A Living God

Graveyard Point, Lake Pillsbury, California, USA

November 22st, 1972

Ebon racked a shell into the receiver of his shotgun, shouldered the weapon, and fired at an animated plate of clay that was flying through the air. Upon the slug's impact, the plate of clay shattered into shards; but then in the next instant various charms placed on the plate repaired the plate seamlessly; every piece of dust, every shard or fragment was gathered and the molecular bonds between their atoms were reapplied through magic instead of heat. The plate continued to zip through the air, joining six of its brethren.

Ebon racked another shell, fired, racked, fired, racked, fired; on and on he went until he ran out. Two shells between his fingers slid into the receiver, allowing him two more shots, before he was out entirely. He started to load up the gun with displayed ammunition, sitting in a chair and grabbing a swig of beer.

Glancing over to his side, he saw Bellatrix holding her hands over the thick earmuffs he'd enchanted for her. His own ears lacking protections, his physiology more than durable enough to listen to the roar of a thousand decibels blare into his ear, sunder his bones, and rip his flesh apart without nary a blink. For some creatures, that was a gentle hello.

"Would you like to have a go?" He asked, pointing at a 1911.

The young woman looked at the gun with a wary gaze, as if it was going to reach out and bite her. He'd realized a bit early into this practice shooting that Bellatrix hadn't ever shot, or even seen someone shot a gun. Not truly unexpected, as few people did. And even with movies and television allowing individuals in the modern world to grasp how one of the firearms worked, sounded like, and did; it wasn't until someone held one in their hands to appreciate how loud and powerful a firearm truly was. For a Wizard or Witch, they'd know about guns, and a skilled one would be capable of simply transfiguring the weapon into something else.

What was dangerous about the weapons was that they could usually fire at ranges that most Wizards simply didn't operate at, and their projectiles were so small and fast that only wide-spread barriers could block them. Caught unaware, a Wizard was just as mortal to the weapons as a muggle. Considering that moments prior, he was practicing his quick-draws with a revolver and firing six rounds within nary a few seconds -never having done so before, but he learned quickly- he'd seen the Witch start to realize how dangerous the weapons were and that the Muggles that were thought of so lowly weren't as defenseless as many thoughts. It was only the statute's protective veil that saved the magical community from backlash of acts like 'muggle baiting' and similar crimes.

If the muggle world were to ever obtain information on where wizarding populations were, then they'd be near defenseless against the mundane methods they used to kill each other. Wards and protections against dangerous magic would be null and void before a suicide bomber's vest, or a dead-dropped bag of plastic C4, or any number of armed gunmen on a blood-hunt to stop out the weird, the strange, and the occult.

There was a sort of whiplash that the young woman was experiencing, she reflected. She eventually fell asleep last night, and contrary to expectation, she did not have what could be considered a nightmare. Instead, it was like an enlightening sensation of drifting under the ocean waves, filtered each and every way; moving and communicating in methods that boggled her mortal mind, but her soul very much responded in kind.

She'd…awakened to something. The flow of things, the movement of some particle that was alive and energetic; wanting to be used and consumed, yet also wanted to be propagated and created. She didn't know what to make of it yet, but at the periphery, she knew that flow-state was always there if she paid attention to it. What she could make sense of the dream, was that it left her well-rested, and she woke up come dawn, ready to see Ebon engaging in target practice. The dichotomy between unreal revelations about her professor and the universe at large, the existence of alien unknowable gods and monsters, and the eventual death-mark of her entire universe had then transitioned into a mundane camping trip using muggle instruments.

Bellatrix now understood why she couldn't find it in herself to judge Professor Kampf. It was just…too big. Here she was, living her life, and she'd continue to live her life. The world was here now, and while it might end in a billion or a trillion years…

Who cared?

"Why do you do this?" She tried to understand, focusing on the now of her life. Bellatrix wasn't sure why, but she felt so…free right now.

