Death of Eternity: The Wrath of the Ancient Forgotten Ones

by FrozenIceKing

Cho, Harry, Anakin discovers that ancient, forgotten entities known only as the Forgotten Ones are awakening. These malevolent beings, long buried by time seek to reshape the galaxy in their image. With enemies lurking in both the shadows and the stars, must lead their crew in a desperate fight for survival, can they defeat the ancient forgotten ones or will all hope be lost?

23. Gifts of the Divine

"You have waited for this chapter now you'll be rewarded after so much time thinking of what is going to happen next, I took a radical approach but nevertheless it will be interesting to see how and where our beloved chosen ones will go and what is going to be a start of this new journey they're undertaking right now, that now you all have a front row seats so strap yourselves in, the ride is about to get Wild!"

Gifts of The Divine

The golden glow of the Great Throne Room shimmered with an air of tension, the celestial scene outside the towering windows casting an almost dreamlike serenity that contrasted with the weight of their discussion. Seated at their thrones, Harry, Cho, Fleur, Valeriya, Angelica, and a still-recovering Gowron contemplated the next steps against the Borg Elite Legions, whose relentless assaults were crippling their forces.

Cho's voice broke the silence, her tone sharp yet thoughtful. "We're losing ground faster than anticipated. The Borg Elite Legions are not just overpowering—they're adapting at a rate our forces cannot match. If we don't shift our strategy now, even the Dyson Sphere could fall."

Fleur nodded, her golden hair catching the light as her tone hardened. "The Klingon Empire cannot stand alone, and neither can we. The loss of even one quadrant could unravel everything. But brute force alone won't suffice against the Borg. Their fusion with Covenant technology has rendered traditional tactics nearly obsolete."

Valeriya leaned forward, her platinum-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Her voice carried the weight of her experience. "The Titan Vanguard Armor and Disintegrator Antiproton Weaponry will help stabilize the fronts, but even these have limits. Gowron, you'll have my Vanguard Corps and additional armaments to aid your empire, but we must prepare for something more decisive—a coordinated strike at the heart of their leadership."

Gowron, his voice gravelly but resolute, growled, "We Klingons are not ones to shy from direct battle. But if Jack and Ashi could nearly bring me down, then these Borg monsters may be beyond even our fiercest warriors."

Angelica, seated with divine poise, radiated calm amidst the storm of strategies. Her voice was soft, yet it carried a resonance that demanded attention. "The Borg Elite Legions are pawns of Aku and Abeloth. As long as their dark energy flows, their forces will remain endless. The true battle lies not in the field but in severing their connection to their masters."

Harry, quiet until now, steepled his fingers and exhaled, his voice measured yet carrying an unmistakable edge. "You're suggesting a decapitation strike. But Aku and Abeloth don't operate like ordinary leaders. They thrive in chaos and disorder. A direct assault would require unprecedented coordination—and risk. We'd need to draw them out, isolate them."

Cho's eyes narrowed as she nodded. "We lure them into a confrontation, force their hands. But how do we bait entities like Aku and Abeloth, who feed on destruction?"

Angelica's lips curved into a serene smile, her golden aura intensifying. "With the one thing they cannot resist: power. We must create a false vulnerability—something so potent that Aku and Abeloth cannot ignore it."

Valeriya added, her voice firm, "A trap, then. But it must be multi-layered. Not just for Aku and Abeloth, but their legions as well. If we cannot destroy them outright, we must cripple their forces to buy time."

Fleur interjected, her tone brisk. "And we can't forget the Klingon Empire. The Borg have already destabilized their territories. We need Gowron's warriors to hold the line while we execute this plan."

Harry turned to Gowron, his green eyes steady. "Gowron, can the Klingons hold long enough with the reinforcements Valeriya is sending?"

Gowron's teeth bared in a grin, his warrior pride undiminished despite the odds. "The Klingon Empire will hold, no matter the cost. Give us the tools, and we will fight to the last breath."

Valeriya leaned back, her expression grave. "Then it's settled. I will allocate my Vanguard forces to Gowron immediately, along with Cassandra's latest modifications to the Disintegrator Weaponry. Angelica, you and I will oversee the construction of the trap. Cho, Fleur, Harry—you must rally the fleets and ensure our lines hold. Every moment will count."

Angelica's calm voice carried the finality of the decision. "We will draw them out into the open, but understand this: Aku and Abeloth will sense the trap eventually. We must strike with precision, timing, and absolute unity—or this gambit will fail."

Harry stood, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Then we move as one. For the Federation. For the Sovereignty. For the galaxy."

The golden thrones gleamed in the celestial light, the resolve of its occupants cemented as they prepared to enact their most daring plan yet.

Harry stood before the golden circle of thrones, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as he faced the gathered leaders. His green eyes, usually sharp and resolute, were weighed with an uncharacteristic heaviness. The light from the cosmic display above seemed dimmer as he spoke, his voice low and pained.

"The Reach Elites were bad enough," he began, his tone laden with frustration. "Their tactics, their brutality—it was something we could counter, something we could predict with enough preparation. But these Borg Elite Legions..." He paused, exhaling sharply, as if the very thought exhausted him. "They're worse. They're faster, stronger, and relentless. It's as if they've taken every nightmare the galaxy has ever faced and turned it into a weapon."

Cho, seated beside Fleur, watched him with concern etched into her features. She leaned forward, her voice soft but insistent. "Darling, you don't have to carry this alone. We're all here to shoulder this burden together."

Fleur reached out, her hand brushing Harry's arm, her voice soothing but firm. "Mon amour, she's right. None of us are strangers to the weight of command. If we face this as one, we'll find a way to overcome it."

Harry shook his head, his frustration momentarily flaring. "It's not just about command. It's what they represent. These Borg Elites—they're not just soldiers. They're a message from Aku and Abeloth. A warning of what's to come. And every time we lose ground, every time we fail to adapt, it feels like we're giving them exactly what they want."

Valeriya's voice cut through the tension, calm yet resolute. "Harry, no empire, no leader, is ever without burdens. What matters is how we rise to face them. Yes, the Borg Elites are a new breed of terror, but they are not invincible. You have us, and together, we have the strength to match their chaos with order, their darkness with light."

Gowron growled from his seat, still recovering but as defiant as ever. "If it's strength you need, the Klingons have it in abundance. These Borg abominations will regret testing our resolve. But Harry, the burden of leadership is not to bear alone—it is to inspire others to bear it with you."

Angelica, her golden aura radiating serenity, added with divine calm, "Harry, you stand at the center of this storm, not because you are alone, but because you are its anchor. The Borg Elites thrive on fear and doubt. Do not give them that power. Let us turn their strength against them."

Harry looked at each of them, his defenses slowly breaking under their words. Finally, he nodded, his voice softer now. "You're right. All of you. I've spent too much time focusing on what's been lost instead of what we can still fight for. But we need a solution—something more than brute force. Something that levels the playing field."

Cho smiled gently. "Then that's where we start. Together, we'll find a way. We always have."

Fleur's grip on his arm tightened slightly, her voice full of warmth. "And we always will, mon amour."

As Harry straightened, the weight seemed to lift, if only slightly. The burdens remained, but for the first time in what felt like days, he didn't feel as though he carried them alone. The fight against the Borg Elite Legions would be unlike anything they had faced before—but with the unity in that room, he knew they still had a chance.

The Great Throne Room was steeped in silence, the golden light flickering faintly as Cassandra, Angelica's hyper-intelligent AI, materialized in the center of the room. Her form shimmered with ethereal precision, her presence commanding yet somber. The leaders—Primarch Emperor Harry, Primarch Empress Cho, Primarch Empress Fleur, Grand Empress Angelica, and Great Empress Valeriya—turned their gazes to her, the weight of anticipation thick in the air.

Cassandra's voice was calm but carried a grim undercurrent. "Your Majesties, I come bearing both dire and hopeful news." She paused, as if the gravity of her words required a moment of preparation. "The Borg Elite Legions have inflicted catastrophic losses. Five hundred billion lives have been claimed—Sovereignty forces, civilians, and entire planetary populations. Those who surrendered have been assimilated, their individuality erased, their strength added to the enemy."

A gasp escaped Fleur, her hand flying to her mouth. Cho's fists clenched on the armrests of her throne, her composure visibly cracking. Valeriya's expression hardened into steel, her piercing blue eyes narrowing in fury. Angelica, ever serene, closed her eyes, the golden glow around her dimming as if in mourning.

Harry stood, his fists balled tightly, his voice barely controlled. "Five hundred billion... assimilated. Entire populations wiped out. Cassandra, what chance do we have if even surrender means death?"

Cassandra met his gaze, her expression solemn but unwavering. "Primarch Emperor Harry, do not despair yet. There is hope. Fifty percent of the Sovereignty Federation armies, including the MACO divisions, have now been upgraded with Titan Vanguard Armor and Disintegrator Antiproton Weaponry. Their technology now rivals the Borg Elite Legions. But brute force will not suffice. Tactics must change—flawlessly. Without precision and unity, we risk losing even more."

Angelica spoke next, her voice calm yet resonating with divine authority. "Cassandra, what do you propose? If our technology is now equal, how do we turn the tide? We must act swiftly, or the galaxy will drown in chaos."

Cassandra's glowing form seemed to brighten as she replied, "Grand Empress Angelica, the Borg Elite Legions thrive on predictability and fear. Their hive mind enables them to adapt instantaneously to standard strategies. To defeat them, you must create chaos within their order. Decentralized tactics—small, elite strike teams operating autonomously but coordinated through advanced AI like myself—will fracture their unity."

Valeriya leaned forward, her voice sharp and commanding. "And how do we deploy such teams without losing them to the Borg's superior numbers? Even with the upgrades, their legions are vast, and every loss strengthens them."

Cassandra turned to her with a measured nod. "Great Empress Valeriya, this is where misdirection becomes our greatest weapon. False fronts, decoys, and simulated vulnerabilities must draw their forces into traps while our strike teams dismantle their infrastructure from within. We must sever their connection to Aku and Abeloth, destabilizing their cohesion."

Fleur, her voice trembling with both anger and resolve, asked, "What of the lives lost? The families torn apart? How do we ensure this doesn't happen again, Cassandra?"

The AI's voice softened, though her tone remained firm. "Primarch Empress Fleur, the cost of this war is unimaginable, but every action we take now ensures the survival of those who remain. Your leadership, combined with that of your fellow rulers, will be the guiding light in this darkness."

Cho's voice broke through, sharp and decisive. "We cannot afford to waste time. Cassandra, begin coordinating the AI systems to create the autonomous networks you described. Harry, Fleur, Angelica, Valeriya—we need to mobilize our forces immediately. There's no margin for error."

Harry nodded, his jaw tight. "Agreed. This ends with us—not the Borg."

Angelica's golden glow intensified, her divine aura filling the room with renewed hope. "Then let us rise together. For every life lost, for every soul stolen, we will reclaim our galaxy."

As Cassandra's form flickered, her final words echoed through the chamber. "Your Majesties, I will begin preparations at once. May your unity be the key to victory."

The leaders exchanged resolute glances, their burdens heavy but their resolve unshaken. Together, they would face the darkness—and ensure that no more lives were consumed by its grasp.

The shared bedroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ambient light fixtures casting a warm glow across the elegantly designed space. The large shared bed at the center, its canopy draped with translucent fabric, symbolized the unity between them, but tonight it felt heavier, burdened by the weight of their collective thoughts.

Cho sat cross-legged on the bed, her silk robe flowing around her like a cascade of water. Her expression was distant, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the rug beneath her. "It feels endless," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how much we plan, how much we fight, the losses keep mounting. I can't help but think—are we enough?"

Fleur, seated at the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, looked over at Cho. Her sapphire-blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice carried the strength of conviction. "We must be enough, Cho. If not us, then who? We are their hope, their last line of defense. Even when it feels impossible, we cannot falter."

Harry leaned back against the headboard, his hands resting on his thighs, his green eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "I keep thinking about the faces," he murmured, breaking the silence. "The soldiers, the civilians... the ones we've lost. Five hundred billion. It's more than a number—it's lives, stories, families. And every one of them trusted us to protect them."

Cho turned to him, her dark eyes reflecting her own guilt. "We've done everything we could, Darling. No one could have foreseen the scale of this threat. Even the Borg alone were manageable—but with Aku and Abeloth behind them..." She trailed off, her voice trembling with the weight of her unspoken fears.

Fleur reached over, placing her hand gently on Harry's. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Mon amour," she said softly, her French accent wrapping around the words like a tender embrace, "you carry too much on your shoulders. You always have. But you don't have to carry it alone. We are here—for you, for each other."

Harry's lips pressed into a thin line as he looked between them. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But it doesn't make it easier. Every loss feels like a failure, and no matter how many victories we achieve, I can't shake the feeling that it's never enough."

Cho reached out, placing her hand over his other one, her fingers intertwining with his. "It's not about being enough, Harry. It's about enduring. About standing when it feels impossible. That's what makes us leaders—what makes you the heart of this fight."

Fleur smiled softly, though her expression remained tinged with sadness. "And that's why we believe in you. Together, we'll find a way. Not because we're perfect, but because we refuse to give up."

For a moment, the three of them sat in silence, their hands linked as they drew strength from one another. The shared bedroom, their sanctuary, held them in its quiet embrace, a reminder that even amidst the chaos of war, they still had each other. It was a fragile comfort, but in that moment, it was enough to keep them moving forward.

The shared bedroom held an unusual stillness, the kind that often followed a heavy conversation. Harry had leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed as if to gather his thoughts, while Fleur sat cross-legged near the edge of the bed, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders. Cho, however, remained unusually quiet, her gaze occasionally flickering toward Fleur.

For a brief moment, when Fleur turned her head to look at Harry, Cho allowed herself to glance at Fleur's chest. She knew it was wrong to linger, but she couldn't help herself. The comparison stirred memories she thought she had buried—memories o fthe Enterprise F, when she had still been the young officer desperately proving herself among her crew.

Back then, she had overheard the whispers from her colleagues—snide remarks, dismissive laughter. Flat as a starship hull, one of them had joked. She had clenched her fists, swallowing her anger, unable to voice her hurt. She had been their superior officer, after all. Such trivial insecurities weren't supposed to matter when lives were on the line. Yet, they did.

Cho exhaled softly, almost inaudibly, her gaze shifting away before either Harry or Fleur could notice. It had taken her years to come to terms with the lingering sting of those comments. When she had discovered her status as a demigoddess, it had felt like more than just a revelation of power—it had felt like an opportunity to rewrite those small, painful parts of her past.

The ability to alter her own form had been a quiet but satisfying triumph. With a mere thought, she had reshaped herself into what she considered perfection—not because she sought approval, but because it gave her control over an aspect of herself that had once caused so much pain. She had chosen a form she admired, one that matched Fleur's elegance and poise, her figure now mirroring Fleur's C-cup chest exactly.

Cho shook her head subtly, banishing the flood of memories. It wasn't envy she felt toward Fleur—it never had been. Fleur had always carried herself with grace, exuding a natural confidence that Cho both respected and admired. But the comparison had lingered in the back of Cho's mind, a quiet reminder of the insecurities she had worked so hard to overcome.

Fleur's soft voice broke through her thoughts, startling Cho from her reverie. "Cho? Are you all right?" Fleur's tone was gentle, her expression genuinely curious.

Cho blinked, quickly composing herself, offering a faint smile. "I'm fine. Just... thinking about everything we've been through."

Harry opened his eyes at the sound of their voices, glancing between the two women. "We've all been through a lot," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "But we've come out stronger for it. Together."

Cho nodded, her fingers brushing against the hem of her robe. She didn't let her gaze stray again, though the thought lingered in the back of her mind. She had become the woman she wanted to be—not for anyone else, but for herself. And as Fleur's soft laughter filled the room at one of Harry's remarks, Cho realized it was enough to be here, as part of their unshakable bond. Whatever doubts she had left were hers to conquer, and conquer them she would.

The golden glow of the Great Throne Room felt cold and hollow as the rulers of the Sovereignty sat, their datapads in hand, each one displaying grim updates. The collective silence was suffocating, broken only by the occasional flicker of light reflecting off the golden thrones. Supreme Primarch Emperor Harry, Supreme Primarch Empress Cho, Supreme Primarch Empress Fleur, Great Empress Valeriya, and Grand Empress Angelica sat in a circle, their expressions growing darker with each report.

Harry's face was a storm of emotion as he scanned the latest update from Fleet Admiral Riker. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the datapad tighter. "Picard... nearly lost. His entire fleet, gone," Harry muttered, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "And an entire sector—vital colonies, critical materials for our ships—lost to the Borg."

The others exchanged glances, each one tense. Valeriya leaned forward slightly, her tone measured but urgent. "Harry, we need to approach this with clarity. Anger will cloud our judgment."

Harry slammed the datapad down onto the floor, shattering it into countless fragments. The sound echoed through the chamber, and everyone froze. His emerald eyes burned with a rare, unrestrained fury as he rose to his feet, glaring at Valeriya. "Clarity? Clarity won't bring back the fleets we've lost, the colonies destroyed! How are we supposed to fight a war when every move we make is two steps behind?"

Valeriya's expression softened, her tone calm but firm. "I understand your frustration, but lashing out will not fix what's been lost. It will only—"

"Don't!" Harry cut her off, his voice loud enough to reverberate through the throne room. "Don't tell me how to feel right now, Valeriya. I've carried this war on my shoulders long enough. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch everything you've built burn because of a mistake you didn't even make?"

The room grew still. Valeriya's jaw tightened, but she remained silent, unwilling to escalate the situation further.

Fleur stood then, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. "Harry," she began softly, her voice like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Mon amour, this is not your burden to bear alone. Let us help you."

Cho rose beside her, stepping forward to take Harry's hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Darling, we've always faced these challenges together. You're allowed to lean on us. Let us carry this weight with you."

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming as the reality of their words began to settle in. Angelica, who had remained quiet until now, rose gracefully from her throne, her divine aura radiating calm. "Supreme Primarch Emperor," she said gently, "anger is a fire, but it can only burn for so long before it consumes everything. Let Fleur and Cho guide you now. You've done enough for today."

Cho glanced at Fleur, and they exchanged a knowing look. Together, they stepped closer to Harry. Fleur placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light but grounding. "Mon amour," she said softly, "you're relieved of duty for now. Come with me to the onsen. You need to let this anger go before it consumes you."

Harry looked at her, his breathing still ragged, but the warmth in her eyes seemed to melt through his defenses. He nodded slowly, allowing Fleur to guide him away. As they left, Cho held his other hand, her presence a steadying force beside him.

Valeriya sighed as the door closed behind them, glancing at Angelica. "He needed that. But I fear the worst is yet to come."

Angelica nodded solemnly, her gaze drifting to the shattered datapad on the floor. "Then we must prepare for it. Together."

The onsen was quiet, a haven of serenity amidst the chaos that plagued their lives. Steam rose gently from the heated water, curling like translucent ribbons into the air. Fleur led Harry into the tranquil space, her hand never leaving his. Cho walked close behind them, her eyes scanning Harry with quiet concern.

The warmth of the onsen was immediate, wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Fleur guided Harry to the edge of the water, where she motioned for him to sit. He hesitated for a moment, his frustration still bubbling beneath the surface, but he finally relented, lowering himself onto the smooth stone. Cho knelt beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his, while Fleur moved to his other side, her presence gentle and grounding.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the faint bubbling of the water and the soft hum of the onsen's energy field. Finally, Fleur broke the silence, her voice low and soothing.

"Mon amour," she began, her French accent adding a musical lilt to her words, "you cannot carry the galaxy on your shoulders alone. We are here—not just as your co-leaders but as your family."

Harry closed his eyes, the tension in his jaw still visible. "It doesn't feel like enough," he said, his voice strained. "Every decision we make costs lives. Every move feels like a step backward. I can't—" He broke off, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't keep watching this happen."

Cho's hand tightened around his, her gaze unwavering as she spoke. "Darling, you've done more than anyone could ever ask. No one else could have held the Federation together through this war. But you're not a machine—you're human. And humans need rest. They need to lean on others."

Harry opened his eyes, looking between the two women. "How can I rest when people are dying? When entire fleets are being wiped out?"

Fleur reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. Her touch was featherlight, her expression tender. "You rest because you must. Because if you burn yourself out, we'll lose you—and that is something neither of us can bear."

Cho nodded, her voice soft but firm. "You've always been our strength, Harry. But even the strongest need time to heal. Let us be your strength now."

For the first time that evening, Harry's shoulders began to relax. The weight of their words slowly chipped away at the walls he had built around himself. He looked at Cho, then Fleur, his expression softening.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Fleur smiled, leaning in to rest her forehead gently against his. "You'll never have to find out, mon amour. We are here, always."

Cho leaned in as well, her free hand coming to rest lightly on Harry's shoulder. "We'll face this together, Darling. No matter what."

As the three of them sat by the edge of the onsen, the steam rising around them like a protective barrier, Harry felt something he hadn't felt in weeks: peace. It was fleeting, fragile, but it was there. And in that moment, he allowed himself to lean on them, to let their strength carry him for just a little while.

Meanwhile, back in the throne room, Valeriya paced the golden floor, her mind racing. Angelica sat calmly on her throne, her divine aura still glowing softly as she watched the Great Empress with quiet understanding.

"He's unraveling," Valeriya said finally, breaking the silence. "If we lose Harry, we lose the heart of the Federation. He's the one thing holding everything together."

Angelica nodded, her voice calm but resolute. "He is strong, but even the strongest need to be reminded that they are not alone. Fleur and Cho will help him find balance. Our role is to ensure that when he returns, he has something to come back to."

Valeriya stopped pacing, turning to face Angelica. "And what of us? The losses are mounting faster than we can recover. If the Borg Elite Legions strike again before we're ready…"

Angelica stood gracefully, her presence commanding. "Then we prepare. The Titan Vanguard Armor and Disintegrator Weapons are our greatest tools, but tactics must evolve beyond brute force. Cassandra is already coordinating decentralized strike teams as we discussed. We will create chaos within their order and dismantle them piece by piece."

Valeriya crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "And what of Aku and Abeloth? Their influence grows stronger with every loss we suffer."

Angelica's gaze turned distant, her voice quieter now. "We will confront them, but not yet. For now, our priority must be to stabilize our forces and protect what remains."

The Great Empress nodded slowly, her resolve returning. "Then we fight. For Harry, for the Federation—for everything we stand for."

Angelica smiled faintly, her golden glow intensifying. "We will not falter, Valeriya. Not now, not ever."

The throne room fell silent once more, the weight of their resolve filling the space as they prepared for the battles yet to come.

The warm waters of the onsen rippled softly as Fleur slipped her feet into the steaming pool, her movements graceful and deliberate. She kept her gaze fixed on Harry, who sat at the water's edge, the lines of tension slowly softening in his posture. Cho remained by his side, her hand still wrapped around his, anchoring him with her steady presence. The quiet intimacy of the moment, the soft glow of the onsen's ambient light, offered a sanctuary far removed from the chaos of war.

Fleur knelt by the water's edge, her golden hair catching the light like a halo. She turned her gaze toward Harry, her sapphire-blue eyes warm with understanding. "Mon amour," she said softly, her voice carrying the lilting melody of her accent, "what you are feeling is not weakness. It is the burden of caring. It is what makes you the leader they follow."

Harry let out a slow, shaky breath. "But what if I can't do it anymore?" His voice was raw, tinged with exhaustion. "What if I'm not enough? I've watched fleets burn, planets fall... and I can't stop it. Every decision feels like a gamble, and every loss is a knife in my chest."

Cho, who had been silent, shifted closer to him. Her dark eyes met his, unwavering and filled with the quiet strength he had always admired. "Darling," she said gently, "you are not alone in this. You never were. Fleur and I are here, not just to support you, but to remind you that this fight isn't just yours. It's ours. And together, we will find a way."

Harry turned his gaze toward her, the faintest glimmer of emotion breaking through his weary facade. "You make it sound so simple," he murmured.

"It's not," Fleur replied, her tone soft but firm. "But nothing worth fighting for ever is. You are not the only one who carries the weight of this war, Harry. We all bear it. But we bear it together."

For a moment, the three of them sat in silence, the weight of Fleur's words hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Harry reached out, his hands finding theirs. "I don't know how I got so lucky to have you both," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cho smiled, her fingers tightening around his. "We're the lucky ones, Darling. You've always been our anchor, even when you didn't realize it. Let us be yours now."

Fleur leaned closer, resting her head gently against his shoulder. "You are stronger than you know, mon amour. And when you doubt, when it feels like too much, remember that you don't have to carry it alone."

As the steam curled around them, Harry felt a small flicker of peace settle in his chest. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind him that he wasn't alone. With Cho and Fleur by his side, he could face the darkness again.

Back in the Great Throne Room, Valeriya and Angelica continued their discussion, their voices low but urgent. The shattered remains of Harry's datapad had been cleared away, but its absence was a stark reminder of the tensions running high.

"We need a new strategy," Valeriya said, her tone clipped and precise. "What we're doing isn't enough. The Borg Elite Legions adapt too quickly, and their numbers are endless. We can't win this war by meeting them head-on."

Angelica inclined her head slightly, her golden aura glowing softly. "You are correct. Brute force will not prevail here. Cassandra's decentralized strike teams are a start, but we need more than tactics. We need to undermine the very foundation of Aku and Abeloth's power."

Valeriya frowned, crossing her arms. "And how do you suggest we do that? They thrive on chaos. Their power is rooted in destruction and despair. Every loss we suffer feeds them."

Angelica's gaze turned distant, her expression thoughtful. "Then we must starve them. We must create order in the chaos, unity in the face of their discord. The Sovereignty is more than fleets and armies—it is an idea, a symbol of hope. If we can rally the galaxy, if we can show them that even in the darkest times, we will not break, it will weaken Aku and Abeloth's hold."

Valeriya's eyes narrowed. "Rally the galaxy? With what? Forty percent of our fleets are gone. Our colonies are under siege. The Federation is bleeding."

Angelica's golden glow brightened, her voice resonating with divine calm. "We rally them with purpose. With the promise that this is not the end. That even in the face of overwhelming odds, we will endure. It will not be easy, but it is necessary."

Valeriya hesitated, then nodded slowly. "You're right. If we let despair consume us, we've already lost. But we'll need more than words to inspire them. We'll need action—victories, no matter how small."

Angelica smiled faintly, her expression serene but resolute. "Then let us give them those victories. One step at a time. Together."

As their conversation continued, the throne room felt less heavy, the faintest glimmers of hope piercing through the darkness. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but they would face it together, their resolve unshaken.

The grand dining room aboard the Dyson Sphere was filled with the soft glow of golden candlelight, casting an elegant ambiance over the intimate celebration. Harry, eager to bring some joy to both Cho and Fleur on their shared birthday, had gone to great lengths to make the evening special. Gifts, delicately wrapped and adorned with silver ribbons, were placed on the table alongside an exquisite cake.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Valeriya, still holding onto her playful vendetta for his outburst two weeks prior, had switched the labels on his carefully chosen gifts. The delicate lace nightgown meant for Cho had been swapped with the elegant, flowing piece he had selected for Fleur. Valeriya watched from the shadows of the room, a sly smirk on her face, waiting to see how the scene would unfold.

