The most memorable and impressive arc that I have come across is actually from a comic called Loki:agent of Asgard.

 

Harry training with Dahila and her whole backstory in The Phoenix and the Serpent.

From the time Harry enters the Crystal to Dahila's final stand is a masterpiece. Easily my favorite arc in fanfiction.

 

The tri-wizard tournament in the never ending road. More specifically the Yule ball onwards. An absolute masterpiece.

 

The Merlin arc - A Long Journey Home

 

Yeah, that crystal arc in The Phoenix and the Serpent is absolutely astonishing. A clear favorite.

The first part of Valbone, in the forest, is in a similar vein and just as well written.

Alex and Max in Lands Below.

 

Star Wars - The Son of Suns Trilogy - Into the Storm by Blank101. Chapters 16 through 19

Spoiler: Major Spoilers

Luke's fall. Beautifully written. The Emperor, a masterful cunt. Leia's dreams interspersed within, not understanding; Luke falling and drowning in the dark side of the force, Leia connected, dreaming and feeling; tragically ignorant of her clairvoyance and the force.

Spoiler

He was shaken awake, hoisted half-upright as his eyelids fluttered open, then dropped to the ground. He curled defensively as he fell, knowing it wouldn't be enough, hearing the hissing buzz of the force-pikes.

The first jolt shocked through the small of his back as he fell, making already aching muscles contract violently. The second hit his shoulder, two more on his arm, cramping muscles, the pain driving the air from his lungs in a gasp.

Too many after that. Too many to register individually as they crowded in around him. Just pain, raw and sharp and hard, taking his breath away, piercing his mind.

"Stop." Palpatine's voice, quiet and calm and cold.

Stop. Luke's breath caught in his throat, muscles contracting involuntarily as if they were still being shocked.

Louder than a scream came the whisper of heavy cloth against the smooth white floor. Footsteps paused close to his head; silence reigned.

Then the rustle of cloth as it pooled against the ground beside him.

"Jedi?"

He couldn't speak.

"Jedi?" A hand brushed oh so gently against his cheek and into his hair, making him physically jump.

"Should they continue?"

The word wouldn't come, but his bloody lips mouthed it all the same: No.

"I think they should." The voice was hard now, disappointed.

No, Master, he mouthed in silence.

He sensed the smile, the gratification.

"Was that so very hard, my friend?"

Long silence, his heart beating hard against his chest.

"Was that so very hard?"

No. His lips barely moved now.

Another pause. He tried to breathe past the pain, to swallow the blood in his throat before it choked him.

"Should I leave, my friend? Do you wish me gone?"

Yes

"Then I will leave you. With them." The heavy raven cloak scratched against Luke's face as its wearer rose.

No, wait...

Palpatine walked on without hesitation—

—Please!—

The footsteps paused fractionally, then continued—

—No…Master!—

They halted; Luke pulled in breath, desperation giving him voice, hoarse and broken...

"No Master. Please…don't leave."

That smile again, searing into his mind. He didn't need to see it, he didn't need to hear it in the Sith's voice. It was burned into his soul.

"I will never truly leave you, my friend. Never again."

His Master turned and walked quietly back, the whisper of that midnight cloak sending shivers up his spine as the Sith crouched low to murmur beguilingly. "Do you wish them to stop? Do you hate them for what they do to you? How you must hate them. How you must fear them. How easily you give them control over you."

—How easily you could stop them— This last was for him alone. "This is my gift to you, my friend. One that I could not give to you any sooner than this moment. The gift of freedom."

Luke knew that this freedom was also slavery. He no longer cared.

"But I cannot give you this gift, my friend. You must take it. It is all around you, only waiting for you to call it into your control. But you must call it, my friend. You alone."

His Master's voice was barely a whisper as he leaned in close, his finger raking a line through the blood on Luke's cheek.

"Call it to you. You alone can end this."

With a flurry of cloth, his Master stood and walked away, and he knew that nothing would stop him from leaving. And he knew that when he left…

The door ground shut and the lock fell home and the guards around him closed in.

No…not again…no more.

—No more—

Anger and fear welled up within him and the Darkness answered it, potent and familiar, tracing through fiery spoor burned into his mind through weeks and months of torment—

And he didn't push it away. He didn't hold back. No accident this, no momentary slip. He opened himself to it, opened his mind and his soul, let it channel through him—

Infallible clarity; the knowledge of absolute, unconditional power. No restrictions, no consequences. Waiting to be used, asking for direction, screaming for release—

The air charged; like the moment before lightning strikes…

The force-pike thrust in toward him—so slowly; so very slowly, as if time itself bowed to the Darkness. Luke twisted and easily caught the blunt tip. It discharged into his hand, but the shock was contained within the Darkness; the pain was still there, but it didn't matter any more. His anger pushed past it, narrowed to absolute focus.

