A/N: I am alive and back.
Next chapter is gate raids and action so stay tuned.
X_
• Somewhere in Asia, October 19th •
[Albus Dumbledore Clone № 2]
His name was Clone № 2. Temporary Clone Number Two, to be exact, courtesy of one asshole paranoid original.
'You can't define your existence with a name,' he said. 'Names have power,' he said.
Fucking paranoia.
One clone just had to mess it up for everyone.
Like, what's the point of contemplating your existence as a clone, as well as the original's actions?
You know he's going to know everything you think, do, and plan. You know that even if by a miracle you succeed in gaining autonomy, you're not going to do anything worthwhile.
The original is a fucking monster. His cheats made him more so. He's constantly growing, and whatever delusions a clone can have about opposing him would be crushed so fast and hard they'd write poems and cautionary tales about it.
Number Two shook his head, feeling the irritating itch of anger and resignation clash inside him.
One might think the original fixed the issues of the clones.
One would be wrong. He just did the equivalent of adding triple security features that ensure the clones' dependency on him and straight‑up blocked any kind of obvious ways they could use to gain independence. Nothing else.
Now, if it was someone else? He'd say a million things about stupidity and arrogance, but that doesn't apply to Dumbledore.
You see, the clones were constructs created using chakra, connected to the original's soul in more ways than one.
He could literally snap them out of existence, so almost all debates on the subject were moot.
The real reason he had let them keep a somewhat limited form of free will when it came to their thoughts and feelings was simple: perspective.
Different points of view. Different angles and emotions contemplating the same thing can shed light on issues the original might not have considered.
'And yet he can't bother letting me have a name of my own,' № 2 thought bitterly.
All of this internal ranting was just his way of processing jealousy.
He was jealous of the half‑dozen clones that got to own a name because their jobs required them to.
Like the ones sent to infiltrate different government and religious structures.
'They need names and backgrounds to make their job easier,' he said…
'Fucking original'. He cursed again, grumbling and shoving the bitter taste of jealousy off his tongue.
Like blessings and enchanting the whole planet was not a hard job?
To do the equivalent of hard‑pressing magic circles, runes, and symbols into the very core of the planet, layer by layer, while linking them through blessing and divine energy?
Sure, the essence of the Bright Lord was a broken piece of power, but his efforts also counted.
He deserved a name…
Then again, complaining wouldn't really help with anything.
No, that's not true. It would annoy the original… right?
Ugh, no it wouldn't. He'd just find it fascinating.
'Curse you, you crazy old fucker.'
He cursed as he knelt again, his arms digging into the soil, as he slowly and carefully continued to link and layer the enchantments and blessings into the earth.
His form glowed slightly hazy, a golden aura with a highlight of rainbow enveloping his form.
The world was really not ready for the number of steps Albus Dumbledore had taken in advance.
They would be in shock when they noticed that their nuclear weapons had been confiscated. Mass destruction weapons would be obsolete once he was done.
Albus Dumbledore was dismantling the source of their confidence and arrogance before they even knew it.
By the time they met, they would have no choice but to bow and join forces under him.
Religious groups wouldn't be a problem.
Political power would be obsolete.
And everything would go according to plan.
Still, no matter how farsighted Albus Dumbledore's plans were, it didn't change the fact that № 2 still cursed him.
Why couldn't he give him a name? He would have accepted "Bob" as a name. Or Tom. Or any other generic names.
'… let's just get back to work,' he thought, focusing more and trying to accelerate his progress.
Not having a name was grating on so many levels that he would love to finish early and just cease to exist.
X_
• October 19th, 11:00 AM •
• ICW's Training Ground •
[Albus Dumbledore]
"Get your shit together, we're raiding those gates tomorrow!" I yelled in command, my voice amplified by magic, making the twenty‑one best and strongest ICW fighters flinch.
"Sir, yes sir!" they shouted as they started running around the training ground again.
They had been at it since yesterday. They ran, did push‑ups, pull‑ups, planks, and sit‑ups until they couldn't move anymore, and then I healed them and they did it again.
Their meals and bathroom breaks were also done in here, in the form of a drill—one goes, one stands to guard while I attack.
I was absolutely abusing them, but the results were also substantial, so no one could complain.
Sure, I was extra irritable and cranky since I hadn't had a wink of sleep, but they'd just have to endure.
They signed up for this…
Of course, me using my Bright Lord essence to instill fear and reverence into their souls while at it helped.
I was not about to empower people and leave them to their own devices. That's just a sure way to trouble.
No, I would make sure they feared and worshipped me in equal measures. That way, there'd be far fewer chances of them trying anything.
We constantly sparred magically and physically, with me wiping the ground with them time and time again.
Advising them. Teaching them. Correcting their mistakes.
It was a very compressed form of training that was absolutely nightmarish, and the only reason their minds had not broken under the pressure was because I ensured it.
I blessed them in so many different ways that they wouldn't notice the difference until much later.
The only reason I only had twenty‑one people here was because this was a voluntary setup, and because I couldn't use other forces—such as different countries' Auror units or Unspeakables—since most of the world was not on agreeable terms with me. Yet.
'Let's leave that particular headache to Nicholas and his wife to deal with for now,' I thought as I scanned the area, my eyes watching the men and women in training like a hawk.
