Harry Potter, Overlord 1. Prologue

World Anew

Prologue

_"Ash and brimstone from the west, lives that had been lost return. Inside you beats life anew, both for you, and for the world."_

- 21st Matron to Harry Potter, 1997

Their footsteps, the crackle of the torch and the rattle of his chains unnerved Hrvoje Brand as he walked down a dark stone corridor towards his unavoidable punishment.

His actions have caught up to him, and someone had the strength to put him to justice. Brand had terrorized his family for decades, torturing his son to a point that he ran away and turned his own daughter into a subservient puppet that somehow endured his wrath all this time. Did he regret it? A bit, but Brand is not the one to regret his actions, no matter how cruel they might be.

Of course, the Jagged King is determined to be the karmic enforcer and give what's coming to him.

Brand looked behind him and caught only a glimpse of the giant black juggernaut holding the torch before he was pushed forward by the other one. Soon they stepped into a chamber with a tall ceiling. In the middle was a vast gaping hole with now visible end. Brand's shadow was disfigured across the uneven ceiling as the torchlight behind him whipped back and forth from the wind coursing out of the hole.

Sharp pain hit the back of his knee and forced him to fall to the ground. Stone shards ripped through his pant legs and dug deep into his flesh. He didn't let out anything except a loud grunt. From behind came a clinically cold voice. "There's been a change of plans."

The following pain was un-like any other. Something cold went through his back and stopped halfway out of his chest. Brand looked down and saw a jagged blade coated with his blood glint in the darkness. Even now his vision darkened and loss of consciousness was just a step away. Then a blow from the inside fragmented his very consciousness into a million pieces.

When those fragments reassembled into Hrvoje Brand, Hrvoje Brand no longer was within his own body.

* * *

><p><em>Expelling the mud and soil from his mouth for the fiftieth time, Havoc lifted himself up to stand in the middle of a crater caused by a grenade depot detonation. Just like the last forty-ninth time, two Pristi soldiers in mud-covered black armour slid into the crater. "You alright?" one asked, pointing his rifle into the sky.<em>

_Havoc looked up into the sky and took everything in. Night and day seemed to fight for dominance, eerie silence and ear-wrenching noises were everywhere. "I'm fine." was all Havoc said. He has grown tired explaining himself._

_"Take care of the wounded, I'm going forward." Havoc said, trying to brush of the mud and dust to no avail. The gray-green armour was now unrecognizable with chunks of mud sticking everywhere. He lightly jumped and let his will carry him out of the deep crater just in time to come face-to-face with a metal shard of rock and ore. He batted it away like a fly. The first time it killed him, but not the second time and not the other forty-eight times. Not this time, either._

_Before him was a row of destroyed buildings, the street behind them visible through the large holes. Pristi soldiers fought with rifle and sword alongside minions against hulking automatons of rock. Even wizards and witches were involved, Apparating everywhere they could, dodging those same lances of rock while peppering their enemies with spell a little short of the Avada Kedavra curse._

_To think London would suffer this much damage._

_A flash of light came from the side, literally eradicating one entire block. The flash came from behind Havoc, so he didn't have to worry about it. What he needed to worry about is going farther than before._

_Like he always did, he took the route the light opened up through the city. The majority of the battle was happening outside London, but was steadily moving towards the outskirts. The armour, fueled by his will and energy, carried Havoc at immense speeds. Havoc made sure to swing his heavy sword or pop a spell when he passed by an enemy or an ally in need. The situation was still rather stable here, so Havoc trusted his troops to handle the first wave with ease._

_The beam had cut through several blocks and out into country, ending at a small scorched hillock. Havoc stopped and saw annihilation taking place all over the countryside. Clouds of smoke rose everywhere, and then swept aside by more powerful explosions. But a powerful light overpowered everything else. It was small, like the Northern Star in the night sky. Havoc had to get there._

* * *

><p>Severus was torn.<p>

He was torn between action and inaction. To do something about Potter's plans, or do nothing and watch it come to fruition. War was inevitable with Potter spearheading the attack against this kind's enemies: the wizardkind. The world as he knew it would descend into chaos after barely months after the last war. The world is not prepared for the rise of the Pristi, and most likely never will be.

Severus had recanted his time with the Dark Lord many years ago. He was not the same man he used to. Somewhere along the line of being a double-agent has created a sense of duty towards the world, no matter how insufferable it might be. Sitting on his arse and doing nothing while the son of his greatest nemesis was bringing about the rebirth of the Pristi Empire didn't sit with him.

But he found the plan so foolish and so naive, that it was impossible to not see the good in it. The same old heroism of the Gryffindor was abundant no matter how one looked at it. Severus was not keen on becoming one of them despite the power. In fact, how did one control such a powerful species? Was an organized government even possible with such beings?

And yet again Snape found himself at a stalemate. He has no right to stand against a rce that has been driven to near extinction by his own kind. That would mean. however, that he will stand on the sidelines and let people get hurt when he could help them.

Severus made a noise of exasperation and put down the Potions Monthly he had tried to read onto the armrest of his armchair and stared at the empty fireplace before him.

How could he so quickly forget Minerva's death? Caused by Potter with nary a blink from him. Potter had proven he was more than Severus had thought he was by saving Lucius and Draco. Or maybe he saved them both to assure their loyalty to simply have them as pawns? Severus dragged a hand across his face. He didn't know what to think of Potter anymore.

He picked up the magazine beside him. Severus needed a distraction.

Speaking of distractions, Snape felt a shift in his home. It was almost imperceptible. Severus was capable of feeling it thanks to his tenure as a double-agent as being able to feel the situation to the tiniest detail had kept him alive. Someone has snuck into his home.

* * *

><p><strong>World Anew has begun! I am giddy with excitement as to how much I can, will and must put on paper (digital paper, though). It will be grand a journey, and I hope everyone who has stuck with me long enough to read World Anew will explore this world with me!<strong>

**And remember! Ask questions and I will answer them as much as I can without spoiling things! Just PM me!**


	2. First Steps

Chapter 1

First Steps

_"Some Pristi might be attracted to blood of beings rich with magic. Through upbringing, Pristi children are stopped from giving in to the urges, but there are those that indulge andhad become very close to vampires through the diet."_

- 'Pristi Upbringing' by Isla Mana

"Cold was our way for a long time. Our culture is a warrior culture where power means everything. We've become lax and weak after the Great Hunt. If that system has been destroyed, then we must build a better one." Louise mused to herself while she inspected her new armor. It looked just like the mechanized one, Louise has grown fond of the design. It was jet black with stripes of red going from the side of the chest all the way down to the calves.

As Louise swept her hand over each individual piece, she felt the life of the minions used to forge this armor react to her with absolute loyalty. They all vowed to serve her until the end in mesmerizing unison.

"I remember my father, a cold strict man who trusted you as long as you could hold against him in an arm wrestle. Perhaps this is one of the major reasons so many races united against us. Many envied us to a point of utmost hatred. Even our great allies such as the werewolves plotted against us."

"Too many thoughts, Louise?"

Louise turned and sighed before offering a weak smile to her affable comrade, Ragnar Riotar. The shaggy maned, boisterous man always had a big heart, those qualities made him look like an everyday man. If Louise didn't have a strict regiment set by her father, she would have fallen head over heels for the man long ago.

"One always has too many of them before going to war." Louise said. Ragnar stepped inside and closed the door. "Don't worry about me, Ragnar. Immortal is now Lord and I will never betray him. He passed Remember, thus he must be much more powerful than either of us."

Ragnar leaned against the door. "That's good to hear. But I didn't need to hear that. I've known you for so long. One of the reasons I came was because Sire has an assignment for you."

An assignment? Louise couldn't think of a reason to send her anywhere right now this soon. It's been only two weeks since Immortal won the Rite of Rule. "What kind?"

"He said you should go and help with the changes going in the Ministry of Magic in Britain. Sire found out you were the one to make the majority of the rules the Concil had in place." Ragnar was right. Louise was a mean legalist when she wanted to. The Concil was built by men and women who had one common goal: unite the fledgling race with some form of central government across the globe. But it did its job poorly.

