As Harry left the meeting, he scoffed to himself. He had a precise idea of what Princess Alice wanted to discuss. The impending reality of the King of the End was no secret, not to those high enough, high high enough, and certainly not to a Campione who already knew the secrets of this world.
If Anyone had ever wondered about the campiones, anyone who was interested in them to study them deeply, one would eventually reach a point and ask that one question.
Why were there only nine Campiones since the beginning of everything?
Considering the endless cycles of divine appearances, the world should have been crawling with dozens of God-Slayers already. The answer, as Harry knew, was simple.
The King of the End.
The divine "cleaner," a failsafe designed to prune the God-Slayer population back to a manageable number, ensuring the cycle of Heretic Gods and Campiones could continue without the mortals and the world being irrevocably dominated.
Harry also knew that Alice and he was sure the others in her organization were worried somehow, it was simple to guess after all, in the history of campione they had always been no more than seven at a time, it was like a fixed thing that everyone who knew had gotten used to but now like a prophecy broken they were nine and still o sign of the King of End.
Historically, the God of Steel should have awakened when the number of Campiones reached seven. The fact that the world currently hosts nine of them scared a lot of people, if he had to guess.
This was the source of Alice's anxiety, a fear that when the executioner finally manifested, he would be exponentially stronger, his might multiplied by the excessive number of Kings. And while a good thing for the mundane people that would be happy for the campiones regulation in number, Alice still knew that at the end of the day, the King of End was still a heretic god and would care for the destruction he'd cause in his way.
And with nine campiones, that's a hellava boost for the King of End. Harry would not want to battle that bastard like that.
Whether Alice wanted information, cooperation, or a partner in a doomed fight, Harry didn't care. He wasn't joining.
Why? Because he wouldn't be in this world long enough for Rama to matter.
His preparations were nearly complete. His long-term plan, conceived the moment he first stole Fenrir's Authority, was almost ready, leaving this world and exploring the Omniverse.
Fenrir's power was the start, allowing him to tear through space and rip open holes in reality. But tearing open a path was not the same as navigating the void between Creation.
The Omniverse was infinitely vast, a swirling chaos of potential realities. Without direction, he could drift forever, lost in the conceptual nothingness between worlds. The consequences of an uncontrolled jump were too great, and he was not that stupid or reckless to just jump in.
This was why he had methodically pursued ways to navigate the void, and luckily, he got things to help with that after three years, and these three specific and crucial things were his Authorities:
Njörun's Tracking(Authority of the Eternal Hunt): The ability to mark and follow the marked signature, no matter the distance. This was to be his anchor. So that he could go and come back
Anansi's Weaving: The power to perceive, manipulate, and weave the subtle metaphysical threads that connect everything in creation, with this providing controlled navigation through the void dimensional labyrinth.
Odin's Wisdom, The accumulated knowledge and insight necessary to interpret the signs, read the cosmic map, and discern which path led to the desired world. This was his map and compass. The knowledge to keep moving forward.
These Authorities, working in synergy, would allow him to do more than just a random dimension-hop, well, that was when he learned how to anyways, after all, just because you have a map and compass didn't mean you knew how to read it.
But once he got used to the jumps, he was sure that they'd give him a way to control multiverse traversal with a guaranteed return ticket.
Of course, just because he leaves didn't mean he would be gone forever. He would, after all, always come back. This was the world he was born in, the world where his friends and loved ones lived, and the world he had decided to use as a peaceful home base when he grew tired of wandering creation.
He would make sure that he had a way to come back before he left, but his path to absolute power required him to move far beyond just this world.
After all, he wanted to see if he could do it, if he could stand atop creation.
For now, there were still a few final matters to attend to before the grand departure.
Harry slashed his hand through the air, opening a clean tear back into his home. Anya followed him through, and the rift closed instantly behind them.
He turned to her with a raised brow. "So, are you going back to the Association now, or what?"
She shook her head immediately, "No. I think I'll stay with you today."
A genuine, soft smile curved his lips. "Then how about we go out for a date?"
She froze mid-step, then a bright grin spread across her face. "Just give me a moment to get ready!" With that said, she raced back up the stairs, and Harry chuckled, the sound warm and full of affection.
It was about an hour and a half later when she descended the stairs looking divine. Her bright orange hair was neatly arranged, and she wore a soft blue dress that hugged her form in a subtle, flattering way.
Harry stood from his chair. "You look amazing."
He walked over, took her hand gently, and brought her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. She blushed and smiled, looping her arm through his.
"Well, shall we?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.
"We shall," he answered. "So, where would the young lady like to go this fine evening?"
"Surprise me."
"As you wish." With a swipe of his hand, the air tore open, and he guided her through.
They stepped out onto Diagon Alley. It was nothing like three years ago. It still held that magical, winding charms, but now it looked cleaner, brighter, and livelier.
