Entering Darkness
A/N- Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, I own the dagger, the spell, the snake and the Chalice of the Elements, please tell me it you use them.
The clearing in the forest was cold, the sun was setting with the promise of frost during the night. The first stars were coming out as a young man stepped out into the clearing.
At first sight you would guess his age to be around twenty or twenty two, but a closer look at the man's eyes would tell a very different story, the were dark with sorrow and self hatred underlined with vicious determination.
The man's name was Tom Riddle, although he would not be keeping that name much longer. The look in his eyes told you he had seen much and hated most of it.
Tom's eyes alone would tell you his life had not been easy, and if you had not known him you would have thought he was here to commit suicide. Ironically this was not far from the truth, because by moonrise Tom would be dead. None knew of this, save Tom, but then who cared? Who had he ever been able to confide in?
Tom lay down a shoulder pack and began to remove the objects he would need; his wand, a thin glass phial, a long silver dagger- more of a stiletto really- , a large green snake with a pattern of diamonds on it's back, and, his most prized possession, a chalice that seemed to be made of constantly shifting elements, gold and red flame, glittering diamond and multicolored crystal, a substance which resembled the inside of a pensieve, and silver liquid moving in froth topped waves along the sides of the chalice. It was the Chalice of the Elementals, essential in all powerful dark art transfigurations and summonings.
Tom Riddle hated muggles, in his eyes they were responsible for all the evils in his life, how he detested them. Sadly this hatred led him invariably to himself, for he was a half blood. Tom smiled grimly as he remembered how once, overcome with hatred for the blood in his veins he had tried a spell to remove it, the spell, being much too advanced for him, had misfired and he had ended up almost bleeding to death. He had been in the orphanage at the time, and one of the staff had thought he had attempted to commit suicide, having seen the blood all over the floor. This had had the same reaction as Tom usually got with the orphanage master, a beating, perfect, thought Tom, just what you need to make you see that life is worth living.
Stupid muggles.
Well, this time he was powerful enough to get rid of the filth in his blood, leaving his own untainted, the blood of Salazar Slytherin. Tom wondered what his old teacher Dumbledore would say if he knew what Tom was about to do? Scream at him not to do this most likely. Merlin he hated the man.
"Sorry Dumbledore" Tom whispered as he traced a circle in the center of the clearing and built and lit a fire in the middle of it. For any spell like this, Tom needed the blood of something to meld with his own. This was not as simple as it sounded, Tom had needed to find a type of creature who's blood would be accepted, and for the heir of Slytherin the animal was obvious.
Tom finished the circle and pulled out his spellbook from an inside pocket of his robes an began to chant the incantation, standing inside the circle with one hand over the flames. "Kel-serath mirkzhar. Estecio ser kaloth, krai-krai terak-mijar, orphello akairn serath-" Tom paused glancing at his spellbook before continuing, the arcane syllables falling from his lips, and making the air heavy with black sorcery.
The flames before Tom burnt suddenly jet-black so that, were you not close, you would have thought it heatless. As he chanted, Tom lifted the stiletto and gashed the snakes neck with it, he held the serpent over the edge of the glass phial, so that the blood fell inside it.
Tom poured the snake's blood into the Chalice of the Elements, wiped the stiletto on his robes, and lifted it to his own throat with one hand. In the other he held the Chalice, held below his neck. Tom took a deep breath and slit his throat, the searing pain flowing through him as freely as his lifeblood flowed out of the gash into the Chalice and mingling with the serpent's.
Tom stumbled as a sudden sense of vertigo shot through his mind, he swayed, his sense of balance weakened by the sudden loss of blood. He smiled grimly, if any were watching they would think he was killing himself. If they knew the truth... In truth, Tom wondered if any would truly be surprised, he made no secret of his hatred of muggles, and it was well known he was halfblood. Oh they would be horrified, yes. But surprised? No. What did they expect? He had had no real friends anywhere, no one to give him a reason to like muggles. The most he had received was from Dumbledore, and that had hardly been convincing. Being told to respect muggles because he was more powerful, yet not being able to defend himself against them when he was beaten in the orphanage, or not being able to fight them if they attacked him, and even now he had to abide to rules which favored muggles over his own kind.
