Irreversible Destiny

A/N: Another long chapter and it was posted much earlier than I had thought possible so I hope you all enjoy it. :) Thanks to my reviewers, you guys made this possible!

Parseltongue, foreign words, letters/articles etc.
Emphasized words, headings,
((d)) dream ((d))

Chapter XX
Fortune

Fortune can, for her pleasure, fools advance,
And toss them on the wheels of Chance.
-Juvenal
Roman Poet and satirist (55AD- 127AD)

---

The Summoning Circle
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Sunday the 21st of September 1997
10:17 PM

Cyriacus shuffled in place, exasperated. “Any day Merlin, preferably I’d like your take on this Prophecy before the turn of the century.”

“Can’t even let an old spirit have his moment can you? So impatient my Heir,” Merlin complained before obligingly moving on. “I have already explained the first verse but I imagine if you want more details you can conduct your own research on the subject.”

Blaze nodded. “It’s the first two lines of the second verse which has proven to be more difficult to define. The Wizarding World often times is at war with itself which may explain the ‘brothers slay brothers’. Though some of the bloodlines have become a little…imbred, no wizard or witch would be foolish enough to have intercourse with their own siblings!”

“I suggested perhaps it was an accident but after studying your family tree, I can assure you are not the result of inbreeding. It is puzzling but the rest of the second verse is very clear. Your Master Necromancer’s title is Ruin and you are the son of three: Lily, Severus and James. However we haven’t been able to discover how exactly you are the ‘Heir of Four’. You are only the Gryffindor Heir through the Potters, which you are Heir of through Magical Adoption so that rules out being the Heir of all the Hogwarts Founders. As you already know, you are both an Heir of Hawthorne through your biological father and an Heir of Merlin through your mother. That would explain being the Heir of Three but the Fourth is currently a mystery.”

Cyriacus frowned. “Could it be that I am the Heir to House Ars? I am the only child borne of the blood and seed of the Lords of House Ars.”

“It is a good possibility, though one must wonder about the distinction of being the Heir of House Ars.” Morgan agreed, thoughtfully. “Blaze, Merlin and Gryffindor were all very famous, very powerful men and all their bloodlines are still recognized today even after several centuries.”

“Perhaps, it is your link to the Incubus Throne?” Voldemort suggested. “You said that you had confirmed that Merlin was born through the mating of an Incubus King and a mortal woman, did you not?”

Cyriacus thought it over. “That’s true I suppose, but I do not stand in direct line to inherit. At best, I am a distant sixth or seventh-in-line to the Throne after the King, the Prince and the King’s nephews.”

“Fate works in mysterious ways, do not rule out the possibility.” Merlin advised, seriously.

Blaze nodded and continued dissecting the rest of the second verse. “The ‘betrayed and betrayer’ is rather apparent to all so we need not delve into detail. ‘Love and beloved of his foe’ is a very curious line; does it refer to the past or the present foe?”

Morgan smiled slyly, her gaze meeting Cy’s. “Has this portion come true already? Or does it loom in the future?”

“My love life is my own business but I can assure you, I neither love nor am beloved of anyone at the moment.” Cy said dismissively, knowing that was true as far as he was aware but all things change with time.

“The rest is…self-explanatory and you yourself have already begun the task for which you were born. It begins now, you realize? Every action you take, every decision you make now will affect the world itself, for better or worse. It is a dangerous burden but one which you were born to bear and wield. Your experiences, good and bad, have prepared you for this path and I for one am much relieved that it was you who this Prophecy has bound for this task.” Blaze said softly, dark eyes filled with a nameless emotion.

Merlin studied him for a minute. “You have changed much in the past few years and you have begun the long journey to becoming that which you were born to be. I admit to having tried my best to avert this Prophecy coming into effect but I begin to see that it was unavoidable. The Wizarding World has become a thing which destroys itself, as our numbers dwindle and our ability to tap into magic grows weaker with each generation. It is like a wound that has festered too long and you are the lance which would destroy the infection that threatens to destroy our world forever. We cannot hide ourselves longer than we have and perhaps it is time to re-take our place in this world.”

Merlin and Blaze both raised their goblets to him and drained them.

“My advice I will offer always, you have merely to ask. Before I go, I have one last piece of advice for you tonight. Whatever you decide, do not fight the path that was chosen for you; embrace it or it will crush you and remember that any action is better than inaction. Until we meet again Prince of Dragons, take care.” Merlin said with a bow before vanishing, his Summoing Crystal growing dim.

Blaze smiled as he slowly approached and brushed his fingers across Cyriacus’s forehead. “You have done well and as the last and truly the greatest of my Heirs, I leave to you the knowledge of the greatest tome our family has kept throughout the years. May it guide you on your path.”

Cy shivered as he felt the dead Necromancer’s consciousness brush against his own, leaving him the location of the Hawthorne Vault. Only Morgan remained and she looked to have quite a bit to say before she too departed.

“They are wise men Prince of Dragons; you would do well to heed their advice.” Morgan said rather seriously.

“I will heed them.” Cyriacus agreed and after studying her asked, “Will you not tell me more about Arcanum?”

“Merlin’s Last Prophecy was lost or so the Wizarding World believes. You yourself came across it in a book in the Arcanum Library, one that I myself had written years upon years ago. What no one knows -now except those present is that it was I who hid the Prophecy after Merlin’s death.” Morgan said to the surprise of many. “I have always been of the mind that in order to achieve true balance in our world, we would need periods of Darkness as well as Light. Yet I knew it would prove too much a temptation to leave this Prophecy where it had been given. Every would-be Dark Lord would have used it to justify their cause and so I stole the tablet containing the Prophecy and left the Wizarding World. It was centuries later, when I arrived on the shores of the Isle that I realized what I could do to prepare for the arrival of the true Prince of Dragons. It was then that I built Arcanum, both to hide the Prophecy and to create a place to train those who would serve in true faith, this Prince of Dragons.”

Cyriacus’s eyes widened. “Of course…the Inner Sanctum, the place where all were forbidden to enter except the graduating students.”

Morgan smiled, pleased. “You always were a brilliant student once you learned to focus properly. Yes, that is where I hid the Prophecy and that is where each graduating class swore their allegiance to the school and to the Prince. You have wondered perhaps at why your friends acted so oddly around you in August? It is because I told them, all the Alumni, that you were the Prince of Dragons and that you were the one who I would leave the school to.”

