Disclaimer Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling

Warning! This chapter will contain gruesome and horrific depictions of violence performed by a small 8-year-old eldritch abomination.

Chapter 15 The Cruellest Animal

The Herald, his form tall and imposing but invisible to the mortal world, strode through the darkness trailing a slinking, shadowy Death that clucked softly. Behind him trailing a respectful distance was a menagerie of Death, countless reapers, those that feed on death patiently waiting for their next meal and following in his wake like a grim procession. They bayed to each other softly and orchestral noise akin to the last breath of thousands of creatures as they eagerly followed him on the path to Roselyn's residence. Harry let his legs carry him as his eyes remained locked onto the rotating shoulders of the one that was guiding him to his location rather than the precious cargo in his arms. He dreaded looking down, his grief still very much at the forefront of his mind and tethered to it like a cluster of armed explosives was his rage. Harry wanted to explode, to cut loose, to bathe in the wonderfully tempting sensation of sweet violent revenge. But Roselyn came first… she earned that.

The slinking one came to a halt leaning back on its rearmost pair of legs, it's neck twisting so that two misshapen eyes communicated to him a simple explanation. The building they were now in front of was the one Roselyn had stayed in, it was a large multistorey complex with countless apartments. It was constructed mostly from cement from what Harry could see, the plain grey concrete painting a picture of simple box-like living arrangements. With careful steps, Harry approached his guide and presented it with a shallow nod, one which the creature returned with a low grasping bow. Harry approached what looked like a bunch of mail slots built into some type of metal box, a bunch of numbers running along with the slots in an orderly fashion. Harry let his face lean down and slowly gaze at the row of numbers, a small flicker of irritation forming at the lack of names to aid him in the identification of her room.

Despite lacking a mouth, or any facial orifice for that matter, Harry let a sigh slip out of his chest giving a mighty heave as the imitation of a familiar act settled his frayed nerves and calmed the boiling of his wrath. The motion however caused Roselyn's body to shift and brought Harry's attention to her waist where he heard a familiar jingle of metal. With delicate movements, Harry lowered her body down and reached into the pocket of her skirt, which he didn't even know had pockets. His long bleach-white fingers pulled out a set of keys, one of which had a number etched onto it. Number 12… what are the odds, Harry thought to himself in macabre amusement at the random occurrence.

Placing the key lightly upon her chest, Harry carefully lifted her back into his arms once more and walked inside the building pausing only to shoot a warning look over his shoulders that had the hungering hoard of reapers all act very well behaved. Harry strode past the front desk, the person who worked at it not even looking up from their book as Harry had already obscured himself from the world through his magic. He would pass unseen and produce no noise as he travelled between the material and immaterial, undetectable, and ethereal, especially to those who saw the world only for what it was. Harry found the walk to her door easily the most difficult part of his journey here, seeing the destination just before him and realising it was time to let her go was not an easy thing for him. I should make sure it's her apartment… and besides, I can't just leave her on the floor, he thought to himself as he squeezed her form to his chest, guilt stabbing at his soul.

Pointing a long sinuous claw at the lock on the door Harry magicked it open with a well-practised Command and entered the abode of his first friend. It was smaller than Harry was expecting, basically one room made into sections by a kitchen bench and a half wall to give the illusion of privacy. There was one other door that Harry assumed led to a bathroom or some such, but his attention was more captivated by the noise he heard from the other side of the room. Snoring, there was snoring coming from the back right section behind the half-wall, her roommate… let us hope they stay asleep, I have no more patience for people this night, Harry thought with firm finality. He was quick to approach an old beaten-up couch that faced a small box tv with a twisted antenna jutting out its top. With loving and gentle care, Harry laid her body upon the couch, her wet form limply sinking into the mismatched cushions.

… I should leave, Harry thought aimlessly his eyes locked onto her still face, the brutal injuries that caked it making his anger bubble dangerously. He reached out with his now scarily long arms and let her cold cheek rest softly in his palm as his mind became wracked with thoughts of their recent goodbye. … I did as you asked Roselyn, your people will tend to your body now. But don't think I am done just yet... I will make them pay Roselyn… you will not transverse death alone this night. With the coating of grief all but eroded Harry pull his hand back delicately and marched back to the door to her apartment. His monstrous hand wrapped around the doorknob ready to close the door but became frozen in hesitation. He stood there his mind a swarming storm of thoughts and emotions, of grief and rage and loathing and sorrow, it was only due to his feelings for Roselyn that he managed to keep his magic in check, lest it devastates her room entirely.

Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back, don't look back, Harry chanted in his head but against his better judgment his long neck crept back around, and he saw her laying on the couch, her still body looking almost whole from this angle with the worse of her facial injuries obscured. Harry felt a black ichor like tear creep down his face, as the last of his sorrow seemed to well up anew. But it brought with it his destructive wrath and with an otherworldly snarl, Harry slammed the door closed with such ferocity that he was sure he woke half the apartment complex. With inhuman speed, Harry raced out of the building and back to the waiting hoard of death. Unaware that in his haste he had spilt but a singular tear that landed upon the door carving a morose black wound upon the thick wood, a testament to the Herald's grief.

Harry did not even stop as he marched into the waiting mass of scavengers, all of whom were quick to move out of his way, fearful of becoming casualties to his blistering fury. Behind him shouting began to emerge from the apartment complex, no doubt from the residents having discovered Roselyn's corpse, but Harry paid it no mind as his thoughts focused on his plans. The further Harry got from the building the more he felt his control over his boiling anger wane, the reigns of control slipping eagerly from the firm grasp he had forced himself to maintain a hold of. Eventually, he let it slip all together and with it, he felt eager anticipation overtake him as the promise of vengeance loomed tauntingly in front of him. His alien form launched into a bounding sprint and from his throat a choked screech rent the air, a cry for blood and a promise of death that riled up every one of the reapers who all quickly gave chase. As the horrific form of the Herald raced through the night its thoughts became consumed by the faces of those that brought about his painful death and the death of the only person he had ever given a single damn about.

