If someone had walked into the main room of the Big House at this very moment, they would have had several understandable reactions.
A double take.
A slow, horrified step back toward the exit.
A quick mental calculation on how far they could get before someone hit them with a hex.
Because right now, the scene inside looked like the kind of gathering that happened right before a major historical disaster.
In the center of it all, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Master of the Savage Burn, and the Captain of this Titanic-level disaster, stood with his arms crossed. His magic staff, Jim, was balanced against his shoulder, glowing ominously and vibrating with barely contained insanity.
For context, Jim was not just any staff. He was Ruyi Jingu Bang, the legendary staff of Sun Wukong, and he had all the personality of a caffeinated Jim Carrey after drinking an entire espresso machine.
"You know what we're about to do is incredibly stupid, right?" Hermione said, crossing her arms in that very Hermione way, the one that made you feel like you had just disappointed your mother, your teacher, and every librarian in existence.
Harry, without missing a beat, grinned. "Oh, absolutely."
Jim, ever the dramatic one, gasped. "HOW DARE YOU?! This is not stupidity—it is art! It is genius! It is chaos in its purest, most beautiful form!" The staff spun in midair, then flopped back onto Harry's shoulder like a fainting Victorian lady. "Honestly, I feel personally attacked."
Fleur, who looked very much like a lost French aristocrat who had been forcibly dropped into a reality show, tossed her silver-blonde hair with a sigh. "Zees entire plan is beneath me. Why must we travel by Floo like—" she wrinkled her nose, searching for the right word, "—peasants?"
Jasper, ever the agent of chaos, grinned. "Oh, sorry, Your Royal Highness. Would you prefer a flying chariot drawn by pegasi?"
"Oui." Fleur answered without hesitation, flipping her hair like it was her personal Floo Powder.
Thalia snorted, cracking her knuckles like someone very ready to punch something. "Just be glad we're not shadow-traveling. Last time, I ended up inside a dumpster in New Jersey."
Annabeth, adjusting her Yankees cap like it was the only thing keeping her sanity intact, sighed. "Let's just get this over with before Deadpool shows up again. Last time, he tried to recruit me as his 'Battle Daughter of Chaos.'"
Jean, lounging in a chair with an amused expression, raised an eyebrow. "And you're complaining?"
Natasha Romanoff, leaning against the wall with all the poise of someone who knew she was the most competent person in the room, simply said, "This mission has a 70% chance of ending in disaster."
Luke, arms crossed, smirked. "Only 70%? That's basically a guaranteed win."
Travis and Connor Stoll, the twins of terror, grinned at each other in the kind of way that made other pranksters nervous.
"Oh," Travis said casually, "we prepared for this."
Connor nodded. "Did you know you can enchant Floo Powder to change a person's hair color for exactly 24 hours?"
Silena, the picture of elegance and strategic genius, shot them a look. "Please tell me this isn't going to end with Sirius looking like a giant pink poodle."
Beckendorf, already exhausted, rubbed his temples. "That's a lie, isn't it?"
Katie Gardner, arms crossed, sighed. "It's definitely a lie."
Kayla, ever the agent of mild chaos, grinned. "Well, it's not technically a lie."
"That's worse." Hermione groaned, running a hand through her hair.
Clarisse, who had been sharpening her spear like a villain in a gladiator movie, finally looked up. "Can we just get on with this? I have things to punch."
Yelena, who looked like she was having the time of her life, grinned. "Yes! Let's go prank the dog man!"
Harry, clapping his hands together, grinned. "Alright, everyone shut up and focus."
He turned to the fireplace, where a bowl of ominously glowing green Floo Powder sat. Jim hummed, shifting into a dramatic 'thinker' pose.
"My only regret," Jim said dramatically, "is that I won't get to photograph Sirius' reaction."
Harry smirked. "Don't worry. We're bringing a camera."
Jim whooped. "THAT'S MY BOY!"
Hermione, exasperated, sighed. "Why do I feel like we're about to do something incredibly stupid?"
