The Divine Ascendant

Harry stared down at the three lifeless bodies sprawled across the cobblestones of the alleyway. Their faces were still frozen in that hideous, veined “vamp-face,” a final testament to their misplaced confidence. “…Tsk. Foolish bats.”

His expression didn’t change, not even slightly. If anything, he just looked mildly inconvenienced, like a man who had stepped in a puddle he could have easily avoided.

Not even a full day in this city, and he was already being forced to take out the trash. He really wanted to leave, this world’s “vibe” was already grating on his nerves, but his power was still recharging.

He sighed, a sound of pure exasperation, as he waved a lazy hand. flames burst into existence. The fire consumed the corpses, turning them to fine white ash in a matter of seconds.

He turned and walked away, his boots clicking against the stone, moving as if nothing had happened at all. A few vamps dying would not really bother anyone, so it’s not like he had anything to worry about. Hell, even if someone finds out, it’s not like he would be worried at all.

The rest of his afternoon was spent in a state of forced relaxation. He went sightseeing, wandering through the District and observing the charm of the city. New Orleans had its beauty, certainly, a mixture of French elegance and Southern grit, but after a few hours, the novelty wore off.

Funny enough, despite his best efforts to explore, he found himself drawn back to the same bar from earlier. It was nearly closing time now, and the vibrant crowd had thinned out to a few scattered souls nursing their final drinks under the flicker of dim neon lights. The atmosphere was somber, the air thick with the smell of stale bourbon and the faint, copper tang of blood that never quite left the Quarter.

Harry didn’t care for the company. He took a seat in a shadowed corner, ordered a bottle of something expensive-looking, and let his mind drift. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to stop being a Godslayer and just relax. It had been a while since he’d just sit down and do nothing.

He just thought about the future. About Daphne’s blue eyes, about the child growing within her, and while he was happy to be a father, still, the terrifying prospect of being a father was there.

He wondered if the child would inherit his green eyes or her blonde hair. The thought brought a genuine, soft smile to his face. The child wasn’t even born yet, not even knowing the gender yet, but Harry already knew he’d destroy an entire world if it meant keeping them safe.

He lost track of time. He didn’t even notice when the last of the regular patrons trickled out or when the bartender slipped into the back room to finish the nightly inventory. He was content in the silence, watching the mindless flicker of the television.

Then, he heard the sound of doors opening as the back door opened and people came in.

“Okay, please just be quiet! I really don’t want to be cleaning up dead bodies tonight!” a frantic, youthful voice whispered as he felt the cold sensation of magic flowing in them and immediately knew what they were.

Harry took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the flickering television. He groaned inwardly before he even looked. ‘Why? Why? Why here?’

Out of all the bars in all of New Orleans, they had to pick the one where he was trying to have a “moment.”

He glanced back and felt a headache forming instantly. Standing there was a collection of the world’s most dramatic “Always and Forever” club, Elijah Mikaelson, looking impeccable even in a hurry, Hayley Marshall, Freya and Kol Mikaelson, and that one guy, the one who usually served as the group’s punching bag from Marcel’s group. ‘John? Job? No, Josh. That was it.’

Harry turned back to the TV, ignoring them entirely. He was not going to get dragged into their family Drama. He knew how this went, someone betrays someone, someone gets daggered, and everyone cries about a thousand years of misery while killing an innocent, then complaining about some shit or something like that.

“Thank God, there’s nobody here,” Josh whispered, rushing toward the front door to throw the heavy deadbolts.

Harry raised a brow. ‘Nobody? What am I, chopped liver?’

He was sitting right there in the corner, but he supposed he was projecting such a level of “don’t talk to me” energy that he might as well have been invisible to someone in a hurry.

However, the Mikaelsons seemed to have seen him from the moment they entered.

“Guess you do have to clean up at least one body today, Joshua,” Kol said suddenly, his voice dripping with casual malice. He enjoyed the fear he inspired, it was one of the only things that made his long life tolerable.

Josh froze, his hand still on the lock. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as they landed on Harry. “Wait!” the boy-vampire yelled-whispered. “I’ll handle it! Please! You don’t need any more heat!”

Josh rushed over to Harry’s table, his hands held up in a placating gesture. “Hey, man, look, I’m really sorry, but we’re closing early. Private event. Like, super private. If you could just… leave? Now? Please?”

The kid was pleading with his eyes. He clearly knew that if Harry stayed, the people behind him would treat Harry’s life like a disposable napkin. Josh was a good guy, relatively speaking, of course, one of the few in this town who hadn’t completely lost his soul.

Harry studied Josh for a moment. He didn’t want to move, but he also didn’t want to get involved with whatever this is.

“Sure,” Harry said blandly.

Josh let out a breath so heavy it was practically a whistle of relief. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”

Harry stood up, stretching his limbs. As he walked toward the door, he casually reached over the bar counter and snatched a fresh bottle of bourbon. He didn’t bother paying, and the vampires didn’t bother asking him to, he figured the “convenience fee” of his departure covered the cost.

He was halfway to the door when a blur of motion cut him off, a gust of wind following the speed of an Original.

Kol stood in his path, his arms crossed, a mocking glint in his eyes. He loved being the obstacle in someone else’s path.

“What?” Harry asked, his irritation finally bubbling to the surface.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you? One of Marcel’s little spies?” Kol asked, his voice full of that arrogant, unearned confidence that always preceded a Mikaelson disaster. “That’s why you’re so eager to leave, isn’t it? Running off to tell your King that the family is back in town? Can’t have you doing that now?”

