Bloody Skies
oOo
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
oOo
Cyrus hid behind a nearby statue of a serpent with a small curse and grin as a volley of spells were sent his way. What was with people not appreciating his humor? The least Voldemort could have done was be fooled for a second. At least the Death Eaters had valued his awesomeness and gotten halfway to the floor before Voldemort verbally kicked them in the collective ass.
The head of the statue exploded, and Cyrus decided that it wasn't exactly the best hiding place. Using Xanthir's cover fire, he broke into a run towards the exit of the room. Unfortunately, it seemed Voldemort was in control of the zombies in the murky water because they were crawling onto the walkway!
Damn. If only he was far enough in his education that he could take over the lot of dead things and send them Voldemort's way. Pulling out both of his wands, he sent a burst of purifying fire out of the white and a dark incinerating curse out of the black. Ignoring the bits of burning and flying flesh, he repeated the spells on the next batch, and the next, and the next, until the amount of bodies became too numerous for him to take care of. Cursing under his breath at the cesspool of bodies he could sense in the water, he-
He blinked. Turning his attention back to the pools of water, he narrowed his eyes in thought.
Maybe… it was time to pull the plug.
Sheathing his wands, he turned his magic into another golden inferno around him to keep the zombies at bay. Next, he channeled pure magic into both of his hands until swirling globes of gold the size of basketballs had formed. With a burst of magic, they blasted away from him and then came to a stop in the air above the empty ends of the pools.
Bringing his hands down, he brought the magic down on the bottoms of the pools and blew a crater in each of them. The explosion shook the ground under his feet and the very walls of the room, before suddenly the water began to drain, taking more than half the zombies with it.
Drawing both his wands again, he made quick work of the zombies that had managed to crawl onto the small walkway, making his way back to Xanthir again. Unfortunately, it seemed Voldemort wasn't in the mood for games.
Jumping to the side to avoid getting smoked by a Killing Curse, Cyrus cussed and grumbled under his breath about dark lords not having a creative bone in their body. Xanthir started casting as fast as he could speak the incantations, hopefully distracting the bastard enough that Cyrus could make an-
Screams. All spells ceased for a moment at the loud, piercing wails that sounded from- the pools? No, the holes in the pools!
To Cyrus's shock, Voldemort actually cursed out loud before jumping into one of the empty pools, ordering his Death Eaters to kill the intruders as he went. Cyrus had a moment to ponder why Voldemort would give a shit about a bunch of people screaming before he had to dodge a wall of spellfire.
A cool egg cracked over his head, and the next thing Cyrus knew he was being dragged off the walkway and into a corner of the empty pool.
::You alright?:: Xanthir's familiar mental voice asked.
Cyrus grunted mentally in answer, getting an amused laugh from the werewolf in return. ::What's with the screaming?:: he asked, ignoring the spellfire from above for the moment.
::I dunno. Why do you think he'd go in there? Unless for some reason they were important to him. Maybe his followers are down there?::
::Hmm… no, his followers aren't that pathetic. They would probably have been casting curses and shouting, rather than screaming like… like…:: His brain froze. ::You don't think… are there prisoners down there?::
Both he and Xanthir cursed mentally and made a break for the nearest hole. ::Why are we here looking for this guy again? What's so important about him?::
Cyrus peered over the edge of the hole and grimaced at the sight of bloody corpses all across the damp floor. Some new, some old. ::Shit. Well, Bill's… a brother of some friends. He's a decent guy. Just in the wrong occupation at the moment.:: Cyrus chewed his lip. ::Think he's down there?::
A mental shrug. ::No idea. I can tell you that there's a lot of blood, though, and not much left alive down there. Do you… want to confirm?::
Cyrus sighed. ::Well, I'd like to know if he's dead so I can leave, if you know what I mean.::
With mental agreement, they both jumped over the side and promptly grimaced at the pool of bodies. Some Death Eaters hadn't been that lucky, it seemed. Not with Voldemort throwing around Killing Curses and fiendfyre like they were chump change, protecting… what the? Voldemort was protecting a group of civilians from the zombies?
Unfortunately, it seemed even he couldn't handle their sheer numbers, now that they'd slipped from his control. Perhaps the water had contained some kind of controlling agent? Or maybe he couldn't handle their numbers because he didn't have much death magic?
Not that Cyrus knew how to control permanent zombies. But… he did know how to control and raise dead things. Sucking his normal magic back into his core, he let his death magic fill his body and then sent it out to the bodies strewn about the room. Pushing the energy inside them, he created the tethering line to himself and exerted his will for them to rise.
Xanthir jumped beside him. ::Those yours?:: He asked as corpses around the room slowly began climbing to their feet.
::Yep. Maybe they'll distract V-man until we can grab Bill. I can see his hair in the group of civilians. No one but the Weasley family has hair that orange.::
::Awesome. Let's get him and get the fuck out of here. Dead things give me the creeps – no offense.::
::None taken.::
Knowing a summoning charm wouldn't be one of the best ideas considering the amount of dead things within grabbing distance, Cyrus told his zombies to run interference while he tried to get a portkey to Bill. Xanthir started throwing cover fire, keeping the zombies off his back as he waded his way through the sea of them. Setting one on fire that had tried to bite his neck, Cyrus scowled. There were just so many of the – he cast another blasting hex – fucking things!
Just as he'd made it halfway through, a series of screams filled the room. Craning his neck above the hunched backs of the zombies, he saw that a group of them had managed to get past Voldemort's waning defenses to attack the warders. Cursing, he blasted faster, but it wasn't fast enough.
There was a final shout of pain, and then silence. Cyrus stared in shock, disbelief, and downright irritation that the man he had come to rescue had just had his throat ripped out and was being eaten!
Before he had much more time to think about it, though, the ward that the civilians had been working on exploded, incinerating the bodies and zombies in its immediate vicinity and sending a wave of shrapnel and magic in Cyrus's direction. Instinctually casting a shield, he was unprepared for the sheer force of the explosion that sent him flying, shattering his shield in the process.
When arms caught him and a zombie that had remained tethered to his death magic core responded to his unconscious order and shielded him, Cyrus managed to escape a quick date with a small boulder. The force of it sent them tumbling backwards and crashing to the ground.
::Fuck. What the hell was that?:: Xanthir asked in the ensuing silence.
Cyrus sent a mental grunt. ::Hell if I know. But the person we're here for just got eaten, so I'd say we get the-::
The body in front of him, shielding him, exploded in a blast of guts and ichor. Cyrus had a millisecond to register the sheer fury on Voldemort's face before a Killing Curse had him scrambling to the side. ::Xanthir! Get the fuck out of here!::
::I already tried that! The portkey isn't working!::
Cyrus sent a volley of dark curses in the general direction of Voldemort, telling the zombies still tethered to his death magic core to get in the way and draw fire. He only had about half of them left, but it was better than nothing. ::What? Since when?::
::I don't know. Maybe the Death Eaters put up wards after that first round of prisoners escaped? Fred and George... Fucking idiots. Shouldn't have given them portkeys to begin with. Now their goddamned brother's dead and this mission is a scrap anyway.:: A litany of curses in languages Cyrus couldn't even guess raced across their link, background music to the action movie playing in front of him as Voldemort starting magically throwing boulders and balls of fire at him in between the ever flowing volley of Killing Curses.
::Draw him a little farther to the right, eh? Your invisibility's gone, but I missed most of the explosion. I'll sneak up behind him.::
::Careful. He's a tricky bastard.::
Xanthir sent a mental grunt of affirmation, but the human didn't have long to think more on it before he had to focus his entire attention on staying alive. All of his zombies had been wiped out at this point, and he didn't have the time or focus to try to raise another batch.