"Polkiss! Your death shall be a wonderful appetiser! Let us commence while the moon is obscured, the beauty of the night need not see what horrors I shall inflict upon you and your ilk!" The Herald roared into the dark, bloodlust and vengeful madness dripping from its proclamation. With its first victim selected the Herald began rushing through the dark a hoard of hungering Death salivating at its heel eager to consume the last bloody breaths of the soon to be victims.

…

Andrew Polkiss was not ok.

He was so far from ok that it was hilarious, and he let out a distorted giggle as his lips clasped back around the head of his newest beer. He had his wife take the brat to the doctor to get his nose fixed, leaving him in the house by himself which he was honestly grateful for. He had left his boots out in the rain to try and destroy whatever evidence was on them, his clothes were in a plastic bag ready to be thrown out as soon as he got his heart to stop hammering in his chest. He needed to calm down so he could get rid of the rest of the evidence, but his damn head was a blur and his chest felt like a giant fist was wrapped firmly around it. Even as he sat at the table downing alcohol his eyes whipped around and his mind was plagued by the memories of what he had done. The fact that he had just helped murder a woman and her glassy, lifeless eyes had stared right at him was almost nothing compared to the eyes of the demon that now haunted him.

Those glowing evil eyes that had stared right at him, willing him to drop dead, even as he swung from a rope his body ablaze, Andrew felt those eyes on him and even now in the safety of his own home, he could not be rid of them. He had been told what to do by Mike before he raced off to get himself and his brother looked at. "Honestly those two were a fucking mess… that demon melted half his fucking face-off," Andrew lamented as he took another swig from his bottle, his eyes locked onto his legs that were still coated in filth. "… I need to get this crap off me, better to do it before they get home and start asking questions."

Andrew got up, clad in only his underwear, and began to make his way to the bathroom but felt his body freeze as something appeared in his peripheral vision. In an instant, his knees locked, and a chill descended his spine while a tremor afflicted his hands. His eyes darted about in his head while his body remained frozen to the spot, a primal fear sending his already frantic heart into damn overdrive. With a surge of panic, he turned 90 degrees to face the window leading outside and saw… nothing. Just the heavy rain assaulting the ground while the streetlights caused the already forming puddles to shimmer. "I could have sworn… fucking green," Andrew spat as he let his back lean against the wall of the hallway. He buried his face in his hands as a panicked chuckle overcame him, the laugh he expelled was a wet, crazed thing befitting of his frayed mind.

But while his vision was obscured Andrew felt his breath hitch, he heard a noise. It was far too close, it was right in front of him. It was a hissing noise and with it, the air around him seemed to chill. He didn't know what to do, his whole body trembled, his mouth became dry, and his hands locked themselves to his face. Slowly the breathing got quieter and the air around him began to warm the sound fading until it could not be heard over the sound of the raging storm outside. With a soft whimper, Andrew peeled his hands away from his face allowing the room to be revealed to him slowly. When his hands were finally down, he turned his head to face the dining area he had just come from, but once again he found the room empty. His head whipped around behind him to the hall leading towards the bathroom but again it was empty.

"…W-what the fuck," Andrew panted his voice cracking as he felt bile hitch in his throat. His head whipped around wildly now trying to pinpoint any sign of where that hiss like breathing had come from but once again all signs pointed to him being alone. With a hefty sigh, Piers leaned over and proceeded to take in large gulps of air attempting to settle his racing pulse. "Get a hold of yourself man… their dead, you were there," Andrew snarled resolutely, angry with himself for getting this worked up. Andrew turned about and marched down the hall his footsteps stomping just to fill the house with some noise. He threw the door to the bathroom open and flicked the light on, he turned the shower on and let the water run so it could turn warm.

With the sound of the running water, he turned to the mirror over the basin and inspected himself closely. He was caked in mud, his knuckles a dirty maroon colour as either his busted knuckles or blood from the woman had mixed with the dirt. His sandy blond hair had flecks of mud in it, its thick texture now more akin to that of a thick mop it wet clumpy texture courtesy of the rain. His eyes lingered on the wounds he had accrued that night… he certainly did not escape the scrap unscathed, his nose being the most obvious casualty as it was bent oddly and still a swollen bloody mess. A firm scowl befell Andrews features as he remembered that twat Ash straitening it for him… and calling him whingy git for complaining, saying it was just a busted nose. Andrew leaned in to get a look at his nose, it was crooked still he was sure of it, and so with the mirror's help, the oldest Polkiss prodded at the swollen injury.

*Clang*

Andrew jumped at the sudden sound, he twisted his whole body about to witness the looming darkness outside of the bathroom, the hallway devoid of light suddenly far more daunting. But the stress of the night's events had finally gotten to the man and with a bout of violent clarity, Andrew grasped a piece of piping from where he was renovating the bathtub and brandished it in front of him. With a careful stride, he marched back out to the darkness of the hallway, his makeshift weapon leading him as his head was on a swivel. He marched down the hall eyes erratically bouncing in his head as he strained to take in his surroundings. He exited the hall, entering back into the dining room where he had been previously and where he was sure the noise had come from.

The source was obvious when he arrived, one of his empty bottles had rolled off the table and onto the floor, creating the loud and startling noise that had spooked him. But Andrew wasn't an idiot, all the windows were closed, and he knew this damn house didn't have a draft so that left the question of how exactly the bottle had fallen off of the table. Andrew scrutinised the bottles bending down to pick the one that had fallen off of the table, he looked it over as if searching for a clue but found none so he just put it back with the others. Wait a minute… one, two, three- I thought I had four? Andrew pondered confused as he noted the missing beer bottle. "Where the hell did it g- "

Andrew's question was ended prematurely as the missing empty bottle rolled out of the darkness of the hallway behind him. In a heartbeat, Andrew had turned around and swung the pipe like a bat aiming to take out whoever was behind him and while his pipe hit nothing his eyes locked onto a far more terrifying sight. Down the dark of that hallway, beyond where the light of the bathroom beat back the creeping dark like a wall of radiance, was a shadow. A shadow surrounding two glowing green orbs that glared at him balefully.

