Put it in proper format (see first post in this thread), and address it to someone, or GTFO.

 

No need to be an ass-

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: Hutcho
Line: Percy had loved Penelope, he'd have done anything for her, until he caught her doing THAT with Potter... the REAL reason Percy Hated Harry.

Length: 1000/1800
Lime: 60 Minutes

 

/me facepalms

 

This post confirms, without a shadow of a doubt, that, yes, there was a need for me to be an ass.

 

You don't challange yourself you idiot. Well you can, but then we reserve the right to tease you about it.

 

Now there's an idea.

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: Andromalius
Challenge: Harry languished in the desolation of Azkaban's confines, until his liberation. He accepted the reparations and eased into the role of the model Auror, continuing his duties while secretly searching for the dormant Death Eater movement, woven invisibly into the fabric of a society no longer threatened by Voldemort. The darkness is ready to resurge - all it needs is a new leader.

Line: 'The Dementors prefer happiness and hope. Wrath is an acquired taste apparently.'

Time: One Month
Length: A few thousand words

 

... well crap... dont i seem like an idiot? to hell with it, forget i opened my mouth

 

Nah, s'alright, we all make mistakes.

Well, I don't. But it sounded nice.

 

Do the challenges have to be directed to someone or can they be an open offer?

 

I like that challenge Mindless! Very original! And you as well Andromalius.

Wow, this thread is awesome!

 

Harry cursed furiously under his breath. He'd spent months preparing for the day, drilled his priestesses over and over on everything they would do in the finest detail. He'd put his top lieutenant in charge of security, and hadn't even revealed to said lieutenant where exactly the sacred site was... in short, Harry had run the tightest ship he could, and it all amounted to a hill of beans anyhow. All around him, clamoring at the edges of the protective dome he had constructed around himself and his followers, protesters were clamoring for his blood.


“Really,” Harry sighed petulantly, “doesn't anyone respect religious freedoms anymore?”


An undignified snort came from a heavy robed and brown hooded figure to his left. “Sacrificing two dozen of the greatest magical persons of our time for one's own quest for immortality is hardly what the masses think of when one talks of tolerance. Really Harry, I don't see you won't let me go out there and slaughter the lot of them, pathetic sheep.” The shrouded voice finished in a breathy sulk.


Harry however, simply wasn't in the mood. There was too much at stake – how often did one have a chance to obtain immortality in a not-at-all-harmful-to-the-caster ritual, one previously thought lost to times immortal? Once ever six lunar months, that's how often. And as Harry knew, waiting six lunar months is a quick way to end up dead.


“Can it Greengrass,” he growled. “It's not my fault you hit your quota yesterday. Go kill puppies or something, but I won't have all my future minions maimed beyond the ability to grovel just because you can't learn some control.” With that, he walked away, ignoring Daphne's angry mumbling. “Not my fault you picked this place. Secret ritual in the middle of an open field...”


“Right then, let's see... whose souls am I going to ingest today? Who did my lovelies pick out in my quest for immortal--. Oh for the love of... Fucking flunkies. Chang! Chang, where the hell are you?”


“Here, your excellency.” Course, she too was covered in the brown hood, but it sounded like Cho. And even if it wasn't, she had been previously skinning Ernie McMillan's corpse, so clearly, she was on his side. “Who did you send out, that brought back this pathetic offering for my ritual.”


Cho stammered. “B-but sir... you said to bring the most powerful. Did he not fight at your side, and slay a dozen of Fenrir Greyback's finest warriors? Did he not bring down Raznu, leader of the Alpine Giants? He was not chosen unduly, your excellency.”


Harry paused, taking a breath and rubbing his forehead. Even without Voldermort around anymore to skullfuck his scar, the migraines his lessers gave him were just as bad. “Cho...” Harry said slowly, “I don't give a buggering toss if he managed to do all that, and more besides. I refuse – do you here me, refuse – to spend a sodding eternity with a little bit of Ron goddamned Billius Weasley stuck inside of me. So tell me, which of your people thought it was going to be a really good idea?”


Terrified, Cho pointed out a mousy looking girl, now cowering next to one of the seven great cauldrons. Unlike the priestesses, who until Harry had achieved immortality would remain anonymous in their uniforms to those outside the dome, the lower minions simply weren't worth the cost of material. “Right then, you! What's your name lass, Harry bellowed. A terrified squeak answered him.


“Right... well, congratulations! You'll be replacing Ron. What a noble way to go!”

“But... Harry, she's a squib! Surely you wouldn't want her...” Cho flailed desperately. Harry shrugged dispassionately. “Anything's better than him. And anyway, the ritual only calls for a dozen sacrifices. I doubled it on the off chance any of you fools bungled things up. Still, Ron doesn't deserve any consideration, so now everyone's happy. I have one less idiot as a follower, I don't have to suffer Ron's soul for all eternity, and Daphne gets to go one over her weekly limit. Wins all around, I'd say.”


