Disclaimer : I own Zieth and my opinion. Everything else belongs to their respective creators, owners, gods, designers, programmers, so on and so forth, whoever they may be. There's far too many to list.
I still make absolutely no apology for what I'm doing. For soothing notes, see the start of chapter 1.
This is still not a story for children. It has this rating because I plan to use a little gore. Children, leave now. If you are still reading this, know I will not be responsible for any behaviour occuring later on in your life, be it two minutes from now or twenty years.
Feel free to review, but don't bother making any fuss about Rowling corrections and accuracy. I quite honestly couldn't care less, as should become blatantly obvious.
The Assassins' morality seems to have been replaced by a sort of Terminator-style reasoning and 'get-the-mission-done' attitude... oh well. That's how it is then.
For any of the Assassin spells/skills, please check out Diablo 2. They will be mentioned here as from the point of view of an Assassin – simply as a skill that they all understand and can use. Apologies if they are not used completely correctly. Particularly Cloak of Shadows.
Evil is Just a Point of View
3 – Taking the Castle
"It is a school," Varn announced to the group quietly, and with some disdain, as the Viz-Jaq'taar surveyed the castle ahead of them. "It seems though, that it and its inhabitants have been somewhat instrumental in their war."
"It is thick with magic," another Assassin spoke up. "Probably magics to prevent people from teleporting in."
"Well, we are not teleporting," Zieth responded. "We are not using any magic at all. Any anti-magic charms in place will be useless. Such is our way," she said softly. It was true, the portals the Viz-Jaq'taar used were ripped through the air itself, or in the planar fabric. It was a mere distortion of distance and place.
She glanced over her shoulder at the awaiting Viz-Jaq'taar. Their number was unknown to her, for there were far too many to count. They meant to destroy the corruption they saw on this world, and as Natalya had said, they needed every Assassin they could spare. Only two places had needed the attention of the full strength of the horde.
This was the second. Their claws already dripped the blood of the first.
The war that had been waged was already over, one side defeated, the serpents head removed.
But the methods taken by either side were inexcusable. Corruption would be utterly removed. No matter what the cost, Zieth thought, considering the school. Children. Children who had no doubt been poisoned by the values of their elders, of their teachers. Children who could have been equally a part of it. They had no time to stop, to question, not now. The Planar Travellers had already identified this place as one that needed eradicating. It would be done.
Whispers had already reached the inner walls of Hogwarts.
Not of the veritable army that stood at its borders, readying for the strike. It was not possible that they knew, not when the rumours inside spoke of a lighter fate.
Voldemort defeated.
By who, no-one knew, all the rumours spoke of was shadows. Spirals of light that erupted into flames, into thunderstorms, into blizzards.
His followers defeated.
Rumours travelled fast in the magical realm, for the Assassins had struck only a day before. They had fought, they had destroyed, with all the grace and silence of their Order, and retreated to their own realm to replenish the stores from the rejuvenation wells. The plan had been well thought out. All it took was a perfectly trained army to carry it out. The Viz-Jaq'taar were that army.
If only rumour had spoken of the Witch-Hunters and their true intent. An intent not to destroy their opponents, but an intent to destroy evil.
And evil is just a point of view.
The war was over. Their final battle was about to begin.
With dawn, the castle courtyards were empty. A single scout had determined that for the Assassins. The threat was inside, so inside they would go.
A sound of wind was all the indicated that the portals had been opened, tearing through the physical world with all the strength of a hurricane, whipping the Witch-Hunters swiftly through its wind-passages, past the locked doors of the castles gates. Countless dozens of the shadows spilled through the windy opening, fully prepared for the battle ahead. Blade shields were already in motion, an orb of spinning blades that encircled each Assassin. Claws, cleaned of their last slaughter, were shining and ready, the enchantments strengthened.
As they left the portal and ducked silently down the huge halls, groups split away, employing Dragon Flight to move away quickly and silently. Traps were laid, sentinels put into place.
The largest of the Assassin parties moved towards what felt to be a huge pocket of magic. They could smell it, they could feel it, they knew that there were magic-users at hand. They were not called Witch-Hunters for nothing.
They had no time to marvel at the Great Hall. It was nothing new to them, some had even seen magic more spectacular. What was important was the group of witches and wizards that were in the hall. Children, they were not. Magic ran strong in all of their veins. An older wizard stood as they entered the Hall, demanding to know who they were. But the Assassins ignored him, moving forwards like great-cats, silent and deadly, claws unsheathed.
The wizards knew the intent of the Viz-Jaq'taar then. They saw in the determination of their grim faces that they were here to destroy. They saw on the gleam of their claws that they were here to kill.
Wands were pulled free, spells hurtled towards them, some strong enough to set the Viz-Jaq'taar back., if they hit. For the Witch-Hunters were agile through constant training, ducking or slipping away. For those that did not move, most lost only a few blades from their rotating shields. To most, the magic was futile. The protective enchantments beaten into the metal of their armour had withstood the ravages of Hell-Lords, of world dominating Liches, of spell-casting dragons. In all, the magic of Earth was nothing next to those great powers.
They did not need to speak to know the next attack of their move.
The unanimous casting of fifty Cloak of Shadows blanketed the entire area and no light would ever cast it away. And in the heavy gloom, the Assassins number doubled.
The Shadow Master was one of the Viz-Jaq'taar's greatest skills.
Strengthened, covered, the Assassins moved in for the kill. Trained to see in the dark, for what use a shadow skills if one cannot see properly when you utilise them, the Assassins knew their enemy from their allies.
Their claws did not simply rend through flesh, tearing through veins, spilling blood. The allowed the Viz-Jaq'taar to bring to focus the power of the elements. Fiery meteors rained from the sky, wheeling sparks of lightning tore through the room and the chill touch of ice froze flesh hard enough to be shattered.
It is not to say that no Assassin fell, or that no Assassin had ever fallen. But unlike their opponents, the Viz-Jaq'taar had a pact with the angels of their world, who would recover their dead and return them to life if that was their wish, to return to the attack.
They were unstoppable.
Yes, its bias. Aren't we all? And no, I don't personally think that the books or their characters are evil (I'm not some religious nut doing some demon-spawn bashing here). I've simply had enough of it all. My sadistic ending.