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SD:CH124 - Retribution Part 2
🕑 Added 2024-08-26 19:46:10 +0000 UTCSomewhere in the darkness of the forest, Lucius Malfoy looked at all the chaos his plans had unfolded that night and scowled.
He had his Death Eater mask on. Misdirection was key, and should the DMLE, or whatever remained of it, ever learn of his involvement, his life was forfeit. No amount of gold could convince Cornelius to keep him alive, if the people of Wizarding Britain united against him. It would be inconvenient, until the Dark Lord’s plans progressed a bit further. No, this time he stayed under his disillusionment charm, observing Sebastian Delacour fighting off the mercenaries Lucius had paid to capture the man.
But more important than that, it was the way things were unfolding that pissed Lucius, and he had no idea what to make of it.
He had seen the Dark Mark dissipate and feel Walden Macnair’s presence vanish. That meant he was dead, a loss that was neither unexpected nor mourned. The Executioner was a powerful fighter, but a tad too berserk for Lucius’s tastes, who preferred subtler methods to achieve what he aimed for. This was a war, and wars demanded sacrifice. Macnair was, like anyone else, cannon fodder.
But the means of his demise was… troublesome at the very least. Ominously so. Empowered by the Dark Mark, Macnair was a flawless instrument of Death that should have killed the DMLE Director several times over. Instead, the woman stayed miraculously alive, empowered by a power too strange and terrible for Lucius to make any heads or tails of. It was very intriguing. Twisted, chaotic, bizarre, familiar….
His hand clenched the tiny little object he held inside his pocket. Medea’s bodkin — an enchanted dagger that was so steeped in necromancy that Lucius had to tie it up in multiple layers of silk just to keep it from destroying the enchantments in his robes and killing himself by mistake. It was given to him by the Dark Lord for a singular purpose — to collect the residual negative energies in the aftermath of the explosion — the agony from the pain, the fear of dying, the resentment the victims felt for the perpetrator of the explosion, as they drew their last breaths… so much energy, so much emotion. The ground would no doubt turn cursed, and hundreds of ghosts and malevolent spirits would arise out of its dust to haunt the living until they were successfully exorcised, their remains consecrated, and the land rejuvenated by druidic rituals over and over until it was good to be used again.
But someone else had gotten in the way.
At first, Lucius hadn’t quite believed it. But hearing enough mentions about an army of the dead, shades of the DMLE staff, aurors and hit-wizards alike, followed by poltergeists, ghosts, wraiths and banshees, attacking the werewolves and tearing them apart, taking the forest by storm had destroyed nearly every single plan that Lucius had prepared for the night.
In less than half an hour, this unexpected resistance had obliterated nearly three-quarters of his assembled Death-Eater forces. The only reason the one-fourth was still alive, was because they had successfully evaded while their compatriots were busy getting murdered by the hands of the dead.
The irony of Death-Eaters being butchered by the dead was not lost on him.
The worst part? This somebody, who could only be a necromancer, had channelled all the residual energy that Lucius was supposed to gather into creating this resistance force, and handed the reins to the DMLE Director, who was unleashing her rage with extreme prejudice. The power that the Dark Lord would have used to empower himself had been used against his own forces.
The Dark Lord wouldn’t be happy about this. Not at all.
If he had to get back into HIs good books, something big was needed. Something that would make the Dark Lord ignore his faults.
And right then, that ‘something’ arrived into the scene.
The ‘veela’ daughter of the Frenchman.
Lucius didn’t know why, but the Dark Lord had been obsessed with the veela race as of recently. Things had gotten to the degree that Lucius had asked his good friend Almeideuax to kidnap young veela women from the French covens, an outrageously difficult task given the strict security Sebastian Delacour had offered them. Lucius had heard tales about Sebastian’s wife Apolline descending from veela royalty, and having their daughter would no doubt please the Dark Lord quite well.
He watched as she charged into the crowd without preparation, casting blasting hexes and stunners to force their way to her injured father. The elder Delacour was already hurt by a dark hex on his left arm, and two of his bodyguards were dead. The girl’s sudden arrival caught the remaining bodyguard by surprise who was hit by a blood-boiling curse in the chest, before a severing charm relieved him off his head.
The father and the daughter exchanged words in rapid-fire French, before she held her wand out, daring anyone to attack her father.
Lucius smiled. He always admired a speck of defiance in his prey. It made things interesting.