“Harry, it's time. We need to you to step into the pentagram so we can seal it behind you. This time, the graveled voice of Crabbe came from behind. Now there was a second-in-command that he could rely on. He'd been nothing short of impressed when he'd found out at the end of seventh year that Crabbe was the true brains of Slytherin House. Malfoy had been an arrogant berk and as such, an absolutely ideal fall guy. And with Crabbe as his sidekick, nobody had ever spent a moment what he might be up to when all eyes were on Draco. Security in plain sight... a truly Slytherin thing to do.


“Right Vincent, lead the way. Good to know someone's on top of things today. Crabbe nodded, his mind clearly dealing with a million details at once, all being stored away and organized for the appropriate occasion. “Harry, it's been a pleasure knowing you as a human. I only hope you feel the same way once you've obtained power beyond comparison.” Harry smiled back, genuinely. It's been a real pleasure Vincent.” He lowered his voice. “I've already promised to let Daphne turn Africa into her personal playground – not sure the muggles there will notice any difference really, but she's happy enough with it – and you and I both know that Chang's just itching to settle some score her family has... though I must say taking it out on the entire Pacific rim seems a little over-the-top...” Harry paused, getting back on topic. “Anyway, you're the best number two I've ever had...how would you like a free hand on the continent. Madrid to Moscow, whatever that sharp mind hidden in that fat, brutish face of yours can fathom?”


Crabbe beamed. “Thank you sir! You won't regret it. Now in you go sir, we'll have you immortal and bodering omnipotent by sundown!” A moment later, Harry was sitting in the pentagram, able to see and hear all, yet now utterly sealed off from the outside world.


It began, as Harry fell into a magical coma, a small smile crossed his face. Life was good.


Immortality was better.

 

That was ... really a lot of fun.
good job.

 

Hahaha, that was really entertaining. I would continue this if I were you.

5 stars, vlad.

 

Lol this is epic win Vlad, High five. 4/5 easy.

 

Not exactly... but close enough, I guess.

~*~


The sun was like a bloody red blot on the blue horizon and Harry couldn’t help but watch it. It was almost instinctual: he’d stare at the sun, drink that one last bottle of firewhiskey, and fuck that one last whore and pay her a fortune, although not in that order. They all had their own little rituals by now: Kallie, sweet Kallie ate a breakfast of blood. Her husband, a large burly man, employed an Imperio and an Obliviate the night before to leave upon her marks that conveyed the sweet love of his sexual psychosis. Mark desecrated himself and so long gone was the scary Auror persona that he had displayed when he had first caught them that Harry half expected him to burn up at any moment, leaving bitter ashes in its wake. But he wouldn’t, at least not yet.

This was the first time they would be together. He had known them for a while: he had dined with them, sat in their homes and let them surreptitiously consume his fame in nibbling bits. They were all survivors of the first order: if a single return was considered a success, the crowd that now watched them now expected a quartet to touch land.

The clock struck ten.

The world suddenly screamed. And in the horizon a thin, sinuous tail of black unfurled.

It was now that the rush truly began. The first time his heart had beat like it was a caged animal trying to escape. This time it fared little better, but at least he didn’t hesitate to grab the portkey that erupted suddenly from the ground. The world dissolved into a shimmer of colors, blue and green and brown and black. He opened his eyes – he had trained himself to open the eyes – and he could see then all, shaking, twisting, turning, arms stretched, mouths wide in strange and vacant smiles. Kallie’s hair was fanned out and shivering like a flag in a gale and he wanted to remind her that it would soon burn, like it always did, for she said it was like leaving a piece of yourself behind, in that perfect moment, in that perfect place.

As soon as it had begun, the scenery changed and the colors began to be replaced by the black.

And suddenly there was silence.

~*~


“You don’t fall straight,” he said, gesturing to an enchanted diagram on the board. “It’s a curve… and that makes everything very different.”

There were about ten of them there, commanded by his fame.

“The first thing you protect yourself against is burning up… but anti-freeze charms don’t do. That fire, it’s too hot. There are heavier spells but you have to do it just right, otherwise you’d be a flaming Popsicle.”

There were some nervous little titters.

“Right.” The sound echoed. It was a desert around them: all sands and suns and golden yellows.

“But you already know that by now. You know it all. So now I can just tell you this: three out of four don’t make it. So get your affairs in order because if you are going with me, you will be dead.”

~*~


The silence lasted for but a heartbeat.

His shield was already up, a silver sphere whose surface was distorted by the assault of the naked sun like that of a rippling pond. His shield was already up, but he had been burned and could feel the pain searing through his skin. He shield was already up, and he was falling.

