Life does not smile upon you
“Human Language/speech”
“Parseltongue/Spells”
(Start of chapter):
Hardym’s sleep was plagued with less than pleasant dreams, all of them were awful but one in particular stuck out for some reason.
Hardym sat upon a golden throne, positioned in the middle of an endless field of grass. The long, green blades swayed in an invisible breezee, their rhythm confusing his senses, it seemed so wrong, so unnatural yet still so pleasant. Looking around, he noticed the warm light fading, replaced by freshly fallen snow only to give into the warmth of the sun once again mere seconds later. This process kept repeating a few more times before his attention was caught by the sky, dark clouds began to form, separated into three swirl-like structures, like a storm caught between three tornados without the tornados.
Lightning cracked downwards from one of them, illuminating the once black clouds into a deep red shade. A voice, or rather the echo of a voice rang from nowhere in particular,”My lord you look tired, why don’t you step down from your throne and take a nap”
The next nexus illuminated under booming thunder, coloring its clouds an ocean blue,”No lord of secrets do not listen to the crimson one, your mind cannot fall to his tendrils”, a thousand different voices spoke as one,”He has infested my realm, please allow me to smite him in your name”
“Do not worry yourself with the blabbering of that boot licker, he is blinded by jealousy, for he knows you to be superior to him”, ‘the crimson one’ spoke,”he tries to keep you alert and wear down your mind until he can take hold of your power. You must rest and recover”
“HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF SUCH TREASON”,boomed the chorus, purple lightning flashing from the blue nexus towards the red one, casting a silhouette of a spear-wielding wolf.
“Don’t try to mask it, you backstabber are not worthy to stand by his side!” the echo shout-whispered, another purple bolt struck, this time in the opposite direction, revealing an owl with a broadsword in its talons.
Without any way to stop himself, Hardyms form moved, now standing on the throne. His vision cut in two, on the right he saw himself raising his right hand -decked out in a silver gauntlet- towards the unclaimed nexus, shooting out a yellow claw towards it, the claws clinging to the clouds like a parasite and slowly turning them. Yellow crept through them like hellish vines, as a manic laugh filled his ears.
On his left vision he saw himself raise his right hand once again but it was not covered in silver plates, instead a pearl white glove with slimm bronze lines running through it like veins, occupied his hand. This time a gray string -crackling with brass lightning- shot out, splitting in two as it got farther, one going after each occupied nexus, striking them in the position where the silhouettes were moments ago. The voices of both nexus’ could be heard screaming in agony as they were further incased in the cruel webs. Animalistic growling reached Hardym’s ears.
Hardym sprung awake, sweat dripping down his face, panting heavily.
This dream was most unsettling and he had experience with weird/bad dreams. He would never be able to forget the first of these dreams, it had been horrific.
In a dark forest stood a lonely man, the colorless wisps of smoke around reflecting the light coming from the brown coloured sky and it's violet moon. The man was apathetic, no emotion on his surprisingly handsome face. Not even fear crossed it when further events took place. Dryads danced around him, their forms warped into sick Perversions of art, the left eye dangling out, played in their toothless mouths. The disconnected organs kept watch at the clawed hands swinging from side to side, slowly ripping open the chest which held no lungs or hearts but instead leeches as big as a fist and dozens of them.
They closed in on the man, their wildly swinging claws cutting his flesh in repeating lotus patterns of blood and torn flesh. Blood, not red as it should be but black as oil and just as thick. Harry could swear hearing a voice calling him, from the blood, not the man, he had not opened his mouth. A voice of wisdom beyond his wildest imagination, of beauty and of Horror and above all a Voice of impossibility. ‘Infinity’, he thought,'infinity is calling me from beyond my mind, luring not my reason but my curiosity’ how he knew that at such a Young age? His best guess was magic.
The ink -calling it blood felt wrong at this point- fell into a large puddle on the ground as it's former host vanished, sinking into the earth and crawling, like roots from purgatory, towards him. Once they reached, he woke up again, a single phrase echoing throughout his mind:”Life does not Smile upon you”
This was another thing all together, this wasn't just in his head. For a split second he could see the fading shape of yellow and grey chains burying themselves into his flesh and surely enough, there were marks there that could have originated from chaines.
He took one last look at the pitch Black scar on his right palm before covering it up like usual,”Life does not smile upon me”