Convergence

The Battle of Hogwarts had reached its peak.

The air was filled with spells flying in every direction, curses ripping through stone walls, and screams of students and Death Eaters alike.

Harry Potter gritted his teeth, his heart pounding as he dodged a Killing Curse, rolling behind a fallen suit of armor.

"Bloody hell, mate!" Ron Weasley shouted, panting as he deflected a hex with Protego, sweat dripping down his face.

"Less talking, more casting, Ron!" Hermione snapped, firing a Stupefy that sent a Death Eater flying into a crumbling bookshelf.

The trio had been through hell and back, and now this was their final stand.

Harry's scar burned, and he knew Voldemort was coming.

But before he could even process his next move—

Reality shattered.

A blinding flash of blue light erupted around them.

The stone walls of Hogwarts dissolved, replaced with towering trees, burning wreckage, and the sound of inhuman war cries.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione landed hard onto the jungle floor, gasping in shock.

Ron screamed immediately.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?! WHY ARE THERE APES?!"

An enraged chimp lunged at him, baring its massive fangs—

"Protego!" Ron shrieked, and a magical shield blasted the creature backward, sending it crashing into a tree.

Hermione whirled around, panic in her eyes. "Where—what—what just happened?!"

Harry scrambled to his feet, wand raised. "I don't know—"

Then they saw everything.

And froze.

The forest was a warzone.

Vikings and apes clashed violently, steel clanging against bone, blood soaking into the dirt.

Tarzan and Caesar were still locked in their duel, grappling with raw brutality and instinct.

Jon Snow, completely lost in battle-rage, was slaughtering everything in sight, his blade drenched in blood.

And then a shadow passed over them.

The trio looked up—

And Ron promptly screamed again.

Because King Kong was in the middle of the battlefield, his massive foot stomping down on an entire squad of apes, flattening them instantly.

"THAT'S A GIANT APE! THAT'S A GIANT APE! HERMIONE, THAT'S A GIANT BLOODY APE!" Ron shrieked, pointing wildly at the enormous beast.

Hermione, absolutely overwhelmed, just muttered, "I… I don't… What…"

Then they heard a new scream.

But this time it was one of pure, unfiltered rage.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF DONKEY'S LEFT CHEEK!"

The trio turned—

And saw Shrek.

The massive green ogre stood at the edge of the battlefield, red-faced with irritation, fists clenched.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" Shrek roared, his thick Scottish accent filled with fury. "WHY—WHY THE HELL IS THERE A WAND-WAVIN' GINGER IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SWAMP WAR?!"

Ron, still panting, blinked. "Did that ogre just yell at me?!"

Harry, still gripping his wand tightly, muttered, "Uh… yes, Ron. Yes, he did."

Shrek marched forward aggressively, pointing a massive green finger at Ron.

"I HAVE HAD IT! I HAVE HAD IT WITH ALL YOU BLOODY WORLD HOPPERS!" he bellowed.

Ron, still dazed, pointed at himself. "I—I just got here, mate!"

Shrek grabbed him by the front of his robes, lifting him off the ground effortlessly.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A FLYING FUCK?!"

Ron squeaked.

Harry and Hermione immediately raised their wands, but before they could do anything—

The battle exploded into even more chaos.

A massive section of the forest twisted and warped, and suddenly—

More figures were beginning to arrive.

The incursion point had opened further.

And the war?

Was only getting bigger.

The forest was already chaos incarnate.

Apes roared and leaped through the treetops. Vikings clashed with armored warriors from impossible timelines. Shrek was yelling at Ron Weasley, who was dangling from his grip like a ragdoll.

And then the ground shook.

Trees snapped like twigs.

A low, thunderous rumbling filled the air—growing louder, deeper, more mechanical.

They were coming.

Suddenly, a massive eighteen-wheeler tore through the underbrush, its blue-and-red paint gleaming under the burning sky.

Directly behind it, a sleek yellow Camaro sped through the battlefield, dodging fallen warriors and skidding past a panicked Roman hoplite.

And behind them?

More.

A semi-truck, a police car, a fighter jet, a tank—all of them roaring forward, their metallic frames shifting, parts twisting as they transformed in mid-motion.

They were not of this world.

Autobots and Decepticons had entered the war.

