Bohemian Rhapsody

moment three: fate (1960).

Tom stood, staring at the Portal that was set squarely in his sights. Power crackled along his arms: most likely the result from the killing he´d done on the way here. A small party of Tibetan monks had attempted to stop him, but he´d soon drained them dry, and was bloated with their energy. All that abstinence and meditation concentrated their magic to such an extent that Tom was constantly surprised they didn´t just burst with the force of it. However, all that power didn´t do them any good, he remarked inwardly. By the end they had almost begged him to split them apart and tear their flesh to the four winds.

He smiled softly to himself. Such pretty screams.

But he couldn´t afford to lose himself in the sentimental cage of memory: he had a higher purpose. In the ten years since he had come here, he had learnt much. It had taken him three years of research, the pain growing inward, embittered, until he discovered the ritual of Opening. It was rather crude, compared to other techniques he had learnt subsequently, but it had worked, binding his body and blood to that of the dark powers, supplicant to patron and servant to Master. Since then he had visited one of the last remaining Aztec wizards surviving, and studied with him, gaining great depth and proficiency in the old left-handed way of blood magic. He had made his way through the maze of sewer tunnels under Mexico to find the Great Temple with the old sage, and following three years of study Tom had believed he had nothing more to learn.

It had been relatively simple to kill the old man, slicing open his chest on the old stone of sacrifice and dedicating the heart to Huitzilopochtli. Huitzilopochtli had brought war to the Mexica, sustaining the Aztec´s ancient empire in order to quench his eternal thirst for blood: a thirst that increased with every single year of sacrifice, and kept the fields in corn and the sun in the sky, until the conquistadors came. The spirit of the stones had slept then, after that final bloodletting, until Tom had woken him up with his most precious offering.

He had been blessed by the Powers that day; a confirmation that his training was following the path the dark powers intended. There had been much more to learn, and time spent amongst packs of werewolves, and Giant tribes, learning their ways, their magicks. The wizarding world consisted of such fools: they saw brutes; muzzle and fur and crude strength, forgetting that power called to power, and there were other ways of focussing it than using a wand. He was constantly aware of power now: his tie to the dark powers sustained and taunted him, pulsing darkly in the back of his mind. All around Tom could see ruin and decay, the product of the world, a world that was doomed to die, its energies spent and its purpose failed. And finally, that need had called to him.

With that most primal of forces, blood, he had entered into pact and treaty with Giant shamans and werewolf mystics, gaining their support for the upcoming battle ahead. He had of course hidden his ultimate objectives; they were undoubtedly unworthy of the knowledge, but Tom had learnt much, and venerated their Gods.

In the forests of Yugoslavia, he had howled into the night, calling upon Fenric, the werewolf who was prophesied to swallow the sun and end the world. Amongst the Arctic wastes, he had offered up burnt offerings to the fallen angel Apollyon, who had rebelled against God and been cast down, his blood mixing with the whores of humanity to give rise to the Giant race.

He was certainly not the same person who had come here ten years ago. Summoning a deep breath, he strode purposefully towards the black surface and without breaking his stride, Tom stepped through.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of any reference frame. It appeared to be an infinite emptiness, bounded by darkness...except the closer he looked, the more he found colours twirling in the darkness around him, moving almost too quickly for him to see. He had opened the door seven years ago, turning himself into a living portal for the dark powers to act in the world. Now he had come with a boon of his own to ask.

The colours encircled him, finally coalescing and swirling to a point where a shape walked from the colour, to face him. His otherself, calm and composed.

//Why are you here?//, it asked simply. There was no need for words; the thought merely made itself known in Tom´s mind.

Tom had gone over the speech several times in his mind; almost every day for the past three years, since he had seen exactly how capable he had become. The irony being that when he needed it the most, it flitted from his conscious, leaving him searching for words. "I...I want to be one of you."

He was met with his own laughter, and the shape circled him, clearly unimpressed by what it saw. //You want to become one of us? You? Some half-breed who styles himself `Lord Voldemort´, who´s greatest achievement thus far has been managing not to fall over the footsteps of Salazar Slytherin?// There was a mocking pause. //He couldn´t even conceive of us, boy. Too entrapped in his feeble dreams of flesh, too easily held back by love.// White teeth shone in the darkness. //What makes you think you can just become one of us, anyway?//

Other shapes hovered next to the incarnate power, smoky phantoms watching Tom, assessing his responses. Tom summoned the focussing techniques he´d learnt, all those years ago at Hogwarts, so familiar he could call them up in an instant. "One hears...traces," he offered with a slight smile. "Dark wizards who disappear, whose bodies are never found. Half a dozen myths speak of you between the lines. You create this one place where the great enemy, Time, cannot touch. Besides, it stands to reason you were once human. God wouldn´t have created you from scratch, but he gives all his Creation the choice to Fall."

He could feel a fond appreciation in the space around him, and it strengthened his resolve. "I have been your eyes and ears, your willing servant in the world outside. I have done what I thought was right, without any guidance from yourselves."

//You have done...adequately.// The dark power´s visage was filled with amused condescension.

"I wish to become like you; an equal rather than a servant, the cage of my humanity burnt away, so that I may more openly achieve our aim in the world outside."

He felt an intelligence examining his mind, probing for weaknesses, the scar of the mental bond almost a physical presence in his body. //What is our....purpose then, boy?//

"I will help you blind the great enemy, Time. The serpent that eats its own tail will be no more, and God Himself will fall in blood and fire. There will no pain, no suffering, no death. The world will be as it was meant to be."

//Very well. We will purge you of your humanity, of your death.// The other self stepped back, and the iridescent smoke curled around Tom, grabbing a hold of his form and suspending him in nothingness. //Not all have survived the process, however. If you do, you will be as one of us.//

Tom nodded, dumbly, and shrieked as his form was filled with a terrible light.

Around him, the smoke danced in patterns, a kind of curious amusement at his torment.

//Ah....this is pain. We remember this.//