A/N: Absorbed Cards: Ezio Auditore – Assassin's Creed, Shadow Clone Jutsu – Naruto, Force Push – Star Wars, Zuko (Book 3) – Avatar: TLA, Blink-Dishonored, Spirit Armor-Elder Scrolls, Infinite Vault of Holding
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Late at night, the castle sleeps.
But I don't.
I sit on my bed in the dormitory, curtains drawn, wand lit dimly, and the soft sound of the magical interface hums in my ears.
[GP: 30]
It's been a long few weeks. I've trained, adapted, and planned.
I take a breath and press the panel.
[Spend 30 GP for 10x Pull?]
[Yes.]
The machine hums with low magic.
CLANK. CLACK. CLUNK.
Ten capsules spill into the golden chute, one by one.
I crouch and begin to open them.
A folding camp cot. Simple, durable. Not useless.
A reusable wooden bowl. Cleans itself.
A basic bandolier. Holds throwables.
A satchel of endless salt. Cooking or warding.
A vial of spider venom. Brewable or for coating.
A soapstone chalk stick. Glows. Could be useful for silent tracking.
A fogless travel mirror. Handy for peeking around corners.
A maintenance mallet. Mends gear.
An enchanted notescroll. Records speech. Reusable.
Useful. But nothing game-changing.
Then comes the last card.
A soft thrum of energy pulses as I open the final capsule.
It hovers.
[Rare Character Card: Alucard – Hellsing]
Vampire Powers. Regeneration. Shadow Control.
I stare at the card.
This isn't a flashy power. This is predator magic. Ancient. Cold. Built for survival and dominance. Not flashy like Force Push. Not elegant like firebending. But this is primal power.
I think back to the basilisk.
If I'm going to survive getting close to it, much less catch it, I'll need more than fire or flair. I'll need endurance. Durability. A fallback.
Then there's Quirrell.
I've been keeping an eye but he has yet to step out into the forest. I need him to go after the unicorns for the opportunity I've been lacking. One misstep and I'm exposed. But if I had shadow movement… regenerative defense…
I could end him. Clean. Silent. Final.
I study the card for another moment.
There are no drawbacks listed. No cursed side effects. Just power.
And I know how to control it.
I reach out and tap the card with my wand.
It glows crimson, like blood swirling in glass. Shadows flicker at the edges of the bed. Fangs. Smoke. Hunger.
Then it all rushes into me.
Not painfully. Not violently. Just... sharp.
A chill creeps up my spine. My senses sharpen. I feel the weight of my own heartbeat. Every echo in the room. Every breath beyond the curtain.
My skin feels stronger. Not thicker. Just... more.
I breathe in.
It's cold.
And it's perfect.
I flick my hand. Shadows crawl from the edge of the bed like obedient pets, then vanish.
A quiet smile pulls at my lips.
The basilisk has no idea what's coming.
And Quirrell?
He's already dead.
He just doesn't know it yet.
<><><><><><><>
Clone P.O.V.
Three days have passed since the last roll, and the boss has had us drilling nonstop with the new abilities.
Alucard's power set is absurd. Regeneration, enhanced speed and strength, control over shadows. The kind of magic that turns monsters into myths. How is that just a Rare?
The boss is currently at Astronomy. While he's stargazing, we handle something that has waited long enough.
Myrtle's bathroom is empty. Quiet, echoing, just the way we need it.
I raise my wand and tap the sink. A soft hiss spills into the air as the recording plays. The audio is perfect. The Parseltongue resonates, low and winding.
The pipes respond.
Stone grinds, water trickles. The center sink splits open, revealing a tunnel that breathes darkness.
We do not hesitate.
We jump in.
The fall is long and winding. Water slicks the walls. When we land on the stone floor below, we roll forward and rise in sync.
Weapons ready. Wands at the ready. Shadows whisper around us.
If Riddle senses the chamber opening, let him watch. This is not his hunt.
We are not here to play games.
We move through the damp tunnel with trained precision. One of us cloaks in shadows, slipping ahead unseen. I move in the center, light-footed and silent thanks to Ezio's honed instincts. Every movement is controlled, economical, designed to kill or vanish.
We reach the final door.
Massive. Weathered. Ancient.
We push it open.
The chamber is exactly as the boss described. Columns like bones, water reflecting the serpent statues, the carved head of Salazar looming above like a forgotten god.
And there, curled in deep rest near the far end, is the Basilisk.
It is enormous. Green and gold scales shimmer under a thin sheet of moisture. It lies coiled, breathing slow, massive body wrapped like a sleeping dragon. Even dormant, the air buzzes with pressure.
We do not speak.
One clone readies the enchanted mirror, floating it silently toward the ceiling to avoid direct eye contact. I conjure a frost rune on the stone beneath the serpent's body.
We move fast.
"Glacius Maxima."