“Ah that explains it all so well,” Cyriacus murmured to himself, thinking of their strange behavior which made him connect a few dots. “You told them not to talk to me until I knew it all myself, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Morgan said nodding. “I know you well; I have watched you for years and oversaw your training personally in various disguises. They never would have been able to fabricate a reason for acting oddly towards you that would have passed your inspection. So I told them to keep away unless there was an emergency and continuing putting you off until I gave them leave to contact you again.”

Cyriacus wrinkled his brow in thought. “So I was right! That training regime I was put through was different than everyone else’s!”

Morgan laughed with delight. “Yes mon cher, it certainly was! Had you not been accursed with such ill health when you arrived at Arcanum, you might have noticed that the Potion regime you were given was very different from what the others received. I ordered for you to be given the best Potions for enhancing reflexes, speeding thought and saving and recalling memory. Once you had begun to adjust to the Potions, I had them begin another regime that would allow you to attain the growth you should have had had you not spent your tender years with those horrible Muggles! Did you not wonder why I gave you a Gold Pass in the Hall of Memory? Mon cher, the only others I allow a Gold pass are the Professors!”

“Well, it’s not as though I would have known to comment about it.” Cyriacus grumbled. “You did weave a complicated Memory Web on me.”

“I’m proud to say you were quite the challenge, as you grew older your mind began to develop its own defenses, no doubt due to Voldemort.” Morgan said glancing over at said Dark Lord.

Voldemort bristled at the way she uttered his name.

Cyriacus smiled slightly, “And other things.”

“On ne t\'appelle sûrement pas Ruin pour rien.” (Surely they don’t call you Ruin for nothing.) Morgan said with amusement.

Lucius chuckled softly. “We’re beginning to understand that.”

Morgan shot the blond a bright smile before turning her attention back to her successor. “I will be happy to answer any remaining questions you have at another time. I may look as youthful as your father but I fear I do not feel as energetic as I used to. À bientôt, mon successeur.” (Take care, my successor)

“Good night, Mademoiselle Le Fey.” Cyriacus murmured as her Summoning Crystal dimmed. Quickly drawing the final runes to release the Summoning, Cyriacus flicked his wrist once and broke the enchantments he’d erected on the Summoning Circle. Transforming as he walked away from the Summoning Circle, the torches went out, forcing the Inner Circle to start casting Lumos spells. By the time he joined the others on the ground, he stood in all his half-human, half-dragon glory.

Voldemort studied him for a few seconds before speaking. “That was…enlightening.”

“I’m sure it was.” Cyriacus agreed, stretching his wings out behind him, causing the nearby Inner Circle members to move out of his way. Nusayr just dodged his wing and stayed close by him, on alert for danger.

“I believe we have things to discuss then.” Voldemort said motioning for Cyriacus to walk alongside of him.

Severus cleared his throat, “If I may speak, my Lord?”

“Yes, Severus?”

“It is urgent I speak with Cyriacus and yourself about Dumbledore’s latest plan.” Severus replied, looking unhappy.

Voldemort frowned, not liking what his enemy could be planning. “You may join us then, the rest of you are dismissed and I need not warn you about your discretion regarding the Prophecy and other information you just heard.”

Several murmured farewells before drifting off to the mansion or stepping out of the wards surrounding the Circle, Disapparating. Voldemort led the way back to the mansion with Cyriacus walking alongside him, casting a powerful Glamour before stepping beyond the safety of the wards. Severus and Nusayr followed behind them at a respectful distance as Necromancer Ruin and Lord Voldemort spoke quietly of various Dark Artifacts. Once they were ensconced in Voldemort’s Suite he waved them to take seats before summoning a house elf.

“May I offer some beverages or something to eat?” Voldemort queried, glancing at his guests and secretly hoping to get Severus and Nusayr out of his rooms in an hour or less so he could be alone with his lover.

Nusayr and Severus both shook their heads. Cyriacus sighed, and rubbed at his pounding temple with his right hand. “I’ll have something light, a soup maybe? With plain water please.”

“Are you feeling well?” Nusayr asked with concern.

“I’ll be fine; I’m just a little tired.” Cyriacus replied releasing his Glamour and sprawling on his stomach on a couch.

Nusayr graced him with a look that plainly said he didn’t believe him before stealing a pillow from the couch and dropping it onto the ground before perching on it. He chose to stay close to Cyriacus to prevent him from falling off the couch if he was hit by a spasm attack.

Voldemort reined in the spark of jealousy at the Wraith sitting so close to his lover and snapped at the house elf to fetch soup, water and a tea service. When the house elf returned a few minutes later, Cy folded a wing and rolled onto his side accepting the tray of food and began eating. Severus almost reprimanded him for beginning to eat before the Dark Lord had served himself a cup of tea but Voldemort shot him a look that told him not to say anything. After a few minutes, Voldemort pointedly asked Severus to explain Dumbledore’s latest plan. Voldemort looked distinctly unhappy by the time Severus finished explaining and curtly dismissed the older man, saying that Cyriacus and he would have to discuss it and debate whether it was worth risking Arvell’s possible fury at having a competitor. Once Severus had departed, Nusayr was told none too gently to wait in the Necromancer’s room while the two discussed things. Nusayr looked only too pleased to escape what would no doubt be a loud argument. The moment Voldemort felt the tell tale shiver as his wards closed behind the door Nusayr had just stepped through, he jumped to his feet in a rage.

“I absolutely cannot believe the gall of that old man!” Voldemort roared smacking a crystal dragon figurine clear off a side table, sending it crashing into the marble wall where it shattered spectacularly.

Cyriacus glanced up from his soup. “This move is not unexpected though it is inconvenient at best. It will not be a real Courtship and I have no intention on playing the role of the infatuated teenager with whoever is lucky enough to be forced into Courting me. We have the perfect excuse for implementing the next stage of the attack now that Dumbledore has given us this opportunity and Marcellus can make things very difficult for Dumbledore’s vaunted Order of the Phoenix.”

Voldemort wanted to rage and rant more but seeing the weariness in his lover’s dark green gaze, he restrained himself and promised to take out his frustration on the Alliance forces in the next battle. “Eat your soup, you look…fatigued.”

“At least you didn’t say pale.” Cyriacus commented with a chuckle. “I don’t think my scales turn colors like a human’s skin changes.”

Once Cyriacus had finished his soup, Voldemort banished the tray and led his lover to the bedroom. Cyriacus was about to protest at being too tired to want to do anything but sleep. After stripping his lover of his clothes, Voldemort merely told him to get to bed and have a few hours of sleep before wandering off to read a stack of reports to decide where to plan his next attacks. Transforming back to his human form, Cyriacus sank down onto the soft comfortable bed, drawing the covers over his tired body and drifting off into sleep.