As Cyrus was dodging attacks and sending a few curses flying back at their caster, he had a thought. ::What would Tara do in this situation?:: He jumped over another curse and overpowered his next blasting hex to the point where it would hopefully overload Voldy's shield. No such luck.
Xanthir mentally snorted. ::Probably bring the ceiling down on us and conjure a sea of blood.::
Cyrus blinked. ::I'll do the blood, you do the ceiling. Wait until I'm near that exit.::
::You're SERIOUS?::
::Why not? It's not like anything else is working. This guy has been killing people since he was a teenager.::
Xanthir sent a mental wave of disbelief, but got into position. Cyrus made his way backwards towards the werewolf and started conjuring with both wands while Xanthir covered him. Using the force of the stream of blood coming from his wands, he hopped and skipped over the bodies on the floor. Seeing the look on Voldemort's face, a mixture of disbelief and amusement, he doubled the amount of magic going into the conjuration and turned his wands into bloody fire hoses.
Voldemort looked decidedly less amused and more irritated when the liquid almost connected with his face. Not that that was Cyrus's fault. After all, how could he be blamed for a megalomaniac's short-sightedness?
Oh, better dodge that AK. Couldn't the old bastard come up with something a little more original? Or had it become such an instinct for the snake that it was his knee-jerk reaction these days? 'Dumbledore thwarts him again? Flash of green light. Harry Potter makes another escape? Solution: Avada Kedavra. Dolores Umbridge starts molesting his Death Eaters? AK that bitch!'
It was like the DE answer to the question of life itself. What's the point of my wizardly existence? To AK other people of course.
Was that a ro- Holy fuck! Cyrus abruptly turned his jets of blood to the ground and used the sheer force of it to blast himself out of the way of the falling ceiling. ::Hey! A little more finesse would be appreciated! You trying to kill me?::
::Well sorry, why don't you try taking down an entire ceiling and see how you- AAAH!::
Cyrus cursed. ::Xanthir? Xanthir?:: Throwing a volley of curses Voldemort's way, he looked around the rubble for his friend, pushing down the panic clawing at his chest.
::Cyrus. Get… out…::
His heart froze in his chest. ::Not without you.:: Finally! There he was. Running over to the pile of rocks Xanthir had collapsed by, he grabbed the werewolf's prone body and dragged it behind cover. Just as he prepared to ask the werewolf what was wrong, he caught sight of the gaping hole in his abdomen.
Cyrus's heart skipped a beat as he stared down at the bloody mess. No. He- he didn't- couldn't- there wasn't enough time to heal him. Not with Voldemort getting closer to their location with each spell cast. Shit! Shit shit fuck damn fucking-
The rock next to them exploded forcefully, and the shrapnel connected with Cyrus's hastily cast body shield and sent him jerking to the side. Goddamnit! Xanth-
A Cruciatus hit him and sent him rolling in agony in the bloody, murky water that covered the ground. For what felt like an eternity his nerve endings were repeatedly ripped out of his body and then reconnected long enough to send waves of agony tearing up his spine and into his brain. Unable to keep himself from screaming in pain, he tossed and turned and gagged on the blood that found its way into his open mouth and sought to drown him in gore.
Finally the pain stopped for an agonizing moment of silence before a familiar, grating voice hissed through his ears.
"Potter. I'd wondered when you would show up."
Cyrus froze in his haze of pain and dragged his eyes over to the hulking shadow of Voldemort. Preparing multiple curses under his skin, he tried to think of a way to get Xanthir out of there. Alive.
"I don't suppose Dumbledore sent you… No, I didn't think so. He was always too much of a coward. Though I have to say, that was a very interesting dueling style… Where did you learn it, Potter?"
Cyrus's mouth moved on autopilot. "Your mum."
A foot landed in his side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him rolling away a few feet. Farther from Xanthir. "Really now, Potter. Watch your mouth. You wouldn't want your… friend to die in an even more unsightly and painful manner, would you?"
Cyrus growled and tried to push himself to his feet.
"Now now, enough of that. Perhaps you'd stay down if I took out your little friend, hm?"
Cyrus's magic bubbled under his skin. He'd lost his wands in the throws of the Cruciatus, but that hardly mattered. He'd take apart Voldemort limb from limb before he let him hurt one of his friends. With a burst of magic, he sent Xanthir's unconscious body flying farther away from the two of them. With another burst of power, he filled the water around them with electricity and directed it straight towards Voldemort.
Unfortunately, the Dark Lord just cast a spell that melted the energy into nothingness. Cursing to himself, Cyrus cast a fiendfyre whip and let out a shout of frustration when it too was blocked. Before he could cast another spell, a Cruciatus landed on him and sent him into new convulsions of agony. Fuck. Turning on his rune sight with a burn of power, he snapped the curse at its core and made a dash for Xanthir's body.
Two curses hit him in the back, and liquid fire raced up his arms as his legs became paralyzed beneath him and sent him careening back into the filthy water. With his legs unmoving and his arms feeling as though they were being ripped apart from the inside out, there was little he could do besides curl up in agony and try to make it go away. When he tried to use magic to heal it, it burned even more.
"That's better. Stay still while I kill your friend, won't you, Potter? It's the least I can do for all the trouble you've caused this operation."
Cyrus tried to cast a killing curse and screamed in agony when his arms felt as though they'd been doused in lava.
"You just don't learn, do you? That last curse destroyed the magical channels in your arms, fool. You won't be casting magic ever again."
Cyrus felt as though he'd died inside. What?
Voldemort laughed that high pitched, hissing cackle of his that had been the center of so many of Cyrus's adolescent nightmares. "Surprised? I'd heard rumors of your new, private training that was enough to thwart Dumbledore's attempts at recapturing you. Why'd you run away, little savior? Tired of everyone you care about dying?"
The Shikaan student could only watch, helpless, as Xanthir's unconscious body was raised from the muck by his hair.
"I wonder how long he'll survive without legs."
Cyrus's eyes widened in horror as a spell started sawing through the flesh of Xanthir's leg, waking the werewolf up and making him scream in agony. Finally, when the spell had cut all the way through the leg, it dropped to the floor with a wet plop.
Voldemort smirked. "I see that caught your attention. How does it feel, Potter, to know that nothing you can do will save your friend?" The sawing spell changed to hot fire that started cooking through the other limb. First the skin, then the muscle… until Cyrus threw up at the smell of cooked meat. The screams died halfway through as Xanthir passed out from the pain. Voldemort laughed and kept burning through the leg until it fell off. With a sneer, he threw the werewolf's body into the sludge.
"Your friend is stubborn, but he won't survive, Potter. Perhaps you'd like to be next?"
Fury erupted inside Cyrus, and with a scream of agony his magic ripped out of his body from his chest, back, and legs as he went careening towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord struggled at first under the onslaught of pure power, but after a moment shunted the assault aside as though it were a the pitiful attack of a child.
Hopelessness settled in Cyrus's gut as his magic stores, significantly drained already, emptied after his last attack. Collapsing into the carcass-filled water on the floor, he closed his eyes under the onslaught of frustration, pain, and loss.
Darkness curled under the black pit that was his stomach, slowly seeping into his limbs and cooling the fire in his arms. He tried to hold back the tidal wave of emotions churning in his stomach, but after a moment it was too much to hold in. Just… too much.
As his emotions exploded from within him, so did something else. Something huge and forgotten and filled with so much darkness that Cyrus's vision blackened under the onslaught until all he could see were black tendrils spreading out in all directions. Searching. Filling. Raising.