He channeled the Darkness toward the man holding the pike; threw it into him, ripped out in every direction at once. An organic sound like tearing silk, like water exploding—a deluge of scarlet rain.

And the man was gone.

Still the Darkness poured into him, savage and unshackled, and he gave it focus, head snapping up, eyes wild.

He rolled, pulling his feet under him as they scattered, the power coursing into him, unstoppable now. Giving life to ripped muscles, pulling broken bones together. Power to slough off any injury, to burst through exhaustion and pain, to see past sight. He could sense their fear and it only fed his desire for revenge. He didn't look, didn't need to. The Darkness raced at the speed of thought, jumping from man to man, from corpse to corpse. The warm scarlet mist spread and spattered; on his skin, on his clothes, in his hair.

He ripped through them like a tornado, like wildfire, every last shred of control given up to the raging power.

Violent retribution, cold and hard and merciless. The air hazed with it, his lungs filled with it; copper taste as warm ruby rain settled out from the air.

When there was only one left alive, hammering the door for escape, he paused…

And turned slowly. In the bloody mask of his face, his eyes shone cold and blue, ice in twilight.

With absolute calm he wrapped the Darkness about the guard, drawing the man's eyes to his own, holding him transfixed for several seconds, giving him time to realize.

Then his eyes hardened and the Darkness hardened and he closed it in so slowly, pressing on lungs and bone and fragile tissue, holding contact with those terrified eyes until the life within was crushed.

He turned and walked away, the multiple 'cr-ack' as he collapsed the Darkness completely in on itself pulling the slightest twitch of a satisfied smile to bloody lips.

He sat very still on the only chair, possessed of the distant calm of a trauma victim as he looked, strangely detached, at the carnage about him, the walls wet with staccato trails of deep scarlet, the metallic tang of raw blood still in the air.

Somewhere deep inside his conscience shrieked in horror as he let out a trembling breath, momentary realization buzzing through him, horrific in its consequences—

But he called the Darkness to him and it soothed like a balm, smothering the scream within...;

Oh, but it had felt so good.
.

.

.

Palpatine stood in the shadows of the corridor, transfixed with the relish of utter gratification, achievement of this final, long-anticipated goal. Such power; such tormented agony released. It was a transcendental moment, surpassing his every expectation, fluid and wild, savagely poetic, undeniably enthralling.

It had taken his fallen Jedi less than a minute to slaughter them all.

"Anger and fear welled up within him and the Darkness answered it"

Especially if I'm in an angsty mood.

 

Harry's arc in A Cadmean Victory. Very cool stuff.

 

Okay, I just have to ask. Isn't the entire story Harry's arc? It's a Harry story. Do you have any specifics from the hundreds of thousands of words in that story? (That I do enjoy, despite consensus. And despite it's problems. Which I recognize. Still fun)

 

I was going to go into a little more detail but was having trouble wording my thoughts well. Basically how he develops in a way we deem appropriate, initially, and it slowly starts getting a little too much, and we learn about Voldemort's past and we see the parallels between his path and Harry's, and how Harry recognizes what's happening and tries to course correct and eventually it's like wait a minute he was one step away from being Voldemort except that was never a step Harry would take and he knows that.

My brain is currently not working I'll come back and reword this tomorrow morning to make it intelligible.

 

Re. A Cadmean Victory;

Spoiler

I suppose I really did enjoy the 5th year. That counts as an arc. Umbridge's death is cathartic if malevolently goofy. Harry's bartering with Lord Voldemort within the Ministry of Magic is somewhat well done, even if I think it would fit better if Voldemort agreed to Harry's trade, heard the [fake] prophecy, realized via his legilimency being stronger than Harry's occlumency at this point, that Harry is lying, but unable to get the genuine prophecy. Have a scene where Harry has to make the choice between himself or Sirius while Lord Voldemort flooded the Atrium with Fiendfyre/DeadlyCurseX1/DeadlyCurseX2/etc. It's a better death for Sirius Black than the locket-Hermione death he got at the end.

Anyway, I do love A Cadmean Victory. But there's so much wasted potential there that it is a goddamn tragedy.

 

On A Cadmean Victory

Spoiler

I can agree that Harry's fifth year is enjoyable as a standalone arc. Umbridge's demise is a crowd-pleasing moment for sure. But afterwards Harry, and eventually Fleur too, become unreasonable jerks to pretty much everyone. At best Harry sees people as "NPCs" (that scene where he looks into Hannah Abbot's mind), or too weak (Neville). Yes, this is facilitated by Ron and Hermione being unreasonable too, Ron in year four and Hermione even later, but that's hardly an excuse, it's bad writing. And frankly, I don't like how everything goes well for Harry in the end.

 

I wonder if it's a jerk sue.

 

.
--- Post automerged ---

So, I'm re-reading this, and have another passage.

Spoiler

The Son of Suns trilogy is still probably the greatest piece of fanfiction I've ever read.