"It was a hobby." Ebon shrugged. "I once had a father and a mother. My father would take me fishing, camping, and shooting. It was recreational, a period for us to bond together. My mother liked to take me hiking and on walks in beautiful places. The shooting is a muggle American hobby that the rest of the world finds an odd fascination. So you're not alone in not understanding the point of 'hobby shooting'. Firing a gun holds feedback that is satisfying, and hitting your mark is much like successfully casting a spell. Firing different guns with different calibers of ammunition feels different, and it's that physical 'bang' that makes our monkey brains like guns. Not everyone likes them, of course, as my mother had something of a phobia for loud noises, and guns in general." Ebon explained, gesturing to the 1911.

Picking up the weapon, she started to inspect the weapon. He walked over to her and started correcting her stance, showing her how to hold the weapon, and teaching her general gun safety. Bellatrix blushed as he pressed up behind her, correcting and lifting her arms, spreading her legs…

Her face was blushing by the end of it, up until came the point that she needed to fire the weapon. Focusing, she listened to Ebon speak.

"First, find the iron sights." His hand snaked around her neck and tapped the glowing nub on the end of the barrel, and then the two squares. "These help you aim. Firing accurately requires some mental and visual gymnastics. Some people like shooting with both eyes open, one eye on the target, and the other eye lining up the iron sights to where you want to hit. Others rely on the iron sights and close both eyes, but it's important to always keep an eye on where you want to hit, not all your attention on the iron sights themselves." He then tapped her hip, "Keep your stance steady, you were shuffling."

Trying to calm her heartrate, she focused, "Where am I aiming?" She asked.

"Steel target, center mass. The plate that looks like a torso." He pointed and she nodded and tried to fire. The trigger didn't depress, and she resisted the urge to look down the tube.

"The safety is on, preventing misfires. There's also a common beginner mistake you just did, and that was jerking your trigger." His hand gripped an invisible gun, and he jerked his finger back as if pulling an invisible trigger. "See that motion? It causes your entire hand to shake. Instead, do this," He slowly pulled his finger back, "The gun should surprise you when you fire it. I know that doesn't sound fun, but it's safer if it does. You'll be preparing for the recoil and will let your body itself react to taking in the recoil."

Nodding she clicked off the safety and started to refocus. Ebon's advice spilled into her ears, and she slowly depressed the trigger.

The gun fired, Bellatrix jolting a bit as her hands automatically corrected holding the weapon; ready for another shot in the general direction of where she'd fired her previous round. The feedback wasn't like anything she'd experienced with casting a spell. "Morgan's tits, you're right about the physical feedback feeling amazing." Adrenaline coursed through her, and she aimed again, depressing again. The bang wasn't as bad as she'd thought it'd be. She felt like she was being physically hit by the pressure waves of the shotgun, but being behind the weapon felt a lot nicer.

"Now rapid fire and keep your gun down range. Don't worry about accuracy."

Nodding, she did as told and fired her weapon several times, until there was a click, and she realized she'd run out of ammunition. With a pensive look on her face, she turned to Ebon, "Could you enchant it, so I don't have to reload?" She wondered.

Ebon's eyes widened. Queerly his eyes darted down to her lips, before he coughed into his hand. Separating from their now rather intimate position, Ebon nodded silently and took the weapon from her hands. He waved his wand rapidly, strings and weaves of magic casting themselves over the weapon, and soon he handed it back to her. Oddly quiet, she frowned up at the man, and cocked her head. Ebon looked away from her eyes and pointed towards a distant target.

"Why-." He cleared his throat, "Why don't you try and hit that target. You hit the steel three times, I heard. Let's practice some accuracy."

Humming, the day moved on. They shot all manner of weapons, enchanting them, with Ebon taking several apart and teaching her about their internals and how they worked. It was fascinating how the weapons worked, and how it was all done through mathematics, engineering, and science. Such deadly weapons replacing swords and spears; how times changed.