((d))
He was feeling…resigned as he kneeled on the ground. There were a few people moving behind him and speaking softly but he ignored them. He watched the flames dance in the huge fire in front of him, also ignoring the horrible death gurgles coming from across the fire. To his sides, he could see two others both male also kneeling by him, though they were about two feet to the side and a foot behind him. They too looked resigned and watched the fire dance.

A woman with pale silver hair strode in front of the fire and he looked up into her face, meeting her lilac gaze. Another woman with pale gold hair set a silver basin in front of him and then he knew it was time. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and then there was a flash of pain across his throat and then…nothingness.
((d))

Cyriacus woke with a start raising a shaking hand to his throat, his body bathed in sweat and his heart racing. Disorientated, he blinked owlishly around the room and as he calmed down from his nightmare, realized he was in Voldemort’s bedroom. Drawing a deep breath, he held it for a minute and then released it slowly before casting a Tempus spell. Grumbling with displeasure at having only gotten forty minutes or so of sleep, as it was just a minute past midnight, Cyriacus was about to get out of bed when the door opened and Voldemort crept in, pausing upon seeing his lover awake.

“Why are you-“

Cyriacus ran a hand through his hair, “Just…a dream.”

Voldemort frowned slightly. “Do you normally have dreams that wake you up from a deep sleep?”

“Not normally, but ever since those…Chylla did something to me, I’ve been having all sorts of strange dreams and Nusayr won’t tell me a damned thing about them!” Cyriacus replied with a scowl. “He just mumbles about it not being his place to explain. I’m almost ready to throttle him.”

Voldemort smiled slightly as he walked into his closet and began to change for bed, pulling on crimson silk pajamas. “It is a good thing the new moon is only a week and a half away then, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cyriacus said watching as Voldemort climbed into bed and fluffed the pillows on his side of the bed before sprawling against them, smiling contently. It was only now that Cyriacus realized that they both only acted truly like themselves in private like this. Both of them had too many eyes watching and seeking their slightest weaknesses to be comfortable acting in any way other than what was required for their public personas. Discarding his idea of leaving early, Cyriacus hesitantly moved closer to Voldemort who looked surprised at his action but met him halfway. Resting his head on Voldemort’s chest, Cy listened to his steady heartbeat as he closed his eyes. Voldemort idly traced designs on his lover’s back but soon drifted off to sleep as well.

((d))

He was so damned tired and his back was aching as though a herd of Hippogriffs had been personally offended by his lower back and had proceeded to stomp on it. Nusayr, Salil, Baraz and Iah were constantly hovering over him, ready to fetch anything he needed as if they themselves were human sized house elves. Cyriacus was sick of their behavior and the bad thing was that he would have to put up with not only them but also everyone else in the bloody palace until his sons were born! Constance and his father required at least one check up a day, as it was practically unheard of for a male to bear two children from a natural male pregnancy. Though they were annoying, the one who proved to aggravate him the most these days was-

“Anwylyd, are you certain you should be walking in the gardens?” Voldemort asked crimson eyes filled with concern.

Cyriacus grit his teeth and rested the urge to smack his husband. “I’m pregnant I do not have a disease of any sort that prevents me from moving around.”

Voldemort winced, “I did not mean to imply that you shouldn’t be up and about-“

“Yes, yes you’re only concerned about my health and our sons, I know.” Cyriacus grumbled. “You’ve said it enough the past six months.”

“I only want you all to be safe.” Voldemort murmured, hesitantly wrapping his arms around his husband, his hands caressing the rounded belly.

((d))

Cyriacus lurched up out of bed, eyes wide. Jerking the covers down he looked at his smooth, muscled abdomen and shook his head. Why the hell was he having these dreams all the sudden? Voldemort had woken and blearily gazed at him.

“Another nightmare?” Voldemort asked yawning.

“…I’m not so sure it was a nightmare.” Cyriacus answered and then clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he saying this?! It was not some twisted dream of the future! Shaken he scrambled to get out of bed looking around for his clothes.

Perplexed, Voldemort got out of bed. “Cyriacus what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cyriacus said a bit sharply as he jerked his clothes on rather haphazardly. “I’ll see you on Thursday and Saturday this week, right?”

“Yes,” Voldemort agreed with a frown.

Cyriacus kissed him and then uncharacteristically blurted out, “Don’t worry I…it’s nothing yet. I’m just…startled.”

Voldemort looked frustrated. “What did you-“

“Someday, I’ll tell you someday but not tonight. I’ll see you again soon enough.” Cyriacus commented giving Voldemort another heated kiss before pulling away and vanishing through a shadow.

Shaking his head, Voldemort could only wonder what had rattled Cyriacus’s nerves so badly.

---

Hogwarts
Tuesday the 22nd of September 1997
10:15 AM

Cyriacus stormed into Transfiguration fifteen minutes late, in a foul mood having spent the morning in Dumbledore’s office arguing heatedly over the details regarding the ridiculous mock Courtship. By the time they had ironed out the details, even Dumbledore looked weary and Cyriacus had been worked up to a dark mood. Nusayr, in his ocelot form of Shadow, nervously padded along behind him quite worried about what might happen if some unfortunate fool happened to aggravate the already annoyed Necromancer.

Heads shot up and around as the door closed behind him with a bang and McGonagall looked distinctly displeased at the interruption of her lecture. “Mr. Snape so good of you to join us, take your seat so we may continue.”

Cyriacus resisted the sudden urge to growl at the Professor as he took a seat between Draco and Blaise. Shadow jumped up onto the desk and after glancing at Cyriacus lay down. Once he had a scroll of parchment out and his quill at the ready, McGonagall continued her lecture about Conjuring Spells. Cyriacus took notes without really listening to what she was saying, far more focused on thinking about all the strange things taking place in his life at the moment. There were those strange dreams courtesy of whatever the Chylla did to him, his arm was still healing and causing him to feel oddly when he was not wearing the Gauntlet, the new moon was approaching and the Dark Congress would begin not even two days after.

Draco kicked him under the table and Cyriacus glared at the blond boy who was looking at McGonagall who was waiting.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you would demonstrate Mr. Snape?” McGonagall repeated.

Not quite sure what he was supposed to do, Cyriacus drew his wand from the holster tucked into his sling and frowning slightly conjured a Pensieve. McGonagall gaped at him in shock while the other students stared.

“What?” Cyriacus asked sharply.

“Mr. Snape, today’s lecture was on Conjuring common non-magical items. It’s practically unheard of for someone to be able to Conjure a Pensieve of all things!” McGonagall exclaimed rather shakily.