Inside the Camaro, Sam Witwicky was doing exactly what he did best.

Screaming.

"OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD—WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?!"

Mikaela Banes, perfectly composed, simply rolled her eyes.

"Sam, shut up."

"I CAN'T SHUT UP! WE WERE ON THE HIGHWAY FIVE SECONDS AGO AND NOW THERE'S A—A—WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

He pointed wildly at Jon Snow, covered in blood, carving through an army of apes like a madman.

Mikaela just shrugged. "Looks medieval."

"MEDIEVAL?!" Sam shrieked. "THERE'S A GIANT APE, MIKAELA! THERE'S A—THERE'S A GIANT GREEN OGRE HOLDING A GINGER IN ROBES! WHY IS THERE A HOPLITE? WHERE ARE WE?!"

Bumblebee, unfazed, just blasted rock music through his speakers in response.

["DON'T STOP ME NOW—'CAUSE I'M HAVING A GOOD TIME—"]

Sam slapped the dashboard. "THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME, BEE!"

And then they locked eyes.

Sam turned his head—

And saw Indiana Jones, standing near the treeline, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

It was a moment of pure absurdity.

For some reason, when Indy saw Sam—saw this panicked kid in a Camaro, mid-battle, mid-reality war—he felt a deep, eerie sense of déjà vu.

It was like looking through time.

Like seeing his own son.

But from another reality.

For a brief second, neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Because that would be insane.

Then?

Sam turned away, still screaming.

And Indy?

Indy just shook his head, muttering.

"...I need a drink."

Then he remembered—oh right, Tony Stark was still unconscious.

While robots tore through the battlefield, Uhtred of Bebbanburg gritted his teeth, swinging his axe with fierce, relentless precision.

Beside him?

Darkness.

Laughing.

Because of course she was.

Uhtred had never fought beside a woman quite like this.

She was insane.

Every time an enemy struck her, she giggled. Every time she was wounded, she shouted about how glorious the battle was.

At first, he thought she was losing her mind.

But then he saw it.

Her movements were precise. Her shield blocked attacks before they could land, her sword swinging with surprising strength and skill.

She was a knight.

A warrior.

And for the first time in a long while, Uhtred found himself fighting alongside someone he actually enjoyed battling with.

"HA! This is perfect!" Darkness grinned, blocking a strike and ramming her shield into an ape's face. "A TRUE WARRIOR BY MY SIDE!"

Uhtred smirked, swinging his axe and cleaving another opponent down.

"You're mad," he said.

She beamed. "I know!"

They fought on, back to back, perfectly in sync.

Indy finally reached the downed form of Tony Stark.

The billionaire groaned, his armor still sparking as he pushed himself up on wobbly arms.

His helmet was off, his hair a mess, his face pale with exhaustion.

Indy crouched next to him. "You alright?"

Tony blinked at him.

Then at the battle.

Then at the giant robots, the apes, the Vikings, the wizards, and Shrek screaming at Ron Weasley.

Then back at Indy.

Tony sighed.

"...I need a drink."

Indy snorted. "Get in line."

Hoid had seen many battles.

He had seen empires rise and fall, heroes born and broken, gods clash across the fabric of existence.

But this?

This was something truly special.

Standing on the edge of the battlefield, Hoid breathed in deeply, his silver hair whipping in the chaotic winds, and let out a content sigh.

"Ah," he mused. "Now this is my kind of war."

The forest burned, warriors from a dozen different realities locked in a battle that defied all logic.

And above them all hovered Rand al'Thor.

A storm of reality encased the Dragon Reborn, the Pattern bending to his will, threads of existence unraveling at his whim.

Superman was fighting against it, straining against the weight of a universe trying to reject him.

He was inching closer, his body glowing with sheer, godlike effort—

But it wasn't enough.

Rand was too far gone.

Hoid chuckled to himself.

"Ah, young Dragon. You've always been dramatic. But let's see how far you can go before reality breaks."

Then he turned his attention back to the battlefield just in time to see who won the duel between the kings of the jungle.

The duel had been brutal.

Tarzan and Caesar had fought like beasts, kings of their own domains, rulers of the wild.

But in the end?

Only one would walk away.

Caesar, bloodied, battered, defiant to the last, swung a final, desperate strike—

But Tarzan moved faster.