She got to fire what Ebon called the Kalashnikov, enchanted for the barrel, receiver, and grip to be cooled, and for the magazine to have a sustained Germino charm cast, she sprayed down targets left and right, ripping up the forest and shooting down conjured imps and wolves within the forest. She then got on the M249, doing much the same, laughing with Ebon as they sipped down beer and whiskey, getting a bit tipsy; before spilling into a boat to fish for brunch.

"I see why you did it." Bellatrix admitted as she leaned back in the boat, feet kicked up in boots he'd conjured, resting her head against a conjured pillow as she stared up at the skies and clouds.

"Hmm?" Ebon asked.

"Sold it all for this. Life becomes so…careless and free." She reached out towards the clouds, wonder in her eyes.

"The power was a means to an end. It was the path to the goal. Like all things in life, things become meaningless as you cease to seek them. Wonder and curiosity, the simple things to enjoy, the everyday struggle. Eudaimonia. It's a Greek term, I believe. It is the concept of living a complete and full life; obtaining the mythical happiness that no philosopher's stone could ever employ. To live with virtue, to live through what one can control and not become concerned with what one cannot. To bring others within their community along their journey through life, to be a pillar, a rock, a stone. Stoicism, the Philosophy that is, believes in Virtue Ethics; belief in that all men need to be happy in life is the qualia of living virtuously. I've always believed that, and will continue to believe, that such a man is but a Stoic Myth. A fantasy within this flawed world."

"Are you not the Stoic Myth?" Bellatrix asked.

"Perhaps." He allowed, "But am I a man? I do not need to eat, to engage in the competitive rules of life and living. To live, one must compete. Humanity has dominated the natural order of life, removing all animal competitors and instead only competing with themselves. They broke the rules of evolution and are devolving outside of their technologies. It is now a race of time if mankind can develop their technology so that it may save them, doom them, or devolve them into altogether lesser creatures. I am on the periphery of all things. I am not one of this world and am instead simply a visitor. I have perceived and prophesized dozens of calamities within the following fifty years, yet do you see me acting to engage in what I can control? For I can control much."

Bellatrix reflected and digested that. Ebon was not mortal, and thus had abnormal reach and powers. He could control much, but he limited himself to his mortality even in the face and knowledge of calamity and the capacity of good, claiming that he was an outsider and had no need, reason, or motivation to interfere whether for good or ill. In one way, this was abominable. It was unknown if he'd step in to save anything from some calamity, but it was also a hard-limit rule and proof that he was not a manipulator or control freak; he was not addicted to power and control like some tyrant or mortal-God. From the perspective of the mortal, Bellatrix looked at Ebon. Not as her Professor, but as what he was. Powerful beyond reason. If he demanded her to submit, to bow to him, to any rule; she couldn't do anything but accept and obey. There wasn't a power in her mind that could slay this being, and if there was, it was outside of her knowledge and skill to obtain. From this perspective, it thus came down as a matter of perspective and opinion. Do the mortals of the world want an inactive god-like entity, uncaring of their world and more concerned with the nuances of their own personal life and the limitations imposed -effectively a non-factor- or would they prefer and active component that would come to save them at their behest?

Human nature would dictate that they would not like what they could not understand, nor control. The Ministry would rebel against Ebon's interference and try in any way to find means of controlling him. They would lambast his reputation, simply because his power rivaled their own, and it sullied the concept of the social construct with a being existing outside of it, free of the consequences of breaking it.

"What would make you interfere?" She questioned as he reeled in a fish.

"My social circle and my identity." He answered, tossing the fish into the ice bucket. "I am Ebon Chaoskampf. Currently I am acting as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and it is a post that comes with many responsibilities to its students, its staff and faculty, and even to Britian at large. I've found that taking on a role and performing through it helps stabilize and rationalize away my awareness of greater events and pulls. I am not out on the street slaughtering muggers or rapists, nor am I tossing them into jail through some misguided perception of justice or ill-informed and executed good. I am not stopping calamities and acting as a walking and physical God, saving populations from draught, starvation, or disaster. Instead, I am a man working as he should, displaying above-exceptional abilities for his post, of course."

