengths to which you would go. But know this, Gryffindor. Her boon comes at a price. And that price… is a soul." He extended one gauntleted hand, a single finger pointing at Godric as if pronouncing sentence.
"I told you before," Godric replied. "Mine is yours for the taking. I will not negotiate. I will not bargain." His gaze dropped to his palm, where the snowflake locket rested. He opened it with care, revealing the photograph inside. "My life. Everything I am, means nothing." His head rose, amber eyes meeting Damocles's empty gaze. "But giving a future to those who deserve to see it. Ensuring no one else walks this path, feels this pain, that is everything."
Damocles inclined his head slightly, like a judge weighing the final plea. "Perhaps. But our Goddess seeks not a pledge… she seeks a wager."
Godric's eyes narrowed at the choice of word.
"Since before the dawn of men, countless souls have reached for power to make the wrong things right. Vengeance for debts owed, blood for blood. As did I," Damocles intoned. "But never… has one sought such power to protect. The notion itself is folly. Pawer exists solely to destroy. Yet you…" His head tilted, the shadowed helm angling down toward Godric. "You are different. And for that, we will grant you our strength… and your soul will remain your own."
Godric's mouth opened, but Damocles lifted a hand to still him.
"So long as your heart and your purpose remain pure," he continued. "But mark this. Should you falter… should you surrender to the darkness festering within… the sword will claim you. Body. And soul." His tone deepened into something almost funereal. "Knowing this… do you still desire it?"
Godric closed the locket with a sharp click. His eyes shut for a heartbeat before opening once more.
He then let out a low chuckle, though his smirk was uneasy, curling faintly. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, eyes narrowing with a glint of challenge. "Where do I sign?"