Moans started up, one at a time. First it was a shuffle and a grunt, then a scrape and a groan, and not long after that a cascade of noise punctuated by Voldemort's shout of surprise.
All Cyrus had wanted to do was protect Xanthir. That was it. It wasn't that hard, right? It wasn't an impossible task. And yet he had failed. Xanthir was… and Voldemort just stood there with a smirk on his face.
Cyrus had never wanted someone to die so much in his entire life.
"Potter! Call them off!"
Wanted him to get eaten alive. Chewed up bit by bit until there was nothing left but a skeleton.
"Potter!"
As another burst of coolness filled him to the brim, Cyrus felt something snap inside him. Heard a little voice scream as it was consumed by death. Didn't much care that it had died under the onslaught of power. Didn't much care if he died under the onslaught of power.
Something hit him. Cyrus could feel it from a certain perspective, but not first hand. It almost felt as though it were happening to someone else.
"Potter if you don't call …ff your…d…feri…ill…"
Sound faded. Everything faded until finally, there was blessed silence.
Silence.
oOo
When Cyrus woke up next, it was to a lot of continuous and unpleasant moaning. No, wait. Chanting. Chanting? Who the hell, and for what fucking reason, was chanting? He already had a headache the size of Dalesh's ego, why did the world wish to exacerbate it so?
His frown deepened. And what was with the occasional murmurs and terrified cries of children?
Wait a-
Forcing his eyes open, Cyrus tried to focus on the whirling mesh of shadow and color swirling in his eyesight. Blinking repeatedly, he forced himself into a seated position and gripped his head in pain as the headache became worse. What the fu-
His thought process froze at the sight of crimson cloud cover hanging magically beneath the architecture of a very familiar ceiling. Ripping his eyes away from the blood-filled sky above, he was instead met with the sight of huddling black-robed children. Frightened eyes met his own above familiar crests of red, blue, and yellow.
No.
Craning his head around, he caught sight of more of them. Hundreds, even. All of them huddled together, frightened, crying, murmuring to each other, and watching him with trepidation. Looking down at himself, it took a moment for his brain to shift into the perspective of a normal human being and see what they saw. That is, a man decked out in a strange battle outfit covered in blood, gore, and bruises.
Just lovely. Tara would probably say it brought out the color of his eyes.
His lighthearted mood in the face of this shit-tastic situation shattered at the memory of his friend. A memory which connected unerringly to the thought of Xanthir. Who was…
Agony, pain, and fury tore through him and left him breathless in their wake. He gripped his chest when it felt as though his heart had been ripped from him. And it had. Just as his friend had been ripped from him in such a brutal way.
He wasn't feeling nearly so confident about anything, now.
"Who are you?" a quiet voice asked.
Cyrus turned his attention to the little kid and wondered if he knew anything about anything. "How did Voldemort break into Hogwarts?" he questioned right back.
The kid gasped and stared at him in shock. "Y-you-! Don't say his name!"
Cyrus snorted. "Just answer the question, kid."
The ickle firstie (maybe second year?) frowned at that and gathered up all his courage in a glare. "I'm not a kid!"
Cyrus raised an intolerant eyebrow. "When a man covered in blood that is obviously not his own asks you why the latest megalomaniac terrorist has broken into a school full of children, an adult answers him. A child complains about accurate salutations after having failed to provide his name."
The kid stared at him in incomprehension.
"He broke in last night," a quiet voice interrupted them. Cyrus turned his attention to the girl and a frisson of shock raced through him at the familiar bushy hair. "He… might have had help from a student." She shook her head sadly. "Dumbledore… most of the teachers didn't make it."
Cyrus stared. Dumbledore… was dead? When the hell had this all happened? "What's the date?" When Hermione rattled it off with a weird look, he barely noticed the stares he was getting. A day and a half. He'd been unconscious for that long? Why hadn't Voldemort killed him when he had the chance?
And what had happened back in Egypt?
"You're… you're Harry, aren't you?" Hermione asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Cyrus turned his attention to her with a scowl. "Who?"
She shook her head with a small smile. "I know you are. Voldemort was far too pleased and pissed when the Death Eaters tossed you in here with us." Her expression darkened slightly. "Do you have any way of getting us out of here?"
Cyrus raised an eyebrow at her and looked around, assessing the situation as he checked his magic and death magic levels, both of which were extremely low. "Dunno. What the fuck's going on right now? Why's he got everyone here of all places?" Though, to be honest, the Great Hall would be an ideal location for public genocide.
Hermione shrugged. "Most of us are trapped inside this circle, though some of the children are being held outside of it. I don't know why. I've been trying to analyze some of the runes for days, but no luck. Most of them I don't even recognize, let alone know how to translate." She wilted after that, most of the spirit drained out of her. Had that happened after he left, or after Ron died?
"Runes, huh," he deadpanned. Lucky him, Voldemort picking something he'd been studying quite extensively all year. Here's hoping he actually recognized some of them, too… Closing his eyes, he turned on his rune sight and focused in on the giant circle that surrounded them.
Oh… Oooh… Aw, naaah… Voldemort wouldn't really- Oh. Wait, what…? Ah fuck.
"We're fucked." Turning off his rune sight, he shook his head, all the runes he'd seen flashing through his brain at lightning speed. "It's a sacrificial rune circle. From what I can make out of it, the barrier keeps the sacrifices trapped inside until they're needed, amongst other things. If you try to leave the circle anyway, you get a nasty shock. If you try to break the circle, you get knocked unconscious."
Hermione was watching him with wide eyes. "H-how did you know all that?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to a better school than you. What did you expect?"
"No, I mean-"
The tittering rise of emotional children's voices cut her off, and soon everyone's attention turned to the cloaked figure standing on the raised floor where the teachers used to sit. Voldemort.
"Today, children, you're all going to be part of a moment that will go down in history!" the Dark Lord hissed, a pleased smirk twisting his lipless mouth. Cyrus immediately started reanalyzing what he'd taken in of the rune circle. What could he break that would cause the most destruction…
"Bellatrix, if you would do the honor…"
The crazed woman grinned brightly and grabbed one of the small children still outside the circle. With a laugh, she slit the boy's throat and held it over a large basin that, so far, hadn't caught Cyrus's attention. The screams of fright from the other children did little to help his concentration. Once the boy's blood had been drained from his body (and Bellatrix had checked, holding him up by his feet with magic and jerking the body up and down), they grabbed another child. And another… until finally, the large basin was filled with blood.
Cyrus tried not to think about them as little people whose lives had just ended early. It made this whole situation easier to think of them as merely objects. Tools Voldemort planned to use for his benefit.
Then Voldemort started speaking in a language that Cyrus didn't recognize. He began to gesture at the smaller rune circle in which he stood, then at the larger circle filled with unwilling sacrifices, all the while holding the basin of blood in his hand.
Magic curled at Cyrus's feet, but it wasn't any magic he'd felt before. It was… dark. Darker than the Dark Arts he'd been delving into for the past year. It burned and pooled around his ankles even as the rune circles began to glow with power.
He had to do something…
"Hey Tom! I never thought you were one to go with old remedies, but didn't someone tell you that bathing in the blood of virgins doesn't actually make you more youthful? I mean, you could certainly use the make over, but what's to guarantee they were even virgins? Kids these day are having sex at weird ages, you know."
Voldemort paused in his chanting and glared at Cyrus with a fury that hardly inspired fear considering he couldn't enter the big circle anyway. "Potter. I thought you would remain unconscious for the remainder of our preparations. How remiss of me to think you could be anything but the bane of my existence."
