Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 70 Duel

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

It seemed that the light, the color of life, was anything but. His iris', that closely mirrored the deadly projectile in color, felt almost blinded by the intensity that came with the sheer malevolence behind the power of the jet.

Had he not reacted out of his stupor, had he even hesitated for a fraction of a second, his life would have been lost to the lively shade of death.

Even then, he found his body being forced to react, struggling against invisible chains as two more identical jets of the deadly green light streaked his way. Instead of moving to the side as he had done for the first, it was far easier to simply let his legs give out from under him, letting the two jets soar overhead as he rolled down a pile of rubble from one of the houses that had stood before the lightning strike from above. It proved to still be detrimental to him as he felt the sharp sting of rocks hitting his sides as he rolled.

"Kffha!" Harry coughed out when he landed on the bottom of the pile. His arms were closed close to his chest for protection, pinning his staff to his side and keeping his hands closed around the small mass within.

"Puck..." Harry managed after another cough. "You okay?" He opened his hands just enough to see the blue glow from the small elf within. His blue tuff of hair was a mess and his eyes rolled in their sockets.

As comedically concerning as it was, Puck still managed the strength to speak up. "Worry about yourself. If you die here and now, I'm no better off. Get up and show that guy who's the better wizard!"

It was strangely stunning to have to get a pep-talk from someone as small as Puck, especially when considering all his tough talk was just that in every previous case. But the conviction in his small voice was stronger than the foundations that used to support what was now rubble. Feeling a flair of pain in his side and leg, Harry forced himself to stand back up. Using his staff as a means of support at first, that quickly transitioned to a sturdy pose as he saw his opponent above him.

He seemed almost a specter as he glided through the air, weightless, a man taking on the appearance of a god in the midst of a hell-swept landscape of his own making. The confidence, the appearance, the power, it was almost enough to remind him of a man in silver armor with the smile of a child and the pull of a star. He could understand why so many witches and wizards fell to or for the persona above him. It seemed that some of those were to be in attendance as well.

From behind him and all along the sides, wisps of black smoke started to appear followed by a series of cracks that might have been mistaken for more lightning ready to rain down from above. When the smoke cleared, men and a sole woman in black robes were standing at attention.

Bathump! He felt his heart hammer in his chest, expecting an attack from any one of them at any moment. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw a brief shuffle from one of the dark shapes on his left. A wand was raised in the air; a wand flew from the hand.

It was not done by Harry's hand, but that of his challenger. "No!" Voldemort commanded in a calmly firm tone toward his subordinate. "You shall all do nothing unless I command it. Merely keep him from escaping this time." The shame was evident not just in the Death Eater, but their leader as well. Such a display in front of an enemy would almost certainly show an inability to keep them in line. Those eyes that burned with an unspoken fury turned to look back over where Harry stood. "What say you, Potter? My offer sounds most generous, yes?"

An offer had been made to him before. Three choices he had back then; now, he had but one.

A large piece of debris levitated from the rubble and launched itself toward the Dark Lord who hovered and watched with the eyes of a bird of prey. Instead of dodging as Harry had with his spells, he moved his wand, a mimic of an invisible sword cutting through the air. Effortlessly, the projectile was cut in half in a perfect line. Voldemort seemed almost impressively amused by the move.