A.N: Some slightly squick imagery in the first paragraph people of hyper-vivid imagination might watch out for ;) Otherwise, if you're sitting comfortably –
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Feeling his eyeball burst in its socket was a relief. The little fleshy sound was almost lost through the roar in his ears. Then he reached up to brush at the pain and his fingers went through, the unpleasant squelch loud in the silence that fell as the horror hit. All the screams and moans and whimpers receded– smothered by the blanketing hush.
The desperate fight still played out before him as a silent film: fighters falling and rising up again; falling and lying still, broken dolls splashed with crimson paint.
He knew that they wouldn't rise.
He regarded the scene dispassionately through his limited vision, ignoring the voice screaming at him to help them, to stop them, to do something. They weren't his people, so could be no concern of his. Let them kill each other, and their blood would at least feed the soil they died on, his land. Later the self-styled "Death Eaters" would come and feast, laughing bloodily at their prowess – through their nausea, no doubt. Some small advantage could yet be gained – a simple charm to speed decay and the upstarts would be writhing on the red flecked grass from putrid meat. A warming thought, but no sense in bringing attention to himself.
He frowned. The little voice was yelling now in disgusted fury. So he gathered his power, concentrated for a second, and flipped.
Darkness rushed towards him and he gathered its threads to weave a cloak, pulling it after him as he flew, until a solid plane rushed up at him. He landed lightly, the darkness settling in soft folds on his 'body', and looked up.
A short, scrawny child stood before him, chest heaving for breath. No – this was no child – the dream-form flickered through the ages of it's wearer, and the arrival of the challenger caused it to warp and twist, aging rapidly to it's strongest form.
A youth now faced him, ready to fight, but looking as though he'd much rather flee. Only recently come of age surely, and ill-presented – unruly black hair fell into eyes that glared defiance, though the rest of him trembled as was much more proper. Strange clothes he wore- loose patterned top and trews that could neither warm nor shield the wearer unless heavily charmed. They were certainly covered in enough runes and totems – fluffy bears! He was baffled, and disliking the feeling, drew himself to his most imposing appearance. Tall and wiry, the oddly-fashioned cloth of darkness molding to a body more humanoid than the other. Care should always be taken with new recruits – at least until proven sufficiently strong. Time to see if this one would meet his needs.
A.N: So, short and not that sweet – whenever I write some of this it warps round, so extensive redrafts are needed after a 5 second readover. If you liked it, hated it (and have some idea why hopefullyJ ), or it kicked up an idea, please click on the feedback button – some order to this plot is urgently needed.