Cyrus widened his eyes in innocence even as he stood and moved down the path that the students had created for him. Directly to Voldemort. Some of them watched him with awe, dislike, hope… He ignored them all, his entire attention focused on the snake standing beyond the edge of the circle. "What? How could I be anything but irritating? Didn't you know that every single thing I do, I do it just so I can annoy you in your cut off little hole of the world? To be honest, I wasn't sure if you were going to make an appearance this year, without my sweet ass in Hogwarts to tempt you away from your boring, pedophilic existence."
Red eyes narrowed, and the Dark Lord hissed. "My world hardly revolves around your pubescent trifles, Potter."
Even as he pondered the correct response, an idea began to take root in Cyrus's head as he eyed the corpses sitting not far away from the Death Eaters. How to best use this to his advantage… "Truly? Didn't seem like that was the case two years ago. My pubescent trifles were what upgraded you from snake-like baby gnome to snake-like adult gnome." Smiling widely, he batted his eyelashes even as he funneled death magic into the floor beneath him. He didn't want to test the channels of his arms, but his legs were fair game. Before Voldemort could begin to bluster angrily or move along with the ritual (oh how he did enjoy blathering about his nefarious plots), Cyrus pushed on. "I mean, really? Was all this truly necessary? Couldn't you have found some unsuspecting muggle town to sacrifice instead of all these gifted little magical brats? You do realize you're culling the herd of your future worshipers, right? Not a very smart decision for any evil overlord, I assure you."
As Voldemort's fury increased to unprecedented levels, Cyrus was really glad that his buried mind kept him from feeling the full effects of it. Ha! Take that, stupid bastard. Before he could gloat at the way he could unerringly incite the old snake to fury, unfortunately, the anger was wiped away by sheer, smug narcissism. "They've all been turned to Dumbledore's ways, Potter, just as you were. Why not sacrifice the Gryffindors that would cause me unending amusement and annoyance with their blatant disregard for self-preservation and common sense?"
Cyrus snorted. "Well, you got me there. Though, your current minions don't seem much more intelligent than some of the Gryffindors I've met. Shouldn't you weigh the pros and cons more thoroughly? I mean, with Peter as one of your only Gryffindor supporters, he hardly leaves the best of impressions. One person is hardly a representative for an entire group of people, after all. Didn't you learn about this stuff in muggle elementary? Your education must be severely lacking."
The fury notched back up again. "Silence, Potter. Your voice is a grating interruption to a ritual that is the epitome of all the Dark Arts."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow even as he finished channeling the proper ropes of death magic into the ground and hooked them back up to ensnare the dead children not too far away. If he charged them with enough death magic and enough purpose… they weren't that long dead. Chances were high that they'd be able to move faster than a regular human. The question was, use them now, or interrupt the ritual at its climax and hope it fried Voldemort in the backlash?
No, he didn't want to risk his life on guesswork. Better to go with the quick and dirty route.
"Really? The 'epitome of all the Dark Arts', you say?" He snorted. "It looks like something my teacher would draw on a chalkboard to prove a point about how certain fools of the highest caliber believe that sacrificing people can give you more power. Didn't you ever hear of the Sorcerer Trials? People have already tried this shit, hundreds of years ago. What makes you think you'll succeed where they failed?"
Sometimes reading too much did come in handy.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "This is a two thousand year old ritual used long before our time, Potter. Magic was far purer in this form, back before the muggles diluted our blood to the point of uselessness."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Really. And what is this 'awesome power' that will help you take over the world, oh mighty evil overlord?"
Voldemort hissed again in anger. Really, it was too easy pulling information from this guy. He was just too happy to share and blather his brilliance to any dumbfuck who would listen. The more Cyrus knew, the more likely he would succeed.
Channeling more and more death magic into the children's corpses, he tightened the noose of his control around them even as they began to twitch into awareness. Oh no, that wouldn't do. He couldn't have them intelligent. It was a perversion of all things a necromancer could do, but he hadn't been researching death magic for the past year to come out of it without a few despicable and truly war-worthy ideas. With another twist of death magic, he corroded the intelligence stored in their brains and hyped up the aggression. Almost there.
"I am hardly as mentally incapable as you, Potter. I've been planning this ritual for months! Hunting down scrolls in Egypt, Brazil, Russia, China… When I succeed, I will have absolute power over the lost art! True Dark Magic! None of this watered down, wand-waving Dark Arts, but true Dark power!"
As he started cackling that high pitched, irritating and insane laughter, Cyrus stopped pumping death magic into his prone zombies and held them at the ready.
"Behold, Potter! This is true POWER!"
As Voldemort plunged his hands into the vat of blood, many things happened at the same time. The children around him screamed in fear. The dark magic curling at Cyrus's ankles anchored itself to his body and began to drain energy from him. The rune circles glowed with red light as Voldemort chanted the last of his ritual.
And Cyrus's zombies were released from his control. The pile of bodies sprang to life even as Cyrus forced his death magic back into his core and called on his rune sight. The Death Eaters screamed as many powerful little bodies, starving for flesh, turned on them and started eating them alive. Voldemort had slit the throats of almost two-dozen children, after all.
And the killer was, even as Voldemort's followers started dying in droves, no matter how many curses they cast, the Dark Lord didn't even notice. No, he was enraptured by the blood that had started to creep up his arms from the vat and the dark power that curdled around everyone's feet.
Cyrus wasted no time in snapping the connecting rune sequence that shielded anything from entering or leaving the circle.
"Hermione!" he shouted into the chaos. "Evacuate the students!"
But as Cyrus turned around, he clenched his fists in dismay at the sight of children dropping like flies. Most of them didn't have the control and mastery over their magic to keep the dark power from sapping at their energy. Cyrus himself was having trouble, but he had far more magic than the average wizard, even with it depleted like this.
Cussing under his breath, he ran through the dropping children and found Hermione with a group of kids around her, a terrified expression on her face as they clung to her and some of the other older students he hadn't noticed the first time.
"IDIOTS!" he barked, catching all their attention in spite of the screaming wails of the Death Eaters and the low-pitched buzz that had started to ring in his ears. "The damned shield is down, you imbeciles! RUN!"
Grabbing Hermione by the collar of her robes – and really, he had no idea why, but for some reason he didn't want to see her turned into a smear on the floor too – he forcefully pulled her to the far edge of the circle, the farthest from the crazy zombie children running around eating anything that moved. With a heave of his arm, he yanked her out of the circle with him and pushed her in the direction of the door.
She flashed him a wild-eyed look of shock, but he was having none of it. Slapping her across the face, he barked at her to run for it.
Students still possessing some level of intelligence were quick to follow, but unfortunately it was only some of the older, more trained students that made it. Cyrus himself stood at the edge of the circle for a long moment, heaving for breath as the heavy weight of the dark magic pulling at his feet was forcibly ripped from him.
Staring into the circle, he frowned and reactivated his rune sight. There had to be some way to-
An explosion of power sent his body careening towards the wall of the Great Hall, and it was only instinct that formed the shield around his body before he was turned to a smear on the wall. Unfortunately, even after bouncing off the wall, he was still hit by a rain of bodies.
Had the circle been the epicenter of the blast?
Pushing the bodies off him with magic, he was unprepared for the sheer destruction of the room. A hole had been blown through the ceiling, and even if Cyrus hadn't created those zombie fiends, he doubted any of the Death Eaters would have survived that.
At the epicenter of the explosion stood a red figure, completely unaffected by the debris floating in the air around it. Cyrus cleared his lungs of some dust and wondered if that was Voldemort.