With a snarl, the Lord of the Jungle locked his arms around Caesar's throat—

And wrenched.

A sickening snap echoed through the battlefield.

The ape leader went limp, his golden eyes glazing over as the last of his strength left him.

Tarzan dropped the body, panting, his own wounds bleeding freely.

And with that, the ape army was finished.

The war was shifting.

Jon Snow had never been a stranger to war.

But this wasn't war.

This was madness incarnate.

He swayed unsteadily, the bloodlust that had consumed him for hours finally receding.

His mind, raw and reeling, barely registered the giant transforming machines now clashing in the middle of the battlefield.

He barely noticed as Shrek trussed up Ron Weasley like a wild boar, the redhead screaming bloody murder.

He barely registered Indiana Jones hauling a dazed Tony Stark to his feet.

All he could see—all he could feel—was the storm raging in the sky.

Rand.

Sowing chaos upon chaos, tearing the very fabric of reality apart.

Jon stumbled, his knees hitting the dirt, his sword clattering beside him.

He gripped the pommel, his fingers tightening around it like a lifeline.

A knight out of legend, kneeling in the ashes of the world.

And that's when he heard her voice.

"Are you alright?"

Jon looked up.

And for the first time in what felt like eternity, his mind stilled.

Hermione Granger stood before him, her brown eyes filled with concern, her robes torn and dirtied from the battle, but she was calm.

Like a beacon of sanity in an insane world.

Jon stared.

For a moment—just a moment—he thought he was looking at an angel.

"...I don't know how to stop," Jon muttered, voice hoarse. "I've been fighting my whole life. And it never ends."

Hermione felt her chest tighten at his words.

She had seen so much suffering today—but this was somehow the worst.

This wasn't just a warrior.

This was a man on the edge of breaking.

She knelt down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"You don't have to do this alone," she whispered.

Jon's breath hitched.

The war raged around them, but at that moment, he wasn't alone.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned into her embrace.

Hermione held him, steadying him, grounding him.

Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, the warrior who had never known peace—

Finally let himself be held.

Of course, this moment of emotional weight was immediately ruined by—

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING OVER THERE?!"

Jon and Hermione both jerked back as Ron screamed in the distance, currently dangling upside down from a rope that Shrek had tied around his ankles.

Shrek, fuming, was holding Ron's wand in his massive green fist.

"I AM SICK OF YOU MAGIC PEOPLE COMING INTO MEH SWAMP!"

Ron flailed. "PUT ME DOWN, YOU—YOU—YOU GREEN LUMP!"

Shrek shook the wand at him. "WHAT EVEN IS THIS THING?! WHY DOES IT MAKE WEIRD LIGHTS?!"

Hermione sighed. "Ron…"

Harry Potter, standing a few feet away, just awkwardly scratched his head.

"Should I… help him?"

Jon, still shaken, just muttered, "Please… just get him to stop screaming."

Above them, Superman was still pushing forward, inch by inch, against the pull of reality itself.

Hoid, watching it all unfold, simply smirked.

"This," he murmured, "is getting interesting."

The war was far from over.

Reality groaned.

The fabric of existence, already weakened by Rand al'Thor's rampage, finally collapsed further.

And the incursion point exploded open.

The sky twisted, a maelstrom of color and light, and the battlefield rippled as if the world itself were shaking loose from its foundations.

Then they arrived.

From the shattered breach in reality, warriors poured forth, their banners unfamiliar, their weapons strange, their origins unclear.

A Roman legion, their golden eagles shining under the flickering sun, marching with eerie precision, led by a figure wearing a wolf-pelted cloak.

A fleet of Black Ships, sleek and ominous, appeared on the river's edge, and from them, samurai in demonic masks stormed onto the battlefield, drawing katana stained with old blood.

A group of warriors clad in gleaming red and gold armor, moving with inhuman grace—elves from another world, their bows glowing with arcane light.

A platoon of soldiers wearing power armor, their insignia marked with a golden eagle and the number 40,000.

A wave of creatures so dark and twisted that they barely looked human—wights, monsters, and eldritch horrors, pulled from nightmares.

And at the forefront of it all?

A single figure in black robes, his wand glowing with eerie green light, his snake-like features twisted into a cruel smile.

Voldemort had arrived.

