The Forest Duel
The forest was shrouded in dark silence as Voldemort strode past the thick trees. A narrow path led towards a clearing, which was where he had heard a loud, unrecognizable sound moments earlier. As he drew closer to the clearing, beams of light pierced through the gaps in the trees.
The sound came again, even louder. It was a deep hum followed by wisps of escaping gasses. Voldemort maintained his calm, he wasn’t afraid. No creature nor man could possibly frighten the greatest wizard in the world, he thought. But his curiosity grew, as he wasn’t sure what sort of magic could create such sounds.
Voldemort crept silently closer, until he reached the clearing, and what he saw amazed him. It was an enormous, metal craft. It had three large wings jutting straight up with a ramp appearing at the bottom leading inside. Voldemort had never seen such a thing before. Lights sparkled all over it, and for a moment, he was mesmerized by its sheer size and beauty.
A voice rang out as Voldemort approached the craft, still gazing up at it.
“My Lord, someone approaches!” came the voice.
My Lord? thought Voldemort. Surely, they weren’t talking to him. Could there be yet another wizard who went by the title of Lord? Well, he shall be disposed of by my hand, he continued to himself.
Voldemort spotted the man who had called out. He was dressed in a gray uniform, and his face was painted with shock. However, Voldemort’s hesitation allowed the man to run up the ramp into the craft. As he disappeared, heavy footsteps echoed from inside; someone was descending down the rattling ramp. Voldemort grabbed his wand, ready to face whoever it was. He wanted to see this so-called Lord’s life drain from their eyes, like he had done to so many other weaker men before.
But this man had no eyes. In fact, his entire face was covered by a large, black, almost skull-like mask. He was covered in strange black leather, with a great cape flowing behind him. On his chest was a peculiar square with blinking lights. And then he breathed. A deep, slow breath that filled the clearing. A breath that sounded almost robotic, and yet somehow, still human.
Who was this? thought Voldemort. He had never seen nor heard of such a man before. The mysterious man’s breathing seemed to penetrate Voldemort’s skin, causing a chill to race down his spine. This was something he hadn’t felt before. Was this fear? Nonsense; no man could possibly strike fear onto me, his thoughts continued. But this man in black was different. He could sense it. This man was indeed a Dark Lord. Perhaps, an equal to Voldemort?
Impossible, he thought again.
As the man reached the end of the ramp, he maintained a motionless gaze on Voldemort. It was clear both were waiting to see who would strike first. Then the man in black slowly raised his hand which was holding a small, silver cylinder. It wasn’t a wand, so what could this be? The answer came immediately with a pronounced whoosh as a beam of intense red light burst from the end of the shiny little cylinder. It was some sort of magical sword, thought Voldemort. His calm returned. What could this man do with a sword, no matter what it was made of? I’ll finish him off right away, no need to wait nor taunt. Voldemort raised his wand and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” as a jet of green light shot towards the man in black.
But the curse didn’t strike him. It didn’t even make it to him. In the same moment Voldemort uttered the incantation, the man raised his other hand and stopped the spell in midair. It remained a dancing, brilliantly green light struggling to escape.
Now this was certainly impossible. What sort of magic was this? For the first time in his life, Voldemort felt a twinge of true fear. Never had anyone been able to stop a Killing Curse in the air so swiftly and without a wand.
In that instant, Voldemort could feel his own wand leaving his hand. He gripped it tighter, but it was no use. The wand was being summoned by the man in black. Voldemort lost his grip as the wand flew into the man’s hand, where he glanced down at it, and crushed it in his fist. Sparks issued from the broken wand followed by a puff of white smoke as it dropped to the ground, now a useless tangle of splinters.
Wandless, Voldemort’s fear overcame him. This was a formidable opponent. Before he could even consider a possible escape, he felt a tightening around his neck. What a terrible sensation it was. His throat was being compressed by an unseen force. Then Voldemort felt his feet leave the ground as he was lifted into the cold, night air. He gagged; he couldn’t breathe; everything was going dark. Was death truly upon him? He couldn’t believe the ease of his own demise by the hand of this masked enemy. As his surroundings grew darker, he caught a final glance at the man, his hand outstretched manipulating Voldemort’s flailing body.
With the world disappearing before him, Voldemort saw the man wave his hand a final time as he forced the still hovering curse straight back at Voldemort, killing him. Voldemort’s body slumped to the ground with a deep thud. As Darth Vader stowed his Lightsaber back on his belt, he walked over and stared down at Voldemort’s crumpled corpse. Pitiful fool, he thought. Vader turned back and entered his ship, which took off into the star-filled sky.
Stories by Andres 
One Response to “The Forest Duel”
Wow this story is incredible. I feel like this is the most accurate representation of what would happen if these to characters actually met. I love it.
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