They need a single homeland, they need to be neighbours and comrades, to survive. And Immortal plans to make Britain just that.

"Understood. I'll be there in an hour. What about you, Ragnar?" Louise was curious what was Ragnar doing under the new regime. Probably preparing his own end for transfer to Britain.

"Been busy pulling up old contacts all across Scandinavia and north-eastern Europe. We'll be ready in a month at most." Ragnar waved a hand. "Atsuko Yukasa told me she was responsible for Japan and Asia, while Robin is prepping Malasia and Australia." Robin was one of the Concil members, the strongest Pristi in Oceania. Most members were from Europe, but only ten members remain after the failed assassination attempt.

"We have work cut out for us," said Louise with a hint of exasparation.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around." Ragnar turned to leave. "Ragnar,"

"Hmm?" the man looked at her behind his shoulder. "Have you noticed a change in the young Lord?"

Ragnar nodded. "He is different than the laid-back boy from before. It's just pressure, so don't mind it." and with that Ragnar left.

Louise leaned on the table where her armor lay and crossed her hands. "I hope you're right."

* * *

><p>Ryan Glass was buying groceries at a market on the outskirts of York when a loud rumble caught everyone's attention. The dour England sky was marred by a black cloud of smoke rising above the eastern part of the city.<p>

Ryan thought what was in the east and remembered that Hunter-owned warehouse was there. He had heard that a massive shipment of enchanted steel came in two months ago. An accident was unlikey and Ryan suspected that the Pristi have made their move against the English Hunter garrison.

The former Pristi Hunter paid for the carrots and hurried back to his temporary home he has been using for the past two months. Ryan put the groceries onto a bike and rode deep into the country surrounding York.

Two police cars whizzed past him towards the city, obviously called back from their patrols. Other than that, the roads were empty as it was early morning. The fog was slowly dispersing as the sun rose higher into the gray sky and gave way to its rays. Ryan had to admit that the English contryside was intensly calming. He found it easy even now to simply lose himself to the calm and view of rolling hills with small patches of woods. It was almost idylic. Farms were dotted across the hills and made a web with their winding roads through the forests to join with the main roads, and Ryan knew most, if not all, of the geography in ten mile radius from his home.

After pedalling for half hour, Ryan finally reached a dusty and almost decrepit small two-story house. It was a cottage than a proper farm house like the neighbouring ones, but its size was of no consequence when you have magic. Around was a worn picket fence that has multitudes of discrete sensor wards. The wards recognized Ryan as a Hunter and didn't set of the alarm inside the house.

The front door was as rickety as the rest of the crooked house, but behind it was a looby in perfect condition. The hangers were full of reserve coats and hats, the lamp on the small stand next to a chair was on.

Ryan remembered that he had turned it off when he left.

The quickness with which Ryan procured his pistol and combat knife was akin to magic thanks to his intense training. The door that leads into the living room before him was ajar and Ryan could see a figure before the wide window at the back of the house. He wasn't about to take the chance and go in with hopes the figure was friendly. He was going to deal with this the easy way.

He extended his gun hand and aimed down the sights at the head. There was no delight or excitement, just the cold need for survival. Hunter or Pristi, an enemy either way.

The bullet flew with a roar through the small gap and looked to have hit its mark. The figure hasn't fallen despite that fact. That wasn't a fact, it was Ryan's expectation that he desperately wanted to believe and the glint reflecting off the floating bullet told otherwise.

"Just the kind of man I want." said the figure with a voice Ryan thought sounded feminine. Without a move, Ryan was pulled towards the figure against his will. He threw his knife towards the figure and saw it bounce away from some invisible barrier. With his hand free, Ryan held onto the door frame and shot his entire maggazine but to no avail.

Soon enough his fingers slipped and Ryan found himself being casually levitated few inches away from the figure. The figure's features resolved into those of a human being when Ryan focused his gaze against the bright light coming from the outside. The face was awkward looking, as if it was neither a mans nor a womans face. As the person moved to sit into a chair beside the window next to a lamp did Ryan see her completely.

Her hair was short and a hazel brown with tendrils curling around her eyes, forehead and neck. The tips looked to be a lot lighter than the rest. It must be hair dye, Ryan reasoned. Eyes of light blue gazed at him with amusement. She was dressed in a white shirt with a red waistcoat with black slacks, and that left Ryan completely confused. She looked of lean build and the clothes that would fit more a man than a woman fit her perfectly. Well, fact is that women look good in either gender's clothing.

She lowered her hand and Ryan landed on his knees with surprise. "Now that the unpleasentries are out of the way, my name is Elethea and you are Ryan Glass, a Hunter."

Ryan stood up holding his pistol still. All he had to do is reload it. But that would take seven seconds at most and he didn't have such a huge amount of time at hand.

"I am not here to kill you, or hurt you." Elethea said off-handedly. "I am here to make an offer that you can't refuse."

* * *

><p>Normal and mundane were the tenents in Petunia's life, and those tenents extended to her son Dudley as well. Petunia was a hard-working and utterly non-descript housewife, until her husband's mysterious but violent death that couldn't be traced to neither wife nor son. Now that escape route was closed off, Petunia could no longer pretend she was just a normal woman, but a squib and unwanted by anyone.<p>

Vernon's death caused quite a stir in and around Privet Drive. The rumours and speculations ranged from suicide to cult killing. The attention was so intense, unwelcome and shaming that Petunia took Dudley and moved to London, buying a small apartment with the money she got after selling the house. Unlike Privet Drive, London has a much larger wizarding populace and Petunia could recognize everyone of them just by looking. She felt like a failure everytime she saw them.

After that day Petunia felt demolished every single day. Dudley was eerily silent but very obedient as he mulled over the events. Petunia couldn't get herself to talk to him when a single thought about telling her boy his father was so brutally murdered left her a sobbing mess. She was sure that Dudley could hear her crying most of the time through the door.

Petunia found herself crying for both Harry and Vernon. She loved them both so much and now both of them are completely gone. Her love for Vernon might be misplaced, but she couldn't stop loving him despite his horrible actions. She realised that she was doing the same thing as he: rejecting any semblance of a world they feared. Under their influence, Dudley was growing into a xenophobe as well, and that left Petunia stricken with shame and grief.

Today was like any other day. A dull and monotone Saturday with nothing to do and demons running rampant through both Petunia's and Dudley's minds. The park across the street was packed with people having a good time or walking their dogs. Petunia felt frustration bubble up as she looked at them having fun, hearing them laugh. The park and the apartment were in sharp contrast that made Petunia's sorrow even harder to bear.

"Mother of-!" she almost cursed when contents of the pot on the stove began spilling out. A foamy yellow liquid flowed onto the stove. Petunia turned off the stove and grabbed a cloth while cursing her lack of focus. She has to get a grip.

Dudley's heavy tread came from behind her when Dudley went to check on his mother. He resolved to keep an eye on her in case she tries something. She doesen't know, but Dudley is so afraid for his mother that being anything less than a quiet good child would be a catastrophe. His father's death had felt like he was attacked by those dementors again. And he wasn't sure if he could handle such sorrow and pain like that again.

Dudley changed after the attack. He had recognized what a horrible person he was, especially towards his cousin. How he treated Harry, how his father treated him, was unforgivable. Petunia tried to hide what her husband was doing to his cousin, but Dudley realized it very quickly when Harry wore the baggiest clothes he could find. The dementor attack let him come to terms with his own and his father's actions only a year later. It was sadly too late to give any semblance of an apology to Harry next summer.

It was hard to smile with his father when the word came that Harry was dead. Underneath Dudley, and he knew mom also, was disgusted and horrified. Both by the news and Vernon's reaction to it. Dudley should have started hating his father long before that, for what he did to Harry, but that was the point where Vernon the father turned monster in Dudley's eyes.