"And what about wealth?" Bellatrix asked, "DADA doesn't exactly pay well, although I guess if you ever sold Orichalcum…"

Ebon just pulled out a gold bar from his shadow, "I can kick reality's ass until it bends over and gives me what I want." He threw the gold bar into the lake. "Even without Alchemy and Transfiguration, material goods mean little to me." He shrugged. "I find a certain challenge in learning the magical arts; they interest me and as I grow in proficiency, I can teach my findings to others. Initially, learning magic was just me attempting to fit in. Earning masteries was me appeasing my Ego and seeing how far I grew in all of a few months learning it."

Bellatrix choked, "You…a few months?!"

Ebon smiled, "An expanded mind does wonders to what and how fast one can learn."

Shaking her head at the ridiculously fast pace of learning and attainment of magic her Professor had, a thought crossed her mind. She shook her head, refusing to voice it, only for her Professor to catch the act.

"Oh, what's on your mind?"

Bellatrix swallowed, and decided to bite the bullet, "Well, you could have anything you could ever want. Anything at all. No one could stop you, if you, well, y'know…" She twirled a length of hair.

Ebon was quiet for a moment, "I did think about it. I could whisper into anyone's ear and have them bow to my commands. I could subvert populations, I could corrupt minds in mass, and I could have a cult of worship. There was a voice in my head that asked if it would be so bad as to reach out and touch a few minds that I desired. To coax them to my service, but I know myself. I'm self-aware that the moment I do reach out, that I break past that self-imposed limit; there isn't going back. And I'm not talking about the horror of sin, but the pushing of the boundary. Once done once, why not twice? Why not ten times? Why not thousands? Why not create a cult of personality, to be served at every whim? The idea is attractive on a macro," His eye glanced over and Bellatrix had to repress the blush as it roved over her body, subtly biting her bottom lip, "But as it grows, it becomes a gross thing; a monument to my lack of restraint, my lack of will, my lack of self-discipline." He put his fishing rod down and sat on the rower's spot within the boat. He took up the rowing handles and started his way back to shore. "Besides, the thrill of the game is in the catch." He chortled.

"What about love?" Bellatrix asked, pushing the boundary now that it'd be broached. "You, by your own words, are eternal."

The man kept rowing, keeping his eyes on the woman who avoided his gaze. Despite this, she knew he did nothing except stare at her, "Magic, for as mortal as it may seem, is powerful. Beyond my status as Demigod, as Patron and Remade of The Wyrm. Beyond being the Master of the Trapezohedron, Warden of the Ebonhold. I am a keeper of knowledge. Wonderful, terrifying knowledge. Death, Time; such limited concepts and restraints."

"Those are dangerous words." She noted, "Could you truly turn back the clock, or even revive someone from the dead?" She wondered.

"If I so much as tried. But loss is a beautiful thing. I've learned that well today." He mused.

"Your parents." She noted. "Could you…"

"I asked my Patron. My Universe didn't have an Afterlife. Their souls, if we even had any to begin with, were unmade. Anything else would've been replicas, fakes. Whoever I was before could not, nor would never be satisfied with such."

The boat docked, and the two left for the campfire to earn themselves a brunch. There was an odd tension between the two that hadn't existed before then. Odd, but not unwelcome.

As they ate, Ebon quickly disassembled his camp, stored away his guns, tables, tents, and all evidence they'd been her save the boat and dock. Bellatrix too dressed herself in her old robes and school clothing, removing the muggle fishing wear she'd been wearing previously. The ergonomics would be something she missed; having so many pockets was fascinating.

"Ready?" Ebon asked.

Bellatrix nodded, pressing up against him, and breathing in a scent of stardust and shadows.

In a fractal disassembly of reality, they vanished.

….