He was twisting turning and there was little he could relate to this motion of his planet pulling him to her breast. All he could say that there was no semblance of perception: there was no sound and sight was a sliver of a thousand and one sights, each relating a different story. There was pain, but in this moment there was no thought besides the mechanical drone of spells, and because there was no thought he could not impose the pain against any memory to understand it: it was as strange and alien to him as everything else.

It took a long moment to realize he needed to breathe.

It took him longer to realize he was screaming.

As basic thought returned, so did the long list of spells that he began to think. They involved minimal foolish wand waving: anything complicated would be the precursor to a pretty suicide. And suddenly he could breathe, he could think, he could see and understand that he was spinning and falling – already at terminal velocity – towards the earth.

And gods, he could never get tired of this.

~*~


This was a game of pure survival.

There was nothing manufactured about this, no man-made intent could sully the lethal purity of its sword. No man made filth confused it. The objective was clear: seared into the brain hotter than the sun he could barely come to face.

He was falling, it was a long way down, and all he had to do was live the journey.

~*~


There were and always had been a number of ways to live.

He could have lived like Hermione, leaking men and women and men from her bed, like water through a sieve and he suspected that all that fucking had burned away the muck and made the objectives of her life very clear.
He could have been like Ron who, like a meandering river couldn’t help but circle around every pretty tree he found.

He could have done so much with his fame, with the adoration and adulation, the praise and prayers. But this was not what he had expected.
He had a wife, a beautiful wife, radiant in another childbirth, bloated with another fucking progeny, simpering with another albatross. He had children, two beautiful wonderful lovely children whose faces in the long hours of dreaming at work disappeared screaming into unfathomable darkness. He had a picture on his desk of his family smiling and waving into the camera and sometimes he swore that it was the truth, that this world was some sort of cracked photographic reproduction, for surely this was not how it should have been.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t.

There were always a number of ways to live.

And he was burning to find them.

~*~


It had all first started when a Russian Wizard had enchanted into the workings of Sputnik a pint sized portkey. And with a mirror strapped above his head relaying everything to his spectators, Ivan had waved, kissed his wife, and began his decent.

By the time the mirror burned, he was long dead.

And the rest they say is history.

~*~


History had a way of ensnaring you.

He already littered all the books. He had already peaked. And the monotony of every passing day eroded that edge duller and duller.

What more was left for him to do by this?

He couldn’t really remember how he had found this. Perhaps it was just another night and the turn he had taken had led to a strange, strange place. Perhaps it was a book that revealed its secrets to only those it deemed worthy. Perhaps it was the word of mouth from a stranger who couldn’t help but notice that as his fame withered, so did he.

What more was left for him to do by this?

But if nothing but the present matters, and the future is just another moment that might not arrive, then who cares how it began or how it will end? Cannot matters of life and death be cast aside in face of this reality?

But only certain people understood it:

This would be his tenth time. He was the most immortal person in the world.

~*~

Immortality is manufactured.

​

If a task through which each one survives is the test, then they are all immortal…

​

She was the first.

Her hair had all burned to a point; one which he could imagine had then flamed, like a dying star streaming up behind her as she fell. She had always wanted to leave a trace, an imprint, and how much larger can you get than one that was painted in the stars.

As he got close he could see that she was naked and across her crisscrossed her husband’s affair with his madness. For a moment he wondered what would be worse: doing the act or letting it being done to you.

As his shield appropriated hers he saw her turn, twist her wand, and suddenly slow down drastically, her rapidly approaching eyes bright as a challenge. And he almost roared out in happiness: he knew she knew and all those times when she’d been the only one to touch ground it wasn’t just skill, or luck or any blind factor: it was the thrill of immortality, the chasing of a dream amongst the clouds in the sky.

His arms spread out and all those spells of combat that he had almost forgotten came rushing back into his mind. He had the advantage of position; she was beautiful and that would make him hesitate. No matter. He felt more alive than he had in a thousand years.

At the edge of space he was burning. And no matter how it ended, it would be beautiful.

…And then there was one.

​

~*~

​

The End. ​

 

... wow. Thrilling, and terrifying, and intense.
Well done. Thank you.

 

Wicked man. Great story.

 

Looking for a challenge.

Anyone?

 

R-r-r-resurrect!

A new challenger appears! Vlad the inhaler!

Challenge: Ever wondered about the story behind the Greengrass family name? An ancient sorcerer, slighted by the family, put a curse upon them which would be inherited by all of their progeny, turning their pubic hair green. Harry's mission: to reverse the curse upon Daphne Greengrass' pubic hair (and maybe Astoria's too).

 

On it like Oz at the buffet table. o/