The head swiveled towards him and Cyrus froze, staring into the red shadows that seemed to be eyes. Okay, he wasn't sticking around to find out. Forcing himself to his feet, he moved to start limping towards the door and froze when the red figure, which had been nearly fifty meters away, suddenly appeared to be standing right next to him. He stared at the shiny, bloodied figure for a long moment in shock before taking an instinctual step back.
When it spoke, it wasn't English. Cyrus stared. The red thing smirked.
"Ah yes, you speak a different tongue, do you not, little necromancer."
Cyrus took another step back.
"What is this? Fear? You did not fear the man you call Voldemort." A cross between a snort and a 'tsk'. "A pitiful man, really. His soul was easy to devour, torn as it was." A laugh. "I can smell a piece of it on you, but it is… gone now. You must have devoured it yourself." A bloody hand came up to trace a line down his cheek. "So fair... and eyes greener than the life around an oasis. You will make a good servant."
Cyrus opened his mouth to say what the fuck, but found himself unable to move or speak as that finger drew away.
"Stay here a moment. We have visitors."
Cyrus's eyes swiveled around as, at that moment, a team of Aurors burst into the room, wands raised. Before they could do more than stare at the destruction and bodies everywhere, they started dropping like flies. There was little Cyrus could do but watch in horror as what appeared to be their souls were ripped from their bodies and funneled down the throat of the blood-covered… whatever it was.
"There, now that the interruption has been taken care of…" The red man reappeared in front of Cyrus, except now it seemed as though the blood was slowly being washed away by invisible water, revealing dark, tanned skin underneath. Skin as far from Voldemort's skin as could be physically possible. What the fuck had been that ritual?
Blood flowed away from a handsome face, revealing sharp lines, high cheekbones, and a pair of glowing, golden eyes. The corner of smooth lips rose in amusement. "Do you like what you see, my little necromancer?"
If Cyrus could speak, he would have had a few choice words to say to that comment. And he would have told the guy to get some clothes on. Where had Voldemort's robes gotten to?
"Oh, you're right. A bath is probably in order. It is hardly becoming to track blood across the floor, no?"
Right. And the bodies and gore from the explosion meant nothing, ri- oh wow that was trippy. Cyrus collapsed onto a familiar marble floor as the spell holding him captive released. How had they gotten to the prefects' bathroom?
All the water facets turned on at the same time, creating an interesting mix of different colored soap bubbles and shapes. With all of them on at the same time, it didn't take long for the tub to fill to the top. It was a magic tub after all. Cyrus watched warily as the tanned and toned man slipped into the bath with nary a glance in his direction.
What the hell was-
He yelped in surprise as magic bonds wrapped around his body and pulled him towards the tub. The man was watching him now, eyes sharply contrasted with what now appeared to be black hair. "Join me, little necromancer."
It wasn't a request.
Clenching his jaw, Cyrus started pulling his clothes off one at a time, slowly, hoping the man would get bored of watching him and look away. Except, he didn't. His eyes traced every curve of Cyrus's body as it was revealed, until finally his suit had been removed and he stood naked on the edge of the tub. The magic bonds wrapped around him again and lifted him down into the warm water of the tub, and there was nothing Cyrus could do to stop it.
Strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him into a toned chest. Cyrus tried to ignore the way their bodies seemed to fit together, and the way a suspicious hardness settled between the cheeks of his ass.
"Necromancers are a rare breed," the man whispered in his ear, teeth and tongue trailing the shell of his ear with patient curiosity. "I only ever had three during the entire time of my rule. That says much, does it not?" He ground against Cyrus, and the human tensed. "Are you unfamiliar with a man's touch, my little necromancer?" A deep chuckle. "I will take it slow, fear not. Only the best for one of your power." The man's nose nudged his filthy blond locks. "Mmm… you smell of such power, little one. The creature who brought me down did not have the same… appreciation for one of your beauty. His mind was torn from separating his soul with hopes of immortality." Cyrus's breath froze in surprise. "Oh? You did not know? While he achieved a crude, false immortality, his soul was easy enough to consume. There is never true immortality. There are only those who are powerful enough to overcome the passing of time, as I have. There is always a fool willing to offer his body for more power."
The grinding increased and Cyrus's patience disintegrated. With a forceful pull of his magic, he broke the bindings holding him in place and put some distance between himself and the crazy new psycho trying to ruin his life.
Aforementioned psycho just looked amused. "Now, now, what is this? Shy?"
Cyrus frowned and put more distance between them. "I don't have sex with people I don't know."
The man just laughed. "Very well then, little necromancer. My name is Set. What is yours?"
His frown deepened. "…Cyrus."
The man reappeared in front of him with a benevolent smile. "See? Now we know each other." Before Cyrus could say another word, he'd been bodily lifted out of the tub, placed on the edge, and Set had swallowed his cock whole. Letting out a knee-jerk moan, he tried to pull the man's head off of him, but that tongue. Collapsing back against the marble floor, he cracked his head on the floor and arched under the heat of that mouth. It felt like his body was on fire.
Wait. His body was on fire. Gasping in shock, he tightened his hold on that hair and pulled, but Set was too strong for him. Unable to move under the onslaught of the man's mouth and magic, he let out a scream of rage and called on his magic to throw the man off him. Instead of doing what he wanted, though, it went straight through Set, and then cycled back straight down his cock.
Orgasm blasted through him painfully as the magical overload of his own magic funneling into the channels of his groin set his channels on fire. Moaning in agony and pleasure, all he could do for a moment was lay there as sparks burst behind his eyes and his magic tried to regain its equilibrium.
A jolt of electricity raced up his spine and sent more fireworks off in his brain, interrupting whatever had been going through his mind a moment earlier. The warmth slowly faded, draining from his body through his fading erection. The warm mouth left him as he laid there, all the energy drained from his euphoric body.
"Did you enjoy that, my little necromancer?"
Cyrus looked up and met liquid gold eyes. "Yes, Master Set."
His master smiled. "That's a good pet."
oOo
Tara stood at the foot of a bed covered in white sheets and scowled. "What the fuck do you mean you can't reattach them?"
Svea grimaced. "I'm afraid that, in the time it took for you to find him, his body healed the wounds to prevent him from bleeding to death. The legs have decayed too much, as well. They wouldn't work again even if we did reattach them. They would merely rot and spread gangrene to the rest of his body."
Tara let out a loud growl of anger and clenched her fists at her sides. How she wanted to punch someone's face in at that moment. Preferably Cyrus's. Stupid fucking little twat of a human DICK! Why the fuck hadn't he phoned her? Instead she had shown up so late Xanthir would never regain his arms and legs and Cyrus was MIA. Stupid little shit. She should have gone with him. Should have known he would fuck it up. Little incompetent little shit.
Sinking her right fang through her lower lip, she jerked her head in acknowledgment to Svea. "I understand. Do what you can for him. I have an idiot to rescue."
Svea hummed thoughtfully. "I take it you are going to find Mr. Obsidian?"
She nodded. "For all I know he's managed to get himself killed. Stupid fucking retarded piece of figrish brains." Storming out of the room, she kept muttering insults under her breath, ignoring the look of amusement Svea sent her when she slammed the door.
The little shit!
Walking the rest of the way back to her room to exorcise some of her fury, she tried to come up with a plan of attack. Last she knew, they'd been in Egypt. From what Svea could tell her about Xanthir's limbs, they'd gone through around six hours of decay before she'd searched him out and found him. In reality, it was amazing that he'd survived at all. This didn't make her any less pissed, of course. Should have known that any mission Cyrus went on always went to shit.
Ignoring the stinging in her nose – she must have breathed in some dust – she sank her fang farther into her lower lip. She never should have let those two go together. Retards.