"No! No, you're dead! You're dead! We killed you!" Andrew screamed down the hall spittle launching off his lips as his panicked gaze locked onto those two stationary orbs. With a panicked grasping hand, he clutched an empty bottle off the table and hurled it down the hallway. The improvised projectile hurled down the corridor but crashed into the door frame of the bathroom where it shattered littering glass across the floor that glittered in the illumination. Even though a bottle just shattered before its face those two orbs remained locked onto Andrew and did not waver nor blink.

Andrew was huffing audibly at this point his breath coming out in ragged noisy gasps as his grip on the pipe tightened to even new extremes, his panic settling around him like a heavy wet rag. His legs were just locked beneath him his knees annoyingly shaking despite his feet refusing to move. Andrew was about to let lose another splurge of diatribe at the impossibility of those glowing orbs when the shadow in the dark moved. With almost machine-like precision Andrew watched horrified as a long looming hand moved out of the darkness and pressed itself into the broken glass, the muffled noise of the shards being crushed causing his face to twitch.

Andrew took a step back in horror at the inhuman hand, its size along with long probing claw-like fingers easily constituting a threat. Unfortunately, this caused him to bump into the table, the noise of his empty beer bottles clattering to the ground causing him to jump away from the table in fright but with his legs possessing the same constitution as jelly, he found himself quickly kneeling on the ground. With the violent realisation that he had taken his eyes off of the monstrous hand and those horrifying evil green spots a fresh wave of panic flashed through his body and caused him to emit a terrified squeak. Andrew pulled his body about with a violent jerk and saw that said hand was connected to a sinfully long arm. But still, the green orbs had not moved from their original position, rather they just floated there in the darkness tauntingly.

"What the fuck are you!?" Andrew belligerently shouted down the hallway with manic energy unbothered by the fact that his voice broke… he was far more concerned over the fact that the eyes seemed to brighten in recognition of his question. Andrew would very soon wish he had kept his mouth shut, wished that he had not tempted fate or whatever sinful evil conjured the thing before him. With a twitch of inhuman speed, the arm pulled back, its claws raking through the floor creating deep rivets that caused the oldest Polkiss to gulp audibly. Said gulp became a choked gag as the nightmare revealed itself to him.

The same arm came back out of the dark, illuminated briefly as it branched over the light coming from the bathroom and into the dark of the hallway closer to him, leaving only the sinfully long arm visible in its horrific glory. Then a second arm just as long and baring the same claws that made Andrews skin prickle mimicked the first's action. But it was what the arms were attached to that made Andrew's entire body flinch and his chest go from feeling tight, to outright constricted. Slowly with alien smoothness, the green orbs floated out of the darkness attached to a macabre parody of a human skull, its head adorned by a ring of painful-looking bone spikes that rose out of a halo that made his eyes burn. It had no nose, or jaw, or teeth, it was like a flat surface with two deep black pits for eyes that contained a pair of burning orbs that glimmered like a tarnished emerald.

"Oh… hell," Andrew hissed from between painfully clenched teeth.

Then all too suddenly the rest of the insane abomination revealed itself. The mask-like face attached to a long looming neck made of bones that reared up like a cobra and scraped the ceiling. A bony protruding chest that appeared inverted and hideously warped with bones on the outside of grey leather-like skin, a gut like a starved man tapered off above sharp hips and legs that folded in on themselves tucked beneath its huge arched body. It was big and unnatural and worst of all it had those damn eyes. As fear seeped from his every pore Andrew heard distant whispers begin to chant to the noise of his impending violent demise. The hideous abomination gave a gurgled screech as its grey flesh bubbled freakishly, the only warning that Andrew had before it began to claw its misshapen form towards him, its body scraping along the walls and roof as it approached.

Andrew didn't so much say anything as he threw up noise that may have once been words as his brain short-circuited at the sight of the charging thing. Andrew was completely overcome by his instincts and threw himself bodily over the dining room table putting the piece of furniture between him and the monster. It didn't stop though rather once it was free of the constricting hallway it's reaching arms came down heavily on the table snapping it in half, the noise causing a flinch from Andrew who was dashing for the front door. His hands found the handle easily, the noise of the monstrosity behind him had him wrenching it open with all his might.

Then to his horror, the door slammed shut. His head was suddenly in a vice-like grip. He was thrown through the air to the patio doors leading to the backyard. He crashed through them, glass shattering easily before the weight of a full-grown man soaring through the air. He crashed into the earth again, the muddy soil sloshing around him as the grass got ripped up from his rolling form. It hurt to breathe. He was dizzy. Thunder crashed overhead and Andrew looked up to see those burning orbs staring at him with alien wrath. Andrew felt the panic settle over him once more, finally having pierced the veil of pain, he needed to run, needed to get as far away from this thing as he physically could.

*Crunch*

Andrew let out a throat tearing scream as his right hand was pulverized, the searing agony from the appendage causing his eyes to flash with spots of light as for a brief second his world was encompassed by the pain emanating from his right hand. He looked at it to see his hand now resembled a bag filled with broken sticks, some protruding from his flesh viciously staining his hand along with the mud from the drenched soil. He felt more than heard a whimper escape his chest as the cold rain battered it, he didn't want to move it, didn't want to so much as jostle it. But seeing the towering thing finally exit his house with one hand raised and clenched in a fist, had him dragging himself towards the fence line with one arm and kicking legs.

"Please! Please I have a family!" Andrew screamed back at the approaching horror, his eyes had to be forcefully dragged from it as every time he looked at it, he felt his attention become captivated by its alien horror, like a train wreck. Andrew didn't get a response from it, what he got was the feeling of his right leg becoming stuck to the ground with a stinging sensation that crept up his shin. A pained gasp had him look down at the trapped limb to see it had somehow become frozen, coated completely in ice that even now crept along the surrounding ground. Now Andrew was crying, his eyes and nose running heavily enough to match the rain, it was looming over him now and he couldn't escape. He was going to die.