Tom staggered until he was inches from the fire's black flames. This was the point of no return, even now he could fall back, fall back from the gaping black abyss waiting for him, and heal his neck, pack up his equipment and choose another road than the one he was heading down.
Tom smiled, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. Then he half jumped, half fell, into the jet flames.
The flames cut into Tom's flesh like obsidian knives, he felt his strength drain away and fell to his knees. Then, slowly, he lifted the Chalice of the Elements to his lips and drank deeply of the blood within.
Tom lifted the Chalice with suddenly waxing strength and poured the rest of its contents over his head.
The life-liquid of Tom and the snake poured over the figure sitting in the fire, closing his wounds and extinguishing the black fire.
Smoke as dark as the fire that had spawned it rose from the circle, then, slowly, rising like a black phoenix from the ruins of light, a figure rose from the ashes of the flames. It held a dagger in the abnormally long fingers of it's right hand. In the other it held the Chalice of the Elements. The cold wind, which had been absent, perhaps in awe, ruffled the folds of the figure's cloak.
If the man who had entered the circle had been striking, he was nothing compared to the person who left it. He was tall, far taller that Tom had been, and much thinner, but the snake blood had warped more than his build, the figure's face was a twisted mixture of snake and human. The eyes glowing blood red, with a snake's slit pupils. The nose slits on the chalk white face. The long black hair coarser and the hand resembling that of an elongated skeleton's. But greatest difference was in the figure's eyes. While Tom's eyes had relayed naught but sadness and self-loathing, the figure's were dancing with triumph and unholy glee.
An observer would find little to no resemblance between the sorrow-ridden young man who had entered the clearing and the gloating monster who left it. Indeed most would have thought that Tom had died and the figure taken his place, ironically, this was the truth.
Tom Riddle was dead And Lord Voldemort had taken his place.
If you liked this please send feedback to am@macguil.freeserve.co.uk, addressed to Draconic Ragnorock. Flamers will be mocked and ignored.
A/N- Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, I own the dagger, the spell, the snake and the Chalice of the Elements, please tell me it you use them.
The clearing in the forest was cold, the sun was setting with the promise of frost during the night. The first stars were coming out as a young man stepped out into the clearing.
At first sight you would guess his age to be around twenty or twenty two, but a closer look at the man's eyes would tell a very different story, the were dark with sorrow and self hatred underlined with vicious determination.
The man's name was Tom Riddle, although he would not be keeping that name much longer. The look in his eyes told you he had seen much and hated most of it.
Tom's eyes alone would tell you his life had not been easy, and if you had not known him you would have thought he was here to commit suicide. Ironically this was not far from the truth, because by moonrise Tom would be dead. None knew of this, save Tom, but then who cared? Who had he ever been able to confide in?
Tom lay down a shoulder pack and began to remove the objects he would need; his wand, a thin glass phial, a long silver dagger- more of a stiletto really- , a large green snake with a pattern of diamonds on it's back, and, his most prized possession, a chalice that seemed to be made of constantly shifting elements, gold and red flame, glittering diamond and multicolored crystal, a substance which resembled the inside of a pensieve, and silver liquid moving in froth topped waves along the sides of the chalice. It was the Chalice of the Elementals, essential in all powerful dark art transfigurations and summonings.
Tom Riddle hated muggles, in his eyes they were responsible for all the evils in his life, how he detested them. Sadly this hatred led him invariably to himself, for he was a half blood. Tom smiled grimly as he remembered how once, overcome with hatred for the blood in his veins he had tried a spell to remove it, the spell, being much too advanced for him, had misfired and he had ended up almost bleeding to death. He had been in the orphanage at the time, and one of the staff had thought he had attempted to commit suicide, having seen the blood all over the floor. This had had the same reaction as Tom usually got with the orphanage master, a beating, perfect, thought Tom, just what you need to make you see that life is worth living.
Stupid muggles.
