Chapter Ten: The Bunker
Harry skulked through the Glades, Oliver's parting words echoing in his head: "I'll leave it up to you." Oliver had left the project in his hands, which suited Harry just fine. Oliver's tendency toward restraint—keeping everything minimalist for the sake of a low profile—was understandable, but Harry had access to connections Oliver could only dream of. When discretion was your business, the challenge wasn't finding resources; it was using them without being noticed.
Time wasn't on their side, but Harry had wasted none of it. His network of contacts had been poised for action the moment they set foot in Starling City. Any delays had been minimal, and Harry had already used his nocturnal ventures to lay the groundwork. One such visit had been to the Starling branch of the Goblins—a hidden fixture in the city for nearly four centuries, just a few blocks from Queen Consolidated. To handle this job, Harry couldn't rely on his civilian identity. No, he had donned the guise of the Red Arrow, known more infamously as the Demon's Blade. His name carried weight in the Goblin community, not least because of his master's reputation, which cast a long, dark shadow over Harry's own.
Arranging the Goblin contractors to expand the property's borders had been surprisingly easy. Harry knew they were experts at such things; they had a long history with the League of Shadows, and their proficiency with the expansion charm was well documented. He'd done his research, stumbling across Newt Scamander's famous use of the charm to create a Vivarium within his briefcase. Such magic was far beyond Harry's skills, but the goblins? For them, it was child's play.
Now, he sat in the dimly lit office of Bazlov, the goblin contractor overseeing the project. The room had an oppressive feel, its dark oak paneling enclosing the space like a tomb. Maps and blueprints lined the walls, their intricate magical constructs and arcane symbols attesting to centuries of Goblin craftsmanship. A brass lantern flickered on the cluttered desk before him, casting a warm glow over the parchment, ink pots, and tools scattered across its surface. The air was thick with the musty scent of old parchment and mildew, a reminder of the ancient secrets that lurked in places like this.
Bazlov was tense, his pointed ears twitching ever so slightly as his sharp eyes darted between the schematics and Harry. His rigid posture betrayed a nervousness he tried to hide. Harry couldn't help but grin beneath the shadow of his hood. He always found it amusing how people reacted when they knew who he really was. The goblin's fidgeting hands moved steadily, but his unease was palpable.
Bazlov himself was seated behind the desk, his sharp eyes constantly darting between the schematic and Harry, as if trying to gauge his reaction. The goblin's posture was rigid, a telltale sign of his nervousness. His pointed ears twitched occasionally, and his hands, though steady, fidgeted slightly with the quill.
Harry chuckled softly, a small grin curling on his lips within the hood's shadow. He always enjoyed seeing how people reacted to him when they knew who he was.
"Ah, I see. This should be no problem, sir." The contractor nodded, his gaze fixated on the schematic with a mixture of respect and apprehension. "Do you have any idea on when construction would need to be completed?"
"Soon. Once we start, it'd have to be done within 24 hours."
"Will the equipment already be procured and ready to be implemented?"
Harry nodded. "I have some of my people acquiring it right now. By the time I contact you, everything should be in order."
Bazlov clicked his tongue, his gaze shifting momentarily to a large, ornate clock mounted on the wall—a timepiece that seemed to mock the urgency of their task. "While I understand your affiliation to the League requires a delicate touch, to put it simply Sayf al-Shaytan, I feel compelled to remind you that this is in the middle of a No-Mag populated area. While the statute of secrecy is not what it once was, we must still be careful to not alert the populace."
"You'd do well to remember who I am. I do not take kindly to the implication, whether you intended it or not, that I am sloppy enough to be discovered."
Bazlov straightened in his seat, laying the quill down at the side of the parchment. Despite his effort to keep it quiet, Harry could hear the goblin gulp in response. "I truly meant no offense. Regardless of your reputation, it is part of our policy to remind our business partners of the risk factors at play."
"It's part of mine to make sure that my partners know their place." Harry retorted, gritting his teeth.
Needless to say, the rest of the meeting went by without a hitch. Bazlov kept his mouth shut and got down to business like he should have in the first place. It only took two hours to get everything situated.
Now, as Harry stood in the headlights of the delivery trucks pulling into the parking lot of the old Queen Industrial Inc. Steel Fabrications plant, the anticipation was now at its precipice, and he was ready to work. If they were going to save Starling City, this was where they needed to start.
"Anatoly sends his regards, my friend," a familiar voice proclaimed as a man stepped out of the truck, his thick Russian accent bringing a smile onto the teen's face. "He says you should call more often."
"You know how it is, Donnie. I'm a busy man," Harry replied warmly, stepping forward and clasping his wrist to pull the man into a one-armed hug.
"Oh, it is good to see you, boyevoy." "Likewise, though I'll admit I'm surprised to see you here." the teen admitted dryly. Donnie pulled away from the hug with a smile and a confused look in his eyes.
"What do you mean by that? When the Phantom calls, you answer—this is how it is."
"I didn't mean anything by it; as I recall, you were in Moscow the last time we spoke. So, I figured you were still in the region and wouldn't make such a long trip to see an old friend." Harry shrugged.
Three months earlier, Harry and Donnie had been working a high-stakes job, closing a lucrative deal with a client tied to Intergang. Everything unraveled when an assassin took out the client, leaving most of their crew in a bloodbath. Donnie barely escaped, nursing a shattered right shoulder. The hitman, a notorious sharpshooter called Deadshot, vanished in the chaos. Weeks later, Harry managed to track him down and came close to ending him—until the cops got involved. Deadshot slipped away, his trail growing cold, but Harry hadn't forgotten. Revenge didn't need to be rushed; it just needed patience. And when the moment came, Harry would be ready. Deadshot's fate had already been sealed the day he pulled the trigger—it was just waiting for Harry to deliver it.
