Erica Blandelli inhaled slowly as she watched the two Campiones battle. The air itself was vibrating, the clashing Authority of two God-slayers was creating a crushing pressure that made the heartbeats of the surrounding Magicians erratic.
She stood slightly apart from the other spectators, her perfect posture and relaxed stillness sharply contrasting the chaos before her. Around her, Some Magicians and knights could barely breathe under the sheer pressure, but Erica stood serene, in front of the storm she had learned to appreciate from her time with her beloved king.
A faint smile played on her lips, there was a certain beauty in witnessing the catastrophic power of the Kings of the world.
She had seen Salvatore Doni fight before. The Copper Black Cross had served him for a long time; while he didn't truly choose to align himself with them like her King, Godou Kusanagi, he made use of their resources, and they willingly accepted the demands of a Campione. Doni was, as ever, a wandering King, unpredictable, bright, and infuriatingly free, driven by a pure thirst for battle.
But the other one—
Her gaze slid to the Seventh Campione, the king before her king, whose existence had created chaos in the Winx magical world, from what she had heard.
Harry Potter.
The so-called Wizard Miracle, the child who survived the Killing Curse and brought down the Dark Lord of Britain as a mere baby.
Information about him was easy to find, yet utterly polluted by hundreds of unbelievable stories. Erica had scoffed at the reports, slaying a dragon at four, being the reincarnation of Merlin, and other such magical fantasies.
But that wasn't what she cared about, lies or truth. What truly mattered was his personality, his nature. It was better to know a Campione's disposition to gauge if they would be a danger to everything around them, and more importantly, how to best manage them, because, honestly, once they decided to rampage, nothing could be done to stop them.
She watched now as Harry slid backward across the broken field, shoes grinding into the dirt before he righted himself and thrust his lance at Salvatore. Doni laughed, blocked with his sword, and followed with a swift silver slash that Harry expertly dodged.
Erica's eyes narrowed. He was skilled, not as refined as Doni's decades of experience, but his movements were sharp and controlled.
He hadn't wanted to fight Doni, showing a slight irritation, but unlike her beloved Godou, who would resist until the last possible moment and fight only out of obligation, Harry had chosen to dive into the battle the moment the battle had started, and hadn't hesitated at all. And once he started, there was no holding back.
The ground trembled as Doni dashed forward again, aiming to catch Harry off guard, but before he could reach him, a massive slab of stone erupted from the ground, slamming into his path. Doni smashed through it with ease, the stone dissolving into a cloud of granite dust, but what waited on the other side made his grin falter.
A bolt of lightning and a gust of wind crashed into him, sending him flying backward in a blur of light and dust.
Erica blinked, eyes narrowing in disbelief. Lightning danced across Harry's outstretched arm, divine energy sparkling on his arm, but that wasn't what truly startled her.
It was the two spectral figures now standing at his side.
Two ghostly forms. One tall, skeletal, thin, with red eyes and snake-like features, the manifestation of Voldemort. The other, robed and serene, his half-moon glasses gleaming—the specter of Dumbledore.
The crowd gasped, several Magicians shifting themselves in frantic panic. Even Andrea Rivera, typically stoic, looked shocked.
Erica felt her heartbeat quicken. She wasn't part of the British wizarding community, but everyone who was anyone in the magical world knew those two.
They were dead, so how did Harry Potter have something to do with their death. No, there was no doubt he had a hand in it, but how and why.
She was sure everyone was thinking the same, but she didn't think anyone would be brave enough to ask.
Harry's grin widened. Yeah, he knew he didn't want to fight at first, but now his blood sang with the intoxicating thrill that always accompanied a Campione, how could he just half ass it.
He glanced at the two powerful men standing by his side, Mionn na Marbh (Oath of the Dead), the Authority he had taken from Morrígan.
It didn't just summon souls, it called forth the power and skill of those he had slain, binding them as servitors. They were exactly as they were in life, their expertise intact, but their wills were utterly subjugated to the new King. Like the shadows of great warriors, they moved purely by his mental command. Harry had suppressed their personalities, the thought of Voldemort and Dumbledore trying to communicate and talk to him just annoyed him. Thinking of that, so it's better they just serve as dolls.
He watched as Doni walked out from where he was sent flying, barely hurt. The Italian King was laughing again, wiping dust from his clothes. "These tricks! You're full of surprises, Potter!"
Harry didn't answer. The initial burst of lightning had stung Doni, but that was all, he had the magic to hurt him, but the other two won't be able to. He knew their magic, no matter how great in life, would not work against a Campione.