Cyriacus blinked and then shrugged. “I learned that in my Sixth Year, it’s really quite simple with enough practice.”

McGonagall shook her head, really not wanting to know anymore about what exactly Arcanum students were capable of. “Twenty points to Slytherin.” Cyriacus watched her walk away and begin helping the other students with their spells.

---

Cyriacus had just stepped out of the Hospital wing after having his arm cleaned, tended to and re-bandaged. He was on his way back to the Dungeons when Remus and Sirius happened to encounter him by a staircase.

“Cyriacus, may we talk to you privately?” Remus asked with a kind smile.

Cyriacus shrugged, “Alright.”

Sirius grinned. “Follow us; we’ll talk in our rooms then. How are you doing?”

“Well enough I suppose. It’s been an aggravating day.”

“Has it? The day is barely half over.” Remus commented as they descended from the Fourth Floor to the Third, taking a right and heading to the eastern part of the Castle.

Sirius frowned. “Does it have anything to do with your meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore this morning?”

“A great deal, unfortunately.” Cyriacus growled as they entered a remote part of the castle. Remus frowned and changed the topic to schoolwork as they headed down a hallway with windows overlooking the forest. Eventually they stopped in front of a portrait of a grinning wizard on the back of a preening hippogriff.

“Back so soon?” The wizard asked absently petting the hippogriff.

Remus smiled. “Gerard, this is Cyriacus Snape he’ll be visiting us once in a while.”

“Ah, you’d be the Potions Master’s son I assume? You look remarkably alike, minus the nose of course.” Gerard commented with a grin.

“A blessing, I assure you,” Cyriacus said with amusement.

Sirius snickered as he gave the password to Gerard. “Musketeers.”

Cyriacus gave them a curious look but Remus only ushered him inside, obviously not wanting to talk about it until they were in a secure location. Stepping through, Cyriacus looked around the room with interest. He was standing in a small living room, which had two couches and two armchairs along with a bookcase and a desk in the corner by the window. Opposite the window was a medium sized fireplace with doors on both sides. The room was tastefully decorated in a royal blue with splashes of honey gold and pearl white.

Turning, Cyriacus glanced into their eyes and planted a warning in the Mind Webs he had woven into their minds to hide their loyalties from Dumbledore. Remus nodded slightly and Sirius moved off to call a house elf. Ten minutes later they each had a cup of tea and were comfortably seated, Cyriacus sitting across from the older wizards.

“You said earlier that you were having a bad day and that it had something to do with Dumbledore.” Remus prodded.

Cyriacus frowned and knowing they were most likely under observation answered as he was expected to, with a slight sneer. “Dumbledore has ordered me in the name of serving the Light, to pretend a Courtship with Viktor Krum. Neither of us, I may mention, are pleased about this arrangement either.”

Sirius gaped for a moment before closing his mouth. “Why would you have to pretend a Courtship with Krum?”

“Because I’m allowing Marcellus Arvell to Court me on Voldemort’s orders and Dumbledore hopes that my being Courted by an agent of the Alliance will delay the likelihood of having to become engaged or married to Arvell.”

“Why does Voldemort want Arvell?”

“I don’t know!” Cyriacus exclaimed annoyed. “All I was told was that I was to win Arvell’s allegiance to Voldemort by any means necessary.”

Remus’s eyes widened. “You’ve already been assigned your first task by Voldemort and Dumbledore hasn’t told the Order?”

“What do you mean he hasn’t told you? I would have thought-“

Sirius’s silver eyes darkened. “Why is he suddenly keeping secrets? Everyone in the Order should know that you’ve already been assigned your first task!”

“Unless he’s worried there is another spy?” Remus suggested.

Cyriacus snorted. “As far as I know, my father is the only Order spy along with myself. I can’t say how many spies are in the Ministry or the Defense League but should information be leaked to Voldemort, you can surely look in that direction too.”

“Have you told Dumbledore?”

“He’s already aware of it; I’ve mentioned it more than once and so has my father.” Cyriacus said, giving the two the information necessary to start creating doubt in Dumbledore amongst the rest of the Order.

Remus frowned. “We’ll have to talk to Dumbledore about this later.”

“So,” Sirius said slowly changing the subject. “How has your training been?”

“Easy so far and the Dark Lord is pleased.” Cyriacus commented. “I have little doubt I will earn the Dark Mark by Samhain and a place amongst the Inner Circle before I graduate.”

“And…Marcellus?”

Cyriacus sighed. “I won’t say it’s been easy but anything I can do to get closer to Voldemort and earn his trust, I will do. Nothing else matters now that Harry is gone.”

“I see.” Sirius said seemingly looking blank but his eyes held amusement.

Remus smiled at him. “It gets easier with time.”

“I hope.” Cyriacus said finishing his tea. “If that is all, I really should be on my way, I have a Charms essay to look over before class and my free period ends in about forty minutes.”

“Of course, if you ever want to talk, feel free to stop by.” Sirius said rising.

Cyriacus smiled weakly at them, planting more information about when they could meet to really discuss things and then took his leave.

---

Voldemort’s Suite
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Thursday the 25th of September 1997
8:10 PM

Cy knocked on Voldemort’s door, keeping up appearances for his lessons and nodding at Lucius who happened to be walking by. The doors swung open, the snakes hissing a greeting to him as he walked through. Immediately, he saw Voldemort seated in the common room, looking over a pile of papers. Cy took a seat across from him and waited until Voldemort acknowledged his presence.

“Who is going to be Marcellus’s rival?” Voldemort asked as he set aside a report about possible locations for a fortress in Transylvania.

“Viktor Krum apparently,” Cyriacus answered smoothly. “Dumbledore believes that as a famous Quidditch Player and Heir to a wealthy and influential family, he’d have better luck than one of the older Weasley sons. Either way, I am infinitely grateful as Krum himself didn’t look very pleased at all with the situation.”

Voldemort looked interested now. “Displeased enough to perhaps want to switch sides?”

Cy smiled slightly. “Perhaps, we’ll wait to see what happens once the Zephyr leaks Merlin’s Prophecy now won’t we?”

“So we will,” Voldemort agreed with a laugh. “Your connections have proven infinitely helpful over the past few months.”

Cy nodded and leaned forward to take a look at the reports littered over the coffee table. Voldemort obligingly shoved a stack he had already looked at towards him as he himself picked up another report and began reading. They spent an hour reading through reports, commenting every so often about interesting occurrences. Finished at last, Voldemort began explaining where he was planning to attack next and when as Cy listened adding bits of advice here and there along with offering to Summon creatures to help.