“Mademoiselle Delacour,” he said, walking out of the shadows, his mask altering his voice as per usual. It would not do to have anyone recognize his voice. “We have been searching for you.”
The girl answered his words with a flaming curse that missed Lucius and set the tree behind him on fire. The sudden surprise caught him, and his Death Eater mask was snapped off his face and landed near her feet.
“Malfoy,” breathed Sebastian Delacour. “I should’ve known.”
“Let us go,” the girl spoke in heavily accented French. Between her allure and that accent, it only made things so much more enjoyable. Oh he would not kill her, not even harm her permanently, but he would play with her. He lazily deflected whatever spells the girl cast at him, before a weak banishing hex made her land on the ground with a thud.
The mercenaries laughed.
And then the girl hurled a small pouch from her pocket and everything went pitch dark.
Instantly everyone went on high alert. It was like the entire area was engulfed in darkness. As if night itself had swallowed every inch of the forest cover, making it impossible for him to see further. It took liberal application of lighting charms, general counterspells and finally after a burst of insight, a gravity charm to dissipate the Peruvian Instant-darkness powder, and by then, both father and daughter had vanished.
“Find them,” Lucius ordered the mercenaries and the werewolves. “Kill the father if you must, but bring the girl alive back to me.”
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“This place is… wrong,” said Sebastian Delacour. “It’s like the air is screaming.”
“The air is filled with souls, Papa,” said Fleur, stopping to breathe after running as fast as possible. “Zere is a resonance here. It will try to drag your soul out of your body to join it if you let it. Be strong, Papa.”
The curse on her father’s left arm was beyond her ability to counter, so she had instead put his entire left arm on a stasis charm, as they sprinted through the darkness of the forest. The sudden darkness that had inundated the area had helped her escape. Not a perfect plan, but it had worked.So far.
“Fleur, listen to me,” said her father. “You must leave. I’m — this curse is affecting me. I can’t go on further. Those terrorists, I — they are Death Eaters, followers of the Dark Lord in the last war. You cannot outrun the werewolves like this. Leave me. I’ll hold them back, and you can transform and fly away. That’s the —”
“No!” snapped Fleur, pulling her father while doing her best to ignore the growing unease in her gut. Between her surreal experience in the loo, followed by the crazed loony bastard in the forest and everything else, her limbs were feeling heavy. If not for her nature as a being of magic, she’d have fallen apart far earlier. “And… And I’m not alone! ‘Arry Potter is ‘elping me.”
“The Boy-Who-Lived?”
“Oui,” she said, panting as she ran through the forest. “‘E helped me take you and escape.”
She found herself wondering, offhandedly, what Potter really wanted, which naturally led into a reminder that for all his chivalry, he had let her rush into the spellfight by herself, without revealing himself. But as cowardly as it was, she could recognize the pragmatism in it. They were strangers after all, and he had entrusted her with two very useful things to hide themselves from their attackers. At the same time, he had also let that lunatic go despite having the chance to stun him for good. Add that with the stench of his magic from the first time, and his plans with the Malfoy woman….
Wait. The Lady Malfoy was plotting something with Potter while her husband was after Fleur’s father. In which case….
No. That wasn’t a train of thought worth going down, Fleur decided, despite the shiver that ran down her spine. Harry Potter was helping her out of the danger, he was not the dangerous one. She believed that. The alternative was simply too terrifying to contemplate.
Her father suddenly yanked her to the right, cutting her mental reveries off, and pulled her aside to hide behind an oak tree trunk. He looked around anxiously.
“They’re coming. The werewolves. Around us.”
Fleur had little experience with werewolves in the past. But she had read Wandering with werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart, and had some idea of just how dangerous the beasts could be, especially on a full moon night. The author, an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, had mentioned something about blood resonance, a phenomenon that made werewolves stronger if more of their kin were present there.
It was a good thing she had come prepared.
If nothing else works, use this, Potter had said, handing her over his invisibility cloak. Fleur pulled it out of her pouch and pulled it over them, doing her best not to puke at the stench of darkness emanating out of the Cloak. Whatever act of magic Potter had used with this cloak, it had definitely not been nice.
Father and daughter watched with bated breaths as they heard the sounds of rustling in the darkness, with the occasional howls and lighting charms and sparks against the thick tree trunks, unsure of what to do next. Her father had been right. It would be impossible to run from these beasts. Werewolves were way faster than humans, and she doubted she could even hit one before they killed both of them.
Unconsciously, she took a backstep, stepping on a tendril that snapped audibly.
Merde!
