[Albus Dumbledore]
"Seriously! Why are there so many places of worship in a world without gods?" I complained, finally leaving India for good after completing my faith-siphoning web system across the country.
Creating it had been simple enough; it was just a secondary system tied to the Archive's core within my mindscape. The problem, however, was the installation. I needed to visit almost every major place of worship around the world, sneak in, use my divine energy to turn an object into a sort of "holder," install the system, and link it.
These holders would then absorb the ambient energy humans give off daily—energy influenced by their desires, prayers, and faith—and store it. This was the necessary process to acquire a divine domain, major or minor. Currently, my divinity was little more than a potent energy that still needed to mature fully before I could gain a true Authority.
It wasn't a difficult task, just incredibly tedious. That's why this system was so helpful. It would cultivate the weight of my own divinity and determine the number and nature of the domains and Authorities I would gain, all fueled by the collective prayers of humanity.
I still needed to create a variety of subsystems for different functions, but it was clear to me the moment I infused the Archive with my divine energy that it was destined to become my own personal Heavenly System.
"What is it now?" I asked in annoyance as the Archive screen flashed an urgent red in front of me, interrupting my work on determining which new functions needed to be added next.
I frowned and tapped the notification. A new, smaller screen appeared, displaying the urgent message. It was from Alastor. I clicked on it, went into his profile, and accessed the last few minutes of his Archive's data records. I watched the entire fight unfold and couldn't help but shake my head in disappointment.
I knew he was getting rusty, but I thought the recent mission would shake off the rust and whip him back into shape. It seemed all it had done was make him more paranoid. He was too reliant on his magical eye and wasn't utilizing his Archive to its full potential either.
"Hmm, what's this?" I leaned closer, examining the environmental data scanned at the scene, and let out a short snort. "He was poisoned before he even discovered them."
A sense-dulling poison? That didn't seem quite right. The data pointed more towards a mental interference type. I stroked my chin, trying to piece it together, but quickly shook my head and stood up. I could get the answers directly by finding that Naga lookalike.
I took the location being broadcast to me through the Archive and teleported there—and I mean teleported. I willed myself to appear there, and space itself connected the two points so it happened instantly, without any of that unpleasant tube-squeezing nonsense.
I appeared in a dark, damp, and moldy place—a dungeon if I ever saw one. I looked around and saw Alastor passed out on the ground, stripped down to his underwear, his prosthetic leg and magical eye removed.
"Hmmm," I hummed, debating my next move. I had many options, but time was short. I was in the middle of the process needed to ascertain my divine status in this world as its sole god—even if I was technically still, at best, a novice-level demigod in terms of rank and state of being. But that didn't matter; I had to ensure the gods of other worlds didn't encroach on this one.
"Well, let's do it this way," I decided. I waved my hand, and Alastor levitated off the ground, beginning to glow with a soft golden light. All his injuries, old and new, healed at a visible rate. His leg and eye regenerated: his damaged femur mended, his patella, tibia, and fibula were recreated, followed swiftly by the intricate web of muscles, ligaments, blood vessels, nerves, and skin.
Alastor, of course, chose this moment to wake up. But he didn't stir. Instead, he regulated his breathing to appear as if he was still unconscious and stayed perfectly still, observing. His breath hitched when he peeked and saw the process of his leg regenerating. He even tried to discreetly pinch himself before finally deciding to drop the act—which was right after I caught him trying to sneak a peek to identify who was levitating him.
"Cough, cough," Alastor feigned, "Albus, thank you for coming."
"Yeah, sure," I nodded. "Just stay still for a few more seconds while your body finishes healing."
"Of course, Albus. We are friends, and have been since we were at school," Moody offered with a smile, a clear test.
"Moody, I just have one thing to say: Albania, 1977," was my only reply. It was an answer that shut him up pretty quickly.
"You know, these methods of yours will get old really fast if you keep using them. There's a reason I ask for verification whenever I meet someone," he grumbled, finally standing on his own two legs.
He tapped his new foot on the ground a few times, bent his knee, lifted his leg, and then touched his new eye, closing and opening it experimentally.
"If you are done testing, we have to get going. I really have a lot of things to do," I said as I started to head out of the dungeon cell. I didn't bother with the door, simply forcing my will upon it and transfiguring it into a lion while keeping all its original enchantments and wards perfectly intact.
"What's more important than rescuing me?" Alastor asked, walking with a slight limp as he wasn't yet used to having his leg back.
"Well, preventing gods from encroaching on my divine status in our world, for one," I replied as we walked down the dark corridor.