Donnie still wore a sling, but he looked worlds better than the last time they'd crossed paths.
"I came to States last month. Now, I am in Seattle—quiet city. I like it," Donnie said, his thick accent rolling over each word. His gaze drifted to the men unloading crates from the vans—equipment that any hacker would kill for. As Harry watched the men unload the crates, the scene spoke volumes about the equipment's value. The sleek, high-tech gear was clearly designed for advanced cyber operations. The crates were marked with high-security labels, and the items inside were state-of-the-art. Branded servers with cooling systems, heavy-duty encryption tools, and expansive data storage units.
The servers, with their array of cooling fans and powerful processors, hinted at the capacity for handling enormous amounts of data and executing complex operations at unprecedented speeds. Nearby, the encryption tools were compact but exuded an air of sophistication, their sleek design capable of cracking even the most secure codes in the right hands.
The storage units, large and robust, promised the ability to hold vast quantities of data—essential for those needing to collect, store, and analyze large-scale information. The high-speed network interfaces attached to the equipment had rapid data transfer capabilities, essential for ensuring seamless operations.
If Harry had the right person on his side, the equipment would be far more than just mere tools, it'd be a gateway to unparalleled control over the cyber landscape: the next frontier for the never-ending war for power.
Turning his attention back to Donnie, Harry raised his eyebrow. Donnie could tell the teen wasn't content with the answer and chuckled dryly.
"Business, Harry. I am here for business. We open new branch. Cyber," he said, tapping one of the crates as it passed, a grin creeping across his face. "All this? For control. Data. Power. Seattle is good place for that. This is the future."
Harry watched the men haul the crates into the building with a furrowed brow. "So," he glanced at his old friend. "I thought you were into arms deals, not tech?"
Donnie chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Harry towards the building. "Ah, still sharp as ever. I am still making arms deals, yes." He paused, looking back at the workers before continuing. "When opportunity comes, you take it. Seattle is good place for new business, and I couldn't pass up chance to see old friend. Sometimes, work and friendship mix, yes?"
Harry nodded, his expression softening slightly. Walking alongside the men, the hum of their conversation mingled with the clatter of equipment. "So, you're here to set up shop, but still keeping your hand in the arms trade. It's smart."
"Exactly," Donnie said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Bratva grows, evolves. I keep my roots, my connections. Always smart to have more than one card to play."
Reaching the building's entrance, Donnie paused to look around, taking in the new environment as Harry sniffed the air. The Goblins must have finally arrived, based on the new scents coming from the loading bay. He'd taken the liberty to set up a portkey in his meeting with Bazlov to save them some time and energy.
"Seattle is just start. With tech and arms, Bratva will have strong presence everywhere."
The teen raised an eyebrow, recalling that Seattle was Intergang territory. The Bratva moving through Seattle wouldn't go unnoticed. "That's fine and all, but what about Intergang? We didn't keep Sokolov safe, and they're definitely not thrilled about the Bratva encroaching on their turf."
"There was deal. Kahndaq goes to them, and we move more into U.S." Donnie shrugged. "It's above my level, so I cannot say more."
Harry's expression hardened, his breath catching, and eyes widening in surprise. "I'm sorry, Kahndaq?" His voice was a low murmur, but the tension that radiated from him was palpable.
Donnie met his gaze, but even he seemed to sense the gravity of what he had just said. "Yeah, Kahndaq."
"Kahndaq's off-limits," Harry said, his voice edged with disbelief. "Not just for the Bratva, but for everyone. Nobody with a brain would dare set foot there. Are you sure that you heard correctly?"
"I am sure. The others were very clear when they mentioned Kahndaq."
"Donnie, even the League doesn't step foot there. Hell, even I wouldn't go in there."
"And you're not afraid to go anywhere," Donnie pointed out with a grim smile, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. He furrowed his brow for a moment, before snapping his fingers. "Zafiris, not Kahndaq. I am sorry, I was mistaken."
That made a lot more sense, though it did not dissuade Harry's concern. The Bratva had dominated operations in Zafiris for years, so their decision to cede control to Intergang was unsettling. He despised Intergang, particularly for their brutal treatment of civilians. This wasn't just a matter of territory; it was about a country rich in untapped resources, most notably Eternium. This rare mineral was crucial for high-tech weaponry, enhancing magical artifacts, and even had rumored uses in cutting-edge medicine.
The Bratva's interest in Eternium was clear, so why would they allow Intergang to take over? The implications were troubling. "Harry, if you don't mind… why is Kahndaq off-limits?"
"You don't know?"
"As I said, it is above my level." Donnie explained, to which the teen nodded. Kahndaq wasn't just some isolated country with a high-profile leader. It was a utopia, fiercely protected, and those who had dared to enter with ill intentions never returned.
"It's suicide," Harry said, his voice hard as a grimace pulled at his lips. "Kahndaq's a paradise, untouched because it's guarded by someone far beyond any of us. Every criminal syndicate, every magical faction knows better. Those who step into its borders with anything but the purest intentions? They end up dead."
The legends of Kahndaq's protector—a god, a living force of nature—were whispered even among the most powerful. His name alone struck fear into the hearts of those who ruled the shadows. He wasn't just a ruler; he was a weapon with power that even Harry, for all his skills and power, couldn't challenge.
If Kahndaq wanted to expand its reach to Zafiris, things could get ugly fast. Harry knew he'd need to act quickly, and the moment they were finished here, he'd contact the League to dig deeper into this troubling development.
The advanced weaponry possessed by Intergang was a significant concern—far beyond the capabilities of anything from S.T.A.R. Labs. If these weapons fell into the wrong hands, the potential damage could be catastrophic.
"I see," Donnie nodded, his serious demeanor brightening suddenly. "In any case, working in Seattle is safer than running around with you and blondie. Speaking of which, where is Oliver?"