Hoid, perched on a nearby boulder, chuckled as the chaos unfolded.

"Well," he mused, swirling a cup of tea he had absolutely stolen from another reality, "this is certainly getting interesting."

Then, he took a sip.

"Ah. Needs more sugar."

Before him, the battlefield erupted into new war.

Jon Snow, having finally regained some clarity, gritted his teeth and picked up Longclaw once more.

Hermione, standing beside him, braced herself.

Tarzan, still covered in the blood of Caesar, let out a battle cry and charged toward the samurai, his feral instincts igniting once again.

Shrek, still fuming over the entire existence of magic people, cracked his massive green knuckles and roared as he ran toward the nearest wight.

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU LOT IN ME SWAMP!"

King Kong, towering over the armies, grabbed a Black Ship in both hands and tore it apart like paper.

Harry Potter locked eyes with Voldemort, his wand burning with power.

Tony Stark, having finally shaken off his unconscious daze, looked at the battlefield, then at Indy.

"...So, are we dead, or is this just the weirdest day of my life?"

Indy sighed, adjusting his hat. "I stopped trying to figure it out four hours ago."

Uhtred and Darkness, still fighting together like perfectly synchronized warriors, threw themselves into the fray.

And thus the battle began anew.

Hoid, watching all of this unfold, smirked.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

He leaned back, watching as warriors, sorcerers, beasts, and legends clashed in the most insane battle reality had ever known.

And in the skies above them, Rand al'Thor and Superman continued their cosmic struggle, the fate of the multiverse still hanging in the balance.

The armies were endless.

The battlefield burned with the clash of steel and magic, metal and flesh, ancient warriors and futuristic soldiers.

But Harry Potter only saw one enemy.

Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stood across the battlefield, his pale, snake-like features twisted into amusement as he watched the chaos unfold. His wand twitched, and with a flick, an entire squad of Roman legionnaires were sent crashing into the dirt, dead before they hit the ground.

Harry gritted his teeth.

He had felt it—the moment Voldemort had arrived.

As if fate had dragged them both here to settle this once and for all.

It didn't matter if this was a new world, another war, another battlefield.

Voldemort was here.

And Harry was going to end him.

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry roared, raising his wand high.

Voldemort's red eyes snapped to him.

He grinned.

"Ah," he said, his voice smooth as death. "So predictable, Potter."

Harry didn't wait.

"STUPEFY!"

A blazing red light shot from his wand, streaking toward Voldemort—

But the Dark Lord effortlessly deflected it with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"Still playing with children's spells?" Voldemort sneered.

Then he fired back.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

A sickly green light blasted toward Harry—

"PROTEGO!"

Hermione threw up a shield just in time, the Killing Curse slamming into it and exploding into sparks.

She turned to Harry. "Don't let him bait you!"

Harry nodded sharply.

Hermione moved with him, her wand flashing, her spells striking at every opening.

They had fought together before, their magic synchronized like breathing.

Harry blasted a blinding white light forward—Hermione followed up with a slicing hex—Voldemort parried both with inhuman speed, but they were pushing him back.

For the first time, the Dark Lord was on the defensive.

Harry pressed forward, determined to finish this.

But this wasn't a duel in an empty graveyard.

This was a war zone.

As Harry and Hermione battled Voldemort, stray warriors rushed toward them, their own battles forgotten in the storm of war.

Jon Snow was there before the first enemy could reach them.

He slashed through a Roman soldier, kicked a wight aside, and turned to face the next attacker.

Uhtred fought beside him, his axe spinning like a whirlwind, his savage grin showing a man born for battle.

"Stay close!" Jon shouted, cutting down another enemy. "Harry and Hermione need time!"

Darkness laughed wildly, throwing herself into the fight.

"YES! I SHALL DEFEND THEM WITH MY LIFE!" she declared, blocking three strikes at once, her armor denting with each impact.

Jon sighed heavily but kept fighting.

He would never understand this woman.

Indiana Jones was surrounded—a squad of Samurai warriors, a Roman centurion, and some weird glowing-eyed creatures all charging him at once.

Indy ducked, narrowly avoiding a sword swing—

"Uh, Stark?! LITTLE HELP?!"

Tony, still shaking off the last effects of his concussion, blasted two soldiers away with his repulsors before shouting, "I'M A LITTLE BUSY HERE!"