The death of his father troubled Dudley very much. He was sure Petunia knew who did it but she refused to tell him and he didn't want to push her. By the way his father died, Dudley had concluded it was a vengeful killing by someone who knew what Vernon had done to Harry. It left Dudley looking over his shoulder sometimes, in case he saw someone strange who might be out to get him.

His weight was more or less the same. The difference is that it is no longer fat but almost pure muscle. Dudley had taken up boxing before the attack, and after that he only pushed himself harder until he was powerhouse. Now he was toned and muscular, to women's delight.

"Everything okay, mum?"

Petunia rubbed at the foam furiously but it wouldn't come off easily. Then she just sent the cloth flying into a wall from the frustration and grabbed hold of the stove to contain herself. Heavy but comforting hands of Dudley held her shoulders a moment later. "Let's go eat out, mum, just this once." Dudley said, turning her around and seeing her on the brink of tears.

"I think the rest of the day out would do you good, and I'll pay for everything." Dudley continued.

Petunia shook her head. "You are not paying for anything. I am your mother." Dudley could only smile at his mother's face of resolve. Even when it was obviously fake.

Grimauld street was rather sorry-looking when compared to the one across the park and as such has low price despite being Inner London. Petunia had smartly capitalized on it and managed to buy a three-room flat but had left little of their budget intact so Petunia, and Dudley despite his mother's protests, took on a job.

It was Saturday, and weekend are not the days one should think about work.

A very good eatery was on the far side of the park, so Dudley and Petunia decided to take a slow route through the park's winding paths and enjoyed the sights for a change. They were walking between two large open areas: to the left were dogs running around and chasing each other while to the right was a playground with a host of children manning the many colourful buildings and beasts planted on springs. Stories of wars and magic went rampant atop the highest heights to deepest caves on each level of the not-so-tall structures respectively. Dudley was relieved to see his mother smile at least a little bit.

The path winded into a small cluster of copses with benches along the sides of the path. It was strangely empty but Dudley could swear he had noticed two people sitting on one bench talking. When he looked back he saw nothing.

Paranoid, a bit...

Petunia had grown fond of fish and chips by the time they got to the eatery so they ate it back at the park and enjoying the sun.

"Mum," Dudley started.

"Hmm?" Petunia's mouth was full. Dudley took in a deep breath. Now Petunia was looking worried.

"Did Harry kill dad?" it was a shot in the dark. And somehow it had hit its mark. Dudley blanched when Petunia didn't rush to dissuade his thoughts. "He is alive, isn't he." Petunia started choking on the fish she was chewing. Dudley gently pat her on the back a few times before it stopped.

"What do you want me to say, Dudley? That the boy we all tortured year after year was alive and went and killed your father?"

Dudley put his head into his hands. "I shouldn't have asked."

Petunia took hold of his hands. "No, you deserve to know. We were afraid of him, and we made you become afraid of him, too..." she trailed off, her throat was too constricted to go on.

"We should go home." Dudley stood up and tossed the empty cup and napkins in the trash. Petunia nodded and they started their slow walk back home.

In the hall just outside their flat Dudley fumbled for the keys while Petunia was a bit back. Dudley pushed the key into the keyhole and started turning when he heard Petunia scream. He looked to the side and saw masked people drag his mother away and, somehow in all that sudden danger, Petunia shouted "Find Harry!"

During that he had turned the key completely and unlocked the door. What happened next, Dudley couldn't say, as he was blinded by a bright flash.

* * *

><p>Karathuk Razz Kota was glad to be in the vibrant jungles he had lived for most of his life, and to be amongst his people. The Rite and the subsequent assignments from Lord Havoc had taken a vast amount of time he could have spent leading his people against the urgent problems the african Hunter division was causing.<p>

The old city of Sthar, stone towers rising high through the canopies, was a sight to behold when one found it by simply pushing aside a bush of foliage. But a non-magical or unwelcome being would see nothing and quickly find itself back from whence it came. Unfortunately the wards are not strong enough to go unnoticed by the Hunter's powerful detectors, and they have been attacked on random.

Razz was forced to make his people hunt in greater groups for food, but had also the chance to cause some losses to the other side.

The warm stone beneath his bare feet felt great after spending so much time in boots and shoes while amongst the scale-less ones. A colourful, light and breathable robe did little to minimize his prominent wide shoulders befit a warrior. Pair of thick scales served as epaulets on his shoulders and were painted with the symbol of Karathuk, a redundancy as every citizen knew how their leader looked.

The stone plaza before his spire was bustling, The hisses and slaps of bare feet on stone calmed Razz down. Razz hated those infernal cars and contraptions that made so much noise so incessantly. The simple sounds were the best.

Amongst all the bustling green, yellow and black scales was a sore thumb of purple and red. Razz recognized the garments and headwear of the Hissers. Their robes were made of white and black silk with rubies and amethysts interwoven in the material. The headdress was a black and white head-tight mask depicting a dragon-like serpent with rubies for eyes. Toru stood tall due to his powerful youth and, Razz almost missed him, Grand Hisser Kuatil was as crooked as ever.

The three lizardmen met halfway next to a fountain the shape of a long-dead lizardman with the founding jewel of Sthar, The Heart, in his uprisen hands. Younglings kept straying over to the fountain to attempt to climb the statue and have a closer look at the enormous jewel, but their mothers were too agile and quick to let them even step into the water. Razz had to smile and chuckle at the small things, especially when he saw their dazzled expressions.

"You find my age laughable, Kota-rim?" Kuatil hissed through less teeth than a newborn. "I have only the greatest respects for you, Ur-hu." Razz gave a shallow bow to the magician in the deepest show of respect available to the Karathuk. Toru was grinning beneath his mask.

The ancient lizard harrumphed in a manner that he doesn't believe his Karathuk's word. Razz led the two back to the palace spire.

"Toru told me that an Immortal has risen to the throne." Kuatil said when they were safe in the vast lounge of Karathuk's palace. They all took a seat on cushions littered all around the arched room draped with colourful draperies and tapestries. Above them was a huge brazier casting a relaxing dim light across the entire room. Razz clapped and a servant snuck around the cushions on her tiptoes and presented a platter of roasted bugs and meat strips ranging from raw to almost burnt. Another servant followed with platter of assorted teas contained in decorated urns.

Kuatil and Toru removed their cumbersome masks, evident by their considerable weight. Unlike Toru and Razz's youthful scales, Kuatil's head was covered in scars from both rituals and battles. Kuatil was five centuries old and has lived through very chaotic times such as the Great Hunt and the brutal battle before it. One of his eyes was closed as a large gash from a Hunter's sword took it away. The other eyes was as sharp as ever, still a shining gold of a lizardman destined to wield magic as if he was one with it.

"Yes, and despite that, our allies are still harboring dark doubts about him." Razz took a raw strip of meat, put on half a dozen of bugs on it, rolled it into one crunchy and bloody roll, and ate it. He would have relished the taste if his mouth wasn't sour from the situation his people was in.

"Seventeen suns is very little for a Pristi, " Kuatil's voice was akin to rocks being ground together and sounded like he was criticizing. "But I respect the Matron's words very much, and so should your allies, Kota-rim."

Toru was silent while sneaking in gluttonous handfuls of meat and bugs into his maw just out of Kuatil's good eye. He spoke after swallowing his tenth handful. "You mentioned some kind of offer from the Prim, brother."

Razz nodded.

"He has offered haven for us. In case we are unable to handle the current situation."

Kuatil snorted in derision. Being the Grand Hisser also came with vast amounts of pride and know-it-all. The five centuries under his belt didn't help it, either.

"The youngling underestimates us," Kuatil hissed. Razz raised a hand to prevent further escalation of the old lizardman's blood and rage. "Do not think he is belittling us, Ur-hu. I've come to know the youngling as a compassionate warrior who would do anything he can to help his kind or those he cares about. I've fought alongside him against the Hunters, and his valor rivals those of our ancestors."

Kuatil still didn't look convinced nor satisfied but visibly calmed down. "I trust your judgement, Karathuk, but I will have to see the youngling for myself to be ultimately convinced. Now, onto more urgent matters,"

"Yes, let's." Razz agreed, eager to formulate a plan to end this tiresome siege.

