Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 45

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing

"Potter was here?"

They sat in what Voldemort presumed to be a solar toward the back of the hawk-like palace of Falconia. It was a circular room with a high ceiling, light curtains fluttering with a passing breeze of the open terrace door. Like the rest of the city, it was grand, pristine and white, and carried a feeling of emptiness.

He was no architect, but he didn't have to be to see that this place was lacking any real substance to it. The place was swarming with muggles, after all. Filthy, disgusting muggles, they walked the streets free with smiles on their faces like their lives actually meant something. How the being sitting across from him could stomach it, Voldemort did not know.

The disguised Godhand sitting across from him regarded him with a disinterested glance. "Indeed. Zodd spoke the truth; he encountered the boy whose fate is tied to your own."

"It will not be for long," Voldemort insisted. The prophecy referred to one who was his equal and he had never been one to share. The fact this being before him could be considered a god was the only thing stopping him from firing off his favorite spell.

"Do you know the full context of the prophecy?" blue eyes met his red ones.

"I know enough." Only what Severus had overheard before being discovered. "I would assume you know it in its entirety?"

"Of course. Causality governs all, that is how prophecy is made."

"And for that, I am grateful." But not toward a once-muggle. "The power bestowed to me has made me magic incarnate. Potter's end will be swift."

"Perhaps," the human Godhand did not sound convinced. "Zodd spoke many a truth, your followers lack proper knowledge of their gift, and, if you were to face the boy now, you will die."

"Potter is a boy with no exceptional magical talent," Voldemort argued. "I have-,"

"-Have you seen him in action?" those eyes, they were like walls of ice.

"I have not. But you have?"

The Godhand developed a sort of faux coy smile. "On occasion. The boy whom you say to have no extraordinary magical talent held his own against the apostle who made short work of your subordinates, he is quite imaginative when it comes to casting spells, and he even survived an encounter with my cohort, Slan." Potter survived against the Godhand?! "You look dumbfounded, Lord Voldemort. Would you like to confirm it through one of the others?"

"They... are here as well?" his eyes scanned the room for any subtle movement; any shift of shadow, down to check the floor was still solid and not the face of Conrad or Ubik.

"They are not like me, they were not reborn into this world through a host, but it is open to them. Unable to change their appearance to how they once were, they reside in the lower level of this palace, unable to fully leave." Those icy eyes found his once again. "You could just as easily talk to them as you would to me."

Damn him! Voldemort internally cursed. He knew what that was; it was a power-play. He was at a disadvantage before, but that was just confirmation that he had no control except perhaps where to steer the conversation.

"A tempting offer, but one I must refuse." If only he could use a few choice words. "But back to Potter, I was told that when the time was right that he would come to me. I am in the land where he resides; once the moment comes I will end him." And then I'll deal with you and the other four.

"And he will, your showdown with him is inevitable. But that is not why you were summoned here. There is more to this world than just your obsession with the boy, and Falconia is the first example of such."