Harry, still smirking, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. "Because we are."
With that, he threw the powder into the flames, watching as the fire roared emerald green.
Jim, vibrating with excitement, cackled. "TO GLORY! TO CHAOS! TO BAD DECISIONS!"
Harry stepped into the fire and called out, "Doghouse!" before disappearing into the swirling vortex of magic.
One by one, Team Lokison followed, each vanishing into the flames, utterly unaware that when they landed…
Deadpool would already be there.
Cue the real chaos.
—
If there was one universal truth about Floo Powder, it was this:
It sucked.
And yet, wizards still insisted on using it, as if it was some grand, civilized form of travel instead of a high-speed, soot-flavored nightmare ride through a magical vortex of pain and regret.
Which was why, when Harry Potter and the rest of Team Lokison crash-landed into the Doghouse living room, the scene was predictably disastrous.
Harry, being Harry, stepped out first, brushing off imaginary dust from his red-and-gold jacket, looking far too pleased with himself. He turned just in time to witness—
BAM.
—Luke Castellan shoot out of the fireplace like a human Bludger, slam into Harry's back, and go face-first into the couch.
"Wow, Luke," Harry deadpanned, stepping aside. "That was an elegant entrance. You must teach me your ways."
Luke, groaning into the cushions, flipped him off.
Then came the chaos.
Thalia Grace landed perfectly, because of course she did—only to get tackled by a flailing Travis and Connor Stoll, who had apparently decided to yeet themselves through the Floo at full speed.
"MAKE WAY FOR THE KINGS OF CHAOS!" Connor bellowed.
Thalia barely had time to shriek in rage before they took her down like a pack of wolves.
Next came Fleur, who somehow, despite all logic, landed gracefully, hair perfect, like she had just stepped out of a Veela-themed shampoo commercial.
"Zis is ridiculous," she sniffed, brushing a speck of ash off her sleeve. "Floo travel is beneath me."
"Yeah, well," Jean Grey grumbled, stepping out with practiced ease, "so is Travis, but we still let him exist."
"HEY!" Travis yelped, still tangled with Thalia.
Next came Annabeth Chase, Hermione Granger, and Silena Beauregard, all landing with the practiced grace of people who had suffered through this nonsense way too many times.
Then Kayla Knowles, who—
SPLAT.
—immediately faceplanted onto the rug like a thrown sack of potatoes.
"THERE IS SO MUCH DIGNITY IN THIS MOMENT," she groaned into the floor.
Then came Clarisse La Rue.
Clarisse did not land gracefully.
Clarisse landed like an airstrike, crashing into Beckendorf and knocking him over like they were in some kind of live-action Looney Tunes skit.
"Oh, COME ON!" Beckendorf groaned from the floor.
"I REGRET NOTHING!" Clarisse roared, rolling off him and immediately reaching for her spear.
And then—
Jim.
Yes. The staff.
Jim shot out of the fire like a missile, did several completely unnecessary flips, and landed dramatically in Harry's hand.
"BOOM, BABY!" Jim declared. "Did you SEE THAT? THAT was the greatest Floo entrance in the history of wizardkind! I STUCK the landing! TEN OUT OF TEN!"
Before anyone could respond, a calm, familiar voice rang out from across the room.
"If anyone even THINKS of pranking me, you are getting hexed into next week."
Immediate silence.
Because standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was Marlene McKinnon-Black.
Sirius Black's wife. Harry's godmother. The woman who could make Fred and George Weasley behave with a single glance.
And, most importantly—
The Neutral Zone.
Every year, Team Lokison and Team Black waged war. Every year, Marlene stayed out of it.
And every year, both sides agreed: DO NOT mess with Marlene.
Harry, ever the charming godson, grinned. "Aunt Marls! Lovely to see you."
Marlene rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. You're all covered in soot. Don't touch the furniture."
Jim, still in Harry's hand, gasped in horror.
"Are you saying I'M DIRTY?!" Jim screeched. "I am a LEGENDARY STAFF! A RELIC OF UNTOLD POWER! I am EXQUISITE. I am FLAWLESS."