"He's tied up with something right now. Looks like you're stuck with me tonight."
"Good. I always felt he did not like me."
"It's only because he knew you'd steal every girl he'd try to impress." Harry's remark earned a hearty laugh from Donnie.
"I cannot help it that the ladies simply adore me. You would not believe how many American women I have been with since I arrived." the man boasted with a grin that reminded Harry of Tommy Merlyn.
"One of these days, we'll have to catch up properly over a drink," Harry replied, steering the conversation back to the task at hand. As much as he wanted to reconnect with an old friend, the job took precedence. Donnie, catching the shift in focus, looked momentarily surprised before nodding in agreement and turning back to his men.
Awaiting them was the freelancer he had hired to place a charm preventing anyone they did not want discovering the Lair. The charm was something Harry had thought about during their first conversation talking about their plans once they returned to Starling City. Sure, they could have trusted in their own ability to keep their base safe — but Harry didn't like leaving things to chance. If someone were to come snooping, Harry didn't want them to stumble upon it or get the advantage.
As they descended the stairs into the basement, the hum of magical energy became palpable. The goblins worked with a precision that belied their gruff exteriors. They darted between piles of enchanted bricks and intricately woven tapestries, their sharp voices barking orders in a language Harry could barely decipher. It wasn't often that goblins spoke in their ancient tongue, especially in front of humans.
"Make sure the runes align properly this time!" one goblin shouted, his stubby fingers deftly adjusting a complex array of symbols etched into a stone slab.
Donnie raised an eyebrow at the sight. "I didn't realize goblins were so meticulous."
"They're the best in the business for this kind of work. Their craftsmanship is unmatched, but they can be particular about their conditions. We need to keep them happy if we want them to finish on time."
"Tell me, what exactly are you doing here? It's not like you to put in this kind of money in a single location…" Donnie asked, motioning towards the goblin workers.
"We're trying to help people, like we've talked about in the past," he explained. "Oliver and I decided it was time to fulfill our promise."
"Ah, I see. You're finally ridding your home of the filth infesting it."
"Admittedly, this goes beyond the initial estimations we came up with. We've talked about what our base of operations would need to have for us to be successful, but Oliver always thought too small. He wants to be under the radar, but still neglects my magical contacts. Why should we take weeks, even months to get it set up when we could get everything up and running in a day or two? Why should we settle for the bare necessity when we could have the preparations we need? He likely wouldn't view it in the same regard, but if we ever need to expand our roster… why shouldn't we have a base for our team to grow in?" Harry explained.
"Oliver prefers a light load as I recall. If these supplies you've ordered are any indication… no, it's guaranteed this will be an uncomfortable turn of events for the lad."
"That's precisely what I'm counting on." the teen beamed with amusement, as the sound of a phone ringing cut their conversation off. Donnie reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out with a grimace.
"Excuse me for a moment," the man apologized, stepping away to answer the phone. As Harry surveyed the construction site, he helped to guide the crates of advanced cyberware to where they needed to go. Amidst the organized frenzy, Harry's gaze shifted to the stairs where the freelance wizard had just arrived.
The wizard was a lean, middle-aged man with a rugged appearance. His clothes were a curious mix of modern practicality and arcane accessories. His sharp eyes took in the scene with a mixture of interest and calculation. As he approached, Harry offered a nod of acknowledgement.
"You're right on time," Harry said, his tone welcoming yet businesslike. "I'm glad to see you made it."
The wizard returned the nod, his gaze sweeping over the construction site. "I trust everything is in order? I must say, this is quite the operation you have here."
Harry gave a brief, appreciative smile. "We're moving fast. I need the entire lair to be charmed so it's effectively undetectable. This isn't just about keeping out unwanted eyes; we need to ensure that even magical detection spells won't yield any results."
The wizard's eyes sparkled with professional curiosity. "Understood. I'll need to cast a series of wards and enchantments to mask the location. Beyond the guidelines I was given, do you have any specific concerns?"
Harry's expression grew more serious. "The primary concern is ensuring that no-one will be able to detect we're here. Additionally, the wards need to be resistant to magical tampering. I don't want any surprises down the line."
A hint of a smirk crossed the wizard's lips. "You've come to the right person. I've dealt with more than my share of high-stakes enchantments. This won't be an issue. As I recall, you wanted this done by sunrise?"
"Yes, that would be preferable. If you need to stay a little longer, that could be arranged."
"Preposterous! I never have to extend my deadline. You have my word, it'll be done." The wizard gave Harry a confident nod before turning his attention fully to his preparations, the air crackling faintly with the beginnings of arcane energy. Harry watched for a moment longer, satisfied with the arrangements, before stepping away. He shifted focus back to the rest of the operation, when the sound of footsteps approached from behind.
Donnie appeared from the staircase, his face lit by the glow of his phone as he slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Secondary munitions delivery will arrive within the hour."
Harry gave a curt nod. "Good. We'll need those for the armory."
They exchanged a brief look of understanding before both moved into action, navigating the controlled chaos of goblins and Bratva working side by side. As the hours passed, what was once a dust-ridden cellar was quickly transforming into a fully functional, concealed base. With sunrise creeping closer, Harry found himself checking the manifests once again, mentally ticking off what had been accomplished.
Amidst the din of construction, the teen signaled for a break. "I'll be upstairs," he called to Donnie, who gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement, his attention still fixed on the work ahead.
Climbing the stairs, Harry made his way into the office overlooking the Loading Bay.