* * *

><p>Ryan despised boats. They always rocked left and right whether still or moving, turning his stomach inside-out. He had a vice-like grip on the railing and intensely stared at the foamy ripples the yacht left in its wake across the surface of the Atlantic Ocean.<p>

The yacht itself was the standard bleached white befitting a rich owner, with a lounge open to the sky for a small soiree on a casual ride. The engine was absolutely silent as Ryan could only hear the water bubbling and being scooped up by the propellers. Just another enchantment that makes this yacht a perfect mobile home on the world's oceans.

Tired of the wide blue expanse, Ryan retreated into the deceptively small cabin of the yacht to step into a wide compartment full of bookcases and armchairs. The door at the back of the room led to a smaller, but equally impressive, bridge while another to the side led to a laboratory every potions master would be envious off. The owner of the said yacht was the Elethea woman who is currently at the helm on a course Ryan was forcefully kept oblivious of.

He took a stool and brought it to a wide and thick oak table off to the side. The table had one wide drawer with a golden knob and Ryan pulled to reveal an array of pistols and ammunition. The first time Ryan had been offered this by Elethea, he was surprised she would invest so much into muggle weaponry. When he pulled farther out, the drawer was longer than the table now, modern assault rifles came into sight with a metal glint of swords coming from deeper in.

Ryan's Hunter training involved from guns, explosives and heavy weapons to swords and magical artifacts. In fact, Ryan's body is home to almost a dozen magical organs and artifacts that help him in his mission against the Pristi. He never would have thought he would be using them to help a Pristi, not in a million years.

"Save the world, huh?"

The door leading to the laboratory suddenly opened and a fuming potions master made a beeline towards the bridge and was gone as quickly as he had appeared. Ryan had noticed that the man was very much infuriated by the circumstances he has found himself in. He could only catch 'Snape' as the man's name since he was with the Pristi before Ryan was dragged into this.

A minute after, Snape went back to his laboratory. Elethea followed him into the room but didn't go with him into the laboratory. She looked at Ryan casually before heading through a door opposite of the laboratory where her quarters were.

"This is our destination." she said.

Ryan raised his eyebrows with skepticism highly evident and went outside. The same empty blue surface surrounded them just like a minute ago. The noon sun sparkled off of the slightly disturbed water but the deep blue gave no answer to what is beneath. He heard footsteps behind him. "There is nothing here."

"So unimaginative of you, Mr. Glass. It is beneath the surface." said Elethea as she dropped three large rucksacks full of supplies. Ryan noticed they were military spec, something he was intimately familiar with. "This is for you." Elethea then procured a military one-piece and webbing with one distinct difference to the standard military gear: There were armored plates on the chest, back, shoulders, thighs and calves.

Ryan took the outfit and noted how light it was despite the appallingly large amount of metal attached to the clothing.

Elethea was outfitting him with the best possible gear Ryan had ever seen. It was hard to be skeptical of her intentions being evil but he was determined to keep his wits about him.

As he was putting the outfit on, Ryan ultimately found himself confused about the Pristi. During his service in U.S Military, Ryan met many different people of different beliefs, interests and world views that left him to conclude that humanity is very diverse. After fighting and meeting some of these Pristi who are all so very much different, worms of doubt began forming and they lead to the same point.

Two swords at his back; two handguns at his sides; M16 in hand, Ryan was ready. His webbing was filled with flares, ammunition and other necessities. Next came the 25 kilos of baggage in the rucksack. If he was a normal human, he would be strained.

"Oh, I forgot about this." Elethea opened the door and tossed a helmet. It was a full-faced helmet with no visible opening through which he could see. But when he looked inside he saw his boots. The inside of the helmet was see-through. He clipped it to his webbing and stepped out to see Elethea dressed in a onyx robe made out of heavy dragon scales. It looked to be a few sizes too big for her but she wore it as if it was nothing.

Snape, on the other hand, looked like he was going nowhere. He was still dressed in his black robes and the rucksack Elethea had prepared for him was on the other side of the room. The alabaster-skinned potions master looked at Elethea with barely veiled indignation.

"First you kidnapp me from my home, then force me make potions so obscurely described on papyrus that is several hundred years past its decomposition date, and now you expect me to carry this heavy thing and follow you into your so-called 'Atlantis'?"

"Those potions are imperative to our mission, Mr. Snape. This is not the time to discuss my methods." Elethea's manners were crisp and succint, showing there was no room for objections. She reminded Ryan of his Hunter commander who'se tongue was as sharp as his sword-fighting skills.

"Atlantis?"

"Yes. We- I found it a couple of years ago but am yet to venture any deeper than the island's exterior."

"Like ancient Greece Atlantis?"

Elethea nodded. "The very one."

"That is preposterous! No wizard, yet alone muggle, had ever documented a true instance of the island. Magic might exist, but even with magic there are myths."

Elethea's noble face looked impassive. "I assure you, it exists. There is no harm in indulging me, Mr. Snape."

"How will we get there?" Ryan asked the question that Snape had in mind to ask.

"Apparition, of course. During my first expedition here, I had set up a small outpost in a large crevice that is shielded from the water by a bubble of air. Now, we mustn't waste time."

* * *

><p>Zoran Brand stared at his metal hand.<p>

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

An involuntary gag and numbing pain hit him when he finally recalled the horror of losing his hand. Forgetting about that event has been hard, but managable if he went on with his life. But his life was turned upside down and even now, after two months, Zoran hasn't found balance.

Lord Immortal was forging onwards at remarkable speeds with Sir Thorn and the rest of the Concil at his side. Everyone was preoccupied with preparing for a war they were having doubts about winning. Zoran, on the other hand, was left alone to deal with his problems. Not even Jorgen, after creating his mechanical limb, could spare time for his comrade. Kristina was busy helping mother in leading the Brands to help in the preparation, and dealing with father's death.

Immortal had dealt the punishment of death for his actions that had affected a single family: Zoran's family and no one else's.

It was a punishment too harsh and so arbitrary that left Zoran in shock. He thought of Immortal as a kid who went through so much but still went on with optimism, not a judge, jury and executer.

The worrying thoughts were drowned out when he was let in through the steel door. A cloud of smoke enveloped him, choked him. He rushed further in into the wondrous world of dwarven and goblin machinery he had seen when he was here with Jorgen on a mission.

The reason he was here is the check-up for his hand. Every week he had to get checked up by a healer and then Jorgen. Jorgen rarely spoke bad of his mechanical limbs, but Zoran did catch the word 'experimental' loud and clear that one time. The dwarf hadn't gone into details about how the hand works, he only said that Pristi are the only ones who can wear such limbs with zero fuss. Zoran's personal healer, courtesy of his mother, frequently muttered to herself after each check-up about dwarves and dumb luck.

Zoran passed by the colourful fountain and Uther's house, but made sure to say hello to the widower, and stopped before a much larger forum called The Forge. It was a wide stone-paved area littered with large smelteries, anvils and all other manner of metallurgical tools the sizes of cars and trucks.

Behind all that machinery was Jorgen's 'shop' financed by Lord Immortal's vast wealth. The shop was as small as a blacksmith's shop but owned most if not all of The Forge. Hundreds of dwarves and goblins were making materials for weapons and armor. The isolated community welcomed the Lord's gold with open arms. Jorgen once told Zoran that the majority of the community agree that something big and dangerous was coming. News from the Americas were hard to disprove and suggested something evil is afoot.

Zoran kept his mechanical hand out of sight by keeping it in his pocket. It was always an interesting topic for passerby. He couldn't explicitly call the feeling shame, only as an uncomfortable attention.

Jorgen's shop was a mess just like it always is: parts strewn about everywhere. Tables were full of magically-attuned motors, colourful gems and exotic metals that seemed to change shape every time Zoran blinked. Zoran continued down the shop and went into the back rooms where Jorgen did most of his work. He knocked at the open door and it swung slowly open.