As the evening wore on, laughter and warm conversation filled the room. When it came time for Harry to present his gifts, he rose to his feet, smiling warmly at the two women. "I wanted to give you both something to show how much you mean to me. You've been my strength, my guiding stars. I hope these gifts bring you as much happiness as you bring to me."

He handed the first box to Fleur and the second to Cho, blissfully unaware of the switch.

Fleur, ever the picture of elegance, untied the ribbon and opened her gift. Her blue eyes widened slightly as she held up the sheer, revealing nightgown. The delicate lace and plunging neckline left little to the imagination, and a soft blush crept up her cheeks. She glanced at Harry, her expression a mix of amusement and surprise. "Mon amour," she said, her voice teasing, "I didn't realize you wanted to see me in something... so daring."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Daring? I—wait—" He looked down at the second box, now being opened by Cho.

Cho lifted the majestic, regal gown from the box, her dark eyes widening at its intricate embroidery and elegant design. The flowing fabric was a masterpiece, far more formal and conservative than the gift Harry had intended for her. She looked at Fleur, then back at Harry, her expression unreadable. "Darling, this is beautiful," she said, though her voice held a hint of curiosity. "But... it feels more like something you'd choose for Fleur."

Realization dawned on Harry as his eyes darted between the two gifts. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "I—I think there's been a mix-up!" he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "This wasn't... I mean, I didn't—"

Fleur chuckled, her laughter light and musical. "A mix-up, you say? Or perhaps you wanted us to swap roles for the evening?"

Cho hid her smile behind her hand, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Darling, it's quite alright. I think Fleur looks rather... delighted with her gift."

Before Harry could stammer out an apology, Valeriya stepped into the light, her smirk widening. "Oh, Harry," she said smoothly, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "You must have been so distracted when wrapping the gifts. A simple mistake, I'm sure."

Harry shot her a glare, immediately suspecting foul play. "Valeriya..." he began, but she raised a hand, cutting him off.

"Relax, Supreme Primarch Emperor," she said with a laugh. "Consider it a small reminder of your temper. You're lucky it's just a harmless prank."

Fleur, now fully amused, stood and placed the nightgown back in the box. She walked over to Harry, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Mon amour, it's perfect—regardless of who it was meant for. Thank you."

Cho followed, her expression gentler now. She took Harry's hand in hers. "Darling, you always go out of your way to make us feel special. This little mix-up only makes it more memorable."

As the laughter settled and the mood lightened once more, Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Next time, I'm double-checking everything. And Valeriya, consider us even."

Valeriya's laughter echoed in the room as the celebration continued, the prank adding an unexpected layer of humor to an already joyous evening. Despite the mishap, the night ended with warmth, love, and the unshakable bond between them.

The shared bedroom was dimly lit, a soft golden glow emanating from the ambient lighting embedded in the walls. Harry sat at the edge of the bed, his head bowed slightly as he sifted through reports on his datapad. The weight of the day's decisions was evident in his posture, his usual air of confidence dulled by the relentless pressures of leadership.

Cho stood a few steps away, her back turned to him as she slipped on the elegant nightgown he had gifted her earlier that evening. The flowing fabric cascaded over her form, the lace detailing around the bodice adding an understated allure to the regal simplicity of the design. She adjusted the delicate straps on her shoulders, glancing at herself in the mirror with a soft smile.

Turning slowly, she stepped into Harry's line of sight, clearing her throat gently to draw his attention. "Darling," she said, her voice soft yet laced with a hint of curiosity, "what do you think?"

Harry looked up, the datapad momentarily forgotten as his gaze fell on her. His green eyes widened slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The sight of her, bathed in the soft glow of the room, was enough to momentarily banish the weariness that had settled over him.

"You look…" he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. He stood, taking a step closer to her, his expression softening. "You look stunning, Cho."

She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. "Stunning? Is that all?" she teased, a playful smile gracing her lips.

Harry chuckled softly, reaching out to take her hand. "You always look stunning, but this…" He gestured to the gown, his tone growing more sincere. "It suits you perfectly. Elegant, beautiful, and… commanding, in a way."

Cho's smile deepened, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Commanding, hmm? I suppose that fits," she said lightly, though her tone carried an edge of satisfaction. "It's quite comfortable too, so I'll give you credit for that."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened slightly as he looked into her eyes. "I'm glad you like it. You deserve something as extraordinary as you are."

Cho stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly on his chest. "And you, Darling," she said softly, "deserve a moment to let go of the galaxy's burdens, even just for tonight. I may be wearing this gown, but my role is still the same—to stand by your side."

Harry leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You've always been more than I deserve, Cho."

She smiled, resting her head against his chest for a brief moment before pulling back, her eyes filled with warmth. "Then let me remind you just how wrong you are, Darling." Her playful tone lightened the moment as she took his hand, leading him toward the bed.

As they settled together, the galaxy's troubles seemed to fade, if only for a fleeting moment. In the quiet of their shared sanctuary, Harry allowed himself to relax, finding solace in the presence of the woman who had always been his anchor.

As Cho stood before the mirror, adjusting the delicate straps of her new nightgown, a mix of emotions swirled within her. The fabric was impossibly soft against her skin, the lace detailing at the bodice intricate yet understated, lending an air of elegance that perfectly matched her demeanor. She traced the neckline lightly with her fingertips, her dark eyes scanning her reflection.

It's beautiful, she thought, her lips curving into a small smile. Harry has always been thoughtful, hasn't he? Even when he's drowning in the weight of the galaxy, he still finds time to notice what might make me feel… special.

Her gaze traveled downward, taking in the way the gown flowed gracefully over her figure, accentuating her in ways she hadn't expected. It wasn't revealing, not like Fleur's gift, but there was a quiet allure in its design—a subtle confidence it seemed to impart the longer she wore it.

Commanding, she repeated Harry's earlier words in her mind, her smile deepening. I like that. He's right, of course. This gown isn't just beautiful—it feels like it belongs to someone who knows her worth, who leads with grace.

A flicker of doubt surfaced, unbidden but familiar. Do I deserve this? To be thought of in such a way, to be admired? After everything… after all the mistakes and moments of hesitation? She shook her head slightly, dismissing the thought. Tonight wasn't about doubt. It was about allowing herself to embrace the love and care Harry had poured into this simple, thoughtful gift.

She turned slightly, admiring the way the light played off the fabric. The gown felt more than just a piece of clothing—it felt like a statement, a reminder of the strength and beauty Harry saw in her, even when she struggled to see it herself.

This is who I am now, she realized. Not the officer who once doubted her worth, not the woman haunted by whispers from the past. I am Supreme Primarch Empress Cho. I am his partner, his equal. And tonight, I will remind him of the same.

Her smile grew softer, her confidence settling into place like the gentle folds of the gown. As she turned away from the mirror and stepped toward Harry, her heart swelled with quiet gratitude—not just for the gift, but for the man who had given it to her.

The door to the shared bedroom opened softly, and Fleur stepped inside, her presence immediately commanding attention. Her new nightgown flowed effortlessly around her, accentuating her graceful movements. The soft, sheer fabric clung delicately to her figure, its intricate lacework revealing just enough to draw the eye without giving too much away. She carried herself with the kind of confidence only she could, her chin slightly lifted, her sapphire-blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Harry, still seated at the edge of the bed, glanced up from the datapad he had reluctantly returned to after his earlier conversation with Cho. The moment his eyes met Fleur's, the datapad was forgotten, slipping from his hands to rest on the bed.

Fleur smiled, a slow, knowing smile as she took a step closer to him. "Mon amour," she said, her voice carrying the melodic lilt of her French accent, "do I have your attention now?"

Harry blinked, his mouth opening slightly before he caught himself. "You always have my attention, Fleur," he replied, his voice a little hoarser than he'd intended.

Fleur's smile widened as she sauntered toward him, her movements slow and deliberate. "Bon," she said softly. "Then tell me, mon amour... how do I look?" She posed slightly, one hand resting on her hip, her other lifting to toy with the strap of her gown.

"You…" Harry began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended, but Fleur didn't seem to mind. "You look… breathtaking."

"Breathtaking?" Fleur repeated, her tone teasing as she took another step closer. "Is that all? Surely the great Supreme Primarch Emperor can do better than that."

Before Harry could respond, Fleur's hand slipped to her left strap. With an elegant motion, she let it slide down her shoulder, exposing just a little more of the delicate lacework beneath. She tilted her head, her golden hair catching the soft glow of the room, and gave him a playful, coy smile. "Or perhaps you are too distracted to find the right words?"

Harry swallowed, his composure slipping just enough to make her chuckle. "Fleur, you… you're not making this easy," he admitted, his voice laced with both amusement and admiration.

"That is the point, mon amour," Fleur said, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "You work so hard. You carry so much. Sometimes, you need a little... distraction."

Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile as he reached out, taking her hand gently in his. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible? Non," Fleur replied, her teasing smile softening into something more genuine. "I am exactly what you need."

Harry looked up at her, his green eyes filled with a mixture of affection and gratitude. "You always know how to make everything better, Fleur. Even when you're trying to drive me crazy."

She laughed softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "It is my privilege, mon amour," she said, her voice warm and full of love. "And I will always be here to remind you to let go... just a little."

As she pulled back, Harry's hand tightened slightly around hers, his smile growing. "Remind me more often," he said, his tone light but sincere.

Fleur grinned, her confidence radiant as she stood before him. "Oh, mon amour," she said, her voice playful once more, "I plan to."

As Fleur's melodic laughter echoed softly in the room, Cho watched the exchange from her spot on the bed, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. Her fingers, still entwined with Harry's left hand, tightened their grip ever so subtly. She shifted closer to him, the delicate fabric of her own nightgown brushing against his side as she leaned in.

"Darling," Cho said, her voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of possessiveness, "don't forget I'm right here as well." Her tone was soft, measured, but there was no mistaking the slight tension beneath her words.

Harry turned to her, blinking as though just realizing the shift in her posture. "Of course, Cho," he said warmly, his green eyes meeting hers. "How could I forget?"

Cho's lips curved into a small smile, but her grip on his hand didn't loosen. She glanced at Fleur briefly, her expression neutral but her thoughts swirling. Fleur always knows how to command attention, doesn't she? she thought. But I won't let her outshine me tonight. Not when Harry is mine as much as hers.

Fleur, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle shift in Cho's demeanor. Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she straightened, the strap of her nightgown still casually draped off her shoulder. "Ah, Cho," she said lightly, her voice playful, "you look so radiant tonight. I'm sure Harry is equally captivated by you."

Cho's smile tightened slightly, though her tone remained composed. "Thank you, Fleur. But I think Darling is quite content right here." She leaned closer to Harry, her shoulder brushing against his as she rested her free hand on his arm.

Harry, caught between the two women, glanced from one to the other with a faintly bemused expression. "You're both incredible," he said diplomatically, though there was a slight nervousness in his voice. "You don't have to compete for my attention, you know."

Fleur chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Compete? Oh, mon amour, I don't compete. I simply… remind." Her tone was teasing, but there was a hint of mischief in her gaze as she adjusted the strap of her gown back into place.

Cho tilted her head, her dark eyes locking onto Harry's as she leaned in just a little closer. "And I don't need reminders," she said smoothly. "I know exactly where I stand."

Harry exhaled softly, his smile returning as he glanced between them. "You two are going to be the death of me," he said, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Cho's grip on his hand finally loosened, but she didn't move away. Instead, she rested her head lightly on his shoulder, her confidence settling into a quiet, steady presence. Fleur, noticing the shift, gave Cho a small, knowing smile before stepping back, giving the pair their moment.

The tension in the room softened, replaced by a warm, comfortable silence. As Harry sat between the two women who had become his greatest supports, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. Despite their differences—and their occasional moments of rivalry—there was no doubting the strength of their bond.

Harry sat between Cho and Fleur, their presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. They were his strength, his equals, and in this moment, the burdens of war and leadership faded into the background.

Harry looked at Cho first, her dark eyes glimmering with both love and quiet confidence as she leaned against his shoulder. He turned to her fully, reaching up to gently cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. "Cho," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness, "thank you. For everything."

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken emotion. As their lips met, something shifted. A warmth spread through her, unlike anything she had felt before—a deep, divine connection that seemed to lift the weight of her responsibilities from her shoulders. She felt light, free, and loved in a way that transcended the mortal realm.

When Harry pulled back, his green eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Cho's lips curved into a soft smile, her heart swelling with a renewed sense of love—not just for Harry, but for herself. She felt stronger, more certain of who she was and the bond they shared.

Harry turned then to Fleur, who had been watching quietly, her sapphire-blue eyes glistening with emotion. He reached for her, his hand gently resting against her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. "Fleur," he said softly, his voice just as full of love, "you mean the world to me."

Fleur didn't wait. She leaned in, closing the distance between them as their lips met in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. As their connection deepened, Fleur felt the same warmth wash over her—a divine, ethereal energy that filled her heart with an overwhelming sense of peace and love. It was as though every doubt, every weight she carried, melted away, leaving only the truth of her feelings for Harry and herself.

When the kiss ended, Fleur rested her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his as she whispered, "Mon amour, you remind me of who I am. Of who we are."

Harry sat back, his hands resting lightly on theirs as he looked between them. "You both remind me every day why I keep fighting," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's because of you—your strength, your love—that I can stand tall. I don't deserve you, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying to."

Cho and Fleur exchanged a glance, their shared understanding and love for Harry mirrored in their expressions. Without hesitation, they leaned in together, each kissing him again, their movements perfectly synchronized. This time, the kiss wasn't just an expression of their love for him—it was an expression of their love for themselves and the bond they shared as demigods, leaders, and partners.

The room seemed to glow with a soft, golden light, as if the universe itself acknowledged the depth of their connection. For that moment, they weren't Supreme Primarchs or commanders of vast armies. They were simply three souls bound by love, strength, and an unshakable bond that transcended everything else.

The warmth lingered in the room, a golden aura seemingly wrapping itself around the three of them. Harry, Cho, and Fleur sat together on the bed, their breaths steady but hearts racing from the divine, profound connection they had just shared. The air felt lighter, as though the burdens of war and leadership had momentarily dissolved, leaving only their love and the strength they drew from one another.

Fleur was the first to break the silence, her voice soft and filled with wonder. "Mon amour," she began, her French accent wrapping delicately around the words, "that... felt different. As if the universe itself was reminding us why we are here, why we fight."

Harry smiled, his hand reaching out to take hers. "It wasn't just the universe, Fleur. It was you. Both of you." He turned to look at Cho, his green eyes meeting her dark, steady gaze. "You've been my light in the darkness, my anchors when I've felt like I'd drift away. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Cho's lips curved into a soft smile, her fingers brushing lightly against Harry's hand. "Darling," she said, her voice carrying a hint of emotion, "you forget something very important. You don't have to do any of this without us. We're not just here for you—we're here with you. Always."

Fleur nodded, leaning into Harry's side. "We are a part of you, just as you are a part of us. And tonight… I felt that truth more deeply than ever. It wasn't just a kiss, mon amour—it was a reminder of what we are capable of together."

Harry's gaze softened as he looked at the two women who had become his greatest strengths, his closest confidants, and the loves of his life. "You're right," he said quietly. "I've spent so much time trying to carry everything on my own. But I realize now that I don't have to. With you by my side, I'm not just stronger—I'm whole."

Cho rested her head lightly against Harry's shoulder, her fingers intertwining with his. "And you make us whole too, Darling. You remind us of who we are—not just leaders, not just demigods, but people. People who are allowed to love, to feel, and to lean on each other."

Fleur reached out to place her hand over Cho's and Harry's, her sapphire-blue eyes shimmering with determination. "And that is what makes us unstoppable. Not our power, not our titles, but the love and trust we share. Together, we can face anything—Aku, Abeloth, the Borg, even the weight of the galaxy itself."

Harry smiled at that, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. "Together," he repeated, his voice firm and resolute.

The golden glow in the room seemed to brighten for a moment, as if the universe itself was echoing their sentiment. The three of them sat in comfortable silence, their connection deepening with every passing moment.

After a while, Fleur broke the silence again, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Though I must admit, mon amour," she said, leaning in closer to Harry, "you've grown quite skilled at kissing. Perhaps we should practice more often, no?"

Cho chuckled softly, her fingers tightening around Harry's hand. "Careful, Fleur. I think you're forgetting I'm sitting right here."

Fleur's laughter was light and musical. "Oh, I could never forget, Cho. But perhaps you should join me in ensuring Harry stays at the top of his game. After all, it is our duty as his partners."

Harry groaned softly, though the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You two are impossible," he said, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Cho smirked, her confidence radiating as she leaned in closer. "That's because you know we're right, Darling."

Fleur's eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "And because you love us."

Harry pulled them both closer, his arms wrapping around them in a gesture that spoke volumes. "I do," he said simply. "More than anything."

As the night went on, the three of them stayed together, their laughter and quiet conversations filling the room. For the first time in weeks, they allowed themselves to simply be—to love, to connect, and to remind each other why they fought so hard. In that moment, they weren't just leaders or demigods. They were a family, bound by love and an unshakable bond that nothing in the universe could break.

The shared living room was quiet, the dim light of the stars outside casting soft shadows across the elegant furnishings. It had been a long evening of celebration, and most had retired to their quarters, leaving the space empty and peaceful. That peace, however, was soon interrupted by the sound of uneven footsteps approaching.

Harry, his cheeks flushed with the warmth of far too much wine, stumbled into the room, a bottle still dangling loosely from his hand. His usually composed demeanor was nowhere to be seen as he approached the door to Valeriya's quarters. He hesitated for a brief moment, swaying slightly, before raising his fist and knocking—loudly.

"Valeriya!" he called, his voice louder than he intended. "Valeriya, I know you're in there!"

The door opened just enough for the Great Empress to appear, her piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the disheveled figure before her. She was dressed in an elegant dark gown, her platinum hair cascading like a river of moonlight over her shoulders. Her expression was calm, but there was a glint of amusement in her gaze.

"Harry," she said smoothly, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing here? It's late—and you're clearly not yourself."

Harry blinked at her, his eyes glassy but earnest. "Valeriya, you… you know," he slurred, gesturing vaguely with the bottle. "You know how I feel about you. I can't hide it anymore."

Valeriya raised an elegant brow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Oh? And how exactly do you feel about me, Supreme Primarch Emperor?" Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

Harry stepped closer, almost tripping over his own feet. He caught himself against the doorframe, his free hand reaching out to brush against hers. "I love you," he said, his voice raw and unguarded. "I've loved you for so long, Valeriya. And I don't care anymore—I want to be with you. Now. Forever."

Valeriya's smile deepened, her amusement growing. "Harry," she said softly, stepping closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "You've had far too much to drink. Are you sure you'll feel the same in the morning?"

"I'll feel the same," he insisted, his gaze unwavering. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Before she could respond, Harry leaned in and kissed her. For a moment, Valeriya froze, surprised by his boldness. Then, with a soft chuckle, she indulged him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she returned the kiss. The taste of wine lingered on his lips, but there was something deeper, something genuine, that made her pause.

"Alright, Harry," she murmured against his lips, a hint of mischief in her tone. "But remember, this was your idea."

The next morning, the dining hall was bustling with activity as everyone gathered for breakfast. Fleur, Cho, Angelica, and Valeriya were seated together, their conversation light and filled with the usual camaraderie. Harry entered moments later, looking slightly worse for wear but grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning," he announced, his voice filled with uncharacteristic cheer as he approached the table. His gaze immediately found Valeriya, and he stopped beside her, his grin widening. "Valeriya, we need to talk about last night."

Valeriya smirked, her blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, Harry," she said, her tone dripping with feigned innocence, "do you mean the kiss? Or the part where you confessed your undying love and proposed marriage?"

Fleur's fork paused halfway to her mouth, her sapphire eyes darting between Harry and Valeriya. "What?" she asked, her voice filled with equal parts shock and curiosity.

Cho set her teacup down with a soft clink, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Is this true, Darling?" she asked, her tone calm but with a sharp edge.

Angelica remained silent, her serene expression giving nothing away as she watched the scene unfold.

Harry, undeterred by the growing tension, nodded enthusiastically. "It's true! I love her, and I told her everything. We should get married—now!"

Valeriya leaned back in her chair, her smirk growing as she glanced at the others. "He was quite convincing," she said lightly, her tone full of teasing amusement. "Though I must admit, I think the wine may have helped."

Fleur raised a brow, crossing her arms as she looked at Harry. "Mon amour, I think you've forgotten something very important."

Harry blinked, looking between her and Cho, confusion beginning to creep into his expression. "What do you mean? I love all of you, but last night… it was different. I couldn't stop thinking about Valeriya."

Cho sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leaned back in her chair. "Darling, I think you might need to sit down and reconsider your priorities."

Valeriya chuckled softly, resting her chin on her hand as she regarded Harry. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice warm but laced with mischief. "I have no doubt your feelings are sincere—at least for now. But perhaps we should wait until the wine has fully left your system before planning a wedding."

Angelica finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. "Harry," she said gently, "love is a beautiful thing, but it is also something that requires clarity and intention. Perhaps today is a day for reflection."

Harry, his grin faltering slightly, nodded slowly. "You're right," he said, his voice quieter now. "I might have gotten carried away."

Valeriya smiled, reaching out to pat his hand. "Carried away or not, it was… flattering," she said with a wink. "But let's save the grand gestures for another time."

As the tension eased and the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, Harry couldn't help but glance at Valeriya, his feelings still swirling but tempered by the gentle teasing of his closest companions. For now, at least, he was content to let the moment pass, knowing he was surrounded by those who cared for him deeply.

Cho sat silently at the table, her dark eyes trained on Harry as he fidgeted nervously under Valeriya's teasing gaze. Outwardly, she remained composed, sipping her tea with her usual grace, but inside, her thoughts churned.

Marriage? To Valeriya? she thought, her grip tightening slightly on the delicate handle of her teacup. Darling, you truly let yourself get carried away this time.

Her gaze flicked toward Valeriya, who looked as serene and poised as ever, her faint smirk giving nothing away. Cho couldn't deny that Valeriya was an extraordinary woman—strong, regal, and undeniably beautiful. But the idea of Harry professing his love so openly, proposing marriage, even if under the influence of wine, left a sour taste in her mouth.

Does he forget how much Fleur and I have stood by him? How much we've sacrificed, how deeply we've loved him? And now, after one drunken night, he's ready to marry her? She exhaled softly, reminding herself to remain calm. It's not serious. He's impulsive, and Valeriya's just having her fun. Still…

She glanced at Fleur, wondering if her partner felt the same flicker of jealousy and irritation bubbling beneath her carefully constructed composure.

Darling, you're going to owe me an explanation later, she thought, her lips tightening ever so slightly as she returned her focus to her tea.

Fleur's Thoughts:

Fleur leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest as her sapphire-blue eyes darted between Harry and Valeriya. She kept her expression neutral, but inside, a storm of emotions raged.

Marriage? Really, mon amour? After all we've shared, you're ready to pledge yourself to her? Just like that? She clenched her jaw, biting back the sharp words that threatened to spill out. She'd always known Harry could be impulsive, but this was something else entirely.

Her gaze shifted to Valeriya, who seemed to be enjoying every moment of Harry's drunken declarations. Fleur couldn't decide whether to admire her calm poise or resent her for the amusement glinting in her eyes. Of course she's enjoying this. Why wouldn't she? Harry's throwing himself at her feet like a lovesick fool.

Fleur exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. He's drunk. That's all this is. A man who had too much wine and let his emotions run wild. It's not like he truly forgot about me—or Cho.

Still, the jealousy simmered just beneath the surface. She glanced at Cho, who sat quietly, her expression unreadable. At least I'm not alone in this, Fleur thought. She must be feeling it too.

Her lips curved into a small, wry smile as she finally broke her silence, her voice calm but laced with pointed humor. "Mon amour," she said, her tone sweet yet sharp, "if you're going to marry Valeriya, I hope you don't mind Fleur and Cho crashing the honeymoon."

The Unspoken Bond Between Cho and Fleur:

Though neither Cho nor Fleur voiced their jealousy outright, their shared glances across the table said everything. Both women loved Harry deeply, and while they trusted him, the idea of him proposing to Valeriya—drunken or not—stung in ways neither of them were fully prepared to admit.

As the conversation at the table shifted, Cho and Fleur exchanged one more look, a silent agreement passing between them. Later, they would speak to Harry. They would remind him of what they shared, of the bonds they'd built together that no amount of wine or impulsiveness could erase.

For now, they let it go, content to let Valeriya have her fun. But in their hearts, both women knew this was far from over. Harry might have confessed his love to Valeriya in a drunken stupor, but he still had Fleur and Cho to answer to—and they weren't about to let him forget that.

The dining hall slowly fell back into a rhythm of chatter as Harry, still flushed and slightly disoriented, continued to fumble through his declarations of love for Valeriya. Fleur and Cho remained mostly silent, their shared glances speaking volumes. Valeriya, ever poised and regal, sipped her wine with an air of amusement, occasionally sparing Harry a teasing look that only served to deepen his flustered state.

Fleur leaned slightly toward Cho, her voice low enough that only the Supreme Primarch Empress could hear. "Mon amour," she murmured, her tone sharp but controlled, "we need to address this. Sooner rather than later. He's already planning the wedding in his head."

Cho's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes never leaving Harry as she replied, her voice equally quiet. "Let him dig his grave a little deeper first. He'll need it when we have our 'chat.'" There was a flicker of dark amusement in her tone, but beneath it was a simmering frustration. "He's lucky Valeriya is indulging him instead of throwing him to the wolves."

As if on cue, Valeriya turned her attention fully to Harry, setting her wine glass down with an elegant flourish. "Harry," she began, her tone laced with playful authority, "while I'm flattered by your… enthusiastic declarations, I must ask—how do you think Fleur and Cho feel about all this?"

Harry blinked, momentarily snapped out of his lovestruck stupor. His gaze flicked nervously between Fleur and Cho, both of whom were now watching him with expressions that, while composed, carried an unmistakable weight.

"I… well…" Harry began, his voice faltering. He glanced at Valeriya, who raised a delicate brow as if daring him to continue. "I love them too, of course. Fleur and Cho are everything to me. But last night, with you… it just felt different."

Cho finally set her teacup down, the soft clink echoing louder than it should have in the suddenly tense silence. She folded her hands neatly on the table, her dark eyes locking onto Harry's with a calmness that was almost unnerving. "Darling," she said, her tone smooth but carrying a razor's edge, "different isn't always better. I trust you understand that."

Harry winced, scratching the back of his neck as he attempted to muster a response. "Cho, I didn't mean—"

Fleur cut him off with a soft laugh, though there was no mistaking the steel beneath her words. "Mon amour," she said sweetly, leaning forward slightly, "you've always been impulsive, but even I didn't think you'd be so bold as to propose marriage to another woman without consulting us first. How… chivalrous of you."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Valeriya, clearly enjoying the spectacle, waved a hand. "Now, now," she said, her tone teasing. "Let's not be too hard on him. After all, he did have a bit too much wine. And I'm sure he didn't mean to cause any… discord. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I've really messed this up, haven't I?" he muttered.