Marlene raised an eyebrow. "You have soot on your handle."
Jim let out a blood-curdling scream.
Everyone ignored him.
Marlene sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already exhausted by their existence. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this once: Team Black is waiting for you outside."
Harry's smirk widened. "Oh? Are they?"
Marlene gave him The Look.
The Look that said: I am too old for this nonsense and yet, here we are.
"The beach," she said flatly. "They're all on the beach."
Clarisse grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Finally."
Fleur, looking immensely pleased with herself, flipped her hair. "Bon. Let us begin."
Natasha Romanoff stretched lazily, already scanning the exits like she was preparing for battle. "You know," she said, smirking, "I did promise Yelena I'd take down at least five of them before lunch."
Yelena Belova grinned from where she was leaning against the wall. "Please. I could take them out before breakfast."
Jean sighed dramatically. "Can we just skip the warm-up and go straight to the part where we destroy them?"
Harry turned to the group, grinning wickedly.
"Alright, Team Lokison," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's go say hello."
Jim whooped.
"Oh, this is gonna be FUN."
And with that, the battle began.
—
That's a lot of details to weave in, but challenge accepted. Buckle up—this is about to get chaotic.
The Beach – Black Family Territory
Marlene McKinnon-Black had developed a remarkable tolerance for nonsense. She had to. Living with Sirius Black for years did that to a person. But even she had her limits.
And right now? Escorting Team Lokison—a collection of demigods, witches, one enchanted staff with a flair for the dramatic, and an overpowered Harry Potter—to the annual Black Family Beach War was testing those limits.
She shot Harry a glare as they walked down the sandy path. "Try not to start something before we even get there."
Harry, in his natural habitat (which was being an unrepentant little sh—), gasped in mock offense. "Aunt Marls, I am wounded by your lack of faith. Me? Start something? I am but a humble, innocent soul, merely existing in a world filled with unnecessary hostility."
Jim, the actual enchanted staff in Harry's hand, wiggled indignantly. "The injustice! The slander! The libel! My master is a beacon of restraint, a paragon of virtue, a—"
"Jim," Marlene cut in, "you're an enchanted stick."
Jim made a dramatic hmph. "And whose fault is that? Maybe if someone let me read, I'd be more cultured!"
Natasha, walking beside Fleur, smirked. "We could get you a romance novel."
Jim immediately vibrated with excitement. "YES. Something dramatic. With longing gazes and a scandalous misunderstanding!"
Fleur flicked her hair, unimpressed. "A romance? Pour toi? Non, mon cher, you would only use it to scream 'Just kiss already!'"
Jim gasped. "YOU GET ME."
Thalia, who had been brooding beside Luke, muttered, "I hate that I agree with the stick."
Luke, barely holding back a grin, nudged her. "Admitting it is the first step, Grace."
Annabeth rolled her eyes, looking every bit like a demigod who had lost brain cells just being near this conversation. "Can we focus? We're about to go up against Team Black. We need strategy."
Travis and Connor, speaking in perfect unison, said, "Strategy is for losers."
Silena, ever the voice of reason, sighed. "What they mean is, we should probably assume they've already booby-trapped the entire beach."
Clarisse cracked her knuckles. "Good. I like a challenge."
At this point, they reached the dunes—and beyond them, the battlefield.
The Black Family Beach War had become something of an annual tradition. Except instead of a friendly game, it was an all-out war of magic, trickery, and, if last year was anything to go by, one very unfortunate accidental summoning of a kraken.
And standing at the center of it all?
Sirius Black, grinning like a man who thrived on chaos.
Behind him stood Team Black—a squad of witches, wizards, and prank war veterans who had been trained in the fine art of messing with people for sport.
Fred and George were already whispering to each other like their very existence was a crime against peace. Ron, standing with his arms crossed, looked one minor insult away from throwing hands. Ginny was stretching like she was about to fight an entire army.
