NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 99: End of Everything
INTERLUDE/SIDESTORY
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NATO Strategic Command Center, Belgium
June 4th, 1994
22:47 Local Time
General Hendrik Vanderhoven's security card beeped red at the checkpoint. Again. The third time this week the damn system had malfunctioned. Behind him, the line of exhausted officers started shifting impatiently.
"Override authorization Sierra-Seven-Delta," he growled. "Cross-reference yesterday's logs."
The guard - Corporal Deschamps - looked like death warmed over. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes, uniform wrinkled, hands shaking. Standard procedure required changing guards every eight hours. Deschamps had been here for at least sixteen.
"System's gone to shit, sir," Deschamps muttered, manually entering the override. "Like everything else lately."
Vanderhoven didn't reprimand the breach of protocol. They were all slipping. The emotional aurora might be invisible to normal eyes, but its effects... Christ, the effects were everywhere.
The reinforced doors finally slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing the underground command center. The massive room was nearly a hundred meters long, built to withstand direct nuclear strikes.
Currently it felt more like a goddamn tomb.
Banks of monitors covered the walls, displaying everything from troop movements to weather patterns. The constant electronic hum that had once faded into background noise now set everyone's teeth on edge. Even the temperature felt wrong… the environmental systems kept fluctuating between too hot and too cold.
"Status report," Vanderhoven ordered, approaching the central command station where Lieutenant Keller hunched over his console. The young officer's hands trembled as he tried to type.
"Lost contact with Ramstein again," Keller reported without looking up. "Third time today. Their systems keep showing phantom radar contacts."
"Maintenance?"
"Nothing wrong with the fucking equipment!" Keller's laugh held an edge of hysteria. "Never is! Everything works perfectly while the world goes insane!"
Vanderhoven understood the bitterness.
They'd replaced hardware, updated software, even rebuilt entire communication arrays. Nothing helped. The phantom contacts kept appearing. Officers kept having breakdowns. The headaches kept getting worse. And somewhere above them, invisible rivers of pure emotion flowed across the sky.
"Where's Schreiber?" he asked, rubbing his temples. The constant pressure behind his eyes had become almost unbearable.
"Consultant's in his office." Keller spat the word 'consultant' like a curse. "Probably jerking off to more reports of officers losing their minds."
The consultants. They'd appeared six months ago, after the first wave of incidents. Intelligence specialists, they claimed. Experts in mass hysteria and psychological warfare. Their credentials were impeccable and their background checks flawless.
And somehow everything had gotten worse since they arrived.
"Sir!" A voice cracked across the command floor. "We've lost Frankfurt's launch codes!"
Vanderhoven spun toward Captain Richter's station. "What do you mean 'lost'?"
"They're just... gone, sir. The entire sequence. Like they were never there."
"That's impossible," Keller snapped. "Those codes are hardwired. They can't just-"
"WELL THEY FUCKING HAVE!" Richter screamed, slamming his fists on his console. Two security officers moved toward him, but Vanderhoven waved them off. They couldn't afford to lose another experienced officer to 'stress leave.'
The last three hadn't come back.
"Get me Agent Schreiber," Vanderhoven ordered. "Now."
Five minutes later, Klaus Schreiber entered the command center. Everything about him screamed 'professional intelligence officer' - pressed grey suit, perfect tie, polished shoes.
But something was wrong with his eyes.
"General." Schreiber nodded, his smile too wide. "Another equipment malfunction?"
"Cut the bullshit, Klaus." Vanderhoven stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your 'protective measures' aren't working. My people are breaking down. I've got officers seeing Soviet ghosts, launch codes vanishing, and enough stress casualties to fill a hospital ward."
"Unfortunate," Schreiber's smile widened further. "Though perhaps if your mundane minds were stronger..."
The word 'mundane' made Vanderhoven flinch. That specific term... it couldn't be...
"Sir!" The panic in Richter's voice made everyone turn to him. "Munich... multiple officers down! Medical reporting severe anxiety attacks!"
Something shifted in Schreiber's expression. A crack in the perfect facade. For just a moment, raw hatred blazed in his eyes.
"How?" Vanderhoven breathed. "This facility doesn't exist. No wizard should even know we're here..."
"Oh, you arrogant mundane FUCK!" Schreiber's laugh was high and unhinged. "You think your precious secrecy means anything? Your background checks? Your security protocols? We've been watching you since the beginning!"
"Security!" Vanderhoven shouted, but Schreiber kept talking, his voice rising with each word.
"You want to know the truth? Fine! Eleven years old, discovering you're special, that you have POWER... only to be told you have to abandon everything! Your family, your dreams, your whole fucking world!"
He started pacing, gesturing wildly. "Dragged into their precious 'society' where they look down their pure-blooded noses at us! Where we're nothing but MUD to them! The great magical world, so fucking superior while they hide in their mansions!"