“…leak it back to them. We’ve discovered three of their spies so far and you have woven exemplary Mind Webs on them so no one has questioned them yet. Your Revenants proved most useful; I had them follow the suspected Death Squads we believe the Ministry spy is from and they’ve found him.” Voldemort said smiling, his crimson eyes bright.

Cy looked surprised. “Did they? That is excellent news indeed, so he was in a First Tier Death Squad as I suspected?”

“He is a member of Cockatrice.”

“What did you do with him?”

Voldemort shrugged. “Nothing yet, we will use him to feed misinformation to the Light for as long as it pleases me. When his purpose is at an end, then I will make an example of him.”

“I see.” Cyriacus replied, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Voldemort’s plan for the spy. “We aren’t going to do this all night are we?”

“No, we aren’t.” Voldemort commented, neatening the stack of papers on the coffee table. “In fact, we’re done now.”

Cyriacus grinned. “Excellent. Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” Voldemort replied, watching as Cy got to his feet and strolled towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his robes along the way.

---

The Grounds
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Wednesday the 1st of October 1997
7:30 PM

Cyriacus led the way to the Summoning Circle, surrounded on all sides by the Revenants and Nusayr. Behind them Voldemort, the Inner Circle, the Elite and Sirius and Remus followed. Thanks to his contacts and a few house elves, Hogwarts was practically closed after Dragon Pox and Vanishing Sickness spread infecting half the staff and a quarter of the student population. Parents had been pouring into the school, removing ill children or taking their healthy children out temporarily until the epidemic ran its course. A good number of the infected Elite and Cyriacus, who had been suffering a ‘relapse’, were removed to the Asclepius Sanatorium for treatment. As it was an Arcanum owned and operated facility, it was not hard to arrange private rooms and make quiet escapes to their true destination, Riddle Mansion.

Tonight was the night he had waited so long for; tonight he would get his answers. Crossing the wards, he waved his hand and the torches around the base of the Summoning Circle burst to light, burning a bright green. Making his way directly to the Summoning Circle, he paused by the steps, waiting as the Revenants moved into position around the Summoning Circle. The Inner Circle and Elite spread out flanking the base, he could smell Voldemort, Sirius and Remus taking up positions behind him. Glancing around, he saw his servants were in place and gave the satin belt around his waist a tug and shrugged out of the Summoning robe. Ignoring Sirius and Remus’s gasp, he walked up the steps in front of him, Transforming along the way and releasing his Glamours as he went.

Walking around the center of the Circle, he waved his hand and two bags of rock salt appeared and emptied themselves on the ground, forming a perfect circle. He shot Nusayr a glance and the Wraith opened a Shadow Doorway directly above the center circle. Several items floated out, a bound and gagged teenage girl, a box containing a Phoenix egg and a covered bucket of Sea Serpent blood. Cyriacus gave his servants their signal and once again they poured buckets of blood onto the surface of the Summoning Circle. Finally ready to begin, he activated his final enchantments and then began the Summoning, using a Yew wand to draw the Necromantic Runes in the air.

“…I Summon the Dark Wraith Asadyl, by the blood of the Illusionist, I Summon!”

There was a flare of light in the center circle and then the light began to take shape. Cy closed his eyes when the light became too blinding and when it faded he opened his eyes to meet the gaze of a tall, handsome man with violet eyes and waist length black hair. The look in those eyes made him hold his breath and he could feel a presence pushing at his mind, demanding entrance. He staggered back a step as the pressure increased but held his own, barely.

“You are late. I had expected to have this conversation the night of the last new moon.” Asadyl said displeased before studying him carefully. “Was Nusayr inattentive? How did you manage to receive such a severe injury?”

Nusayr quickly threw himself on Asadyl’s mercy. “My apologies, Eldest Brother but I was not available to protect your lost son. The circumstances were out of my control.”

“I assigned you the most important task of any of our Brethren and you managed to fail! Do you know what would have happened if he had died?!” Asadyl roared, his voice so cold Cyriacus shivered despite the fact he wasn’t the least bit cold physically.

Cyriacus joined the conversation. “You can berate him later. I want the answers I was promised and now!”

Asadyl turned to look him over and his eyes widened when he saw the Chylla’s Mark. “They’ve already given you their blessing? Then there is little doubt why you are so impatient, child.”

“Don’t call me a child.” Cyriacus growled, glaring at the Wraith.

“You will always be a child and compared to how long I have lived you will still be a child when your great-grandchildren are born.” Asadyl said amused. “A moment then, and I will give you what you so desire to learn.”

Cyriacus watched dispassionately as Asadyl drank the blood and absorbed the energy and potential of the unborn phoenix. The Wraith circled the bound girl, curious about why she was given to him as an Offering.

“She carries a spark of life within her, Eldest Brother, so that you may have not one but two links to this world.” Nusayr said meekly as he noticed the other getting annoyed.

Asadyl spared Cyriacus a surprised glance. “That was most…intuitive of you.”

“I am a Master at my Craft.”

With a slight smile, the Wraith leisurely walked around the terrified teenager, his fingertips slowly changing into deadly, poisonous claws. Cyriacus watched silently as Asadyl pulled the teen to her feet, tracing runes onto her skin with his claws. Blood welled up, contrasting dramatically against her pale white skin. Murmuring something in what Cy had learned was Old Demonic, Asadyl cast powerful spells draining the life force from the girl and that small spark of life within her. Once he finished with his runes and had nearly drained her life force, Asadyl wrapped a clawed hand on the front of her throat and squeezed slightly. Cyriacus could feel the magic pooling and knew instinctively that this Wraith was far more powerful than Nusayr and would be ruthless if crossed. As he spoke the final word binding his spirit to this plane, Asadyl snuffed out the girl and her unborn child’s life by ripping her throat out. Hot blood sprayed over his arm, dripping onto his left leg and staining his clothes.

Throughout it all, Cyriacus watched dispassionately. He himself had done worse things after all and that had been when he was completely human. Behind them he heard some voices murmuring softly along with a few people getting ill, no doubt Elites having witnessed their first murder. He could understand their reaction. He had nearly ruined his first high level Summoning, throwing up over the chalk runes after having killed his first Offering. Asadyl turned to face him and the power in those violet eyes pinned him in place. Sirius shuddered as he watched the Wraith calmly bring his blood stained hand to his lips and lick the blood away. Remus set a steadying hand on his shoulder, his inner wolf fascinated at the sight while his human self was disgusted, yet unable to look away.