Percy adjusted his glasses. He looked like he was judging everyone into the ground.
Daphne Greengrass, ever composed, stood nearby, watching them like she was mildly entertained but far too elegant to admit it.
Tonks, her hair a neon beach sunset, waggled her eyebrows at Harry. "Wotcher, kiddo. Ready to lose?"
Harry smirked. "You're on Sirius's team. I'd be worried about that if I were you."
Lyra Black, Sirius's seven-year-old daughter, stood beside him, sipping a very serious cup of juice. Without looking up, she said, "Papa, is this the year we finally defeat the enemy?"
Sirius knelt dramatically, placing a hand on her tiny shoulder. "Sweetheart, we never defeat the enemy. We annoy them into submission."
Lyra nodded solemnly. "Good."
Before anyone could start chucking spells, Sirius clapped his hands. "Alright, listen up! We need to go over the rules of engagement!"
Which is when—
On a nearby dune, hidden only in the way Deadpool considered "stealthy" (which meant not at all), the Merc with a Mouth lay on his stomach, peering through binoculars.
Wearing what he had dubbed "Beach Camouflage" (which was just his regular red suit, but with a Hawaiian shirt and a bucket hat), he muttered, "Alright, let's assess the situation. Two rival factions. Several ridiculously overpowered wizards. A handful of ridiculously overpowered demigods. A sentient stick with main character syndrome. A literal assassin. A seven-year-old child who radiates pure chaotic energy. Nice."
Lowering the binoculars, he adjusted his hat. "Okay, Wade, think. What's the best way to insert yourself into this situation without getting immediately hexed?"
A pause.
"…Or with getting hexed. Honestly, I'm good either way."
He considered his options. He could:
Charge in screaming "IT'S ME, BITCHES!" and hope for the best.
Announce that he's the real Chosen One and watch the chaos unfold.
Fake his own death. (Again.)
ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Decisions, decisions.
Behind him, a seagull landed, eyeing him judgmentally.
Deadpool turned his head slowly. "What're you looking at, Steve?"
The seagull blinked.
Deadpool pointed a finger at it. "You tell no one about this."
Steve the Seagull continued staring.
Deadpool sat up, sighing. "Fine. You wanna watch? You get a front-row seat to the shitstorm." He spread his arms dramatically. "BEHOLD, STEVE. CHAOS INCARNATE."
And with that, he vanished behind the dune, ready to cause maximum destruction.
—
The scene was set for a battle of epic proportions, the kind of prank war that would make even the gods of mischief in the ancient world cower in fear. Sirius Black and Harry Lokison stood side by side like generals at the front of an army, grinning in a way that suggested they were about to unleash absolute chaos. And they were. Because tomorrow, on Harry's 11th birthday, there would be no mercy. No quarter. Just pure, unadulterated trickery.
Sirius, wearing a grin so wide it could rival a Cheshire cat, stepped forward, arms raised in grandiose fashion. He had a flair for the dramatic, and today was no exception.
"Alright, my beloved minions!" Sirius shouted, his voice carrying on the wind like he was announcing the beginning of a war. "The day of reckoning is nigh! Tomorrow, we wage a prank war so epic, so legendary, that even the gods will weep in jealousy at our creative genius!"
Harry, who was standing just a few inches to the side, rolled his eyes so hard he could've seen into next week. "Yeah, and just like last time, we'll probably end up with half the kids in St. Mungo's with hair that smells like wet socks."
Sirius shot him a look of mock offense. "Details, details, kiddo. It's all part of the fun!" He winked at the assembled crowd. "So, as we prepare for the most glorious of wars, we must establish the sacred Rules of Engagement."
Harry, wearing a look that screamed "I'm only here for the chaos," nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "Fine, let's get this over with before Sirius makes us summon a lightning storm again or—"
"Don't tempt me!" Sirius interrupted, dramatically flicking his hair back as though he were a shampoo commercial model. "Alright, first rule: Absolutely NO mercy. This is not a friendly game of Quidditch. We're out for blood!"