"Please *sniff* I don't want to die…" He pleaded with his mangled hand pressed to his chest his face scrunched up in agony and fear while snot and tears poured down his face leaving no trace as they were washed up in the rain. Andrew was about to speak again when the creatures head twisted a full 180 degrees to the point it was horizontal, the motion jerking and violent. It lowered itself down until Andrew was trapped between its colossal arms, it's sharp dangerous looking legs folded beneath its body. Andrew swore he heard distant chanting somewhere behind the rain, the noise mixed in with the staccato of the raindrops.

"Neither did I… Neither did Roselyn…," the thing spoke with a voice that sounded like the demonic love child between a chainsaw and a wailing infant. It made his ears itch at the strange echo that supplanted the words deep in his mind even as his ears were just comprehending them. Andrew felt certainty sink in at the realisation of what was before him, at the thing that was going to kill him.

"I-I-I s-s-s-s sorry," he stuttered out pitifully.

The thing straightened its head with a snap, then reared back up to its full height the towering figure becoming harder to see in the stormy night. Andrew was hopeful for a second, felt relief wash over him as he watched the creature take a step back. That relief was dashed as the same leg came forward viciously and shattered his trapped frozen limb. Andrew wanted to scream but the noise was trapped in his throat as fresh pain wracked his body, new explosive waves shunting thought from his mind violently. As the pain began to settle another kick landed, Andrew felt his left knee explode… after that his world became suffering and the sound of his body breaking.

The creature kicked and stomped breaking him as easily as glass, each injury unleashed fresh agony that came just as the pain seemed to plateau. It did it tactfully, it broke his limbs, then his body, but never did it attack his neck of the head or his spine for that matter. He felt his entire iliac explode from a vicious kick that must have been too forceful because after that he lost sensation in everything below his waist. The creature paused after it did that, but it didn't matter for Andrew at this point, he was dying. His breaths were laborious and painful, each one accompanied by sobs and coughs that carried blood out his mouth. He didn't know what in his body was still in one piece and honestly, he was not sure if anything was, he was on the cusp of blacking out, his vision was fading… the black creeping in as ringing bled the noise from the world, but maddeningly no the chanting.

A sinister hiss had him forced back into the screaming agony that was his reality as the cruel abomination kicked him over, so he rolled onto his crush right hand, and his very much snapped in half left arm. His face was submerged in the blood and mud of the disturbed ground beneath him, the smell of iron and dirt filling his somewhat blocked nasal airways. Just as Andrew began to pull his face from the dirt to restore his breathing, he felt a weight push his head back into the drenched earth. Andrew couldn't breathe. He was already struggling to respire and now the thing was drowning him in a mixture of his blood and the liquid-like earth. Andrew panicked, his body went off instinct and bucked wildly, it served no purpose as the thing did not even budge, its weight ever-present on the back of his head. His bucking sent his body into fresh bouts of screaming pain, but he bucked and writhed, all the same, eager to get but a small gasp of air.

Andrew was successful in managing to get a small half breath of fresh air in from wiggling his head to the side. His reward was a sound akin to a chainsaw like growl mashed with glass shattering as the thing shoved his head further into the earth to the point his head was fully submerged. His lungs burned, the mud-filled his ears, his nose, his mouth and even seeped into his eyes making them burn angrily. Andrew choked and ached and screamed into the mud in worthless defiance his chest imploding in suffocating pain his world dying as his brain became deprived of oxygen. His thrashing slowed, then stopped altogether… then his body stilled. Andrews last thoughts were simple.

Why did I do it?

The Herald stepped off the drowned corpse, its head remaining firmly submerged beneath the wet earth and emitted a single derisive snort at the pathetic struggle it had put up. He turned around to the hoard of scavenging deaths that eyed the body hungrily, each eager to partake of the essence it leaked. The Herald pointed its long bony hand to the one that had found Roselyn's residence, said Death stepping forward proudly, slinking near feline-like form untouched by the rain. The Herald merely gestured to the body of the pathetic cretin it had just executed and began to walk away, knowing that the message had come across clearly. As he departed the house for his next victim, the Herald listened with satisfaction to the sounds of a soul being forcefully ejected from this world through clashing fangs and rending claws, his thoughts already on the identity of the next victim.

Next on the menu… how about the guy who brought the bat. The Herald thought maliciously eyes flashing with rage and eager bloodlust, the first kill only making him more excited to execute his justice.

…

Ned couldn't believe the shit he had to put up with sometimes, truthfully it was bloody mind-boggling that he could go from setting a real-life witch on fire to coming home to listen to Deb whinge about Malcolm's missing eyebrows. He just couldn't wrap his head around it… how did he the average joe with a simple job and a basic, mundane home life go from killing a terrible satanic monster to dealing with his downright painful wife. Ned didn't know truthfully how long she had droned on for before he simply got up and left the room, her shouting at his back the only indication she had noticed his departure.

Ned went to his office and found himself sinking into his chair with a sigh the did little to remove the tension he felt sitting in his body. But seeing his new prized possession on his desk put a smile on his face that even the irritation his wife caused could not dampen. The bat he had used to crack the arm of that witch's crazy bitch. It had blood on it, from when mike had used it to club her face in… the sound it made then was almost as sweet as the sound it had made when he had snapped her arm. It was amazing, Ned had felt alive, years of boring bullshit and office monotony of the same nine to five the same shitty dinner the same bland wife the same whiny brat. All of it was worth it for that instance where he felt like he finally had a God-given purpose, for that moment he had shown that freaky little hellspawn and that crazy bitch that he was a man.