Cyriacus struggled to break eye contact and nearly stumbled when he managed it. Now on the defensive, his body shifted to face the threat. His scales which had looked impressive earlier now looked downright lethal as they rose up, becoming thicker and rougher. The Living Metal began to glow subtly around his wrists, ears and wings while the gems flashed with harnessed power waiting to be unleashed.

Asadyl smiled at him and stepped out of the center circle. “Put on some clothes, child. I have no interest in seeing my lost son naked while we converse, though your body is impressive enough to flaunt, should you choose.”

Cyriacus raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as he conjured a swath of insulated cloth and belted it around his waist and legs. The wind picked up, sending leaves swirling and scattering while the heavy, dark clouds promised rain.

“Are you not cold? The air smells of rain, autumn’s end and winter’s birth.” Asadyl commented, approaching him.

“The weather causes me little concern in this form.” Cyriacus answered, moving to keep a good distance between them.

Asadyl paused, frowning slightly. “You need not be frightened of me, child. I cannot hurt you without damning my Brethren again and once in a lifetime is more than enough.”

“Brethren?” Cyriacus asked curiously.

“Perhaps, I should have let Nusayr explain some things to you. I fear we will be here all night at this rate. To begin with, there are five of my kind and you have already met three. Eldest born are the Wraith, followed by the Revenant, Deviant, Savage and Chylla. The Savage is made up of both males and females, the Chylla are all female and the eldest three all male. I am Eldest over all of the Primordial Beings as we call ourselves though our children may remember us as the Forgotten Ones. We were the first, born long before the mortals became…civilized. We were wanderers and enjoyed traveling the world, seeing the mortal civilizations take shape and some of us learned to enjoy what mortal life offered. In a sense, this may have led to our downfall.”

Juraz interrupted. “Imryn was a fool but the cause of our downfall rests on both your heads.”

Nusayr glared at the Revenant. “It was Imryn that stole Asadyl’s son!”

“And it was Asadyl whom insulted Imryn by taking the mortal Miela to his bed when she had been promised to Imryn by her father!” Altaros retorted.

Cyriacus interrupted. “Save the argument for later, I want to hear what is relevant to me.”

Asadyl sighed. “In any case Imryn, who is Eldest of the Revenants, and I had a slight…misunderstanding. He stole my son and I in turn, wanted my son back. It started a rather unpleasant and untimely war between the Wraiths and the Revenants as we were also fighting a war with the first practitioners of Order magic. We were foolish I admit, and it was our lack of unity at the time that brought about our own banishment into the Shadow Plane. It was the Chylla that Foresaw the salvation of our kind and united us so that we might work towards bringing our salvation into being.”

“Stop,” Cyriacus said rubbing at his suddenly pounding temple. “Do not tell me that the Chylla Prophesized that I would be your salvation! I have had enough of Prophecies to last me a bloody lifetime!”

“What do you speak of? There is only one Prophecy.” Asadyl said glaring at Nusayr who rushed to explain.

“These magic wielders have Prophesized that your son would do them a service as well, Eldest Brother.”

“But it is impossible for there to be a bearer of two Prophecies! It is unheard of!” Asadyl said angrily. “Our Prophecy would take precedence then as it was made long before the other!”

Asaph hesitated before joining the conversation. “The kyndrak has already begun to fulfill their Prophecy though.”

“The fact that he is standing here with the Mark of the Chylla proves that he is fulfilling our Prophecy as well!” Asadyl pointed out.

Juraz shook his head. “He cannot bear both Prophecies or he will be driven mad by the weight of his tasks! One of them must be invalid.”

“Perhaps his son will carry the weight of latter Prophecy?” Shapur suggested. “He, would be their King of Dragons, and the son the Prince?”

“But he is the son of three and the Heir of four!”

A new voice joined the conversation, causing the wizards to whirl in shock. “He carries our Blessing and one life has already been sacrificed in his name to awaken his dormant powers. He is our Dark One.”

A flurry of voices began talking at once and Cyriacus lost his temper after barely a minute of listening to their panicked talking or arguments.

“Silence!” He roared, his power flaring around him and gaining the attention of the Primordial Beings and Wizards alike.

The newcomer, a woman who looked oddly familiar, stepped forward. “I am Kohinoor, Eldest of the Chylla. You have been dreaming have you not, pieces of the past and the future that has yet to be?”

Cyriacus stilled; those were real? He looked at her more closely and realized why she looked so familiar. She had been the one in those dreams, the one who had killed those men. “You did the Blood Rituals, what were they for?”

“Blood is the most changeable and yet unchangeable part of each living being. It can be altered with magic, defiled by disease and collected to perform the Darkest and Lightest of Magicks. Those dreams of ritual slayings, they were a Blood Ritual the likes of which none of your kind could have attempted or completed without the collective Foresight of two dozen Prophets, Seers and Diviners.” The woman explained as she calmly stepped onto the base of the Summoning Circle. “In essence, those Rituals were meant to create a being the likes which would have in equal amount all the powers of our Brethren. My sisters and I have spent thousands of years directing mortal lives, working towards our goal of your birth. In time, as your powers awaken and the last of the rituals are carried out, you will become the kyndrak, the Dark One, the first and only being born as the Heir of Five Primordial Beings and Lord over all groups.”

Cyriacus barely heard the rest of her explanation, completely frozen as he realized that he had been born from a Blood Ritual! It didn’t matter that it had taken a thousand or more years for it to come to fruition, in fact that it took that long only meant that they had passed up everyone before him, waiting for the perfect specimen…waiting for him. He was aware of his breathing becoming erratic and then the world tilted wildly around him and he sank into blackness.

---

Voldemort blinked as he watched his lover crumple to the ground, mind racing with possibilities and concern. All the others stilled their conversation and arguments turning as Asadyl rolled the unconscious man onto his back and attempted to wake him. Three slaps later with sheets of rain hammering down on him, Cy had woken up and had his hand around his ancestor’s throat and with a roll he pinned the man onto his back.

“You are a fool,” slam “who curses their own descendants” slam, slam “to correct your own fucked up idiocy!” Cyriacus roared, using his grip on his ancestor’s throat to slam the Wraith against the hard obsidian beneath them.

Nusayr and the Revenants looked horrified, what was he thinking?! “My Lord, get off him before he hurts you!”

“Hurt me, hurt me? How can I be hurt more than I already am? I’m a fucking, twice cursed Blood child by all the damnation that exists in the magical world! How much more fucking cursed or hurt can you get than that?!” Cyriacus shrieked, his power lashing out at the nearby torches and turning them into molten silver.

Kohinoor blinked and turned to face Nusayr. “Why did you not mention he was in khanel?”

Juraz winced as Asadyl bucked the younger man off him and threw him into the Salt Circle’s shield. “Would it have mattered?”

