Irreversible Destiny

A/N: Happy Halloween! Yes, it’s late! I’m horribly sorry about the delay! Also, I ended up not being able to write smut so I’m sorry but I’ll give you all a raincheck on that ok? This chapter is LONG so hopefully that makes up for something. If you’re a member of my Yahoo Group, I have a full list of Dark Congress Attendees at the Group if you’re curious.

Un-Betaed, cause I’m trying to make the deadline. 27 full pages.

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

Chapter XXII
Power

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
Better to reign in hell than serve in Heav’n.
-John Milton, Paradise Lost

---

The Strategy Room
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Friday the 3rd of October 1997
12:02 PM

Cyriacus kept his eyes closed, ignoring the presence of the Inner Circle as they drifted into the room for the last briefing before Voldemort departed for the Dark Congress. Around him his minders hovered as close as he had let them, eyes scanning the room for threats as people entered the room. Nusayr and Kieran shot disapproving glares at each other while Asaph looked on cautiously; ready to intercede if they broke out into violence. Maguire knelt in front of him, meticulously at work using brushes to add a thin layer of Vitale Ink onto his Necromantic tattoos.

The Dementor Lord was still in his Lich form, eyes studying the young Necromancer thoughtfully. He had recognized him, not only as a descendant of Blaze Hawthorne but the Heir, weeks ago when they had crossed paths in Diagon Alley. Their later meetings had been brief but he was honest enough to admit to some strange pull that drew him constantly to the Necromancer’s side. It had become stronger over the weeks, until it had resulted into that oh-so-wonderful Kiss two days ago. In his Lich form he was so aware of the Necromancer that he knew exactly where he was, even if they were separated by large distances as they had been last night. The pull was irresistible drawing him again and again and even more so if the Necromancer was highly emotional. He was pleased that he had managed to hold this form for so long and curious about how to maintain it longer or even better, permanently.

Asadyl entered the room and immediately walked directly to Nusayr. “You will not fail your task again Nusayr or the price will be very unpleasant.”

Nusayr nodded. “I am well aware of that Eldest Brother; I will serve to the best of my abilities.”

“There will be less pressure after my Heir has Summoned Salil, Baraz and Iah from their prison. Until then though, you must be vigilant.” Asadyl instructed, also giving Asaph a warning look.

Asaph frowned but curtly replied, “Salil will have my head if I fail as well, you need not threaten me.”

Kieran snorted, drawing the attention of the Primordials. Asadyl studied him curiously before coming to a conclusion, “Ah, a Vampire!”

Behind them, members of the Inner Circle hushed, watching on curiously.

“I am.” Kieran replied slowly.

Asadyl tilted his head, “You have the look of Shadrak about you.”

“He looks more like Jerah’s get.” Asaph contradicted.

Kieran looked irritated. “I’m of Sariyah’s line.”

Nusayr peered more closely at him. “You certainly don’t look it! Sariyah had lighter hair and her eyes were a bit more almond shaped.”

Cyriacus opened an eye, “Can you try to keep quiet? I’m trying to do something but with all your chattering I’ll be lucky if I can even meditate let alone attempt to access my Core Threads.”

Chastened, they fell silent and with a grumble, Cyriacus returned to meditating. Maguire continued his task infusing the tattoos with the power of the Vitale Ink and adding a thin outline around the tattoos with a specially brewed Containment Ink. Cyriacus worked diligently straightening his Core Threads and connecting a few extra Threads of Power to the tattoos, which would later cause his Pre-Summons to manifest faster and remain in existence on this Plane longer. Each stroke of the brush sent a frisson of power through his skin, seeking a Thread to attach itself to in order to become a proper focus.

As a temporary measure, the Vitale Ink would prove to be most beneficial, at least until Professor Dumont finished the essence de vie (essence of life) at which point his Summons would remain on this Plane of existence until killed or Dismissed. Had he found a sufficiently powerful guard force earlier he would have taken that step sooner but, at the time, he didn’t dare alert Dumbledore to the true power he was capable of wielding.

“You’ll need to remove the gauntlet so I can finish the tattoos on your arm.” Maguire said giving him a slight nudge to gain his attention.

As he opened his eyes the straps of his gauntlet came undone. Pulling it down in small increments, he became accustomed to the annoying prickles being in the Manor caused. Once the gauntlet was completely off, he set it down on his lap and turned his arm palm up so Maguire could finish.

Voldemort stalked into the room and paused, eyes fastened onto Maguire and Cyriacus. Dark green eyes caught crimson and for a moment, they were both oblivious to everyone else in the room. The moment was shattered as Maguire started applying gauze squares dipped in a strange violet solution over the tattoos. Cy started and then grit his teeth at the sudden burning sensation which was followed by a most distracting tingling as the threads of power interlaced. Maguire patted him companionably as he continued to apply the gauze squares, knowing the worst was yet to come. Once all his tattoos had been covered by the gauze, Maguire gestured for Cy to get up.

Cyriacus grumbled, “Against the wall again?”

“Unless you’d rather have someone pinning you down?”, Maguire asked crossing his arms.

“Fine,” Cyriacus replied obligingly moving to stand against a bare stretch of wall.

Drawing his wand, Maguire waved his wand in an arc muttering a long spell in a foreign language that almost sounded like Italian. Spellproof shackles appeared around Cyriacus’s wrists, ankles, over his hips and neck. Heavy Spellproof chains kept him pressed against the wall, allowing for little movement.

“Ready?”

“As ever, just do it already.” Cyriacus snapped a bit impatiently.

Maguire shrugged and flicking his wand incanted a Branding Spell. The pain wasn’t as bad as he had first expected, in fact it was fairly tame…at least until the spell moved up from the tattoos on his chest and to his left arm. Agony didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling and he could honestly say he hadn’t felt anything this indescribably painful since he’d gotten burned by the Purfication Flame. It was maddening and he was willing to do just about anything to stop the pain. Jerking his arm, he fought to free himself from the chains and shackles to no avail, having little choice but to endure until the spell was finished.

At last Maguire saw his work was done, each of the tattoos turning crimson with an outlining of silver. Cyriacus’s eyes were glazed over and he was breathing harshly, his body covered in sweat. Maguire moved forward before banishing the shackles and chains, keeping Cy on his feet as he began to slump over. Nusayr and Ascyltus moved forward as well, taking hold of the tired Necromancer and leading him back to his seat. Maguire Transfigured the chair into a padded stool and then reached into his pocket, withdrawing to items. The first was a Potions vial which he uncapped and gave to Cyriacus who drank it without protest and the second was a miniaturized jug of scented oil, which he set at Cyriacus’s feet.

“Apply this twice a day, over your whole body from the waist up to your neck for the next two weeks. It should help with the lingering pain and it’ll completely anchor the Inks into the tattoos. Unless it’s an emergency, don’t use the tattoos to Summon anything for two days, or it’s going to hurt like you wouldn’t believe.” Maguire instructed, glancing quickly at his watch. “I’ve got to get going, I have an appointment in less than fifteen minutes and I have to get my tools ready. You’ll be okay on your own?”