"You're one of them," Keller whispered in horror. "A fucking wizard... in a NATO command center..."
"One of them?" Schreiber's face twisted. "No no no, you stupid sheep! We're what happens when both worlds reject you! When pure-blood filth treats you like garbage while mundanes can't even comprehend you! We're the ones who finally decided BOTH worlds need to BURN!"
Security officers surrounded him now, weapons drawn. Schreiber just laughed harder.
"You know what's beautiful? We didn't even need their pure-blood experiment of an aurora, though it was definitely a great inspiration! Just a few whispered suggestions, a splash of paranoia over the pretty minor effects of the aurora! Your precious commanders did all the work themselves! Mundanes really are so wonderfully FRAGILE!"
"Sir!" Keller screamed. "Ramstein... Colonel Steiner's ordered his wing to battle stations! Claims Soviet aircraft but AWACS shows nothing! Nothing at all!"
Officers frantically tried to contact Ramstein while Schreiber kept laughing like a madman. The security team finally reached him, but he pulled something from his jacket… a wooden wand that should never have cleared any security checkpoint.
"The mudbloods send their regards," he snarled. "Time for both worlds to learn what it means to be NOTHING!"
He vanished with a crack like breaking bone.
Warning klaxons filled the air as Keller's voice rose above the chaos: "Multiple launches from Ramstein! Targeting Moscow! Oh God, oh Jesus fucking Christ!"
Vanderhoven stared at the monitors as everything fell apart. Blood trickled from his nose as the headache peaked, and he finally understood. They'd invited the wolves into their home, handed them the keys to Armageddon, and called it salvation.
The world was about to burn, and the lunatics were the ones holding the matches.
oo0ooOoo0oo
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
22:53 EST
"- and I'm telling you, something's wrong with the 82nd Airborne!" Colonel Reynolds' pixelated face filled one of the six screens in Director Newsum's private conference room. "Half my men are reporting Soviet paratroopers that don't exist!"
"Similar situation at Nellis," General Cooper cut in from another screen. "Three pilots grounded after claiming their radar showed incoming Bears. NORAD confirms nothing in the air, but-"
"Gentlemen." Newsum lit his fifth cigarette of the hour, ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign. "I've got similar reports from every major command. The question is-"
"Oh, the question is much bigger than that," a new voice interrupted. The screens flickered, distorting with bands of static. Davis stepped out of the shadows in the corner - impossible, since Newsum was certain he'd been alone when the call started.
"How did you-" Newsum began.
"Get in?" Davis smiled. "The same way we got everything else. You invited us." He gestured, and the screens went black except for Cooper's feed. The General's face was twisted in panic.
"Sir! Multiple launches detected from Nellis! Jesus Christ, who authorized-"
The feed cut out completely. Newsum grabbed his secure phone, but Davis just laughed.
"The President's rather... indisposed," the consultant said. "Amazing what a few subtle compulsion charms can do to the Presidential seal, isn't it?"
Newsum's blood ran cold. "You're with them. The 'mudblood' cult."
"Such an ugly term." Davis's smile never wavered. "We prefer 'The Cleansed.' Has a better ring to it, don't you think?"
The screens flickered back to life, showing missile tracks spreading across the country like cancer. Davis pulled out a wand - impossible, in the heart of CIA headquarters - and his smile turned predatory.
"The great CIA, so proud of their security..." he mocked.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Russian Strategic Missile Forces Command, Moscow
06:54 Local Time
General Volkov found Lieutenant Sokolov's body in the security office. The young man lay slumped over his monitors, a thin line of blood trailing from his nose. The screens showed the last images from the perimeter cameras… officers walking into the facility, then static.
No signs of violence. No alarms. Just... death.
Down the corridor, Major Petrov still sat at his desk, head bowed as if sleeping. A half-written report lay under his lifeless hands: "...aurora effects intensifying. Request immediate..."
Volkov's headache pulsed worse with each body he found. The crushing pressure behind his eyes had become almost unbearable. Even the vodka didn't help anymore.
The command level was quiet. No technicians. No guards. Just empty chairs and cooling coffee cups. And more bodies - each looking peaceful, as if they'd simply stopped living between one breath and the next.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Consultant Yashin stood in the doorway to the launch control room, twirling a wooden stick between his fingers. Behind him, Captain Lebedev hung suspended in the air, clutching his throat as he struggled against nothing.
"You..." Volkov reached for his sidearm.
"Oh, please." Yashin flicked his wand. The general's pistol turned to dust. "We've spent months planning this. Did you think we'd leave you any real weapons?"
Lebedev's struggles weakened. His face was turning blue.