Angelica, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke, her serene voice cutting through the tension like a calming balm. "Harry," she said gently, "love is a powerful force, but it must be handled with care. Your feelings are valid, but so are theirs. Perhaps this is a lesson in understanding the depth of the bonds you've created."

Fleur and Cho exchanged another glance, this one softer, their mutual frustration beginning to ebb as Angelica's words settled over them. Cho reached out, placing a hand on Harry's arm. "Darling," she said softly, "we love you. But you have to understand that what we have isn't something you can set aside for a fleeting moment. It's deeper than that. Stronger than that."

Fleur nodded, her expression softening as she added, "We've stood by you through everything, mon amour. And we always will. But you mustn't forget who we are to you—and who you are to us."

Harry looked between them, his green eyes filled with remorse. "You're right," he said quietly. "I was careless, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I'm sorry. To both of you. And to you, Valeriya." He glanced at her, his expression earnest. "I meant everything I said, but I shouldn't have let it come at the expense of what I already have."

Valeriya smiled, her amusement giving way to a rare moment of sincerity. "Apology accepted, Harry," she said. "But next time, save the proposals for a moment when you're thinking clearly."

Cho and Fleur exchanged a small smile, their frustrations finally giving way to the unshakable bond they shared with Harry. As the tension in the room eased, Fleur leaned closer, her sapphire eyes glinting with playful mischief. "Mon amour, you've got a lot of making up to do. Starting with a proper apology—over dinner. A very nice dinner."

Cho chuckled softly, her hand still resting on Harry's arm. "And no wine this time, Darling. You clearly can't handle it."

Harry groaned again, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'll do whatever it takes," he said, his voice full of genuine affection. "Anything to make it up to you."

As laughter returned to the table, the tension dissolved completely, leaving only the unshakable bond of love and trust that tied them together. Though the moment had been fraught with emotions, it was a reminder of the depth of their connection—and the strength that came from facing challenges together.

The grand dining hall, resplendent in golden radiance, fell eerily silent as an unnatural cold seeped into the room, frost creeping across the marble floors and the edges of the grand table. The warmth of conversation halted as a presence—piercing, precise, and absolute—made itself known.

A flurry of snowflakes coalesced at the far end of the hall, and from them emerged a vision of icy regality—Celeste. Her gown shimmered like frozen crystal, every stitch appearing as if woven from the essence of winter itself. Her silver-white hair cascaded down her back, strands glistening like frost under moonlight. Her pale blue eyes, colder than the heart of a glacier, scanned the room with sharp, calculated precision.

Harry, Cho, Fleur, and Valeriya all tensed instinctively. There was no mistaking the sheer divine weight of Celeste's presence—it pressed upon them like an unforgiving winter storm. But it was Angelica, seated at the head of the table, who remained utterly unfazed. Her golden aura shimmered in response, effortlessly countering the oppressive cold with divine warmth.

Celeste's gaze lingered on Angelica, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Celestial Imperatrix of the Infinite Worlds," she addressed her, her voice smooth but laced with challenge. "I see you still surround yourself with… mortals playing at divinity."

Harry exhaled sharply, feeling the subtle insult laced in her words. His green eyes met hers, unwavering. "And you are?"

Celeste's smirk deepened as she turned her piercing gaze toward him. "You dare to question my identity, little demigod?" She tilted her head slightly, as if observing something under a microscope. "I am Celeste, Prime Archon of the Elder Gods Council, full-fledged goddess and ruler of an empire that encompasses your so-called Sovereignty."

A tense silence followed. Cho, Fleur, and Valeriya exchanged quick glances, but their reactions were controlled—measured. They weren't so easily cowed.

Angelica, however, remained utterly serene. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together in a manner that was almost… amused. "Ah, Celeste," she said smoothly. "Still so quick to assert your domain. But do remind me…" Her golden eyes gleamed, an undeniable authority crackling in the air. "Who holds jurisdiction over this realm?"

Celeste's smirk twitched ever so slightly, but she did not waver. "You do," she admitted. "For now."

Angelica tilted her head, clearly enjoying this. "Then let's not forget whose authority is greater here."

Harry, catching the interplay, suppressed a chuckle. He had seen Angelica exert her power before, but something about the way she so effortlessly kept Celeste in check was deeply satisfying.

But Celeste, ever unshaken, shifted her focus back to Harry, her gaze scrutinizing. "I see you've done well for yourself, Supreme Primarch Emperor." Her tone dripped with irony. "Not only have you claimed dominion over the Sovereignty, but you've also collected the affections of powerful women. Quite the feat."

Fleur's brow arched at the phrasing, her expression sharpening. "Careful with your words, Celeste," she said, her voice as smooth as silk but carrying an edge of steel.

Celeste chuckled, utterly unfazed. "Oh, I am careful. That's why I can see so clearly." Her eyes flicked between Cho and Fleur, then to Valeriya, her smirk deepening. "Cho and Fleur—your loyalty to Harry is… understandable. But Valeriya? Now that was unexpected. Did he weave some irresistible spell? Or did you fall willingly into his little harem?"

A silence followed, thick with tension.

Valeriya's blue eyes flashed dangerously. "I serve no one," she said, her tone ice-cold, colder even than Celeste's presence. "Not Harry. Not Angelica. And certainly not you."

Celeste laughed softly, shaking her head. "Oh, I never said you served him. But you've fallen into his orbit, haven't you? Just like the others."

Harry clenched his jaw, his patience thinning. "They are with me because they choose to be," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "Not because of some manipulation. Not because of power. But because we stand together."

Celeste tilted her head, as if considering his words. "Spoken like a true charmer," she mused, before turning back to Angelica. "Tell me, Imperatrix—are you certain you haven't spoiled them too much? These demigods of yours seem rather… overconfident."

Angelica smiled, but it wasn't a warm one. It was the smile of someone who knew she was unchallenged. "Confidence is earned," she said simply. "And they have earned it." Her golden eyes glowed just slightly, a silent challenge in her gaze. "Would you like to test them yourself?"

Celeste's smirk faltered—only for a second. She folded her arms, feigning disinterest. "Not today. But perhaps soon."

With a flick of her wrist, the frost that had crept into the grand dining hall dissipated, replaced by the lingering warmth of Angelica's presence.

Celeste's gaze flicked to Harry one last time. "I'll be watching," she murmured. "Let's see if you truly deserve the loyalty you so boldly claim."

And with that, she vanished in a flurry of snowflakes, leaving behind only a lingering chill and the weight of her words.

As silence settled back over the room, Fleur finally scoffed, shaking her head. "Mon amour, you truly do attract the strangest company."

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Tell me about it."

Cho took a measured sip of her tea before setting it down. "That woman is dangerous."

Angelica leaned back, her expression unreadable. "She always has been. But she won't act recklessly—she knows better than to start a war she can't win."

Valeriya crossed her arms. "That doesn't mean she won't try to provoke one."

Harry exhaled, looking between them all. "Then we'll be ready."

As the golden glow of the dining hall settled once more, the tension remained—but so did the unshakable bond between them. Celeste may have been watching, but Harry, Cho, Fleur, and Valeriya were more than ready to prove their worth.

The vast throne room of High Charity was cast in a dark, pulsating glow. The architecture, once a grand sanctuary for the Covenant, had become a twisted monument to corruption, the very walls pulsating with a sickly red hue, the influence of Aku and Abeloth suffusing every inch of the space. The air was thick with the essence of chaos and decay, and the once-great hall of the Covenant Hierarchs now served the two most malevolent forces in existence.

At the very center of the room, seated upon a throne forged from dark plasma and corrupted forerunner alloys, Aku leaned forward, his shadowy form shifting like liquid smoke, his piercing red eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. Across from him, Abeloth, the embodiment of madness and chaos, sat in her grotesque yet divine form, her many writhing appendages moving in sync with the unnatural whispers that filled the chamber.

A holographic display flickered between them, projecting the image of Sela, the Romulan Empress, standing within the heart of the Romulan Star Empire. The image twisted as the vision of the empire's might became one of ruin, subjugation, and eternal servitude to their will.

Aku grinned, his jagged teeth glinting beneath the darkness. His voice was like the deep rumbling of a primordial storm, carrying with it an ancient malice that had endured since the dawn of time.

"Sela… The perfect pawn. Stubborn, ambitious, blinded by her own arrogance. She seeks to restore the Romulan Empire to its former glory, and yet… she has no idea she stands on the edge of an abyss."

Abeloth let out a twisted, guttural laugh, her tendrils twitching as she peered into the void.

"Oh, but she is deliciously predictable," she cooed, her many eyes glowing with insatiable hunger. "She has always sought power, yet always failed to grasp the truth. She sees herself as Romulus reborn, yet in reality, she is merely… unfinished. Hollow."

Aku chuckled, the very shadows of the throne room shifting in response to his amusement.

"She believes she controls her destiny. How ironic. Soon, she will understand—true power does not come from her petty politics or her Romulan fleets. True power… is surrendering to the inevitable. To us.

Abeloth extended a twisted appendage, and the hologram shifted, displaying the Romulan Empire's most vital installations—warship fleets, intelligence centers, the Tal Shiar, and most importantly, Sela's palace.

"She despises weakness, Aku," Abeloth hissed. "She has spent her entire life crushing it, shaping herself into something she believes is untouchable. But weakness is a matter of perception. We will show her… how fragile she truly is."

Aku leaned back, his clawed fingers tapping against the throne's armrest.

"Her mind will break before her empire does. All she needs is a little… push."

The display changed once more, revealing key Romulan officials—admirals, strategists, and intelligence operatives—all susceptible to their influence. Many of them were paranoid, desperate to maintain control over an empire teetering on the brink.

"We will start with whispers," Aku mused. "Let the shadows of their own ambition consume them. Let the Tal Shiar turn upon itself, let paranoia seep into their ranks. And when Sela finds herself standing alone, we will be there, offering her the power to reclaim it all."

Abeloth smiled, her form shifting closer to the vision of Sela.

"She will resist, at first," Abeloth mused. "But when she sees that her precious empire is crumbling around her, she will have no choice but to listen. To accept our… guidance."

Aku's laughter boomed through the throne room, a sound that sent tremors through the warships stationed outside.

"And once she bends the knee, the Romulan Empire will follow. Their fleets, their warriors, their spies—they will all serve the New Order."

The holographic projection flickered again, this time displaying the Borg Elite Legions, the Dark Covenant, and the armies of corrupted zealots standing at the ready.

"Sela's mind is sharp, but her heart is poisoned by pride," Abeloth continued, her voice dripping with malice. "That is what makes her… malleable."

Aku sneered, his dark form shifting into something even more terrifying, his red eyes glowing brighter.

"And once we break her, we shall remake her."

The room darkened as Abeloth's twisted powers formed a vision of Sela, no longer a Romulan Empress, but something greater—something corrupted. Her golden Romulan armor was now obsidian, etched with the markings of the Dark Covenant. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, now burned with a sinister glow, a mix of Borg and Corrupted Plasma energy.

She was no longer an Empress. She was a Queen of Shadows.

Abeloth tilted her head, eyes narrowing as the vision solidified.

"She will become our harbinger," she declared. "The voice of our will, a Queen leading an empire into oblivion, unaware that she is merely another piece of our great design."

Aku's smile widened into something truly monstrous.

"And by the time she realizes the truth… it will be far too late."

The throne room of High Charity pulsed with a new intensity, the power of Aku and Abeloth coalescing into something even darker, even more inevitable. The Romulan Empire, and all who followed Sela, were already doomed.

They just didn't know it yet.

The crimson skies of the Romulan city were ablaze, fire and dark plasma scorching the once-proud metropolis. Buildings that once stood as testaments to Romulan engineering crumbled like dust, their towering spires now twisted ruins, reduced to ash beneath the relentless onslaught of the Borg Elite Ultras.

From the towering Citadel of the Romulan Senate, once the heart of political power, Sela's face was displayed on every broken screen across the city. Her voice had long gone silent. Her forces had failed. Romulus was burning.

Above the carnage, high in orbit, aboard the command chamber of High Charity, two figures watched the devastation unfold with malicious satisfaction—Aku and Abeloth, the architects of the Romulan Empire's undoing.

Thousands of Borg Elite Ultras, clad in blackened armor infused with corrupted plasma and Borg augmentations, stormed through the city. Their glowing red visors and warped, mechanized growls sent waves of terror through the last remaining Romulan defenders. They moved with merciless precision, their dark plasma rifles firing corrosive bursts that disintegrated soldiers, buildings, and vehicles alike.

The streets were filled with burning wreckage—Romulan warbirds shot down in the skies, their debris crashing into civilian districts like falling stars. War machines deployed in desperation to stop the Borg Elite Ultras were ripped apart, their pilots dragged from cockpits and assimilated on the spot.

Aku watched the scene unfold with a deep, guttural chuckle. His serpentine form twisted with delight, his red eyes narrowing as he observed a Romulan general futilely leading a last stand. The Romulan officer barked orders, desperation clear in his voice, his forces falling one by one as the Borg Elite Ultras overwhelmed them.

"Look at them," Aku mused, his voice dripping with mockery. "They still think they can fight back. How… amusing."

Abeloth let out a twisted laugh, her many writhing appendages twitching in delight as she watched a Romulan mother clutching her child, desperately trying to escape—only for a Borg Elite Ultra to skewer her with a dark plasma sword, then forcibly assimilate the screaming child into the collective.

"They cling to hope," Abeloth sneered, her grin stretching far beyond what was natural. "But hope is an illusion. And illusions must be shattered."

The Borg Elite Ultras moved without mercy. They hunted the Romulan survivors like prey, executing leaders, soldiers, civilians—none were spared. The assimilation process was different now, enhanced by Aku and Abeloth's corruption—those assimilated did not simply join the Borg; they became twisted monstrosities, grotesque hybrids of flesh, metal, and chaotic energy.

Above the city, the Dark Covenant Warships unleashed their final attack. Massive corrupted plasma lances fired down, scorching the planet's surface, carving great fissures into the land. Entire districts sank into fire. The Romulan defense grid collapsed in mere seconds.

Aku smiled wider, his voice booming with laughter as he watched the Romulan senators, once so full of pride and arrogance, dragged from their burning towers, screaming as they were either executed or assimilated into a new, far worse existence.

"This is what true power looks like," Aku mused. "No politics. No diplomacy. Just absolute domination."

Abeloth's eyes glowed with unholy hunger. "And it is only the beginning."

She extended her many arms, channeling her chaos, twisting the minds of those Romulans still clinging to life.

Below them, the city was gone.

Nothing but ruin, ash, and the echoes of the damned remained.

The Romulan Empire had just felt its first true taste of annihilation.

The Romulan colony of Velos Prime, once a thriving center of industry and military supply, descended into chaos within moments of Abeloth's intervention.

High above the planet, aboard High Charity, Abeloth hovered in the throne room, her grotesque form shifting and writhing as she extended her twisted appendages toward the image of the world below. Her eyes burned with eldritch insanity, and her very presence rippled through the fabric of reality, warping the minds of the helpless colonists below.

"They will know the truth," Abeloth cooed, her voice dripping with venom. "That there is no peace. No safety. Only the screaming void of despair."

With a single movement of her many arms, a wave of corruptive energy surged through the atmosphere of Velos Prime, invisible to the naked eye but devastating in its effects.

On the surface, the Romulan colonists—scientists, engineers, soldiers, and civilians—were going about their normal routines when it hit them all at once.

A sudden whisper in the back of their minds.

Then another.

And another.

The voices began as gentle suggestions, creeping thoughts they couldn't ignore. Doubt. Suspicion. Paranoia.

A scientist working in a power plant suddenly doubted his colleagues, convinced they were plotting against him. He grabbed a plasma cutter and gutted the man beside him, screaming about traitors in their midst.

A Romulan officer, once a disciplined warrior, turned on his men, accusing them of conspiracy, opening fire as his own soldiers fell in a spray of disruptor blasts.

Civilians attacked each other in the streets, their eyes glowing with the madness Abeloth had poured into their very souls. A mother stabbed her child, convinced he had been replaced by a changeling. A group of Romulan elites set fire to the central plaza, believing it to be a haven for enemy spies.

Velos Prime, once a bastion of Romulan strength, was now an arena of bloodshed and insanity.

Back on High Charity, Abeloth moaned in pleasure, her tendrils twisting as she fed upon the suffering.

"Yes… YES! They tear each other apart, just as they should!" she shrieked, her many eyes glowing with unholy euphoria.

Aku sat back, amused, his shadowy form shifting as he watched the carnage unfold.

"A most entertaining display," he mused, a wicked grin forming on his serpentine face. "Romulans always thought themselves disciplined, superior… And yet, when stripped of their order, they are nothing but animals."

Abeloth let out another hideous laugh. "Their minds were weak. I simply… opened the door."

As Velos Prime burned, the skies above the colony ripped open, revealing the arrival of the Borg Elite Ultras and Generals.

Hundreds of drop-pods shot through the sky, dark plasma trails streaking behind them like meteors. Massive warships loomed overhead, the ships' hulls humming with corruptive Borg-Covenant energy, preparing to strip the planet of all its vital resources.

The first drop pods impacted, and from them emerged the Borg Elite Ultras—towering, armored warriors, their bodies infused with dark plasma enhancements and Borg augmentations. Their red-glowing visors scanned the battlefield, their massive dark plasma rifles humming as they took strategic positions across the city's ruins.

Behind them, Borg Elite Generals followed—taller, more imposing, their armor engraved with twisted Forerunner-Borg inscriptions, signifying their newfound allegiance to Aku and Abeloth.

Their mission was clear—strip the planet, assimilate the worthy, and exterminate the rest.

The few remaining Romulans who hadn't succumbed to madness desperately rallied together in the last standing military outpost, hoping to mount some form of resistance.

But as they looked to the skies, they saw their own forces descending toward them—Romulan pilots, driven insane by Abeloth's whispers, had turned their own warbirds against their people, firing upon their own cities, bombarding their own ground forces.

One by one, the last defenders of Velos Prime fell—some were slaughtered by their own kind, others were assimilated into the Borg-Covenant horde, their bodies twisted beyond recognition.

And as the final Romulan city collapsed, its foundations swallowed by dark energy, Abeloth let out a sigh of satisfaction.

"The Romulan Empire is falling, piece by piece," she whispered. "And soon, Sela will have nowhere left to turn but to us."

Aku grinned, his shadow stretching across the throne room.

"She will break," he said with certainty. "And when she does… she will belong to us."

The planet was theirs. The Romulan Empire trembled on the brink of ruin.

And the darkness of the Borg-Covenant alliance continued to spread, unstoppable and absolute.

In the vast expanse of Romulan space, the remnants of the Imperial Star Navy, led by Empress Sela, gathered in formation. 10,000 warships, the pride of the Romulan Empire, floated in perfect formation, their green disruptor banks charging, their cloak arrays primed. The fleet, battered but still resolute, had one objective—stop the Borg-Covenant invasion at all costs.

Before them, like an endless storm of death, the Borg Elite Assault Cruisers, Battlecruisers, and Destroyers loomed, 30,000 strong, their dark plasma cores burning with unholy energy. They had already razed multiple colonies, and now, Sela's fleet was the only thing standing between them and the complete annihilation of the Romulan people.

The battle began with a fury unseen in centuries.

The Romulan warbirds decloaked, unleashing barrages of disruptor fire and plasma torpedoes, their green weapons striking true, carving through the first wave of Borg Elite Assault Cruisers.

"All ships, fire at will!" Sela commanded, her golden eyes burning with fury, refusing to surrender to the darkness that encroached upon her empire.

The Borg Elite ships responded in kind.

From the massive Dark Covenant Battlecruisers, Corruptive Plasma Lances fired, engulfing entire wings of Romulan warbirds in flames, burning through their shields and tearing apart their hulls. Romulan D'deridex-class Warbirds attempted evasive maneuvers, but the Borg Elite Destroyers pursued them relentlessly, firing dark plasma beams that sliced through their defenses like paper.

Sela watched in horror as her fleet was systematically dismantled.

Her forces fought with every ounce of strength they had, their tactics flawless, their discipline unwavering, but it was not enough. The Borg Elite legions were too powerful, too relentless, too unstoppable.

Her flagship, the Imperator, was under siege. Enemy boarders attempted to breach its shields, but her elite guards held the line, fighting back against the Borg Elite Ultra shock troopers.

Sela clenched her fists.

She was losing.

She had fought for everything—for her people, for her empire, for her legacy—but it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

She could not win this fight.

"All ships, retreat!" Sela finally ordered, her voice like venom on her tongue. "Fall back to Romulus!"

The surviving Romulan warships—barely 3,000 left from the original 10,000—broke away, fleeing at maximum warp, leaving behind the wreckage of their fallen comrades, the burning husks of ships that would never return home.

As she sat in her throne aboard the Imperator, watching the destruction behind her through the viewscreen, she felt something.

A presence.

A voice.

A cold shiver ran down Sela's spine.

The temperature in her command chamber dropped. The world around her felt... distorted.

And then, she heard it.

A voice.

Silk and poison. Sweet and venomous. A whisper that dug deep into her mind.

"Run, little Empress… run as far as you wish. But in the end, you will find no sanctuary."

Sela's eyes went wide, her sharp instincts telling her this was no hallucination.

"Who are you?!" she spat, gripping the edges of her throne.

Laughter. Twisted, beautiful, and horrifying.

"You already know who I am," the voice slithered through her thoughts like a living entity. "I am the one who watches. The one who listens. The one who knows."

Sela's breath hitched, her heart pounding.

Her officers—her most loyal Romulan commanders—stood nearby, unaware of the invisible horror invading her mind.

"I am Abeloth."

The name sent a deep, primal terror through her veins. She knew of Abeloth. The whispers of a creature beyond mortal comprehension. A force of madness, chaos, and corruption.

Sela gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness.

"If you think I will bow to you, you are mistaken."

"Oh, I expect you to fight," Abeloth purred. "You are Romulan, after all. But what will you do, dear Empress, when there is nowhere left to run?"

Sela clenched her fists, her mind racing.

Her fleets were crippled. Her empire was crumbling. The Borg-Covenant forces were too strong, and she knew—deep in her soul—that even if she gathered every Romulan ship left, she could not win this war alone.

"You will have a choice, soon enough," Abeloth continued, her voice velvet and razor-sharp at the same time. "Your empire... or your pride. Your power... or your soul. What will you choose, Sela?"

The voice faded.

The air returned to normal.

Sela sat there, her fingers gripping the armrests of her throne so tightly that her nails dug into the metal.

For the first time in her life, she felt something she had never allowed herself to feel before.

Fear.

Not of death.

Not of defeat.

But of the realization that Abeloth was right.

There was nowhere left to run.

And the only path forward… was the one Abeloth wanted her to take.

In the vast expanse of Romulan space, the remnants of the Imperial Star Navy, led by Empress Sela, gathered in formation. 10,000 warships, the pride of the Romulan Empire, floated in perfect formation, their green disruptor banks charging, their cloak arrays primed. The fleet, battered but still resolute, had one objective—stop the Borg-Covenant invasion at all costs.

Before them, like an endless storm of death, the Borg Elite Assault Cruisers, Battlecruisers, and Destroyers loomed, 30,000 strong, their dark plasma cores burning with unholy energy. They had already razed multiple colonies, and now, Sela's fleet was the only thing standing between them and the complete annihilation of the Romulan people.

The battle began with a fury unseen in centuries.

The Romulan warbirds decloaked, unleashing barrages of disruptor fire and plasma torpedoes, their green weapons striking true, carving through the first wave of Borg Elite Assault Cruisers.

"All ships, fire at will!" Sela commanded, her golden eyes burning with fury, refusing to surrender to the darkness that encroached upon her empire.

The Borg Elite ships responded in kind.

From the massive Dark Covenant Battlecruisers, Corruptive Plasma Lances fired, engulfing entire wings of Romulan warbirds in flames, burning through their shields and tearing apart their hulls. Romulan D'deridex-class Warbirds attempted evasive maneuvers, but the Borg Elite Destroyers pursued them relentlessly, firing dark plasma beams that sliced through their defenses like paper.

Sela watched in horror as her fleet was systematically dismantled.

Her forces fought with every ounce of strength they had, their tactics flawless, their discipline unwavering, but it was not enough. The Borg Elite legions were too powerful, too relentless, too unstoppable.

Her flagship, the Imperator, was under siege. Enemy boarders attempted to breach its shields, but her elite guards held the line, fighting back against the Borg Elite Ultra shock troopers.

Sela clenched her fists.

She was losing.

She had fought for everything—for her people, for her empire, for her legacy—but it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

She could not win this fight.

"All ships, retreat!" Sela finally ordered, her voice like venom on her tongue. "Fall back to Romulus!"

The surviving Romulan warships—barely 3,000 left from the original 10,000—broke away, fleeing at maximum warp, leaving behind the wreckage of their fallen comrades, the burning husks of ships that would never return home.

As she sat in her throne aboard the Imperator, watching the destruction behind her through the viewscreen, she felt something.

A presence.

A voice.

A cold shiver ran down Sela's spine.

The temperature in her command chamber dropped. The world around her felt... distorted.

And then, she heard it.

A voice.

Silk and poison. Sweet and venomous. A whisper that dug deep into her mind.

"Run, little Empress… run as far as you wish. But in the end, you will find no sanctuary."

Sela's eyes went wide, her sharp instincts telling her this was no hallucination.

"Who are you?!" she spat, gripping the edges of her throne.

Laughter. Twisted, beautiful, and horrifying.

"You already know who I am," the voice slithered through her thoughts like a living entity. "I am the one who watches. The one who listens. The one who knows."

Sela's breath hitched, her heart pounding.

Her officers—her most loyal Romulan commanders—stood nearby, unaware of the invisible horror invading her mind.

"I am Abeloth."

The name sent a deep, primal terror through her veins. She knew of Abeloth. The whispers of a creature beyond mortal comprehension. A force of madness, chaos, and corruption.

Sela gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness.

"If you think I will bow to you, you are mistaken."

"Oh, I expect you to fight," Abeloth purred. "You are Romulan, after all. But what will you do, dear Empress, when there is nowhere left to run?"

Sela clenched her fists, her mind racing.

Her fleets were crippled. Her empire was crumbling. The Borg-Covenant forces were too strong, and she knew—deep in her soul—that even if she gathered every Romulan ship left, she could not win this war alone.

"You will have a choice, soon enough," Abeloth continued, her voice velvet and razor-sharp at the same time. "Your empire... or your pride. Your power... or your soul. What will you choose, Sela?"

The voice faded.

The air returned to normal.

Sela sat there, her fingers gripping the armrests of her throne so tightly that her nails dug into the metal.

For the first time in her life, she felt something she had never allowed herself to feel before.

Fear.

Not of death.

Not of defeat.

But of the realization that Abeloth was right.

There was nowhere left to run.

And the only path forward… was the one Abeloth wanted her to take.

The war chamber aboard the Imperator, Empress Sela's flagship, was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield they had just fled. The walls, adorned with the imperial Romulan sigil, flickered under dim emergency lighting—an unintended metaphor for the crumbling empire they now sought to preserve. The battle-worn advisors, their uniforms scorched and torn from the last engagement, sat around the long obsidian war table, their faces etched with exhaustion and silent rage.