Harry leaned against the desk, hands pressed into the wood, exhaling as he allowed himself a brief moment of peace. The noise from the basement—the clanking of metal, the hum of machinery, grumbling between the goblins—faded into the background. He glanced at the manifest of what he had ordered for the lair, recalling what Donnie's men had brought already. The cyberware for the servers and control center, the modern weaponry for the armory, and the wards were in place. He still needed the medical supplies and equipment, materials for the library, the rest of the forge, and a few other miscellaneous items. Four hours remained until sunrise, and from the sound of it the goblins were on track to complete their task by the deadline.
Despite the calm, something lingered in the air. He'd felt it from the moment he stepped onto the property, like a shadow that clung too close, a presence that he could no longer ignore.
Harry's fingers drummed lightly on the desk. His eyes remained fixed on the loading bay below, but his focus was elsewhere, drawing in on the sensation gnawing at the edge of his consciousness. He could sense the watcher.
Without turning around, Harry's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Step out, Omid."
His command was sharp, authoritative—more an order than a request. It left no room for hesitation. The response was immediate.
From the corner of the room, as if peeling away from the very darkness itself, Omid emerged. Clad in the standard League of Assassins uniform, the black fabric clung to him like a second skin, making his movements nearly silent. His eyes, the only visible part of his face beneath the hood, gleamed with a wary intelligence.
Omid stepped forward, his soft Arabic accent coloring his words as he spoke. "You sensed me sooner than I expected."
Harry didn't turn to face him immediately, keeping his eyes on the bay. "You've been watching me since I got here. I figured you'd wait until I was alone."
A brief silence filled the room as Omid stood in place, his mistrust palpable, though carefully concealed behind his professional demeanor. He had always been wary of Harry—Sayf al-Shaytan, the Demon's Blade, a foreigner who wielded a power he couldn't fully understand and stood closer to Ra's al Ghul than he'd ever witnessed besides the Demon's Head's own daughters. Omid tried to mask his unease, but Harry could see right through it, the slight shifts in body language, the tension hidden behind Omid's otherwise calm exterior.
Omid's voice cut through the tension. "You've been busy. This place… the work being done here. What are you really up to?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I'm building something," he replied calmly, though his words were deliberately vague.
"Building something?" Omid took a step forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "This is more than just construction. I've seen the goblins. I've seen the equipment being brought in. This isn't for your typical vigilante operation."
Harry's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've been keeping a close eye on things."
Omid didn't deny it. "It's my job to watch, to observe. The League knows of your movements, but you've been… discreet. Too discreet. Even for someone in your position."
Harry let out a slow breath, his gaze never leaving Omid. "I'm not here to cause problems for the League, if that's what you're worried about."
"I never suspected that, sire," Omid said, his voice steady. "I'm worried about you."
The admission caught Harry off guard, but only for a moment. He studied Omid's expression, looking for any sign of deceit, but found none. The man was genuinely curious, maybe even concerned, though he kept it tightly under wraps.
"What is it you're doing here?" Omid pressed, his tone more insistent now. "Why all this secrecy? Why bring in goblins, of all things, to build this… lair?"
Harry pushed off from the desk, straightening up. His eyes bore into Omid's. "I don't owe you an explanation."
Omid stiffened slightly but didn't back down. "You don't trust me."
"No," Harry said bluntly, his voice cold. "I don't. There's few I do trust, so don't take offense."
"You certainly seem to trust that brute downstairs enough. What was his name, Donnie?" Omid pointed out, watching for a reaction. Harry gave him none in response. "I'm rather surprised by the company you keep. A billionaire playboy, a Russian arms dealer, and if rumors are true, Lady Nyssa."
"If you've got something to say, spit it out. I'm not in the mood for games."
Omid hesitated, his eyes softening ever so slightly. "I wonder, Sayf al-Shaytan… could it be true? That you are meant to be the Heir to the Demon?"
The question lingered in the air as Harry stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "What difference does it make to you?"
"It means nothing to me—to others, it could mean everything. We've heard the rumors, sir... it's only natural to wonder whether there's merit to it." Omid explained, to which Harry could only roll his eyes. Even in the League, rumors spread like an illness. "It's not often someone comes into the League and can operate with such leniency."
It was no secret that Harry had a peculiar relationship with the Demon's Head by any means, but it was a dire situation that set it into motion in the first place. Harry's abilities were tumultuous at best and had it not been for Ra's intervening, he likely wouldn't be standing here today. Most did not know of what their relationship truly entailed, but apparently it was clear there was an idea. The fact his unofficial role as the Heir to the Demon had been deduced by the rest of the League did not bother him, it was only a matter of time before that became public. No, what bothered him was something completely different.
"If that were true, Omid... would you dare question me?" Harry asked, turning to face him. The look upon his face was enough for Omid's entire demeanor to change. His back straightened and every bit of confidence the grunt had melted away. Harry took a step towards him, eying the sledgehammer resting against the crate beside them.
"I meant no offense."
"It is one thing to question me, but to question Ra's al Ghul... most would have your head for such an offense."
"Sire, please... I truly did not mean to imply-" Omid's eyes widened as Harry effortlessly grabbed the sledgehammer with one hand from its rest and swung it upwards, stopping mere centimeters from the assassin's face. The gasp that escaped the assassin's lips brought some pleasure, but not nearly enough for Harry to let the matter be.
"Don't take me for a fool... I know what you were trying to imply, and I will not have you stain the League's reputation. Regardless of my title, you do not question the will of Ra's al Ghul. Do I make myself clear?" Omid gulped from behind his mask, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. "I asked a question, now answer it before you lose the ability to do so."
"Y-yes, sir." Omid stammered out, to which Harry nodded and lowered the hammer. The assassin audibly let out a sigh of relief — a poor choice, given that members of the League were supposed to keep their composure and never reveal their emotions. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"That doesn't sound convincing."
"Yes, sir." Omid repeated, this time with conviction. Harry gave a tight grin that belied his true feelings. Right about now, he would enjoy nothing more than to put the fear of god in him, but he was going to let it sink in.
