Leonardo sat in the chair, arms strapped, legs chained, soul slightly cracked.
The room reeked of old blood, burnt flesh, and salt. He'd spent enough time here to name the individual bricks on the wall. (Gerald, Felicity, and Brickie Jr., the weird one.)
Footsteps echoed—again.
The door creaked open.
In stepped one of them—a tall, pale figure with a cruel grin carved into his face like God had drawn him with a dull crayon and a grudge. Robes blacker than depression. Wand in hand. Eyes like cracked glass.
He strolled in slowly, like he had time and was paid by the hour.
"Tell me where The Hand's base is," the man said calmly.
Leonardo blinked. Then gave the most Leonardo answer possible:
"Yeah, right after you tell me where my Hogwarts letter is. Spoiler: I think your owl died mid-delivery."
A silence.
Then—pain.
Lightning lanced through his ribs. Bones cracked. Teeth rattled.
And then… light.
A healing charm.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Leonardo lost track of time. Days bled into weeks. Weeks collapsed into something beyond human comprehension. His mind? Shattered and reforged into something darker.
There was no food, no sleep, no anime reruns.
He stopped laughing.
He stopped screaming.
He stopped caring.
He just existed in a loop of torture and revival like the world's worst Netflix original.
One day, as he sat in a puddle of his own blood—too dry to even bother with snark—the torturer leaned in close.
"You want to know the truth, boy?" he whispered. "The Alliance? It died in World War II. The cause? Gone. All that remains is me... and this room. I don't want secrets. I just want to break you. Chaos... is fun."
Leonardo looked up slowly.
No quips. No jokes.
Just two eyes burning with something primal.
Then—something snapped.
In the silence, his heartbeat roared.
His chest burned.
And from his heart—magic exploded. Not a spell. Not a curse.
Something older.
Something angry.
A beam of raw energy—fueled by pure hate, bloodlust, and spite—pierced the torturer's chest like divine retribution shot out of a cannon.
The bastard gasped, eyes wide, body convulsing.
Leonardo passed out with a smirk.
His last thought?
"When I wake up… I need to get high."
**…
...
...
System Restarting…**
Leonardo woke in a bed that smelled like old bandages and regret.
He blinked groggily. "Am I dead? Is this... anime heaven?"
Nope. Just a sterile white ceiling.
He turned his head—bad idea. Pain shot through him like a surprise quiz.
Beside him, a woman with curly brown hair pointed a wand at his chest.
His reflexes kicked in.
He grabbed the wand and snapped it clean in half.
"No more sparkly pain sticks, lady!"
She shrieked. "YOU ABSOLUTE—!"
SLAP!
She smacked him across the face with enough force to realign his jaw.
He blinked. "Ow. Equal rights, equal fights—!"
He threw a right hook.
Before his knuckles made contact, a hand grabbed his wrist mid-air.
A man in a white coat. Doctor-looking. Calm, stern face.
"Mr. Giovanna, please. She was healing you."
Leonardo stopped mid-swing. "...She was? Huh. My bad. I'm not really myself until I've had my morning trauma."
The healer woman stormed out, grumbling.
Leonardo looked around. "Okay, Doc, where am I? Hell? Gotham? Did I finally cross over to a Darker than Black crossover?"
The doctor chuckled dryly. "St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. London. You were found by an Auror—wand-wielding magical law enforcement."
Leonardo blinked. "...Cool cool. Where's the Floo powder? I wanna go to Diagon Alley. Or Gringotts. Whichever's more dramatic."
The doctor raised an eyebrow but gestured. "Downstairs. Next to the fireplaces. Green powder. Use it wisely."
Leonardo stood shakily, still bandaged, still bruised. "Nice. Time to play Magical GTA: London Edition."
Downstairs.
Leonardo found the dusty green powder sitting in a small marble bowl next to a large ornate fireplace. The flames flickered as if recognizing his chaos energy.
He scooped a handful.
Cleared his throat.
And with all the theatrical flair of a theater kid on Red Bull, shouted:
"GRINGOTTS WIZARDING BANK!"
In a flash of green fire, he vanished.
He landed with a spin and a faceplant.
Elegant marble floors. Gold chandeliers. Goblins counting money like Wall Street bankers with better skincare.
He groaned, pulling himself up. "Okay... okay. We made it. Step one of revenge arc: acquire funds. Step two: burn the world."
He adjusted his coat, cracked his neck, and walked forward.
Eyes burning. Jokes ready. Vengeance loading.