Multiverse's Ghost Rider

In the heart of a desolate forest, Harry Potter found himself ensnared by lifeless branches. His emerald eyes, mirrors to his soul, were locked onto the face of his nemesis, Lord Voldemort. The man who had ruthlessly murdered his parents, leaving him with nothing but a lightning-shaped scar as a memento of the tragedy. His heart was a tumultuous sea of emotions, each wave crashing against the shore of his sanity, threatening to erode his mental fortitude.

Rage, terror, anxiety... A myriad of feelings swirled within him, each one a tempest threatening to capsize his resolve. Yet, amidst the storm, a beacon of determination flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

Voldemort, monstrous in his demeanor, surveyed his new form with a perverse sense of delight. His serpentine eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his thin lips curling into a grotesque smile. To the average eye, this body was a grotesque abomination, a perversion of nature. But Voldemort was indifferent to such trivialities. For him, its power was its beauty, its potential for destruction its allure.

He sauntered towards the visibly thrilled Wormtail, his voice resonating with authority, echoing through the silent forest, "My wand, Wormtail!"

Wormtail, his gaze filled with reverence, slowly retrieved a wand from his cloak and presented it to his master. His hands trembled slightly, a testament to the awe he felt in the presence of his master.

Voldemort accepted the wand, his gaze lingering on Wormtail before he commanded, "Extend your hand!"

"Oh, master!" Wormtail's face lit up with fervor, his gratitude palpable as he exclaimed, "Thank you, master!" His voice was choked with emotion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

As he spoke, he extended his maimed arm, assuming his master intended to restore his lost hand. His heart pounded in his chest, hope fluttering like a trapped bird.

"Your other arm, Wormtail!" Voldemort's voice cut through the air sharply, a cold wind that extinguished the flame of hope in Wormtail's heart.

Wormtail's expression froze, and he reluctantly extended his other arm. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum of dread echoing his fear.

Voldemort seized his arm, brandishing his wand and pressing it into the Dark Mark etched on Wormtail's skin. The mark began to stir, writhing as if alive. Wormtail grimaced in pain, his features contorting in agony. His breath hitched in his throat, his body trembling as he endured the torment. After what felt like an agonizing eternity, the pain subsided, leaving him gasping for breath.

Rumble!

Voldemort's gaze shifted towards the ominous sky, shrouded in a blanket of dark clouds. The world seemed to hold its breath, the silence deafening.

The clouds coalesced, gradually morphing into a Dark Mark. It was a grotesque spectacle, a testament to the power of the Dark Lord.

Moments later, over a dozen tendrils of black mist streaked across the sky from all directions. They moved with a purpose, their destination clear.

Harry watched the spectacle, his expression fraught with worry. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum of dread echoing his fear. He could feel the tension in the air, a palpable force that threatened to suffocate him.

Several tendrils plummeted from the sky, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash. As the black mist cleared, dozens of figures materialized. They were all cloaked in black robes, their faces obscured by eerie masks. Their presence was a chilling reminder of the power Voldemort wielded, a testament to the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

As Harry watched, his resolve hardened. He would not let Voldemort win. He would fight, not just for himself, but for everyone who had suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord. He would fight for his parents, for Sirius, for Dumbledore... He would fight for a world free from the shadow of Voldemort.

Harry prepared to face Voldemort, his heart filled with determination. He would not go down without a fight. He would stand tall, face the storm, and emerge victorious. For he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and he would not be defeated so easily.

"The Death Eaters!" Jon's voice sliced through the tense silence, tinged with a hint of exhilaration. His eyes were ablaze with a fierce determination, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the cloaked figures. These were the Death Eaters who had evaded the clutches of Azkaban, who had sown seeds of terror and despair. Jon had bided his time at Hogwarts, not just to explore the labyrinthine corridors and destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, but to seize this moment. To annihilate Voldemort and his Death Eaters in one fell swoop, to bring an end to the reign of terror.

Voldemort stood amidst them, his gaze sweeping over his followers. His eyes were cold and calculating, scrutinizing each one of them. His silence was a palpable force, a testament to his power and authority.

"Welcome, my friends!" Voldemort's voice, coarse yet composed, echoed amongst them. His words were a chilling melody, a symphony of darkness that resonated with his followers.

His gaze hardened, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "None of you sought me out!" Voldemort's voice rang out, a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. His words were a harsh reprimand, a reminder of their failure.

He approached one of them, his steps measured and deliberate. "Crabbe!" He called out the name, his voice a whip that cut through the silence. He extended his hand towards the man's face, his fingers brushing against the cold mask. With a swift motion, he caused the mask to vanish in a puff of black mist, revealing the man's face.

His gaze moved to another, his steps echoing ominously in the silence. "Macnair!" He called out the name, his voice a chilling whisper that sent shivers down their spines. He removed his mask in the same manner, revealing the man's face. His eyes were cold and calculating, his gaze piercing through the man's facade.

He moved on, his gaze sweeping over his followers. "Goyle!" He called out the name, his voice a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. He removed his mask, revealing the man's face. His eyes were cold and calculating, his gaze piercing through the man's facade.

As Voldemort unmasked his followers, a chilling realization dawned upon them. They were not just followers, they were pawns in his game. They were instruments of his will, tools to be used and discarded at his whim. The fear in their eyes was palpable, a testament to the power Voldemort wielded.