Indy cursed, dodging another attack—

Then the ground shook.

Something big was coming.

Indy turned, eyes widening.

A yellow Camaro drifted through the battlefield, knocking aside soldiers and transforming mid-motion into a towering Autobot.

Bumblebee.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Indy shouted as the giant robot grabbed him and lifted him out of harm's way.

Sam Witwicky, leaning out of Bumblebee's shoulder, gave Indy a thumbs-up.

"Don't worry, Dr. Jones! We got you!"

Indy blinked.

Then just sighed, rubbing his temples.

"...Of course you do."

While the war raged below, two giants clashed above.

A massive Decepticon, shaped like a war jet, roared through the air, its metal body gleaming as it fired missiles into the battlefield.

A massive, hairy fist grabbed it out of the air.

King Kong roared, lifting the Decepticon high, its metal frame struggling in his grip.

The machine fired a blaster shot into Kong's chest—

Kong growled in rage and tore the Decepticon in half.

The battlefield shook as the pieces crashed to the ground, sparks flickering from its ruined body.

Kong beat his chest, roaring in triumph.

Shrek was not having a good time.

"I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS HOLY—HOW MANY PEOPLE DO I HAVE TO FIGHT IN MEH SWAMP?!"

Tarzan swung down from a tree, landing beside Shrek.

He looked at the battlefield, then at Shrek.

Then nodded approvingly.

"You fight like a beast," Tarzan said.

Shrek grumbled. "I just wanna go home, lad."

A wave of undead warriors rushed them.

Shrek and Tarzan exchanged a glance.

They both roared and charged forward.

Meanwhile, Ron Weasley was still screaming helplessly.

Because he was being carried away by a group of elves.

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU POINTY-EARED FREAKS!" Ron shrieked.

One of the elves smirked. "You will make a fine addition to our prisoner collection."

Ron wailed.

"WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?!"

Harry and Hermione were winning.

Voldemort was growing frustrated, his spells becoming more erratic, more desperate.

For the first time since he had ever known the Dark Lord, Harry saw it.

Fear.

He raised his wand.

It was time to end this.

John Carter of Mars was used to war.

He had fought across the sands of Barsoom, battled monstrous Green Martians, and defied death itself more times than he could count.

But these Fremen were relentless.

Paul Atreides and his warriors had been hunting them for hours, moving through the desert with unnatural speed.

And now there was nowhere left to run.

John and Dejah Thoris stood at the edge of a towering rock formation, the sand whipping violently around them, as the Fremen emerged from the dunes like shadows.

Weapons drawn.

Eyes glowing blue with spice.

John exhaled sharply.

"Well, Princess," he murmured to Dejah Thoris, hand hovering over his sword. "This doesn't look good."

Dejah Thoris, ever the queen, remained perfectly composed.

"They have us surrounded," she said calmly.

John gave her a dry smirk. "I noticed."

The Fremen closed in.

Paul Atreides stood at the forefront of his warriors, his crimson cloak whipping in the desert winds, the weight of the Lisan al'Gaib title heavy upon him.

His eyes—those piercing, spice-addled blue eyes—narrowed as he studied John and Dejah.

"You ran," Paul said, his voice quiet but commanding.

John didn't flinch. "We ran because your army was trying to kill us."

Stilgar, standing beside Paul, spat into the sand. "You expect us to believe you were not with the Green Martians?"

John sighed, lowering his sword slightly.

"I don't know how we got here any more than you do," he admitted. "One minute, we were on Barsoom, fighting our own war. The next? We were here."

Paul's expression didn't change.

The desert wind howled between them, the tension thick.

Then?

Paul slowly lowered his crysknife.

His gaze flicked to Dejah Thoris, and something almost like recognition passed across his face.

"You are royalty," Paul observed.

Dejah Thoris lifted her chin. "I am the Princess of Helium. And you?"

Paul hesitated for only a second before responding.

"Muad'Dib," he said simply.

Dejah Thoris nodded once, acknowledging the title with the dignity of someone born to rule.

Paul turned his gaze back to John.

"You fight well?"

John smirked. "Better than most."

Paul studied him for another long moment—then finally gave a single, reluctant nod.

"Then you ride with us."