Cyriacus nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’d suggest having someone apply the oil immediately before you go haring off to Morocco. I’m also going to suggest that when you start releasing the containment spells on your magic, do it slowly as not to overwhelm your body with too much power too soon. It’s expected you’ll be oozing with dark Necromantic energy I know, but take it easy for a couple of days. Save the big show of force for the last day of the Dark Congress, and then intimidate them to hell.”

“I’ll take your suggestions under advisement. Thank you for canceling your first appointment to do this for me.”

“It’s no problem and you know it,” Maguire winked. “After all, I live to serve Prince of Dragons.” That said the other man bowed and then activated his Portkey, leaving the others in the room, stunned.

Cyriacus shrugged at the puzzled looks thrown his way. “Arcanum Alumni serve in positions high and low in the Wizarding World. Nusayr, if you’d be so kind?” Cyriacus asked gesturing at the jug of oil, which he had restored to it’s original size.

Voldemort bristled not wanting anyone but him putting their hands, let alone rubbing oil, over most Cyriacus’s body. Yet, there was nothing he could do about it, not now and not here.

Nusayr obligingly moved forward but the Dementor Lord calmly beat him to the jug of oil, removing the glass stopper and handed the jug to Cyriacus. The Necromancer graced the Lich with an inquiring look which was answered by a slightly amused, slightly possessive smile. Irritated, Nusayr glanced at the Lich and then his charge, waiting for an order. Off to the side, Kieran gazed at the strange little tug of war taking place but made no move to interfere. Crimson eyes narrowed at the scene and Voldemort quelled the urge to take matters into his own hands. After several moments of silence with the tension in the room gathering, Cyriacus shrugged and gestured for Ascyltus to hold out his hands so he could pour some oil onto his palms.

Ascyltus smirked as he slowly rubbed his hands together, moving to stand behind Cyriacus. Hissing slightly as Ascyltus rubbed his oiled hands along his scarred arm, Cy tensed and slowly relaxed as the Lich gently massaged his arm obviously aware of how sensitive it was.

Shaking his head as the pain began to dull; Cyriacus turned his attention to the table-full of people. “Well shouldn’t we begin?”

“Of course,” Voldemort said curtly as he began the meeting.

Mulciber, Maitland and Rookwood were assigned the task of overseeing the raids that would take place while Voldemort, Lucius and the Lestranges were gone. Parkinson, Nott, Zabini and Cartier were given the task of meeting with supporters and or spies to collect information, money or interview possible Death Eaters. Severus was assigned the task of feeding more misinformation and lies to the Order regarding the students recovering at the Asclepius Sanatorium and the Dark Congress.

During the long conversation listing duties and timeframes, Ascyltus leisurely massaged oil over Cy’s arms and torso, his hands moving with slow deliberation. Voldemort watched with a disapproving scowl that was mirrored on Severus’s face.

Asadyl, meanwhile, gazed them speculatively. The Lich had a great deal of power certainly, but was it enough to be worthy of sharing his Heir’s bed? Was he worthy of siring children with his Heir? There were many unknown factors that could result from that pairing and to be truthful, he’d rather his Heir mate amongst the Primordials.

Kieran looked amused at the display; no one could mistake the possessive caresses or the glint of desire in the Lich’s eyes. The question now was whether or not Cyriacus would actually take the Lich to his bed. Kieran hoped not, it would be such a waste.

Nusayr stood against the wall, body tensed with annoyance as he cast the smirking Dementor Lord suspicious looks. Whatever he was planning, Nusayr would stop him. There was no way he’d allow the Lich to harm or influence his charge. Not only was it a matter of self-preservation but it was also a matter of honor. He’d been trained to become one of the kyndrak’s bodyguards and he would rather be damned to spend eternity alone in that cursed prison than fail his duty.

Barely listening to the conversation taking place around him, Cyriacus focused his attention on manipulating the Threads of Power flowing from his Core. One of the most elementary lessons any Arcanum student learned was how to access their Core and shield it from being measured by others. It required a bit of skill and it became one of the first skills Cyriacus had learned to use fully. Over the years, as he slowly grew into his power, he had woven complex barriers, sectioning off portions of the magical energy he could access to hide the full measure of his power, leaving him an advantage.

Even though Dumbledore had asked him to reveal his Aura weeks ago, when he had just arrived from Arcanum, he had only shown a small fraction of what he was capable of at that time. With all the recent revelations about his parentage and ancestry, along with the Chylla’s Blood Rituals, his power was still slowly increasing and new Gifts had blossomed. He now made an effort to observe his Core at least once a week, allowing him to observe the changes and take the appropriate actions to section off and hide their presence from others.

Shielding his power and sectioning it away from the main reserve where he drew his energy would always be easier than making the effort to evenly disperse the additional power. He would have to be careful releasing the smaller reserves of power allowing the additional energy to slowly stretch the Threads of Power that raced throughout his body. It wasn’t possible to simply break the barriers down and let the magic flow out aimlessly, as the ensuing overflow of energy would usually snap the delicate Threads of Power, or so he had heard. Cyriacus had never done it before and had no intention of starting now. Though it was a time consuming process, it was necessary and fortunately, he had a few hours to make all the necessary changes. The most drastic changes he would make before they left, saving the smaller alterations for later when they would no doubt be picked up by the others.

The conversation and division of tasks slowly tapered off and everyone soon turned their attention to Cyriacus. Even the less Magically gifted or sensitive to Magic could feel the slow alterations the Necromancer was making to his Core. A gentle glow of power began to radiate from him and those sitting closer to him could feel their hair begin to stand up. Ascyltus had long ago stilled his actions his blue gaze fastened on the Necromancer, wondering how much power he had held back, perhaps even from himself.

Riveted, Voldemort watched as the power around his lover grew, the energy causing a subtle shift in the air around the Necromancer. It made Cyriacus seem far darker and older. Shivering slightly, Voldemort recognized the ‘flavor’ of his energy; it was insidiously lethal. If he had to exemplify it, he would compare it to quicksand. Sometimes you could recognize the danger and avoid it, other times you walked directly into it and could struggle all you desired but would never survive the experience.

The power flowed teasingly over his skin, causing both a physical response and a magical yearning to take possession of the owner of that suddenly very desirable power. For an instant, he didn’t care that there were others in the room; he didn’t care what he was risking if he decided to mark the Necromancer as his in front of all these witnesses. Before he had even pushed his chair back, alarm bells began ringing in his mind and he abruptly shook off the dark enticement that had grabbed hold of him.

A chill shot through his body as he realized how dangerous Cyriacus truly was, even to him. That power was temptation itself, a power unlike any he’d sensed before and infused with the grace that came only with age and practice. As much as he desired Cyriacus, if he allowed that power to grab hold of him he would become a slave to it, desiring only to bask in it and loosing sight of all his ambitions and the goals he had spent decades working towards.

Cyriacus smiled slowly, temporarily satisfied with the adjustments he had just made and opened his eyes. Gazing directly at his lover he graced him with an inquiring look. “Is the meeting finished then?”

Voldemort blinked and slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we should be on our way,” Cyriacus replied getting to his feet. Asaph, who had been given the task of holding Cy’s clothes, moved forward and quickly helped the Necromancer into his shirt. Once Cy had it buttoned shut, Asaph held out Cy’s oversized cloak which billowed around his frame.