"Yeah, no one's actually gonna die," Harry quipped, "though you might want to steer clear of Fred and George. They're practically trained assassins at this point."
Sirius shot a look at Harry like he'd just betrayed him. "Hey, I'm the mastermind here! Mercy is for the weak!" He paused, then added, "But, okay, fine. No permanent damage. Just... temporary magical trauma."
Remus Lupin, who had been standing quietly to the side, looking mildly concerned, finally intervened, massaging his temples. "Can we not? Can we not almost kill each other in the name of fun? There are children here, Sirius! Some of them are only just learning how to safely conjure a puff of smoke!"
Sirius waved him off, clearly having no time for Remus' practical concerns. "That's the fun part! If they survive it, they'll be better for it. The stronger pranksters get the spoils!" He looked back at Harry. "Second rule: absolutely NO permanent curses. We're here to prank, not traumatize."
"Seriously, Sirius? No permanent curses?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What do you call last year's 'Bubotuber explosion' that left half the kids smelling like they'd been marinated in week-old sewage?"
Sirius pouted like a child who'd just been denied a cookie. "It was supposed to be a small puff of smoke. The explosion was... an accident."
Harry sighed. "Sure it was, but I'm gonna add something here. No believable curses. We're not making anyone think they're turning into a ferret. Again. You remember how that went down last time, right?"
Sirius winced at the memory. "Look, that was—"
"An absolute disaster?" Harry finished for him. "Yep, we all remember. Let's avoid anything that's going to send anyone running to St. Mungo's for a panic attack."
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, slightly defeated but still grinning. "Alright, alright. Fine. Moving on. Rule three: the birthday boy," he said, pointing dramatically at Harry, "is off-limits for pranks. For now."
Harry blinked. "For now? Wait, what does that mean?"
Sirius smirked, "Well, after tomorrow's grand finale, it'll be all fair game. The birthday boy is going to get it the hardest. It's tradition, after all!"
Fred and George, who had been whispering among themselves, grinned like they'd just found a vault of gold. "Oh, mate, you've got to take one for the team. It's a rite of passage!" Fred said.
"You'll be fine," George added with a wink. "It's all part of the loving birthday tradition."
Harry looked at them as though they were both insane. "If you two put frogs in my shoes again, I swear I will actually make you both walk around in your underwear all day."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That's the spirit! Let the chaos commence!"
Remus looked like he was going to faint. "You two are impossible," he muttered.
"Impossible?" Sirius laughed. "Impossible is just another word for brilliant. But, alright, let's get serious for a second. The winner of this prank war will be crowned 'King of Chaos' and will earn the ultimate prize!"
Everyone leaned in, curious.
"The winner," Sirius said, his grin widening, "gets to choose the prank of the year. And—" he paused for dramatic effect "—I'll buy them ice cream for the rest of the year. But mostly, it's about the honor. And the ice cream."
Harry grinned. "Oh, and the loser has to wear whatever ridiculous outfit the winner picks for them. For a full day. No complaints. No protests."
A chorus of groans erupted from the assembled team members.
"Alright, alright," Remus groaned. "This is getting out of hand. Can we keep the outfits at least... semi-respectable? I don't want anyone showing up to class looking like they've been dragged through a pile of owls."
Harry held up a finger. "We can't make any promises there, Remus."
Sirius threw his arms wide, looking like he was about to declare the start of an actual war. "Alright, that's it! The war is officially on! Prepare yourselves, troops. Tomorrow, we begin the most legendary prank war in history! And there will be no survivors—except for the winner, obviously."
As the teams broke off into excited whispers, Harry turned to Remus with a grin that could only be described as devilish.
"I told you," Harry muttered under his breath. "I told you it was going to be chaos."
Remus shook his head in disbelief. "I'm going to need a stiff drink after this."
"Just wait until you see the chaos they unleash tomorrow," Harry replied with a wink. "I've got a few ideas of my own that'll make last year look like a harmless round of Quidditch."
