(General POV - Rio de Janeiro, 2034)
The air shimmered with the heat of the late afternoon sun, a golden haze hanging over the sprawling cityscape of Rio de Janeiro. Gone was the favela-scarred skyline, the stark contrast between wealth and poverty. In its place, a futuristic metropolis rose, a testament to the transformative power of magic woven seamlessly into the fabric of ingenuity. Buildings, sculpted from shimmering glass and infused with self-sustaining energy charms, reached for the sky.
High above, atop one of the city's most impressive towers – a spiraling structure that seemed to defy gravity itself – Vincent Van Doren stood, his gaze sweeping over the panorama below. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the scents of the ocean, the rainforest, and the lingering hum of magic.
His empire.
It was a far cry from the rain-slicked alleyways of his past, a world away from the shadowy underworld where he'd honed his skills, He'd ascended, rising from the ashes of a life he'd left behind. Now, at the pinnacle of his power, Vincent Van Doren was the architect of a new age, a shadow emperor whose influence spanned the globe.
The integration of the magical and non-magical world, a process he'd carefully orchestrated, had reshaped the very fabric of reality. Governments danced to his tune, global economies bent to his will, technological advancements bowed to his vision. He was a master of both worlds, a conductor of a symphony of power and change.
The incident with Arthur had been a turning point. Leniency, he'd learned, was a weakness, a luxury he could no longer afford. His children – Arthur, Daniela, and Victor – had been brought into the fold, their initial surprise replaced by a grudging acceptance, their loyalties secured by blood and by a growing understanding of their father's vision.
They were Cerberus now. And Cerberus, like its namesake, guarded the gates of this new world with an unwavering vigilance, its three heads a symbol of power and control.
Vincent's gaze hardened, his blue eyes glinting with a cold satisfaction. The Order of the Phoenix, once a thorn in his side, was a fading memory. Dumbledore, Potter, Black, … They were gone, without the power of Dumbledore's reputation they couldn't resist, their opposition silenced, their influence erased. Cerberus had crushed them, systematically, ruthlessly, the order of the phoenix was nothing but ash now.
It still bugged Vincent that they weren't able to find out who had actually killed Dumbledore and took his elder wand, but that was not important right now.
The world was his.
He felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, a familiar warmth that chased away the chill of ambition that clung to him like a second skin. He smiled.
"We did it," he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed the power that thrummed within him.
Daphne, her blonde hair cascading over his shoulder like spun gold, pressed a kiss to his cheek. "We did," she agreed, her voice a soft murmur against his skin.
They stood there, embraced, their figures silhouetted against the setting sun, a symbol of their dominion, a testament to the power they'd seized. Cerberus ruled.
(Unknown Person POV - London, 2037)
The crowds swirled around me, a kaleidoscope of faces, a symphony of chattering voices in a dozen different languages. The air buzzed with a frenetic energy, a constant hum of activity that grated on my nerves.
London. The heart of this shadow empire. Vincent Van Doren's playground.
The name tasted like poison on my tongue, a bitter reminder of betrayal, of abandonment, of a wound that festered deep within my soul.
They called him a savior, a visionary, the architect of a new world order. They hailed his achievements, his power, his supposed benevolence. Blind fools. They couldn't see the darkness beneath the surface, the ruthless ambition that drove him, the price he'd been willing to pay to reshape the world in his image.
This "perfect" society, this seamless blend of magic and technology, of wizards and Muggles… It was a gilded cage, a carefully constructed illusion designed to keep the masses complacent, to mask the true extent of his control.
And I… I would tear it all down.
I'd been watching, waiting, planning, for years. Gathering my strength, honing my skills, building my own network of loyal followers – witches and wizards who'd seen through Van Doren's lies, Muggles who'd tasted the bitterness of his power, who craved a world free from his control.
I'd use the same weapons as him because I too wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty, I too would abuse magic and everything it had to give.
Because If he was a god, we were Fenrir and we would bring Ragnarok to his door.
A smirk twisted my lips as I watched the people taking pictures with the "Unification Statue".
My time was coming, as I grasped the Elder Wand in my hand.
"Just wait for it… Father," I murmured, my voice a low, venomous whisper.
I dropped the bag, its contents ticking softly against the cobblestones, near a trash bin overflowing with discarded newspapers and coffee cups. No one noticed. No one cared, The cameras wouldn't see me.
And then, with a familiar twist of disorientation, a sickening lurch in my gut, I was gone.