Fleur cursed herself in three different tongues, as the werewolf closest to them paused and took note. Her father gripped her hands tightly while aiming his wand at the beast as it drew near. In her haste, she had forgotten to pull her own wand that was currently inside her pocket, and trying to move again would give them away.
“Accio Cloak.”
Before Fleur could even register it, the Cloak was ripped away from over her. The shimmering fabric flew past the trees and landed in Lucius Malfoy’s hands. Fleur grit her teeth, not really sure what she could do. Even if she managed to curse some of the beasts or hold up a shield, the Death Eaters would shatter it with one of their spells. And the worst part? She wasn’t facing one of those beasts, but at least a dozen of them. Even if she had two wands, she’d barely be able to do anything before those venomous fangs would sink into her body from all angles.
Okay, okay, calm down, she told herself. This doesn’t look good, but panicking won’t help. I’ve to save Papa.
She looked around. The werewolves were encircling them from all sides, though the canopy above them was quite dark. If she could catch them off guard, she could use an illusion spell or something, and transform. Perhaps she could grab her father and pull him up through the canopy, and hopefully the Death Eaters wouldn’t know how to do a gravity charm unlike the madman from before and…. and…
All right, she conceded. It might be time to panic.
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Apparently bad things came in trios.
The first bad thing was that the army of shades that I had raised just sometime ago had dissipated or at least, were close to doing so, given how the taste of magic in the air was slowly changing back to normal. That meant that there was nothing to shield away the magical spike that was about to follow.
The second bad thing was that Lucius wasn’t alone. Fighting one big bad Death Eater was one thing, but fighting multiple ones at the same time? That was a different ball game. And while I had faith in my extreme reflexes, I couldn’t say the same about my experience fighting them.
The third was, well, that Fleur and her father were still there. Which meant I couldn’t use the Serratura with them within it.
Finally, there was Barty Crouch Junior to consider. If I employed the Serratura, Barty would remain outside it. And I doubted I had the ability to take on so many of them — Death Eaters and werewolves, all at once.
Or could I?
A quick glance through the status window showed me the list of all my current perks. And out of them, there was one that stood out head and shoulders in terms of damage potential. And given its nature, it would even fit in perfectly with the Black Family Magic.
No, come to think of it, its power and nature would actually be amplified by the Black Family Magic.
Only problem was that I had never used it before.
Oh well, there’s a first time for everything.
Putting on the cilice belt, I prepared myself for what was to follow. The dark artefact dug into my skin and greedily sucked my blood, pouring its intoxicants and curses down my bloodstream like it always did. Closing my eyes, I began the chant that Walburga Black had taught me all those months ago, a chant that had become second nature to me by now.
“I’m the child of the Coyote. I bind and I eat, I curse and I kill."
The Black Family were supposedly descended from the Coyote. It was said that the the Navajo Holy Ones cursed our ancestors, forcing them to live in Ni' Hodithil, the First Dark World, where their powers mutated to become shapeshifters. They called them Yenaldooshi, dark sorcerers with twisted abilities. It is this curse that lies at the root of the Black Family Magic. It is the power of this curse that manifests through this pelt you wear and detest, and it is this curse that allows an ordinary scion to transform into the Black Lord.
That would be me.
From the moment of my initiation till the time of enacting the ritual, I had meticulously let the Pelt drink my blood and quench its thirst, and use my power to prepare its curse.
A curse in which lay the foundation of the Black Family Magic.
On this accursed night, I call upon those waiting in Ni’Hodithil.”
Trembling in anticipation, I activated the final step, one that would allow me to channel those curses perfectly and effectively counter the Death Eaters.
Activating Perk - Malevolent Release
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To call it a mismatch would be a horrible understatement.
On one side was Fleur and her father. Granted, her father had been a skilled warwizard of the French forces before becoming a full-time politician, and she was no slouch either, they were still demographically on the lower side. Plus, her father had been cursed in one hand, and she was already on the verge of physical exhaustion.
On the other side were an entire group of bloodthirsty werewolves, the scent of blood and fear filling the air just from their presence. They seemed part of the darkness, and absolutely deadly opponents to face, even without the current disadvantages. Lucius Malfoy and three masked Death Eaters stood before them.
Fleur was beginning to wonder if maybe this entire Quidditch World Cup had been a bad plan.
“Don’t worry, little girl,” said one of the masked Death Eaters, his voice that of a kindly, caring, old uncle lecturing his favourite niece. “Your death won’t come just yet. You are a useful bargaining chip.”