Slamming into her room, she started pulling out all the things she'd need for the bit of blood magic that would tell her their resident idiot's location. Pulling out the crystal that she'd infused with his magic, she set the last of the items on her table.
Alright. Time to get to it.
Unfortunately, five hours later found her redoing the ritual for the third time with no success. He was completely blocked from her. How was that even possible? No simple warding could cut her off from locating him that completely. He must be in some crazy lock down for her spell to fail.
There was no way he was dead. He was just too fucking stubborn.
Unfortunately, even after sleeping (more like tossing and turning) for eight hours, the results were the same. Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
Grabbing the nude vase that her Aunt had sent her as a gag birthday gift last year, she threw it against the wall and listened to it shatter with pleasure. Repairing it with a spell, she threw it again. And again.
Once she was sure that she wouldn't kill the next unsuspecting bastard she came across, she shadow walked to Xanthir.
He was still there. Nothing had changed. He was still unconscious. Svea and Rivehn were talking about something in hushed voices, though.
"Oh, Tara. You're back, I see. Did you find Mr. Obsidian?" Svea asked.
She sank her fang back into her lower lip and shook her head.
Svea hmmed. "That's too bad. I do have some good news for you, however. Rivehn seems to think it might be possible to create prosthetic limbs for Mr. Thanatos. Of course, there are no guarantees. Unfortunately, I don't believe that Mr. Thanatos will be able to afford the costs of a theoretical venture of that magnitude."
Tara stared at them and pulled her fang out of her lip. "I would happily contribute funds to the research project if it would get Xanthir back on his feet again, Rivehn."
The High Council member nodded. "So would I, Tara. However, getting a team of individuals together for a project of that magnitude… it would be difficult."
She nodded. "Whatever it takes."
He inclined his head, acknowledging both her bond to Xanthir, and her unspoken message. The friend of a vampire stayed a friend of a vampire. There was no half assing it when it came to that, and she'd made her demands very obvious to him. He'd offered some financial support as well. With a High Council member offering his assistance, as well as a respected Rune Master of the scholastic community… well, she would be very shocked indeed if he failed to bring the people together for this project. Every thousand-year-old vampire enjoyed a challenge.
Now she just needed to find her other friend. "Rivehn, can you, perchance, think of another method of finding someone when blood tracing has failed?"
Two sets of eyebrows rose in surprise at that, and immediately Tara's stomach took a nosedive.
"A blood trace failed? That is rare indeed. For that to happen… Obsidian must be dead, buried beneath incredibly powerful magical wards, or contained by blood seals of some kind."
Tara frowned. "Blood seals?"
Rivehn nodded. "Runes have existed since the beginning of magic. However, different cultures have different ways of approaching their use. Blood seals were particularly popular in Egypt and with the ancient Druids."
Tara frowned. "What kinds of things can you do with blood seals?"
Rivehn shrugged. "Just about anything."
Tara scowled. "Well, then can we find Cyrus with them?"
He shook his head. "Not if he's being hidden by blood seals."
Clenching her fists, she barely kept herself from punching through a wall. "Then what the hell can we do?" she growled between gritted teeth.
Rivehn frowned. "I will look through my texts. See if there is a way to circumvent a blood seal protection."
"But how do you know it's a blood seal? You said it could be three things."
Rivehn's purple eyes glowed with power as he looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, Tara was forcefully reminded of exactly who she was questioning. "He is not dead. There aren't wards powerful enough in this entire world to circumvent my blood trace." Her eyes widened at that. "So the only remaining obstacle… is a blood seal. Good day, Tara." He vanished in a flicker of shadow.
Tara let out a slow breath. Well. Apparently stuck up Rivehn had had his feathers ruffled a little bit. Tara had always suspected that he invested more than was normal in Cyrus. Now she knew he had been keeping an eye on the human.
Too bad it hadn't done much good in the end.
oOo
Cyrus let out a content sigh as fingers artfully carded through his drying hair. He was so tired, and even a little light headed and nauseous. After Master Set had discovered his little magic sensitivity, they hadn't left the bath until the water began to cool. And after that, Cyrus had shown him the wonders of king sized beds in the Room of Requirement. He had to say, Egyptian priests who had the ear of the Pharaoh must have lived in quite the luxury. Once Set had realized the magic of the room, he had changed it into his chambers from his old life.
Stretching under the warmth of the sun peaking through the cloth drapes, Cyrus let out another sigh and rubbed his cheek against hot, bronze skin.
"Do you enjoy this place, pet?"
Cyrus smiled. "I like that you like it," he said, absently tracing patterns on his Master's skin.
Set smiled. "Tell me of this world, my little necromancer. What awaits us outside these halls?"
"Hmm…" Cyrus had to think about that for a moment. "Well… most of this world is inhabited by non magical humans. Those who are magical usually isolate themselves. For instance, in Other Realm there are only magical beings."
"Tell me of this Other Realm."
"Well… I've been going to school there for the past year. I've learned more there than I ever did in this school."
Set's eyebrows rose. "This is a school?"
Cyrus nodded. "Unfortunately, Voldemort killed most of the student population to bring you here."
Set's fingers entrapped his chin. " 'Unfortunately,' my pet?"
Green eyes lowered in regret. "I didn't mean to say that I am not happy you are here, my Master. I only wished to imply my lack of respect for the one named Voldemort. He has been my adversary for a long time." It tugged at him, that knowledge. Voldemort had been an enemy. But why was the memory kind of hazy? No, it wasn't hazy so much as… his mind avoided it.
Interesting.
Set smiled indulgently at him. "I know you would never insult me knowingly, my pet. I was only teasing." Cyrus preened under the attention and pressed his cheek into the cupped hand caressing his face. "Tell me more of this place. Are there more powerful beings like yourself?"
"Oh yes. Masters Rivehn and Yankovich are very powerful and skilled, as well as-" A hand slapped across his cheek, surprising and confusing him. "Master Set?"
Steel fingers dug into his chin. "I am your only master, is that understood, little necromancer?"
"O-of course, Master Set. I don't know what I said to-"
"You referred to 'Masters Rivehn and Yankovich'. Who are these people?" Set snarled.
Cyrus blinked tears away from his eyes. "T-they are teachers only, Master! M- Rivehn is a Runes Master and Yankovich has a Mastery in Necromancy!" When the fingers clenching his face so tightly released, he let out a breath of relief. He would have to be careful not to refer to Masters Rivehn and Yankovich by their proper title again, if it bothered Master Set so.
"So they are merely your teachers, not carriers of your devotion?"
Cyrus's levels of distress rose. "Of course not, Master! You are my only Master!" Letting out a sob, he buried his face in Set's chest and tried to calm the racing of his heart and breath. When a hand started carding through his hair again, he relaxed bonelessly against his Master.
"Good, my pet. Your devotion is mine only."
"Yes, Master Set!" he kept his face buried in the man's chest to keep the sliver of betrayal, slicing through his being, hidden. Masters Rivehn and Yankovich had come first. It was wrong of Master Set to get angry with him over that. But he dare not say that to his new Master's face. He had already reacted terribly.
Cyrus wanted to see Masters Rivehn and Yankovich again so badly.
"A Rune Master and a Master Necromancer… you will take me to them. I will see if they are worthy."
Cyrus frowned slightly. "Worthy of what, my Master?" he murmured into the warm chest.
"Why, my love of course."
Outwardly the frown smoothed, but on the inside a rock fell into the pit of his stomach. A Master was never to be enslaved to another. It was just… wrong. He didn't know why, but it was. "Of course, Master Set," he said instead, shoving his doubts down deep.
oOo
Rivehn scowled as he looked down at the many books strewn across his desk and floor. They'd decided to come back to his manor, since he had a far larger collection of books in his personal library and study. Picking up his favorite paperweight, an amethyst stone, he crushed it into dust in his hand and let it sieve through his fingers and fall onto the carpet.