Voldemort observed silently and then turned dismissed the meeting with a gesture of his hand. The room began to empty. Asadyl was the last person out of the room and he paused in the doorway, gazing at his Heir with a slightly confused, slightly annoyed expression. Nusayr caught his eyes and they exchanged a look which spoke volumes. Asadyl nodded curtly and then left, on his way to question Kohinoor about the Blood Ritual and how the one thing they had attempted to prevent had somehow happened anyway.

---

Malfoy House
Casablanca, Morocco
Friday the 3rd of October 1997
1:40 PM

Cyriacus didn’t spare the room they arrived in a glance, acknowledging that it was decorated exactly as befitted the tastes of the Malfoy family. Lucius personally showed them to their rooms and the only thing Cyriacus noted was that his room was across the hall from Voldemort’s and decorated in pale blue and gold. Once everyone had been shown their rooms Cyriacus invited his bodyguards to join him in his room for a briefing about what would be expected of them. Voldemort looked irritated and Cyriacus happened to catch a glimpse of it. Amused, he asked Lucius if it would be possible to borrow a larger room so everyone could attend. Lucius obliged, relieved. The last thing they needed to make the situation any more difficult was an annoyed Dark Lord.

Filing into a room with an impressive view of the ocean, the others took seats and looked inquiringly at the Necromancer. Preferring to stand, he got directly to the point.

“Pay no mind to the change in my behavior from this point on. Necromancy is in my blood and I have long denied certain…aspects of my powers. It was inevitable that I would cease suppressing some less than subtle abilities and with their release, I will be changed no doubt. However, that is neither here nor there, the important thing is that we all play our roles accordingly.” Cy said simply before continuing.

“A great deal is expected of a Necromancer’s Carapace which is the formalized guard force that each Necromancer no matter their rank will have at their side. As there are so few of us, it is considered a high honor to be asked to serve as a Carapace guard. It is also a foregone conclusion that all members of a Carapace are highly competent in combat, Magical or physical. I’m going to explain a few basic rules regarding what is expected of a Carapace guard and how to act appropriately.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow in question, “Is there any reason why we are present for this?”

“I am preparing you for what eventually will be expected of everyone and I assure you, when we return back to Britain I will be instructing the others in proper conduct as well. A Necromancer of my ability would settle for no less than being treated exactly as they are due and I know for a fact that though some may have studied some of the Old Laws, very few have actually practiced them. Knowing in theory and having practiced the theory are two very separate issues. Now, if I may continue?”

Voldemort gestured for him to go on and Cy continued with his explanations.

“The very first and foremost rule, is the one that must be followed at all times and it is very simple. You are never to look into my eyes in public, and until you become better accustomed to that particular rule, I would suggest avoiding looking at my face at all.”

Asaph blinked. “Why is that?”

Cyriacus smiled slightly. “It is considered ill luck to look into the eyes of one who can manipulate Death itself. Very wise advice.”

“Indeed,” Nusayr commented, cringing inwardly.

“Second, a Carapace guard should never speak without prompting unless it is an emergency and should never reply to another person without their Necromancer’s express approval. This prevents the Carapace from becoming distracted by idle talk and in effect, shows the less intelligent, whom the power lies with. Should you need to address me, you will either call me ‘Lord Ruin’ or ‘Eminence’, whichever suits the situation best. Should the situation call for immediate action against a threat, you do not need my approval to take action. However it is best to keep any attackers alive unless it is completely clear that they had every intention of causing my death, which will prevent any cries of victimization.”

Bellatrix gazed at him curiously. “Lord Ruin?”

“I am the Guild Lord of the Guild of Necromancy that was no fabrication.” Cyriacus replied succinctly.

Nusayr snorted, “As if you could be anything less with Asadyl’s blood in your veins.”

“How do we react in a fight? Do we surround you and then remove the threat or do some of us lay down cover fire while the others take you out of the combat zone?” Kieran asked changing the topic.

Cyriacus smirked. “A good question old friend, in a fight you would be expected to shield me long enough to give me time to Summon reinforcements. I’d give you directions about what to actions to take when that situation rears its head. I have enough power to Summon anything I so desire and in enough numbers to fell even a small army. The factor that I will need to calculate for each different scenario is how much physical strain I can feasibly endure without becoming a liability in such a fight.”

Kieran gazed at him thoughtfully. “Have you been put in your paces recently?”

“Not recently, no. There hasn’t been a situation that has called for a test of my power and skill. Mind you, considering how the War is beginning to come together, a perfect opportunity will arise soon enough.”

“I’ll look forward to it then.” Kieran said with a slow smile.

Voldemort glanced from one to the other and recognized the admiration of one warrior to another. It was enough to make him wonder how exactly those two had met and better yet, how they had become and stayed such good friends…if that was all they really were that is. Narrowing his crimson eyes, Voldemort vowed that they would never become anything more than just friends or Master and minion, he would not allow it. Cyriacus was his and had been from the moment of his conception and all the meddling and power plays by the Primordials would not change that.

“…is generally composed of two to twelve guards, be they mortal or Summoned. Of those who will be attending the Dark Congress, about half of them will likely know the general behavior of a Necromancer and its Carapace. They will be expecting with such a small number of guards that I am extremely powerful and unafraid for my safety, or that you four are exceptionally skilled. Of my dear friend Scourge, I know well of his powers and know that it would be madness to classify him as inept. The rest of you, we will soon see.”

Nusayr seethed at the insult that he was incapable of guarding the kyndrak adequately but held his peace. It was true enough that he had not proved himself against regular mortals or shown the full scope of his powers.

Cyriacus paused and turned his attention over to an antique timepiece on a nearby wall. “I will leave you to think over my words as I still have quite a bit of work ahead of me, in regards to releasing my dormant powers. I had the house elves slip a box into each of your rooms; it contains the garments you will be expected to wear in your service. We are scheduled to leave at nine o’clock so I will expect to see you four at eight o’clock in my rooms. It will be expected that I share a small amount of my power with all of you, I am guessing though that only two of you will require a permanent link?”

Nusayr and Kieran nodded and then glared when they caught sight of each other agreeing to his question. Asaph was relieved that this task was not his, may Salil have joy of it.

Ascyltus frowned. “I would not be adverse to a permanent link.”

“Until we discover how we are exchanging power, a permanent link would be foolishness.” Cyriacus pointed out logically. “Besides, you would better serve me as a warrior rather than a guard. You do wish to please me?”

Ascyltus smiled slowly. “I will please you however you desire it.”

“Then we understand each other.” Cyriacus said with nod as he began walking for the door. “Do not disturb me; I will need absolute silence to release what I deem necessary for this particular jaunt. Lucius, if you could arrange for a House elf to bring dinner directly to my room as unobtrusively as possible, it will save me a considerable amount of time.”

“I will have it arranged.”

“My thanks; I will see you all later this evening.”

---

Cyriacus flicked his wrist and the door leading to the hallway swung open, allowing the members of his temporary Carapace entrance. The four entered the room, Asaph acting as a buffer between Nusayr and Kieran with Ascyltus bringing up the rear. All of them were wearing the garments he’d left them and looking quite fine in the body hugging Blood Mage armor he’d special ordered a year or more ago. Consisting of a bodysuit made of highly reflective Spellproof material, a set of bronze colored Blood Armor worn over the bodysuit and a belted black tabard. Smiling with satisfaction, Cyriacus motioned them to join him in the center of the small sitting area.

