The Divine Ascendant Chapter 5 5: A Tyrant Among Mortals

The door clicked shut behind Sigurd and Miko, leaving Harry alone in the hotel room. The air still thrumd with the weight of their conversation, but his attention was already elsewhere.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. Power thrumd beneath his skin coiled like a slumbering beast.

The smile on his face just didn't seem to want to slide off. Really which boy hasn't dreamt of power beyond belief. to have the powers of superman, to get isekaied, to be able to do things you could only dream of. now, now he had that.

A Campione.

A tyrant. A demon king. A ruler above all.

Damn, that alone sounded cool.

He was now soone who one could say matters of universal importance.

And yet, as he listened to the shrill voices echoing from the next room, he was reminded that so still saw him as nothing more than a burden.

"—lazy, good-for-nothing freak! Of course, he disappears for hours and doesn't tell anyone where he's going! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have the hotel staff ask if my nephew is missing?"

The staffs must not have seen him co back yesterday night.

Vernon Dursley's voice was a booming thunderclap of anger and indignation. Harry sighed, rubbing his temples as the rant continued.

Petunia's voice was sharper, more controlled, but no less filled with disdain. "I told you, Vernon. That boy is unnatural. I don't care if we're in so godforsaken frozen wasteland—he always finds trouble."

Dudley, to his credit, had remained silent so far. But Harry could hear the occasional shuffling of his feet as if he wanted to say sothing but knew better.

Harry took a deep breath before standing. He had faced a god. He had gone against the laws of the world. And yet, there was still a small, stubborn part of him that hesitated before dealing with his own family.

Ridiculous.

Parts of Harry than Jacob.

He stepped into the room.

The Dursleys fell silent imdiately.

The air shifted the mont Harry entered. It wasn't intentional. It wasn't even aggressive. But sothing in the space between them had changed. Vernon's face, red with anger, twitched as if he were about to continue shouting—until his eyes t Harry's.

And then he stopped.

Petunia's lips parted slightly, her sharp gaze flickering with sothing Harry had never seen before.

Dudley took a step back, eyes darting between his parents and Harry.

Harry didn't need magic to understand what was happening.

They could feel it.

The sa way Sigurd had recognized his power. The sa way the world itself bent to his will. The Dursleys, despite their ignorance, could sense sothing different about him now. Sothing that set him apart, beyond their understanding.

Sothing that made them afraid.

Vernon swallowed thickly. His mustache twitched as if he were trying to find the right words.

"There you are!" Vernon spat. "Where the hell have you been all night?"

Harry arched a brow. "Out."

"Out?" Vernon's mustache quivered. "That's all you have to say? We're in a foreign country, and you just—"

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "No trouble. No drama. Just... out."

Vernon's face twisted as if to argue, but no words ca. His instinct for bluster warred with sothing far older, sothing primal.

Petunia's sharp eyes narrowed. "You look different."

Harry stilled. Had his Authorities left so visible mark? A glow in his eyes, a shift in his posture? But no—Petunia was just unnerved by his confidence, the way he held himself now. Like he couldn't be moved.

A flicker of curiosity passed through him. For all her cruelty, Petunia had always understood magic better than Vernon, maybe from her years of dealing with his mother. Perhaps she wasn't entirely blind to what had changed. instinctually.

But it didn't matter.

"I'm going out again," Harry said,

Vernon bristled. "Now, see here—"

Harry turned his gaze on him.

It wasn't a glare. It wasn't a threat. It was simply the full weight of his presence. The room seed to darken, the air pressing down with invisible force.

Damn, that was cool. He really wanted to go out and see what he could really do.

Vernon staggered, gripping the back of a chair for support. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Harry blinked, and the weight vanished. The room returned to normal, but the silence remained.

Petunia's lips thinned. "You'll be back by dinner."

It wasn't a question.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

Harry turned toward the door.

Vernon, on the other hand, had recovered enough to puff himself up again. "You listen here, boy—"

But Harry was already gone.

The hotel concierge blinked when Harry approached. "A taxi, sir? At this hour?"

"Just need to get to the hiking trails," Harry said, slipping a folded bill across the counter. The Muggle money was still damp from yesterday's snow.

The man hesitated, then nodded. "I'll call Einar. He knows the backcountry roads."

Twenty minutes later, he was bouncing along in a battered Land Rover. Einar, the grizzled driver, eyed him through the rearview mirror, suspicion written across his face.

"You sure about this? Storm's coming."

Harry t his gaze. For the briefest mont, Einar's breath hitched—sothing primal, instinctive. A mortal's subconscious recognition of the wrongness of standing before a Campione.

Harry smiled faintly. "I'll be fine. Unless you're worried about getting struck by lightning?"

Einar's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "Not sure that's the kind of thing you should joke about with.

The truck climbed into the highlands, where the road dissolved into a ribbon of gravel, then into nothing at all. When the headlights finally illuminated a vast, frozen lake surrounded by basalt columns, Harry tapped the glass.

"Here."