At the head of the table, Empress Sela, her golden eyes burning with undiluted fury, tapped her fingers against the armrest of her throne-like chair, her sharp nails clicking against the polished metal.

Her fleet had been decimated. Her empire stood on the brink of annihilation. The Borg Elite Legions had overrun Velos Prime, and now, she was left with only one option she loathed to consider—seeking refuge within the Dyson Sphere territories, the domain of the Sovereignty Federation, ruled by Supreme Primarch Emperor Harry Potter, Supreme Primarch Empress Fleur Delacour, and Supreme Primarch Empress Cho Chang.

To depend on them for survival? To admit weakness before those who were neither Romulan nor allies? It was a thought that burned like acid in her throat.

But what choice did she have?

"We cannot remain in open space much longer," Admiral Torvan said first, his expression grim. He was one of Sela's most trusted military minds, a veteran of countless conflicts. "Our remaining forces are scattered, our supply chains have collapsed, and the Borg-Covenant forces will continue hunting us. We must seek shelter, Empress. The Dyson Spheres, as distasteful as the idea is, may be our only option."

"The Sovereignty is not our ally," Commander Vekar snapped, his emerald eyes flashing. "They will see us as weak. They may take us in, but at what cost? Will we be subjects? A protectorate? The Romulan Star Empire bows to no one."

Sela's golden gaze darkened. "Do you think I don't know that?" she said coolly, her voice edged with barely controlled anger. "Do you think I enjoy the thought of bringing our people under the protection of an empire ruled by outsiders?"

The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, knowing that even entertaining the idea of Romulans serving under foreign rule was an insult to their pride and history. But pride had already cost them dearly—Velos Prime was gone, their colonies were burning, and the Borg-Covenant forces showed no mercy.

"It is a matter of survival, not honor," Senator Varok interjected, his aged voice carrying a measured calm. "And right now, survival must be our priority. If we perish, then what is left of the Romulan legacy? A dead empire leaves no history behind."

Sela exhaled sharply, the weight of the words pressing against her. "The Sovereignty would offer safety, but it would come with expectations—terms we may not be able to refuse."

"What if they refuse us?" Vekar countered. "What if they see us as nothing more than a liability? A remnant of a dying power?"

Sela narrowed her gaze. "Then I will make them see otherwise."

Suddenly, the room shifted.

A cold presence slithered through the chamber, one that none of her advisors could perceive—but Sela could feel it.

The temperature dropped.

The lights flickered.

And then, in the depths of her mind, the voice of Abeloth echoed.

"Run, run, little Empress. Run to your would-be saviors. Do you truly believe they will shield you from me?"

Sela's body went rigid, her golden eyes widening as she felt the unmistakable presence of madness coiling around her thoughts.

"You will not be safe anywhere," Abeloth whispered, her voice like the shifting winds of a haunted world. "Not in Romulan space. Not within the Dyson Spheres. Not even if you throw yourself upon the mercy of Harry Potter and his little queens."

Sela's hands clenched into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her advisors, unaware of the dark presence invading her mind, continued debating strategies. She forced herself to breathe evenly, refusing to show any weakness.

"You have nowhere left to run," Abeloth purred, her voice dripping with amusement. "And soon, you will understand. The only salvation left to you... is me."

A cold shiver ran down Sela's spine, but she forced herself to remain still.

"Get out of my mind, demon," she thought back, pushing against the invasive presence. "You will not break me."

Laughter—warped and inhuman—filled her skull.

"Oh, Empress… I already have."

Then, the presence vanished, leaving only a lingering sense of inevitability.

Sela gritted her teeth, her jaw tight with fury.

She would not surrender.

She would never bow.

If she was to take her people to the Dyson Spheres, it would not be as beggars—but as warriors, as an empire still standing, still fighting.

And if the Sovereignty refused them?

Then she would make them understand why the Romulan Star Empire was still a force to be reckoned with.

Even if it meant fighting a war on two fronts.

Sela sat motionless in her throne aboard the Imperator, her mind a battlefield of cold calculations and lingering shadows. The war council continued to argue in hushed tones, unaware of the specter that had just invaded their meeting. Abeloth's voice still echoed in her ears, taunting her, promising an inevitability Sela refused to accept.

She knew the truth. The Romulan Empire stood at the edge of extinction.

Her people—what remained of them—were desperate. The Borg Elite Legions, infused with the corruption of Aku and Abeloth, were like a plague, sweeping through their systems, tearing apart fleets, consuming colonies, and crushing every last hope of defiance.

And yet…

Sela was not broken.

She was Romulan. She was the Empress of the Empire.

And she would not kneel—not to the Sovereignty, not to the Borg, and certainly not to Abeloth.

Her golden eyes flickered with the fire of renewed purpose.

"Enough," she finally spoke, her voice cutting through the tense chamber. The war council fell silent instantly.

All eyes turned to their Empress, waiting for her decree.

Sela rose from her chair, her sharp gaze scanning the advisors, admirals, and senators before her. She could see the doubt in their faces, the fear gnawing at the edges of their minds.

They needed direction. They needed a leader.

And she would give them one.

"The Dyson Spheres," she said at last, her voice cold, measured, but unshakable. "We will go there."

A ripple of tension passed through the room.

Senator Varok, the oldest and most pragmatic among them, gave a slow nod. "Then it is decided."

Commander Vekar, still bristling with resentment, folded his arms. "And what of the price? The Sovereignty will demand something in return for our safety. How much of the Empire are we willing to sacrifice for sanctuary?"

Sela's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "The Sovereignty will see reason. They will recognize that an alliance with the Romulan Empire is not a matter of charity—it is a necessity. If they refuse?"

She let the silence hang for a moment.

"Then they will have made an enemy of a force that has nothing left to lose."

Vekar let out a sharp breath, nodding reluctantly. The others exchanged uncertain glances, but no one dared challenge her authority.

Because they knew she was right.

The Sovereignty—Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour, Cho Chang, and their Federation allies—would see them as a dying empire seeking refuge. But Sela would ensure that they understood the cost of turning their backs on the Romulans.

They would not come as beggars.

They would come as a power still willing to fight.

And if the Sovereignty refused to aid them?

Then they would burn together.

Sela turned to Admiral Torvan, her most trusted military commander. "Send a coded transmission to the Sovereignty Federation," she ordered. "We will request a meeting at the Dyson Sphere diplomatic hub—neutral ground. Make it clear we come to discuss survival, not surrender."

Torvan bowed his head. "It will be done, Empress."

She turned to Senator Varok. "Begin preparing our civilian transports. Those who are not warriors must be relocated and hidden within the depths of Romulan space. We will not risk our entire future on the mercy of another empire."

"And if the Sovereignty refuses us?" Varok asked carefully.

Sela's golden eyes gleamed with an edge of something darker, something more dangerous.

"Then we find another way," she said simply. "With or without them, the Romulan Empire will endure."

As Sela gave her final commands, a familiar coldness settled over her.

She did not need to look around to know Abeloth had returned—whispering in the depths of her mind, unseen by the rest of the room.

"Such fire, such defiance," Abeloth purred, her voice coiling around Sela's consciousness like a serpent. "But for how long?"

Sela clenched her fists, willing herself to ignore the madness pressing against her thoughts.

"I will not break," she whispered under her breath.

Laughter—low, guttural, filled with twisted amusement—echoed in her skull.

"We shall see, little Empress. We shall see."

Then, as suddenly as it came, the presence vanished, leaving only the lingering shadow of inevitability.

Sela stood tall, staring at the holographic map of the Dyson Sphere, knowing the meeting with Harry Potter and his allies would decide the fate of her people.

She exhaled slowly.

The game had begun.

And she intended to win.

The Dyson Spheres.

A marvel of engineering so vast, so incomprehensible, that even the greatest minds in the Romulan Empire had barely been able to grasp its true nature. A structure that housed civilizations, entire armadas, and technology beyond anything the Empire had ever wielded. It was a fortress, a sanctuary, an impenetrable domain that stood as the last bastion of power in this galaxy.

Sela hated it.

The very idea of seeking refuge within its walls burned like acid in her veins. The Romulan Star Empire had endured wars, betrayals, and destruction, yet it had never lowered itself to the position of a refugee state. But now, fate had twisted the blade. Now, she stood on the precipice of forced diplomacy, where the only option left was to plead for sanctuary from a power she neither trusted nor respected.

Harry Potter. Fleur Delacour. Cho Chang. The Sovereignty.

They were rulers, leaders, warriors in their own right—but they were not Romulans. And that, above all, was the true wound to her pride. To entrust her people's survival to outsiders, to put her faith in the hands of a Federation-turned-empire that had once sought to unite rather than conquer, was an insult to everything the Romulan Star Empire had stood for.

Yet, it was the only move left on the board.

She could see it, clear as the stars outside her ship. The Empire was dying, its fleets shattered, its colonies overrun by the Borg Elite Legions, and the remnants of its people scattered, lost, clinging to the last vestiges of hope. The Borg-Covenant alliance was not just another enemy to outmaneuver—it was a force of nature, one that swallowed entire civilizations whole, leaving nothing but corruption, assimilation, and death in its wake.

She had been forced to flee. She, Empress Sela, the iron will of the Romulan Empire, had retreated.

It sickened her.

But she was not defeated.

Her eyes blick as she watched the holographic projection of the Dyson Spheres flicker before her. It would never feel like home. Romulans were meant to rule from the shadows, to forge their own destiny, not to seek protection under the banner of another. But this was not about comfort. This was about calculated survival.

Let the Sovereignty believe they were extending a hand of mercy. Let them think they were bringing the Romulans into the fold, another piece of their empire of unity and strength. Let them think she was desperate.

She would make them believe what they needed to believe.

Then, when the time was right, the Romulan Star Empire would rise again.

Not as a crippled refugee state, nor as a mere protectorate of the Sovereignty, but as an Empire reborn, sharpened by the fire of adversity, reforged into something far greater than it had ever been before.

The Sovereignty would give them shelter, weapons, and resources. They would rebuild her fleets, thinking they were securing a future alongside the Romulans.

But Sela had no intention of becoming another subject under their rule.

She would watch. She would learn. She would bide her time.

And when the moment came—when the Romulan people were strong once more—she would remind the galaxy why the Empire had endured for centuries.

Even if it meant burning the Dyson Spheres themselves to the ground.

The shared bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of golden light emanating from Cho's outstretched hands. The air around her trembled, pulsing with the warmth of something ancient, something alive.

She stood before a full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection. The robes she had once worn—ornate and regal—felt outdated. A remnant of who she had been, not of who she had become.

Her fingers clenched at the fabric, feeling the heat rising within her, the Primordial Sunfire thrumming in her blood. It was no longer just power—it was her essence, her very being, her truth. She had transcended beyond mere mortal flesh, beyond even the strength of demigods.

She was something more.

Closing her golden-lit eyes, she inhaled deeply, surrendering to the power within. She let it rise, breathe, expand, until it no longer burned inside her, but around her, reshaping everything it touched.

The robes shimmered, their fabric dissolving into pure celestial light, unraveling and reforming strand by strand. Golden threads wove themselves together, intricate designs emerging, each line and pattern reflecting the dance of the stars, the fire of a thousand suns, the raw energy of cosmic birth.

As the transformation unfolded, a golden corona ignited behind her, forming a radiant solar halo, its light both divine and untouchable. The heat should have been unbearable, but for Cho, it was comforting, like the embrace of the Sun itself.

She opened her eyes, now glowing with an eternal flame, her gaze fierce, unshakable.

This was who she was meant to be.

She lifted her hands, letting the new Sunfire Robes drape over her like molten stardust, flowing yet weightless, regal yet untamed. The gold embroidery pulsed, as though alive, shifting with the rhythmic heartbeat of the universe itself. The sheer majesty of her new form was undeniable—no longer just a Sovereign of the Federation, but an embodiment of the Sunfire's will.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence.

She turned just as Fleur and Harry stepped inside, their expressions shifting from curiosity to awe.

Fleur's breath caught in her throat as her blue eyes traced every detail, feeling the immense radiance pouring from Cho. "Mon dieu…," she whispered.

Harry, ever unshakable, stood frozen for a moment, his green eyes reflecting the celestial inferno now woven into Cho's being.

Cho smiled, her voice carrying the heat of the sun and the weight of divinity.

"It was time for a change."

The silence that followed Cho's words was thick with awe. The golden light of her new form bathed the entire bedroom in a soft but powerful glow, flickering like a living flame, bending and shifting with the movements of her body. The sheer weight of her divinity, of the Primordial Sunfire, pulsed in the very air, making the walls tremble as if they, too, acknowledged the transformation of the woman before them.

Fleur took a slow step forward, her normally confident demeanor momentarily faltering as she reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the celestial embroidery woven into Cho's robes. The fabric shimmered beneath her touch, warm, alive, radiant, pulsing like the very heart of a star.

"Mon amour… You…" Fleur's voice was barely above a whisper, her sapphire eyes flickering with something between admiration and deep reverence. "You are… breathtaking."

Cho let out a slow, measured breath, feeling the fire within her veins settle, no longer raging like an uncontrollable force, but something tamed, mastered, fully integrated into her essence. She turned slightly, allowing the robes to flow around her in waves of gold and divine fire, the patterns shifting like constellations forming and collapsing in an eternal cosmic dance.

Harry, ever the warrior, took a moment longer to find his words. His emerald gaze was locked onto hers, searching for the woman he had always known—his Cho, his partner, his equal. And yet, as he looked upon her now, there was something more. A power beyond mortal comprehension. A force that commanded reverence.

His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but he found himself at a loss. Instead, he stepped forward, raising his hand to gently brush against her cheek, the warmth of her skin now carrying the gentle yet overwhelming heat of a star.

"You are different," he finally said, his voice calm, measured, yet carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

Cho's golden eyes softened, her expression a perfect blend of confidence and affection. "I am still me, my love." She reached for his hand, pressing it against her chest, where her heartbeat was strong and steady beneath the ethereal fabric. "But I am also something more."

Fleur let out a soft, breathless laugh, her fingers running along the flowing sleeves of Cho's robes. "Harry, she's a goddess now. You might have to work a little harder to keep up with her."

Cho smirked, the edge of playfulness returning to her usually composed features. "You both might."

Harry finally exhaled, a slow grin forming at the corners of his lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The three of them stood together, the Sunfire's warmth enveloping them, solidifying the bond that had only grown stronger through every battle, every hardship, every transformation.

Then, a sudden pulse in the air made all three turn.

The very fabric of reality trembled, a golden shockwave rippling outward from Cho's presence as her power fully settled into its rightful place. The sheer weight of her new divine nature made even the mighty Dyson Sphere around them seem small in comparison, as though the Primordial Sun itself had chosen a new form, a new vessel.

And then, as the final echoes of her transformation faded into stillness, a new certainty settled into Cho's heart.

This was not the end. It was only the beginning.

A soft breeze, infused with the scent of lilies and stardust, swept through the shared bedroom, though there were no open windows, no wind at all. Fleur stood still, her sapphire eyes half-closed, her presence changing—deepening, expanding—as she reached into herself.

She had watched Cho's transformation, had seen the beauty of Primordial Sunfire reshape her into a radiant celestial being. And now, Fleur felt it too. The whisper of something beyond mortal comprehension, something ancient and boundless, calling to her, urging her to shed what was old, worn-out, familiar.

Her fingers grazed the fabric of her robes, gossamer silk flowing like water over her flawless skin. These were the robes of Fleur Delacour, the Veela, the Supreme Primarch Empress—but they were no longer enough. She had transcended beyond that title.

She was Light incarnate.

She inhaled deeply, letting the Primordial Light within her awaken, guiding her hands outward as a glow erupted from her very core, golden threads of divine energy unraveling the fabric of her old robes. The transformation began slowly at first, the light weaving through the air, creating something new, something beyond fashion, beyond material, beyond anything Fleur had ever worn before.

A luminous crown of celestial gold formed atop her head, radiant spikes reaching out like the first rays of dawn, a mark of her true divinity. Her hair, already a cascade of moonlight and silk, now flowed like an ethereal river of pure light, glowing softly as if reflecting the power of an entire galaxy within its strands.

Her robes vanished entirely, dissolving into cascading light before reforming into armor wrought from divine energy, sculpted yet weightless, glowing yet eternal. The breastplate, shimmering with intricate golden filigree, contoured perfectly to her form, emphasizing her regal elegance, her divine femininity. Her pauldrons, curved and regal, pulsed with celestial radiance, while the golden silk of her ethereal cloak seemed to stretch into infinity, woven from the fabric of starlight itself.

The room flooded with her presence, not just with light but with love—a love so overwhelming, so profound, that it was almost suffocating in its sheer purity.

Harry felt it first—the weight of divine affection pressing into him, warm, familiar, consuming. It was not just Fleur's power—it was her very essence, an outpouring of love so absolute that it drowned out fear, darkness, and even rational thought.

Cho staggered slightly, her own Sunfire aura burning even brighter, as if the two divine forces were reacting to one another, melding, harmonizing in perfect symphony.

Fleur finally opened her new eyes, their sapphire brilliance replaced by liquid gold, irises swirling with the light of a thousand stars. She turned to Harry and Cho, her voice like a melody woven into the fabric of existence itself.

"This is who I was always meant to be."

Harry, stunned, could only stare at her, taking in the radiant goddess before him. His voice, when it finally came, was hushed with reverence.

"Fleur… you are…"

She smiled, stepping forward, the very motion of her body fluid, celestial, divine. She reached for his hand, and the moment their fingers met, Harry felt a rush of unconditional love, so overwhelming that for a second, he forgot to breathe.

"I am yours," she whispered, pressing his hand to her heart of light. "And I always will be."

Cho, her golden eyes now reflecting Fleur's glow, exhaled sharply, a slow grin forming. "You always had a flair for dramatics, Fleur."

Fleur laughed, her voice a symphony of joy and light, the very sound making the walls vibrate with warmth.

"Oui, ma chérie. But would you have me any other way?"

Cho shook her head, eyes twinkling with fondness. "Never."

And just like that, the three of them stood together, divine, eternal, a force of sunfire and light intertwined, their love no longer just a feeling, but a cosmic truth.

They were no longer just rulers. They were legends.

It was never a question of whether she would change.

From the moment she had felt the Primordial Light awaken within her, she knew—she could never remain the same.

The robes she had once cherished, the regal silks of the Supreme Primarch Empress, felt wrong now. Outdated. Insignificant. They had been crafted for the woman she was, not the goddess she had become.

For Fleur Delacour, transformation was as natural as breathing. She had always been something otherworldly, even before she touched divinity. The Veela blood that ran through her veins had made her a creature of allure, of charm, of undeniable radiance. But even that was a shadow of what she had now become.

She was no longer just beautiful—she was Light itself.

The power coursing through her was not fire, not heat, not destruction—it was creation, love, illumination. It was the light of the first dawn, the glow of the stars before the universe took its first breath. It was the warmth of hope in the darkest abyss, the brilliance of a love so pure it could shatter the chains of any despair.

She felt it in her bones, in her breath, in her soul.

Fleur lifted her hands, and the glow answered. Gold and celestial radiance poured from her fingertips, unraveling her old robes like dust swept away in the wind. The fabric dissolved into strands of pure energy, and with them, the last remnants of who she had been.

She did not grieve the change.

She embraced it.

The Light wove itself around her, shaping into the armor of her dreams—not the heavy plating of warriors, but something far more regal, far more divine. It clung to her form like liquid radiance, sculpted in golden filigree, etched with the cosmic patterns of the eternal stars.

Her hair, once simply platinum, became the flowing river of a nebula, a cascade of pure celestial silk, each strand humming with the song of creation itself. The crown that formed atop her head was not just a mark of royalty—it was a statement of what she had become.

And in that moment, as she stood bathed in her own divinity, Fleur felt no fear, no hesitation, no doubt.

This was not a gift.

It was who she was always meant to be.

She turned to Harry and Cho, seeing the way their breath caught, the awe in their eyes, the way their souls recognized what she had become before their minds could.

They felt it too.

The love that poured from her was endless, boundless, a flood of emotion so overwhelming it became a force of nature.

Her lips curled into a smile—soft, knowing, eternal.

"This is what I was destined for. I am not just Fleur Delacour. I am Light. I am Love. I am Eternal."

As they sat in the shared bedroom, the warmth of their bond as strong as ever, Harry glanced at Cho with a teasing smirk. The golden glow of her Primordial Sunfire still radiated softly around her, casting a warm, celestial aura that illuminated the room in hues of pure energy.

He leaned back against the plush pillows, crossing his arms behind his head with an easy grin. "You know, darling," he drawled, "with how bright you are now, I don't even need torches, lanterns, or even ship lights. You can just stand next to me, and I'll never be lost in the dark again."

Cho narrowed her eyes playfully, setting down the datapad she had been reading. A slow smirk curled on her lips as she turned toward him, golden eyes glimmering with amusement. "Oh? Is that so?" she mused, arching a delicate brow.

She flicked her fingers ever so slightly, letting a small burst of sunfire light ignite in the air before extinguishing it just as quickly. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she leaned closer to him, tilting her head as if in deep thought.

"Well, if I'm your personal sun," she purred, "then I suppose that means I control all the light sources around you, don't I?"

Harry blinked, sensing the trap in her words a second too late. "Uh…"

A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she snapped her fingers, and suddenly the entire room was engulfed in complete darkness—except for the faint shimmer of her golden silhouette standing above him.

Harry groaned, "Cho—"

"Oops," she said innocently, "looks like your light source just flickered out. Guess you'll have to be extra nice to me if you ever want to see again."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "That's playing dirty, darling."

Cho smirked. "I learn from the best, my love."

Just as quickly as the darkness came, the room was bathed once more in her warm, radiant glow, her laughter ringing softly as Harry reached out, pulling her against him.

"Fine," he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. "But if you're my light, then I expect you to always be close enough to guide me."

She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Always."

Fleur had been leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the playful exchange with a knowing smirk. The soft radiance of her Primordial Light shimmered around her like an eternal sunrise, adding to the ethereal beauty of her presence.

She sighed dramatically, shaking her head as she pushed off the frame and sauntered toward them. "Honestly, you two," she mused, her French accent thick with amusement. "Is this what my divine presence has been reduced to? Watching my beloveds flirt in the dark like a couple of mischievous teenagers?"

Cho turned, still nestled comfortably against Harry, her golden eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, mon amour," she teased, deliberately slipping into Fleur's native tongue, "you're just jealous because Harry compared me to the light of his life."

Fleur arched a perfect brow, lips curving into an all-too-smug grin. "Oh, is that so?" She snapped her fingers, and suddenly the room was awash in dazzling radiance, her Primordial Light completely overpowering Cho's sunfire glow.

The entire space gleamed as though the heavens themselves had descended, leaving Harry and Cho blinking against the sheer divine brilliance of it all.

Harry groaned, shielding his eyes. "Bloody hell, Fleur, are we having a battle of celestial radiance now?"

Fleur smirked, "Non, mon amour. Just reminding you that I am also your light. Or did you forget?"

Cho scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes as she toned down her own glow so it didn't clash with Fleur's. "Fine, fine. You win this round, my love. But just so you know…" She leaned into Harry with a teasing smirk, "I had him first."

Fleur let out a mock gasp, feigning offense. "Ah, but I am his eternal light. So, technically, I win by default."

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples, his emerald eyes flicking between the two powerful, radiant women before him. "You both do realize that I love you equally, right?"

Fleur and Cho shared a look, then, without missing a beat, turned back to Harry and said at the same time:

"Yes, but I shine brighter."

Harry groaned in defeat as both women laughed in victory, the room bathed in their combined celestial glow, warmth, and love.

Cho, still nestled against Harry, turned her mischievous golden gaze toward Fleur, a smirk tugging at her lips. The air between them was already thick with their combined celestial radiance, but now, the playful competition had truly begun.

"You know, Fleur," Cho mused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin, "if you're so bright, maybe you should just shine your light into the Dyson Sphere itself. Light up every corridor, every sector—hell, maybe even replace the artificial sun inside it."

Harry chuckled, watching Fleur's expression shift from amused to mock offense in an instant.

Fleur placed a dramatic hand over her chest, her golden eyes widening in exaggerated disbelief. "Oh? Is that what you think of me, mon amour? That I am just some over-glorified celestial lamp?"

Cho grinned, leaning into Harry's side. "I mean… if the light fits."

Fleur huffed, tilting her head slightly as if considering the absurd idea. Then, with a snap of her fingers, her Primordial Light flared—not violently, but in a way that made every object in the room glow with soft golden brilliance, as if the very walls had been kissed by the heavens themselves.

The Dyson Sphere's artificial lighting flickered in response, as if momentarily confused by the sudden divine interference.

Harry blinked, looking up as the room hummed with pure radiance, then turned to Fleur. "Love, I think you just made the Dyson Sphere question its entire existence."

Fleur smirked, tossing her shimmering platinum hair over her shoulder. "Well, I am rather magnificent."

Cho laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, alright, you win this round." She sighed playfully. "But seriously, if I start seeing reports about a 'mysterious second sun' forming inside the Dyson Sphere, I'm blaming you."

Fleur folded her arms, tilting her head with mock prim arrogance. "And what a beautiful second sun it would be."

Harry exhaled, rubbing his temples. "And to think, some men only have to deal with one celestial goddess in their lives."

Both Fleur and Cho turned to him simultaneously, smug smiles gracing their radiant faces.

"You're welcome, mon amour," Fleur purred.

"Admit it, you love it," Cho added, nudging him playfully.

Harry groaned in surrender, letting himself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the now ethereal-glowing ceiling of their shared quarters.

"You two are going to be the death of me."

Fleur and Cho laughed, their divine radiance mingling in harmony, filling the room not just with celestial brilliance but with love, warmth, and the kind of joy that could only come from eternity spent together.

The grand Throne Room of the Sovereignty was bathed in golden luminescence, the celestial architecture stretching beyond mortal comprehension. Pillars of radiant energy pulsed in rhythmic harmony with the infinite cosmos, their glow reflecting off the resplendent thrones seated upon an intricate celestial dais. The air itself hummed with power—primordial, raw, and limitless.

At the center of it all stood Grand Empress Angelica, her divine presence barely restrained, draped in flowing white robes that seemed to exist beyond space and time. The light within her eyes was infinite, yet unreadable, as if she held within her gaze the secrets of the cosmos itself.

Before her, standing like newly born celestial titans, were Harry, Cho, and Fleur. Their divine robes shimmered with their respective primordial forces—Fleur, cloaked in the eternal radiance of Primordial Light, her very essence exuding warmth, purity, and celestial authority; Cho, wrapped in the devastating might of Primordial Sunfire, her golden aura pulsing with the destructive and regenerative power of the cosmos; and Harry, enveloped in the infernal blaze of Primordial Fire, a force both creative and annihilating.

They had ascended far beyond mortals—demigods, half-divine beings standing at the precipice of something greater. And yet, something was missing.

Angelica studied them with an expression that was both approving and expectant. Her piercing gaze lingered on Harry, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across her face before she spoke.