I am going to get that framed, Ned thought to himself happily, as he reached for his lower desk draw eager to celebrate his fine night with some liquid gold. He heard his wife raise her voice at some jab directed towards him, she was probably on the phone again and talking to her damnable sister. Conniving the two were, always teaming upon him at family get-togethers and other events, it seemed to be their favourite thing to just throw jabs at him, belittling the fact that he wasn't tall or attractive. Heaven forbid the two of them to go to a bloody cooking lesson together to have their little pow wows, at least then I could stomach something about her bitch of sister.

A heavy crack of thunder did well to drown out the noise of Deb's obnoxious droning and allowed Ned to lean back in his chair with a fine glass of bourbon peacefully. The heavy rain outside a comforting curtain that blanketed all noise and allowed his mind to reminisce in peace at just how awesomely powerful he felt tonight doing God's work. With his eyes close he let his mind drift, a smirk stuck on his face for all the world to see.

With his eyes closed, he did not see the shadow that emerged from the darkness behind him, did not see the shadow brush a finger over the door locking it, did not see its potent glowing green eyes stare at him with such malicious hate it had to honestly resist the urge to kill him with its intent alone. Its long sinister claw raised carefully to Ned's unaware throat and glowed a violent red as the air came alive with bubbling hate. Silently the creature struck piercing Ned's throat with the bubbling malice lined claw which practically obliterated a very small portion of Ned's throat and had the man immediately jolting up in his chair and grasping at his throat that was now bleeding heavily.

Ned was panicking trying to shout or scream but no noise would escape, his hands were unable to do anything at the blood gushing heavily from his neck despite clutching the wound, his fingers instead slipping inside the painful hole. He whipped his head around looking for a cause but what he found had him wishing he had just let himself bleed out. It was freakishly tall, its head was featureless and haunting, its neck like a bony serpent that arched over him, its body was physical yet not and concealed by the shadows of his office. The dancing bundle of pain that was his throat seemed to become background noise as that face loomed in front of him, daring him to speak.

Slowly the thing brought both its huge, clawed hands down to Ned's arms where it latched on like sharpened manacles, the edge of its knife-like fingers splitting his flesh. Ned tried to whimper, to yelp, to make any noticeable noise but none would leave his throat and so he sat there crying in fear as his pants became disgustingly warm and wet. Ned prayed that something would wake him from this nightmare even as his entire front became stained red, and he practically felt that featureless face entering his personal space.

"You are a strange one… I could pull your family in here and cave their heads in with that bat you love, and you would be more disturbed by the fact that I was doing it in front of you than who I would be doing it to." The thing hissed its voice sounding like hot angry steam, as its long neck coiled around his shoulders so that it could face him head-on. Ned found himself quickly hypnotised by those burning green orbs as they flickered before him, emotions welling in him despite his inability to communicate. His lungs burned and he choked on blood that rushed down his throat the irritation of it getting into his lungs causing his chest to spasm.

"It is not that you hate them… no, rather it is that you just do not care for them at all. You are completely apathetic to them, sure you might not like the way your wife complains endlessly or the fact that your son is a disappointment but earnestly you just do not feel any large emotions at all about them. How baffling to think that a man could swear the oaths of marriage, of trust and love, but in truth feel only apathy onto the person they swore such oaths to." It continues its observation, but Ned was quickly losing his ability to hear let alone focus as a thick puddle of blood was growing beneath his chair, he felt cold, so cold. A sharp snap and a violent surge of fresh fiery pain shot up both his arms snapping him back to reality as he gurgled and writhed on the chair.

"You felt that though, didn't you?" The monster snarled as two fingers wrapped around the bones protruding from both of his arms rubbing them slowly causing starbursts in Ned's eyes as he was sure he was going to be sick. The creature stopped its ministrations and stepped to his side its large body looming ominously as it picked up the bat from his desk, its large sharp hands concealed half of the wooden cricket bat entirely. That mask looked down at him and Ned was sure that through the fog of fear and pain that the monster sneered at him.

"I have what I wanted… and I cannot do more to you without bothering your lovely wife, so I trust his suffering onto you lot, he's all yours." Ned heard the thing say as its body stepped back into the darkness, its form becoming obscured as it faded into those shadows and disappeared. Ned wasn't sure at first who the thing was talking to, but he quickly found the horrifying clarification. Hungry red eyes appeared around his room as a litany of demonic wailing and chittering rose in volume. Ned screamed, his voice finally audible but no one heard him apparently, so he screamed again as the hoard descended upon him and he felt his body get rent asunder by fang and claw, dagger and stick, club, and hammer. Ned saw his own body limp in his desk chair as something with wolf-like features clamped its jaws around his face and dragged him… somewhere. The whole while he cried and screamed for help but to the rest of the world, he was already a corpse in an office chair.

The Herald watched from the curb of the street as Ned's screaming soul was dragged around, a group of the more humanoid like reapers hooking it with weapons and tugging on it viciously as the more beastly one bit down and shook it cruelly. The Herald paid little heed to his screaming as it dragged sharp fingers along the length of the bat… it still had her blood on it. His anger grew to heights he was unaware existed as he felt his grip tighten to the point that the bat strained a little under the pressure. You will taste more blood tonight before I burn you to ash and scatter you to the sea wicked thing… time for some justice for the police.

…

Mike sat in a dark and dreary cellar, rain leaking in through the shoddy doors with his face bandaged haphazardly, the gauze left wide sections of his mutilated flesh exposed but he couldn't worry about that now. He had to worry about Aaron, his little brother who was currently getting patched up by a medic who owed him some favours. Said medic was a grizzled old veteran, not old in the sense of grey hairs and bad backs, old in the sense of thick hair the colour of ash and a face marred with lines and scars that told a tale of experience. He currently was set up on a dingy old stool with some draws as a side table, while he worked on mending Aaron who was laid out on a dining table with a bite taken out of his throat.