“Or we’ll just kill you horribly before your father’s eyes,” said another, this one a woman. “He will pay for trying to bolster the half-breeds in France.”
The rage was literally rolling off the person in waves, as though being in her presence was enough to get her to start burning something.
“You will not harm a hair on my Fleur’s head, you bitch,” snarled her father. ‘I’ll kill you myself before that.”
The masked Death Eater retorted with an unforgivable.
“CRUCIO!”
“REDUCTO!”
The streak of jagged crimson clashed against Sebastian Delacour’s quick response, the silvery torrent of the blasting curse hitting it head-on, causing the epicentre of the clash to erupt into a furnace of melting gold, with thick globules of raw magic boiling and erupting out around, as the two fought for dominance. Meanwhile, Fleur was doing her best trying to defend from the constant barrage of curses the other Death Eaters threw their way with varying degrees of success.
“PROTEGO!” she yelled, while their father cast a blasting hex at another death eater.
“CONFRINGO!”
“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”
Exploding curses and restraining spells met the raw power of bone-exploding curses and blasting hexes. One of the werewolves circling them had climbed a tree to leap at her father from behind, only for Fleur to grab its hindlimb with the flaming rope charm and smashed it down to the ground, just like that madman had done to her earlier.
Her father looked at the fallen werewolf, before glancing at her blazing expression, before he fell to a quick petrifying spell from Malfoy, only for a werewolf to dash at him hungrily. Fleur transfigured a pair of silver daggers and impaled the werewolf, making it scream and turn around, its wild eyes glaring at Fleur with rage. Howling, it brought its massive paw down at her and Fleur shut her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
The pain never came.
Instead, the sound of something soft and heavy dropping on the ground attracted her attention.
Fleur opened her eyes, surprised. She had sort of, well, expected to have been dead at this point.
And then she felt it.
Death.
That was the only sensation she could determine was emanating from the being before her. Her father, the werewolves, the Death Eaters, everyone and everything fell insignificant compared to this… whatever it was. It was like the world itself had frozen.
An aura descended upon the area, an all-consuming feeling of rage and bloodlust backed by a power as unyielding as a mountain. A sensation so dangerous and primal, that it pervaded everyone’s sensations, including the werewolves themselves. Like they were about to be ripped apart by an angry wolf.
No, the irony was not lost on her.
The Death Eater closest to her stepped back instantly and raised a shield, barely in time to keep himself from being sliced into two, as something dark and horrible stepped into his place, separating Fleur and her father from the rest of the crowd.
Fleur looked up at his saviour.
And up.
And up.
It was a…. Beast. That much was certain. But that was akin to calling an abraxan a horse, and a grim a black dog. Easily seven feet tall, the humanoid beast had muscles so massive and corded that they bordered on the grotesque, but more than anything physical, it was horrifying because the aura it exuded was of sheer, mindless, carnage. Like nothing Fleur had ever dreamed of in his worst nightmares.
It bellowed like some kind of human monstrous hybrid at a volume that all but shattered Fleur’s eardrums. The sound was loud — an inept description. Fleur was already on the ground, so she just screamed when her eyes and ears and nose started bleeding, her heart threatening to explode, while her hands shook as pinpricks ran along her skin.
Right then and there, Fleur knew that she stood no chance in hell against this monster. If she fought, she’d die. If she stood there, she’d die. If she tried to run, she’d still die.
Something told her, yelled at her, that she should run. But her muscles didn’t obey her command. Her legs spasmed as she tried and failed repeatedly to stand on her feet. None of it seemed normal, and her mind nearly slipped away in fear. Even the other werewolves, seeming so deadly mere moments ago, were rooted to the spot in fear. It was like they understood that if they attacked, they would be crushed in a single stroke. Even if they decided to attack all together, the best case scenario would be the beast would kill most of them before getting injured, in which case the remaining could flee.
So why did such a thing save her life?
The monster turned around, and Fleur met its eyes. They were a vibrant green, almost like looking at an oncoming killing curse. Really, the only person or thing with eyes like that was —
“You had the right general idea,” the monster turned towards the Death Eaters, speaking in a rugged, thick, caveman voice. “But you didn’t think all the way through.”
His claws extended out. They were shining like silver.
“None of you gets out alive tonight.”
Comments
KristofferXxXxX
None of the Death Eaters will come out of this alive!
Vinccool96
Bro became a Wendigo
Hadrian v.E.
At last!