They were here as perfect field support, forcing Doni to account for three threats instead of one. Doni didn't have an avatar authority, he was a single opponent. So Harry had the advantage of numbers, though the two were useless in the fight, but they could help distract..
Harry blocked a slash from Doni, ducked as a piece of the Silver Arm passed overhead, and then thrust his lance at Doni's leg. Doni leaped to dodge, but was met with heavy winds from both dumbles and Voldy that, while not affecting him physically, pushed him higher into the air. Harry then raised his lance toward the heavens, and what looked like a localized, miniature thunderstorm formed above them.
A huge bolt of lightning, crackling with raw divinity, dropped down directly on Doni. The Italian King roared, raising his silver sword and blocking the bolt's energy, even as the force sent him plummeting back to earth with unholy speed towards the ground.
Harry crouched, energy building around his lance. White and gold light flared, the weapon vibrating with resonance, the very air around the spear distorting as the Law of Causality prepared to assert itself. He aimed at the falling Campione, his voice ringing with divine command.
"Gáe Bolg!"
He fired the legendary spear like a streak of divine judgment. He made sure that what he aimed for was not the heart but Doni's leg, he didn't want to kill him after all, just make him regret picking a fight with Harry.
A wound of this magnitude wouldn't kill a Campione, but it would tear through the flesh and bone of a mortal man, killing them, but for a godslayer, it would just leave a wound that would take a Campione a few hours to a day to heal.
The lance hit Doni dead-on, and the resulting explosion was a catastrophic shockwave that slammed into the ground, carving a deep furrow of pulverized earth and molten stone as he entered.
Silence.
And Harry relaxed. 'It's over. '
Then a spike of divine power surged, and the smoke cleared.
"You've got to be shitting me," Harry muttered, slumping slightly. This was two for two now, this attack was meant to finish the job, but both times he used it, his enemies just shrugged it off.
Doni stood tall amid the ruin, his clothes torn to rags, his right leg visibly wounded, but the flesh shimmered and knitted together at an incredible rate, the deep gash vanishing in an instant.
Harry didn't need to think long to know what he was seeing.
Man of Steel.
This was the Authority Doni had taken from the Norse Heretic God Siegfried, granting him a body as hard and as heavy as divine steel. It rendered him nearly invulnerable, his very flesh a fortress, and if he wanted, he could even spread its protection outward.
'Still, this wasn't bad, ' Harry thought. To have pushed him to this level, to force him to rely on one of his strongest passive defenses, one he didn't even like, that was a victory in itself.
But it didn't mean he'd stop here, just cause he felt he won.
Harry wasn't about to drag this out any longer. He didn't wait to talk or hear if Doni had anything to say.
His mental command went out instantly to his servitors.
Voldemort and Dumbledore moved in unison, their forms rushing forward as the ground beneath Doni changed to sand, swallowing his legs up to the knees before hardening like stone. It wouldn't hold him for more than a mere second of surprise, but it was enough.
Harry's hand burst into a white-hot flame, and He hurled it forward. A wave of fire, white-hot and roaring, crashed into Doni. Man of Steel was weak to extreme heat.
Doni roared, raising his arm to block, but Harry's ghosts joined in, two torrents of concentrated magical fire spiraling toward him. And as the flames slowed him down, Harry released his lance and used his other hand to conjure what looked like a gigantic, heavy metal bell. He slammed it down, trapping Doni inside.
The field went eerily quiet. The only sound was the muffled roar of the trapped flames and the dull clang of the bell.
Then came the second sound as Harry hit the bell, a chime that rolled through the field.
BOOOOM.
Harry raised his hand again. Shadows pooled around him, thick and heavy, the absolute blackness of non-existence.
"Cúlaith an Bháis."
The Death Mist was called, but only partially. Phantom hands, thick and inky black, reached for the bell. The hands, carrying the essences of death, slipped through the metal as though it were smoke, and then entered Doni.
A loud, strangled scream erupted from inside the bell, and then, after a while, silence.
Harry waited for a while, and after hearing nothing, he decided to check.
The bell shimmered, melted, and dissipated. Smoke and heat shimmered off the cracked earth.
Harry stood there, tense, his eyes fixed on the scorched spot, ready for an inevitable counterattack.
A long moment passed. Nothing.
The smoke cleared, and there, right there on the ground, was Salvatore on the ground, body smoking as all, passed out.
Finally, he sighed and let his shoulders drop. "Thank God…"
He plopped down onto the ground, running a hand through his hair.
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