"Good, now… we have work to get done, and I don't want to keep you waiting all night." He said, clapping his hands together and walking towards the manifest on the table. The Bratva were busy taking the computer equipment downstairs and setting it up, so Harry didn't have to worry about supervising them at the moment.
"Right," Omid cleared his throat and approached from the side to glance at the manifest as well. "Most of what you've asked for is downstairs waiting for you, but a few items on here will take some time to arrive. You mentioned a desire for some rare plants with magical properties. Gillyweed plants are in scarce supply, as you're most likely aware."
"Yes, I am. The entire situation with the Mediterranean Sea is less than ideal, and if we want to avoid causing any turmoil with the Atlanteans, we should proceed carefully. Even if you can just acquire the seeds, that'd be sufficient."
"Alright. I am not knowledgeable enough to consider myself well-versed in all things botany, let alone herbology, but what is a Chinese Chomping Cabbage?"
Harry laughed. "That's an adorably vicious vegetable that will gladly tear your face off if you're nearby. However, it's not considered rare; you could go straight to any of the shops in Diagon Alley or any of the provinces that allow the perusement of magical commerce. Though, someone as yourself might not know that. Speak with Lady Tomoè if you cannot make the proper connections, but I'd say to do that only as a last resort. She doesn't like being taken away from her research."
"Duly noted. Why would you want something like that?"
"Would it make you feel better if I said it amuses me to lock my enemies in a room with them? I'm called the Demon's Blade for a reason, Omid... use your imagination," Harry chuckled with a soft smile, shaking his head. "If you must know, it's merely a component for a small prank of mine, nothing to trouble yourself with."
"A prank? That seems like a—" Omid paused, catching Harry's side-eye, "—a brilliant use of resources, of course."
"Oh, quite." Harry chuckled, noting how the poor bastard had begun shaking in his boots from that one glance. "But, like I said... it's nothing to trouble yourself with. If you're worried about keeping your face, they don't sell the fully-grown plants. Now, our contacts could acquire them fully grown... but as long as you're specific, you'll be fine. The seeds are harmless."
"Then the last thing I have a question about, Aglaophotis?"
"Dioscorides described it as a plant used to ward off evil energies such as witches and demons. However, studies into the Necronomicon say we can use it to call upon those energies. As you might be aware, my occupation as a monster hunter would benefit from a plant such as this."
"Wait, the Necronomicon?" Omid's voice dropped to a near whisper, eyes widened in disbelief. "I thought the books were lost to history…"
"Lost? No, I wouldn't say that. Something as dark as that would has to be hidden. We've only managed to find one, and that was after a tragedy involving a small group staying in a rural cabin near Morristown, Tennessee, back in the eighties. The details aren't fully clear, but the Necronomicons house a legion of Khandarian demons—beings that would rather drag a soul to Hell for eternity than serve a mortal. They're vicious, violent, and we don't bother with negotiations. It's easier to kill the host than to save them. Throughout history, I believe there are only two recorded survivors of Khandarian possession. From the Morristown incident, only one made it out, but he's been branded as the mastermind behind the massacre. Mr. Williams was lucky to escape with his mind intact."
"What happened to the book?"
"As I said, Mr. Williams was labeled as the one behind the massacre, so the official word is that the book was never there. Nobody would rightly believe that demons were behind the murders of a group of college students. Truthfully, I don't have the answer to that. It could be that the book is still with Williams for safekeeping, or someone else has it hidden away. For all I know, we could have it somewhere in our Occult archives. Despite my proximity to the Head of the Demon, I am not privy to that kind of knowledge. Artifacts that dangerous have to be kept under lock and key, and only he would have that access."
"So, they could be anywhere?"
"Yes, but these have unique qualities to them that would make it nearly impossible to not hear about it if they do appear. They're bound with human flesh, written in blood, and depending on the version may even have a human face for a cover. The book found in Morristown was a Sumerian version, and it's rumored to be a set of three. Each culture has their own name for the books. You have the Necronomicon, Naturom Demonto, the Darkhold, Book of the Damned, Book of the Dead, there's numerous tales surrounding each of these. Most of the Grimoires you find with covens of witches tend to stem from these books. All of them are a mere fraction of the original source's power, but it is enough to cause considerable damage in the wrong hands."
"Interesting… I would do well to learn from you."
"Don't hold your breath. I don't have the time nor the patience to be a mentor. If you're truly interested in that part of the world, I suggest you contact one of our Hunters. They can get you started on the right path, but it requires a level of dedication that may not be attainable for someone as yourself." Omid nodded, taking note of what Harry had told him. "Now, beyond your questions about the plants… is there anything else?"
"None that would be of any importance." the assassin said tartly, giving what Harry could only describe as an eye-smile — a strained smile at that, with anger laced in it.
"Then I will not hold you any longer. As always, I appreciate your discretion." he said, holding his hand out. As Omid took it, Harry wrapped his fingers around the warrior wrist cuff and squeezed just hard enough that he could feel the bones in the assassin's wrist crack. Omid's eyes darted to his wrist with horror, then back to meet Harry's. "As I told you before, most would have taken your head for questioning him… but I am not most. I want you to remember that the next time you think about running your mouth when it is not your place to do so."
Omid did not say another word as Harry let go, watching as the assassin stepped back holding his wrist. As they shared a final exchanged glance at one another, Harry felt that Omid had learned his lesson and motioned for him to leave. Once Harry knew the assassin was gone, he chuckled under his breath and went downstairs to meet up with the movers to check on their progress.
By the time the goblins finished, the sun was just starting to rise over Starling. Harry finished his business with the Bratva, wishing Donnie a safe trip back to Seattle, and ensuring that the freelancer had completed the wards before wiping his memory of the lair's location. Now all there was to do was actually take a look at their new base.