“Intimidating indeed, I am pleased to see Guild Lord Serkan’s work was more than worth the astronomical price I paid for it. For 5,000 galleons, I’d suggest maintaining it regularly, though it does have a five century guarantee.” Cyriacus commented.

Kieran looked him over. “Is that what you’re wearing to the Dark Congress?”

“Alas, it is what is expected of me.” Cy replied rolling his eyes. He was dressed simply in low cut black dragonhide trousers and thigh high boots, with a platinum snake wrapped around his hips, acting like a belt even though it wasn’t necessary. The snake, which was animated, flicked its tongue in the air, looking around the room interestedly with its ruby eyes. In one hand was a brush, which he had been running through his now waist length hair.

Nusayr looked confused. “Why is your garb so…revealing now?”

“Because in an uncertain situation, it’s best for a Necromancer to have quick access to their Pre-Summon runes. In addition, I have two bags of salt tucked into the top of my boots, and several sticks of chalk and charcoal hidden under my Blood purifier snake. I have things very well planned out.” Cyriacus explained rather amused. “Now we have only to create the link, stand around me in a loose circle and place one hand on my chest or back depending on where you are standing, I will handle the rest.”

---

The Kitchen
12 Grimmauld Place, London UK
Friday the 3rd of October 1997
8:30 PM

It was yet another meeting, the room was packed full with anxious members all waiting for more news about the Dark Congress and the reports from the contacts in India who were attempting to find the exact location the meeting was taking place. By the time Severus entered, everyone was chatting in groups, exchanging information and such while Dumbledore and Madam Bones were busy discussing what they would tell the Ministry and the Defense League. Moody was the first to notice him and immediately demanded to know what he had to say. Dumbledore turned and quickly quieted the crowd with a few words as everyone turned expectantly towards Severus.

“The students at the Asclepius Sanatorium are recovering well from what little news I received from my inquiries of the staff. Unfortunately Cyriacus will not be released until mid-afternoon Monday but the doctors have managed to accelerate the healing process. They have determined that it will take perhaps another week before the bandages can be removed and another week before he can attempt to use magic again.”

Remus smiled. “That’s excellent news, Severus.”

“Indeed.” Severus agreed with a nod. “Cyriacus has been most anxious about regaining use of his dominant arm and based on the control he has had on his magic with his right arm, I think it very good news for the rest of the residents at the school.”

Sirius snickered. “Hah! He’s got a lot of power but not enough control for sure! It’s a good thing he’s not a prankster or who knows what mischief he’d get into.”

Severus sneered. “My son is above such behavior thankfully!”

Dumbledore sighed. “Gentlemen, enough bickering as amusing at it is. Now Severus, have you anymore news regarding the Dark Congress?”

“Rumors only unfortunately, I have heard that the Dark Congress is either being held in one of the towns nearby Bombay or that it is taking place in Chunnai. The Majority of the other Inner Circle Death Eaters believe it is at the latter though.”

“You have no definite news?”

“No and we are not expected to receive any news from the Dark Lord or the Necromancer until Sunday.”

“I see,” Dumbledore commented thoughtfully. “I will have to get into contact with some of our agents there then and have them begin to investigate said locations.”

---

The Assembly Hall
Casablanca, Morocco
Friday the 3rd of October 1997
9:10 PM

Dimitar Rakyn, the Clan Elder of the Rakyn Vampires, was ill at ease. He had been woken early in the afternoon by a ripple of power that had seemed both familiar yet terrifying. This power had continued to pulsate throughout the afternoon, the ripples spreading across the city and waking the lesser and weaker Vampires in his entourage. Few things were capable of waking a Vampire from their recuperative rest and the fact that this power had was troubling. Someone of power had arrived this afternoon and it was likely they would be quite a force to reckon with. The Assembly Hall was nearly full and everyone was talking, it seemed as if he was not the only one who had noticed the strange power this afternoon.

“It seemed so…familiar.” Qadir Shadrak commented to the Clan Elder of Nahyd.

A pair of Veela representatives were walking by the Vampire’s seating area and he briefly caught a few words of their conversation.

“…strange powers.”

“It felt…ominous.”

Glancing around the Assembly Hall, he could see various representatives gesturing wildly as they spoke and opening his senses, he studied the room. Apprehension and confusion wafted in the air and the arrival of the next representative began to quiet the others present. The Dark Lord stepped off the arrival platform, clad in simple black robes and surrounded by four silver masked Death Eaters. Though his power was formidable, it was not the power that had drawn the attention of practically the entire Magical community present in Casablanca.

Voldemort looked slightly amused by his reception and bowed. “Forgive my tardiness; there was a slight delay at my residence. We have only to wait for one more representative and then we shall begin in earnest.”

The Dark Lord nodded again and then led his party to the assigned area for his delegation. Once they were seated the remaining representatives took count of their numbers, looking for any missing members. Rakyn’s attention turned toward the area reserved for the Dementor Lords, there appeared to be a missing representative, one of great importance.

“…Ascyltus?”

“He…allied…Dark Lord?”

Voldemort cleared his throat and all attention re-directed to him. “If you are looking for the Dementor Lord Ascyltus, he will be arriving presently with the final member of my own party. They should be here any moment now.”

Rakyn raised his eyebrows and looked inquiringly at Sariyah who was seated to his right. She shrugged in response and focused her attention to the arrival platform. The rest of the room quieted down to the occasional murmur and cough as they waited. A soft blue glow began to collect around the platform, alerting everyone that someone was en transit to the Assembly Hall. A flash of light distracted him and when he could see again, he stared.

On the platform was a group of five people, four were identically clad in bronze and black. Their very bodies shielded the others from getting a glimpse of the fifth person who stood in the middle.

A deep, clear voice spoke. “Stand down, there are no threats here.”

The guards relaxed and stepped away from the speaker, the man in the middle. Once Rakyn got a clear glimpse of the middle figure, his jaw dropped open in shock. The mysterious figure was indeed a man, but not just any man but the long rumored Necromancer that had recently joined forces with the Dark Lord a few months ago. He had long waist length black hair, a tall heavily muscled body and wore only a pair of low hanging dragonhide trousers and an elegantly formed half-mask of silver. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock finally able to place the power they had felt to a person and it was the oldest members of the Dark Congress that recognized the Necromancer for what he was. Oh yes, this man would indeed be a force to be reckoned with.

It was the Fae Queen of the Black Hawk Elves who broke the silence. “You are the Heir of Blaze Hawthorne.”

“Indeed I am, Majesty.” The Necromancer replied smoothly, giving her a half bow. “I am Necromancer Ruin, Heir of Blaze Hawthorne and the Guild Lord of the Guild of Necromancy.”

A collective shiver ran throughout the bodies of those present and a murmur of shocked voices filled the room.

“The Guild Lord…”

“…obliterated, presumed dead.”

“Rarest of all the Old Arts…”

“…power necessary to become and hold the title…”

“Formidable enemy or peerless ally…”

Voldemort slowly stood. “Lord Ruin, if you would be seated we may begin.”

