Conquest
[A Harry Potter Fan Fiction]
By Criterion
Chapter Two
The night was just settling onto the earth. The heat of the day was rising from the ground, licking at every thing daring to tread across the sweltering concrete. Ramming through the flames of heat waves was a man, coolly walking through the desolate streets. The street lamps gave off an eerie illumination that contorted and shot erratically through the darkness as the man passed. Only a few windows contained any suggestion of human habitation. The rest were closed up tightly, lights off, waiting in anticipation for the night to recede back into the cracks of hell.
The man stopped suddenly. He turned to face an old pub, and slipped inside without so much as jingling the small bells strung across the door. Inside was dark, the windows were tinted so much that even the street lamp light had been strained out.
"So?" A piercing voice broke the silence. "Have you come to a conclusion?" The voice seemed to suck the life out of the air, replacing it with the dry stale vapor that clung to corpses.
"Yes, I have," said the man, looking up to the ceiling. Hiding in the shadows, another man was standing on a rafter that was once the dividing line between the pub and another upper room. "If you think that I would agree to such an abominable action your memory of me has been twisted in that demented head of yours!" Moonstrike tightened and unclenched his fists.
"Now, now," said the man in the darkness. "You're in a very tight dilemma, aren't you?" He sneered these last few words, giving a jubilant chuckle. "Take the assignment or all these poor, inky weaklings get erased from existence!" The chuckle was replaced by a high-pitched screeching laugh.
"Yes, but you've overlooked one miniscule detail." The dark mass shifted weight uneasily. "The assignment is 'assassination,' but the target wasn't disclosed in the letter. Not only that, but you also told me to come to the old hideout, not even a gang with a leader as ignorant as you would allow operations to continue in a location that everyone that wishes your destruction knows about." Moonstrike left these statements to settle in the darkness.
"My theory is that you've called me out of hiding because I'm the target. Is this true?" A hiss shattered the unbroken silence.
"Well, so much for getting your guard down. You're quite the soldier, always alert, always suspicious, and always clever. You were one of the possible targets. The group decided to take the others, but enlist your help, then when all the others had been taken down we could decide whether you were an asset or a liability." The form projecting these words slunk down to the floor to meet Moonstrike's blind gaze. He wore a lose cloak that made a rustling sound when he moved "But, you're no wizard." The creature gave a devilish smile, pulling, from under some clothing or other, a long, thin twig. The twig was quite strait with a few knots speckled randomly around the surface. Moonstrike only stood and smiled at this shadow creature's pitiful attempt to frighten him.
"Simon, honestly, you of all people should know that you aren't going to assassinate me with a wand. You were in my class when I was teaching "New Magical Theory," weren't you? I would just redirect the energy of any spell you cast somewhere else. The threads, Simon, have you forgotten the threads!" Simon lowered his wand for a moment, contemplating. "The threads of magical energy that you tap into, have you forgotten them, false wizard."
"I'm not a false wizard, old fool. I'll be able to beat you even without my wand!" The wizard sheathed his wand back into the folds of his cloths. Letting the light hit his right hand he revealed a pentagram tattooed on his palm. "See, I've been dabbling in a little alchemy. In a little time, I'll be just as good as you! Oh, and my name's Moth now, you fossil."
"Hm, well, if we're getting names strait, please call me Dr. Mattheau. Also, if you think that ridicules attempt at alchemy is worth me even lifting a finger, you'll have more trouble than you can shake a stick at!" Moth wanted to laugh at the Doctor's terribly outdated jargon, but he knew that Mattheau had the stuff to back up those claims. Slowly Moth began to circle Mattheau. He was buying time, trying to find a way past the old man's defenses.
"Why would you call me a false wizard? I always had perfect marks in all my classes, never missed a day of school either." Mattheau could sense the uneasy waver in his voice. Moth's body was trembling.
"I can see things that most wizards could not imagine dreaming of, lest see for themselves. I can see how you draw the magic from the threads surrounding your body, then forcing the loose magic into incantations and spells. That's very sloppy work, in my opinion. You don't have a significant reserve of energy, the proper threads through your wand, or the most effective method of magic execution, which is pulsing, of course." He said this so matter-of-factly, it could have been just another lesson to his students. "How did you become leader of the group, anyway? They could easily destroy you, but of course all of them are dead."