Jorgen's back was turned to him and the dwarf was hunched over something on the table. Zoran saw metal grid and tubing in the shape of a leg lying on the table. "Jorgen, I'm here for my check up."

The dwarf perked up and put down tools that Zoran didn't know what they did or were and turned around.

Jorgen's face was smeared with dust and charr. Zoran could see how tired and drained the dwarf was even with the dirt making his features barely visible. His eyes were slightly unfocused and drooping.

"Zoran!" he forced a wide smile and bright eyes. "Take a seat over ther."

Zoran sat on the proffered stool and offered his left arm for Jorgen to inspect. The hand itself is a masterpiece of craftsmanship and engineering (the magical kind). The entire hand was built out of the same exotic black metal that changes shapes from before but restricted to a grid of a hand and fingers. In the palm was a socket inset with a dark blue oval crystal. It served as a controller for the entire hand. What Jorgen did explain was that the crystal itself partially bonds with a Pristi's core and uses the core was a substitute nervous system to give commands.

The first time Zoran had put it on, he couldn't move it at all. He had to practice using his will to create another type of will: Reflexive Will.

He is still far from close to mastering his new limb. The farthest he has come to is closing a fist. Kristina and everyone else are not at a loss of encouragement, though.

"Everything looks good." Jorgen said more to himself than Zoran as he looked over his creation. "No need to be scared about bangin' it up. It's made out of Kiliter and will bounce right back. How is the crystal workin'?"

"It's a lot easier to move my hand with this one,"

"I think it would be best we test another one, just to make sure if this one is better or worse. Detach from the gem."

Zoran willed his tendril, that was once housed in a flesh and bone hand, away from the gem. "Okay,"

Jorgen took a pair of pliers with cloth on the ends and gently unscrewed the gem out of its socket. Then he took out an orange crystal of the same shape as the blue one. It was neatly screwed into place.

"We'll see how it works in about a week," Jorgen rubbed the gem clean with a cloth before backing away to let Zoran stand up. Without Jorgen obstructing the view, Zoran clearly saw work-in-progress limbs: pairs of arms and legs. The mesh grid outlined the limbs as very robust things. Zoran wondered for who they might be.

"I've taken too much of your time, Jorgen. I shouldn't be harrasing you every week when you are so busy all the time." Zoran really hated how he was bringing even more strain onto the dwarf. Of course Jorgen dismissed his words as gibberish.

"If you call visiting your friend harrasment, Zoran,"

Jorgen's tone, although unintentional, held air of slight annoyance. The dwarf wanted to continue his work but didn't want to come across as rude and simply kick Zoran out of his shop. So Zoran shook the dwarf's hand.

"Then I'll be seeing you next week."

"Lookin' forward to it,"

Zoran gazed at the new gem inside its socket and watched the dim lights above him deflect off of the crystal's surface. Before he knew it, he had stepped into a rapidly escalating situation. A group of dwarves and goblins had abandoned their work stations and were all grouped up behind one of the larger machines out of sight. Zoran was stopped by a cowled man who then pressed a slightly warm barrel of a gun to his temple and wound an arm around his throat.

The young Pristi almost fell as his body wanted to keep going, but was roughly dragged upright by the cowled assailant.

How he had come into this situation Zoran couldn't even fathom. But he sure wasn't prepared to become a victim to some maniac on the side of the street, or machine. He was about to unleash his fury when the assailant spoke.

"Come out of the shadows where I can see you, Pristi!"

Zoran's eyes darted everywhere but couldn't see anything. His eyes caught movement in the dark shadows behind one of the work stations and grunted in surprise when three people stepped into the light.

They were clad from head-to-toe in jet-black armour that the Pristi soldiers wear. In their hands were highly upgraded Heckler & Koch MP5s that looked very intimidating despite their compact size.

It dawned to Zoran that he was being held hostage by a Hunter. And that revelation was a disturbing one. The entire complex had been compromised, and the Hunter must be trying to escape with the information he had gathered.

The tallest Pristi stepped closer, forcing the Hunter to take a step back and press the gun harder against Zoran's temple. "C'mon, Edward. We both know you can't escape. Every possible route of escape is closed off."

Zoran felt something drip onto his collarbone and moisten his entire neck. A quick glance downward showed that the Hunter's entire shirt sleeve was drenched in fresh blood. There was a deep gash in his forearm and inside he could see flesh stir and beginning to close. What are these people?

"And the explosives you had hidden so very well have all been found. It is only proper you give yourself up." the Pristi continued, the two other Pristi took a step forward as well.

"Figures when I'm going up against you, Sam." the Hunter, Edward, said. "But I'm going to have to pass on your offer."

"Don't do it!" Sam warned.

Edward opened his right hand. In it was a small cube of decorated bone covered in blood. Everybody in the room could feel the power of the cube awaken with a high pitched sound. Zoran's ears felt like they would burst, and he could see that everyone was feeling the same. The soldiers flinched before giving way to the painful sound.

The next moment Zoran found himself roughly thrown onto the ground and curling up into a fetal position. The only thing he could do was shut his eyes and ears and hope that the pain would soon stop.

Unconsciousness was already creeping in when someone lifted him up and sent soothing waves into his aching brain. Soon enough, Zoran regained his optical faculties and saw the intimidating visor of one of the soldiers. The soldier leaned back to give him some space. "How are you feeling?"

Still pounding head, tender neck and throat from being almost strangled, over all he was alright, but it felt a lot worse. "Roughed up, but fine."

This soldier was the tall one, Sam, as Zoran foggily recalled. The noise really did a number on him. "Forgot they had those, should have remembered." Sam said absentmindedly while unclipping his helmet.

"Forgot about what?"

Sam took of his helmet and put it in his lap. He looked to be in his fiftes, but how old he truly was Zoran couldn't say. Black short cropped hair and a wild goatee gave Sam a look of both experience and youth. Sharp green eyes were intensely focused upon Zoran's face.

"The noise maker. Haven't dealt with one of those in fifty years..." by his frown, Zoran figured he was far more troubled by this event than he lets on. "Well, glad to see you haven't been seriously injured."

And with that sam stood up and was about to go when Zoran stopped him. "I'm injured?"

"Expect sudden and painful headaches in the next week and then it will pass." Sam said and left to tend to the others.

He had left Zoran sitting against a wide and flat wall, and all alone. A feeling of uselessnes and guilt began to form. Ever since he lost his hand, he was pampered to suffocation, shut away and always kept under watch. Trips to Jorgen's shop were the only times he could actually leave the manor on his own, everywhere else he was followed by a against-his-will bodyguard.

At that thought, Zoran decided that he wasn't going back home. Not until he has helped catch this Hunter as much as he can. Kristina and mother would just have to wait.

* * *

><p><strong>The purpose of the excerpts is to expand upon the world I've created because I want you guys to see the world, even if a little bit, as I see it. There are so many details that I just can't describe in the book without making it look out of place and disturbing your reading. I saw Karen Traviss, the author of Clone Commando series, use it and really liked it. It fleshed out both the events and details of Star Wars so well.<strong>

**So, the first chapter has been dished out, and boy do I wish I had a lot more than just this one for three months of vacation. Procrastination has taken its toll :(. This will be a long process that will be hopefully shorter than Domination Anew had been. It's always hard to start again, keep up the rhythm. I've been writing this one on and off for three months while spending the rest doing something else or building a vague skeleton full of connections all the way to the end.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading and I will be seeing you in chapter 2! R&R!**


	3. Burden

**Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating for so long. Work has been slow and I've been a lazy bum to write the finish of this chapter. I do hope you like this one!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

Burden

_"Good and Evil; Black and White. Despite being monochrome and absolute opposites, they both have the same weakness: their dependency upon the great and all-encompassing Grey."_

- King Arthur of Camelot

The absence of natural light disturbed one's proper sleeping routine. Especially when one hasn't slept in quite a while. And such one was Lord Immortal who had closed his fatigued eyes twenty hours ago. When he went to bed, he was alone. Now he felt a presence sleeping soundly beside him.