Harry’s brain genuinely stalled for a second. The logic was so fundamentally broken, he couldn’t even find a witty retort at first. It was pure Mikaelson narcissism, everything in the world had to be about them. ‘Because Josh asked me to leave, and I agreed, I am now a spy? These people are genuinely insane. A thousand years and they haven’t learned basic sense.’

“No, no, no!” Josh rushed forward, stepping between the two. “Kol, stop! I’ve never seen this guy before! He’s just a tourist, man! Let him go!”

“He didn’t flinch when Kol moved,” Elijah noted, walking over with his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze sharp. He was the “civilized” one, which usually meant he’d offer a polite apology before ripping your heart out. “He hasn’t reacted to the speed or the threat. He’s either very brave, very stupid, or very much aware of what’s happening.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Freya snapped from the back. “Rebekah can’t keep Marcel distracted forever. We have to go.”

“Then let’s just kill him and get on with it,” Kol said, reaching out a hand toward Harry’s throat and trying to choke him.

Harry exhaled a long, cold breath. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Try anything… and I’ll rip your hands off and beat you to death with them.”

The bar went deathly silent. Kol actually laughed. He’d heard threats from vampires and witches for a millennium, and none of them had ever been followed through. Then, he lunged in an instant.

Kol’s hand closed around Harry’s throat with the force of a wrecking ball, but it was like hitting a mountain of solid rock. The vampire’s expression shifted from murderous intent to confusion. He pushed harder, his supernatural strength bulging his muscles, but Harry remained rooted to the spot, looking at him like he was a mildly annoying mosquito.

‘Tsk’

He gently set his bottle down on a nearby table before grabbing Kol’s wrist.

CRACK.

The sound of snapping bone echoed around the room. Kol screamed in agony as his hand was crushed. Before Elijah or Hayley could even register the movement, Harry lifted Kol by the throat and threw him.

Kol’s body slammed into Elijah and Hayley with such force that all three were sent flying across the room, smashing through a table before cratering into the brick wall. The masonry cracked.

Freya reacted instantly, her mouth opening to chant. Harry didn’t even look at her. He just snapped his fingers.

Freya was ripped off her feet as she was slammed against the back wall, suspended ten feet in the air, her mouth clamped shut by an invisible force. She clawed at the air, her eyes wide with terror as she realized her magic was being smothered.

Josh had the good sense to back away into a corner, his hands raised in a “I’m not with them” gesture. He was smart, smart enough to know when not to get involved.

Then, the floor and walls seemed to groan. Heavy chains erupted from the walls and floor, binding the fallen Mikaelsons and Hayley, pinning them to the ground. Harry even sent a smaller set to wrap around Josh, just to keep things tidy and prevent any “heroic” interruptions in case he decided to.

Harry walked back to his seat, picked up his bottle, and poured a fresh glass. He sat down, propped his feet up on a stool, and turned his attention back to the TV. He found a news segment about local weather far more interesting than the centuries-old vampires struggling behind him.

God, here he was already becoming a proper dad by watching non-interesting things like this, all he needed to know was the jokes.

Ten minutes passed in silence, save for the muffled grunts and the rattling of chains. No one could move. No one could speak. Finally, after a while, Harry waved a hand, and the chains covering their mouths vanished.

“So,” Harry said, not looking away from the screen. “Have you calmed down?”

“Who are you?” Elijah asked, his voice strained. For the first time in a while, he felt helpless.

Harry ignored him.

“Let us go, you bastard!” Kol growled. “When I get out of this, I’ll—”

“Why?” Harry asked, finally turning to look at them.

“What?” Kol blinked.

“I said, ‘ Why should I let you go?” Harry leaned forward, his green eyes glowing. “I was perfectly comfortable leaving you fools to whatever you were on about. But you decided to try and kill me because of some ‘jump logic’, so why should I let you go.”

“We didn’t mean to—” Elijah started, trying to find a diplomatic way out.

“Didn’t mean to what? Kill me?” Harry raised a brow. “You absolutely did. You just failed. Now you’re trying to feint the good guys.”

He felt a ripple in the air. Freya was trying to cast a spell. The magic hit Harry’s skin and washed over him like a light breeze, doing absolutely nothing. He looked at the witch, whose face went pale as she realized nothing had happened.

“You know… I’ve always wondered something about you ‘Originals’,” Harry said, his tone conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. “The spell that created you… Esther’s little masterpiece. Is it that it makes you unkillable, or is it just a very high level of invincibility? Like, can your limbs actually be ripped off? If I removed your head, would it grow back? Does immortality bring you back regardless of the damage, or does it prevent the damage from happening in the first place?”

It was a fascinating thing actually, and as a magic nut, as Daphne always likes to say to him, he wanted to know how the spell words.

He stood up and walked toward Kol,

“I’m a magic nut as I’ve been or so told in the past,” Harry mused. “Would you regenerate from the largest piece, or would the spell just force the atoms back together?” It’s a fascinating question, one that he was increasingly made aware of their unerselance.

Before he could test his theory, the front door was kicked in with such force that the lock shattered.

Marcel Gerard stepped in, every bit the King of the City. Behind him were seven vampires, looking ready for battle. And in the arms of one of his men was an unconscious, bruised Rebekah Mikaelson.

The room went still as Marcel took in the scene. Harry let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a man who had reached the absolute end of his patience.

“…Should’ve just killed them all and left when I had the chance,” he muttered to himself.