The battlefield heaved like a living thing. Hogsmeade's twisted ward-walls rattled with each impact of spell, sword, or claw. Smoke choked the air, the copper tang of blood coating every breath. And there, at the center of a maelstrom, stood two of the most dangerous wizards the world had ever seen Herpo the Foul and Albus Dumbledore.
Before them loomed a tide of enemies. Two gods surged forward, each cut from nightmare. One was horned and towering, skin gleaming obsidian, wielding a whip that cracked like thunder—identified in hushed tones as Menoetius, Titan of anger and ruin. The other shimmered like flowing water, her form half-liquid, half-flesh, an endless spear of hardened ice in her hand—Tethys, daughter of the sea, reborn in corrupted magic.
Behind them swept angels in serried ranks, wings blazing, haloes burning white fire. High-ranked among them descended two commanders: one with a blade forged from the light of dawn itself, the other clutching a staff crowned with a burning sun.
And flooding the ground, hundreds of demons—scaled, clawed, eyes glowing, shrieking for blood.
Herpo bared his teeth in a grim smile. "Two gods, two generals, and their pets. At last, a fair fight."
Dumbledore didn't answer. His eyes narrowed, wand raised, robes whipping in the storm of magic. Fawkes shrieked overhead, trailing fire that cut across the sky.
The battle erupted.
⸻
Menoetius struck first. His whip lashed, slicing through stone and air alike. Herpo snapped into his basilisk form, coils crashing into the ground as he avoided the blow by a hair's breadth. His tail whipped around, knocking aside a dozen demons who burst into gore and flame on impact. Then—he shifted back, human again in a blink, wand slashing in brutal arcs.
"Sectumsempra!" Still Herpo was glad Morpheus gleaned this spell from the future he said some student created it
The curse ripped across the giant's chest, black ichor spilling like tar. Menoetius roared, stumbling but not falling.
Perhaps he should mentor this student in his free time such viscousness!
Tethys surged next, spear of ice lancing straight for Dumbledore. He didn't flinch. His wand flicked, and the ground itself rose in defense—stone warping into a dozen jagged spires. The ice spear shattered, but shards still tore through the air.
"Fawkes!"
The phoenix screamed and burst into flame, engulfing Dumbledore just as a dozen shards would have torn through his body. He vanished in fire—and reappeared behind Tethys, transfiguration already blooming.
"Ferra mutatio!"
The very water that made up her body twisted into chains of molten iron. She shrieked as they snapped tight, her liquid form struggling against new solid bindings that seared her essence.
Her body was made of water and magic, the perfect material for transfiguration.
But the angel with the dawn-blade swooped low, hacking at Albus with burning steel. Dumbledore conjured a statue of solid granite before him, and in an instant transfigured it into a raging bull of iron that charged the angel head-on. The bull was cut apart, but not before it bought him a breath.
⸻
Herpo was already drenched in blood. He spun, lashing curses and venom alike. A demon lunged at him—its head snapped clean off by his basilisk jaws. He shifted back, wand raised, and snarled, "Fiendfyre!"
An inferno of living flame erupted, a serpent of fire crashing into the demon ranks. They shrieked and burned, their forms consumed. But the fire grew wild, threatening to turn back on him. Herpo snarled and transfigured the ground itself into a wall of black stone, forcing the cursed fire down into the abyss.
The second angel descended, staff burning like a star. Herpo braced, but then a wave of transfigured glass shards swept across the sky—razor thin, glittering—slashing through wings. Dumbledore had conjured them with a mere twist of his wand, and the angel faltered, screaming.
"Your style," Herpo shouted over the din, "is almost pretty."
Dumbledore's jaw tightened. "Yours is barbaric."
"And yet," Herpo spat blood, "we are still alive."
⸻
The two gods pressed harder.
Menoetius's whip cracked, splitting open Herpo's arm even as he coiled in serpent form to dodge. Pain exploded through him, but he snapped back to human, wand blazing. With a twist, he transfigured the very whip into a swarm of vipers. They hissed, biting into the god's hand. Menoetius roared, shaking them off, but the distraction let Herpo's next curse slam into his knee. Bone shattered, and the giant toppled with earth-shaking force.
Tethys broke her bindings, liquid form reforming. She hurled a torrent of razor water blades toward Dumbledore. He transfigured them mid-air into swarms of bees—bees that stung with molten venom. She screamed, staggering, flailing.
The angels regrouped, circling high. One dove for Herpo again, only for his basilisk eyes to blaze upward. The angel shrieked, wings folding as it tore its gaze away. It faltered—and in that instant, Herpo's killing curse struck, green light consuming it.