The air shatters with sound. Ice explodes outward, spreading beneath the serpent. Cold climbs the Basilisk's sides, pinning it to the floor in sections.
The creature stirs.
Then it moves.
Too fast.
The serpent lunges, jaws open in silence, no roar needed. It is a force of nature, death incarnate.
We scatter.
I Blink behind a column, reappear behind it, and cast Confringo against the floor to cause a quake. Debris scatters, buying time. The second clone ignites his arms with firebending. Flame dances down his arms and he launches a searing blast at the serpent's exposed jaw.
It hisses, head recoiling.
The shadow-wrapped clone uses Alucard's strength to leap straight onto the serpent's spine, driving both heels down with brutal force. It buckles, thrashing. One of its eyes narrows, bleeding where a horn cracked the socket.
We press harder.
I sprint forward, leap off a pillar, and drive both daggers across its back. Sparks fly as firebending heats the metal, slicing into scale.
"Stupefy! Glacius! Depulso!"
Spells rain down in quick succession, freezing, stunning, disorienting.
The Basilisk is powerful, but it is slowing.
Its body cracks with frost. It slips on the ice forming at its base. Its head whips side to side, trying to locate us, but we move too fast. We strike and vanish. We cut and freeze. Ezio and Zuko make a deadly combination.
We do not aim to kill.
We aim to capture.
The shadow clone appears beside the head, dodges a strike, and slams a palm into the temple. Ice forms there too, slowing thought, slowing motion.
It sways.
Now.
I pull the Pokéball from my belt. It hums, hot with magic. The boss warned us. It cannot be stored. Not until it is empty again.
I hurl it forward.
It snaps open midair.
Red light explodes outward. It lashes around the serpent's massive form, twisting and pulling.
The Basilisk rises in panic, but its movements are sluggish now. Frost locks its lower coils. Its jaw opens, but no sound escapes.
The red light swirls faster.
Then it pulls inward.
The serpent begins to vanish. Scale, muscle, bone—drawn into the capsule's heart.
For a moment, resistance.
Then silence.
Click.
The Pokéball lands softly on the ice, steam rising around it.
One blink.
Then two.
The light fades.
Captured.
We do not celebrate.
We check for signs of damage. Only minor injuries. Nothing fatal. Nothing permanent.
We retrieve the Pokéball. It is warm. Alive. Contained.
I flick my wand and seal the chamber. Ice forms over the entrance again, layers of concealment and frost.
We vanish into the shadows.
Mission complete.
<><><><><><><>
The forest is quiet at this hour. Fog drapes the ground like spilled breath, cool and slow. I sit perched in a tree near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, cloaked beneath layered Disillusionment Charms. Even the wind does not know I am here.
Below, one of my clones steps into the small clearing we prepared days ago. Flattened earth, tree cover dense enough to block aerial view, but open enough for movement. A place of introduction.
The Pokéball is in his hand.
It pulses faintly. Heavy with what it holds.
He smirks, the faintest trace of mischief in his eyes, and tosses the Pokéball into the air with a casual flick, like a game of catch.
It opens with a pop of light.
The red energy coils downward and spills across the forest floor. It twists and spins, stretching into length and shape.
The Basilisk emerges slowly. No longer the monstrous predator of legend, but still a towering force of nature. Its body gleams with healing scales. Its eyes remain closed, the eyelids twitching. Its muscles ripple beneath the sheen of mist.
It does not hiss. Not yet. It does not strike.
But it waits.
The clone stands still. Calm. Hands loose at his sides.
He does not speak.
Instead, he reaches into the shared inventory and withdraws the Refillable Health Flask. The glass is etched with silver lines and filled with a soft, glowing liquid.
He opens it, steps forward, and pours the contents gently across the Basilisk's wounded side. The magic flows fast. The scrapes vanish. The cracked scale along its spine smooths.
The serpent shifts slightly. Not in pain. In awareness.
Then the clone moves.
Fast.
He vanishes into shadow, speeds behind the beast, and reappears atop a boulder in front of it. Fire races down his arms. His heel cracks the stone with force as he lands.
Strength. Control. Confidence.
The Basilisk raises its head, tongue flicking.
No fear. But interest.
The clone raises a hand, not in threat, but in challenge.
The serpent hisses. Not in aggression.
Recognition.
He nods and sits on the rock, watching it watch him.
The forest remains still. The Basilisk coils slightly, no longer defensive. It has not been commanded. It has been shown strength and given respect. That is enough.
From my place in the trees, I release the breath I did not realize I was holding.
This is not just a weapon.
It is a partner. If I am careful.
Below, the clone rests his hand lightly against the serpent's thick coil.
A faint chittering echoes through the trees. The Basilisk lifts its head, tongue flicking, alert.
My clone stares at the forest and smirks.
"Hunt."
Then it moves, a blur of muscle and fang, and the night fills with the screams of dying Acromantulas.