"Albus, you are going to have to actually explain what's going on if you want people to believe you. Almost everyone that hates you is trying to use the 'gods' story to destroy your reputation."
"Let them be for now. They won't last much longer," I said, turning my head to give him a knowing smirk.
"What are you planning?" Alastor frowned. "Does it have anything to do with the stone steles that keep popping up everywhere around the world?"
"Ah, no. That's purely for educational purposes. I need to elevate the global standard of magical education, and giving people access to a system that has everything seemed the easiest way."
He looked at me suspiciously before grunting and turning his attention forward as we arrived at a staircase. It was strange that there were no other beings down here besides us, but I didn't care; I could sense a couple of people on the upper floor.
I climbed the stairs slowly and leisurely, Moody walking behind me—still in his underwear—followed by the lion I had transfigured. He didn't seem to notice his state of undress, which was to be expected, his mind occupied with recent events and the lion that held his gaze every two seconds.
I snapped my fingers, and the metal door at the top of the stairs crumbled into sand. Divine energy makes things really easy. Sure, I could have done the same with magic, but that would have alerted the one who placed the wards. With divine energy, the destruction was silent to the caster's senses.
I still don't know why that is. I believe magic, with enough understanding and practice, could be far superior to divine energy, but I suppose I'm just not there yet.
As I walked through the now-open entrance, I arrived in what looked like a mad scientist's lab—or a very mad Dark wizard's lab. My eyes scanned the room and immediately locked onto the only confirmation I needed. It was a Dark wizard's lab. I didn't need more than eye contact to freeze its occupant in place.
"Who are you?! What are…." An old voice came from behind one of the glass tube containers, freezing mid-sentence as I appeared behind him in an instant, leaving him as still as a second statue.
I didn't bother to say anything. I moved around, examining the place, my gaze passing over the different, twisted beings floating in preservation solutions. I barely registered what Moody was saying behind me as my eyes fell upon the small, lifeless bodies laid out on the tables on the other side of the room.
I walked back and stood in front of the two frozen old men, not caring about the malignant smell of piss and feces they had expelled in their petrified fear.
I quickly used Legilimency, plunging into their minds one by one, rampaging through everything and extracting all the information I needed. Then, I extended my hands, holding one of their heads in each, and conjured Fiendfyre upon them before stepping back. Their silent screams were a grimly satisfying music to my ears as the cloud of white-hot rage in my mind receded slightly.
I turned around and saw Alastor standing several meters away, now wearing a robe he must have summoned, his body tense. His wand was ready in his right hand, while his left clutched his old prosthetic leg and magical eye. I glanced him up and down before sighing.
"Go that way, Alastor," I told him, gesturing towards the stairs that led out of this basement. "I need to destroy this place, and you standing there is not helping."
He moved slowly, his attention fixed on me as he backed toward the entrance, the lion following him. "Why did you do that?" he asked, his tone wavering slightly.
"See for yourself," I said, sending a curated stream of the most damning memories I had ripped from the Dark wizards directly to him through the Archive.
I began casting Protego Diabolica and watched as the light blue flames started consuming everything they touched. There was nothing left alive in this place to save. According to the memories of the thing that called itself a wizard, the next shipment of "test subjects" was due to arrive tomorrow.
I watched as everything disintegrated, carefully ensuring the flames did not collapse the entire building by destroying its foundational structure. Soon, I dispelled the curse, and the blue fire receded into nothingness.
Turning around, I came face to face with a grim-looking Alastor, who appeared utterly horrified by what he had just witnessed and learned.
"Let's go," I said, leading the way. "We have a wannabe monster masquerading as a god to kill."
Moody just grunted in agreement, and we set off. I let the transfigured lion revert back to its original door form, my desire for whimsical games extinguished by the grim reality of the lab.
"Muggles seem to know more than we thought," Moody commented as he strode behind me, now fully dressed in robes he'd conjured.
"Hmm," I hummed in agreement. "I know. They have their own magical forces too. Vastly more competent than ours."
"What should we do?" he asked. "Now that the old bastard is dead, they'll know it was us."
"Doesn't matter. I have a plan for them."
"Do you ever plan on actually explaining those plans? You can't do everything by yourself."
"I will, when there's a competent wizard or witch I can trust with the responsibility. Sure."
He fell silent after that. I suppose my words stung. Still, I wasn't going to apologize or explain further. He needed to get his head in the game, focusing on the real threat instead of wasting energy on fruitless paranoia and contingency plans against me.