⸻
But the demons were endless. They surged like a tide, clawing, biting, shrieking. Herpo and Albus fought back to back, spells and transfigurations lashing in every direction. Fawkes dove again and again, catching Albus in flame and whisking him away from death. Herpo twisted between forms, serpent's fangs striking, curses flaying.
Menoetius dragged himself upright, whip reforged, bellowing. Tethys surged beside him, her spear reforming in gleaming ice. The angels rallied, wings burning.
For a moment, it looked hopeless.
Albus's wand slammed down, the ground convulsing. Spikes of obsidian erupted in a ring around them, demons screaming as they were impaled. Fawkes screamed a song of fire and hope, lighting the sky.
The obsidian spikes collapsed into dust, leaving a brief circle of space. Herpo spat blood onto the broken stones, his eyes never leaving the towering forms of the gods.
"They won't stop," he growled.
"They never do," Albus said quietly, wand steady. "So we must."
Menoetius bellowed and charged, dragging his whip through the air. Each crack tore rents in the wards, sparks of raw magic flaring. Herpo met him head-on, shifting in a blur into his basilisk form. His coils slammed into the titan's legs, dragging him down, scales grinding against obsidian flesh.
The whip arced down—searing pain ripped across Herpo's body—but he clenched tighter. His massive jaws closed on the god's shoulder, fangs sinking into skin that split like stone under pressure. Black ichor gushed, sizzling against the ground.
"Now, Dumbledore!" Herpo hissed, voice rumbling from serpent throat.
Albus's wand struck the air, a flare of light as bright as the sun. "Infracta ossa!"
The ground erupted into a storm of jagged obsidian spikes, each one transfigured sharper than dragon bone. They drove upward into the titan's chest, piercing deep. The roar of Menoetius shook the battlefield—until it cracked into a choking scream.
Herpo released, coiling back as Dumbledore twisted his wand once more. The spikes twisted inward, shredding organs of divine flesh. With one final convulsion, Menoetius toppled, his whip shattering into sparks as his massive body crashed into the earth. The shockwave knocked demons sprawling.
One god down.
But Tethys had already risen, her liquid form churning with fury. Her scream was a tidal wave, and water surged from the shattered wards, a flood that swept demons and stone alike aside. She rose with it, towering above, spear glittering with frozen death.
Albus lifted his wand, but she struck first, the spear lancing forward. Fawkes screamed, fire shielding Albus just enough to buy him a heartbeat. That was all he needed.
He spun the water itself, twisting it midstream. The flood froze, then boiled, then hardened into glass. For the first time, Tethys faltered, her body caught between forms, her essence confused by conflicting transfigurations.
Herpo, bleeding and laughing through the pain, staggered up beside him. "Pretty spells won't kill her. But this will."
He thrust his wand high, and from the boiling air he conjured fire again—Fiendfyre, a writhing serpent of infernal flame. The beast of fire lunged, coiling around the struggling goddess. She screamed, liquid form searing, boiling away under cursed heat.
"Hold her!" Herpo roared.
Albus's wand slashed, binding her within her own boiling body, locking her essence in place with transfigured chains of obsidian. Her screams turned shrill, shaking the very clouds.
Then, together, they struck—Herpo's Killing Curse flashing green, Albus's transfigured glass shards driving like spears. The light and steel tore through her collapsing form as the Fiendfyre consumed her. With a final shriek, Tethys burst apart, collapsing into steam and shattered ice.
Silence followed for a heartbeat. Two gods—dead.
The angels above wailed in fury, demons shrieked in panic. Herpo staggered, covered in blood and burns, his grin feral. "Two gods, Albus. Do you finally see? We are greater than them."
Dumbledore said nothing, only tightened his grip on his wand.
———
The battlefield fell quiet around them, save for the screams of demons still fleeing and the thunder of centaurs surging forward to secure the ground. Goblins and mortal wizards rallied in the gods' wake, pressing the advantage.
Albus and Herpo stood amidst the ruin, bloodied but victorious. Fawkes circled down, keening triumph, though both men were already too weary to savor it.
They retreated through the chaos back to camp, boots crunching over blackened glass and ash. The wounded lay in rows, healers darting frantically among them. Smoke and blood choked the air.
Herpo grabbed a runner by the arm, voice sharp.
"Are we apprised of the situation with my brother yet? How is the shrine holding?"
The young man froze, eyes wide. "You haven't heard? Sir—some creature appeared on the field, claiming to be Merlin. They say he turned the tide shortly after Morpheus vanished. The shrine barely holds."
Herpo lifted his head to the night sky, tongue clicking in irritation.
"Tch."
He turned to Albus, eyes like burning coals.
"I need to go. Tenzin must take my place on the battlefield."
Before Albus could answer, Herpo's body shimmered, coiling into shadow and scale, and he was gone.
Albus stood alone, Fawkes settling on his shoulder, as the sounds of war raged on.