A/N: Hey! I'm alive! My other story's latest chapter is getting reviewed as we speak, so I figured that, to tide you over, whomever you may be, I'd post this new little tidbit. It's definitely a darker story, and I have no blueprint or plan whatsoever with this, but I loved writing it, and I honestly think that it's something unique, so enjoy the first chapter of Chessmaster!
His first thought as his eyes snapped open was that nothing had changed. His chamber was still bathed in darkness, the cold stone altar he had been lain upon as tradition decreed still felt as coarse and unforgiving as it had so many years ago, scratching and biting in to his skin like hooks, as if the very slab of ancient rock was trying to hold him captive.
Stiff muscles protesting, he pushed himself upright, lightheadedness overtaking him immediately. He hadn't eaten anything since the sealing of the chamber, dormant as he'd been, so retching was useless, and yet it happened anyway. So weak. So human. He had thought that the ritual would have him transcend humanity, but it would seem that upon waking that he was just as mortal as before.
He felt no difference in his body whatsoever. He did not know how long he had been asleep, be it less than the cycle of a moon or more than a thousand, he couldn't tell. Looking upon his mess, he found a bile far blacker than any he had seen before. Unholy in scent and appearance, it sat, an outlier to his otherwise obviously human condition.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted, the almost pure blackness fading slightly to show the outlines of the chamber's various features, just as he remembered them. The small chamber held almost nothing besides the table he had been left on. An empty basin that was once filled with water now sat empty. The air felt stale. It had obviously been quite some time since he had been laid to rest. Blinking away the fatigue his eyes felt at suddenly being put to use, he began to examine every inch in detail.
He didn't know how long he searched his tomb come prison, but when he found a crack in the wall, he felt more energized than ever. Picking with his bare hands, he soon- felt more than saw- his blood began to drip on to the cold floor below. Still he worked. Momentary pain was nothing if it meant freedom.
As he worked, the task became mindless, and soon his mind began to wander. The pieces had all been put in place, the chessboard that was their world was perfectly aligned in their favor, until the Black King himself had come from his castle to tear in to the ranks himself, scattering bodies and cleaving the ranks like so many unwanted pests. Men twice his size were turned to dust at his touch. Children watched as the heads of their fathers and brothers were held aloft, one final gift before being either sent to work as slaves for the wealthy, or killed outright.
A crack of sunlight broke him from his reverie. Finally! With renewed vigor he worked, tearing at chunks of stone like a starving man presented with a cooked beef. As the hole grew steadily larger, he felt his resolve harden. He wasn't supposed to be woken until someone from the outside sought his presence, and since the wall had not given way, something must have gone wrong. He was determined to find out what.
Finally large enough to crawl through, he dove through his makeshift escape tunnel. Stone scraped away at his skin, even more pale, he realized, as it was hit with direct sunlight. He must've been hidden away longer than originally thought. Stumbling free, he managed to right himself, the sunlight finally bathing him in it's golden rays. Then he felt it.
Just as they'd read about. The unimaginable, filling sensation of something more than mere magic permeating his being. His core felt irrelevant now, as this first rush hit. And for the first time in almost twenty years, Ronald Billius Weasley cracked a smile.