Nothing. He hadn't found a single damned thing in the past twenty hours he'd wasted looking for a tracking spell that would overcome blood seals. It was driving him spare.
"Still no luck?" Yankovich asked, walking into the room with two glasses of Talgrise in hand.
Rivehn tossed back the first in one gulp and sipped on the second. "Nothing. I am beginning to wonder if he is indeed de-"
"Rivehn!" the familiar voice of Tara cut through their conversation.
The vampire raised a hand to his temples and gently kneaded. "If that woman asks one more time if I've had any more progress… I cannot fathom why I ever keyed her into the wards."
Yankovich just snickered, prompting Rivehn to smack him over the head.
However, when Tara came bursting into the room, it was with a bright smile as she dragged the object of their search behind her. "He just showed up at Shikaan! Isn't this great? I was tempted to beat the shit out of him, but he said that he had something extremely important to tell you both and asked if I would bring him to you."
Rivehn met the green eyes of his student and frowned slightly at the look on the boy's face. There was something… odd. "Thank you, Tara. You may leave." When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, "Perhaps Xanthir has awakened? It would be unfortunate if he awoke and you were not there to help him come to grips with his situation."
The weird look on Cyrus's face intensified. "Xanthir… is alive?" he asked haltingly.
Tara smacked him upside the head. "No thanks to you, idiot. Next time call me when you need back up." She turned her attention back to Rivehn. "If you need me to come by to pick up the pieces later, just text me. Ciao!" She vanished into a nearby shadow.
Cyrus stared after her, a flabbergasted expression on his face. It was almost as if… he'd forgotten how Tara could be. He was genuinely surprised.
Rivehn's frown deepened. "What is it you wished to share with me, Cyrus?"
Green eyes flickered back and forth between him and Yankovich. "It is not I who wishes to share, but Master Set."
Before Rivehn could open his mouth to react, blood seals skated across Cyrus's skin and a man separated from him. Standing up, he ignored the toppling of his seat and the shattering of the glass he dropped.
Golden eyes met stormy violet. "A pleasure to meet you, Rivehn. My pet has said such flattering things about you." The- the man, for Rivehn failed to think of a more appropriate and derogatory term to call him, traced a finger down the curve of Cyrus's jaw with a self-satisfied smirk. "Oh yes. And I can see that they were all true. You smell of great power." Golden eyes closed for a moment as he breathed in the air of the room. "You have a large collection of books. I will read them later."
Rivehn snapped into action faster than Yankovich, stewing behind him in obvious anger, could move. Unfortunately, his physical strike was caught in an inhumanly strong hand. He tried to pull away, but the power roiling inside the man's body kept him immobile. Immediately he knew that it had been unwise to charge in so recklessly, but the way he had touched Cyrus… It had incited him to such fury.
"You will release Cyrus from your spell, immediately, or I will rend you limb from limb," he growled dangerously, summoning his magic to him to break the strange hold the other man held over him. Without the aid of that strange, foreign magic, it was easy to pull away and put some more distance between them.
The man – Set, Cyrus had called him – smirked slowly, eyes raking up and down Rivehn's form. "Not only powerful, but delicious as well. I will enjoy fucking you as I did my little necromancer."
oOo
Cyrus internally winced as the Master so tactlessly shoved their joining in the faces of Masters Rivehn and Yankovich. For some reason, his insides squirmed at the thought of them knowing what he had participated in. What he had been made to enjoy. Made…?
His head started swimming, but not so badly that he missed Master Rivehn's reaction at the information. At first, both Master Rivehn and Master Yankovich had frozen, but Master Rivehn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence with a burst of pure and furious power that had Cyrus nearly collapsing in ecstasy then and there. He remembered this power. It was familiar on a level that Master Set's was not. While Master Set had had to push his power into Cyrus for it to cause him pleasure, Rivehn's mere magical presence seemed to have just as strong an effect.
Why was that? And why did he not remember the reason why Rivehn and Yankovich were his Masters? Whenever he tried to question it too deeply, his mind became fuzzy and confused.
Either way, he was no longer quite so sure that he wanted Set to be his Master.
oOo
Rivehn's fury knew no bounds. The familiarity made his stomach clench in disgust and anger. To know that Cyrus had been slave bound to this maggot and then taken for what had probably been hours… and from the looks of it, his psyche had been so bent by the slave bond as to enjoy it.
Rivehn could see it in glazed, green eyes. But it was a small sliver of shame that stopped Rivehn from rashly tearing down his entire manor to get at this bastard. It was the shiver that raced up the young human's spine when Rivehn's power flooded the room, so reminiscent of the time the poor kid had first seen Rivehn and Yankovich 'together'. It was the way his eyes moved back and forth between the back of Set and his two teachers. All of it screamed of awareness.
Awareness of what, Rivehn fully intended to find out.
Unfortunately, it seemed Yankovich had missed these subtle inconsistencies, for his death magic had exploded in a terrible torrent that sought to rip the soul from the intruder's body. Neither expected the events that resulted, however.
Just as the soul jerked within the confines of the interloper's body, Yankovich's magic was thrown back against him, sending him flying across the room and careening into the wall with the sheer force of it.
Set 'tsk'ed. "Now, now, enough of that. I would hate to have to devour your soul, necromancer. You will make such a promising addition to my collection."
Rivehn used the moment of distraction to analyze the blood seals he could see on Cyrus's person with his rune sight. Having mastered it centuries ago, it was a simple thing to activate it only in one eye, so he could keep his attention trained on Set's movements.
Yankovich could handle a little beating, after all, while Rivehn gathered information.
It seemed to be a relatively archaic slave bond, to be honest. Rivehn could name five different kinds that were more effective and longer lasting. That of course didn't mean that it would be much easier to break… well, for anyone not a Rune Master with rune sight.
A smirk crept across his lips. Cyrus's explosion should prove a strong enough distraction for Rivehn to kill the nuisance. With a twinge of mental control, even as Set approached Yankovich to infect him with a similar contract, Rivehn broke the bonds that tangled his student's thought processes.
This would prove to be entertaining.
oOo
Cyrus didn't know when exactly it happened. To be honest, it kind of felt like sitting in a mud bath for hours, only to climb out and feel like you were covered in grit clinging to your clothes, between your toes, and generally making you feel icky and gross.
That was his first impression.
Not to mention the headache. He'd suffered weird mental shit before with Dumbledore's brambles and all, but this was a different kind of mental ass-raping.
That was his second impression.
Which inevitably led him to the memory of what had happened in that prefects' bathtub and the Room of Requirement, and it had nothing to do with golden eggs or practicing offensive spells.
And damn did he suddenly have the urge to practice some offensive spells.
Magic curled around his ankles. Boiled inside him. Afraid of damaging the channels in his arms, which he still hadn't tested for fear of being unable to cast anything from them ever again, he sucked his raging magic back into himself and confined it to his core.
That proved to be the worst possible solution. Ever dropped one of those mints into a bottle of coke and then tried to slam the lid shut again? Well, to say the least, an explosion was inevitable.
Or in this case, an implosion.
Now that he knew what he was feeling, he recognized the weird feelings that had raced through his body during the blur of sex he'd had with the being that had eaten Voldemort alive. Recognized the way his body had absorbed that magic into itself and started burning through it. There had been so much magic that he hadn't noticed a drain in his own reserves, which was what usually happened at the end of one of his bouts of illness. But no, Set's magic had fed the illness.