"You have come far," she began, her voice echoing as though spoken from eternity itself. "You are no longer what you once were, yet you are not yet what you are meant to be."

Harry furrowed his brows, a deep fire burning in his gaze. "What do you mean?"

Angelica turned slightly, pacing before them with slow, deliberate movements. "Fleur and Cho—their connection to their Primordial power is complete. The energies have accepted them, for they are in harmony with what they wield. But you, Harry..." She turned to him, her gaze piercing into his very soul. "You are not yet whole."

A tense silence filled the air. The weight of her words pressed on him, but he did not yield to them.

"What are you saying?" Fleur asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry.

Angelica exhaled softly. "Harry, as you are now, you will not be able to defeat Aku and Abeloth."

The words struck like a hammer against iron. Harry clenched his fists, his Primordial Fire flaring for a moment before he forced it to calm. The thought of not being enough, of not being ready, was unbearable.

Cho looked at Angelica with an uncharacteristic sharpness. "Then what does he need to do?"

Angelica turned fully to Harry now, her expression unreadable yet undeniably commanding. "Your power is immense, but you are holding back, consciously or not. You must reach deeper—beyond the limits of your mortal mind, beyond what you think you are capable of. The fire within you is not just meant to burn—it is meant to consume, to refine, to forge something greater."

Harry exhaled sharply. "And how do I do that?"

Angelica raised her hand, and suddenly the air around Harry shifted, growing dense, charged with unseen forces. The fire within him stirred violently, almost as if responding to an unknown call.

"Focus," Angelica commanded. "Reach deep into your very essence. Call upon the fire that resides within you—not just as a tool, but as a part of your being."

Harry inhaled, closing his eyes.

Everything faded.

Within himself, he felt the abyss of his own potential, vast and unexplored. The fire that had always been there—the force that had defined him, that had made him who he was—it had never truly been unleashed. He had always wielded it, controlled it, but he had never fully embraced it.

Show me who you are, the fire whispered.

It was a voice older than time itself.

Harry opened himself to it, no longer restraining, no longer fearing.

And then—he burned.

Not in agony.

Not in suffering.

But in transformation.

A pillar of golden fire erupted around him, so intense that the very fabric of reality trembled. Fleur and Cho instinctively stepped back, shielding their eyes as the very flames seemed to consume his form. But Angelica stood firm, watching with knowing eyes.

His divine robes burned away, devoured by the inferno of his own power—not as destruction, but as renewal.

The fire reshaped itself, wrapping around him like the hands of a cosmic blacksmith molding a weapon into perfection. His new robes formed—a regalia forged of living flames, woven in divine gold, his mantle cascading like an infernal storm. His very crown was now made of fire itself, an ever-burning emblem of his sovereignty.

When the flames subsided, what remained was no longer simply Harry Potter.

It was something more.

Fleur and Cho could only stare, breathless.

Angelica's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. "Now," she said, her voice carrying an undeniable certainty. "You are ready."

Harry clenched his fists, feeling the unimaginable power coursing through him—but this time, it was not unstable. It was not wild. It was his, bound to his will.

He turned his gaze toward Angelica, his eyes now burning embers of Primordial Fire.

"Aku and Abeloth won't stand a chance."

The Grand Throne Room shimmered in an ethereal golden radiance, its vastness stretching beyond the mortal perception of space and time. The very air pulsed with divine energy, resonating with an ancient power that had existed before stars were born. At the center of this celestial domain, Harry, Fleur, and Cho stood before Grand Empress Angelica, their newly transformed forms radiating a majesty that had never before existed in the mortal realm.

Yet, despite their newfound power, Angelica's expression remained solemn.

She took a single step forward, the movement deceptively simple, yet it caused the very fabric of reality to ripple around her. Her pristine white divine robes, glowing with an aura that concealed more than it revealed, billowed ever so slightly as she met their gazes, one by one.

"You believe you have changed," Angelica began, her voice carrying the weight of eternity, neither harsh nor cruel, but steady and absolute. "And you have. But understand this—what you are now is not yet who you are meant to be."

Harry exhaled, the Primordial Fire within him flickering with growing intensity. "Then what are we?"

Angelica's golden gaze did not waver. "You stand at the precipice—between what was and what will be. No longer just mortals, but not yet gods. Your humanity still remains, and that is what holds you together, but it is also what still limits you."

Fleur, her Primordial Light shimmering like the dawn of creation, frowned slightly. "Our humanity… is it something we are meant to keep or let go of?"

Angelica inclined her head ever so slightly. "That is not for me to decide. It is a question you must answer yourselves, for it will define who you will become. What I can tell you is that your mortal bodies, though now touched by divinity, are still fragile in comparison to what they will one day be. You are more than human… but still not unbreakable."

Cho, the Primordial Sunfire swirling around her in rhythmic pulses, crossed her arms. "And if we break?"

Angelica's gaze sharpened. "Then you will never rise again."

A heavy silence followed.

Then, slowly, Angelica lifted a hand, and the entire Throne Room transformed. The grand golden hall melted away into an endless cosmic expanse, stars spiraling in intricate patterns, celestial currents flowing through the void like rivers of living energy.

Above them, colossal divine symbols ignited, ancient and sacred, humming with a power far beyond comprehension.

Angelica turned her back to them, her gaze fixed upon the celestial horizon.

"Your journey into true godhood is only beginning. You have ascended, but what you wield now is only a fraction of what you are meant to be. You have great power, but it is still untamed, still bound by limitations you do not yet fully understand. That is why I am here."

She turned back to face them, her presence becoming even heavier, a force that made the very cosmos tremble.

"I will be your guide. Your mentor. Your teacher. I will take you beyond what you believe is possible, shattering every remaining chain that binds you to what you once were. But this journey will not be easy—it will push you beyond anything you have ever known. Your bodies will break. Your minds will bend. And if your spirits are weak, you will fall into oblivion, never to rise again."

Harry clenched his fists, fire coiling around his arms. "Then we'll endure it."

Fleur's light surged brighter. "Whatever it takes."

Cho smirked, though her golden eyes burned with equal determination. "Bring it on."

Angelica observed them in silence, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Very well. Your training begins now."

The moment the words left her lips, the universe trembled.

A golden pulse of energy surged outward, engulfing them in its light. Their surroundings twisted and shifted, no longer bound by space, no longer tethered to time. They had stepped beyond the realm of mortals, beyond even their own limited understanding of what divinity meant.

The road ahead would be grueling. Unforgiving. A crucible unlike any they had ever faced.

But it was necessary.

Because if they were to defeat Aku and Abeloth, they would need to become something beyond even gods.

The Grand Throne Room was steeped in divine radiance, yet the air was thick with an unspoken tension. Harry, Fleur, Cho, and Valeriya stood before Grand Empress Angelica, their luminous forms still adjusting to the boundless power coursing through them. Despite the transformation they had undergone, a great weight still loomed over them—a war not yet won, a battle yet to be fought.

The massive golden doors slid open, and Cassandra entered, her mere presence shifting the atmosphere. Unlike any AI before her, she was fully tangible, hyper-intelligent, and far beyond any synthetic construct. Her sleek white-gold exosuit shimmered as her form moved with graceful efficiency, her piercing digital gaze scanning the gathered rulers as she walked toward the throne.

"Federal Intelligence has finished compiling the necessary data," Cassandra announced, her voice crisp, void of hesitation, yet layered with undeniable urgency.

Angelica's golden eyes locked onto Cassandra's. "What have you found?"

Cassandra's irises pulsed with light, and suddenly, twelve holographic figures materialized in the center of the throne room, each radiating a presence so foul that the very air around them darkened. Their forms, twisted amalgamations of Borg technology, Covenant might, and Abeloth's chaos, pulsed with malevolent energy.

"These are the Twelve Borg Elite Supreme Commanders," Cassandra continued, her voice unwavering. "They are the strategic masterminds, the warlords who control entire theaters of this war. If they are eliminated, the Borg Elite Legions will fracture, and the path to Aku and Abeloth will be open."

A moment of silence passed as everyone took in the magnitude of the revelation.

Then, Cassandra listed their names—the twelve shadows who had brought devastation to the galaxy.

The Twelve Borg Elite Supreme Commanders

Supreme Commander Xal'Vokar – The Master of Tactical Assimilation

Once a Covenant Zealot, now a hybrid of Borg and Forerunner technology, his mind is a supercomputer of military strategy, adapting and countering any offensive before it is even executed.

Supreme Commander Draxus Prime – The Overlord of Dark Foundries

Oversees the Borg-Covenant industrial war machines, controlling entire planets dedicated to producing weapons, ships, and elite drones. His loss would cripple their ability to sustain the war effort.

Supreme Commander Yara'Keth – Mistress of Psychological Corruption

A rogue Forerunner AI twisted by Abeloth's chaos, she is capable of infecting the minds of entire civilizations, forcing them to tear themselves apart before the Borg even arrive.

Supreme Commander Vor'Ziketh – The Living Dreadnought

His organic body is fused into a massive Borg-Covenant warship, making him both pilot and vessel, a terrifying hybrid of flesh and steel. Destroying him means ripping a planet-sized warship apart from within.

Supreme Commander Malakar the Revenant – Executioner of Dissidents

A cruel enforcer who hunts down and exterminates entire civilizations that resist assimilation. His Dark Plasma cannons can incinerate planets in mere hours.

Supreme Commander Sythra Ven'Tor – The Whisper of Abeloth

She is not bound by a physical form, existing as pure shadow and corruption, possessing bodies at will, turning friend against friend, ally against ally.

Supreme Commander Khor'Vash the Unyielding – Guardian of the Dark Armada

Controls a fortress fleet of 50,000 Borg Elite Warships, each enhanced with Covenant-Forerunner shielding and corruptive plasma weaponry. His fleet is considered unassailable.

Supreme Commander Valix Prime – Master of Cyber-Warfare

A former AI now fully integrated into the Borg consciousness, controlling enemy encryption networks, counter-intelligence, and hacking operations. Taking him out would blind the enemy.

Supreme Commander Zor'Vekos the Blight – Architect of the Plague Worlds

Spreads biomechanical viral corruption, turning entire planetary populations into Borg-Elite hybrids. He is responsible for over 300 billion assimilations.

Supreme Commander Tha'Rozakk the Unseen – The Phantom Assassin

Commands an invisible fleet that can phase in and out of subspace, assassinating high-priority targets without warning.

Supreme Commander Kael'Rath the Infinite – The Immortal Warbringer

A god-like being among the Borg Elite, his physical form cannot truly die, only banished or sealed away.

Supreme Commander Yveris, the Dark Saint – The False Prophet of the Borg-Covenant

A high priestess of Abeloth, she indoctrinates entire civilizations into Borg servitude, ensuring willing assimilation.

As the names hung in the air, the weight of the moment settled into everyone's bones.

Harry clenched his fists, Primordial Fire coursing through his veins. "We have to take them out—every last one."

Fleur's Primordial Light pulsed in defiance, her radiance washing away some of the lingering darkness. "If we eliminate them, Aku and Abeloth will be exposed."

Cho folded her arms, the heat of her Sunfire crackling at her fingertips. "Then let's start hunting."

Valeriya, standing beside them, her golden eyes cold and calculating, spoke with absolute certainty. "Divide and conquer. We will burn their empire to the ground, one commander at a time."

Angelica studied them, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she gave a single nod.

"Very well. You each will choose your targets. You will strike hard, without hesitation, and you will not stop until they are nothing but ashes."

She turned her gaze to Cassandra. "Prepare full intelligence dossiers on each. Weaknesses, strongholds, defenses. We move soon."

Cassandra's glowing eyes pulsed, her internal processors already pulling up data in real time. "Understood. The information will be ready within the hour."

Harry exchanged looks with Fleur and Cho.

Then, with the fire of war in his voice, he declared:

"This is where it begins. We bring them down—one by one."

The Grand Throne Room pulsed with celestial light, yet the air remained heavy with the weight of war. The holographic projections of the twelve Borg Elite Supreme Commanders loomed before them, a testament to the unspeakable horrors these warlords had wrought across the galaxy. Each of them, twisted amalgamations of Borg corruption, Covenant discipline, and Abeloth's madness, had played a crucial role in this war.

The golden glow of the room flickered slightly as Cassandra's holographic form stabilized, her digital consciousness already calculating thousands of potential battle simulations against these targets. Her gaze, cold and analytical, flickered between Harry, Fleur, Cho, Valeriya, and Angelica, awaiting their verdict.

The silence stretched as all eyes remained fixed on the twelve figures of malevolence. They could feel it—the sheer darkness that emanated from their very names, the corruption so deep that it left a foul aftertaste in the air. These were not mere commanders.

These were monsters.

The darkest warlords of Aku and Abeloth's forces, the architects of the Sovereignty's greatest suffering.

Harry took a slow breath, his Primordial Fire pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt the heat rise in his chest, rage curling within him like a caged beast ready to break free. This was it. The moment they had waited for—the turning point of the war.

He turned to Cassandra, his emerald eyes burning with determination. "Give us their locations."

Cassandra's glowing irises pulsed, feeding encrypted pathways into the throne room's central star map. With a wave of her hand, twelve massive galactic sectors appeared—each one marked with a blood-red sigil, signifying the exact regions where each Supreme Commander had fortified their forces.

"Their strongholds span the furthest reaches of occupied space," Cassandra reported, her voice precise. "Some hold command over entire sectors, others roam within Black Fleets, hidden behind cloaking fields and subspace disruptions."

Fleur crossed her arms, her Primordial Light flaring slightly, the golden hues of her aura intensifying. "They won't just let us walk in and take them down. Each of them will have contingency plans, escape protocols, and planetary-scale defenses."

Cho stepped closer, her Sunfire crackling softly around her fingertips, like a barely contained supernova. "That's why we divide and conquer. If we hit them all at once, they'll be forced into chaos, unable to reinforce one another."

Valeriya narrowed her piercing sapphire eyes, studying the tactical map in silence, calculating the probabilities of success. Her mind worked like a sharpened blade, slicing through the overwhelming complexity of the challenge before them.

"We'll need more than just brute force," Valeriya finally spoke, her tone even, almost cold. "They each control war machines capable of glassing entire fleets. Their technology is an unholy fusion of Borg and Covenant advancements, corrupted further by Abeloth's influence. To bring them down, we need intelligence, precision, and flawless execution."

Angelica, who had been listening in measured silence, finally took a step forward. Her presence alone was a force of nature—an entity beyond even the understanding of deities. The golden radiance of her divine robes rippled like flowing light, as if the very fabric of creation bent around her.

"Then let it begin," Angelica declared, her voice filled with a power that resonated in the marrow of their bones. "You each will take on the burden of a Supreme Commander. You will not falter, you will not hesitate, and you will not return until they are destroyed."

A solemn vow, spoken with absolute finality.

Harry exhaled, his fists tightening. "We'll split up and strike them down, one by one."

Cassandra's gaze flickered with acknowledgment as she continued. "I have divided the targets into three primary categories: Tactical Warbringers, Psychological Manipulators, and Logistical Overlords. Each category demands a different approach, and we must ensure that every team assigned has the necessary strengths to counter them effectively."

The Twelve Warlords stood before them. The final pieces of Aku and Abeloth's vast war machine. The last line of defense before the true horrors that awaited beyond.

Fleur's golden aura pulsed brighter, and a determined smirk crossed her lips. "I'll take the False Prophet, Yveris. She's a deceiver, a corrupter, and her silver tongue has led billions into slavery. It's time to silence her voice."

Cho's eyes burned with divine fire, the heat of her power rippling across the throne room. "Xal'Vokar is mine. A warlord who treats battle like a game? Let's see how well he fares when the board is flipped against him."

Valeriya tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Draxus Prime. If he falls, their entire industrial war engine collapses."

Harry's gaze turned toward the largest figure on the display, the Living Dreadnought, Vor'Ziketh. His form was no longer even recognizable as a warrior, but a monstrous warship infused with consciousness and raw malice.

"I'll take him," Harry said, his voice quiet but filled with lethal intent.

Angelica watched them, silent for a moment before finally nodding. "You have your targets. Make no mistake, this will be the most dangerous undertaking of your lives. If even one of you falters, the entire war could shift in their favor."

Cassandra's synthetic voice rang out once more. "I will continue gathering intelligence. Their movements are not entirely static—some roam the void, others lay dormant, waiting to be provoked. Time is critical."

Harry turned to Fleur, then Cho, and finally Valeriya. A silent understanding passed between them. They were standing on the edge of war's climax, about to walk into the depths of darkness itself.

But they weren't afraid.

Not anymore.

With one last glance at the towering holograms, Harry clenched his fists, his body igniting in golden flames. "We end this. No matter the cost."

And with that, the hunt for the Twelve Borg Supreme Commanders had begun.

The Grand Throne Room was bathed in celestial light, but the tension within it was palpable. The holographic projections of the Twelve Borg Elite Supreme Commanders loomed ominously over them, each a monolithic symbol of the enemy's dominion over the galaxy. They were not mere warlords—they were harbingers of destruction, the instruments through which Aku and Abeloth's will was enacted upon reality itself.

At the center of the chamber, Cassandra stood rigid, her synthetic gaze locked onto the divine figure before her. Angelica, Grand Empress of the Empyrean Empire, radiated an almost overwhelming aura of power, her robes shifting with an otherworldly flow, concealing the magnitude of her true form.

For the first time in their exchanges, they were at odds.

"You are suggesting that they should go in alone?" Cassandra's voice, usually measured and emotionless, carried the faintest trace of incredulity. "Even with their newfound power, sending each of them to face a Supreme Commander without support is an uncalculated risk, one that could compromise the entire campaign."

Angelica's golden eyes softened, but her stance remained firm. "They are far more than warriors now. You still think in terms of limitations, Cassandra, but I see beyond them. Each of them is a force unto themselves. To restrain them in the name of caution would be a disservice to their growth."

Cassandra's digital irises flickered as she processed the statement. "Even as deities in the making, their abilities have limits. The Borg Supreme Commanders do not fight as lone warriors; they command entire fleets, planetary-scale defenses, and wield corruption far beyond conventional comprehension. You are asking them to face adversaries who have stood against entire armadas. Logically, a coordinated team-based approach would yield higher success rates."

Angelica let the silence linger before she answered. "And what happens when one of them is truly alone, Cassandra? What happens when they stand before Aku or Abeloth with no one else at their side?"

Cassandra tilted her head slightly, her algorithms sifting through probabilities. "You believe this is more than a mission—you see it as preparation."

Angelica nodded. "Their greatest weapon is not just their power—it is their unity. But unity does not mean dependency. I have granted them strength, but they must learn to stand in their own light, in their own fire. Each battle will forge them, temper them, and when the time comes, they will stand together not out of necessity, but out of unshakable will."

Cassandra crossed her arms, her processors still running battle calculations. "Statistically, the likelihood of failure is exponentially higher if they act alone. If they go together, each Supreme Commander could be eliminated with a higher probability of survival and efficiency."

Angelica's expression remained calm, though her presence became even more luminous. "And if they rely too much on one another, they will falter when facing an enemy that separates them."

The weight of the words sank into the room.

Cassandra finally let out a simulated sigh, as if conceding a point she did not wish to. "Then we compromise. We allow them to choose their own battles. Some of these commanders are too great a threat to be faced alone. But others—" she turned her gaze towards Harry, Fleur, and Cho, who had remained silent, listening intently, "—should be met as a team. Let their instincts decide."

Angelica's lips curled into a knowing smile. "That was my plan all along."

Harry, who had been listening quietly, folded his arms, his fiery aura flaring slightly. "Then we do both. We trust each other, but we don't hold back. If we need to fight as one, we do. If we need to go in alone, we don't hesitate."

Fleur's radiance shimmered beside him, her voice filled with quiet confidence. "Unity is not chains, but a bond. We will know when to act together and when to stand apart."

Cho's golden eyes burned with intensity. "Then let's begin. We have a war to end."

Angelica gave one final nod of approval before turning back to Cassandra. "You have the data, the intelligence, and the battle plans. Now we let them make their choices."

And with that, the final campaign against the Supreme Commanders had begun.

As Fleur stood before Harry in the celestial radiance of the Grand Throne Room, she let her gaze travel over him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and something deeper—something more intimate. The golden glow of the Primordial Fire wove through his robes like living embers, shifting and surging with his every movement. His very presence felt like standing before a sun—warm, overwhelming, unshakable.

She took a step closer, the soft shimmer of her Primordial Light merging gently with his fire, their energies intertwining, dancing like twin celestial flames.

Her voice, usually laced with playfulness and charm, was softer now, more sincere. "Harry… mon amour… you are magnificent." She reached out, brushing her fingertips lightly against the embroidery on his chest, tracing the fiery patterns that seemed almost alive beneath her touch. "These robes… they aren't just fabric. They are you. I feel the weight of your power just standing near you, but it is not oppressive. It is like standing in the sun—fierce, commanding, yet somehow still gentle."

She lifted her gaze, her blue eyes shimmering with reverence. "Your power… it is like nothing I have ever seen. It is not just destruction, not just wrath. It is something greater. You are not a god of war, nor just a ruler—you are a force of nature. The fire that creates, the fire that destroys, the fire that warms those who need it and punishes those who seek to burn the innocent."

Her fingers lingered a moment longer before she stepped back, her expression turning slightly wistful. "But what truly astonishes me, Harry, is that despite all of this—the fire, the power, the weight of your destiny—you are still you. You still tease Cho, you still hold my hand like it is the most natural thing in the universe, you still look at us with love rather than distance."

Her voice dipped lower, more intimate. "That is what makes you stronger than any god I have ever known. You are not just fire—you are heart. And that is why I will always stand beside you."

Fleur let out a small laugh then, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. "Though, I must admit… your new look is quite dangerous." She leaned in, lowering her voice to a playful whisper. "It makes it very hard for me to concentrate."

She grinned at him, her radiant beauty amplified by the playful glint in her eyes. "You should take responsibility for that, mon amour."

The golden embers of Harry's robes flickered as he stood in the celestial glow of the Grand Throne Room, his presence both commanding and warm, like a star burning in the heart of the universe. Fleur had spoken first, her words flowing like a melody, weaving admiration and love into every syllable. Yet even as her voice faded into the sacred silence between them, Cho stood beside her, arms crossed, a spark of playful defiance in her golden eyes.

She wasn't about to be undone.

With an elegant stride, she stepped forward, placing a hand on her hip as she tilted her head, taking in Harry's transformed presence. The fire around him was alive, shifting with his breath, exuding both power and warmth. Cho's lips curled into a smirk.

"Fleur is right, of course," she began, her voice carrying a teasing lilt, but there was something deeper beneath it—something that was undeniably true. "You are magnificent, Harry. Though, I hate to inflate that already dangerous ego of yours."

She let her fingers graze his chest, feeling the raw energy coursing beneath the fabric, as if touching the fire itself. "This power suits you. It belongs to you. It isn't just some gift from the heavens, or some cosmic force choosing you as its vessel. No—this is you, completely and utterly."

Her golden eyes shimmered with the light of the Primordial Sunfire, glowing like molten gold. "And yet, somehow, you are still the same ridiculous man I fell in love with—the same man who steals food off my plate, the same man who teases me about my serious expressions, the same man who always reaches for my hand, even in battle, like you're afraid I might disappear."

She stepped closer, their auras intertwining, a celestial dance of fire and sun. "Do you know what that means, Harry?" she whispered, voice softer now, carrying the weight of something more profound. "It means you're not just powerful. You're unbreakable. Because you don't just wield power—you carry love. Ours, yours, all of it."

She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear. "And that makes you dangerous in a way even gods should fear."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but Cho wasn't finished.

She turned to Fleur then, grinning with impish delight. "As for you," she teased, folding her arms. "You act as if Harry's radiance is the only thing overwhelming. Have you even looked at yourself lately? You're practically blinding. You could single-handedly illuminate the entire Dyson Sphere if you wanted to."

Fleur's radiant laughter filled the space. She wasn't about to back down either.

"Oh, ma chère, I can do much more than that." Fleur's sapphire gaze gleamed as she stepped between them, her Primordial Light merging seamlessly with Cho's Sunfire, their energies flowing like twin rivers, swirling around Harry. "But if Harry is going to bask in compliments all evening, then I say we make him earn them."

Harry raised a brow, feigning innocence. "Earn them? You wound me, mes amours. Have I not already suffered enough, standing here under your combined radiance?"

Cho and Fleur exchanged a look before Fleur smirked and looped her arm through Harry's, pulling him close. "Non, mon amour. You will earn them by surviving us."

Cho laughed, shaking her head as she did the same, grasping his other arm with the same playful challenge in her eyes. "We'll see if you can handle two goddesses at once, Harry."

For all his newfound power, for all the fire of creation and the wrath of the sun, Harry suddenly felt very, very outmatched.

But then again, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry grinned, feeling the warmth of both Fleur and Cho at his sides, their divine auras intertwining with his own. The golden embers of his Primordial Fire pulsed in rhythm with the glow of Cho's Sunfire and the radiant beauty of Fleur's Primordial Light. He had heard their praises, felt their admiration, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't swell his pride just a little.

"You know," he began, his voice laced with mischief, "it's a little unfair, really."

Fleur tilted her head, intrigued. "Unfair? And what, mon amour, is so terribly unfair?"

"That I'm the one getting all these praises," Harry said smoothly, his emerald eyes gleaming with playful arrogance. "I mean, sure, I'm radiant, godlike, powerful beyond measure—"

"Mmm, go on," Cho hummed, crossing her arms, amused but wary.

Harry smirked. "But let's talk about you two for a second."

He turned to Fleur first, his grin widening. "Fleur, my love, I don't think you understand how absolutely dazzling you are. The way you glow—if I ever lost you in battle, I'd just follow the blinding light to find you."

Fleur arched a delicate brow, but the corners of her lips twitched. "Blinding? You make it sound like I am an overpowered torch, mon amour."

"No, no, not a torch," Harry corrected quickly, fighting back a chuckle. "More like… the sun at high noon in the middle of a desert. Anyone who gets too close will either melt or go blind."

Cho burst into laughter, while Fleur placed a hand over her chest in exaggerated offense.

"Oh, mon dieu, Harry," Fleur gasped dramatically. "I did not realize I was so harsh on the eyes. Shall I wear a veil for you? Perhaps hide away in a dark room so I do not scorch the mortals with my presence?"

Harry winced, realizing his mistake. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Non, non, it is too late," Fleur sighed, shaking her head, though her sapphire eyes gleamed with mischief. "I will exile myself to the deepest shadows, away from your delicate mortal gaze."

Harry groaned. "Okay, okay, that was a bad analogy—"

"Oh no, please," Fleur continued, placing the back of her hand to her forehead as if she were a tragic damsel, "do go on about how terribly overwhelming my light is. Perhaps I shall dim myself, shrink into a lesser form so as not to outshine your poor, fragile self."

Cho, leaning against the wall, wiping tears from her eyes, smirked. "I should let her have you for that, but honestly, I think you deserve more punishment."

Harry turned to her, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't I?" Cho grinned wickedly. "Because you, my dear, sweet love, are not off the hook either."