Harry descended the steel staircase, the hum of electricity and magic mingling in the air. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the common room—an open, practical space with several mannequins lined against the far wall, each designed to hold their vigilante suits. To the right, the room branched into the sleeping quarters, simple but comfortable, with individual beds, lockers, and showers down the hall.
He moved on, stepping into the control center, a vast space dominated by an enormous wall of screens displaying satellite imagery, live news feeds, and surveillance footage. In the center stood an elevated command desk surrounded by touch-sensitive panels and holographic displays projecting interactive maps. The setup allowed for the monitoring of criminal records and tracking key data points, all seamlessly integrated for real-time analysis. Behind the command desk, a secured door led to the server room, housing the powerful systems that kept the entire operation running smoothly.
Harry moved down the hall, the soft lighting guiding his way as he reached the medbay. The room was spacious and meticulously organized, featuring advanced diagnostic equipment, from portable scanners to enchanted stethoscopes designed to detect magical ailments. Cabinets along the walls held neatly arranged medical supplies—suture kits, antiseptics, and potions for quick healing, pain relief, and energy restoration. A central examination table sat under bright, adjustable lighting, while nearby shelves housed vials of herbal remedies, enchanted salves, and blood-replenishing solutions.
In one corner, a small cooling unit stored blood bags and perishable medical supplies, while a nearby station held surgical tools and enchanted instruments for more complex procedures. The walls were lined with monitoring equipment, ensuring any patient's vitals could be tracked instantly.
Continuing on, he entered the library—a grand, classical space lined with towering bookshelves, each filled with an impressive array of texts. The scent of aged parchment filled the air. It was a treasure trove for anyone seeking knowledge. Grimoires and spell books shared space with bestiaries detailing mythical creatures, while medical texts sat alongside volumes of history and journals from legendary figures like the Van Helsings. There were also sections dedicated to Hunters and Grimms, offering insights into their practices, lore, and tools. It was a place where any seeker of knowledge, magical or otherwise, could find what they needed.
"Hermione would love this place," he remarked, sighing softly at the thought of his old friend. Taking in the smell of the old paper, Harry smiled before leaving.
Making his way down a sturdy stairwell, Harry descended into the secondary sub-level. On the first door to his right was the room he was particularly most excited to look at.
Harry stepped through the reinforced door into the expansive training room. The high ceiling and steel-plated walls, marked by past sessions, showed no sign of wear. The floor, made from a shock-absorbent material, was engineered to cushion impacts and reduce the risk of injury during intense training.
In one corner, heavy-duty training dummies stood ready, built from tough materials and adjustable for various combat scenarios. Nearby, racks held an array of weights, from five pounds to two thousand, each enchanted to increase resistance for more challenging workouts.
Specialized equipment filled other areas—a section with high-resistance machines, including hydraulic trainers and bands designed for extreme strain, stood next to advanced treadmills with adjustable settings. Enchanted gravity devices simulated different planetary conditions, pushing the training intensity even further.
A strength calibration zone caught Harry's eye, featuring pressure-sensitive platforms and force-measuring devices for tracking and calibrating strength accurately. Enchanted sensors offered performance feedback, highlighting magical energy levels and areas for improvement.
In the far corner, a small medical station held first aid supplies and emergency tools, along with automatic healing enchantments for quick recovery and minor injury repair. The climate control system kept the room comfortable, while adjustable lighting simulated various conditions.
The modular flooring was flexible, allowing sections to be reinforced for impact exercises or softened for other activities, making the space adaptable.
"Oliver's going to love this," Harry chuckled, feeling both awe and satisfaction. Beyond that, he wanted to see one last thing in here before he went through to the next area.
When he'd spoken with Ra's about what he'd prefer for a training room, he had mentioned wanting to have an immersive training simulator that would test his abilities to their limit if need be. So, in his meeting with Bazlov he made sure to include that request.
Harry stepped into the room beyond the first aid supply corner, a space designed to simulate intense, high-stakes scenarios with remarkable realism. Equipped with a complex system of enchantments and advanced technology, the room began to morph before his eyes. Walls shifted and the floor cracked as the simulation commenced, filling the air with the scent of smoke and distant crackling flames. In moments, the room transformed into a sprawling, burning forest.
Charred, smoldering trees emerged as part of a detailed holographic projection, creating a 360-degree environment. Simulated flames radiated heat, intensifying the urgency of the training experience. Harry reached out to touch a tree, feeling the sting of the flames sear his palm. The magical enchantment ensured that the threats felt genuine, requiring complete focus from anyone inside.
A growl echoed from the far end of the room, where training dummies had morphed into lifelike, vicious werewolves. Their intricate details—gleaming eyes, bared fangs, and clawed limbs—added to the menacing atmosphere. Each dummy was magically enhanced to exhibit aggressive behaviors, simulating real combat scenarios. The system's extensive database allowed for countless scenarios, including the possibility of fighting an exact copy of himself. Enchanted barriers and force fields simulated environmental constraints, while pressure-sensitive tiles on the floor shifted underfoot, creating a dynamic and interactive experience. As Harry navigated the terrain, the tiles mimicked unstable ground and uneven surfaces typical of a forest fire.
Tucked away in a corner of the room, a concealed access point blended seamlessly with the wall. A subtle press revealed a hidden staircase leading up to a discrete observation area.
As Harry ascended, he arrived at a concealed overlook offering a panoramic view of the entire simulation room. This hidden vantage point allowed observers to monitor training sessions without being seen or heard. Darkened glass lined the walls, providing an unobstructed view while obscuring the occupants from the action below.
The overlook featured advanced monitoring systems, with multiple screens displaying real-time feeds from cameras and magical sensors throughout the simulation room. These screens provided detailed insights into the user's performance, environmental conditions, and the behavior of the simulated threats.