"So… are yer gonnae tell me what the fuck happened to you two exactly." The Scotsman spat, his accent cutting through the silence like broken glass as he stitched Aaron's throat closed his hands coated in blood. He had taken off his thick raincoat it was thrown haphazardly over the stairs leading down into the cellar from outside. He had a white shirt on underneath, ironed crisp with the sleeves rolled up neatly… it had bloodstains on it now. His pants were thick heavy work pants, had lots of pockets and would not look strange with a tool belt or a holster for that matter. He had his old boots on, they were pristine aside from the fresh mud that was on them from him rushing over here in the storm. He looked pissed at everything, brow permanently drawn inwards, and lips pulled thin just waiting to scowl. His eyes were a blue-grey colour framed by bushy brows, and they had a squint that showed the old-timer was suspicious and ready for something.

"No." Mike slurred glaring at the back of the old doctor's head, as he doubled down on his decision to make sure none of what happened tonight was spoken of ever. "I called you so you could patch us up, not ask questions."

"Ye can be like that all yer want, but I can see the fucking teeth marks on yer wee brothers' neck." The doctor leaned back his head turning to face Aaron with an accusing gaze as his hands gestured to the part of his throat that was missing. "That's not even talking bout yer face, looking like yer made out with the devil's arse."

"Lewis, shut your damn gob and fix Aaron's neck," Mike spat, his partially melted lips doing little to contain the contents of his mouth. For a second it looked like the doctor might have continued but a fierce look from Mike had him back to work swiftly, if not quietly. The old man once again focused on the task at hand but Mike could see that even now the veteran was eyeing up the exit to the cellar.

"If yer gonnae sits back their glaring a hole through me head the least ye can do is pass me my bevvy." The doctor requested with a head nod as his hands were once again preoccupied with poor Aaron.

"Should you be drinking while you have your hands in my brother's throat?" Mike asked threateningly as he leaned over to grab the bottle of spirits all the same. He took a swig of the stuff before passing it and almost immediately regretted it as the stuff he just ingested burned his throat and made his raw lips burn angrily.

"You damn brat! Ye know that when I was in the fucking jungle patching up real men that I was fooking mad wi' it, had a bottle in one hand and forceps in the other pulling shrapnel from real soldiers as they prayed to every saint under the sun!" Lewis began hollering spittle flying from his gob as he snatched the bottle out of Mike's hand and took a long hard swig of it before pouring it on Aaron's throat sending a wave of red off the table. "If ye cannae sterilise a gunshot wi' it I don't wan it."

"Sides, I'm done," Lewis growled as he got up tossing a towel over Aaron's neck as he walked over to a nearby faucet. Mike wasted no time in checking out his brother, immediately seeing that the wound was closed and that he wasn't bleeding any more. It was by no means pretty though, if he hadn't seen it beforehand, he would have been damn near positive that the Scotsman cocked it up but truthfully the drunken doc did a good job.

"What about bandages?" Mike asked rising back up to his feet, one hand staying securely on his brother's chest, almost as if to remind himself that he was ok now.

"Ye got two hands and a fucked-up face, make use of one of those things and do it yer damn self… clean the area first though," Lewis grunted as he began packing up his tools and washing them under the faucet to get rid of the majority of the blood. "Also consider us square, so the next time yer wee brother decides to get his throat ripped up by a pissed off bonnie, take his ass to a hospital, not a shitty cellar."

"How did you know?" Mike inquired suddenly very defensive, going so far as to step in front of his brother and palm his truncheon.

"… not every lass was so eager for a soldier's advances during the war. The worst one I ever saw died on the table next to mine, she didn't just bite the fucker, she was shanking him the whole while too. When they got im in the tent they couldn't work out where to start… the hole in his fucking throat or the guts pooling in his arms." Lewis trailed off caught up in some fucked up memories that had his right hand shaking violently as his voice became hollow sounding. Mike didn't know how to respond to that little trip down memory lane so truthfully, he just stood there and let Lewis come back to his senses. He did not have to wait long.

"Clean and wrap him then do whatever the hell ye want I could give a shit. Goodbye and so bloody long." Lewis barked as he hurried up the stairs and out of the cellar his old body still relatively spry as he darted out back into the night, scooping up his jacket as he went. Mike was honestly happy to see the crazy old veteran go, he always manages to make Mike feel on edge and having the crazy bastard work on his brother had his stress skyrocket.

"… Don't you worry little brother, I'm here for you." Mike softly whispered his hand stroking at Aaron's filthy hair, his hand coming back coated in blood and filth. His brother still felt a little cold to the touch and realising this, Mike began moving quickly to gather their things so they could leave this dank cellar. His hands moved with swift precision leaving only a bundle of gauze and a clean rag out with some ethanol, planning to clean Aaron up before he put him back in the car. The room now clear of their belongings Mike moved back over to Aaron and began tending to his brother's throat, gentle dabs and light strokes caused what little blood remained to come away easily enough. Sadly, Aaron seemed to be waking up as he began to flinch and groan at his brother's touch, his face slowly locking up in a grimace.

"Sorry Aaron, just a little longer and then we can head home," Mike comforted gently. As Mike picked up the gauze he felt a chill run down his spine, the sound of a soft breeze running through the dreary cellar and disturbing his buzz-cut head. Mike turned his gaze to face the cellar door expecting to see it open assuming the Scotsman forgot to close it or something. The door was closed though and undisturbed as far as Mike could tell. "… Oi Lewis is that you?" Mike asked projecting his voice up the stairs, but no response came aside from the distant sound of thunder. When no response came Mike slowly returned to what he was doing placing the gauze under Aaron so that he could begin to twine it round.

A sudden sound behind him though had the already suspicious man turning about to face whatever had made the noise in the supposedly empty cellar. What Mike got for his efforts was a cricket bat across his face and the noise of his teeth shattering inside his jaw. His head flung back from the force, his body following behind him as he sailed through the air like a thrown doll. When he hit the solid cement floor his brain was rattled and the most he managed to do through the haze of pain and shock was cup his jaw and catch the blood, spit and teeth fragments that drooped from his loose mouth. Far too slowly Mike got his bearings back, the world drifted into focus as his vision no longer swam and his ears stopped ringing. Strangely though he heard a sound like a distant humming that made him feel very uneasy.

