The Sorcerer’s War

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A War of Fire and Shadow

The battlefield was engulfed in chaos.

The ground trembled beneath the clash of armies, steel meeting steel in a deadly chorus. Flames roared as Drogon rained fire from above, incinerating the undead and the living alike. Yet, despite the inferno, the Shadowborn's creature still stood, its form shifting between smoke and flesh, its violet eyes locked onto Harry Potter.

The war was no longer just between men.

It was a battle of magic itself.

Harry wiped the blood from his forehead, his wand still glowing from his last spell. His breath came in short gasps, but he did not waver. He had faced monsters before. He had defied the Dark Lord. And now, he would face this ancient horror.

The creature took a step forward, the air distorting around it. Its very presence was a wound in reality, twisting the space it occupied. Its shadowy tendrils lashed out, seeking him once more.

Harry raised his wand, his voice steady.

"Protego Maxima!"

A golden barrier erupted around him, shielding him from the monstrous attack. The tendrils struck the ward, causing the air to crackle with energy, but they did not break through.

Yet the creature did not retreat.

Instead, it let out a low, guttural sound—not a roar of rage, but of amusement.

It was learning.

And that terrified Harry more than anything.

---

The Strategy of Wolves

On the other side of the battlefield, Jon Snow led the charge, Longclaw cutting through the enemy like a blade through ice. The Northern forces, despite being outnumbered, held the line, their shields locked together as they clashed with Vaelor's soldiers.

Davos Seaworth fought beside him, his sword flashing as he parried an incoming strike. "We can't hold forever!" he shouted. "They keep rising!"

Jon gritted his teeth. He had seen it—every time one of their men fell, the enemy's dark sorcerers raised them again, turning allies into enemies.

"They won't stop coming," Jon said. "We need to take out their mages."

Tyrion, standing behind the second line of defense, adjusted his armor. "Easier said than done, Snow. We don't have enough men to push through to them!"

"Then we don't push," Jon replied. His gaze turned toward the trees beyond the battlefield, where a second force lay in wait.

Arya Stark stood among them, her face hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She gripped the dagger in her hand—Valyrian steel, gifted by Bran—and nodded.

Jon gave the signal.

Like ghosts in the night, Arya and her small group of assassins vanished into the darkness, slipping through the enemy ranks unseen. Their target: the necromancers fueling the dead.

---

The Duel of the Ages

Back on the battlefield, Harry refused to retreat.

The creature raised a massive claw, shadows swirling around its form as it prepared to strike.

Harry didn't wait.

"Expulso!"

A shockwave of blue energy erupted from his wand, blasting the monster's arm clean off. The creature recoiled, but instead of screaming, its form rippled and shifted, the missing limb regenerating in seconds.

"You don't die easily, do you?" Harry muttered.

Then, a voice spoke—not aloud, but inside his mind.

"You cannot kill what does not live."

Harry's breath hitched. This wasn't just a mindless beast.

It was intelligent.

And it was speaking to him.

"You are different from the others," the voice continued. "Your magic… it does not belong here."

Harry's fingers tightened around his wand. "You don't belong here either."

"Perhaps. But I was summoned. I was called. And I will not leave until my task is done."

The creature lunged.

Harry reacted instantly.

"Fiendfyre!"

A titanic serpent of fire erupted from his wand, coiling and twisting through the air, its fangs snapping as it collided with the monster. The battlefield was bathed in its blinding orange glow, the heat so intense that even nearby soldiers staggered back.

The creature screeched, its form writhing as the enchanted flames devoured it.

For a moment, it seemed to weaken.

Then, something horrifying happened.

It opened its mouth—and began to consume the Fiendfyre.

Harry's heart stopped.

"Impossible…"

The flames, meant to destroy even the darkest of entities, began to swirl into the creature's form, vanishing into its abyssal core.

Harry took a step back. His spell had only made it stronger.

And then, for the first time in his life, he heard something he had never heard from a monster before.

The creature laughed.

---

A Turning Tide

Across the battlefield, Arya moved like a shadow, weaving between enemy ranks undetected.

She reached the first necromancer, his back turned as he chanted in a language older than the First Men. His staff glowed a sickly green, his magic feeding the corpses rising from the earth.

Arya didn't hesitate.

In one swift motion, she drove her Valyrian steel dagger into his spine. The necromancer choked, his spell cut off mid-chant.

The moment he died, dozens of undead collapsed, their bodies crumbling into dust.

The other necromancers turned in alarm, but Arya was already gone—disappearing into the fog, hunting her next target.

The tide of battle was shifting.

But the greatest threat was still before Harry.

---

The Breaking Point

The shadow creature towered above him, its form now pulsing with stolen fire.

"You amuse me, wizard," it whispered inside his mind. "But you cannot win."

Harry gritted his teeth. "You don't know me very well, do you?"

He raised his wand—not to cast a spell, but to call upon something greater.

Something deeper.

He closed his eyes.

He reached into the magic of this world, into the very threads of fate that bound its existence. He had spent years in Westeros. He had felt its power, studied its old magics.

Now, he called upon them.

The runes along his wand flared white.

The air hummed.

And then, the stars themselves answered his call.

A pillar of silver light descended from the heavens, striking the creature square in the chest.

The battlefield erupted in light, brighter than dragonfire, purer than any magic he had ever wielded.

The monster shrieked, its form dissolving, unable to withstand the celestial energy.

For the first time… it felt fear.

And as it faded into oblivion, its final words echoed in Harry's mind.

"This is not the end, wizard. The true darkness… has yet to come."

With that, the creature was gone.

And the battlefield, for the first time in hours, fell silent.