Adjacent to the monitoring equipment was a control console filled with buttons, switches, and magical runes, enabling observers to adjust the simulation in real time. They could modify the intensity of environmental effects, alter the aggressiveness of the dummies, or change scenario parameters based on the user's performance.
The magical controls allowed for instant modifications to the environment, with enchanted dials and runic symbols adjusting the heat of flames, the speed of enemies, or the density of smoke, tailoring the experience to the training session's specific requirements.
To ensure maximum effectiveness, the overlook was equipped with communication devices, allowing observers to relay instructions or feedback to the user if necessary. A hidden speaker system enabled discreet announcements or guidance without disrupting the immersive simulation experience.
Harry marveled at the design of the secret overlook. It was an elegant addition to the training room, providing a way to oversee and refine training sessions while remaining unobtrusive. This feature ensured that simulations could be dynamically adjusted to suit the evolving needs of trainees, making it an invaluable component of the advanced training facility.
Continuing his exploration, he noticed an area that seemed slightly different. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was designed to house an array of magical traps, further enhancing the room's capacity to simulate high-stakes scenarios.
Seamlessly integrated into the environment, each trap tested different aspects of a trainee's skills. Enchanted runes and glyphs glowed faintly on the floor and walls, hinting at their magical nature. Fire spouts, ice patches, phantom obstacles, illusionary enemies, and other hazards could all be utilized. The more he looked, the more Harry was tempted to enter a session and see how far he could push himself.
The magical traps were integrated into the training room's control systems, allowing observers in the overlook to activate, deactivate, or modify them based on the session's requirements. The control console featured dedicated interfaces for managing the traps, including activating specific ones, adjusting their intensity, and setting triggers.
Harry watched as a hidden compartment opened, revealing control levers and focus crystals for fine-tuning the traps. This setup would be physically demanding and mentally stimulating, allowing each session to present new challenges and test a trainee's ability to handle unexpected dangers and complex problems.
He decided to call this the Danger Room for now, until he could figure out a better name. If Oliver had anything to say about it, it'd be called the Range or something "arrow" related. Harry laughed. "So not happening."
From there, he left the training room and continued down the hallway to the forge. The heat hit him like a wave, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth. The air was thick with the scent of molten metal and the faint crackle of magical flames dancing within the forge. A glowing fire surged in the heart of the room, fueled by enchanted embers that burned with a vibrant blue hue, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
The center of the room featured a large, enchanted forge that maintained a consistent temperature for various metals. Shelves lined the walls, filled with rare metal ingots and finely ground herbs needed for potions. Sturdy workbenches held hammers, anvils, and quenching tubs filled with bubbling liquid.
To his right, a potion-brewing area displayed ornate cauldrons, each enchanted for specific purposes. A bubbling cauldron rested on a flame-proof pedestal, surrounded by jars of labeled ingredients—powders, herbs, and exotic liquids. An open spell book detailed recipes for everything from healing draughts to strength-enhancing elixirs.
Adjacent to the brewing station, cooling racks held finished potions, their soft glows indicating powerful magic. The air carried a mix of earthy and sweet fragrances, highlighting the magic at work.
After surveying the room, Harry turned to head toward the armory, curious to see the weaponry available.
It was a vast space brimming with an astonishing array of weapons. The room resembled a grand hall, with walls adorned by a diverse collection that ranged from medieval swords and shields to sleek, modern firearms.
In one corner, racks displayed intricately crafted swords, each with unique designs—some glimmering with enchantments, others etched with ancient runes. Nearby, shields of varying sizes hung on the walls, crafted from durable materials to withstand both physical and magical attacks.
Against the far wall stood a series of cabinets containing an extensive assortment of firearms, from handguns to assault rifles, all modified for enhanced performance. Each weapon was meticulously maintained, ready for immediate use.
In addition to conventional weapons, specialized sections featured crossbows, throwing stars, and traps designed for various combat scenarios. The armory was equipped with various ammunition types, including explosive rounds and enchanted projectiles that glowed with magical energy.
A designated area held protective gear: armored vests, helmets, and specialized suits designed for different environments. The room was a perfect blend of ancient craftsmanship and cutting-edge technology, offering everything Harry could need for any mission, and held plenty of room for new additions in the future.
From there, Harry stepped into the final section of the base: a spacious underground garage. The room was dimly lit, with a polished concrete floor reflecting the soft glow from overhead lights. Steel beams supported the high ceiling, giving the space a rugged, industrial feel. Against one wall, two motorcycles sat side by side, their custom frames gleaming under the muted lighting.
Harry's bike was a bold machine, painted in a striking matte red. Its sharp, angular lines hinted at raw power, with a low, aggressive stance that hugged the ground. The frame, lightweight yet reinforced, was built for both speed and endurance. A wide rear tire promised stability during tight corners, while dual exhaust pipes suggested it could unleash serious horsepower. Blacked-out wheels and custom handlebars completed the look, giving the bike a fierce, no-frills aesthetic—made for high-speed urban chases or tearing down an open highway.
Beside it, Oliver's bike was more refined but just as dangerous. Painted in a deep metallic green, its streamlined design prioritized agility over brute force. The slimmer build, with clean, sharp lines, was made for quick, precise movements. A compact, high-tech dashboard integrated heads-up display features, while the lightweight carbon fiber frame and advanced suspension allowed for seamless navigation through tight spaces or off-road paths. The narrower tires and quiet, efficient engine made it perfect for stealth missions, built to slip through the night without drawing attention.
Both bikes, while tailored to their owners' styles, were engineered for speed, control, and durability—perfect for navigating the challenges of the urban jungle or making a quick escape from enemies.
At the far end of the garage, a discreet exit led to an alley, the door expertly hidden to provide discrete access. This setup ensured that they could leave the lair swiftly and without drawing attention, allowing them to blend seamlessly into the night when duty called.