Mike brought his head up slowly but as soon as he was looking straight ahead the same bat crashed into his face this time catching him across the brow and nose, causing the latter to snap loudly. Mike tumbled onto his back breathing now a struggle as his airways became clogged from blood, his eyes were thick with unshed tears as his head ring like a struck gong. Mike had adrenaline on his side now though so with one arm he brushed his eyes clear and with the other, he pulled himself back to get some distance on his attacker. His eyes were clear and with a wall to his back, Mike pulled himself off the ground and stared down his attacker.

His heart skipped a beat.

There was a… thing, a hideous warped thing standing not two meters from him, its sinister long neck coiled oddly while an expressionless, no, featureless face bobbed in the air. Its chest was like an inverted rib cage, its skin a strange grey leather-like substance, its gut was non-existent, and it had oddly shaped hips that connected to dangerous beastly legs. All of this mere background noise to the two most prominent things the abomination before Mike possessed though. The first was its haunting eyes that burned with otherworldly flames casting an ominous green light, the second was the bat clutched in one of its dangerous looking claws. The bat looked very familiar.

"… what did you do to Ned?" Mike asked his voice coming out nasally but devoid of the gut-punching fear he was feeling. It was agony to speak with his broken teeth but luckily his body was so hoped up on fear right now that the pain was negligible… almost.

"He found his family suffocating… so I opened up his airways for him." The thing replied with a voice that made Mike want to physically scrub his brain with bleach. Mike was now almost positive that whatever this thing was, it had killed Ned and now was here to do the same to him and most likely Aaron as well.

"You're here because of the witch," Mike stated as a globule of blood pooled down his mouth, while he talked his hand was going to his hip to pull his truncheon, only to find that he had lost it and it was now over by the table his brother was laid out on. Shit, Mike cursed in his head but kept his face devoid of emotion, not giving away anything to the horrible monstrosity in front of him. At least that was his goal until the things long neck bent so that its face was pointed towards his brother. "Stay the fuck away from him you monster!" Mike roared taking a step forward and immediately dragging the things focus back to him.

"… You care for him," the thing stated.

Mike cared not for what it said instead reaffirming his point and taking another step forward, barely keeping his legs from shaking, "get away from his demon."

"Roselyn tore out his throat with her teeth… she fought so hard, tried her absolute most to save a boy she had only just met that same day… You bashed her teeth out with this same bat." The thing kept alternating its attention between him and Aaron. Mike didn't know what to do, he didn't think he could get his legs to move another step towards the freaky thing. But he could fight back a lot better than his brother at the moment, so he just had to keep his focus on him.

"That's right I did, she was protecting the freaky little brat who attack my godson. Honestly, if you want to blame her death on someone, demon, blame the witch brat who summoned you, if he hadn't bewitched her, she would still be around and kicking." Honestly talking was all Mike could think to do at this point as options kept running through his head, but none seemed to be applicable. The cellar was nearly empty aside from the table and the old draws near the table, so trying to throw something at it or distract it was out. Mike didn't think he could take this thing in a straight fight either, it was bigger than him by a lot and that wasn't even mentioning that its fingers looked like thin kitchen knives.

"True enough, but if your brother raised a respectable kid, he wouldn't have these broken ribs now either," The thing growled like a warped chainsaw as it slammed the bat down onto Aaron's chest causing his brother to jolt on the table, his arms twitching uselessly as he tried to protect his chest.

"Aaron no!" Mike choked with blood pooling in his throat as he lunged for the thing attacking his brother, desperation fulling his actions as he aimed to wrench the bat from its grip. He got his hands around it and tugged it under his arm like he was trained, unlike in his training though the abomination simply lifted him and the bat into the roof, very quickly. Mike had no time to react before the back of his head collided with the wooden ceiling, the impact loosening old dust and causing his vision to darken for a heartbeat.

"You would blame me for the actions perpetrated by you disgusting scum! Death is too kind but the suffering I can inflict on you all pales in comparison to what you did to me. That is except you!" This thing howled making Mike flinch as its voice made his bones squirm, it slammed him back to the ground the bat pushing on his chest with unnatural force. "You… you love your brother, genuinely care for him as an equal. You took from me the only person I ever had. So, I will return the favour." It threatened ominously its eyes piercing into Mikes own with a burning intensity that promised hell. The combination of the ominous humming and the abominations ear-splitting voice made his brain itch furiously.

"Leave him alone," Mike spat out blood pooling in his mouth once more.

"No."

With nothing more to say the thing grabbed Mike by his head, its knife-like fingers cutting into his flesh as it heaved him off the ground, and it tossed him away as easily as a child would a toy. Mike impacted the stairs of the cellar, the old wood splintering beneath his body easily as the monster barked something that made his skin prickle in agony. Mikes vision was red, but he saw a film or something over his arms and legs where the pain was coming from. It feels… cold.

Mike couldn't think of it anymore as he heard Aaron grunt in pain as a wooden whack echoed in the dark cellar. Mike pulled his head up to see the thing beating his brother with the bloody cricket bat, it strikes wild and violent but all beneath Aaron's neck. Mike heard screaming, it was when he tried to speak that he realised it was himself. He pleaded for it to stop, but it didn't even look his way it just kept breaking his brother. He heard his brother cry out, he was begging him for help. Mike pulled with all his might and managed to get his right arm free… or so he thought, when the limb was pulled off the ground it was stiff and stone-like and still very, very cold. His brother wasn't pleading anymore, but Mike was still screaming, this time at the demon threatening to kill it, to hurt it. It didn't even look away as it brought down a particularly vicious bash that had his brother give a breathless scream.

"Please… please stop, I'll do anything," Mike barked hoarsely as his throat was raw from screaming. He was sure his plead would not affect the creature, but it did stop its assault of Aaron, much to Mike's grateful surprise. That surprise became fear when its neck twisted so that its face was staring right at him.