As they moved across the dunes, John Carter kept his distance from Paul and the Fremen, still uncertain if they would change their minds.

But Dejah Thoris?

She rode beside Paul, speaking softly, discussing the nature of their worlds.

John watched them carefully, something uneasy stirring in his chest.

He had fought for Dejah a thousand times.

He would fight for her again a thousand more.

But Paul was something dangerous.

Something familiar.

And as they made their way back to rest of the army, John Carter couldn't shake the feeling that this war was only just beginning.

Thor had seen many battles, but this was a war among gods.

He had been flying through the bleak skies, searching for his companions, when the heavens split open above him.

And from the tear in reality, warriors poured forth—but these were no mere mortals.

They were gods.

From one side came Odin, Freyja, Tyr, and Heimdall, their celestial armor gleaming, their voices echoing like thunder across the sky.

And from the other?

Zeus, Ares, Athena, and Hades, their divine presence shaking the very air, lightning flashing and fire raining from the heavens.

The Norse gods had come to war.

And the Greek pantheon had answered.

Reality itself quaked as the two sides clashed in the sky, weapons ringing against each other with the force of cataclysms.

Thor grinned.

"Now this is a battle!"

He joined the fray.

Lightning tore across the sky as Zeus and Odin clashed, their blows shaking the very heavens.

Ares and Tyr dueled savagely, two gods of war, neither willing to yield.

Hades and Hel, rulers of the underworlds of their respective pantheons, stood apart, watching—two gods of death, waiting for the war to claim its due.

Thor barreled through the chaos, Mjolnir crackling with divine lightning, and slammed into Poseidon, sending the sea god crashing into the battlefield below.

This battle was only beginning.

Meanwhile, on the ground below, another group of warriors emerged.

Percy Jackson barely had time to get his bearings before a massive Minotaur charged at him, its red eyes burning with rage.

"Aw, come on," Percy muttered, already drawing Riptide. "Again? Really?"

Annabeth Chase and Grover Underwood rushed up beside him, their own weapons drawn.

"Any idea where we are?" Annabeth asked, eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield.

"Not a clue," Percy admitted. "But judging by the giant space robots, Viking berserkers, and whatever the hell that is—" he pointed at Shrek tackling a centaur—"I'd say we're in trouble."

More Half-Bloods poured through the incursion point, weapons ready, faces determined.

This wasn't Camp Half-Blood.

This wasn't even their world.

But that didn't matter.

Monsters needed slaying.

And that's what demigods did best.

Back in the skies, Thor was laughing with pure joy.

"Come on, is this all you've got?!" he roared, dodging a bolt of Greek lightning from Zeus.

A massive sword nearly took his head off.

Thor spun just in time to block a savage strike from Ares, the Greek God of War.

"You think you're the only god of battle?" Ares sneered.

Thor grinned, his eyes glowing with lightning.

"Let's see who deserves the title."

And with that the battle between war gods began.

The desert stretched endlessly before them, a sea of dunes burning beneath the sun.

In the distance there was a tear in the Pattern, a jagged, unstable rift in reality itself, pulsing with chaotic energy.

Mat Cauthon didn't know how he knew it was there.

He just did.

He had led armies before, but this was different.

This wasn't just war.

This was something bigger.

Something that shouldn't be happening at all.

He tightened his grip on his spear, glancing around at his strange, mismatched army as they trudged forward.

Behind him, Wednesday Addams was watching him again.

Mat gritted his teeth.

He didn't need this.

He didn't need another tiny, terrifying goth woman getting into his head.

He was already doomed to one.

They were an unlikely force—a mixture of warriors, mystics, misfits, and legends.

Mat Cauthon, reluctant general, leading by instinct. Wednesday Addams, analyzing everything in eerie silence. Steve Rogers and Diana, moving like seasoned battlefield commanders. Daenerys, riding atop her dragon, scanning the horizon. Donkey, muttering about sand getting in his hooves. Kazuma, Aqua, and Megumin, grumbling about how they always get pulled into ridiculous situations. Paul Atreides, walking alongside Chani and Stilgar, his mind a battlefield of prophecy. John Carter and Dejah Thoris, their gazes locked on the approaching tear. Roland Deschain, ever watchful, his fingers twitching near his revolvers.

The wind howled, kicking up whirlwinds of sand, but still, they marched forward.