Finally, he let out a content sigh. The base was exactly what they needed, and he looked forward to seeing Oliver's reaction when he saw it for the first time. However, beneath that humorous thought was the urgency driving their rapid setup. The name Harry Potter was notorious worldwide, and the longer they delayed their mission, the more likely his enemies would notice his return from the dead.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green glow across the stained concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. Shadows stretched long and jagged, swallowing the corners in cloying darkness. The air was heavy, thick with the mingled stench of sweat, fear, and blood, as if the very walls had absorbed years of suffering. A man hung naked from the ceiling, suspended by ropes that dug deep into his wrists, his skin raw and bloodied from endless struggling. His body was stretched taut, his muscles trembling from the strain, his toes barely able to brush against the cold floor below. Every breath was labored, the tension in his limbs pulling his shoulders upward in a grotesque display of agony. His legs quivered as he tried, and failed, to relieve the pressure on his arms. A thin trickle of crimson trailed down the side of his face, mingling with the sweat, before dripping silently to the ground.
Nearby, a wooden table stood cluttered with an array of grim tools, each one neatly arranged in a disturbing display of potential violence. Razors, a well-worn hammer, pliers, and a power drill with flecks of dried blood on its bit gleamed beneath the flickering light. They hummed with silent menace, a promise of suffering yet to come. China White stood still, her silhouette stark against the flickering bulbs. Her cold, calculating gaze never left the man, as if already measuring how long he could last under the tools her companion was about to employ. Her white-blonde hair, smooth and sharp as glass, hung like a blade against her black outfit, making her appear all the more ghostly in the dim room.
However, the one that the man should have been terrified of was her accomplice, who circled the suspended man like a predator, her movements slow and deliberate. Her raven-black hair, streaked with a single stark-white stripe, swept across her cheek, framing her face as her eyes lingered on him with twisted delight. She held a small blade, running her fingers along its sharp edge with a cruel, thoughtful smile. The flickering lights caught the blade, making it glisten with malicious promise.
"Last chance," China White said, her voice like cold steel. "Tell us what we need to know... or we make this last as long as we like."
The man's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with exertion, his voice trembling with desperation. "I don't know... please, I swear... I don't know anything!"
The woman chuckled softly, a sound both mocking and amused, her fingers tightening around the knife's hilt. She stepped closer, her presence dark and commanding, the scent of fear thickening the air. "Wrong answer," she murmured, her voice soft, dripping with cruelty. She pressed the blade to his side, just beneath his ribs, teasing the skin with its cold edge. "Maybe this will help jog your memory."
Before she could act, a sudden sound broke through the tension. The television mounted high on the wall crackled to life, static briefly distorting the image before the news anchor's voice sliced through the silence. "—after five years of being presumed dead, Harry Potter and Oliver Queen have been confirmed alive. Their unexpected return has—"
The woman froze. Her body went rigid as the name hit her like a blow. Her grip tightened around the knife, her knuckles turning white. For a moment, her cold mask cracked, and a flash of fury rippled beneath the surface. Her eyes flicked toward the television, then back to the man hanging helpless before her. China White raised a brow, intrigued by the sudden shift in her partner's demeanor.
"Something wrong?" China asked, her voice steady.
The woman's jaw clenched, her voice low and dangerous. "No. Just reminded me of someone I used to know."
Without warning, she plunged the knife into the man's side. He let out a strangled scream, his body jerking violently against the ropes as pain erupted through him. Blood gushed from the wound, pouring down his side and pooling beneath him. His vision blurred, the agony giving way to a fleeting, bitter relief. He could feel it—his body weakening, the pain beginning to fade as death crept closer. He was going to die. At last.
But the relief was a lie. The woman placed her hand over the wound, her fingers soft against his torn flesh. A faint glow emanated from her palm, and the agony in his side slowly ebbed. His wound began to close, healing before his eyes. The pain faded, but the horror remained—he wasn't going to die. Not yet.
"You really thought you were getting out that easily?" she whispered, her voice dripping with cruel amusement as she leaned in close. "No, no, no. We're just getting started."
The man gasped, his eyes wide with terror as his body slumped against the ropes. He was trapped in a nightmare, his brief moment of peace snatched away, leaving him trembling and broken.
She stepped back, wiping the blood from the blade with the same deliberate care as before, her gaze flicking once more to the table of tools. Her hand hovered over the cruel array, her eyes scanning each piece with cold, calculated intent. She paused, fingers curling around a pair of pliers, their metal surface gleaming under the pale light. A slow, wicked smile crept across her lips as she turned back to the man, her voice a whisper of dark promise. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."
Alright, everyone! Incredibly sorry for the wait! Life has thoroughly kicked my behind these last few months and has more or less blown me off track. As I believe I mentioned last chapter (I'm not going to waste time looking at the author's note if I put one there, lol. I've got no energy for all that.) Chapters 9 and 10 were supposed to be one whole chapter, but I decided against doing so because of well, the time it would take between updates. *sigh* I guess that didn't work out like I thought it would! As I'm sure most of you have noticed, this is no longer labeled as a Harry Potter x Arrow crossover anymore, but rather a DC crossover in general. This is because the plan is to make this a massive crossover universe that ultimately uses the Arrowverse for like 5 percent of its basis. While some of the stories will still use elements of the shows, we're looking at a greater scope.
Those who read the original version of Reforged Destinies will likely know our mystery character that appeared at the end of the chapter, but if you do, please don't spoil it for the new readers! Let me know what you guys think and I shall catch you in the next update!
OH! There is going to be an official timeline created for the Arsenalverse, but I have not worked it out yet how to get to all of you yet. Only those in my discord server and will be able to access that currently, so... keep an eye out for that!