The stage was set. The prank war was on. And nothing would ever be the same again.
—
The sandy beach was a blur of movement as Team Lokison trudged toward the spot where Sirius had promised they'd camp for the night. The wind kicked up, stinging their faces and tossing hair into their eyes. Harry Potter, aka Team Lokison's de facto leader and professional overthinker, was already plotting escape routes. Who knows what chaos Sirius had conjured up this time? Probably a beach party with enchanted fireworks or some magical beast wearing a tutu. But no, Harry, focus. You've got bigger things to worry about—like the fact that your team now includes Deadpool.
Speaking of the devil...
As the group neared their campsite, the first thing Harry noticed was the absence of any Sirius-level enthusiasm. No howling or fireworks. No flames leaping from the sand or a herd of magical creatures stampeding toward them. It was… oddly serene. Maybe this time, Sirius had lost his mind and just decided to go with a "quiet night" for once, Harry thought, squinting into the distance.
That was until he saw it. The unmistakable shape of a hammock swaying lazily between two palm trees. And in that hammock? A man in a Hawaiian shirt. A very loud Hawaiian shirt.
"Hold up," Harry said, halting his team's advance. "Am I seeing this right?"
"I think we all are," Annabeth said dryly, eyeing the hammock with a suspicious squint. "I mean, I'm used to weird, but that… that's something else."
Deadpool looked up lazily from his hammock, giving them a full-on deadpool-ian salute. "Oh hey, look! The gang's all here. The party's officially started. Now, who wants to make a deal with the devil? Or at least buy him a margarita?"
"You!" Harry's voice was a mix of disbelief and irritation. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Harry, Harry, Harry…" Deadpool tutted, shaking his head as he pushed his sunglasses down. "Come on, man. You know the answer to that. You got me out of the cryogenic chamber, helped me rescue my girl—" He gave an exaggerated sigh. "True love, am I right?—and I said I owed you one. Now, here I am. All yours, baby."
Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Mon Dieu," she muttered in her heavy French accent. "I was expecting more vacation vibes, not whatever this is."
Deadpool tossed a thumbs-up. "Oh, it's all vibes, babe. All vibes. But, ya know, with a dash of chaos and a sprinkle of insanity. It's a Deadpool special."
"That sounds horrifying," Hermione said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "And how exactly did you get here?"
"Well, as it turns out, teleportation is a thing in my not-at-all-secretly-a-mutant bag of tricks," Deadpool said with a dramatic wink. "I may or may not have swiped some of the tech Tony Stark left lying around. But hey, I'm here. And you're welcome. Enjoy the ride, Granger."
"Deadpool, are you seriously here to help?" Annabeth asked, folding her arms. "Or are you just here to mess things up?"
"Annabeth, babe," Deadpool said, suddenly sitting up and tossing aside a bag of nachos no one had seen him produce. "When I mess things up, it's art. Trust me. Just wait until you see what I've got cooking for your friends on Team Black."
"Wait, wait," Thalia interrupted, walking forward and raising a hand. "Team Black? Are you trying to recruit us for something? Because I swear, if this is one of your weird 'join me or else' speeches, I'm going to punch you in the face."
"Oh-ho! You think that's what this is about?" Deadpool threw his hands up dramatically. "Oh no, sweetheart. No, no, no. This isn't some 'join my evil plot' thing. I'm already a part of Team Lokison now. Officially." He flashed a ridiculous grin, as if being in the "team" was the highest honor anyone could receive. "I'm just here for the fun, the pranks, and maybe a few favors in exchange. And when I say favors, I'm talking about bringing chaos in a really fun way."
"Pranks?" Clarisse looked like she was about to strangle him. "Are you seriously talking about pranks right now?"
Deadpool leaned back in the hammock, putting his hands behind his head. "Pranks, schmanks, Clarisse. This is prank warfare. Like, next level stuff. We're talking glitter bombs, rubber chickens, and maybe a goat or two. Yeah, I said goat. Don't judge."
Katie let out a giggle at the mental image of a glitter-covered goat. "I kinda want to see this."