And all the while?

Wednesday kept watching Mat.

And Mat was doing his best to ignore her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wednesday spoke.

"You have… an unusual connection to fate," she said, her tone neutral, but her dark eyes piercing.

Mat snorted, adjusting his hat. "Yeah, well. It's a curse."

"Is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Or is it something you refuse to understand?"

Mat sighed. "Look, lady—"

"Wednesday."

Mat sighed again. "Look, Wednesday, I don't know what you're getting at, but I don't do deep conversations."

She kept staring at him, unblinking.

Mat felt a chill creep down his spine.

It wasn't magic.

It wasn't the Pattern twisting around him.

It was just her.

It reminded him too much of Tuon.

Another small goth woman with far too much power over his life.

And he wasn't about to get caught up in another one.

Wednesday finally narrowed her eyes, growing frustrated at his deflections.

"You're running from something."

Mat gritted his teeth.

"Aye," he muttered. "And I'd rather not run straight into it."

He walked faster, trying to put some distance between them.

Wednesday just watched him go.

Still intrigued.

Still wanting answers.

But for now she would wait.

Ahead, the tear in the Pattern loomed larger, warping the sky above it, the very air vibrating with unnatural energy.

Steve, shielding his eyes from the sun, looked toward Mat.

"This is it, isn't it?"

Mat nodded grimly.

"Aye," he said. "This is where it all ends."

Daenerys, atop her dragon, narrowed her gaze. "Then let's not keep destiny waiting."

And with that?

They pressed forward.

To war.

Mat stepped through the tear in reality—

And into hell itself.

The battlefield before him was beyond madness, beyond comprehension.

The landscape twisted and flickered, shifting between dense jungles, volcanic wastelands, shattered cities, and endless oceans.

One second, they stood in the smoking ruins of an ancient battlefield.

The next?

They were knee-deep in snow, fighting in the middle of a blizzard.

Then, just as suddenly, it was a desert once more, the sands beneath them churning like a living thing.

Reality was breaking apart.

And in the center of it all?

Rand al'Thor.

Floating above the battlefield, wreathed in blinding light, his eyes hollow, his body trembling with impossible power.

The Dragon Reborn had lost himself.

And nothing would stop him now.

The battlefield was an ocean of bodies, clashing steel, and magic gone wild.

Vikings battling Roman legions in the burning ruins of a city. Greek demigods cutting down armored knights as gods clashed in the sky. Autobots and Decepticons locked in brutal combat, their weapons leveling mountains. Shrek throwing Ron Weasley at a group of elves. Percy Jackson standing atop a collapsing fortress, slicing through a Minotaur. King Kong grappling with a dragon, the beast's fire lighting up the sky. Jon Snow and Hermione cutting through waves of nightmare creatures. Indiana Jones and Tony Stark dodging magical blasts as Voldemort shrieked in rage. Thor and Ares trading blows, their war cries shaking the battlefield.

Everywhere Mat looked, different worlds clashed, their timelines collapsing into one singular warzone.

Even Wednesday Addams, always unshaken, looked momentarily stunned.

"...I will admit," she muttered. "This is worse than I expected."

Mat tilted his head back, gazing at the sky.

Rand hovered above them all, his presence like a black hole, sucking everything in.

Mat knew that look.

That emptiness.

Rand wasn't here anymore.

He was gone, lost in whatever insanity had taken hold of him, unraveling the Pattern thread by thread.

"Blood and ashes," Mat whispered, his throat tightening.

He cursed.

Because he realized someone was missing.

"Perrin," he muttered. He turned to the others, scanning their faces. "Where's Perrin?"

A long, uncomfortable silence.

Kazuma, looking awkward and nervous, muttered, "Uh… yeah. So. He kinda got pulverized by Sauron."

Mat froze.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Perrin was gone.

Rand was gone in a different way.

Mat suddenly felt very alone.

His friends—his brothers—were gone.

And for the first time in a long time, Mat Cauthon felt the weight of it all.

Then something inside him hardened.

Wednesday noticed it immediately—the way his face shifted, the way his presence changed.

Mat lifted his spear, gripping it tightly, and whispered something.

The words weren't in any language she recognized.

It was older, something from before time itself.

Without another word Mat charged.

And the others followed him.