Ecadna froze in panic as its razor-sharp claw was sliced clean off by that glowing sword.
So much for being lucky. So much for changing its fate. It was still the same wretched, miserable demon.
This was Earth. It had made it here. If it had just been given time, just a little—it could have fed on enough souls to regain its full power. It could have become unstoppable. But no. Instead, it had run into these two blasted human sorcerers.
Without hesitation, Ecadna abandoned any thought of fighting. It turned, ready to flee.
What it didn't realize was... it was already trapped.
This was a mirrored dimension. There was nowhere to run.
Across from it, Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement. A faint red light shimmered in his irises, a telltale sign that his magic had reached its boiling point. He had just lopped off a demon's claw and still wasn't satisfied.
With boundless energy still swirling inside him, he conjured another Sword of Vishanti, its edges humming with divine power, and charged forward again.
Sure, he knew plenty of defensive spells. The Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, Raggadorr's Rings, and others. But Harry never really liked using them.
He once read something in an old tome that really stuck with him: the best defense is a good offense.
One side was fired up with battle-lust. The other just wanted out.
But the gap in strength between them was wide—too wide.
In just a few minutes, Harry had slashed Ecadna to ribbons. The demon collapsed, broken and bloodied, on the shimmering mirrored floor.
Farewell, spawn of chaos.
Harry dispelled the gleaming sword buried in the demon's skull and let out a satisfied breath.
"Upper-tier demon? Please. If I'd had the Crimson Amulet of Cyttorak, I could've danced with five of these things all day."
Behind him, Wong watched silently, a complicated look on his face. He had spent more than a decade training before reaching this level of power. Harry? He'd only studied magic for two and a half years. Sure, he'd spent five years stabilizing that absurd chaos magic inside him, but still... two and a half.
Yet, Wong didn't envy Harry, nor did he resent the Ancient One's favoring him. He simply smiled, proud.
He walked over and clapped Harry on the shoulder. His usual stone face softened into a genuine grin.
"Nicely done, Harry."
With the demon gone, they opened a portal and returned to Kamar-Taj to report to the Ancient One.
All they left behind were a few shell-shocked occult enthusiasts, questioning everything they'd ever believed about reality.
Back at Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One offered Harry a rare smile.
She praised him, not just for the fight, but for his control and growth. She believed he was ready to learn more advanced, more dangerous magic. She even suggested he start crafting his own spells.
After all, spells powered by other-dimensional magic could be re-engineered. Harry's chaos-infused core could imitate some of them, but the true power of chaos magic was something no borrowed spell could ever fully express.
Harry took her words to heart. And he already had an idea.
His brain, enhanced by magic, retained memories with astonishing clarity. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he remembered, dimly, but vividly—a flash of green light from childhood. A beam of pure, destructive power.
Over the past few weeks, he'd been testing a spell like that. And it was working.
Now he just needed a name for it.
"Hmm... Avada... something," he muttered.
"Avada Kick-Ah-Wha?" he mumbled with a smirk.
No, no. Avada Kedavra. That was it. Had a nice sinister ring to it.
Harry had already mastered portal magic, but chaos energy made those portals... twitchy. One wrong pulse and whoosh—the portal collapsed in on itself.
So unless he wanted to get sliced in half by his own spell, Harry usually walked.
Tonight, he returned on foot to 20 Ingram Street, Queens. Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and Peter were all fast asleep.
He didn't wake them. Instead, he vaulted up to the second floor and gently opened his bedroom window.
Just as he climbed through, the world around him shifted.
The quiet night turned into daylight. His cozy bedroom blurred into a narrow, stuffy hallway.
Harry blinked. His heart skipped.
He knew this hallway.
No... no way.
He was back in Privet Drive.
Back in Uncle Vernon'shouse.
He looked down at himself and gasped.
Baggy gray shirt. Bare feet. Scrawny arms.
This was Dudley's old hand-me-down shirt, the one that hung on him like a tent.
He was eleven again.
His heart thudded in panic.
Was it all a dream? Kamar-Taj? The Ancient One? Peter? Aunt May? Gwen?
No. No. It couldn't be.
He had to check.
Drawing in a deep breath, he chanted under his breath and traced a rune in the air, just as the Ancient One had taught him.
Golden symbols shimmered to life, forming a glowing matrix—and from it, he summoned the Sword of Vishanti.
It appeared in his hand with a satisfying hum.
Harry let out a long, shaky sigh.
Thank Merlin.
It wasn't a dream.
If the magic was still with him, then he could return. Maybe not today, but someday.
Then, from the kitchen, a shrill voice echoed through the hallway:
"There you are, birthday boy! Happy birthday, darling!"
Harry blinked in disbelief.
Aunt Petunia? Cheerful?
His lips curled into a wry smile. It had been years since he'd seen the Dursleys.
He... almost missed them. Almost.
He could feel the chaotic magic still surging inside him. Vast. Endless. Though now, it was dampened, as if the laws of this world limited his access to it.
Maybe thirty percent of what he was used to?
Still more than enough.
And in this world, the magic felt... steadier.
He took off his glasses. His eyes glowed gold for a moment, then settled. Perfect vision.
Body enhancement through magic. One of the most efficient uses of chaos power, second only to telekinesis.
His body may have regressed to eleven, but he could fix that. If he infused himself with magic constantly, he'd be back in shape in no time.
He was not staying this scrawny.
And the cost? Barely noticeable. His magic reserves were so deep, he could cast spells for a week straight and not feel a dent.
With a smirk, he opened the grubby kitchen door and stepped inside.
There was Aunt Petunia, beaming as she pressed a kiss to Dudley's enormous cheek.
She looked... surprisingly sweet.
He used to envy the way she doted on Dudley. But now?
Now he had people who loved him.
Real family.
And the moment Petunia saw Harry, her smile dropped. Her face contorted into its usual scowl.
"Well? Don't just stand there! Get cracking on breakfast! And don't you dare burn the bacon!"
But instead of jumping to obey, Harry strolled over to the table, plopped into the chair beside Uncle Vernon, and poured himself a tall glass of juice.
He took a long sip, closed his eyes, and let out a satisfied "ahh."