"See?" Deadpool pointed at her like she'd just solved the universe's greatest mystery. "Katie gets it! It's about entertainment. Chaos and entertainment. And trust me, if you're not laughing, then you're not living."
"And what exactly are you planning to do once this gets started?" Luke asked, looking cautiously amused. "You've got a big mouth, but I'm not sure you've got the chops to back it up."
Deadpool stood up suddenly and dramatically, as though launching into some grand monologue. "Oh, my dear, sweet Luke, you have no idea. I've got plans so wild, so off-the-wall, that even the gods will be like, 'What the actual hell is happening here?' And trust me, this won't just be pranks. It's going to be a full-on, no-holds-barred battle. Think of it like Game of Thrones, but with more explosions and a lot more... well, me."
"Fantastic," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I've always wanted a vacation that involves explosions. Always."
"That's the spirit!" Deadpool grinned. "Look, Harry, I'm a gift to your team. A blessing sent straight from the chaotic gods of mayhem. You're welcome."
"More like a curse," Yelena muttered, eyeing Deadpool with an unimpressed look.
"Hey, hey, don't knock the merchandise, sweetheart," Deadpool replied, making air quotes. "I'm the best curse you'll ever get. It's called entertainment value. Look it up."
Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she turned to Jean. "We're doomed. Right?"
"Totally doomed," Jean replied, her voice resigned. "But at least it won't be boring."
Harry turned to the rest of his team, who were either rolling their eyes or stifling snickers. "Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "So, Deadpool's in. What else could possibly go wrong?"
A loud, booming voice from behind them interrupted. "Oh, I dunno, Harry. Maybe me."
Everyone froze, and Harry turned to see Sirius striding toward them, an obnoxiously large grin plastered across his face. "Alright, team! I see you've already met the new guy. But I've got some ideas of my own for the night. You better be ready for this…"
Harry just face-palmed. This was going to be the longest night ever.
—
The camp was, in a word, quiet. Too quiet. There was no Sirius running around with his usual shenanigans, no distant bangs from magical explosions, no spontaneous bursts of firecrackers in the middle of the night. It was the kind of peace that made you look around suspiciously, wondering when the universe was going to screw with you next.
Deadpool, on the other hand, was so done with peace. He'd already taken his time lounging in a hammock like a disgruntled tourist who'd just realized his sunscreen was expired. His flip-flops flopped lazily back and forth, creating the kind of rhythmic sound that only made everything feel a little more absurd.
He squinted at the empty, untouched camp with the intensity of a man searching for his missing Wi-Fi connection. He snapped his fingers dramatically as if some grand revelation had just struck him like a brick through the face.
"Well, well, well..." Deadpool muttered in an exaggerated whisper, completely ruining any sense of suspense with his loud, dramatic delivery. "What do we have here? A stick? A very... special stick?"
His eyes practically sparkled. This wasn't just any stick. It was a mystical, world-shattering piece of ancient weaponry, and Deadpool was ready to ruin its life.
Without waiting for anyone to catch up, he scrambled off the hammock, his Hawaiian shirt flapping like a deranged flamingo in the breeze. And before anyone could even think about stopping him, Deadpool was already in front of Jim—Riyu Jingu Bang—this ancient, mystical staff that was, for all intents and purposes, far too dignified for what was about to go down.
Deadpool circled Jim like a kid in a candy store, his hands clasped together in a mock prayer. "Oooh, look at you. You must be the one they've all been talking about, huh?" He leaned in close, grinning as if he'd discovered the staff's deepest secrets. "You're like the Ferrari of sticks, aren't you? The Rolls-Royce of weaponry, the Brad Pitt of magical relics... timeless, classic, and ready to wreck some fools."
Jim, however, was not amused. Oh no. Not even a little.
"Are you done, clown?" Jim's voice sounded like it had been honed over centuries of sarcastic commentary, deeply tired and somehow ancient, like an ancient wizard who'd grown bored of bad jokes. "Touch me again, and I'll knock you into next week. Got it?"