“Do you think this is the path I would have chosen for a scion of my blood? To damn them as a Blood Child, born by the sacrifice of nine of by Brethren?” Asadyl snapped out, dodging the flurry of claw swipes aimed at him. “I have had thousands of years knowing and waiting for your birth only to know that you must curse yourself with another six sacrifices before our aims are achieved. My own life will be among those do you realize and you will have to bear the weight of murdering Kin as well.”

Cyriacus didn’t even hear him snarling about his own lot in life as he knocked Asadyl off his feet and clawed at his chest. “Did anyone ask me if I wanted this fucked up life?! Well you know what, anyone who fucking wants it can have it! I’ve given my mind, my life, my blood and I’ve all but sold my soul to pursuing the knowledge necessary to defeat my enemies! How much more can you ask of me?”

Voldemort shook his head and stifled a laugh as the two proceeded to take their frustration out on each other, all while ranting about how unfair their lot in life was. The Primordial Beings present, stared in a mixture of shock and bemusement as their so-called Leaders threw reason into the wind and settled on solving their issues with claws and brute force.

Fifteen minutes later soaked to the skin and sporting more than a few bruises Cyriacus felt all reason melt away when he caught a whiff of Asadyl’s blood. His eyes shifted changing into a bright green that glowed eerily in the darkened night. Asadyl backed away from him, recognizing the look in his eye but was too slow as Cyriacus had already been prepared to spring. They slammed onto the slick ground, sliding a foot away and then Cyriacus pounced. Asadyl let out a muffled squawk of surprise when he felt fangs tearing at the junction of neck and shoulder. Cyriacus growled as the hot blood poured over his tongue and down his throat, burning.

Kohinoor watched, her lilac eyes wide with surprise. “The Bloodlust…he’s manifesting the Savage traits earlier than expected.”

Fayruz joined them, standing next to Nusayr. “Perhaps it is because of his beast form?”

“I guided the mortal’s very hand; he should not be manifesting any dragonic desires for blood.” Nanaea said defensively.

Nusayr blinked, realizing. “He has claimed at times that he becomes irrational, desiring blood and raw flesh. However you directed the Potion maker to create the Anguis Potion, it does not affect him the way it should.”

“There is little wonder why, he is already Heir of Savage, Revenant and Deviant.” Asaph pointed out.

After a few minutes, Asadyl managed to push Cyriacus off him and scrambled to his feet, glaring at the watching Primordial Beings. “Why did no one tell me how far he has progressed?”

“You did not give us enough time to speak, Eldest Brother.” Kohinoor replied smoothly. “Step away from the kyndrak and heal your wounds, perhaps that will be enough to instill reason upon him again.”

Asadyl deftly moved away from Cyriacus who attempted to tackle him, no doubt intent on feasting on his blood. Once the Wraith’s wounds were healed and the rain had washed away most of the blood, Cyriacus blinked dazedly several times and came to his senses.

Cyriacus panted heavily trying to calm his racing heartbeat and turned his face up, letting the rain wash away the smeared blood. “What have I become? What have you made me?”

“You carry the best traits of three of our kind, which makes you superior to most of our kind.” Kohinoor commented shivering slightly as the rain had soaked through her clothes. “Let us take shelter within and we will explain more about what you are and where your purpose lies.”

Nodding tiredly, he focused his energy he drew the final runes to end the Summoning with small bursts of pure power and then broke the enchantments he had erected around the Summoning Circle. Thunder roared above them and the rain pounded down harder as the barrier holding back most of the rain was released. He slipped on a puddle of rainwater at the edge of the Circle and Asadyl scrambled to grab hold of him before he fell. Nusayr and Juraz rushed over from their place on the base and helped steady the Necromancer as he stepped down. As they made their way to solid ground, Cyriacus Transformed back to his human form. The moment they reached solid ground, his father and Voldemort wrapped him in cloaks and steered him back towards the mansion.

Lucius and several others had gone ahead to clear the way and when they arrived in the larger of the two Drawing rooms, the fireplaces were blazing and the house-elves had hot drinks waiting to be poured. Constance pushed through the throng, carrying a pile of soft cotton towels and her medical bag. Cyriacus was pushed into a chair, his clothes peeled off and was indiscriminately toweled down in front of everyone before having a Revival and Pepper-up Potion shoved into his hand. Cyriacus drank the Potions without speaking as someone spelled some clothes on to him before wrapping him up into a blanket. Abruptly he was seized by a severe tremor, all the muscles in his body twitching uncontrollably for a few seconds before he started coughing into his hand, feeling something wet and slick slide against his skin.

“Likely has Pneumonia,” Constance said unhappily to his left.

“Here, have some tea.” Severus said tilting his head up.

Cyriacus blinked at his father, his chin splattered in blood and his hand filled with it. Distantly he could hear the uproar caused at the sight of him coughing up blood but the sudden pain in his midsection turned into a blinding heat and he hunched over, as he screamed from the pain of it. It felt like his insides were splintering and it was so hard to breathe! Someone was calling his name and he suddenly found himself horizontal as they ripped open his shirt, looking for his injury. Pushing past the pain, he struggled to free his arm from the hands pinning him down and began clawing just inches below his diaphragm, recognizing what that splintering pain was.

“Hold him down!” Voldemort snapped and the hands came back pinning his arm down.

Cyriacus snarled at them and with a blast of power, sent everyone within eight feet of him flying several feet up into the air before crashing down. Arm free at last he brought his wrist to his mouth and using his tongue pushed seven of the Invictus ‘gems’ and pushed four ‘gems’ on the second bracelet. He Transformed his hand and carefully tore an opening in his flesh where he had been clawing at before. Blood pooled up from the wounds and he dug deeper fighting against his body’s survival magic, which kept trying to heal the wounds. Growling with frustration at the whole situation he snapped the thread that fed his survival magic before gritting his teeth and prying deeper into his body. Kohinoor watched him in confusion but when she saw him draw out a bloodied golf ball sized object from his body, understood immediately what had happened.

Grabbing Nusayr she shook him. “Did you give him your blood?”

“Ye-“

“Fool!” She bellowed before shoving him aside and rushing to the kyndrak who had conjured a wad of cloth and pressed it to his cut trying to stem the blood. She knelt next to him and offered her aid. Gritting his teeth he nodded and they both began to run their fingers/claws over his body, searching for the slightest indication of where the final two Orbs were.

“What is she doing?” Voldemort asked Asadyl who watched with growing realization.

