Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 61

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

"Are you nervous?" the long, curly strands of midnight black-hair partly obscured the side profile of the one in silvery armor reminiscent of the moon that was the one who was known as Sir Locus.

Voldemort followed a bit behind the tall "knight" as it was a word he would use very sparingly when he knew full well exactly what kind of being Locus truly was. As human as he appeared on the outside, there was no denying the beastly and demonic side that was hidden just beneath the skin level. It was the same with Voldemort as well, he had that side to him long before accepting the deal made by the Godhand; it was a side to him that had existed since he had been attending Hogwarts. If he did not possess such a side, he would not have set his basilisk on the mudbloods that polluted the school of his ancestor. And now he was being asked if he was nervous.

"There is no place for nervousness for beings such as you and I," Voldemort said with a bit of curl of his lip as a sign of his slight displeasure.

Locus might have raised a brow, but it was obscured by his long locks of hair. "There are few things in this world that can actually do us harm," Locus continued on as if Voldemort's answer held no trace of negative connotation towards the question asked prior. "But, even so, with all of our power, we can be killed."

"And has the White Hawk commanded that you kill me?" Voldemort asked this time, but he knew the answer to his own question. After his meeting with Femto, he was not on his way to any sort of executioners block.

"No," Locus simply answered. "But even you should know that as apostles, even we have mortality." The scar above Voldemort's eye seemed to itch with pain but he refused to bring a hand up to cover or scratch at it. Locus regarded him from the corner of his eye. "You know this already. You've had an encounter with him, the one who has killed so many of our kin in the past. The one who is known as the Black Swordsman."

"How much did the White Hawk tell you?" Voldemort demanded of the taller apostle as they walked.

"I am but a humble servant to the White Hawk, he tells me naught but is required of me to know," Locus brought a mailed hand to his breastplate as a sign of respect. "I have only guessed as to how you've acquired such a unique injury such as that." Voldemort's brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed at the back of Locus' head. He briefly imagined how Locus would look with a permanent haircut that started at the neck. Severus' sectumsempra or even a basic cutting jinx should work just well given his magical strength.

"And what do you know of him?" Voldemort asked. Better to know the true enemy than just focus on the lapdog of one who was, so far, untouchable.

"I have heard many stories about him," Locus began, "I heard that he fights like a demon out of the abyss and all the rest that you yourself have no doubt been informed of. I have not had the chance to cross blades with the man, but from yours and Grunbeld's injuries, even I would be hardpressed to do any real damage."

"Even he would fall before the full might of an apostle army even with that sword and armor of his. He may fight like a true demon, but he is human at his core." All humans could die, it was just a matter of finding out how to make it happen. And the Black Swordsman would suffer for humiliating him in such a way. If he could not be the one to kill the pest of a man, Voldemort hoped that the moral would see anyone he called a friend dead. He might even kill Potter in front of him if fate graced him with such an opportunity.

"To that, I can offer no counterpoint," Locus seemed to agree with his argument in reasoning. "As powerful as that armor may be, the story goes that the last user died while bleeding out inside of it." So there was a way to kill him. "And if he would be fool enough to come here, we have the Hawk of Light on our side who will no doubt lead us to victory."