“Of course Dark Lord,” Necromancer Ruin glanced over his shoulder at the guard standing at his back. “Ascyltus, you are dismissed for the time being as you too are a representative of the gathered parties.”

A blond man bowed formally, “It is my pleasure to serve, Eminence.”

They parted ways, the Necromancer leading his guards to where the Dark Lord was sitting and the blond man took his place among the Dementors who were all speaking at once, asking questions. Voldemort waited until the Necromancer had seated himself and then began.

“I have called the Dark Congress for the purpose of discussing the current state of the Wizarding War. As you all know, my forces are mainly complied of Wizards and Witches, Dementor Lord Ascyltus’s conclave and several rogue groups of Vampires and Werewolves. It is my desire to expand the number of allies I currently have and so, we are gathered this eve.”

A Goblin representative from the Diamond House stood to speak. “Will the Guild of Necromancy also serve the Dark Lord’s cause?”

Necromancer Ruin smiled slowly. “They will serve or they will die, I will have no dissension in my Guild.”

Shadrak murmured softly, “That one is where the danger lies friends.”

Xenia, one of the Centaur representatives, spoke. “Many will die in this War, it is written in the stars.”

“Death is inevitable for all living beings.” Necromancer Ruin said plainly.

“The Demons have already chosen, we will join with the Dark Lord.” King Miltiades proclaimed, scanning the room once before sitting back down.

The announcement from the Incubus King caused a minor upheaval, rarely did they ever interfere in the affairs of Wizards or mortals, for them to have chosen a side spoke of hidden ambitions. Rakyn frowned at the conversations taking place in his own section and turned to see the Dark Lord’s reaction, he too looked surprised which meant that he had been unaware of the decision until it was announced. The Necromancer, however, looked very pleased with himself if the small smile on his face was anything to go by.

Rakyn stood and addressed a question to the Dark Lord’s delegation but looked firmly at the Necromancer. “What does your War have anything to do with our respective groups? Many a Wizarding War has come and passed with nothing gained, even with our aid.”

The Necromancer glanced at Voldemort who waved him to stay seated as he got to his feet and answered.

“A wise question and the answer is even simpler. By joining my cause, you will all side with the winning side of this War, I have no doubts that I will win this War and it will be under my rule that everything will change. I am giving you the chance to participate in the rebuilding of the Wizarding World, which would allow your respective groups to get the legislation and honor due your kind.” Voldemort replied smoothly.

The Chieftain of the Werewolf Pack Rho, snorted derisively. “You spout nothing but deluded hopes; it is the way of the Dark Lords to believe they will succeed.”

Voldemort glanced at the Necromancer and calmly retook his seat. With a smile, the Necromancer gracefully got to his feet.

“That may have been so in the past Chieftain, but it will be fact in this instance. You ask how the Dark Lord knows we will win this War and I will answer. We will win this War because it has been Prophesized out of the mouth of Merlin himself, our victory is assured.”

Ripples of disbelief and skepticism filled the room but the Necromancer’s power flared once and all fell silent before the terrible might of that power.

“You do not believe me and I admit that in your position, our assurances would seem like a fantastical tale. We are biding our time though we could press our advantage if we so chose but our plans are far greater than you realize. The time for revolution has come; to embrace the coming War is to survive it, to remain neutral is to be swept into the destruction of the old Age. Choices must be made and sacrifices given to insure that a new and better Age is created out of the disorder and disunity of the old. Long have you waited but the time has come where action will decide the survival of your respective groups.”

Hesiod, the only male Siren representative, furiously demanded. “Is that a threat, Necromancer?”

The Necromancer laughed and the temperature in the room seemed to drop suddenly. “I need make no threats, Siren. What will come is Prophesized; the blood that will be spilled will sow the seeds of a new Age, one where the Magical need not hide from the non-magical and one where our unity will change the world itself!”

Voldemort smoothly got to his feet. “We will leave you now to think over our words, we will see you tomorrow evening.”

Rakyn watched the Dark Lord make his way to the back of the Hall where the Departure platform was located. The Necromancer made his way to the center of the Hall and waited patiently until the Dark Lord had gone. A murmur of surprise drew his attention to the Dementor’s section, where the strange mortal-looking Ascyltus slowly morphed back into a chilling Dementor. Ignoring the clambering questions of his fellows, the Dementor Lord made his way directly to the Necromancer, pausing several feet in front of him.

“The Dark Lord is a most powerful Wizard but it is the range of my talents that shall prove victor at the end of this War. Ascyltus and I have decided to show you all a small taste of what those talents are.” The Necromancer stated firmly.

Rakyn was riveted, everyone had fallen silent and stood watching. The Necromancer and the Dementor Lord closed the gap between them and to the astonishment of their audience Kissed. Rakyn shivered as he felt some strange power building and flowing between the two. It changed the Dementor Lord back into the mortal-looking form he had worn when they had first arrived and it seemed to make the Necromancer even more menacing. Slowly the two parted, the Necromancer smiling with satisfaction.

“Remember and think of your choices,” The Necromancer murmured before leading the rest of his guards towards the Departure Platform.

Ascyltus watched them leave, eyes bright with power and life. Once the Necromancer had gone, he turned to face his own section and spoke. “You asked why I would serve a Necromancer and you have your answer, brothers. Who among our kind could possibly turn away from that irresistible power? None of you would in my position and though they would like your aid, they would do just as well with the service of my Conclave. I will not dissuade them from making an offer to the rest of you but I will argue most heatedly the amount of power he would share with you. He is mine .”

“Power plays within power plays,” Sariyah murmured and Rakyn nodded in agreement.

Ascyltus turned his back on his section and strode confidently toward the Departure Platform, leaving the rest of the Assembly to spend hours debating and tentatively choosing sides. For Rakyn, it was a long night and little did he know how complicated it promised to get.

---

Cy’s Room
Malfoy House, Casablanca, Morocco
Friday the 3rd of October 1997
11:40 PM

Voldemort had waited long enough; it was time to have a few words with his lover about the current situation and the presence of certain involved parties. It was all he could do to reign in his temper when he saw that smirking Lich running his oiled hands all over his lover! And then seeing the outfit, or lack thereof, that Cy had chosen to wear to the Dark Congress! Could it have been any more tempting? Well, the only thing more appealing would have been Cyriacus naked, but Voldemort certainly wouldn’t have wanted to share that with anyone.

Fate and precision plotting had led to the Anguis Potion and something greater than both had led to the complicated Magical links and bonds that had spawned their symbiosis. In his mind, those bonds and links had lead to their relationship, both on a personal and work-related level. Simply put, Cyriacus was his. By Fate, by precision plotting (both his and the Primordials) and by something that he wasn’t even sure he could name, but it was something undeniable…something primal. He wasn’t sure when exactly he had reached this conclusion, or when it had become so important to him but it had become a near obsession now.

Every touch in passing intentional or accidental that was not his caused the most irrational surge of jealousy and those Kisses with the Dementors! Voldemort fumed every time he saw it and knowing that it would take far more than a simple Kiss for them to keep their form drove him wild with rage. He was willing to put up with a great deal but if it took Cyriacus and the Dementors fucking regularly, that was the one thing he would not put up with silently.

