Prompt: Tom Riddle's days leading up to the First Wizarding War.
With a flip of a coin, their fate is set. He sits back, surveying the occupants of the room with a practiced eye. He can see many of them trembling, already regretting their decision to participate. He smiles inwardly at the thought, quite enjoying the ripe smell of sweat and fear permeating the dank room.
"Let us begin," he says genially, spreading his arms outward, inviting his guests to take a seat at the table in the center of the room.
They hesitantly approach their seats at the rickety table, their eyes flitting to and fro as if to calculate the distance between the table and the door.
How foolish of them to believe that they can actually escape the wrath of Lord Voldemort. They will not be leaving this room, not while they were alive at least.
A movement. A man with an obnoxiously large mustache, the diplomat of Italy, twitches his foot violently and hurls himself away from the table, running for the door.
"Avada Kedavra," The light hits him square in the back and violently slamming his body against the door. They hear a sickening crunch of broken bones and the corpse bounces away from the door, leaving behind a crimson imprint, before coming to rest against the floor.
Lord Voldemort calmly turns back to the other occupants in the room, all of whom seem to have adopted an unseemly grey pallor.
An elderly woman with blue eyes, the chancellor of Germany, is watching him with wide eyes, twin tracks of liquid trailing down her face and dripping into her blouse.
"Does anyone else desire to leave?" he mockingly asks the other people. No one moves, as if afraid to offend him.
"I believe I asked a question," he reprimands, raising his eyebrow expectantly.
They all shake their heads fearfully.
"Good," he nods hid head in satisfaction and continues, "Now, I hope that everyone knows the rules of the game, but for those that do not, please listen carefully. It could be a matter of life and death."
He smiles a blood-chilling smile and pauses to watch the expressions of the others. A congressman from Romania squeaks and then freezes as the crimson eyes of Lord Voldemort land on his face. Lord Voldemort watches in amusement as the man urinates his pants in fear.
"Avada Kedavra," he lazily waves his wand at the man and turns away as the man dies.
"The rules are very simple," he begins again, "The first and only rule: no one can forfeit their turn."
"Since I have brought us together, I will be the first participant."
Seemingly out of nowhere he pulls out a revolver. He opens it up and shows the occupants of the room the empty cells inside the revolver. He then proceeds to pull out a cartridge from the hidden depths of his robe and loads it into the revolver before closing the chamber and spinning it around. He then points it at his temple and pulls the trigger.
Click
The sound reverberates around the room, spelling the fate of each of its occupants.
Lord Voldemort smiles amiably at each person in the room, delighting in their shock.
"W-w-we are p-playing Russian Roulette?" A man (a member of the British Parliament) who closely resembles a rat with his pointy features and beady eyes asks incredulously.
"Yessss," Lord Voldemort hisses out in answer.
The man gulps forcefully, his throat bobbing as he tries to hold in his nausea. Unfortunately for him, he is unsuccessful. He violently empties the contents of his stomach onto the table and his own person.
Lord Voldemort frowns at this boorish behavior. If he had wanted to look at the contents of the man's stomach he would have simply gutted him alive. He tuts impatiently at the man who is now lying on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit, seeming to have fallen unconscious.
"Really, this is quite uncouth behavior." Lord Voldemort shakes his head in disappointment and draws out his wand before pointing at the man's prone form.
"NOO!" a voice filled with the sweet sound of anguish cries out just before a bright green light hits the man.
Lord Voldemort turns his face to look at the speaker and is unsurprised to see a young women with lank brown hair and tear stained features running to the side of her now dead husband.
"No..." the cry comes out in a whisper as the woman cradles the head of her expired spouse.
She looks up at Lord Voldemort and snarls in fury, "How could you?! You monster!"
Lord Voldemort gives her a wide smile, his canines bared and says, "You'll be next."
He stands up and strides towards her and wraps her delicate fingers around the revolver before forcefully moving her hand to her temple. Once he is satisfied that she has a firm grasp on the revolver, he steps back and inclines his head, "Pull the trigger,"
The woman stares at him in dumb astonishment, her sobs dying away to be replaced with the initial kindling of fear.
"Shoot," he reiterates, the command outlined in the tone of his voice.
The woman continues staring at him uncomprehendingly, holding the revolver loosely in her hand.
"SHOOT!" he roars at her frightened figure.
With a frightened sob the woman points the revolver at him and pulls the trigger.
Click
Lord Voldemort stares coolly at her, his face morphing into disgust, "Pathetic, there was only one rule and you broke it. Now you'll have to be punished."
He takes the revolver away from the crying woman and points his wand at her, "Crucio,"
Guttural sounds of unimaginable pain rip the tense fabric of the room as the woman screams in undiluted agony. Her body contorts into grotesque shapes as she writhes on the floor; her nails clawing helplessly at the floor, leaving bloody impressions on the wooden floor.
The curse is broken with a swift slash of his wand as he stares at the broken woman in front of him with satisfaction.
He turns away from her and carelessly waves his wand in her direction, "Avada Kedavra,"
With an emerald flash, another heart ceases to beat.
"Three down, one to go," he thinks happily to himself.
He turns to look at the last living occupant of the room, the chancellor of Germany. The old woman stares at him fearfully, her bright blue eyes pooling with unshed tears, her mouth moving soundlessly in prayer.
"Your turn," he murmurs bemusedly, handing her the revolver.
She takes it in her hands, staring at it for a moment, before hesitantly pointing it at her temple.
"Möge Gott verdammt noch mal in die Hölle." she sys softly before pulling the trigger.
BANG
The bullet brutally tears through the skull of the woman lodging itself into her brain. Blood spatters the room in scarlet patterns as the woman falls to the floor, her eyes open wide.
"I am God and Hell is my domain," he says in response to her statement.
He looks around the room in a satisfied manner, taking note of the bodies and smiles. A job well done, perhaps he will play again, after he has killed Harry Potter.