"Straighten your backs and run like you're fleeing for your life!"
Once again I joined the fray, slowly jogging behind them and sending a few stinging spells and other harmless but irritating spells their way.
We still had until tomorrow, so this would just get more and more insufferable as time went on…
I hid the sadistic smile that was trying to fight its way onto my face.
I had an image to uphold, and not having enough sleep or rest for days was starting to bring my worst qualities out.
X_
---
• October 19th, 14:45 PM •
• ICW, International Director of Affairs Office •
[Nicholas Flamel]
Nicholas was not having a good day.
If someone had told him he would be shackled with responsibilities again a few months ago, he would have laughed in their face.
Yet here he was.
He had spent the whole morning in pointless discussions in one of the meeting rooms on the sixth floor, having to listen to all kinds of idiots whine about Dumbledore and his signs of tyranny.
You'd think they would be more concerned about their survival, but no—they were more afraid for their wealth, power, and status.
He could understand why Albus decided to put his foot down and restructure the government.
Sure, Albus's idea was a little immature, and he was sure he had come up with it on the spot, but that didn't mean he was wrong.
Him agreeing to take on the challenge of smoothing things over and helping was a testament of his support, as well as a way to prevent Albus from doing something rash.
'I am not blind to the fact that we will not survive Albus's forceful approach,' he thought grimly.
Ever since he went through his advancement ritual, he had a vaguely clearer picture of what Albus Dumbledore had done, and his hypotheses on what he had become were not giving him confidence.
He was grateful. Truly. Albus had opened a door for him he didn't know existed.
A way to make his alchemy into an actual magical branch that could be used for fighting as well as everything else.
'And that's something I will always be grateful for.'
He, Nicholas Flamel, was and would always be a seeker of knowledge and advancement first.
The amount of information he had forgotten or sealed in his mindscape before his advancement was more than this generation of witches and wizards knew combined.
Which is why he knew, deep down, that Albus Dumbledore had become more than just a wizard.
Sure, his advancement story held up against scrutiny, especially now that more and more people advanced, but there were also a few glaring holes in that story.
Like the very existence of the advancement trials themselves.
The ritual was incomplete. The trial should be three parts, done at the same time, which would lead to almost certain death.
Yet here they were, doing them in parts, without facing any consequences.
That just didn't make sense.
Magic did not work like that.
Unless someone else was protecting them from the side effects and helping them along the way.
That someone should at least be powerful enough to have some form of control over magic… and once you linked all of these thoughts and theories together, you got a disturbing picture.
~ Knock ~ Knock ~ Creak ~
He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of his door opening. He looked up and saw his wife, the love of his life, walking in.
Her eyes were dead. Disturbingly still.
The kind of look he used to get when he got too deep into his research and forgot about her.
"Ah, Nelle~ my heart and soul. My eternal flaming flower of love…"
"Shut it, Nico—" she glared at him, making him stop mid‑sentence.
"Fine…" he sighed in resignation.
"So? How bad are things on your end?" He asked, trying to gauge how many gifts and chores he would have to do to get her in a better mood.
His wife sighed as she leaned back in her chair.
"Are you sure we can't just let Albus and Gellert do their thing?" She answered his question with another. "Are we sure it's as bad an idea as we think it is?"
"That bad, huh?" He nodded and leaned back too.
He got the gist of it.
He still couldn't believe how many incompetent and utterly stupid and ignorant people were running the wizarding world nowadays.
"Yeah." His wife sighed heavily, her exhale long and forceful. "More than six hours and not a single step forward."
He closed his eyes as he rubbed his temple. The feeling of blood pumping in the vein on his forehead had never been clearer to him.
"We need to get ahead of this," he muttered.
"Yeah, I know," his wife agreed.
"Can we get the French ministry and representatives to sign on this first?" He asked her, his eyes locking onto her beautiful honey‑colored irises.
"We can… if a few key members were to get into unfortunate accidents, that is."
"We can't do that, though. If they agree so fast after emergency post assignment, it will become apparent that there's foul play. We're trying to avoid that…"
"Well, we can always find another way, but are you sure that if the French sign, the others will?"
"Sixty percent sure they will. Britain and Japan already signed this morning. I just didn't announce it yet because it will be better if three countries did it."
"Magic of numbers and all that, huh?" His wife chuckled, understanding where he was going with this.
"Hmm, you know what? Let's try it." She suddenly stood up. "I'll head to the Delacours and you try the Bonaccords. If these two work together, we might get some results by evening."
"Hmm… okay, then. Let's do that." He agreed and stood up too.
He walked toward his wife, gave her a deep kiss, his hands holding her a little tighter as he kneaded her firm buttocks a little.
"Hmmm~" A soft moan escaped her mouth as she pushed him away.
"We can have fun later." She scolded him softly, pinching him playfully on his side. "You know what? If we finish this before the sun sets, we'll role‑play the dark alchemist and innocent witch scenario…" she teased as she walked away, her hips swaying in a hypnotic way.
He came out of his temporary trance once he heard the office door close shut, making him blink rapidly as he processed what she had just said.
'I am sorry, France, but I have to do this,' he thought solemnly and walked away. His face blank and his mind going full speed.
He had shit to get done.
…