AN: First off, I apologize. I have not shown my face on fanfic for ages. I have no one to blame but myself. And school. And Barnes and Noble. And theatre. But mainly myself.
Second, I realize this is a whole new story, and I have still not completed Vote for Voldy or Holiday Cheer. I intend to finish VfV – eventually. Holiday Cheer will be added onto whenever, well, there's a holiday.
So please, enjoy this, fair readers. And remember: I treasure your reviews.
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A trickle of sweat inched it's way down his forehead.
Briefly, a hand swept up to flick it away. He quickly regretted the action; he couldn't risk losing control like that. He nearly had just now.
Determined, the red, snake-like eyes narrowed, focusing. Concentration radiated from them.
He could do this.
His grip tightened, beginning to shake. Horrified, he tried to regain pristine control.
No! Not now! I've come so far!
Voldemort could feel the fear welling up within him. More sweat beaded above his eyes. He made no movement to wipe the droplets away. He couldn't risk it.
Suddenly, his heart exploded with joy. There it is!
Accelerating, the Dark Lord raced towards his goal, practically drooling with anticipation. If he could just dodge the orc demons he could hit 'cntrl+alt+enter' and pick up the Goldyn Shaft Of Mystics and then –
"Sir!"
Voldemort shrieked, dropping his mouse and spinning away from his computer desk. Snape had hurtled in, panting and wheezing, his flowered apron askew.
"What?" the Dark Lord asked wildly, arms flailing as he attempted to regain control on his rolling chair. "What's going on? Who's on fire?"
"No one! We're out of sugar, sir!"
Voldemort froze, mid-gesture. "What... did you say?"
"We're out of sugar sir! And I'm supposed to make cherry tarts for the British Buddhist convention tonight!"
There was something strange happening to the Dark Lord's eyes. They appeared to be bugging out.
"You interrupt me... distract me from War of the Worlds... barge in during a key moment in my achieving the ultimate status of Highe Mastyr of All Yee Mystics and Crytures of Thye Byonde... to tell me we are out of sugar?!"
Snape nodded earnestly. "Brown sugar too, sir! And powdered! Otherwise I would have substituted with those! All we have are twelve and a half packets of Splenda, and I couldn't use that!"
The Soy-Reincarnation Faster held up a sad little yellow packet as evidence.
Voldemort's eyes, which had reached a rather dangerous point in popping out of his skull, acquired a twitch.
Snape, sensing danger, slowly began to back towards the door. "Sir...?" he asked nervously. "Are you okay... sir?"
Mechanically, the Dark Lord turned his head to the computer screen. He looked just in time to see his Warrior Elyfe body be tackled by little animated orc demons. They swarmed away, leaving a cartoonish skeleton.
The screen flashed. The speakers played a loser song. A message popped up. It read:
YOU HAVE BEEN ANIALATED. ONLYE TRUE OF HEARTE AND BRAVE OF SWORDE MAY HOLDE THEE GOLDYN SHAFT OF MYSTICS. BE BANISHÉD TO HELL, FOR ONLYE THERE BEE WHATE THOU DESERVÉD.
- REPLAY-
- QUIT-
As Voldemort read it, his body stiffened. It took only a few moments for the meaning to set in. He had lost his character. He would not be Highe Mastyr of All Yee Mystics and Crytures of Thye Beyonde. Grief took hold of him.
"Leave me," he chocked, eyes still locked on the screen, absorbing the glowing halo of light that encircled the Goldyn Shaft of Mystics, which still peeked faintly out from behind the annihilation message.
"... sir?" Snape asked uncertainly.
"Leave me!" the Dark Lord managed, collapsing beside his computer, sobbing.
The Soy-Reincarnation Faster vanished out the door, deciding to go ask the neighbors for some sugar instead.
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AN: Oh wow. This really is OC. I hope it doesn't get too crazy. But then again, I'd rather have crazy installments up instead of no installments at all. X)