He opened his eyes to see utter darkness, just how he left it. With a sleepy hand and sleepy fingers, he gave a barely audible snap, but enough to trigger the crystal chandelier above their pillow pit. They were a beautiful sight to behold.

Havoc loved the Crucible very much. The stone itself breathed history. His family history. The vault/home was built shortly after Gringotts was founded. Sadly, the great collection of portraits and paintings could only show Havoc fragments of his family's history. Due to work he hasn't been able to learn more about his family; due to work he slept like a rock for the past twenty hours.

The sheets moved as a strong man beside him turned onto his side and issued a low grunt. Havoc smiled at Rex's large back and his gaze stopped at the large scar between his spine and right shoulder blade. The skin was deformed into small, but visible ripples around the center of the elipse; a wound of impalement. Rex was tight-lipped about this particular wound, Havoc suspected it's cause was the fall.

A rather ironic coincidence: both of them suffered a fall that almost got them killed and left them with little to no memories. Havoc wasn't one to call it fate, though it could only be called that, when such people would find each other.

Unlike Rex's scar, Havoc's were numerous and covered the entirety of his back. He found his hands tracing the ever-so-slightly bulging lines where Vernon's belt had raked. To the eye they were more or less invisible, but if someone were to touch him or have a closer look, they would see a tragic past. A past Havoc wished he could bury completely. Even after killing Vernon did the dreams not stop.

They were, however, bearable. One look at Rex was enough to brighten Havoc's day and keep him going.

Havoc smiled at his lover, crawled over to him and gazed at his peaceful face. He leaned over and placed a kiss on his temple. Curious, he opened up to the bond they shared ever since Rex arrived through the portal and was assailed by images of him in suggestive poses and what Rex would do to him. Heat rushed from his cheeks all the way down to his neck and chest.

Indeed, Rex was in heavy need of his lover's touch and Havoc hasn't been offering it ever since he had become Lord of the Pristi. Havoc had been busy, and still is, with plans so grand that he had no spare time to indulge in both his and Rex's needs. The torture, Havoc had decided a week ago during the brief moments of respite, would end tonight. Havoc wished he had not neglected Rex so much, but still the man smiles his own wry smile and says nothing while carrying out his own duties as General of the new Wolfguard Legion.

"Tonight, I'm all yours." Havoc whispered before climbing out of the pillow pit, cursing the design all the way to the cold stone floor. He hissed and rushed to the carpeted area next to the closet. The closet had a practical enchantment on it that procures clothes that the person opening it desires to wear, something like the Room of Requirement. Perhaps the one that made the Room also made the closet?

The closet was full of identical clothing. After his 'crowning', Havoc had taken a liking to military uniforms and had half a dozen military-esque outfits made. The outfits were embroidered with silver and bronze with rich decorations on the knees, chest, shoulders and elbows. Since he is the only one wearing such an outfit, everyone knew who he was. Along with the outfit, he opted to wear the dragonskin gloves, boots and the cloak from his first visit to Crucible. The richness of it, though, wasn't his idea and only made Havoc uncomfortable, but everyone insisted on the additions.

Next was the choker. It was a form of crown that signified his status as Lord, the standard crown felt too uncomfortable to wear all the time to Havoc, so he opted for a comfortable version of a choker that had much more utility that way. Havoc needed a way to communicate with his men who were from all around the world speaking different languages. So the choker, as a crown, also served as a translator and had made his job considerably easier.

Not a moment later after stepping out of his bedroom was he almost trampled by urgent messengers. A raised hand made them queue up. There were three messengers in total, a miraculously low number for twenty hours of absence.

The first one was Russell Thorn's report on the attack he had executed upon a hidden warehouse in York. Havoc smiled when he saw the big and bold zero beside 'casualties'. Almost fifty hunters were killed, wounded or captured during the operation. Most, if not all, were summarily executed on the spot. Even though they were just numbers, Havoc was not troubled by their passing and probably never would. There was no regret for ordering Thorn to wipe out the warehouse; no guilt for so many people he had killed. But some still remained in his mind even now and tormented him.

The second message came from the Crucible's dedicated healers. The patient was fine and recovering, thanks to Havoc's powerful healing powers.

The last one regarded the on-going development of weapons that will insure the Pristi people's survival. His people's survival. Havoc was glad to see that they had managed to create the first working prototype that exceeded their efficiency expectations. Minion steel was an incredibly potent material.

These reports lifted Havoc's spirits up further and ventured into the command section of the Crucible. After the Rite, Crucible was turned into the main hub of the ensuing Pristi exodus. All information, be it military or civilian went through here. Havoc passed Vigil who stood guard before large stone gates that were shutclosed after Crucible became a more public space. Havoc trusted his people, but had to agree with Rip's protective nature of the Heart; such an object should be kept hidden for now.

The Crucible was split up into four equally large sections: the Command Quarter, Living Quarter, Warehouse Quarter and the Forbidden Quarter that was chock full of ancient knowledge Rip had brought with him from Hogwarts. Living Quarters were full of soldiers from different nations all over the world that constantly went in and out of Crucible on a million assignments each day. Rex noted that he himself felt motivated to work even more when he saw their dedication.

There are still no military uniforms for Pristi military so everyone wore their nation's uniform instead. So many languages mingled into a cacophony of voices nobody could understand, and Havoc was glad to enter the silent confines of General Thorn's personal office.

Thorn was busy writing something at a slow pace, constantly glancing over another sheet of paper before continuing. By the way his eyebrows were scrunched up, Havoc figured his mind was working hard. He was about to leave when Thorn lifted his gaze away from the paper before him. "Please stay, my Lord."

Havoc stopped and went to sit on the chair in front of Thorn's desk. Being called Lord didn't sit well with Havoc now, he thought he would like it, but was steadily growing worse.

"Has something happened?" Thorn asked. Havoc blinked. "No, why?"

"You looked troubled for a moment," Thorn put down his pen and settled his hands onto the table. "I suppose you want to talk about the warehouse?"

Havoc nodded. "I am very happy that you lost not a man."

"They were the best we have to offer, my Lord."

Now Havoc felt awkward. He was never above someone in station. He still hasn't gotten used to commanding grown men and women, sending them into dangerous missions without them saying a single word of complaint. Rex was a more competent leader than he was, perhaps Rex should have fought in the Ritus, not him. This uniform was all wrong with all these decorations. They didn't fit him at all.

Then Thorn's slightly sad face emerged from the blurr of thought. Thorn was sitting on the table really close to Havoc with his plams on the desk. "Son, when was the last time you had time to think? To see what you want."

Havoc felt long-buried memotrie rush alongside with grief slam into him. My god! I killed McGonagall! I killed all those Aurors without a second thought! What happened next he didn't know as the vortex of shame swallowed him whole. He was only vaguely aware of Thorn holding him and rocking back and forth as if he was a baby that couldn't stop crying. His eyes felt like they would burst apart from the pressure and heat; his mouth and cheeks felt like he was being drowned; his chest stopped expanding and stomach clenched from the wracking sobs.

Fear for Rex and everyone. The immense guilt for causing so much death with no remorse. The horrible truth that he is responsible for the death of a whole world...

* * *

><p>The camp looked abandoned. The tents were torn to shreds by what looked to be claws, but Ryan couldn't be completely sure. The only thing that was undamaged was a ball set up on a tripod. It glowed white ever so slightly.<p>

Behind him was the sulking Potions Master with Lumos light penetrating further into the darkness of the strangely wide crevice. The camp itself was on a wide and long ledge that jutted out and almost made a horizontal barrier between the top and bottom of the crevice. Above them was the shimmering water full of fish, some larger and more dangerous than others. One large silhouette passed overhead... The bubble was extensive and lead all the way to the end of the crevice. There, a door of stone was chiseled into the face.

Elethea seemed displeased as she inspected what remained of her camp. "Brand! You here?" she called out towards the stone door.