Einar killed the engine. "You sure? Nothing out here but—"

"I'll be fine." Harry shouldered his pack. "Pick up at sunset."

The old man's eyebrows climbed toward his wool cap. "You'll freeze solid by then."

Harry just smiled.

The mont Einar's taillights vanished, Harry exhaled, watching his breath curl in the Arctic air. Perfect. No witnesses. No constraints.

He headed deeper onwards.

He exhaled, letting go of mortal limitations. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked deeper into the valley, away from prying eyes. Then, without warning, he crouched and hurled himself forward. The world blurred past him. Ice, rock, and mountain flashed in his vision, and when he finally skidded to a stop, he had cleared a canyon in a single bound. His breath remained steady, his heart unbothered by exertion. Fast. Too fast.

He looked around and sighed. "Well, that was kind of a waste. Was hoping for sothing more... dramatic."

He turned to the nearest boulder, easily thrice his height, and clenched his fist. With a casual strike, the rock cracked, split apart, and then exploded into debris. No pain, no strain, just raw destruction. He ran his fingers over the ground, tracing where he had struck. The stone felt soft to his touch. The earth itself yielded to him.

"Maybe I should just start carrying around boulders for fun. Could be a good stress reliever," he muttered under his breath, before walking toward the wind that was beginning to howl.

Feeling the need to test his durability, Harry ran toward a jagged cliff and leaped off the edge. He fell twenty ters, the icy wind whipping past him, and landed in a crouch, absorbing the impact with ease. The ground cracked beneath him, but he remained unscathed. His legs absorbed the shock like rubber.

"Should I start charging for this kind of performance? Could make a killing as a human trampoline."

He wiped his hands across his face, only to freeze. There was sothing... different. His reflection in the nearby glacial ice caught his eye—his eyes—and he blinked, taken aback. They weren't the dull green they had always been. They were brighter now, shimring with an unnatural glow like they were burning from the inside. His fangs, barely noticeable before, now peeked from his lips like sharp daggers. Even his nails, once plain and worn down, were now sleek, razor-sharp claws that flexed instinctively. It was as if his body had decided it was done pretending to be human.

"Great," Harry muttered with awe. "this wasn't bad." it looked good on him.

A thought struck him, and he drew a sharp rock across his palm. It seed to curmble against his skin before he used his new claws, Blood welled up imdiately, but before it could even drip, the wound sealed itself with a barely perceptible twitch.

"Now this is handy. Might stop needing bandages for paper cuts," he chuckled to himself, rubbing his palm as if testing the sensation.

But there was more. He had power.

His wand was gone. Destroyed. Shattered to useless splinters in his battle with Fenrir, consud by the overwhelming clash against the divine wolf. For the first ti since discovering magic, he was without it—and yet, he felt only little loss for it. The power now coursing through his veins dwarfed anything a wand could offer.

He pushed his will forward.

He summoned a fireball, its flas licking the air with hungry flickers. Then, with a single thought, he devoured it. The fire winked out of existence, absorbed into his mouth as if it had never been. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of heat and magic flooding his veins. He smiled, realizing that his newfound abilities went beyond re strength or speed—he could consu magic itself.

That was the power of his Authority, the Devourer. The ability to consu magic itself, to nullify spells and absorb their energy. While just testing it out a little. he didn't need to call his power full force yet. he knew he could instictually.

Right now he just wanted to get a feel of what he had taken from Fenrir.

Then, his hand twitched, and a different sensation surged through him. Without thinking, he raised his hand, nails sharping into claws and slashed a boulder and it shredded like a hot knife through butter. It was amazing.

'I wonder?'

Nails sharping again as he slashed through the air. Reality itself scread in protest as a tiny jagged tear appeared in the fabric of space. It was not that big but still. The rift hissed with energy, crackling like raw lightning before it slowly began to close on its own.

Authority of the Fenririan Rend—the power to tear through anything, whether material, magical, or even conceptual.

It was the power that allowed Fenrir to cut all in his path with his fangs and claws.

Harry stood still, his heart pounding with exhilaration. "Okay, that one... might be a little much. Should probably avoid using that carelessly."

The last one was the Authority of the Unyielding Will—this made him into sheer determination given form, making him nearly impervious to harm and granting him an almost supernatural awareness in battle.

It was from Fenrir's myth of unbreakable will, even after everything the gods did to him, he stood unbroken and escaped to devour the god king Odin.

Hours passed in a blur as Harry continued to test the limits of his body, feeling the power coursing through him. He ran up mountains, dove into freezing lakes, and tested his strength against boulders and cliffs. Each ti, his body responded effortlessly, without strain.

When Einar's truck returned, the old man's face went pale as he took in the shattered landscape. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"You..." He hesitated. "You are fine, aren't you?"

Harry slid into the seat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Never better."

Back at the hotel, Dudley gaped at Harry's snow-dusted, unhard form. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide.

"W-what happened to you?" he stamred.

Harry smiled, the faintest trace of mischief in his eyes. "just out having fun."

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