It stepped away from the table, its long legs carrying it across the entirety of the cellar in two measly steps. When it got to him it crouched low its unarmed hand crashing into his chest and pushing him painfully into the broken staircase. Still, the burning orbs it had for eyes stared him down balefully. "You dare to beg for his life… to ask me to spare him when neither of you would spare her." Its voice was like barbed wire coiling around his mind, the strange humming he heard earlier was now far more prominent and somehow there was now a circlet of swirling light atop the things head.

"He is my brother," Mike explained as he dribbled more blood and spit down his chin, ignoring the feeling of a shattered tooth that stuck to one of his lips.

"… What could you possibly offer, what treasure so valuable, gift so earnest, that it could stem my wrath and halter my rage, worm?" The thing hissed in his face conjuring images of rock melting within Mikes mind.

"My life."

"Not yours to give!" The monster screeched as the hand pinning Mike squeezed, the blade-like fingers carving deep until they were halted by his ribs.

"… My soul?"

"I have already traded it," It gloated as it cut into the bone of his ribs making Mikes eyes roll back slightly as lights danced in front of him.

"P-p-p-please I'll do anything, give anything just please… not Aaron, not my brother," Mike begged aimlessly his head swimming from the pain as he begged for the monster to show mercy to his brother.

For a moment it was silent contemplating something before finally, it spoke with a voice devoid of inflection or feeling. "I will end his suffering, take away his pain if you tell me right now, what did you feel when you struck that woman with this bat, what vile, wretched emotion squirmed in your core as you attacked her."

For a moment Mike didn't speak as he tried to collect his thoughts amongst the pain and the ache that had settled over his body, but finally, he spoke with a soft slurred speech around broken teeth. "I wanted to hurt the kid… hurt him because he hurt my nephew, hurt me when he melted my face… he cared about her, so I wanted to hurt her. So, I hurt her because I wanted to."

"… I see."

Mike watched as it pulled the claws out of and away from his chest, blood pooling down its long fingertips to splatter aimlessly onto the floor as it walked back over to his brother who wheezed on the table, his eyes cloudy as they stared at him. His head at some point had fallen over the edge of the table and now dangled limply, his lips trembling as tears poured from his eyes. The creature walked until it stood next to the table, it made direct eye contact with him and then it raised the arm holding the bat until it was just under the roof… but directly over Aaron's head. Mike had a second to widen his eyes to open his mouth, a bellow burbling in the back of his blood-soaked throat.

The bat swung.

His little brother's eyes widened.

The bat struck.

Aaron's head exploded into a gory mess that splattered over the floor alongside the splintered remains of the cricket bat. Mikes scream got caught in his throat as it constricted as horror overcame him and bile swam in his guts begging for release. Aaron was gone. His brother was dead. That thing killed him. That monster had smashed his head off.

Mike wanted to scream, he was going to scream, to shout and bellow and spew every curse he could at that lying trickster demon. But before he could make so much as an utterance something pierced his chest with a wet crunch making all his words die. Mike blinked, he blinked again, the thing was in front of him somehow its body looming over him like a gaunt terror. One of its freakishly long arms was dangling in front of him… its hand was flush with his chest. It had stabbed him. With the handle of the bat. Shit.

With a violent jolt, it twisted the wooden stake before it stepped away, its body returning to the table where it had murdered his brother. Through fluttering eyelids Mike watched it pick something up with two of its twisted fingers as it appraised whatever the item was. Nonchalantly it strode back over to Mike's impaled body and poured something over his head, the cold liquid left a burning sensation where it came into contact with an open wound, but Mike barely registered the sensation. Mike's eyes followed the creature as it strode towards a darkened corner of the cellar, its form slowly merging with the dark as its body seemed to become less and less real until all that remained was its horrifying face and one singular clawed hand.

It ignited a small ball of flame that danced upon its bladed digit with a sharp snap of its fingers, the small amber glow warm in comparison to the fire that made up the creature's eyes. With a whimsical flick, the little ball of fire flew across the cellar and burst onto Mike's head setting the whole thing ablaze and ensuring that Mike would not die gently. His last thought before death was the realisation that it had poured ethanol over him.

Mike's first thought after death was why were there so many teeth.

A.N.

Alrighty gonna have to cut it there, writing a chapter larger than 10k words makes them seem long-winded in my opinion so we will get to our last couple of victims in the next chapter. Now for an honest update let me just say FUCK THIS CHAPTER! I must have rewritten this damn thing in its near entirety like twice just because I couldn't get my head on straight about Harry enacting his vengeance. I mean shit at first I had like five thousand words just on him killing Andrew and that was mostly me describing how Harry was using magic to slowly freeze his body from the feet up so Polkiss felt the agony of frostbite eating him alive. I realised that would take too long... and make Harry seem more sadistic than cruel. I want him as the Herald to be someone capable of unspeakable acts of evil, but not enjoy the act themselves as much as the results they achieve.

Now let us cover another important fact, I have 62 followers now on this story and that absolutely stuns me. That is more than a bus... I have legitimately a whole busload of people reading my fic and honestly, I had to like, sit on that for a while before it stuck. So let me just say thank you it means a lot and also a really big thank you to my commenters we are up to thirteen HOW COOL IS THAT! My most recent commenter Shadefyre made me feel a lot more confident about my decision with Roselyn's send-off so thanks for that.

Now another piece of news I have been tossing about the idea of maybe starting up another fic as I have a bunch of plot bunnies hopping around and honestly the little buggers are starting to eat each other. I was thinking maybe something like a My Hero one or perhaps something in the Marvel or DC universes... or we could go with some crossover RWBY BLOODBORNE stuff had an idea I could take with that angel. Or following the From Software angle I did have an idea for a Dark Souls 3 fic that would basically be the chosen undead from the first game pissed off that he has to do this shit again.

They are all just plot bunnies for now and I definitely won't stop working on this fic but I just thought I'd mention it. Any way I have babbled enough so let me once again say an earnest thank you to my wonderful readers and as always,

until next time.