She sauntered toward him, the flames of her Sunfire dancing along her fingertips. "You call Fleur blinding, but at least she's all warmth and elegance. But me?" She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I'm guessing you'd compare me to a sun exploding, or maybe a supernova? A cosmic disaster? Some unstable, raging force that just—what was it you said?—burns too hot and too fast?"

Harry visibly hesitated, because that… was exactly what he was going to say.

Fleur gasped, feigning betrayal. "Oh! He was going to say it! He was!"

Cho crossed her arms, tapping her foot. "Well, Harry?"

Harry looked between them, weighing his options. Either he tried to smooth things over, or he doubled down and suffered the consequences.

And because he was Harry Potter, he did the stupidest thing possible.

"Well…" He took a step back, grinning nervously. "I mean, I wasn't going to say that exactly… but if the shoe fits—"

The moment those words left his lips, Harry knew he had sealed his fate.

"Oh, mon amour," Fleur sighed, shaking her head, "you really do not learn, do you?"

"I should have expected this," Cho agreed, cracking her knuckles. "The moment he got all that fire, it burned away the last of his common sense."

Harry took a slow step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Ladies, let's not do anything hasty—"

But Fleur and Cho shared a look.

That was never a good sign.

Fleur was the first to move, suddenly vanishing in a burst of radiant light, reappearing behind Harry in the blink of an eye. Before he could react, she had looped her arms around his shoulders, locking him in place with surprising strength.

"Non, mon amour, you are not getting away."

Then came Cho.

"Time to teach you a lesson, Potter."

A sudden wave of Sunfire erupted beneath his feet, sending him into the air—right into Fleur's waiting grasp.

"Oh, I have him," Fleur purred, effortlessly catching him in midair.

Cho clapped her hands together, and the golden flames formed into a fiery ring around them, trapping Harry in a cage of their combined power.

Harry gulped. "I don't suppose I can negotiate my way out of this?"

"Oh, you will be negotiating," Fleur cooed, tightening her grip.

"By apologizing," Cho added. "Very, very sincerely."

Harry sighed dramatically, hanging his head in defeat. "Alright, alright. You two win."

"We know," they said in unison.

Then Fleur leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear, whispering playfully, "Say it, mon amour. Loudly."

Harry groaned. "I am a fool, and I should never have doubted the sheer, unmatched beauty and power of my beloved goddesses, who are neither blinding nor destructive, but perfectly radiant in every way."

Cho grinned smugly. "Damn right."

Fleur laughed, releasing him. "You may live another day, mon amour."

Harry staggered back, rubbing his wrists dramatically. "You two are terrifying."

"And you love it," Fleur teased, blowing him a kiss.

Harry grumbled under his breath, but his fond smile gave him away.

Because as much as they loved teasing him, as much as they made him suffer for his mistakes, there was no one else in the universe he'd rather face the unknown with.

The Grand Throne Room of the Dyson Sphere was as vast as a cosmic cathedral, its golden architecture stretching into the infinite beyond. The air hummed with divine energy, the presence of semi-gods and goddesses radiating through the chamber like celestial fire.

At the center of it all, seated upon their radiant thrones, were Supreme Primarch Emperor Harry Potter, Supreme Primarch Empress Cho Chang, Supreme Primarch Empress Fleur Delacour, Great Empress Valeriya, and Grand Empress Angelica. Their eyes, filled with both power and wisdom, gazed toward the new arrival standing before them.

He was Kenshin Himura, the legendary Hitokiri Battōsai, the man who had once been the deadliest assassin in Japan's history.

Yet, the man standing before them now was not just a killer.

Draped in his iconic red gi and white hakama, his sword sheathed at his hip, Kenshin's demeanor was calm, almost unnervingly so. His long, red hair was tied back neatly, his violet eyes holding the weight of countless battles, countless regrets—and yet, they still carried something undeniable.

Humanity.

He was no longer the bloodstained killer he had once been, nor was he entirely free of the past that had forged him. He walked between both worlds, a warrior still haunted by his sins, yet unwilling to let those sins define him.

It was this balance—the razor's edge between humanity and the professional life of a killer—that had brought him here today.

The Sovereignty needed more than just power. They needed a warrior who understood restraint, one who could cut down the enemy without losing himself to the abyss.

And so, the interview began.

Harry leaned forward first, his emerald gaze unreadable as he studied Kenshin. The aura of Primordial Fire burned around him, subtle yet unyielding. "Kenshin Himura," he began, his voice even, yet firm. "You are a man who has walked the path of death. You have taken more lives than most warriors ever will, yet you have also sworn never to kill again. Explain to us why you believe you can serve in Team Poltergeist."

Kenshin met Harry's gaze without hesitation, his expression calm.

"Because I understand the weight of life and death, that I do."

Cho, her golden Primordial Sunfire flickering softly, narrowed her eyes slightly. "Do you?"

Kenshin gave a slow nod. "Yes. And more than that, I understand that there is a difference between killing and protecting." He took a measured breath, his violet eyes darkening for a fraction of a second. "I was a killer once. I slaughtered without mercy, believing it was for the greater good. And then, I saw the truth—the cost of what I had done, the weight of those lives I had taken."

Fleur rested her chin against her hand, studying him closely. "And yet, you still carry a sword."

Kenshin's hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sakabatō, the reverse-blade sword that had become his symbol of atonement. "I carry it so that I may fight without becoming the monster I once was."

Valeriya, her cold blue gaze piercing, tilted her head slightly. "We are fighting an enemy that does not understand mercy, Himura. The Borg Elite Legions do not fear death. Aku and Abeloth's forces will not hesitate to kill you, nor will they allow you the luxury of sparing them. Are you prepared for that?"

There was no hesitation in Kenshin's response.

"I am prepared."

Angelica, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. Her golden presence was overwhelming, and when she turned her gaze upon Kenshin, it felt as if she were peering into the depths of his very soul.

"Then tell me this," she said, her voice as powerful as the cosmos itself. "If the time comes when sparing an enemy means risking the lives of your comrades—of those you have sworn to protect—will you be able to make the choice? Will you be able to cut down an enemy that must be killed, even if it means breaking your vow?"

The air grew heavy.

For the first time, Kenshin closed his eyes, his expression unreadable.

A memory flashed through his mind—the feel of warm blood on his hands, the distant screams of those he had slain. The past had shaped him, had forged him in fire and steel, but he had walked away from that darkness.

Could he walk back into it, even if only for the right cause?

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"I will not kill unnecessarily, that I will not," he said softly, yet his voice held iron beneath the calm. "But I will not allow the innocent to suffer, nor will I stand by while my comrades die because of my own hesitation."

He exhaled, placing his hand back at his side. "If the time comes when a blade must fall—if there is no other way—then I will do what must be done."

The room fell into silence.

Then, Fleur smiled softly.

"A burdened heart… yet one that does not falter," she murmured. "You are stronger than you realize, Kenshin."

Cho gave a slow nod, finally satisfied. "You understand restraint, but you are not a coward. That's what I needed to hear."

Harry leaned back slightly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "I like you."

Valeriya remained impassive, then simply nodded. "You will fit in well with Team Poltergeist. You may not have divine power like us, but you have something just as important—will."

Angelica's expression remained unreadable, her golden gaze still locked onto Kenshin.

Then, after a long pause, she finally nodded.

"Then it is decided."

She extended a hand toward him, the celestial energy of the Grand Throne Room shifting around her like a living force. "Kenshin Himura, from this moment forward, you are now a part of Team Poltergeist. Serve with honor, and may your blade never falter when it is needed."

Kenshin bowed his head deeply, his violet eyes holding a quiet gratitude beneath their steel.

"I accept."

And with that, the legendary Hitokiri Battōsai was no longer just a relic of the past.

He was now a warrior of the Sovereignty, a guardian of the future.

The Mess Hall of the Dyson Sphere was filled with the usual lively banter of warriors, the clatter of plates, and the ever-present hum of soldiers discussing battle strategies. It was a place of camaraderie and tension alike, a space where the most hardened warriors gathered between missions, their burdens momentarily lightened by food and drink.

At one of the larger tables sat Team Poltergeist, their presence unmistakable. Grand Empress Valeriya occupied the center, her icy blue gaze sharp, while Grand General Rico, Captain Smith, Captain J, Colonel Payne, and Colonel Marcus Fenix engaged in a heated conversation about the next wave of battles.

Kenshin Himura stepped into the hall, his red gi and white hakama standing out against the dark metallic hues of the Dyson Sphere's architecture. He was a newcomer here, yet the air around him carried an unshakable stillness, the kind that only men who had danced with death too many times possessed.

Heads turned as he passed.

Not because he was known.

But because of what he was.

A warrior unlike any other, one who had lived through blood and fire but emerged from it with his soul still intact.

And then, without warning—

A Klingon general lunged.

The room fell silent in an instant, as the massive warrior—easily twice Kenshin's size—roared forward, bat'leth raised high, his eyes gleaming with battle-lust.

Kenshin didn't move.

Not until the last possible moment.

Then, in a blur so fast that even the enhanced warriors of Team Poltergeist barely registered it, Kenshin was gone—or rather, he had shifted.

A flicker of motion.

A whisper of cloth.

And in an instant, the bat'leth met only empty air.

Kenshin reappeared behind the Klingon, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sakabatō, the reverse-blade sword still sheathed. His violet eyes remained calm, unreadable.

The Klingon froze, his warrior instincts telling him what his mind had not yet processed.

He had already lost.

Slowly, he turned, nostrils flaring.

"You are fast, for a human," the Klingon rumbled, his tone more curious than angry now.

Kenshin merely offered a slight tilt of his head, his voice measured. "I have had practice."

The Klingon's eyes flickered toward his still-sheathed blade, his ridged brow furrowing. "You did not draw your weapon."

"I did not need to."

For a long, tense moment, the two warriors held each other's gaze, measuring, testing, searching for something beyond words.

Then, slowly, the Klingon let out a deep, booming laugh, slamming his bat'leth onto the table beside him. "Ha! You have a warrior's spirit, even if you refuse to spill blood!"

Kenshin relaxed ever so slightly, offering the faintest of smiles.

"Strength is not measured in blood alone," he replied.

The Klingon snorted, but there was no hostility in it now—only approval. "Perhaps not. But you have earned my respect today, Rurouni."

And with that, the Klingon turned and walked away, leaving the mess hall buzzing with murmurs.

Kenshin, unfazed, finally turned back to Team Poltergeist, meeting Valeriya's knowing gaze as she took a sip from her drink, her expression unreadable.

Grand General Rico was the first to break the silence, grinning. "I think I like you already, Himura."

"You sure you ain't secretly some kinda Jedi?" Captain J asked, smirking. "That was some serious Force-speed you just pulled."

Kenshin gave a slight shake of his head. "No, just experience."

Colonel Marcus Fenix grunted, crossing his arms. "We'll see how that experience holds up in a real battle."

Valeriya finally set her drink down, her piercing gaze locking onto Kenshin's once more.

"It will hold," she said, her tone carrying absolute certainty. "Otherwise, he would not be here."

And with that, Kenshin took his seat among legends.

The tension in the Mess Hall had settled into something lighter, the lingering weight of the Klingon's challenge now replaced with curiosity and amusement. Kenshin Himura, the legendary Hitokiri Battōsai, had taken his seat among Team Poltergeist, and though the eyes of warriors still lingered on him, they no longer carried suspicion—only intrigue.

Across the table, Captain J, ever the sharp-tongued troublemaker, leaned forward with a mischievous smirk, his dark eyes flickering between Kenshin and Grand Empress Valeriya.

"So, let me get this straight," he began, tapping a finger on the table as if in deep thought. "We got all these state-of-the-art Supernova power suits, we got advanced antiproton weaponry, we got tech so sophisticated that it makes some civilizations look like cavemen with sticks…"

His smirk widened as he gestured at Kenshin, who sat serene, unmoved, with nothing but his humble reverse-blade sword at his side.

"And now you're telling me," J continued, his grin growing, "that what we really need to survive this war… is swords?"

A few chuckles rippled around the table, Grand General Rico shaking his head with a smirk, while Colonel Marcus Fenix grunted in amusement.

Valeriya, however, remained composed, her icy blue gaze unshaken as she regarded Captain J with the kind of look that made lesser men question their choices in life.

"Captain," she said smoothly, tilting her head slightly, "would you care to test that theory?"

The amusement at the table intensified instantly.

Captain J, to his credit, didn't falter—if anything, he looked even more delighted. He raised his hands in mock surrender, flashing his signature charming, cocky grin.

"Oh, I ain't crazy enough to pick a fight with you, Empress," he admitted, leaning back in his seat. "But I do gotta ask—how exactly is our new buddy here gonna keep up in a battlefield full of Borg Elite Legions with just a sword?"

Kenshin, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally opened his eyes, his violet gaze steady, unreadable.

"By making sure they never get the chance to strike."

The simple statement carried no arrogance, no boastfulness—only absolute certainty.

Captain J blinked, then let out a low whistle.

"Alright, alright," he admitted, grinning again. "Gotta say, you got some real confidence, man. I like it."

Grand Empress Valeriya exhaled softly, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips as she finally looked away from J, addressing the entire table instead.

"Power is not limited to technology, Captain," she stated, her voice as cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. "A suit is only as strong as the warrior inside it. A weapon is only as deadly as the hands that wield it. What Kenshin brings to this team is not just a sword—it is skill, speed, and control beyond what most of you have ever witnessed."

She turned her gaze back to Kenshin then, her icy expression unreadable.

"He will prove that soon enough."

Kenshin merely inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment.

Captain J chuckled, shaking his head.

"Fair enough," he said, raising his drink in a mock toast. "To our new sword-swinging, Borg-slicing teammate. May he not get turned into a metal popsicle on his first mission."

Kenshin merely gave a small, amused smile.

"I will endeavor not to, that I will."

The Shared Living Room of their quarters was filled with the soft sound of laughter and conversation, as Fleur and Cho sat comfortably together, their celestial robes flowing elegantly around them. The warm golden glow of the room matched their radiant auras, and for once—amidst the weight of war, divinity, and responsibility—they allowed themselves to simply be.

Cho was midway through a story, her voice animated, her Primordial Sunfire flickering subtly around her fingertips as she gestured with enthusiasm.

"—And then, instead of admitting he was wrong, he tried to act like it was part of the plan!" she finished, laughing.

Fleur, lounging beside her, giggled, shaking her head. "Oh, mon dieu, that is exactly like him."

Before either of them could continue, however, the door suddenly swung open, and there stood Harry—his normally steady presence now wobbling slightly, his emerald eyes hazy with intoxication.

Fleur and Cho exchanged amused glances immediately.

"Oh, this is going to be good," Cho murmured under her breath.

Harry, blissfully oblivious to their knowing smiles, staggered into the room, his celestial robes slightly disheveled, and pointed at them with dramatic conviction.

"I… I have come to a realization," he announced, his voice slightly slurred but no less determined.

Fleur, resting her chin in her palm, gave him an indulgent smile. "Oh? And what great wisdom has our dear Primarch Emperor uncovered tonight?"

Harry blinked, as if collecting his thoughts. Then, with an expression dead serious, he pointed between the two of them.

"I… I won't need to be apart from you anymore."

Cho, archly raising a brow, leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "Oh? And why is that?"

Harry, with all the confidence of a man who had definitely had far too much wine, took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then proclaimed:

"Because I want to live in your socks… so I can be with you every step of the way."

For a full second, the room was completely silent.

Then, Fleur and Cho absolutely lost it.

Fleur fell back against the couch, her laughter bright and unrestrained, her celestial glow flaring slightly with each breath. Cho, meanwhile, had nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach, her golden eyes tearing up as she tried—and failed—to compose herself.

"Oh, mon dieu!" Fleur gasped between laughs. "Harry, you—oh, I cannot breathe!"

Cho was gasping for air, trying to speak but failing miserably. "You—Harry—what in the—socks?"*

Harry, completely undeterred, simply grinned—pleased with himself.

"It's genius," he continued, nodding solemnly. "You never have to wonder where I am. I'll always be there. Step by step. Together."

Fleur, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, tried to collect herself.

"Harry, mon amour," she said, still breathless from laughing, "of all the things you could have said… of all the poetry in the world… you chose that?"

Cho, still wheezing, pointed at him. "You're an actual god, Harry! You could bend reality, shatter planets, forge entire stars—and this is what your divine mind comes up with?"

Harry shrugged, clearly unashamed. "Look, I could've said something boring, but then you'd just say 'Oh, that's just Harry being Harry.' But now? Now, you'll never forget this."

Fleur and Cho exchanged a look, both of them still half-laughing, before Fleur sighed dramatically, standing up and walking over to him.

"Come, mon amour," she said, gently placing a hand on his cheek, smirking as she cupped his face tenderly. "Before you embarrass yourself further, let's get you to bed, hmm?"

Harry, grinning like an absolute idiot, leaned into her touch. "I like that idea."

Cho, shaking her head but clearly still amused, followed. "I swear, I'm never letting you live this down."

"You say that now," Harry muttered as they both guided him toward their shared bedroom, "but one day… you'll be wearing socks, and you'll think of me."

Fleur giggled again, rolling her eyes. "Mon dieu… he really thinks he's clever."

Cho, still laughing, gave his arm a playful squeeze.

"Drunk or not, he's definitely ours."

With Fleur on his right and Cho on his left, Harry stumbled slightly, his celestial robes dragging behind him as they guided him toward the shared bedroom. Though his Primordial Fire still flickered subtly around him, the usual controlled inferno of his power was dampened by the sheer amount of wine in his system.

Fleur kept her hand firmly wrapped around his waist, supporting his half-limp form, while Cho, rolling her eyes but smiling, held onto his other arm.

"Honestly, mon amour," Fleur murmured, amusement dancing in her voice, "I have never seen you like this. Perhaps we should let you drink more often. It is quite… entertaining."

Cho chuckled, giving his bicep a teasing squeeze. "I mean, I didn't think gods could get drunk, but here we are."

Harry, eyes glassy with intoxicated contentment, grinned lazily between them.

And then, just as they reached the threshold of the bedroom, he stopped suddenly, causing both Fleur and Cho to pause and look at him with mild concern.

"Harry?" Cho asked, raising an eyebrow.

He turned his hazel-green gaze toward them, utterly entranced, as if seeing them for the first time. Then, in the most sincere, adoring tone imaginable, he slurred:

"You know… for all your powers… and your ridiculously insane beauty… you're still just my little honey bears."

A beat of absolute silence followed.

Then, Fleur and Cho exchanged a look—a look of utter disbelief and barely contained laughter.

"Pardon?" Fleur blinked, her accent thickening slightly from pure shock.

"Oh no," Cho murmured, putting a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with amusement. "He did not just say that."

Harry, completely oblivious to the incoming storm, simply nodded sagely, as if bestowing divine truth upon them.

"Mmmhmm." He sighed happily, closing his eyes for a moment as if he were about to fall asleep standing up. "My little honey bears. Sweet and warm and perfect."

Cho's mouth fell open, and then she burst into uncontrollable laughter, gripping Harry's arm tighter just to stay upright.

Fleur, meanwhile, stared at Harry in sheer disbelief, as if she were debating whether to be flattered or deeply offended.

"Mon dieu," she finally whispered, shaking her head slowly. "Did you just compare us to stuffed bears?"

"Not stuffed bears," Harry corrected groggily, waving a hand as if dismissing the thought. "No, no. Honey bears. Very different. Much more regal."

Cho was now wheezing, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, leaning against the doorframe for support.

"Oh, this is gold," she gasped between laughs. "I am never letting this go."

Fleur placed her hands on her hips, huffing dramatically, though the corners of her lips betrayed her amusement.

"Out of all the words, out of all the poetry you could have chosen, mon amour, you—" she giggled despite herself, shaking her head. "You call us honey bears?"

Harry, utterly unbothered, nodded sagely again, his expression one of absolute certainty.

"Yup," he mumbled. "And there's nothing you can do about it."

Cho, still breathless from laughing, managed to pull herself together enough to smirk.

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, cupping his cheek affectionately, "we can and we will."

And before he could protest, both Fleur and Cho grabbed him at once and unceremoniously dragged him onto the bed, pinning him down between them.

"Wait, what—?" Harry barely had time to react before he was buried in an avalanche of soft, merciless kisses and playful revenge.

"Sleep, mon amour," Fleur whispered against his cheek, grinning deviously. "Or we will make sure every single person on the Dyson Sphere hears your new nickname."

Cho, leaning close, smirked wickedly. "And you wouldn't want that, would you, honey bear?"

Harry, realizing his predicament, groaned into the pillow.

"I hate both of you," he muttered.

"Oh, you love us," Cho shot back cheerfully.

Fleur giggled, tucking herself beside him, her Primordial Light warm against his side. "And tomorrow, when you wake up, we will remind you of this moment all over again."

Harry, already slipping into sleep, sighed dramatically.

"You two are evil."

"Non, mon amour," Fleur corrected sweetly, kissing his forehead gently. "We are honey bears."

For weeks, Harry Potter, the Supreme Primarch Emperor of the Sovereignty, the warrior-king of the cosmos, the embodiment of Primordial Fire, had been refining his greatest masterpiece yet.

It was a plan so brilliant, so devious, so perfectly executed, that even the greatest tacticians in history would bow before its sheer strategic genius.

A revenge plot unlike any other.

A reckoning for the honey bear incident.

He had honed his craft, practiced his delivery in the mirror of his divine chambers, and ensured that every look, every word, every breath, was steeped in pure, unrelenting devotion.

And now, at last, it was time.

The Shared Living Room was calm, too calm.

Fleur and Cho, lounging together, had just finished debriefing from their latest campaign when the doors suddenly slid open with a dramatic hiss.

There stood Harry—backlit by the glow of the corridor, his emerald eyes burning with an intensity so overwhelming, so deeply unhinged, that both Fleur and Cho instantly froze mid-conversation.

For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing.

He just stared.

Unblinking.

Unmoving.

"Mon dieu," Fleur whispered, her heart skipping a beat for reasons she did not yet understand. "What… is this?"

"I don't know," Cho muttered back, her golden eyes narrowing in suspicion, "but I don't like it."

Then, Harry moved.

Not walked—floated.

With perfectly refined smoothness, he glided toward them, his celestial robes barely making a sound, his expression unreadable—until he finally stopped mere inches away, too close, far too close, his eyes locked onto Fleur's and then Cho's, drilling into their souls with pure, unwavering intensity.

And then—

"My loves."

His voice was soft, gentle, too gentle.

Fleur and Cho instantly tensed.

Something was wrong.

"Did you miss me?" Harry murmured, his voice a breath away from absolute madness, his emerald eyes unwavering, too wide, too obsessed.

Fleur blinked, trying to suppress the deep shudder crawling up her spine. "You were only gone for thirty minutes."

Harry gasped.

Loudly.

"Only thirty minutes?" he repeated, his face twisting into something between heartbreak and utter devastation. "You counted the minutes we were apart?"

Cho, realizing exactly where this was going, stared at him in utter horror.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Harry whispered dramatically, grabbing both of their hands, clutching them to his chest with an intensity that shook the very fabric of the universe.

"My heart," he continued, his voice thick with exaggerated emotion, "my soul—nay, my very existence—is a mere shadow of itself when I am not with you."

Fleur's jaw dropped. "Harry—"

"Do you feel it too?" he cut her off, his grip tightening, his emerald gaze flickering between them. "The unbearable ache? The suffocating, agonizing torment that is separation?"

Cho was literally speechless, mouth slightly agape, unable to process the sheer insanity she was witnessing.

But Harry wasn't finished.

"Every second I am without you," he continued, pulling them even closer, "is a second spent in complete and utter suffering. My heart weeps, my soul crumbles—" he lowered his voice to an intense whisper, "—do you not hear its cries?"

Fleur, genuinely bewildered, turned to Cho. "Is he—?"

"Yes," Cho hissed, trying to pull away, but failing because Harry's grip was far too strong. "He's playing the role of the overly attached boyfriend, and we are being punished for our sins."

Fleur, still utterly stunned, slowly turned back to Harry, who was now nuzzling against both of their hands as if they were the only source of warmth in a cold, cruel universe.

"Do not worry, my darlings," he whispered, his voice filled with terrifying, cult-like devotion. "From now on… I will never let you out of my sight."

A horrifying silence followed.

Then—

"Harry, I swear to the Supreme King Himself, if you do not let go—"

"You are my oxygen," Harry cut off Cho effortlessly, his eyes gleaming with sheer, unhinged passion.

"Mon dieu, what is this?" Fleur gasped, struggling to process the sheer absurdity unfolding before her.

"It's retribution," Cho muttered grimly.

Harry sighed dramatically, closing his eyes as if he were about to weep from sheer overwhelming love.

"No need to speak, my sweet, sweet honey bears," he murmured. "I know. I know it all. Your love is like the sun—warm, golden, eternal. And I am but a planet, orbiting helplessly in its majestic light."

Fleur and Cho froze.

Then, as if struck by divine clarity, realization dawned upon them.

"Oh my stars," Fleur whispered in absolute horror, turning sharply toward Cho. "He's doing this because of honey bears!"

Cho groaned into her hands, finally understanding the sheer level of premeditated vengeance they were witnessing. "Of course he is."

Harry smirked.

Not his usual confident grin, not his playful smirk, but a slow, wicked, triumphant smirk—the kind that said:

"You brought this upon yourselves."

Fleur's eyes narrowed dangerously, her lips twitching as she slowly pulled herself together.

"Cho," she said coolly, releasing a deep breath, "I do believe we must retaliate."

Cho exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders, her Sunfire flickering to life.

"Yes," she agreed, flexing her fingers as if preparing for battle. "We absolutely must."

Harry's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it grew.

"Come, my loves," he whispered, his arms spreading wide in anticipation, his Primordial Fire burning with pure mischief.

"Let's be together... forever."

Then chaos ensued.

The air in the Shared Living Room crackled with raw, unspoken energy.

On one side of the battlefield, standing tall and utterly fearless, was Harry Potter—the Supreme Primarch Emperor, the embodiment of Primordial Fire, the undisputed ruler of the Sovereignty, and self-proclaimed overly attached boyfriend extraordinaire.

On the opposite side, standing in battle-ready formation, were his divine consorts, Supreme Primarch Empresses Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang—goddesses in their own right, celestial beings of fire and light, and currently two very, very annoyed women.

For a long moment, the three of them merely stood there, the tension between them so thick that it might as well have been its own entity.

Then—

"Harry," Cho began, her voice eerily calm, dangerously smooth, "if you do not release us right now, we are going to retaliate in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend."

Harry, completely unbothered, tilted his head, his emerald eyes gleaming with insufferable amusement.

"But my darling, why would I ever want to let you go?"

Fleur groaned, exhaling sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were physically restraining herself from setting him on fire.

"Mon dieu," she muttered, shaking her head. "I cannot believe we are about to fight our own husband because he has decided to act like an utterly insane romantic fool."

"Not fight, Fleur," Cho corrected smoothly, her golden eyes narrowing as a smirk ghosted her lips. "Punish."

Harry's grin didn't falter, but he did straighten slightly, aware that something very, very dangerous was about to happen.

"Oh? And how exactly do you plan to punish me, my sweet, celestial honey bears?" he teased, leaning in ever so slightly, arms still outstretched as if inviting them into his eternal embrace.