Well, this time he was powerful enough to get rid of the filth in his blood, leaving his own untainted, the blood of Salazar Slytherin. Tom wondered what his old teacher Dumbledore would say if he knew what Tom was about to do? Scream at him not to do this most likely. Merlin he hated the man.
"Sorry Dumbledore" Tom whispered as he traced a circle in the center of the clearing and built and lit a fire in the middle of it. For any spell like this, Tom needed the blood of something to meld with his own. This was not as simple as it sounded, Tom had needed to find a type of creature who's blood would be accepted, and for the heir of Slytherin the animal was obvious.
Tom finished the circle and pulled out his spellbook from an inside pocket of his robes an began to chant the incantation, standing inside the circle with one hand over the flames. "Kel-serath mirkzhar. Estecio ser kaloth, krai-krai terak-mijar, orphello akairn serath-" Tom paused glancing at his spellbook before continuing, the arcane syllables falling from his lips, and making the air heavy with black sorcery.
The flames before Tom burnt suddenly jet-black so that, were you not close, you would have thought it heatless. As he chanted, Tom lifted the stiletto and gashed the snakes neck with it, he held the serpent over the edge of the glass phial, so that the blood fell inside it.
Tom poured the snake's blood into the Chalice of the Elements, wiped the stiletto on his robes, and lifted it to his own throat with one hand. In the other he held the Chalice, held below his neck. Tom took a deep breath and slit his throat, the searing pain flowing through him as freely as his lifeblood flowed out of the gash into the Chalice and mingling with the serpent's.
Tom stumbled as a sudden sense of vertigo shot through his mind, he swayed, his sense of balance weakened by the sudden loss of blood. He smiled grimly, if any were watching they would think he was killing himself. If they knew the truth... In truth, Tom wondered if any would truly be surprised, he made no secret of his hatred of muggles, and it was well known he was halfblood. Oh they would be horrified, yes. But surprised? No. What did they expect? He had had no real friends anywhere, no one to give him a reason to like muggles. The most he had received was from Dumbledore, and that had hardly been convincing. Being told to respect muggles because he was more powerful, yet not being able to defend himself against them when he was beaten in the orphanage, or not being able to fight them if they attacked him, and even now he had to abide to rules which favored muggles over his own kind.
Tom staggered until he was inches from the fire's black flames. This was the point of no return, even now he could fall back, fall back from the gaping black abyss waiting for him, and heal his neck, pack up his equipment and choose another road than the one he was heading down.
Tom smiled, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. Then he half jumped, half fell, into the jet flames.
The flames cut into Tom's flesh like obsidian knives, he felt his strength drain away and fell to his knees. Then, slowly, he lifted the Chalice of the Elements to his lips and drank deeply of the blood within.
Tom lifted the Chalice with suddenly waxing strength and poured the rest of its contents over his head.
The life-liquid of Tom and the snake poured over the figure sitting in the fire, closing his wounds and extinguishing the black fire.
Smoke as dark as the fire that had spawned it rose from the circle, then, slowly, rising like a black phoenix from the ruins of light, a figure rose from the ashes of the flames. It held a dagger in the abnormally long fingers of it's right hand. In the other it held the Chalice of the Elements. The cold wind, which had been absent, perhaps in awe, ruffled the folds of the figure's cloak.
If the man who had entered the circle had been striking, he was nothing compared to the person who left it. He was tall, far taller that Tom had been, and much thinner, but the snake blood had warped more than his build, the figure's face was a twisted mixture of snake and human. The eyes glowing blood red, with a snake's slit pupils. The nose slits on the chalk white face. The long black hair coarser and the hand resembling that of an elongated skeleton's. But greatest difference was in the figure's eyes. While Tom's eyes had relayed naught but sadness and self-loathing, the figure's were dancing with triumph and unholy glee.
An observer would find little to no resemblance between the sorrow-ridden young man who had entered the clearing and the gloating monster who left it. Indeed most would have thought that Tom had died and the figure taken his place, ironically, this was the truth.
Tom Riddle was dead And Lord Voldemort had taken his place.
If you liked this please send feedback to am@macguil.freeserve.co.uk, addressed to Draconic Ragnorock. Flamers will be mocked and ignored.