Pushing open the door of Cyriacus’s room, Voldemort strode in and froze. The room looked like every other room in Malfoy House; it was richly furnished in pale blue and rich gold. That wasn’t what had stopped him in his tracks though; it was the fact that he could hear moans coming from the bedroom. Narrowing his crimson eyes and drawing his wand, Voldemort headed for the door and jerked it open violently. His fury and jealousy rose to an all new high as he stared at the image on the bed.

Cyriacus was almost naked clad only in his boxers with Nusayr half draped across his chest and Kieran sprawled between his legs, happily Feeding from a Bite on his inner thigh. With his fangs buried in Nusayr’s neck, Cyriacus was making contented noises as he both Fed and was Fed from. Voldemort almost couldn’t tell them apart, considering they all had dark hair and long, muscled builds but he prided himself on knowing his lover’s body as well as he knew his own. Leaning against the open doorframe, he stared and though he was not happy at the sight that greeted him, he also found to his dismay that he was horribly aroused by the sight.

Shaking his head, Voldemort turned his eyes away from what was taking place on the bed and firmly reminded himself that business always came first before pleasure. While he waited he went over the points he wanted to discuss today but it became increasingly harder to focus with the noises coming from the bed. Cyriacus must have finished first because Voldemort could pick out his moans and Nusayr’s mumbling. Deciding to rush things along, Voldemort waved his wand and all the lights in the room flared to life as he made his way to the side of the bed.

“If you would be so kind as to finish your meal Scourge? Cyriacus and I have a few points to discuss, in private.” Voldemort commented, eyes flicking over to Nusayr who looked thoroughly shagged out.

Kieran sighed and quickly finished Feeding. Voldemort quickly had the two out of the bedroom and into the hall, closing the door behind them and casting a multitude of Privacy Charms around the room. Striding back to the bedroom, he paused staring at Cyriacus who looked as though he had just finished being fucked quite thoroughly. His skin was flushed, his eyes were glowing with satisfaction and he appeared in no hurry to move from his position sprawled in the center of the bed.

Voldemort leaned against one of the bedposts and looked directly at his lover. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”, Cyriacus asked, voice rough.

“The Dementor Lord, the Primordials and those experiments to sustain the Lich form.” Voldemort said flatly.

Cyriacus shrugged, eyes closed.

Voldemort glared before pacing restlessly as he ranted. “I do not trust the Dementor Lord! Ever since you discovered that…ability of yours, he has done nothing but dog your footsteps like an overeager puppy! He is becoming too biddable and far too possessive of your time!”

“He craves the freedom of the Lich form as a dying man craves water, which is not unexpected. As for his shadowing my every step, we are in a constant state of magnetism some could say. Even when he masters the full Lich form, we are still attracted to one another. The power exchange, whatever it is that occurs when we Kiss, it is almost addicting, maddening so. I don’t expect you to understand as you are not suffering from it yourself.” Cyriacus blandly retorted. “He is ambitious I’ll admit freely and he, like all those who attempt the Transcendence, craves power and prestige but I am not so much a fool that I am unaware of the extents he may be willing to go to reach his goals. Have no fear about Ascyltus and I, we are dancing a delicate dance but both of us know the rules and in this particular dance, I lead.”

“And what of the Primordials? Based on what they have told us, they have orchestrated every detail that has led to your birth all based on their own Prophecy. What do you propose to do about them and the supposed tasks that you have yet to fulfill?”

Cyriacus opened his eyes and stared at the canopy above him, admiring the delicate golden seashells overlaid across a blue background. “It is my destiny, as much as I rather it wasn’t. All this means for me is that I have to be more delicate in planning important events but I do not believe either of the Prophecies will come into conflict at the present moment. Until I gather more information, specifically the exact wording of the Prophecy, I will withhold judgment about what actions I might take. Nothing is set in stone and even though I am now burdened with two Prophecies, I still have choices albeit not as many as I would like.”

“Are you changing that much?” Voldemort asked finally coming to a stop.

“What do you mean?”

“You are accepting this far more calmly and logically than I would have thought you capable of. You have always had a temper and you can be most unreasonable at times so forgive me for questioning this sudden…acceptance of your so-called destiny.”

Cyriacus stared directly at Voldemort. “Maybe I have changed but it was inevitable you realize? Life is a complicated game and the stakes have increased dramatically over the last three months. I play to win and if changing what I am will help me succeed, so much the better.”

Voldemort looked at him closely, noticing the strange shadows in his lover’s eyes. “That maybe true but that’s not all of it is it?”

“No it’s not, but I think we understand each other do we not? I have grown weary of overextending myself in these pointless arguments and struggling against things that would happen regardless how much I fight them. I can’t change what I was meant to be, merely how I deal with it. In many ways, I was still acting like a child and considering the recent and forthcoming events, there is no time to act the child. If I want to survive what is coming, I had best get over things I can’t change and focus on the things that I can.” Cyriacus paused and his eyes grew distant. “War is coming I can feel it in my bones and even more importantly, I feel a great tide of possibility coming as well. I was not lying when I addressed the Dark Congress, the time for revolution has come and only those who choose to act will survive the downfall of the old Age.”

Voldemort was silent, watching the slow change in those dark green eyes. He was not even sure his young lover noticed when his was stolen over by that Otherness that occasionally possessed him, changing his eyes to a pale green as luminous as limestone.

“I am at the center of these changes, some I instigate by my actions and others are simply affected because of my very presence in this world. Standing as I am at the crossroad of change and the very barrier between Life and Death, there is little wonder why I have begun to adapt to what must come. Any weakness on my part will affect too many things, could destroy so many delicate things in this world. The reasons behind the circumstances of my birth are many and the pure complexity and depth of my powers and Gifts are beyond even my comprehension at this time but all these things are necessary. It may have yet to cross your mind or the mind of the Primordials but what you have all desired from me, has changed even what my original purpose was. A heavy price must be paid for my existence and I will not be the only one to pay it, Dark Lord. Pray to whatever Gods may answer, that you are strong enough for what is coming.”

Then, as suddenly as the change had appeared, the Otherness bled away and Cyriacus was once again, himself. Albeit slightly confused and strangely drained of power. Voldemort, as was his wont, decided to leave the conversation alone after receiving more information than even he wanted to deal with at the moment. With business concluded, he moved onto far more pleasurable pursuits.

Slowly he stripped out of his clothes and joined his lover on the bed. He had been confused, angry, jealous, thoroughly puzzled and taken aback more than once throughout the day. Having admitted to his own weakness and having heard in part how Cyriacus was dealing with the complexity of the current situation, he decided that they both needed and deserved a distraction.

So instead of the rough, possessive sex he had planned earlier he changed his mind and decided on slow, needy sex instead. He took his time, exploring, kissing and licking his lover’s body as he fanned the flame of their mutual desire into a burning inferno. Voldemort wanted this to be theirs, a pure memory of simple comfort to keep them on track through the rough days that were coming.