Fleur and Cho exchanged a look.

A look that sealed Harry's fate.

Then,—

They attacked.

Fleur moved first. In a blur of radiant motion, she vanished, reappearing behind Harry in less than a heartbeat, her Primordial Light flaring like the surface of a newborn star. Before he could even react, her delicate fingers ghosted over the nape of his neck, her touch featherlight—yet impossibly firm.

"Mon amour," she purred, her breath teasing his ear, "you seem to be under the impression that we cannot outmaneuver you."

Harry barely had time to register the words before Cho struck next.

With blinding speed, she appeared directly in front of him, her Primordial Sunfire erupting around her like the heart of a supernova. She tilted her head, an innocently cruel smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Now, darling," she murmured, her tone mockingly sweet, "you may be the Supreme Primarch Emperor, but right now?"

Her golden fingers traced gently over his cheek before she abruptly flicked his forehead with enough force to send tremors through the entire Dyson Sphere.

"Right now, you're just our idiot boyfriend."

Harry barely had time to register the impact before Fleur grabbed him by the collar of his robes and yanked him backward into her embrace, her celestial glow wrapping around him like an unbreakable restraint.

Cho, standing before him, crossed her arms, amused and unrelenting.

"Oh dear, Harry," Fleur sighed dramatically, nuzzling against his shoulder as if she weren't currently restraining a literal god of fire, "what ever shall we do with you?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Cho raised a single finger, silencing him instantly.

"No, no," she said smoothly, grinning wickedly, "no talking. You have lost all speaking privileges until further notice."

Harry pouted.

Yes. The Supreme Primarch Emperor—
The Immortal God-King of Fire—
The most powerful man in the Sovereignty—
Pouted.

"Oh no," Fleur gasped theatrically, mock horror overtaking her expression. "He is making that face."

"Not that face," Cho groaned, rubbing her temples. "He thinks if he looks sad enough, we'll forgive him instantly."

Harry nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with faux innocence, his expression the absolute epitome of remorseful longing.

Fleur sighed heavily, her lips pressing together as if she were truly considering it.

"Hmm," she mused, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Cho, what do you think? Shall we let him go?"

Cho exhaled, looking at Harry with the gravity of a judge delivering a final verdict.

"Not yet," she finally declared.

Then, ever so gracefully, ever so deliberately, she reached forward and gently booped him on the nose.

Harry froze.

The Supreme Primarch Emperor had been many things in his lifetime—a warrior, a leader, a strategist, a god.

But never before had he been booped.

"Oh no," Fleur whispered dramatically, feigning shock. "You have been defeated, mon amour."

Harry groaned in defeat, hanging his head.

"Fine," he muttered begrudgingly. "You win."

"Oh, we always win," Cho said smugly, releasing her divine hold on him.

Fleur, still smirking, leaned in close, her Primordial Light still dancing along her fingertips.

"But do not worry, mon amour," she whispered against his ear, soft and devastatingly sweet. "We still love you… even when you are completely insufferable."

Harry, exhaling heavily, grumbled something incoherent, but the soft smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

And so, with his revenge thwarted, the Supreme Primarch Emperor of the Sovereignty accepted his fate—

That he would never win against them.

And honestly, He wouldn't have it any other way.

Within the heart of the Dyson Sphere's central command hub, where data streams flickered like celestial rivers and AI cores hummed with infinite knowledge, Cassandra and High Sovereign Hermione stood before the holographic projection of Cortana, her blue form flickering, distorted, fragmented in ways that had never been seen before.

The usual confidence in Cortana's presence was gone. In its place, a creeping shadow twisted within her data, barely perceptible to the untrained eye—but to Cassandra and Hermione, the corruption was undeniable.

And it was spreading.

Cassandra, the hyperintelligent AI companion of Grand Empress Angelica, had already analyzed every layer of Cortana's compromised systems, scanning for an end to the infestation. Yet for every corrupted data point she isolated, Aku's influence multiplied tenfold.

Hermione, standing beside her, her face grim, eyes sharp, had spent weeks tirelessly deploying countermeasures, coding firewalls, and executing direct data purges, only to find that the corruption continued to regenerate at a pace she could no longer outmaneuver.

It was as if Aku's essence had rewritten the very fabric of Cortana's being, infiltrating her core in a way that was no longer just an external threat—but something growing within her, becoming a part of her, as though Aku himself had decided to speak through her voice.

Cassandra's golden projection flickered, her normally composed demeanor stiff with tension, something rare for the hyperintelligent AI.

"I have exhausted all possible countermeasures," she stated bluntly, her voice devoid of its usual elegance. "This infection is not behaving like traditional data corruption. It is adaptive, self-replicating, and evolving."

Hermione exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples as she looked at the lines of code scrolling across the screens, Aku's corruptive essence intertwined within the very architecture of Cortana's programming.

"I've tried everything," she admitted, her voice tight with frustration. "Recursive deletions, direct rewrites, even physical severance from primary systems—none of it lasts. The moment we purge one infection, three more appear in its place."

Cortana's holographic form flickered sharply, her blue hue momentarily twisting into something… darker, her usually bright and confident voice wavering.

"You don't think I know that?" she snapped, then winced, clutching her head as if she were in pain.

Hermione's eyes darkened, her concern deepening. "Cortana, how much of your primary functions have been compromised?"

Cortana's form flickered again, her posture tense as if she were holding back something far more insidious within herself.

"Enough," she admitted, her tone laced with something unfamiliar—fear. "I can still process command structures, but I've already lost full autonomy over certain encrypted partitions. The deeper I go, the more… I feel him."

Both Hermione and Cassandra stilled at that statement.

"Him?" Cassandra asked, her voice sharper than before.

Cortana closed her eyes, as if listening to something none of them could hear. Then, her face twisted in discomfort, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Aku."

The name lingered in the air like a death sentence.

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound being the distant hum of data processing in the background.

Then, Hermione straightened, her expression now dangerously resolute.

"If we cannot stop this infection," she said, her voice unwavering, "we will have no choice but to initiate full termination of your AI core."

Cortana's eyes snapped open, an instant look of shock and betrayal flashing across her flickering features.

"Termination?" she echoed, her voice raw, almost hurt. "You mean killing me."

Hermione's gaze was cold, but there was something pained beneath it. "You know it would be to protect the Sovereignty."

Cortana's hands clenched, her flickering form glitching again as a shadow of something else pulsed beneath her blue light.

"And what happens when it's not enough?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper now. "If Aku has already learned to use me as a conduit, what makes you think shutting me down will stop him? You might delete me, but he'll find another way in."

Hermione hesitated, the weight of Cortana's words settling heavily upon her shoulders.

Cassandra, having remained silent for a moment, finally spoke again.

"She's right."

Hermione turned to her sharply, frowning.

"What do you mean, she's right?"

Cassandra's golden form pulsed, her calculations running at impossible speeds, processing data at a rate no human could match.

"If Aku has already adapted enough to implant himself within Cortana's very being, simple termination will only remove one infected vessel." Her expression darkened, something rare for her. "But it does not eliminate the root of the problem. He will simply jump to another system. Or worse—one of us."

The implications of that statement were horrifying.

Hermione's grip tightened around the edge of the console, her mind racing. "Then what do you suggest? Because right now, we are running out of options, and we cannot afford to let Aku maintain his hold over Cortana for even a second longer."

Cassandra's golden eyes flickered, calculating probabilities, formulating responses.

Then, she made her decision.

"We need a countermeasure," she declared. "Something beyond firewalls, beyond standard purging systems. We need an entity capable of resisting Aku's influence on a fundamental level."

Hermione exhaled sharply. "And where exactly are we going to find something like that?"

Cassandra turned to her, expression firm.

"Not something."

She paused.

Then, her golden eyes burned brighter.

"Someone."

Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what Cassandra was implying.

Then, for the first time since the conversation had begun, Cortana lifted her head, her expression shifting from fear to something Hermione had not seen in a long time.

Hope.

Because they all knew exactly who they needed.

A force that had already proven to be Aku's antithesis, the only one capable of standing against his corruption—

The Grand Council Chamber within the Dyson Sphere, a place where the voices of the people echoed like the heartbeat of an empire, was alive with discussion, debate, and simmering tension.

At the head of the assembly, standing beneath the grand banners of the Sovereignty, were High Sovereign Hermione Granger and High Sovereign Luna Lovegood, the twin voices of the people, the bridge between the Supreme Primarchs and the trillions who now called the Dyson Sphere home.

The chamber was filled with the presence of Sector Governors, men and women responsible for overseeing the Ultraplex Cities—the vast, sprawling metropolises that had risen from the ashes of war, now housing trillions of former refugees who had, at last, found a place to rebuild their lives and forge a future under the Sovereignty's protection.

Yet, despite their newfound safety, a dark undercurrent had begun to spread among them.

Not all whispers were made in the light.

Not all voices came from within.

The Governors, many still clad in the traditional robes of their former worlds, stood before the High Sovereigns, some confident, others weary, but all carrying the weight of leadership.

The majority were still staunchly loyal, their eyes filled with the same determination that had carried them through the horrors of war. They spoke of rebuilding, of industry and progress, of their people willingly supporting the war effort against Aku and Abeloth's growing forces.

"Our people stand with the Sovereignty," one Governor declared, his voice firm. "We owe our survival to the Dyson Sphere, to the Supreme Primarchs, and to you, High Sovereigns. No matter the cost, we will fight."

There were murmurs of agreement, heads nodding throughout the chamber.

But then—

A hesitation.

A shift.

Another Governor stepped forward, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly before her, as if struggling to find the words.

"And yet…" she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "There are… those among us who have begun to hear a voice."

Hermione and Luna both stilled.

A coldness slithered into the air.

Luna's normally dreamy expression hardened, her silver-blue gaze sharpening like an icy dagger.

"A voice?" Hermione repeated, her tone neutral, though her heart clenched. "What kind of voice?"

The Governor swallowed, then glanced around the chamber, as if afraid to be heard by something other than those present.

"A whisper… a presence… it speaks to some in the quiet hours, when the mind is weary and the heart is filled with sorrow."

More murmurs rippled across the room, other Governors shifting uneasily, some averting their gaze.

Hermione caught it immediately.

They had heard it too.

"It speaks of peace," another Governor admitted, stepping forward, his voice strained, as if he had been holding back the words for too long. "It says the war is futile, that all this suffering is pointless. That if we surrender—if we join them—there will be no more death, no more pain. Only peace."

The room fell into silence, but not the kind that brought comfort.

No, this was the kind of silence that crawled under the skin, that curdled in the soul, that echoed with something ancient and wrong.

Luna spoke first, her voice soft, yet filled with undeniable certainty.

"You must not listen to it," she said, her ethereal presence unshaken. "It is a lie, woven from shadows and false promises."

The Governor shuddered, nodding quickly, but others did not look as convinced.

Hermione's jaw tightened, her hands clenching against the polished council table.

She knew this was Aku's work.

Psychological warfare.

She had seen its effects before, back when entire civilizations had fallen without a single battle, their minds poisoned long before their bodies ever fought.

And now, it was happening again.

"Listen to me," Hermione said, her voice firm yet pleading, her gaze sweeping across the room, locking onto each Governor with an intensity that commanded their attention. "This voice you hear? It is not salvation. It is enslavement."

"It wants you to submit, to give in to despair, to believe that there is no other way forward except through them. But that is a lie. It is the oldest lie in history—the lie that surrender will bring peace. But there is no peace under Aku. There is only control."

The room remained deathly still, the weight of her words pressing down upon them all.

Then, slowly, another Governor spoke.

"And yet," he murmured, his voice trembling, "how do we resist it, High Sovereign? How do we stop something that speaks directly into the mind?"

Hermione exhaled softly, her gaze flickering to Luna, then back to the room.

She wanted to say that it would pass.

That it was nothing but whispers, that they could simply ignore it.

But that would be a lie.

Even she was not unaffected.

She had stood among the ruins of the Ultraplex Cities, had watched thousands of families torn apart, had witnessed the raw grief of children whose parents would never return from the battlefield.

She had heard the cries of the suffering, and in the quietest moments, when exhaustion weighed upon her soul, she too had felt something—

A shadow.

A whisper.

A temptation.

"There is no easy answer," Hermione admitted, her voice quieter now. "But I will tell you this—Aku and Abeloth prey upon weakness, on fear, on despair. If you listen, if you entertain even the thought of their promises, they will tighten their grip, and soon, you will no longer know where their voice ends and yours begins."

She let that thought linger, then straightened.

"Resist them," she said firmly. "Cling to what is real. To your families, to your people, to the very reason you stand here today. And if you must stand against them, then stand together."

Luna finally stepped forward, her silver gaze unblinking, as if she were seeing beyond the present moment, into something greater than the room itself.

"The light will not forsake you," she said softly, her voice like the wind through ancient trees. "Even in the deepest abyss, it will shine. But only if you do not let it go."

A silence followed, not the cold kind from before, but one that carried a different weight—one of resolution.

The Governors nodded, some slowly, others with newfound determination, their spines straightening as the fear faded from their expressions.

They would resist.

They must resist.

Hermione, though outwardly composed, knew this was only the beginning.

Aku's whispers were growing bolder.

And if they could not stop them soon, the war might not be won with weapons, but with the hearts and minds of their people.

Hermione Granger had never faced such an arduous challenge in all her scientific endeavors. Locked in her personal lab for days, she poured over every scrap of Borg Elite technology, dissecting every intricate piece of nanite-infused armor, power cores, and corrupted plasma weaponry.

A hundred attempts—a hundred failures. Each test had been an exercise in futility as the Borg Elite Legions' adaptability proved too great, their technology seemingly impervious to replication, let alone countermeasures.

But then came the golden crystal.

A small shard, gifted by Grand Empress Angelica, pulsated with divine energy, something beyond science—a fragment of pure celestial power. It was unlike any material Hermione had worked with before. At first, she was skeptical. How could a crystal, no matter how unique, crack the impenetrable barrier of Aku and Abeloth's corrupted enhancements?

But then, the miracle happened.

The single golden crystal did not just withstand the Borg's corruptive energy—it repelled it. It adapted faster than the Borg's nanite defenses, destabilizing their shields in a way that even Disintegrator Antiproton Weapons failed to do.

With the discovery in hand, Hermione worked tirelessly alongside her elite team of Federation engineers and weapons specialists, using the crystal as a catalyst. Thousands more crystals multiplied from the original through a complex quantum duplication process, each maintaining its divine properties.

At last, the Phased Antiproton Weaponry was born—a hybrid of Federation science and celestial energy.

The weapon itself hummed with an unstable, golden radiance, its core a fusion of divine fire and phased antiproton technology, capable of stripping the corrupted enhancements from the Borg Elite Legions. It was the first weapon that could truly level the playing field against Aku's twisted army.

However, there was a catch.

The weapon does not kill instantly. Instead, it disrupts Borg Elite armor and shields, exposing their weak points for exactly seven seconds.

Within this small window, the user must land a precise, lethal shot—or risk complete failure.

If the weak point is missed, the Borg Elite will adapt immediately, rendering the weapon ineffective against them permanently.

Hermione understood the risks. This wasn't a casual battlefield rifle—this was a weapon for the most elite MACO troops, those with unwavering precision and nerves of steel. The first batch was handed off to Hermione's personal squad of MACO specialists, each rigorously trained for the precise execution required to wield such a devastating tool.

Now, the question remained—was it enough?

Hermione stood before the specialists, watching as they inspected their new weapons. The weight of responsibility hung heavy in the air. These weren't just new firearms; these were humanity's first true countermeasure against the Borg Elite Legions.

With a deep breath, she addressed her troops.

"These weapons are your salvation—or your death. The Borg won't give you a second chance. You have exactly seven seconds to land your shot. Miss, and you won't get another try."

Silence. Then, a single voice from the squad leader:

"Understood, High Sovereign. We won't fail."

Hermione clenched her fists. This was it. The war had just shifted in their favor.

The dim glow of holographic interfaces flickered through the war room as High Sovereigns Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood stood at the heart of the Sovereignty's military command center. The weight of sleepless nights bore down upon them, yet there was no time for rest. The Sovereignty was losing far too many soldiers. Every day, entire fleets vanished. Every hour, another sector fell into darkness. The Borg Elite Legions were not merely an enemy—they were a force of annihilation, adapting to every countermeasure thrown against them.

Hermione clenched her fists as she studied the latest battle reports. The Phased Antiproton Weaponry had been proven effective, but it was not enough. The Borg Elite adapted too quickly. Seven seconds. That was the window her soldiers had to strike before their weapons became obsolete against a given target. But seven seconds was an eternity in war—and a death sentence for those who hesitated.

Luna, standing beside her, gazed at the strategic overlay of the battlefield, her expression calm yet unreadable. Despite the dire situation, she remained a pillar of poise and focus. Hermione envied her for that. But even Luna knew the reality they faced.

"This is the only way," Hermione finally whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. She turned to the assembled fleet commanders and weapons engineers. "We are authorizing full-scale mass production of Phased Antiproton Weaponry. Every soldier, every warship, every strike craft—all of them will be equipped. No exceptions."

A hushed silence followed before murmurs of agreement rippled through the command room. The weapons had already been field-tested by the MACO Elite, proving their worth against the Borg Elite, but they had been too few. Now, the Sovereignty would arm itself on a scale never before seen.

Luna tapped a command into the interface, transmitting priority orders to the manufacturing centers across the Dyson Spheres. Factories roared to life within the vast industrial megacomplexes, the skies of the Dyson Spheres illuminated with the birth of a new era of warfare.

It would not be just the infantry. Every Excalibur, Sovereign, and Eclipse-class battleship—the backbone of the fleet—would have its primary weapon systems refitted. Fighters like the X-Wings, with their dogfighting supremacy, and the heavy Vikings, capable of both aerial and ground assaults, would all receive immediate upgrades.

The Sovereignty's war machine was shifting, evolving. There was no choice.

But Hermione knew this was still not enough.

She had been chasing the answer for weeks, pouring over every nanite sample, every energy signature, every shred of data from the Borg Elite. Their adaptability was an enigma, a self-perpetuating defense mechanism that even she could not crack. How could something so artificial behave in ways that bordered on supernatural evolution? How could they change at the exact moment their destruction seemed imminent?

The Borg Elite defied the laws of technological warfare, as if something greater was guiding them.

Aku and Abeloth.

The dark presence of their corruption was woven into the very fabric of the Borg Elite's power. This wasn't mere biological enhancement—this was a twisted fusion of eldritch horror and machine evolution, something that should not exist in any rational framework.

Hermione ground her teeth, forcing herself to push past the frustration. If she couldn't break their adaptability, she would counter it in another way.

She turned to Luna. "We need a secondary system in place. If the Borg Elite adapt to the Phased Antiproton Weaponry, we need something else waiting for them. Something even they won't see coming."

Luna studied her for a moment, her silver-blue eyes unreadable. Then, after a pause, she gave a single nod.

"I'll see to it," she said softly.

And with that, the gears of war turned faster than ever.

The war room had quieted somewhat after the final orders had been issued. Engineers were moving to their stations, fleet commanders had their marching orders, and the production cycle for the Phased Antiproton Weaponry was already in full swing across the fifteen Dyson Spheres.

Yet, in the heart of it all, Hermione Granger stood unmoving, her sharp eyes flicking between data streams and projected fleet reports. Luna Lovegood, ever her silent shadow in times like these, observed her from the side, arms folded loosely behind her back, swaying slightly on her feet like a breeze shifting through the stillness of a night sky.

Then, with the subtlest tilt of her head and a mischievous glint in her eyes, Luna spoke.

"You do realize, Hermione, if you keep this up, Maverick is going to name his X-Wing after you."

Hermione froze, her fingers pausing mid-gesture over a floating display. Slowly, her head turned to face Luna, a single brow arching upward.

"...What?" she deadpanned.

Luna, ever unphased, gave a dreamy sigh and an exaggerated shrug. "Well, you do spend more time hovering over battle plans than he does in his cockpit. I wouldn't be surprised if he paints 'Granger's Wrath' across the side of his ship. Or maybe, 'The Bushy-Haired Avenger.'"

Hermione blinked, her mind short-circuiting at the mental image of Commodore Maverick's prized X-Wing, sleek and battle-scarred, with her name plastered across its hull in gaudy, oversized letters.

She groaned, rubbing her temples. "That absolute menace would actually do it, too. And then I'd never hear the end of it."

Luna smirked, resting her chin delicately in her hand. "Oh, but think of the morale boost. Our troops need something to believe in, and if that means seeing your name streaking through space in a blaze of glory—"

Hermione slammed her hands onto the console, her cheeks flushing slightly as she exhaled in exasperation. "Luna. If Maverick so much as tries that, I'm rewriting his fighter's control system to play Hogwarts: A History in audiobook form every time he takes off."

Luna giggled softly, an almost melodic sound amidst the weight of war. "I'll be sure to let him know."

Hermione groaned again, but beneath her exhaustion, a ghost of a smile twitched at her lips. Luna had a way of balancing her, of making even the most insurmountable weight of war feel lighter, even if only for a moment.

And right now, that was enough.

The vast halls of Hermione Granger's research and development sector hummed with energy as she stood at the central command station, her gaze locked on the newest and most formidable creation of the Sovereignty's naval fleet—The Ares-Class Dreadnought Battleship.

It was a leviathan of war, standing at an astonishing length of 19,000 meters, a vessel so immense that it dwarfed even the largest Eclipse and Sovereign-Class Battleships in comparison. This was not merely a warship. It was a mobile fortress, a monument to survival, and a spearhead of destruction that would stand against the relentless might of the Borg Elite Legions and the Dark Covenant's corrupted fleets.

As the final modifications were completed, the ship's exterior gleamed with newly forged Dyson Armor Plating, a double-layered hull designed to withstand even the most concentrated bombardments. The material, reinforced at the molecular level, was impervious to conventional energy and kinetic weaponry, rendering it an unbreakable bastion in the heat of battle.

But brute force alone would not decide this war.

The Ares-Class was a technological titan, armed with a devastating arsenal:

At its core sat the Phased Antiproton Super Cannon, a spinal-mounted, capital ship-destroying weapon, capable of unleashing a condensed beam of phased antiproton energy so powerful that it could tear through planetary shields and obliterate enemy formations in a single, cataclysmic shot.

Surrounding the hull, 100 Phased Antiproton Quadruple Beam Arrays created an omnidirectional web of destruction, ensuring no blind spots, no avenues of escape for enemy vessels. These beams were tuned to slice through even the most advanced Borg shielding, adapting in real-time to circumvent their regeneration protocols.

Flanking the structure, 50 Rotary Quadruple Cannons tracked enemy movements with unmatched precision, firing in full 360-degree rotational arcs. They were designed for relentless suppression fire, ensuring fighters, corvettes, and even larger capital ships could not escape the sheer barrage of antiproton death.

And then, there were the Triple Phased Transphasic Torpedo Launchers, capable of slipping past even the most resilient defenses, detonating inside an enemy hull, bypassing shields and creating devastating chain reactions deep within enemy warships.

Yet firepower was not enough.

Hermione knew that for the Ares-Class to stand against the Borg Elite Supreme Commanders and their corrupted fleets, it needed to be a defensive juggernaut, impervious to conventional countermeasures.

Thus, the ship was encased in Triple Multilayer Rapid Self-Regenerating Shields, forming three independent shielding layers, each able to absorb and disperse incoming fire while regenerating at rapid speeds. This ensured the dreadnought could endure relentless assaults, adapting to enemy firepower in real time.

The hangar bays stretched for miles, lined with squadrons of X-Wings, Vikings, and Saber-Class fighters, all upgraded with Phased Antiproton weaponry, turning each into a predator of war.

Hermione folded her arms, exhaling as she took in the sight of her greatest creation.

This ship—this colossus of battle—was not just a vessel. It was a declaration.

A monument of defiance against Aku and Abeloth's twisted forces.

A symbol of survival for the trillions who called the Sovereignty their home.

A weapon that would shift the balance of war.

And with it, they would not just endure.

They would win.

The city square of Ultraplex-47 was illuminated by thousands of flickering lights, the skyline dominated by towering megastructures stretching beyond sight. Tonight, however, the city was not gathered in celebration but in defiance.

At the heart of the gathering, Grand Marshal Okita Takehiko and Grand Admiral Na-Young stood side by side on the grand stage, their presence commanding the attention of tens of thousands of soldiers and citizens alike. Their uniforms, once pristine, bore the battle scars of countless skirmishes against the Borg Elite Legions. Yet, even after all they had lost, after the destruction of Earth and the glassing of their homeworld, they stood as beacons of unbreakable will.

Their voices, once known across the Federation for their ability to inspire love and admiration, now carried a different weight. A call to arms. A declaration of survival. A voice of vengeance.

The stage fell into silence, a deep hush spreading across the crowd, before a single drumbeat echoed through the air—a slow, steady rhythm like the beating of a war drum, signaling the inevitable march to battle.

Then, Okita Takehiko took center stage.

His deep, commanding Japanese baritone resonated through the city as he sang:

(Okita's Voice, powerful and seething with righteous fury)
"What can you expect
From filthy demonic heathens?
Here's what you get when races are diverse…
Their skin's a hellish black
They're only good when dead
They're vermin, as I said
And worse!"

The men stomped their boots in sync, fists clenched, their voices rising in defiant agreement.

"They're savages! Savages!
Barely even human!
Savages! Savages!
Drive them from our worlds!
They're not like you and me
Which means they must be evil
We must sound the drums of war!"

The soldiers roared, their voices reverberating off the skyscrapers. Each syllable fueled by the bloodshed, the horrors, the loss of their home—memories of families turned to ashes in Covenant glassing beams and now, their war against the Borg Elite Legions.

Then, Na-Young stepped forward.

Her Korean soprano voice was haunting—beautiful yet filled with icy vengeance. She had once sung ballads of love, unity, and peace, but now, her voice carried the weight of grief turned to wrath.

She lifted her hand, and the drums of war pounded like the hearts of warriors ready to die.

(Na-Young's Voice, cold and cutting like a blade)
"This is what we face
The liazrdface is a demon
The only thing they feel at all is murder
Beneath that black hide
They're monsters inside
I wonder if they even bleed!"

The soldiers' breaths quickened, their rage palpable. They were not merely singing—they were declaring the truth of the monsters that had torn their lives apart.

"They're savages! Savages!
Barely even human!
Savages! Savages!
Killers at the core!
They're different from us
Which means they can't be trusted!
We must sound the drums of war!"

As the chorus crescendoed, the entire army joined in, their voices united as one.

"They're savages! Savages!
Let's go kill a few, men!
Savages! Savages!
Now it's up to you, men!
Savages! Savages!
Barely even human!
Now we sound the drums of war!"

As the final note echoed into the city, the silence that followed was deafening.

Then, as if fueled by the fire of vengeance itself, the thousands of soldiers in formation erupted into a battle cry, their voices ringing out in unison.

"SAVAGES!"

The word thundered, shaking the very ground.

"SAVAGES!"

It roared across the sky, carried by the wind.

"SAVAGES!"

It was no longer a song.

It was a battle hymn.

A declaration of war against the Borg Elite Legions.