Yet, amidst the fear and despair, a beacon of hope flickered. Jon, standing tall and resolute, was ready to face the storm. He would not back down, he would not falter. He would stand against the darkness, against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He would fight, not just for himself, but for everyone who had suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord. He would fight for a world free from the shadow of Voldemort. He would fight to complete his task in this universe.

***

One by one, Voldemort unmasked the Death Eaters, his movements methodical and deliberate. Each face revealed was a testament to the power he wielded, each expression a mirror reflecting fear and reverence. Until he reached the last one, the final piece in his macabre collection.

"Not even you!" He declared, his voice a chilling whisper that echoed through the silence. With a swift motion, he removed the final mask, revealing the face beneath.

"Lucius!"

Beneath the mask was a striking face, that of Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father. His silver hair was slicked back, his eyes cold and calculating. Lucius bowed respectfully, his movements graceful and deliberate. Then, he slowly knelt, his gaze never leaving Voldemort's.

"Master, had I discerned any signs or whispers of your whereabouts..." Lucius began, his voice a soothing melody that contrasted sharply with the tense atmosphere.

Before Lucius could complete his defense, Voldemort interjected, his voice a whip that cut through the silence. "There were plenty of signs, my elusive friend!"

"I assure you, Master, I have never strayed from the old ways!" Lucius asserted, his voice firm and resolute. His gaze was unwavering, his determination palpable.

He removed the hood of his black robe, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. Slowly rising to his feet, he continued, "In your absence, this face... my true mask, was what I presented to the world!"

"I returned!" Wormtail interjected from the sidelines, his voice a desperate plea for recognition. Voldemort turned his attention to the Death Eaters, then advanced towards Wormtail, who promptly lowered his head in fear.

By now, Harry Potter had been released from the dead tree branch, held captive by a stone statue in the cemetery, bound by its stony hands. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum of dread echoing his fear.

"Out of fear, not loyalty!" Voldemort's voice was deep and resonant, a chilling melody that resonated with his followers. "However, you have proven useful these past few months, Wormtail!"

As he spoke, Voldemort caressed Wormtail's head with his gnarled hand, his touch a chilling reminder of his power. Then, with a swift motion, he used his wand to regenerate Wormtail's hand.

"Thank you, Master!" Wormtail gazed at his newly formed hand, his voice brimming with excitement, "Thank you!"

At this moment, Harry was struggling fiercely, his heart pounding in his chest. His muscles strained against the bonds, his determination a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. Voldemort seemed to notice the commotion and turned to face him.

"Harry!" Voldemort's voice echoed loudly, a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. He slowly approached, his steps echoing ominously in the silence. "I nearly forgot about you! I intended to introduce you to everyone, but it seems you're as renowned as I am these days!"

"No, Voldemort, his fame has already surpassed yours!" Jon's voice suddenly rang out, a defiant challenge that echoed through the silence.

Voldemort spun around to face Jon, his gaze cold and calculating. "What did you just say, Barty?" His voice was a whip that cut through the silence, a chilling reminder of his power.

He hadn't expected his servant to address him by his name. Reflecting on it, Barty Jr.'s behavior had been somewhat peculiar of late. Not to mention the device on Harry Potter's arm, reportedly Barty Jr.'s invention, which he had never disclosed to him. Barty Jr. had never kept secrets from him before.

"Barty? No..." Jon began, his voice a defiant challenge that echoed through the silence. His eyes were ablaze with determination, his gaze unwavering. "Look closely, who am I!"

As Jon spoke, his facial muscles began to contort, his body gradually slimming down. His skin paled, his hair darkening to a jet-black. Eventually, he transformed into a pale young man in his early 20s, his features strikingly handsome.

But this was not the Barty Jr. they all recognized.

"Who are you?! Where is Barty?" Voldemort demanded, his voice a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. His gaze was cold and calculating, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Harry too was perplexed, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. What was happening? Wasn't this Moody supposed to be a Death Eater in disguise? Why did Voldemort seem so surprised upon seeing his true form?

Jon replied nonchalantly, his voice a soothing melody that contrasted sharply with the tense atmosphere. "Your Barty has been dead for quite some time. I killed him myself. The reason I facilitated your resurrection according to your plan was to ensnare you and your Death Eaters all at once!"

"Outrageous and absurd!" Voldemort's black robe billowed as he retorted sharply, his voice a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. "Boy, I don't know where you hail from, but do you understand why the mighty Voldemort became the Dark Lord everyone fears?"

Jon feigned contemplation before responding, his voice a defiant challenge that echoed through the silence. "Well...I don't know and frankly, I don't care."

"Silence!" Voldemort roared, his voice a thunderous roar that echoed through the forest. His gaze was cold and calculating, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Have you always been this talkative?" Jon shrugged, his tone casual. His gaze was unwavering, his determination palpable.

"Enough! I've had it with your insolence. It's time you experienced the terror of the Dark Lord!" Voldemort declared, his voice a chilling whisper that echoed through the silence. He pointed his wand at Jon, his gaze cold and calculating.

Jon merely smiled faintly, his gaze unwavering. "I've been waiting for you to say that! Then..."

As he spoke, a hellish fire engulfed his body. His skin began to recede, revealing his Spirit of Vengeance form. His eyes were ablaze with determination, his gaze unwavering.

"Let's commence the final judgment!" His voice was a defiant challenge that echoed through the silence, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

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A/N: I know this work is still very new, but your opinions matter a lot to my progress, please write a review 🙏.

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