Asadyl ran a hand through his hair. “The Orbs of Stability have…solidified; we do not exchange blood in such large quantities as he drank unless we are exchanging powers. His body recognized the blood and attempted to change his magic but the Orbs interfered and need to be removed.”

“Why not simply cast a Summoning Spell?” Lucius offered, drawing his wand to do so after receiving a nod from Voldemort.

Cyriacus who was sweating profusely and struggling to find the next place to make an incision realized too late what they were planning and screamed, back arching as the spell rebound off the two remaining Orbs and shoved them further into his body. Kohinoor glared at them and drawing a blade from a belt around her waist made a cut along his side. Fayruz quickly joined her, drawing a spacer from her belt and using it to keep the wound open as they each withdrew forceps and began searching for an Orb. Blood gushed from their cut and soaked the material beneath him as they worked, digging carefully into his body and around his organs. They finally found one of the Orbs and carefully withdrew it from his body before quickly cleaning the area they had worked on and staunching the blood flow. Cyriacus had closed his eyes digging carefully through his flesh by his right hipbone with his claws and slowly curled his clawtip around the last Orb, drawing it from his body. Letting out a harsh breath he instantly lost consciousness for the second time that night.

---

Moments after Cyriacus lost consciousness, Constance and Severus rushed to get his condition stable again, Healing the internal damage and surface wounds with magic or Potions. Kohinoor, Asadyl and the rest of the Primordial Beings were gathered off to the side looking over the Orbs of Stability and attempting to properly return them to their normal immaterial state. Voldemort kept his attention divided between the two groups while the majority of the others watched Severus and Constance. When all that remained were a few bruises, Severus and Constance finished cleaning blood off Cyriacus and the hastily Transfigured bed.

Twenty minutes later Cyriacus woke up to whispering and feeling rather naked even though he wasn’t, sat up and wincing wrapped his good arm around his midsection.

“Stay still,” Constance ordered softly.

Cyriacus shot her a glare and quickly scanned the room looking for the Orbs. “Give them back.”

Kohinoor shrugged and collecting the Orbs brought them back to him. Taking the largest Orb he began muttering darkly in Necromancer’s Cant before tapping the Orb once, infusing his power into it. Shaking slightly, the Orb flared and returned to its immaterial state as pure energy. Raising his eyebrow at the surprised looks on the faces of the Primordial Beings, he gently took hold of the Orb and pushed it back into his body. Repeating those actions to return the other two Orbs to their normal state, he replaced them back into his body and then re-applied his Glamours, anchoring the charms to the main Orb of Stability.

“So that’s how you do it!” Remus exclaimed with a smile. “I wondered why Moody never noticed anything.”

Cyriacus shrugged. “No one will notice any spells I anchor into my Orbs of Stability; they are a kind of overflow/purification center for my magical core.”

“Is that how you avoid the Dark Magic taint?” Severus asked curiously.

“I managed to erase the Magical bond that bound Voldemort and I through my scar in the process of creating the Orbs which purified all the magic in my Core. They play a partial role in averting tainting my Magic further,” Cyriacus commented, preparing to get out of the makeshift bed.

Voldemort frowned, “And the other part?”

“To know subconsciously with every spell I cast that I neither desire nor take joy from the spells I cast, they are merely a tool and nothing more. So long as I take no enjoyment of it, I shall remain untouched by the taint.”

Lucius looked incredulous. “It can’t be that simple!”

“It’s not. It truly takes someone who only sees it as a tool and nothing more. Emotion is a tool to focus magic, and should not become anything more.” Cyriacus replied slowly getting to his feet and once he was certain he could stand closed his eyes and re-attached the thread that fed his body’s survival magic. He added a few temporary threads to it and felt the magic wash through his body, removing the remaining aches and bruises from his body. Opening his eyes, he felt normal again if a little tired.

Stretching lazily, he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Well I’m off to bed.”

“Don’t you want to know what else they have to tell us?” Voldemort asked surprised.

“I’m tired as Hell and the only thing I can focus on is how comfortable my bed is. Whatever they have to say has waited a couple thousand years so surely it’ll wait a few more hours.” Cyriacus grumbled, shooting his lover an irritated look.

Bellatrix took a step towards him. “But-“

Cyriacus turned to glare at her and in the time it took for her heart to beat twice, he was Transformed, wings spread open behind him and his eyes glowing brightly in the well-lit room. “Look, I’ve had a particularly shitty day and I don’t expect you to understand half of what I was bitching about earlier. However, a word to the wise, unless you’d like to bear the brunt of what pent up frustration and anger remain within me, don’t get in my fucking way bitch!”

Before she or the others could even react, Cyriacus had turned his attention to the crowd blocking his exit and opening his mouth he snarled at them. Some moved aside immediately at the inhuman sound coming from his throat, bumping into others in their haste but a good number remained rooted in place by shock. His power flared making him look as if he was surrounded by of a low hanging thundercloud. It took a few loose tendrils of power lashing at them to move the remaining obstacles in his path. Storming from the room like a dark, malevolent God the remaining wizards could only stare after him, nerves frayed by the show of raw power and tightly leashed animalistic fury.

---

Slamming the door of his fifth floor suite behind him, Cyriacus was barely aware of throwing up Privacy Charms before howling with a mixture of rage and confusion. A Blood Child, he was a twice cursed Blood Child! He couldn’t be sure how the Anguis Potion was created but he knew blood had to have played a role in its brewing. Between Asadyl and Kohinoor, he now knew that nine lives had been sacrificed to assure his misbegotten existence and one other had been killed to wake his dormant powers. In a past life he must have either killed a lot of people or been one ruthless, cold-hearted son of a bitch to end up a Blood Child forced to carry the weight of two Prophecies on his shoulders.

“Fucked, I’m so fucked!” Cyriacus shouted, throwing the nearest lamp and then clawing the books out of the shelf next to it. “By the Powers that Be, I’m utterly fucked.”

Everything became a blur as he completely wrecked everything in his room, breaking or shredding everything in reach. All the while, his mind raced with the horrible knowledge that he had been cursed not once but twice and was likely to be driven to insanity within a few years under the weight of two Prophecies as well. Too much, it was all too fucking much! Finally wearied at last, both physically and mentally, he collapsed onto the remnants of his feather strewn bed and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.

---

Poor Cy I feel bad for him, I really do. Well that’s your ID fix for maybe the month, we’ll see what I can manage. To answer a quick question about how long ID is going to be, there will be anywhere from 4-8 more chapters. The story will be continued in the next fic in the Destiny Arc, Precarious Destiny.

Anwylyd- Welsh for ‘beloved’

Review please!

-SheWolfe7 (8/14/05)