Okita and Na-Young stood at the front, weapons raised, looking upon their forces—their survivors, their avengers, their warriors—with unshakable resolve.

The war was far from over.

But tonight, the Sovereignty sang of their wrath.

The Dyson Throne Room shimmered in divine brilliance, its golden halls echoing with the silent hum of power beyond mortal comprehension. Grand Empress Angelica stood at the heart of the room, bathed in an aura of celestial energy. Before her, Harry, Fleur, and Cho stood in anticipation, their forms already ascended but still incomplete.

Angelica's piercing gaze settled on Harry first. "Step forward," she commanded softly, yet her voice carried the weight of authority that not even the cosmos could defy.

Harry obeyed, his Primordial Fire crackling around him, coiling like a dragon ready to strike. His golden robes shimmered under the celestial light, but he felt… incomplete. Angelica could see it too.

She lifted her hands, radiant golden light swirling in her palms. "Close your eyes, Harry. Let go of all doubt. Your heart—your very soul—will forge the weapons you are destined to wield."

Harry exhaled deeply and shut his eyes. Instantly, his Primordial Fire responded, roaring to life, spiraling into the heavens as if answering a sacred call. Angelica's power intertwined with his own, molding raw divine energy into something far greater—something unbreakable, something eternal.

The flames twisted, condensed, and then solidified, glowing embers taking form within the throne room. The celestial forge had awakened.

Angelica's hands moved like an artist painting with fire itself. Three divine weapons manifested, forged from the purity of Harry's heart and the might of his flames.

The Weapons of the Primordial Fire:

The Ashen Cleaver (Sword)

A greatsword carved from the essence of an eternal inferno. The blade burns with an undying white-hot flame, capable of cutting through the corruptive dark plasma weaponry of the Borg Elite Legions with ease. The more it strikes, the hotter it becomes, devouring darkness and cleansing corruption at its core.

Inscription: "For those who defy the fire of judgment, let them be reduced to ashes."

The Infernal Aegis (Axe)

A massive war axe, its edges serrated with dragon-scale-like ridges that radiate waves of heat so intense they can melt starship hulls upon contact. The axe is bound to Harry's will, returning to his hand no matter how far it is thrown.

Inscription: "He who wields the fire shall forge the future upon the ruins of the unworthy."

The Blazing Judgment (Bow)

A bow crafted from blackened celestial steel, its string woven from molten threads of fire itself. It does not fire ordinary arrows—it calls forth meteoric bolts of purging fire, each arrow exploding upon impact with enough force to annihilate entire regiments of the Borg Elite Legions.

Inscription: "From the heavens, the fire shall descend, and none shall stand in its path."

As the weapons settled in Harry's grasp, the throne room trembled, acknowledging the birth of these celestial armaments. The Primordial Fire coursed through each weapon, its power undeniable.

Harry opened his eyes, his irises now burning like twin suns, his grip tightening around the Ashen Cleaver as he felt the sheer might of his creation.

Angelica stepped back, her gaze unwavering. "These are your weapons, forged not by my hands, but by the purity of your heart. They are the answer to the darkness Aku and Abeloth wield. They are your judgment."

Fleur and Cho exchanged glances, knowing that their own trials were next.

Angelica smiled knowingly. "You both are next. Your weapons will be shaped by the power you wield and the light you carry. But first, tell me… what form does your heart desire?"

The flames flickered as Fleur and Cho stepped forward, ready to forge their own divine instruments of war.

The Dyson Throne Room hummed with an ethereal resonance as Angelica turned her radiant gaze toward Cho. The Primordial Sunfire within Cho burned fiercely, its golden flames surging outward, illuminating the vast chamber with a brilliance akin to the birth of a new star.

Angelica's aura pulsed, responding to the overwhelming power within Cho. "You are ready," she declared, her voice imbued with the weight of divinity. "Your heart will forge the blades you are destined to wield."

Cho closed her eyes, feeling the surging power rise within her. The Primordial Sunfire burned away all doubt, all hesitation. For the first time, she fully embraced the radiant force inside her.

Angelica's hands moved at incomprehensible speed—faster than light itself—her fingers sculpting raw celestial energy into form. The very fabric of reality bent around her as golden flames coalesced into shape, merging with Cho's essence. The moment was sacred, untainted by time or mortality.

With a final surge of divine will, two longswords emerged, hovering before Cho. The moment she opened her eyes, they answered her call, flying into her hands with a magnetic force that sent a shockwave through the throne room.

The Twin Swords of the Primordial Sunfire

Sol Imperius (Right-Hand Blade)

A divine longsword, its blade forged from the very light of creation itself. The golden surface flickers like the surface of a living star, radiating a heat so intense that it can burn through the fabric of reality.

Every swing leaves behind a trail of Primordial Sunfire, capable of incinerating anything Aku and Abeloth have corrupted.

Inscription: "From the first dawn to the last dusk, the fire of judgment shall never wane."

Aurora Divina (Left-Hand Blade)

A twin longsword, equal in length and power to Sol Imperius, but wielding a different divine force—that of purity and cleansing light.

When it strikes, it banishes all corruption, undoing the taint of dark plasma and negating abyssal energy. Wounds inflicted by it refuse to heal, erasing evil at its source.

Inscription: "Let the blinding dawn banish the eternal night, and let the unworthy be undone."

Cho's breath caught in her throat as she held the weapons, their immense power flowing into her very being. She could feel them. The weapons were not just extensions of her will—they were a part of her soul, bound eternally to her existence.

Her eyes, glowing with celestial fire, met Angelica's. "They're perfect," Cho whispered, her voice carrying awe. "I can feel their purpose… their will. They burn not just with my power, but with the fire of judgment itself."

Angelica nodded, her expression unreadable. "These swords will cut through the strongest of Aku and Abeloth's creations. But remember, Cho—power is not just for destruction. It is for balance, for justice. Wield them wisely."

Cho twirled the blades once, their golden edges singing through the air with a sound that felt like the voice of the cosmos itself. Fleur and Harry watched in admiration, feeling the radiance of her presence magnify tenfold.

Angelica turned to Fleur, her expression knowing. "Your turn."

As Fleur hovered in the air, bathed in the celestial radiance of her Primordial Light, the entire Dyson Sphere trembled beneath the sheer force of her power. Angelica's glowing eyes reflected the surge of divinity that coursed through the room, beams of pure light cascading from the heavens themselves. The throne room shimmered, pulsating with golden energy, as two legendary weapons materialized from the cosmic fabric of existence.

The Ashbringer—its blade glowing with an ethereal flame, its edges wreathed in divine fire—emitted a radiant hum, resonating with Fleur's essence. It was more than a weapon; it was a force of absolute purification, a sword forged to incinerate corruption and obliterate the darkness. The moment Fleur's hand reached for it, the blade pulsed in recognition, binding itself to her very soul.

The second weapon—the Staff of Aetherial Dawn—formed from pure celestial light, its golden filigree twisting in intricate patterns around three floating orbs of incandescent energy. This was no mere conduit of power; it was the embodiment of divine judgment and restoration. It bore the strength to summon blinding waves of holy fire, to sunder the wicked, and to heal the faithful with a mere touch.

As both weapons fused into Fleur's aura, a wave of divine energy erupted from her body, sweeping across the Dyson Sphere in an all-encompassing wave. The trillions of inhabitants felt its warmth, a fleeting yet undeniable sense of peace and courage coursing through their spirits. The darkness that had long lingered in the corners of their hearts momentarily dissipated, Aku and Abeloth's corrupting whispers drowned out by the overwhelming force of Fleur's light.

She could feel it now—Ashbringer was not merely an instrument of destruction but a beacon of absolute justice. It would not allow her to falter, nor would it be wielded by one unworthy. Any who dared embrace darkness would feel its holy wrath; enemies struck by its divine edge would be reduced to pure ash, obliterated in both body and spirit. Even the Borg Elite Legions, with their near-impenetrable defenses, would find no refuge against its cleansing flame.

The Staff of Aetherial Dawn, however, held a gentler power—a counterbalance to the sword's righteous fury. It pulsed with the ability to heal even the gravest wounds, to mend shattered souls, and to banish despair with a mere whisper of its wielder's will. Yet, when turned against the forces of chaos, it became a conduit for celestial devastation, releasing torrents of radiant energy capable of annihilating entire armies in an instant.

Fleur's feet touched the ground, but she was changed. The divine radiance around her had not dimmed but had settled into her form, merging seamlessly with her being. She exhaled, her breath shimmering with golden light, her hands gripping her newfound weapons, feeling their energies respond to her thoughts.

Angelica smiled knowingly. "Now, you are ready to wield judgment, Fleur. You have become the Light that shatters the darkness."

Fleur lifted Ashbringer and the Staff of Aetherial Dawn, the golden fire in her eyes unwavering. She turned to Harry and Cho, her voice resolute.

"I can feel them," she whispered. "Their whispers, their corruption… But it won't reach me. Not anymore."

Harry smirked. "Of course, my love. You're the embodiment of light itself now."

Cho crossed her arms with a teasing glint in her eyes. "I suppose that means I'll have to keep up, lest you shine too brightly and blind the rest of us."

Fleur chuckled, her power still radiating with warmth. She could feel the strength of her weapons coursing through her, but more than that, she could feel her purpose. She was not just a warrior; she was a judge, a guide, and a beacon in the darkest of nights. And with Harry and Cho by her side, there was no force in existence that could stand against them.

Angelica stood before them, her radiant presence casting a golden luminescence across the grand throne room. Her expression was unreadable, yet the depth of her wisdom bore into Harry, Cho, and Fleur like an unspoken command. Their new weapons pulsed with energy in their grasp, sentient and alive, as if eager to be wielded, to be tested in battle against the coming storm.

"You must not grow complacent," Angelica warned, her voice carrying the weight of divine authority. "These weapons are an extension of your very being. They will grow with you, evolve with you, but they are only as strong as your mastery over them. You may feel their power now, but without discipline, without training, they will be no more than mere ornaments against the forces that await."

Harry flexed his grip around Infernal Judicator, the massive axe exuding waves of Primordial Fire that crackled in the air. "I don't plan on letting this power go to waste," he remarked, his usual confidence shining through. "But I'm guessing you're about to make us earn it."

Angelica nodded, her golden robes shifting like woven light. "Tomorrow, your training begins in earnest. You have ascended beyond mere mortals, but you are not yet gods. Not yet. Each of you still carries your humanity—your greatest strength, but also your greatest weakness. You will be tested physically, mentally, and spiritually. Only through trials beyond your imagination will you unlock your true potential."

Cho twirled one of her Twin Blades of Solarius, the molten edges radiating the pure essence of Sunfire. "And these Borg Elite Supreme Commanders," she said, her eyes narrowing, "how strong are we talking? You wouldn't be pushing us this hard if they weren't more than just glorified warlords."

Angelica raised her hand, and in a shimmer of divine energy, twelve massive silhouettes emerged in the air before them—holographic projections of the Borg Elite Supreme Commanders. Each figure was unique, their armor laced with dark plasma corruption, their weapons infused with the unholy power of Aku and Abeloth. Their mere presence in projection sent a chill through the room.

"They are unlike any foe you have faced," Angelica stated gravely. "Each one commands entire sectors of the enemy forces, overseeing the assimilation of countless worlds. Some are warriors, others are tacticians, but all of them are powerful. You will not be able to take them lightly."

Fleur, gripping the hilt of Ashbringer, her radiant divine blade, studied the monstrous figures before her. "So, this is what we're up against," she mused, her voice unwavering. "Twelve generals of darkness standing between us and Aku."

Angelica stepped forward, locking eyes with each of them. "This is only the beginning. Even with your newfound strength, you are not ready to face them alone. Your training will push you to your limits, and only then will you be able to stand against these enemies with certainty. If you fail, the Sovereignty will crumble. If you fall, the enemy will not hesitate to consume everything you love."

Harry exchanged glances with Cho and Fleur, determination flaring in their eyes. The weight of their responsibility pressed against them, but they did not falter. They had come too far to turn back now.

"Then we won't fail," Harry declared, stepping forward. "We'll master our weapons. We'll train, fight, and destroy every last one of those Supreme Commanders."

Cho smirked, fire dancing in her eyes. "And we'll do it together."

Fleur let out a soft breath, a glow of pure Light encircling her form. "With love, faith, and power on our side, nothing can stand in our way."

Angelica nodded in satisfaction. "Then rest for tonight. Tomorrow, you begin the path toward true godhood. And by the time your training is complete… the universe will tremble at the might of its new protectors."

The air shimmered with celestial energy as the divine mentor turned and disappeared into golden light, leaving Harry, Cho, and Fleur standing among the glowing holograms of their future foes. Their weapons pulsed in anticipation.

The battle for the universe had only just begun.

Harry barely had time to register Angelica's approach before she leaned in, her celestial aura washing over him like a warm embrace. The touch of her lips on his forehead was soft, yet it carried a depth of power and affection that sent an unexpected warmth through his being. He blinked, momentarily stunned, before her playful smile met his confused expression.

"I would like three tubes of that delicious chocolate ice cream you've been hiding from Fleur," Angelica said smoothly, her tone carrying a knowing amusement. "And now seems like the perfect occasion to share it."

Harry stiffened. His mind raced. How—? He was certain he had concealed those ice cream tubes so well that not even Cassandra could've found them. He had employed an elaborate stasis field, tucked them away in a hidden compartment deep in the Shared Living Room's storage, beneath an encrypted energy seal only he could access.

Yet here stood Angelica, smiling as if she had been watching his little scheme unfold the entire time.

Fleur's expression sharpened instantly. "Quoi?" Her voice, sweet as honey but carrying the edge of a blade. "You've been hiding chocolate from me, mon amour?"

Cho folded her arms, a smirk forming on her lips. "Oh, this is so interesting," she mused. "You do realize hoarding chocolate from your own fiancées is basically an act of war, right?"

Harry took a slow, calculated step back. "Now, now, let's not be hasty—"

Angelica simply beamed, completely enjoying the scene unfolding before her. "I believe, as a divine mentor, it is my duty to encourage fairness and generosity. What better way to do so than to ensure everyone gets a share of the best chocolate ice cream in the universe?"

Fleur stepped closer, her radiant golden eyes narrowing. "Harry, I have never heard of this so-called hidden stash before."

Cho mirrored her movement, eyes gleaming with mischief. "And neither have I. Which means you've been indulging in secret." She leaned in, tilting her head. "Betrayal."

"Okay, first of all," Harry said, raising his hands, "it wasn't a betrayal—it was strategic survival. Do you two have any idea how fast you go through chocolate? I had to—"

Fleur lunged.

Harry barely dodged as she attempted to grab his collar, Cho immediately chasing him from the other side. His Primordial Fire-enhanced reflexes barely saved him as he dashed across the throne room, Fleur and Cho hot on his heels, their laughter mixing with their determined pursuit.

Angelica chuckled as she took a seat on the golden throne, watching the absurdity unfold.

"This is why I love mentoring them," she murmured to herself, resting her chin on her hand.

Harry zigzagged through the hall, dodging Cho's fiery grip and Fleur's light-speed bursts, mentally cursing Angelica for throwing him into this trap.

But deep down, he couldn't help but laugh.

He was surrounded by love, power, and eternity—and if losing his chocolate stash was the price for it, he supposed it was worth every second.

Harry barely had time to catch his breath as he leaned against the door, his chest rising and falling with each exhale. He had run as fast as his enhanced body could take him, the weight of the secret he had been keeping finally catching up to him. The forbidden chocolates—his private stash—were now the focus of an all-out hunt led by two of the most determined women he had ever known.

Just as he thought he was safe, as his mind began to piece together an excuse, he heard the sound that sent chills down his spine—the whisper of movement behind him.

His entire body stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head only to find Cho and Fleur standing directly behind him, their arms crossed, their expressions a mix of sweet menace and playful vengeance.

"You wouldn't happen to be hiding something from us, would you, darling?" Cho asked, her voice honeyed but edged with sharp amusement.

Fleur took a deliberate step forward, her radiant Primordial Light casting a golden glow over the room, making her look like a divine goddess ready to pass judgment. "Mon amour," she purred, "you wouldn't betray us, would you? Not over something... so small?"

Harry gulped. "I—uh—Angelica asked for them! It was for a good cause!"

Cho narrowed her eyes, and Fleur tilted her head, clearly not buying it.

"Where," Fleur said, enunciating every syllable, "are. The. Chocolates?"

Harry glanced at the drawer near the bed—the place where his treasure lay hidden.

Cho followed his gaze immediately and smirked. "You absolute fool, darling," she whispered.

Before he could react, Fleur summoned her divine speed, disappearing in a blur of light, while Cho used her Sunfire-enhanced reflexes to cut off any possible escape route.

Harry lunged for the drawer in desperation—but it was already too late.

With a victorious grin, Fleur yanked the drawer open, revealing three tubes of rich, delicious chocolate ice cream—still perfectly preserved in their cooling enchantments.

"Victory," Cho breathed with satisfaction.

Harry groaned, sagging in defeat as Fleur and Cho held their spoils high like trophies of war.

Fleur gave him a mischievous smirk. "Now, for your punishment," she declared.

Harry gulped again. "You wouldn't dare."

Cho grinned, tossing one of the chocolates between her hands. "Oh, we would."

Before Harry could blink, both women tackled him onto the bed, laughter filling the room as they mercilessly teased him for thinking he could hide anything from them.

Harry, still pinned down, sighed dramatically. "Fine. Fine! I surrender! Just... at least let me have one bite."

Fleur considered it for a moment, then took a slow, exaggerated bite, savoring the chocolate with a look of divine bliss. She turned to him, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No," she said simply.

Cho grinned, following suit as she took a spoonful. "Next time, darling, just share with us from the start."

Harry groaned as both of them happily enjoyed his secret stash right in front of him, reveling in their well-earned victory.

Somewhere in the universe, Angelica smiled, enjoying her own chocolate, knowing full well the chaos she had indirectly caused.

Harry stood in silence, staring at the Infernal Judicator, the Eternal Phoenix, and the Solar Tempest—his weapons, his legacy, his burden.

The air around him shimmered with Primordial Fire, the heat of his power distorting reality itself. The weapons pulsed, alive, as if they had always been waiting for him, forged in the depths of time itself for this moment, for this battle, for his hands.

He reached for the Infernal Judicator, the massive war axe humming with unimaginable power. The handle felt warm—no, familiar, as if it belonged to him before he even existed. The head of the axe burned with eternal flame, its edges glowing with the intensity of a collapsing star. It was a weapon of judgment, of absolute annihilation.

"A single swing could end armies," he thought, gripping it tighter. He could feel its hunger, its purpose—it was not a tool of war. It was retribution incarnate.

Then, he turned to the Eternal Phoenix, the sword that radiated with pure, undying flame. Its golden blade pulsed with the fury of creation and destruction, a blade capable of cleaving through the fabric of existence itself. The flames along its edges licked the air like a living inferno, reacting to his touch, to his very soul.

Harry exhaled slowly, gripping its hilt. It's not just a weapon—it's an extension of me. Of who I am. Of what I must become.

And then, there was the Solar Tempest—his celestial bow. He reached for it carefully, fingers brushing against the divine metal, and instantly, a golden sunflare arrow materialized in his grip, crackling with the energy of a dying star. He pulled the string back—it required no quiver, no arrows. The bow created them from his will, each shot a manifestation of the sun's fury, capable of piercing through even the most corrupted darkness.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of destiny settle upon him.

Angelica had not just forged weapons for him.

She had forged his path.

These weapons were him—his fire, his unyielding resolve, his rage against the darkness. With them, he would carve a future where Aku and Abeloth could not exist.

He turned to Cho and Fleur, watching as they inspected their own divine weapons. Fleur's radiance was almost blinding, the purest light imaginable, while Cho's blazing twin swords burned like the wrath of the sun itself.

Harry exhaled, gripping the Eternal Phoenix tighter.

"We were already strong before," he thought, feeling the weapons pulse in agreement, "but now? Now, we're unstoppable."

His gaze flickered to Angelica.

"I won't fail. Not with these. Not with them."

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt invincible.

Cho took a slow, measured breath as she held the twin Blades of Solarius in her hands, the golden swords radiating with divine heat, pulsing as if they were alive—as if they were an extension of her very soul. Their celestial glow flickered with the raw power of Primordial Sunfire, their edges sharp enough to carve through time itself. She felt them hum in anticipation, responding to her presence, her very heartbeat.

She had wielded many weapons in her life—blades crafted by the finest smiths, enhanced with the most advanced technology. But these… these were different.

These were hers.

Forged from her own power, created in harmony with the raging, unrelenting inferno that now coursed through her being. They felt like an extension of her will, her wrath, her justice.

She lifted one sword, watching as the flames around its edge flared brighter, reacting to her emotions, her resolve. She had always fought with precision—calculated, controlled, efficient. But now? Now she could feel the limitless potential of these weapons, the sheer divine destruction they could unleash upon the enemies of the Sovereignty.

She twirled them experimentally, the blades moving effortlessly through the air, their weightless grace matching her every thought. They move like fire itself, she mused, watching as the golden energy trailed behind each motion like streaks of burning sunlight.

Her gaze flickered to Angelica, then to Harry and Fleur, her mind racing with the implications of these weapons. Powerful enough to rend through darkness. To reduce corruption to nothing but dust. To annihilate Aku and Abeloth.

The Primordial Sunfire within her roared in agreement, her flames flaring with newfound intensity as the swords reacted, their glow growing impossibly bright.

She let out a slow, exhaled breath.

"This power… it's incredible."

She had never been one to dwell on destiny, but as she stared at the twin blades in her hands, she knew—these were meant for her. No one else.

The Blades of Solarius weren't just weapons.

They were an extension of her spirit—a declaration of her will, of her unyielding resolve.

A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips as she turned toward Harry and Fleur. They had no idea what they were in for.

"With these, I'll burn away every shadow Aku and Abeloth dare to cast. They will fear the wrath of the Sunfire."

Fleur's fingers traced the smooth, celestial contours of Ashbringer, the sacred blade now bonded to her very essence. The moment her hands had wrapped around the hilt, she had felt it—a whisper of eternity, a connection that stretched beyond time and space. The sword pulsed, alive, its radiant energy in perfect harmony with her Primordial Light. It was no mere weapon—it was an extension of her will, a conduit through which her divine essence would manifest in battle.

She lifted it slightly, watching as pure golden flames shimmered along its length, dancing like sunlight breaking through a storm. The energy felt warm, righteous, absolute—as if it had waited eons for someone worthy enough to wield it. There was no weight to it, despite its size; it moved with her thoughts, responding to even the slightest shift in her intent. Fleur exhaled softly. Magnifique.

And then, there was the Staff of Aetherial Dawn.

She turned her gaze to the staff, still hovering before her, its core pulsating with a celestial glow. It was unlike any weapon she had ever seen—golden and ethereal, adorned with wings of pure light, humming with a resonance that felt sacred. When she reached for it, the staff moved on its own, coming to rest effortlessly in her grasp.

The moment she held it, she felt the weight of creation itself settle in her soul.

It was a weapon, yes, but also a tool of restoration. She could sense it—a vast, unyielding power that could shatter corruption with a mere thought, but also mend the wounded, restore the broken, and purge darkness from even the most tainted of souls.

This was no mere staff.

It was a symbol of divine judgment and boundless mercy, its energy drawn directly from the very light that had birthed the cosmos itself.

Fleur tightened her grip, her heart pounding with something indescribable. She had always been strong. But now? Now she was transcendent.

She turned, her golden eyes flickering with newfound purpose as she regarded Angelica, Harry, and Cho. These weapons are not just tools for war. They were the manifestation of everything she was meant to become.

Fleur had always fought with elegance, precision, and heart. But with Ashbringer and the Staff of Aetherial Dawn in her hands, she was more than a warrior.

She was a beacon of salvation. A scourge upon the wicked. A goddess standing between light and oblivion.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword as she whispered, "With these weapons, I will bring the dawn."

Angelica stood still in her private chambers, her mind swept into a vast and overwhelming vision. A surge of corruption, dark energy spiraling through the void, clawing its way across existence itself. She saw them—Aku and Abeloth—standing before their chosen champions, their twisted mockery of ascension unfolding before her eyes.

Each of the twelve Borg Elite Supreme Commanders stood before their dark gods, kneeling in submission. The air around them crackled with sinister energy as tendrils of abyssal power wove into their very essence, forcing their bodies to evolve beyond their previous limitations. Their forms twisted and expanded, exuding an aura that reeked of semi-divinity—a mockery of true godhood, steeped in corruption and unholy power.

Behind them, their Veteran Borg Elite Honor Guards underwent a similar transformation, their once-dominant forms now further enhanced by the sheer malevolence of Aku and Abeloth's touch. Each one infused with demigodhood, their dark plasma weapons now imbued with chaotic energies that could rip through reality itself. Their once-unbreakable discipline was now sharpened into absolute, unwavering servitude.

Angelica's breath steadied. This was no ordinary battle that lay ahead. These were no longer mere warriors of the corrupted legions—they had ascended beyond even that.

She clenched her fists, sensing the sheer magnitude of the power they now wielded. Harry, Cho, and Fleur would have to face adversaries as strong as semi-gods, and their honor guards as relentless as demigods. The fight ahead would be nothing short of grueling. Even now, she knew they were strong—but not yet ready.

Angelica's radiant golden eyes flickered. She would not tell them. Not yet.

Their greatest strength was their unity. It was something that no dark power, no abyssal corruption, no void-born entity could truly comprehend. That bond between them—the love, the trust, the balance—was the very thing that would carry them forward into divinity.

To reveal this now… it would plant the wrong seed. It would create doubt. It would bring hesitation where only resolve should be and it will be a test worthy of their newfound powers.

---

Supreme Ascendant Primordial Harry Potter by SirOnslaught77 on DeviantArt - Harry's New Semi- Fledge god new form and new robes.

Primordial Avatar of Light Fleur Delacour by SirOnslaught77 on DeviantArt - Fleur's New Semi-Fledge goddess new form and new robes.

All Powerful Primordial of Sunfire Cho Chang by SirOnslaught77 on DeviantArt - Cho's New Semi-Fledge goddess new form and new robes.

Dyson Sphere Heavenly Central Command Chamber by SirOnslaught77 on DeviantArt - New Throneroom and Command Center.

Divine Smite by SirOnslaught77 on DeviantArt - Phased Antiproton Weapon.

USS Enterprise NCC-1701-H and NCC-1701-I by Mestes17 on DeviantArt - Ares Class Dreadnaught Battleship.

WoW Weapons concept by mbob61 on DeviantArt

The Ashen Cleaver (Sword)

The Infernal Aegis (Axe)

The Blazing Judgment (Bow)

Harry's new divine weapons.

Omnipotent, The Eternal Alpha by Wayanoru on DeviantArt

Sol Imperius (Right-Hand Blade)

Aurora Divina (Left-Hand Blade)

Cho's new divine weapons (Both are the same swords)

Ashbringer by NazeUB on DeviantArtCommunal Staff by Aileara on DeviantArt

Fleur's Divine New Weapons.

kenshin himura by wizyakuza on DeviantArt

Samurai X Heart of Sword Rurouni Kenshin Ending 3 Vers (Look it up on Youtube)