"Why?" Volkov demanded. "We gave you everything you asked for! Access to our most secure facilities, our launch codes-"
"And wasn't that just perfectly ironic?" Yashin laughed. "The great Russian military, so proud of their secrecy... brought down by a few 'mudbloods' they didn't even want to believe existed!"
He gestured again, and Lebedev's neck snapped with a sharp crack. The captain's body crumpled to the floor like a broken puppet.
"You're insane," Volkov whispered. "The radiation... the fallout... it'll kill everyone!"
"That's the point!" Yashin's eyes blazed with fanatical light. "Both worlds burned together! No more pure-blood mansions! No more oligarch governments! Just blessed atomic fire washing it all away!"
Warning klaxons suddenly filled the air. On the main display, missile tracks bloomed across the motherland like deadly flowers.
"NATO launches detected," the automated system announced calmly. "First impact predicted: Moscow."
"Time to go." Yashin smiled.
"The Cleansed thank you for your service, General. Your sacrifice will welcome a new world."
He vanished with a sharp crack, leaving Volkov alone in a tomb of cooling bodies and screaming alarms. On the screens, digital arrows reached for the heart of Mother Russia.
And in the distance, a new sun began to rise.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The first missile struck Moscow at 07:13 local time. The fireball consumed the Kremlin in seconds.
London followed three minutes later. Paris burned at 07:18.
New York's death came at 01:20 EST. The blast wave shattered windows for fifty miles.
Berlin. Tokyo. Los Angeles. Beijing.
City after city vanished in nuclear fire. The electromagnetic pulses from high-altitude detonations fried electronics across continents. Communications died. Power grids failed.
Civilization collapsed in hours.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
June 7th, 1994
03:17 Local Time
Harry stood in the Great Hall, surrounded by the bodies of everyone he had ever loved. The castle remained mostly intact… the nuclear strikes hadn't hit Hogwarts directly. But the radiation... the invisible killer had seeped through every magical barrier, every charm, every desperate attempt to shield the students.
Only he remained untouched.
He had been off exploring a different world, and by the time he came back, it was too late for even his Divine Healing or his Life Flames to do anything to help his family.
"Why?" he whispered. "WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME?"
The offers... the precious offers that had given him power, that had helped him protect people... they'd stopped coming four years ago. Right after he ate that first dragon heart.
As if the omniverse itself had decided he wasn't worthy anymore.
"I could have saved them!" Harry screamed at the empty hall. "If you'd given me more power, more abilities... I COULD HAVE SAVED THEM ALL!"
His voice caused dust to fall from the ceiling, but no response came. No new offer appeared. Just silence and the steadily escalating spiritual pressure from his Souls.
A sudden disturbance in reality made him stumble. Temporal distortions... dozens of them, hundreds, appearing all over the world.
People were using time magic. A lot of it.
Harry apparated in an instant, reappearing deep beneath the Ministry of Magic underneath London. A group of wizards surrounded by unrestricted time turners... but they disappeared into time before he could reach them.
Another jump took him to the Flamel cottage. The building had collapsed, and the garden... the beautiful garden where he'd practiced so many times... was nothing but ash. And there, burned into the ground, were two shadows. The final remnant to the closest thing he had to parents.
Something broke irreversibly inside Harry.
Tears slipped down his cheeks as he recalled his past… Nicolas teaching him alchemy, Perenelle showing him how to care for plants, countless meals and lessons and moments of pure love...
The Sharingan burned, transforming, evolving into something new. The Mangekyo pattern developed in his irises as trauma crystallized into power.
One more teleport brought him back to Hogwarts. To the bodies of his family. Aunt Min in her seat with both hands on her face. Uncle Filius crumpled near the entrance. And Grandpa Dumbledore... the old wizard lay peaceful, as if sleeping, the bone-white Elder Wand still clutched in his hand.
Harry picked up the wand. Just touching it caused it to hum slightly, instantly recognizing him as worthy. He sighed deeply, preparing to use his Elder Blood one final time.
To do anything he could to save them all, even if that meant breaking time itself.
His blood started to burn… but the temporal distortions all over the world intensified even more because of that action. Reality buckled, warped... and spat out a smaller version of himself.
The younger Harry stared at him in shock. At the bodies. At the devastation.
"No..." Present Harry breathed. "What... what happened here?"
Future Harry met his younger self's gaze, and his eyes dimmed. The boy before him… he had a fundamental rightness that he himself had lost years ago. An indefinable quality that had once drawn offers of power from across the omniverse.
He understood now. That first dragon heart hadn't caused the offers to stop… he had. By diverging from the prime timeline, he'd become something less than real. A possibility rather than the ultimate truth. And this child... this was the real Harry Potter. The one who still had a chance to prevent all of this.
"The end of everything," Future Harry answered quietly. "But maybe... maybe not your everything."