Deadpool froze, his hands still outstretched like he'd just been given an electric shock. "Did... did you just talk?" He blinked, visibly stunned, like he'd just learned that Santa Claus was real and living next door. "Holy guacamole! I've seen some weird stuff in my time, but I've never had a stick talk back. That's a first. And trust me, I've seen things. I mean, I once watched a guy try to propose to a toaster. The guy was really in love, you know?"
Jim's sigh was so long and dramatic that it practically became a windstorm. "You're exhausting."
Deadpool, unphased and clearly enjoying the chaos he was creating, took another step closer to the staff. "Oh, come on, Jimbo. I can tell we're going to get along just fine. You're like the wise, ancient guy who's seen it all, and I'm like the eccentric genius who never shuts up. Together, we're going to be an unstoppable force of weird."
Harry, who had been watching the entire interaction with that look—the one that screamed "I regret everything"—let out a sarcastic sigh that could've been felt in another dimension.
"Good luck with that, Jim. He's like a cockroach in a tuxedo. You can't get rid of him," Harry muttered, resting his hands on his hips.
"Oh, Harry, you wound me," Deadpool grinned, giving Harry a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Here I am, your loyal, not-at-all-irritating friend, and you go and stab me in the heart with a metaphor. I'm heartbroken. Literally. The healing factor's gonna have to work overtime."
With a fake sniff, Deadpool turned back to Jim. "But seriously, Jim. You and me? We're like peanut butter and chaos. We're gonna wreck this place. No one's gonna know what hit 'em. Especially if we can somehow convince Harry to stop being such a buzzkill. It's like living in a cloud of doom and gloom."
Jim's retort was colder than a penguin's day off. "The only buzzkill here is you. And I've seen enough to know that things rarely end well when you're involved."
Deadpool gasped, pretending to clutch his chest as if Jim had just gutted him with a verbal sword. "Oh-ho, we're going there, huh? I see you, Jim. You've got that dry, ancient humor. And it's almost as sharp as my sass. But hey, I'm a fan. I like your style."
Jim didn't respond right away, probably because he was too busy contemplating how to kill Deadpool without actually touching him. After a few long seconds of silence that somehow felt as though they lasted centuries, Jim finally spoke up, his voice a mix of tired amusement and annoyance.
"You want stories? Fine. I've seen kingdoms rise and fall. Entire civilizations wiped out. I've been wielded by people who couldn't spell 'sword' correctly, let alone use me properly. But if you think I'm about to share all my tales with you, Deadpool, you're out of your mind."
Deadpool's eyes widened like a kid at a Christmas party. "Okay, okay, okay! Hold up! This is gold! Tell me everything, Jim. I need all of it. I mean, how do you go from 'ancient weapon' to 'cursed stick with a serious attitude problem'? I'm all ears!"
At that moment, the camp seemed to collectively sigh, as if it had accepted its fate. This—whatever this was—was now their life. And they were in it together.
Thalia, leaning casually against a tent and arms crossed, smirked. "Honestly? I think I miss Sirius."
Annabeth, dry as usual, quipped, "Sirius is a saint compared to this. At least he doesn't talk to himself in the third person. Yet."
Katie, always ready to make light of the situation, grinned. "This is way more fun than that time I got stuck in a cabin with Travis and, well... let's just say it's a story for another time."
Harry shook his head but couldn't help the small grin tugging at his lips. "I don't know if I'm proud or terrified by this situation. But hey, Deadpool won't blow up the camp... probably."
Deadpool, having none of it, suddenly stood up and gestured grandly to the group as if unveiling a masterpiece. "Alright, my fellow adventurers, you've met the mystical staff of legend! Now get ready for some beautiful chaos! Who's with me?"
And just like that, Team Lokison found themselves saddled with not only a magical weapon in the form of Riyu Jingu Bang but also a mercenary so unhinged he made Sirius look like a monk. And if that wasn't enough? The adventure was only beginning.
---
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