Consciousness returned slowly, creeping over him like a rising tide.
Harry opened his eyes to a world of mist. Not the biting cold of Iceland, but something other—a formless, endless expanse where the air shimmered like liquid silver. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above. Only swirling vapor pressing against his skin, thick and silent as the breath of a ghost.
Then—
"Fufufu~ Congratulations, my beloved child! You've finally become a Campione—a Devil King who has slain a god! How does it feel to be reborn as one who stands above humanity?"
The voice was soft, filled with gentle amusement. From the mist, a figure emerged—a girl with violet hair that curled as if caught in an unseen current. She sat with quiet poise, her legs tucked beneath her, and Harry realized his head was resting in her lap. Her fingers combed through his hair, soothing and strangely familiar.
"I am Pandora. The all-giving woman".
She smiled down at him, her luminous eyes filled with something unreadable. "You poor child. Fighting for your life, struggling to survive. But it's all right now."
Harry tried to speak, but his throat felt raw. His body felt different—lighter, stronger. His mind buzzed with new awareness, but he couldn't place why.
Pandora giggled, tilting her head. "You're confused, aren't you? Ah, but don't worry. I am Pandora, the one who gave birth to all Campiones! You could say I'm your 'mother,' my foolish little child~"
Harry furrowed his brow. "Mother...? What are you talking about? Where is this place?"
Pandora traced his temple with a delicate finger. "This is the boundary between dream and reality, a realm where only those who have defeated gods may enter. You've done something incredible, you know? Killing a Heretic God and stealing their authority—ah, but you don't even understand what that means yet, do you? So naive~"
Memories surged—the wolf's crimson eyes, the scent of blood, the rupture of magic inside him—
"I… killed a god."
Pandora nodded, stroking his hair as if comforting a child. "Yes, you did. You were magnificent. But remember this, my dear god slayer: A Campione is one who stands above all magicians. All who walk the path of magic will kneel before you, for you have become something greater."
Her voice was a whisper now, brushing against the edges of his thoughts. "But don't get too cocky. Being a Campione means endless battles ahead. Gods won't forgive you for what you've done, and humans will either fear or worship you. Such is the fate of a Devil King~"
Harry clenched his fists. "That's… not what I wanted."
Pandora giggled. "Too bad~ Once a god-slayer, always a god-slayer. But don't worry, Mommy will always be watching over you! Now, off you go—your real adventure is just beginning!"
The mist thickened, swallowing her form.
"Wait—!" Harry reached out, but his fingers passed through empty air.
"Shhh," her voice echoed, fading. "Time to wake up, god slayer. The fun's only just begun…"
Darkness. Then—
Cold.
Harry gasped awake, jerking against the hard earth.
He was back in the clearing where Fenrir had fallen. Dawn bled across the sky, painting the snow in hues of pink and gold. No mist. No Pandora. Only the remnants of battle-torn ground, splintered ice, and the absence where Fenrir's corpse should have been.
Gone. Like he was never here.
Harry sat up, his muscles thrumming with unfamiliar strength. His wounds had vanished. Even the ever-present ache of his scar was… silent, as blood dripped from it.
Then the memories hit.
Not of the fight. Not of Pandora.
Of Jacob.
A life that wasn't his. A world of The near future, of manga piled on desks, of forums debating fictional gods and Campiones. A world where Harry Potter had been a story.
No—
He clutched his head as the duality threatened to tear him apart. Jacob's knowledge. Harry's soul. Twisting together like braided rope.
This wasn't Fenrir's doing. The memories didn't come from his Authorities. They had been waiting. Dormant. And now, something had triggered them—whether it was Pandora, the act of slaying a god, or something deeper, he couldn't tell.
A gust of wind howled through the trees. Harry looked down at his hands—and felt.
Three glowing symbols pulsed in his mind, burning with latent power.
He knew what they were. His Authorities, proof of his action of slaying a god.
Authority of the Devourer: Fenrir was known as the devourer, he who swallowed all in its path.
- Devour Magic – Absorb spells and fuel his own.
- Ragnarok's Wrath – Unleash stored energy in a cataclysmic blast.
Authority of the Fenririan Rend - His Fangs and claws that were said to cut anything in their way.
- Rend Reality – His strikes can cut through magic, elements, and even conceptual barriers.
- Godslayer's Bite – His fangs and claws sharpen, capable of wounding even divine beings.
Authority of the Unyielding Will -His body and will that remained unbroken even when chained for centuries.
- Unbreakable – His body becomes nearly impervious to harm.
- Mind's Eye – Heightened awareness and battle instincts sharpen his reactions beyond human limits.
These were the gifts he had gotten, these were the powers he had stolen from the god-slaying wolf itself.
Harry exhaled, his breath frosting in the dawn air.
He was no longer just the Boy Who Lived.
He was a Campione.
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