"Not you."
"Don't feed around the bush, I feel them. Lucas, Katharine, Antonio, and Judas are all in the city." Dr. Mattheau crossed his arms. "What have you done?" The last four words that slipped from Mattheau's lips fell out in a whisper. This time Moth did not bar his laughter, he let it scream from his lips and bound around the room in echoes that lasted for almost half an hour.
"You think I'm such a pitiful wizard? Well, how's raising people from the dead for power!" Mattheau did not change his expression a fraction.
"Did you use their original memories and everything?" He said this almost as if encouraging a young child to talk about his project.
"Absolutely, every trick, potion, or charm that they ever learned is at my disposal." The boy was quick to gloat about his work.
"There's another minute detail that you missed. If you had not slept through "New Magical Theory: the Soul" then you would have known that the actual person that has died will never come back, if you can supply the energy for the person's memories, if you happen to have them, to infect a host and turn it into a robot at the caster's command. You didn't resurrect people; you resurrected a disease. What's more is that the memory, along with the energy the mixture is called 'spirit,' will begin consuming the biological energy of the caster when the host's becomes too low." Simon was weary to believe much from this old man, but he was very wise. The only awkward part of this situation was that the two of them were enemies currently.
"We're all going insane on this scrap of land, aren't we? This forsaken city has no hope, does it?" Moth seemed genuinely frightened.
"This scrap of land has no hope, but the people on it do, unless they are murdered by a vicious criminal like you." Simon knew exactly what Dr. Mattheau meant. Cold shivers snaked up his back, putting his hairs on end. "And, we don't need to blindly sacrifice innocent people in order to get back home." Simon scowled hard at Mattheau.
"They don't have to be sacrificed? They don't deserve to live! The filthy mug—" Dr. Mattheau let out an enraged roar. Dashing strait for the wizard's neck he slammed the creature into the back wall in an iron chokehold.
"You disgusting disease, those poor people are being slaughtered by a lunatic. Your psychotic rein is destroying everything that you once stood for! All this destruction and decay is for the whims of a madman." Simon's wand reappeared. He waved it desperately around. All was silent. "Do you think that I would allow you to summon my friends to serve as you puppets? Do you think that I would allow any magic to slip from your fingers, no matter how small? You are a sick—" Simon was making a strange gurgling noise. Suddenly Mattheau dropped his grip from the man's throat, backing away towards the door.
"Die, why won't you freaks die?" Simon was now franticly waving his wand in vain. The air remained quiet. "Screw you and your demented friends!" screamed the powerless wizard. He crouched down, putting his right hand on the floor. "Now die already!" More silence came from his renewed attempts.
"It's no use; I've already clotted the veins of current circulating in this area. Also, don't push them too far, or else the energy you're trying to use will be drawn from your own biological energy." The Doctor gave a small chuckle. "You should be using a reserve of energy from within yourself, much more dependable. Plus, energy drawn from within you can't be clotted." The crouching figure scowled again, this time trying to think of the best course of action.
Simon began to laugh, a hearty, true, laugh. "The great invincible Doctor does have one weakness, now doesn't he?" A small metallic click whispered through the room, the squire of a larger bang that rocked through the room. The round sliced out of Simon's cloak and ripped through the flesh of the psychic's left arm, almost even with his heart. A plink sounded behind the Doctor as the round ricocheted off the concrete wall. Blood dripped from the wound, staining his robe, but he didn't seem to notice it.
"Shooting from the hip? I suppose that you gave some attention to class, using a non-magical item like a gun. Had it been a sword I probably could have deflected your attack. Had it been a magical item, then I could control it. But, the sonic speed of a bullet is to fast for the neurons in my brain to receive the—" another bang rocked through the room. This time it embedded in Mattheau's left shoulder. Still, he seemed to ignore the wounds. "–gun firing, and then stop the bullet from hitting me. But, it's just long enough to deflect them away from my head and heart." A third gunshot rang through the air. This time it veered sharply to the right and shattered a window. "What pitiful attempt! Trying to get me to over-compensate is of no use, I'm not that slow." The gun clicked a fourth time, but no shot issued from its muzzle.
The assassin completely exposed the gun, pulling the trigger in vain. "Y—you're going to kill me?" Moth's laughing was now replaced with tears.
"Unfortunately, yes."