And Cyrus's magic had just set off the proverbial bomb.
Collapsing to the ground, he tried to gain control over the fury of his magic, but it was far beyond his control. Puking on the floor, he tried to remain conscious through the pain that tore at his body. It felt as though liquid fire pumped through his veins instead of blood. He hadn't felt like this since… that first time. The first time had been bad.
But in some ways, this felt even worse. Then, he'd been dying, but now… he felt wrong. Changing. There was something…
A fire lit in his chest and he gripped it in pain, collapsing completely onto the ground and passing out.
oOo
Rivehn rarely reassessed his opinion on something, but the events taking place before him were certainly not as entertaining as he envisioned. Instead they were quite alarming. Soon after coherence returned to Cyrus, he had been furious, but instead of channeling that fury into the man who had wronged him, he had channeled it into himself, the stupid little… truly, there weren't words to describe that boy at times.
And then he collapsed onto the floor, gripping his chest in agony and passing out. Rivehn saw Set turn around in surprise at the noise, and used that moment to activate the runes that he'd had built into every room of his manor. Runes that had been shaped from one of the rarest metals in Other Realm – blood metal. Only the elves knew how to make it, and it had cost him a truly ridiculous amount of money to pay for it all.
But at times like these, it was worth every coin. Exerting his will over the array he had spent decades designing for optimum efficiency and use, he activated the little-used sequence that ensnared any being he chose, sealed their magic, physically restrained them, and knocked them unconscious if he desired. The upside of home field advantage, so to speak. He had jewels all over the house that boosted any and all magic he chose to cast in his manor, and at that moment he used every single drop of their power to ensure that Set was well and truly restrained.
He had neither the time nor the energy to spare for foolish mistakes or underestimating an enemy.
Set hit the ground like a sack of rocks, and Yankovich happily kicked him into the middle of the room with a pleased smirk on his face. "'Bout time you did something," he complained, rolling a kink out of his shoulder. "For a second there I thought you'd frozen up."
Rivehn snorted. "Hardly." Knowing that Yankovich would proceed to do what he could to restrain the enemy further with death magic, he turned his attention to the collapsed body of his student on the floor.
"Cyrus?" he asked cautiously, reaching out a hand to gently shake the human's shoulder. Just as quickly, he pulled away his arm when a large portion of his magic was sucked into the human's small frame.
A small frame that soon went into convulsions. There was little Rivehn could do to stop them besides remove furniture and books from the boy's immediate vicinity. With all his magic being absorbed through spell or touch, he couldn't risk any more contact with the human at this point, unless he wanted to chance Set going free.
Speaking of which… Rivehn stared at the jerking body of Set on his floor with no little amount of incredulity. He was chiseling away at Rivehn's restraining magic with a larger hammer! How was it possible that one man could have so much magic? And an unidentifiable kind of magic at that?
Two things happened at the same time. Set broke free of his restraints with a flash of black power at the same time Cyrus's body exploded in an inferno of fire. Even Set, determined as he was to gain control over Rivehn and Yankovich, froze at the sight of the orange and yellow flames that, for some reason, failed to burn through the carpet on the floor or set any of Rivehn's books alight.
Finally, the inferno died down with a gust of wind that seemed to come from… wings. Wings on Cyrus's back. Wings that seemed to glow with the power and color of fire.
Set fell to his knees at the sight of Cyrus standing, wings extended behind him. Long, red hair floated in an unearthly wind, framing two molten lava eyes that seemed to shift colors even as you watched them. "R-Ra?" he whispered softly.
But Cyrus said nothing, continuing to stare at Set with an inhuman fury, eyes burning with bloodlust. Set bowed before the teenager and began to babble and plead for forgiveness from… Ra. Rivehn was hard pressed to believe that his former student had become a god, but what did he know?
oOo
It felt warm. Like a sun shining down on you on the white sands of your favorite beach. Except, he was his own personal sun and there were no unfortunate shadows to interrupt the glorious heat of his sun.
With the heat came a fury so deep he had scarcely felt something like it before in his entire life. He had been angry before, but fury… this emotion was scorching heat. Claws that ripped flesh from bone. Fire that burned from the inside until there was nothing but emotion, nothing but the moment, nothing but heat.
It took a moment for sanity to return. His eyes saw a man on his knees before him, but it took his brain a moment to catch up with the who, why, and what of his present situation. When he remembered, though…
"Please, forgive me, my Lord Ra, I did not know! I did not know he was your vessel! I would never have taken had I-"
The fury took control again, bathing his world in red. Or perhaps that was the fire that spread from the touch of his hand on the man's bowed head to his entire, prostrate body. The purifying fires latched onto the black of the man's soul and burned and burned until his existence and magic purified and disappeared into ash.
He stared down at the pile of dust for a long moment before the strength left him and he found the world falling sideways.
The last thing he remembered before consciousness faded was a pair of familiar arms catching him.
oOo
When Cyrus woke next, it was to the familiar, uncomfortable mattress of a Svea bed and Tara's endless bitching.
"What do you mean he won't wake up for at least a few more days? He's already been sleeping for nearly a week! How much recovery time does a guy need? Xanthir is already up and at 'em and he doesn't have LEGS for chrissake!"
Cyrus almost laughed at that for a moment before the words clicked in. Xanthir didn't have legs?
Opening groggy eyes, he turned his head towards the source of the racket.
"Tara, if you insist on being loud and stubborn, I'm afraid I'm going to have to remove you from-"
"Oh look! He's awake! See, I told you he wouldn't be asleep for much longer."
Cyrus snorted. "Not with you making that God awful racket," he bitched. Well, rasped, really. Water please?
As if reading his mind, Tara shoved a straw into his mouth even as she helped him sit upright. "So, I hear you grew a pair of wings. Is that true?" Cyrus choked on the water and stared at her, uncomprehendingly. "What's with you getting upgrades while Xanthir doesn't even have legs? Hm? I swear you're a walking bad luck charm."
A snort from the other side of the room had Cyrus turning his attention to Rivehn and Yankovich, both who seemed to have been in the room for a while now. "Bad luck charm to both his friends and enemies," Yankovich said with a grin. "You should have seen him dust that last fucker. Damn."
Rivehn raised an eyebrow and gave Yankovich a look. "I do believe you have been watching too much of that Vampire Slayer series."
"What? You can never have enough Buffy!"
"I fail to see what is so interesting about a prepubescent child killing vampires off in droves."
"You fail to see a lot of the cool things in life."
A noncommittal grunt. "So, Cyrus, how do you feel?"
The human blinked. "Uh, fine? Well, besides tired and a bit sore."
Finally, someone else in the room spoke up. "Does he seriously have wings? When do we get to see them? Dibs on first ride."
Cyrus craned his head to see Xanthir sitting upright in bed, watching them with a happy grin on his face in spite of it all.
Tara grunted. "I have yet to see wings. Maybe he'll sprout them if I throw him out the window." Without further ado, she picked him up and carried him over to the nearest window.
Needless to say, life had returned to normal for one Cyrus Obsidian. Well, as normal as it could ever be.
-Toki Mirage-
And so BS ends… for those of you who haven't been keeping up with the messages on my profile… BS is over. Feel free to continue on to the Epilogue. At the bottom, you'll find a present.
Blooper:
The Death Eaters started bowing, and Cyrus's serious frown almost cracked into a shit-eating grin.
Unfortunately, Voldemort ruined his fun far too quickly.
"What are you doing, you ingrates? That is not a god! That is the intruder glowing like a glow stick!"
One of the Death Eaters turned to look at Voldemort. "What's a glow stick?"