The rest of our journey upwards was silent. We eventually arrived at a spacious hall, opulently decorated with golden designs and intricate embroidery. Statues of Jesus and stained-glass windows were everywhere. I didn't understand how they could commit such heinous acts in the basement and then come up here to pray.
I didn't care either way, heading directly towards the room used by the Fallen who had made this place his headquarters. It was almost funny that none of his followers even knew his name, but then again, they were fanatics, not rational people of faith.
It took us about five minutes to arrive at his room, though I wasn't really paying attention to the time, my focus split on anchoring the faith-holder I had created from a statue I'd touched earlier.
I knew we had arrived when I saw the multitude of magical circles embedded on the door, the walls, and even the tiles of the floor. I paused for a moment, analyzing their function and purpose, before simply walking forward and kicking the door open.
"Uuuuuuuuhhh!" "Waaahhhhhhhhh!"
The sound of two women screaming echoed as the door slammed inward. I didn't bother looking at the naked nuns; my eyes were fixed on the man with six dark grey wings sitting on the bed.
He looked like a normal human, aside from the wings. Blond hair, blue eyes, and an arrogant expression that seemed to be the default setting for his face. Just as I had seen in the stolen memories.
He looked at me appraisingly, not even glancing at the nuns huddling together on the floor.
"And who are you?" he asked, his voice infused with compelling energy.
"I am Alastor Moody—" Alastor began, but I stopped him by sending a subtle wave of magic that disrupted and canceled the bewitching charm affecting him.
He looked startled and took a half-step back.
"Stay outside for a bit, Alastor."
"But…" he started to protest, but a single raised eyebrow from me made him quiet down and retreat.
The Fallen didn't seem to appreciate me ignoring him, as he launched a spear of light towards me.
It was fast, but it disintegrated into harmless motes the moment it touched my robes. I may have seemed careless, but I was not. I maintained more than enough parallel streams of thought to manage multiple tasks simultaneously; otherwise, I could never have accomplished half the things I had this past week.
The Fallen seemed startled by the failure of his attack and stood up, his nakedness now fully apparent. I looked him up and down before scoffing. It was... unimpressive, and very small for someone with an ego bigger than the room he was in.
' I guess I now understand why he preyed upon weak-minded, fanatical nuns.'
My reaction did not escape him and I watched as his face flushed red with humiliation and rage, and multiple magical circles flared to life above him.
'Arrogant, self-conscious, quick to anger, with a severe superiority-inferiority complex,' I mentally filed, finalizing my initial observation.
I snapped my fingers, dispelling his nascent attack before it could fully form. Then I tensed my legs and pushed forward, appearing before him in an instant. I extended a hand to seize his throat, but the bastard dodged with preternatural speed, his wings flaring as he tried to take flight.
His effort would have succeeded against almost anyone else. Unfortunately, he was facing me. I unleashed my Bright Lord essence at full power, and the effect was immediate. He froze mid-motion, his eyes widening in primal terror, his pupils constricting to pinpricks.
That little nifty function—the ability to instill pure, soul-deep terror in my enemies—was exceedingly useful. I simply redirected my hand and clasped his neck in an iron grip.
"I could kill you," I said, my voice calm and cold as I looked into his terrified eyes. "And I would have, if I didn't have so many conflicting thoughts on how useful you could be for my plans. But don't worry, I have a much worse fate in mind. I am going to turn you into my dog, my slave. You will remain in there—I will make sure of that—just you, trapped in the depths of your own consciousness, and you will witness everything as I use your body and power for my own ends."
I then activated a function I had yet to touch until now: the ability to mold and change someone on a fundamental level, to remake them into what I wanted them to be.
As soon as I activated this function, I found myself standing in a foggy, psychic space, the ghostly figure of the Fallen held firmly in my grasp. I knew instinctively what to do and how to achieve it. The knowledge wasn't shoved into my head; I simply knew, the same way I knew how to breathe.
I didn't waste time. With one hand, I peeled his identity and will from the spectral form, leaving it a blank, featureless silhouette. I conjured ethereal chains and bound the now-small, twelve-inch-tall ghost of his true self that stood cowering in my left hand.
I then shoved this core consciousness into the head of the featureless shell and doubled the number of chains. They were small, but they wrapped around him tightly, forming an inescapable cocoon.
Only after ensuring he would be able to see and witness everything while being utterly powerless to intervene did I begin crafting his blank slate into my obedient puppet.