Perhaps something else heard her, instead, because the moment she called out came a torrent of water from above and something landed before her. Ryan aimed his shotgun at the creature. It looked human, moved like a human, but the dim light of Snape's Lumos did little to show its face.

"Elethea, about time you got here." it said breathlessly. Brand was panting and only in his shorts. In his hands was a large fish with half of its head torn off and bleeding.

"Nevermind that! What happened to my camp!?" Elethea's tone was even more fierce, now. Ryan was glad he wasn't on the other end of it. This Brand man, though, popped a few warning lights already. He was distrustful of Elethea and Snape and another one he needs to keep an eye on was stretching him thin. Honestly, it is this or probable death. Elethea wouldn't have a problem doing so, or so Ryan felt.

"You could've said there are goddamn nagas surrounding the island! Almost slit my throat one day. Been hiding from them the past month ever since I got here." Brand said, his voice was low and venomous.

"Yes, I could have told you. But I didn't. This was your test if you can survive the rest of this expedition." even in the low-light, Ryan could see the pure rage that took control of the younger man's face. Ryan was about to lift his gun when Elethea pushed the barrel down. Brand glanced at the shotgun and then at Ryan, showing that unrestrained anger before locking eyes with Elethea. His heritage showed through the glowing blue eyes.

The fight was over before it started: Ryan's eyes were able to track the incredibly fast punch Brand aimed at Elethea's stomach. Elethea was twice as fast: her armored elbow hit Brand across the jaw and sent him a flying a dozen metres before skidding to a halt with his forehead outside the air bubble.

Elethea walked over to him, grabbed the man by the throat and pushed his head further into the water. She proceeded to torture him for half an hour before tossing a barely conscious Brand towards Snape. Both Ryan and Snape had been silent during the torture. Snape rushed to Brand's side while Ryan stayed where was, shocked and furious.

"What the fuck! Are you crazy, woman!?" he spoke before he realized. Elethea, whose blue eyes glowed viciously, looked at him. The glow dissipated immediately. Snape sent Ryan a cutting look that had 'moron' written all over it. Ryan was inclined to agree.

Brand was already on his knees. Ryan's eyes must've looked like globes as he looked how resilient the man was. If he had been the one to suffer such torture, he would be out cold, despite his augmented physique. That punishment could very well soon follow, though.

The renegade Pristi spat out what water was left and stood up, wiping his mouth. He continued to glare at Elethea who has already forgotten about him and was heading towards the stone door. Ryan steered clear of him and decided it would be best to stick close to Elethea. She was a lot safer than him.

It felt like he was back with the Hunters. Always at each others throats.

Snape had his granite mask in place and was right behind them with his Lumos light.

The stone was hewn from marble and sculpted by masters of the art. Smaller rectangles in rectangles went all the way to the centre of the door where there was a rectangular socket. Elethea offered her hand to Snape. "Give me the crystal,"

Snape procured a blood red cube out of his backpack. It was opaque and looked to be on the verge of turning into liquid. It reminded Ryan of blood. Elethea took the cube and slid it into the receptacle. The cube fit it perfectly.

At first nothing happened. After a few moments came a grinding noise. The door slid apart into the clifface, a gust of ancient air rushed out and taking cobwebs along with it. A clump of web latched onto Ryan's helmet. Inside it stirred a species of spider that Ryan had never seen. He didn't even want to know what it was so he wiped the clump of with his hand.

The situation became tense now that they stood at the entrance into Atlantis itself. Ryan felt a ball in his throat, just like all those times before a mission. It was a lot smaller, though, he no longer has anybody under his command. He was distrustful of his would-be allies and didn't feel particularly concerned with their well being. Curiosity won the debate long before they came here, however. Plus, he has nothing better to do anyway.

With Elethea's first step, Atlantis once more had visitors.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy watched a masterpiece come to completion.<p>

Adair Himmel painstakingly designed every detail of every building and every paving stone. The city was amazing on paper, and seeing it become a reality surpassed all expectations. Master builders of many races had come together in building a large underground city for all two hundred thousand across the globe to live here.

The city itself was deep underground south-west of London with no physical entrance whatsoever. The only way in and out was through a tightly regulated portal network that had been put in place all over the world for the ensuing exodus. The finished districts were being steadily populated and were tight on the worker's heels to finish the job. Draco was surprised to see how cohesive the Pristi were with each other despite them being ultimately different. A will to live did wonders.

The city was designed as a eight spoked wheel; a center and outer rim formed the shape that were joined by eight avenues. The avenues themselves were wide and were their very own Diagon Alleys but named after famous Pristi heroes and leaders. Draco noted that one was named Victor's Path. The city covered about four square kilometres and the buildings rose up to five stories high, making their own skyline against the poorly illuminated stone face of the chamber.

Draco stood on a circular balcony on top of the tallest spire right in the middle. It was the city's main hall and was filled to the brim with arrivals ready to be proccessed. He was watching the last piece come together when Adair joined him.

The faux elf was dressed yet again in illustrious elven robes with his long golden hair tied into a ponytail. His ears lacked the pointednes of an elf, though. A small contained smile played on his thin lips.

Now both of them were looking at the large levitating globe that reflected the lights of the city below it. It's smooth underside looked like it had crystalized stars inside of it as the light from below reflected off it.

"It's called Piece of Eden. Of course, it is nothing of the sort, but the name fits it nonetheless." Adair said.

Draco still had no idea what it actually was.

"It is a type of crystal made by a very secretive race that lives even deeper below ground than dwarves. It is an artifical sun for all intents and purposes. In just a few minutes it will be tethered to the ceiling and activated." It was obvious Adair respected and adored the crystal a lot more than he let on.

"I haven't been checking much on the Ministry side of things, how goes it?"

"Father and a few others have been busy cleaning out the Ministry as much as possible without Scrimgeour noticing," Draco said. Adair tapped his chin. "Scrimgeour, huh. I remember when he was once in Austria on a hunt for some British dark wizard. My family ended up helping him immensely. Oh, sorry. Please do go on."

"We are having trouble with Dolores Umbridge. A toad of a woman and was once even considered to be recruited by Voldemort. She's a dedicated racist if there ever was one." Draco shuddered at the thought of the woman. Her resume was extensive with hatred to everything that wasn't human, and even some humans. What caused her to be like this Draco could only speculate thanks to his own upbringing.

"What I don't understand is this, how does Lord Immortal expect to have the support of the public if he forcibly takes over the Ministry? As far as I know, Scrimgeour is still Minister and still supported by many." Adair asked.

Draco himself, nor his father, really knew what Havoc has planned. Though he did have his suspicions. "He is yet to tell us."

"The view does little to show the complete beauty of the city, shall we take a walk? Perhaps even see where you and and your father want your new home." Adair said with a quizzical smile.

"New home? I don't understand."

"You are helping the Pristi people more than you think, young one. Yours and your father's efforts have not gone unnoticed. Despite never knowing us you help without a second thought, a quality we immensely appreaciate. It is only proper we embrace you both into the fold." the faux elf's smile grew slightly and Draco suddenly felt at ease and warm.

"Shall we?" Adair gestured with his hands back inside.

Back down, the large lobby of the Main Hall was brimming with arrivals. Draco was confused as to where he was supposed to go to avoid the crowd. He felt Adair's hands start steering him towards the wall. When Adair hadn't stopped pushing him towards the solid wall, Draco looked back at the man who had a knowing smile on his face.

"I believe you've encountered something like this before." Adair said and pushed Draco into the wall.

Draco stumbled unceremoniously into one of the avenues. Down the street he saw arrivals carry their things and stand in circles before being assigned a new home by a group of officials dressed in almost military uniforms. Down the other end was a one of the faceless soldiers giving directions to a group of people. He noticed that everyone had ginger hair and they reminded him of Weasleys.

Adair stopped beside him, taking a deep breath to inhale the smell of magical sculpting. It was suffocating to Draco and his nose burned from the particles of stone and wood that still permate the buildings and street.