It was nearly dawn when he allowed them to reach the release that he had spent hours building up. Voldemort had collapsed on top of Cyriacus, their hearts hammering in their chests and both of them drawing in short panting breaths as their bodies cooled from the exertion of the past hours. It had been pure bliss, well worth the hours of agonizing arousal and slow teasing. Looking into the green eyes of his lover, he saw nothing more than sleepy satisfaction and as Cyriacus drifted into sleep, he lay awake pondering the words that he could not get out of his mind.

---

Malfoy House
Casablanca, Morocco
Saturday the 4th of October 1997
11:15 AM

Lucius blinked again, certain he had misheard Cyriacus’s request. “Pardon?”

“I asked you if you had a dungeon or someplace similar where I could spill some blood without causing stains.” Cyriacus replied slightly amused.

Voldemort glanced up from the book he was reading. “You need to cast a Summoning?”

“No but what I’m doing will be a bit…messy. Do you have a room or not? If not, I’ll have to go to one of my properties in France.”

“I have a room that will do, I suppose. What exactly do you need it for?”

Cyriacus smiled slightly. “I need to catch up on some history.”

Bellatrix looked wary. “How long will it take you?”

“The rest of the night I imagine but that is just as well, Voldemort will not require my presence tonight.”

“What do you mean by that?” Voldemort questioned.

Cyriacus glanced at his lover and then shrugged. “My presence intrigues some and disturbs the rest. It would be best if I didn’t join you this evening, give them a little breathing room so to speak. Tomorrow is soon enough for giving some of them the greatest shocks of their lives. Not to mention it would be better for us all in the long run, if I begin the process of finding the information necessary to achieve our goals.”

Rabastan looked at him for a moment. “Where will you get your answers?”

“In Death’s cold embrace, of course, where else does a Necromancer get the most truthful and accurate information available about events that have or are occurring on this plane of existence.” Cyriacus replied matter-of-factly.

Lucius frowned. “But it took you nearly two weeks to recover the last time you died.”

“I was very short on energy the last time I died, that is not the case this time. In fact, I have twice as many reserves available for use now than I had last time. There is no risk in this and I will only need a few hours to recover. Scourge knows the signs if there should be trouble while I am gone and he knows how to draw me back to the Living as well.”

“If you believe this course of action is necessary then do so. I would like to be informed immediately should you come across anything vital.”

“As you wish,” Cyriacus agreed, turning to glance at Lucius.

The blond sighed and gestured for Cyriacus to follow him. As Cyriacus had guessed, the room was located below the ground and had no windows but he would need none. His Carapace followed them diligently alert to any threats. Cyriacus glanced at the room and deemed it suitable for his needs and waited until Lucius left to lock the doors and cast a variety of Spells around the room.

Despite how it may have appeared to those who had been present at the Summit, the Necromancer’s Feint, was not as easy or as simple as it may have appeared. Death, though conquerable for those who carried the Necromancer’s Gift, was a rather delicate condition. A Necromancer’s Anchoring Dagger served two purposes, the first, was to sever the Necromancer’s connection to the Realm of the Living. Severing the connection was generally done with a direct stab through the heart, liver or spleen. The second purpose of the Anchoring Dagger was exactly as its name implied, it anchored the Necromancer’s spirit so that it could find its way back to the body it inhabited. It was important therefore, that such Anchoring Daggers were created correctly in physical form and in the layers of magical spells that allowed it to act as both a Severing and Anchoring device.

Every Necromancer carried with them at least two Anchoring Daggers at any given time, as one could never be certain when a quick jaunt through Death might be necessary. Such Daggers however, were generally only used for short term intelligence gathering. Other Necromantic Artifacts had been created to be used for longer durations, the next level Artifact lasting for a month and the highest level, lasting centuries if the proper techniques were used during its construction and installation. Though Cyriacus was not planning on taking longer than twelve hours to gain the necessary information he could, at the least, expend the effort to reinforce and focus his ‘death’. Doing so would narrow down the amount of time he spent traveling in the Mid-Plane and hopefully, land him closer to his destination.

Giving the room another inspection, Cyriacus quickly began Incanting as he thinned the barrier between the Mortal Realm and the Mid-Plane, which was also known as the Plane of Enlightenment. Finished he inspected his work, reaching out with his magic to ‘feel’ how thin he’d worn the barrier. Satisfied that he’d made his journey as easy as it could be, considering it was temporary and not permanent, he shed his shirt tossing it aside and reached for one of this Anchoring Daggers sheathed in his boot.

“What are we to do exactly?” Nusayr asked as Cyraicus moved to take a position in the middle of the room.

Cyriacus stopped abruptly. “You are here to keep anyone or thing on the other side of the door from interrupting or disturbing me. Scourge knows how to bring me back from the Mid-Plane if things get difficult but I am not to be interrupted unless there is an emergency. Before you ask, an emergency consists of a sudden unexpected natural disaster, the house being overrun by our enemies or unhappy Dark Congress Attendees. Wake me for anything else and I won’t be very pleased with any of you. I expect this will take me at least twelve hours or less so feel free to take breaks to use the bathroom or eat. I warded the room from anyone but us entering from the outside, you can leave as you choose and vice versa. As long as at least two of you are here at any given time, I’ll be fine and perfectly safe. Ascyltus, you of course, are excused to attend the Dark Congress. Are there anymore questions?”

No one spoke.

“Good, I’ll see you all again in a few hours.” Cyriacus commented before raising the dagger and plunging it home into his heart.

---

Plane of Enlightenment (a.k.a. the Mid-Plane)

For several moments, Cyriacus was aware of the most annoying spiraling sensation. It was like those annoying dreams you have where you fall, only in this case you fell spiraling into inky darkness. As the moments passed the darkness gave way to light and next he knew, he had landed on his feet in one out of several thousands of corridors of the Archive. The Plane of Enlightenment was exactly that, it contained all the knowledge of the Earth and its inhabitants and was seemingly housed in a gigantic building the size of which, he could never remember upon returning to the Living. What he always remembered was that it was huge and organized into specific areas and each corridor was patrolled.

Orientating himself, Cyriacus calmly glanced around for the inevitable map and registry desk. The deceased could learn as much or as little as they liked but for the few who were temporary visitors, had to register what information they desired to retain upon returning to the living. As Cyriacus had learned as a student at Arcanum, you had to be specific when you filled out one of the registry forms or else you might ‘forget’ the less critical information about the topic you were investigating. As he had guessed, this area of the building was not as busy as say the huge multi-floored wing dedicated solely to all the known lineages of human, Wizards and Magical Creatures, the Corridor reserved for Styles of Magic; or Merlin help him, Sport teams!

Taking a seat at one of the registry desks, Cyriacus sighed and reached for a form and a pen. He really hated filling out these stupid things! With a frown, he began scribbling out his information, background and schooling before flipping to the next section which asked about his visit today. Grumbling he filled out another section based on his goals as a Living Entity on a Temporary, Official Visit and then carefully filled out a long essay portion about what exactly he wished to retain information about. Finally finished filling out the form, he carefully checked over the form for blanks and then took his duplicate forms before feeding the originals into the Relay device. He had learned painfully what happened if you didn’t take your duplicate copy and the Relay decided to eat it. Once a golden Sticker appeared from the machine next to the Relay, Cyriacus sighed with relief and collected his Sticker, affixing it to his forehead.