The process didn't take long. Soon, my attention returned to the material world. As I retrieved my hand from his forehead, the Fallen's body glowed with a golden light. His wings turned from dark grey to brilliant white, with a golden radiance shimmering at the tips of his feathers, before he knelt on one knee, his head bowed to the ground.
"From now on, your name is Slav—cough," I caught myself mid-sentence and corrected smoothly, "I mean, Slaviel. And you will be my representative in this church. Your orders will be sent to you later, so make sure they are carried out." I turned away, not forgetting to wave a hand and erase the memories of the now-passed-out nuns.
"Yes, Father!" Slaviel replied, his tone overflowing with devotion and fervor.
'Father,' he says, I scoffed internally as I walked out. The first step of my faith-farming operation was complete.
Now I just needed to send him his orders later through the Archive, once I had finalized a more comprehensive plan.
I didn't say anything to the wide-eyed, utterly dumbfounded Alastor, who was frozen like a statue by the door. I simply placed a hand on his shoulder and teleported us back to London.
He scrambled back the moment we landed, raising his wand, his face a mask of pure shock and confusion.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of a myriad of conflicting emotions.
"Calm down, Alastor," I said calmly, rolling my eyes at his dramatics.
He did not calm down. So I snapped my fingers, casting a Tranquillo charm on him—the spell equivalent of a mild calming draught. It was less potent than the potion but did the job just as well.
He settled down quickly after that, though he still looked at me with an uncertain, wary gaze.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice steadier. "What did you do to that monster?"
"For your information, that was a Fallen Angel, a being from a different dimension. And I just turned him into an angel that will now work for me."
He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. He repeated this cycle a few more times before finally uttering a single, strained word: "How?"
"Well, that's a very long story that I will tell you once you get stronger. You saw how easily you were bewitched back there. Until you can work on your mental fortitude, I don't plan on telling you anything vital," I explained, shaking my head.
"You will find more than enough information about the world he is from once the Archive completely analyzes the thousands of years of memories I took from him, so you can get your answers there," I added, turning around to walk away. "Get stronger, Alastor. You saw how many threats I am dealing with. And as you said, I can't deal with them all alone."
X_
[Slaviel]
Slaviel raised his head the moment he felt his Father's presence vanish. The residual memories in his mind whispered that this being was not his true creator, but he dismissed them as lies. He knew the feeling of his Father's grace, and that had been Him. So what if the vessel was currently mortal? Perhaps this was merely a form chosen for a divine reincarnation.
'Could it be that all of this is unfolding according to His will?' The thought blossomed in his mind with the force of revelation. Yes, of course. This was all part of his Father's grand plan. He was certain of it.
He stood up and looked around, his gaze falling upon the passed-out nuns. A scowl of pure disgust twisted his features. His previous self had been an abomination. How could he have ever lost his Father's grace for something as trivial as envy? Or was it arrogance? He could no longer distinguish the reason; all he felt when recalling his Fall was a soul-deep revulsion and a terror of disappointing his Father further.
It was shameful enough that he had displayed such an unsightly state. He would ensure it never happened again. He would dedicate his absolute being to ensuring his Father's plans came to fruition as swiftly as possible. And that started by seizing control of the faith here and guiding it toward what his Father desired.
He could not allow these delusional, power-hungry old men to use his Father's name for their own benefit. No. That would not stand.
Slaviel waved a hand, casting a series of spells that tidied the room, erasing all traces of the struggle and restoring everything to a state of pristine order. Then, he strode out, his new white wings furled tightly behind him.
He would start by cleansing the earth of the monstrous filth he had previously gathered under his banner. It was the only fitting penance while he awaited his Father's divine orders.
"Yes," he murmured to himself, a zealous light burning in his eyes. "That seems like an excellent plan."
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A/N: and with that the chapter ends.
Tell me in the comments what you want the now slave angel to do for Dumbledore.
P.S: I couldn't update since last time because sickness Really hit me when I thought I had this whole month to do with what I please. I had plans—I was going to write the next few chapters of this before doing the final sweep over my other HP/marvel fanfic. You know plans upon plans but then as the saying goes, man plans and god laughs or something like that.
Anyway I got sick, went to the hospital, stayed a day, then they gave me some medicine and sent me home, and I was like that's good…. Yeah it was not, I got more sick and went back to the hospital and as it turned out, apparently because I was already on some other medications I should have told them earlier before they prescribed the new ones which by the way was something that was already on my file there, and just ughh!!!!!!!!!.
Anyhow, don't mind my rant, I just wanted to get some of this off of my chest….
——Enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you hope to see happen in the story, and I will see what I can do about it.——