"Arthur's Way, and the new residents have already given the district the nickname of 'Camelot'. Adair said with a smile. Then he started walking towards the place where Draco had seen the redhead family. The street was a slab of smooth stone inlaid with black lines leading off to somewhere unknown deeper into the city. Adair greeted wandering people with a nod and smile as they walked before stopping in at a corner that lead into the city block.

There was a park with a creek going down the middle that sprouted from a miniature waterfall built into one of the adjacent buildings. A small picturesque bridge crossed the small creek and lead to a playground shaped like a castle along with the castle grounds. Rising high above the ramparts was a statue of a bearded man with a crown, dressed in opulent clothing and a sword in his hands close to his chest.

Draco instantly knew this was supposed to be Arthur, or Arthur as he is seen in popular fiction. Havoc had described him differently, though.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Draco agreed. It really was beautiful, almost like a fairy tale. Suddenly the park was harshly illuminated by something from up above. Draco covered his eyes and looked up to see a large orb of light shine as if the sun itself had descended into the bowels of the Earth to shine its light upon them. He could even feel a steadily rising warmth on his skin. The light steadily lowered until it was a managable intensity like the normal sun.

Soon enough it became hot to wear the thick jacket he wore when the cave was quite cold. Now, under the warm and soothing rays of Piece of Eden, Draco and Adair toured the rest of the vivid and very different districts of New Eden.

* * *

><p>His gray fur was neatly groomed and bristled as strong sinewy muscles rippled beneath it. His steps were silent and showed prowess of a hunter as he stalked around Havoc. A loincloth hanged around a narrow waist and failed to cover up his genitals as he stopped in front of Havoc's lowered head.<p>

"Stand up," vocalized the wolfman gruffly. Havoc lifted himself out of the kneeling position and felt rather furious. He had broken down. And not only that, he had broken down before one of his subordinates and showed such a catastrophic sign of weakness. Even now, as he was being scrutinized by the natives of the magically-barren Americas, he was rebuilding his walls and confidence.

He will save the world, he will not let it be consumed by this unknown threat he was now responsible of dealing with. Even if it took his own life to prevent it. And again the cowardly part of his soul and mind argued against it; the ones that are very much so attached to the prospect of life and indignant at the mention of self-sacrifice.

A council of wolfmen sat before him, looking at him in expectation - and some with barely veiled disdain. The powerfully built wolfman sitting in the center was the chieftain. Havoc couldn't discern his age but expected him to be an experienced warrior. In the end, they were immensely inferior to him or any of his Pristi brothers, but they knew a lot of the mythology and what is actually happening in the Americas. One of their many gods, spirits and entities could very much be the source of the threat the older Pristi and Dumbledore were immensely afraid of.

Havoc felt uncomfortable, as if the air lacked something vital. He felt it in his every breath and was shocked to feel it taper away as if something was choking it into nothing. This must be how it feels to be outside the Flow. The only reason he could walk outside the Flow is because of his intimate link to the Heart that kept his body supplied with magical energies. Him being all the way in America is not known by anyone, though he did.

"What do you want?" the chieftain asked, his tongue would be growling and barks but the choker on Havoc's neck translated the vocalizations into english. "I have come to ask you for your aid," Havoc said solemnly. "I-"

The chief raised his hand, forcing Havoc to stop mid-word. Havoc indulged the primitive but only barely. The only reason Havoc was here was because Thorn's intelligence network didn't span the Americas in their entirety and have little connections to the non-muggle realm that is mostly outside Muggle cities.

From behind Havoc entered a wolfman of wiry build, talismans and other accessories that a tribe shaman would wear clacked noisily as he pushed the tent flap. The shaman ignored Havoc, but Havoc felt that the wolf was probing with what rudimentary senses of magic he still possessed. Havoc noticed that they were low-magic, almost to the point of being Muggles. Only a small trace of magic could be detected within then, and was enough to witness the concealed world of magic.

The shaman sat into the half-circle of wolfmen, rising the total to ten. The chieftain sat in the middle, flanked to the right by powerfully built warriors and hunters, one of them was who had inspected Havoc when he arrived. To his left was the shaman and four rather ferocious looking females. A few words were passed between the chief and shaman before they directed their attention back to Havoc.

Havoc figured they allowed him to speak. "I am sure that you've noticed a shift," he hoped they did.

Nobody agreed but Havoc could see that they had noticed. A feeling of dread settled in Havoc. He couldn't pinpoint the reason, perhaps the disturbing lack of magic in the air. He noted that he couldn't even sense the wolfmen's states of mind.

"What kind of aid do you seek?"

"I seek only information. Information on happenings surrounding the shifts, that is all."

"Why do you need the knowledge?"

Havoc leaned forward. "For yours and my sake. You can contact me through this." he said and produced a small orb the size of a marble with a twirl of his fingers and offered it to the chief. The wolf man took the orb with bravado.

"Your shaman will be able to use it just fine." as Havoc said it, the dread he felt spiked into animalistic fear. It took all his self-restraint to keep himself stable and was glad to feel the sense of oneness with the world as he was teleported back home.

The moment he stepped into his room back in Crucible, he felt strong arms envelop and hold him. The tight knot of dread in his chest disappeared in mere moments as he breathed the magic-rich air and Rex's soapy scent. The arms around him felt warm as if they were skin on skin, naked in their embrace. It was another sign of the bond him and Rex shared and Havoc felt it was the best part.

Rex let go of him after a minute and let out a sigh. Havoc had to tilt his head upwards to look at Rex's face and felt childish and foolish for storming out the way he did. The shame he felt after the breakdown had been too much to bear and he had to distract himself. It was sheer anger that kept Havoc steeled to engage with the wolfmen as a Lord should.

"Where have you been?" Rex asked, his tone did not suggest he was angry or disappointed. Havoc wondered how Rex kept his temper always cool and calculative. Rex had snapped at Havoc only once and that was when they were still total strangers. Rex has been the rock Havoc could always rely on, the silent and stoic titan that he is.

"I had a meeting with possible allies." Havoc answered. He didn't want to worry Rex even more by saying where the meeting with said possible allies occurred. How Rex looked, he had been worried sick.

Rex then began unlatching Havoc's chestplate. Havoc let his shoulders sag, feeling the grief and sorrow he had felt not so long ago well up in him back from the wretched depths of the dead parts in his heart. They haunted him in the forms of McGonagall's shocked expression before she burst into flames, Kingsley's look of utter hatred, Dumbledore's prone form with blood soaking his robes and his gaze full of sadness, Ron turning his back to him and the most recent one... Remus' refusal of his offer.

He removed his helmet and let his long hair fall to his shoulders and across his face. He futilely hoped Rex wouldn't notice how disturbed he was but that was wishful thinking. Rex had already taken off the upper half of Havoc's armor in entirety with skill that said he had been putting on and off armour for most of his life.

Two minutes later Havoc stood with his head lowered, dressed in the black body glove that kept the armour from chafing and cooling the wearer's skin. He knew he was a sorry sight, a broken thing. This was the price for the power he had taken and found himself incapable of using it for what is right.

Rex was silent, only creating noise as he set Havoc's armour aside. When he was done, he walked over to Havoc and pulled the body glove down Havoc's shoulders and silently removed the black clothing before picking a half naked Havoc up and brought him over to the curtains that divided the bedroom proper with the large pool for bathing.

The stone floor gave way to soft brown wood and humid warm temperatures. The pool itself was made of stone that seemed to glow with an inner flame with bright light seemingly seeping out of the numerous cracks that spread out across the bowl of the pool. The pool was full to the brim with water that was slightly murky from the heat wafting from the stone.

Havoc closed his eyes, let the heat wash over him and started crying. Rex lowered Havoc into the water and started to massage his back. "You are mine, tonight, to care for." Rex said and leaned down to kiss Havoc's neck.

And Havoc let himself dissolve in Rex's arms and in his own grief.

* * *

><p><strong>Again, sorry for the delay! I hope you liked this one but I feel it is a bit disjointed.<strong>

**How do you guys feel about the OCs? I'm not sure if you like them or hate them. PM or put it into your review. As always, reviews are welcome!**


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