More shops were open, and more people thronged the cobblestone streets. With a lot of the old Pureblood supremacists gone and the Ministry purged of its deeply corrupt members, society had begun to move forward.
The old aristocratic restraints were broken, and new ideas and businesses were flourishing in the freedom Harry's rampage had unwittingly provided.
"Diagon Alley?" Anya asked, looking at the vibrant scene.
"I heard a fantastic restaurant opened recently. Thought it would be the perfect place for our date," he said, guiding her along the alley.
Harry could feel the exact moment people recognized him, no longer just the famous Boy-Who-Lived, but the Tyrant King. He felt the sudden, involuntary silence that followed their gaze, the way the whispers started, the shock, the awe, the barely hidden hatred from a few, and the collective, palpable fear of everyone else. People moved out of his way as if an invisible wave were parting the crowd. Harry ignored them.
Soon, they arrived in front of the restaurant, The Quaffed Quaffle.
'Definitely Quidditch inspired,' Harry thought as he looked at the Name.
"Ah, welcome, how may I—AHHH!"
A cheerful man had started to greet them before he turned, saw Harry, and shrieked, dropping the menu he was holding. The noise drew the attention of everyone else, and a collective silence fell.
"M-M-My apolo-gies, my lord!" the poor man stammered out, his face losing all color.
"Calm down," Harry said, giving the man a wide smile. "I heard a lot about this place and decided to see what the hype was all about. Thought it'd be perfect for our date."
Telling the man he was here for a date only made him paler, as if Harry's pleasure was intrinsically linked to the man's immediate execution.
"My lord, I don't know if this humble restaurant could possibly be up to your standard," the man pleaded softly, his voice trembling as he thought of his small business and his life.
"Don't be modest," Harry said, patting the man on the shoulder. "I've heard a lot of good things about your food. I'm sure I'll enjoy it."
The man's shoulders dropped, knowing there was no changing the King's mind. "Right this way then, sir." He guided them to a private table near the back before bowing repeatedly and practically running away.
Anya lightly slapped Harry's arm. "That was mean."
Harry burst out laughing, the sound drawing a few nervous glances. "Did you see his face? He looked like I'd just called for his execution!"
She sighed, shaking her head. Okay, it was a little funny how instantly terrified the man had been, but Harry didn't need to bully the man like that. She knew whether he liked the food or not, he won't do anything bad, but the man didn't know that.
A waiter came to take their order, and before long, the food arrived. It was wonderful, rich, flavorful, and perfectly seasoned.
"It's amazing," Anya said joyfully after tasting her dish.
Harry nodded. "Agreed."
They ate, talked, joked, and laughed, enjoying the comfortable, intimate bubble they created amidst the buzzing silence of the watching restaurant. When it was time to pay, the waiter who handed them the check was visibly shaking.
Harry smiled kindly at him. "It was a wonderful meal. Tell the chef the food was incredible."
The boy lit up in immediate relief, his fear instantly replaced by pride.
Harry and Anya stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool night air.
Harry turned to her. "Close your eyes."
She obeyed, having trust in him. He swiped his hand, tearing a rift in space, and pulled her through. They appeared atop a tall building in central London, the wind whipping around them.
He waved his hand, and a picnic mat appeared, along with two glasses of chilled wine and a bowl of grapes. He gently sat her down.
"Open your eyes," he said.
She did, her eyes opening to the sprawling, cool night sky of London, the cityscape glittering below. Before she could say anything, lights started streaking across the dark canvas.
They detonated in a series of magnificent, synchronized bursts, painting the sky with impossible colors from reds and golds to shimmering amethyst, deep emerald, and vibrant electric blue.
Then, the colors shifted, coalescing into forms. They formed the shape of a woman, rendered in pure, flowing silver light, and then a man, outlined in blazing gold. The man bowed and took the woman's hand, and together, the two luminous silhouettes began to dance through the night sky, performing an elaborate waltz across the stars.
Anya gasped, utterly entranced by the spectacular, personalized light show.
"Anya."
She turned, her eyes wide with awe, and Harry stood there, extending his hand.
She took it, and he pulled her up. Soft, slow music began to play.
They danced there on the building's top, moving beneath the figures of light above them. He pulled her closer, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. His arms wrapped around her, warm and unyielding.
Time seemed to fade into the perfect, magical moment, the sound of the city muted by the deep enchantment of the night. They danced, ignoring everything around them, ignoring the world entirely.
After a long, magical eternity, she lifted her head, looking deep into his emerald eyes. She saw not the Tyrant King, not the God-Slayer, but the boy she loved. Slowly, she leaned forward, closing the final distance between them.
He met her halfway.
Their lips touched, soft at first, then deepening into a more passionate moment of intimacy.
As their connection deepened, the grand finale of the fireworks exploded across the sky, a torrent of pure, blazing gold and emerald light, bathing them in brilliant light.
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