Finally ready to begin his research after having wasted probably a good two hours filling out papers, Cyriacus picked up a map and headed down the Corridor. He passed by the guards on patrol and paused, gaping at them for a few minutes. One was dressed like a Storm Trooper from Star Wars and another was dressed like Darth Vader. The other two confused him, as they seemingly were dressed in black suits, with sunglasses.

Seeing his confusion, one of the guards shook his head in exasperation. “We’re agents like in Men in Black, where the heck have you been? Living under a rock or something?”

Cyriacus blinked. “I’m a Wizard and I lived at Arcanum until the end of this Summer.”

“Oh,” The Darth Vader guard replied. “You should watch it, it’s a good movie.” Pause. “You do know who I am right?”

“Yes of course,” Cyriacus retorted with a roll of the eyes. “I may not be up to date on the current popular movies but even I’ve seen Star Wars!”

The Storm Trooper nodded. “Good, if you hadn’t then we’d have had to abandon our posts and drag you to the Popular Movie Corridor.”

“Right.”

“Stay out of trouble.” One of the Agents replied, glancing at him over his sunglasses.

Cyriacus rolled his eyes. “This isn’t my first visit you know.”

The Darth Vader guard just shrugged. “May the Force be with you.”

“You too,” Cyriacus replied, continuing on his way. Once he had turned the corner and was halfway down the hallway he shook his head. “Utterly weird those guards! Last time I was here they were still dressed up like those aliens from Independence Day and those American pilots!”

Rolling his eyes he checked the map and then saw his destination which was aptly labeled:

The Downfall of the Primordials

---

The Foyer
Malfoy House, Casablanca, Morocco
Sunday the 5th of October 1997
9:00 PM

It was the first time today that they had seen Cyriacus and each of them studied him as they approached. Leaning against the wall, he was dressed in crimson velvet trousers with a silver colored snakeskin boots. Unlike the previous day, he wore his hair pulled back into a loose braid, held in place with a silver and ruby studded Wyvern clip. Cyriacus looked away from the window he’d been leaning against and caught his comrades looking at him curiously.

“You are well?” Voldemort asked simply.

Cyriacus looked amused. “Would I be here if I wasn’t? I have a tendency to get so ill or injured that I wouldn’t even be on my feet. However, I am perfectly fine.”

“Did you find the information you were seeking?” Lucius asked.

“Yes,”

Voldemort waited patiently for a minute before prompting him, “Well?”

Cyriacus shrugged. “I will explain later, there is too much to tell now and more to think over. We should leave soon however, unless we are going for a late entrance?”

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the Assembly Hall and ignoring the slight hush walked over to their section and took their seats. Cyriacus glanced around the room, his face hidden behind a full faced silver mask. Ascyltus had given him a report about how the second day of the Dark Congress had gone, telling him who seemed to be wavering and who seemed to be undecided as of yet. Tonight, he planned on giving everyone their options and letting them decide their own fate. Those who joined him would serve and have a hand in the re-building of the Wizarding World, those who chose inaction would be left to face their destruction and should anyone be stupid enough to side with his enemies Cyriacus would show them just what a Necromancer is capable of unleashing.

Voldemort glanced at Cyriacus, silently asking a question. Cyriacus shrugged in response and continued to glance around the room.

Slowly getting to his feet, Voldemort addressed the rest of the room. “You have had two evenings to think over my offer. Any remaining questions that I have refused to answer before will be answered as well as the presentation of vital information that may help you make your decision.”

The room was silent when he sat and Cyriacus got to his feet, waving his Carapace to stay sitting as he walked down to the center of the room. Once he was in position, Cyriacus took a small crystal out of a pocket in his trousers and set it on the ground. Moving back he dismantled the Shrinking Charm and watched as the crystal was restored to its normal size. It was a foot thick and at least ten feet tall.

“You wanted proof of our fantastical tale and so I have brought it to you, watch closely.” Cyriacus murmured to the room at large.

Casting a simple Cutting Hex on his index finger, Cyriacus began drawing on the crystal using his blood to form the necessary runes to activate it. Absently, he was aware of an increase of noise coming from the Vampire and Werewolf section and smiled inwardly. They were reacting to the smell of his blood, no doubt. The Crystal suddenly flared brilliantly, as fiery white words began appearing above the crystal pillar.

Cyriacus smiled beneath his mask. “I present, to your unbelieving eyes, a copy of the Lost Prophecy of Merlin.”

---

Rakyn stared, first at the Necromancer and second at the blazing words hanging above the crystal pillar. He glanced at the other Vampire delegates and noted that he was not alone in his shock. Just who or what exactly was this Necromancer? How did he get a hold of a copy of the Lost Prophecy of Merlin? And his blood, why was it so familiar?

Shadrak was the first to realize what was going on and despite being utterly dumbstruck he jumped to his feet and pointed at the Necromancer. “You are a Primordial!”

All the noise in the Assembly Hall immediately stopped, every eye turning to the Necromancer.

“And how did you come to that conclusion, Shadrak?”

Shadrak gaped like a fish. “How did you know my name?”

“I have my ways; I am a Necromancer after all.” The Necromancer replied with amusement and proceeded to single out and name every Vampire delegate present. He then moved on and did the same to the next section of delegates until he had named every single delegate present.

The entire room was unsettled; it should not have been possible for the Necromancer to know every name and title of those present! Even some of those who had been attending for centuries did not know every little detail about the other delegates. Yet this Necromancer seemingly knew all the names and titles for each of them!

“I admit I did not quite expect any of you recognize me for what I am…in part. Though Asadyl did say that the more astute of you would realize that I am exactly what I say I am.” The Necromancer commented, almost more to himself than to the others present.

The Chieftain of the Werewolf Pack Epsilon shook his head in disbelief. “Asadyl and the other Primordials have gone…they are no longer apart of this world.”

The Necromancer laughed. “It may have been better if they had truly been gone and stayed gone but that is not the case.”

“Y-you can’t be a Primordial!” The Chieftain of the Werewolf Pack Xi blurted, stuttering.

“And why is that?”

“You don’t smell exactly the same, there’s a tint of Dragon in your blood and some human as well.” The Chieftain retorted a bit more confident.

The Necromancer chuckled. “Such noses you Werewolves have! I suppose then, that this small deception is over.” Reaching up, he grasped the edges of his mask and took it off.

Rakyn was the first to recognize him for who he truly was, he had made it his business to know this face based on some rumors that had reached him. If his son was truly alive then this man would know where his son was and why he had faked his own death.

Standing he stared into those dark green eyes and murmured, “Cyriacus Snape…we meet at last.”

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Well I debated and dithered and whined about how no Smut!Muse made things horribly hard to work on this chapter. It was only through the pure tenacity of ID!Muse and several friends who got me on track and working to get this chapter finished on time.

The reviews, of course, were wonderful as well. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and I’m happy all you newbies are enjoying the story!

NEXT CHAPTER: Ultimatums for the Dark Congress Attendees, A date with Krum, Asadyl and Kohinoor’s chat featuring the Lost Chylla, and plans for a bloody Samhain Revel courtesy of our favorite Dark Lord.

Read and Review, please!

-SheWolfe7 (10/31/05)