Irreversible Destiny

A/N: Yes I know, it’s horribly, horribly late and I could apologize until my face turns blue but at least it’s done now right? 26 full pages to enjoy, this is part one of three.

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

Chapter XXV
Resolution I

Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing.
- Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the US (1809-1865)

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Morgan’s Tower
Arcanum Institute of Magic, Unknown Unplottable
Saturday the 1st of November 1997
11:04 PM

The night air reeked of a coming storm and the grounds were silent and empty of life, save her presence. Morgan walked with determination through the woods, ignoring the approaching storm in favor of reaching her destination. Wand light was almost unnecessary as she had trod this particular hidden path through these woods, more times than she cared to remember. The Isle of Shadows was hers fully, every plant and animal that grew and lived here was hers to command and so, she had no fear to walk in the darkness of her woods on her Isle.

Soon, she would pass this Isle to her Successor and let him make of it what he desired. Cyriacus would be the Master of the Isle soon; her life would come to an end and Death would finally draw her into its cold embrace. First though, there were preparations to make, wards and secrets to share with her Successor and Morgan could only hope that he could withstand the inevitable shock of Arcanum’s greatest secret.

Time had passed and with each year’s end, the truth of her life became more and more distorted and inaccurate. Arcanum was more than just a secret within a secret, it was a safe harbor against the machinations of the world and ironically enough, was a means to manipulate and control the world too. She had intended to do many things with Arcanum, had intended in her own way to be the one whom the world would remember as the contributor of a new and wondrous Age. The years passed and her plans expanded in scope and grandeur until it seemed almost as though the roots of Arcanum had spread across the Wizarding World, ready to choke the life out of it upon a moment’s whim. It was when this had occurred that Morgan realized that she had become that which she swore she would never be…her grandmother.

Morgan snorted at the thought. The historians had recorded many things but missed many of the key turning points of that age and her grandmother’s manipulations stayed forgotten in the mists of the past. At that time, Morgan could not have guessed what the purpose was behind every web of lies her grandmother had spun but in the end each had served their purpose as was intended. Every birth had been orchestrated, every War planned and plotted before the first blow was struck and all of it had led to this time, this place and this being that would be the end of one world and the beginning of the next. Throughout it all her grandmother had plotted and planned, apathetic to the lives she disrupted and destroyed, so intent was she to reach her goal.

And that perhaps was why she fled; everything she had known had been turned to ashes all to fulfill her grandmother’s plots. Her brother dead, her son on a rampage to destroy what little remained of their world and Merlin on his deathbed muttering of a dark and terrible Prophecy. So she had packed her things, stole the crystal spire Merlin’s Last Prophecy had been inscribed upon, taken her most faithful companions and fled the shores of Britain. It was on her journey that she had decided to make fulfilling Merlin’s last Prophecy her goal and perhaps it was the worst decision she could have made. Grandmother had known, perhaps even before she was born, what would happen when Arcanum first opened its doors.

When Morgan had learned of the full extent of her grandmother’s plots and her own inadvertent role in fulfilling those goals, she had been furious and sick with dread. She had been so certain that Cyriacus was the one Merlin’s Prophecy spoke of and then he had come to her to be Purged of the one thing he could never be absolved of; and in the process had spilled the vast extent of her grandmother’s secrets.

It had taken her a great deal of time but eventually she had found a contact and arranged to meet her grandmother. It had not been long before her grandmother had found her again but strangely, when she chose to show herself she only shared Visions of what was to be, allowing Morgan the choice in how to handle the situation. Tonight was the first time she had ever asked for a meeting but Morgan could put it off no longer. She had had over a month to fume and curse her grandmother’s plotting and now, it was time for her questions to be answered.

Their meeting place was a small clearing, in the northwest corner of the Isle. Surrounded by thick trees and located near a small stream, no one could eavesdrop on them easily there. For this particular meeting, Morgan desired no less than utter secrecy.

When she arrived, she found her grandmother waiting, her fair hair standing out even on this overcast night.

“A Blood Child grandmother, what were you thinking?” Morgan demanded sharply, once she was close enough to the older woman.

“He is the kyndrak Morgan; he can be no less than what he was meant to be. Not all of the Primordials are born from the blood of others but for him, it was destined.”

“I have never heard of a twice cursed Blood Child and I am unashamed to say that I would be utterly terrified to come into contact with one! What do you think you are doing to him?”

Grandmother turned around, focusing her gaze on Morgan. “I cannot unmake him, no more than you can undo the changes you have wrought here, child. The most I can do for him now is to insure that he is prepared for the full extent of his destiny. I am ready to pay the price of my crime but all that I have done, it will not be in vain.”

“All these years you have worked for this one moment grandmother, and in a single instance it can be destroyed. You planned and plotted for his birth, manipulated every event that lead to it and you will surely break him before the turn of this year, I have seen it with my own eyes!”

“What are you speaking of?”

“Why am I not surprised that you do not see it? This grand fate you have assured him is his, topped with the recent discoveries of his loyalties and his parentage, will snap his mind! He has come to me on four separate occasions, begging me to purge him of the overwhelming guilt that all Blood Children are born with. I have done what I can for him but I have my doubts it is enough. He is a creature sired by the blood of innocents and he will always crave the torture and bloodshed of a Purging. For him to be able to live with the circumstances of his birth, he will ensure that he regularly suffers as much as those who died to give him life. The sickening thing is that he does not comprehend why he craves it, in his mind he believes that it a form of penance for the lives he takes but buried deeply in his subconscious is the desire to justify his very existence! And that is why creating a Blood Child is an offense punishable by death!” Morgan hissed, eyes flashing with anger.

Calm lilac eyes stared into stormy blue.

“It is no burden worse than that which he already bears; he will bend perhaps but never break, not again.” Grandmother smiled slightly. “You have already seen to that, and I thank you for it.”

Morgan froze at those words and then shouted, “I did not piece him back together for your grand plots to shatter him to pieces again!”

“When will you understand that the things that you have done are just a small part of the grand order I have worked so long for? All things are fated and despite what you think, you can no more escape your fate than he.”

“Is that all that we are to you? Your very flesh and blood are nothing more than game pieces? You birth us, guide us and destroy us just to see your goals fulfilled, how do you live with the knowledge that you can and will destroy the lives of millions just to see your schemes fulfilled?!”

Above them the storm finally broke, rain pounding down from the heavens. Grandmother was as motionless as a statue and just as cold.

“I merely do what I must to ensure that the Primordials are returned to their rightful place. You will never understand the life that I have lived, the burden I have carried nor the blood that has been spilt to pave the path of his coming but I assure you child, it was not easy.”

Morgan was unable to tear her eyes away, unable to move as her grandmother’s mask broke.

“No price was too great, no lives too precious, and my task was essentially…a path to sure damnation. I could not afford to be weak, it was not possible to have a second thought, the path of his coming was emblazoned with signs that I could not blind myself to. So much has been sacrificed for his birth Morgan, more than even what you have imagined in your wildest nightmares and still, it is not enough! He is the incarnation of the most primal being this world has known and he…is…flawed!”

“What…what are you talking about?” Morgan whispered horrified by the fear she could see in those cool, lilac eyes.

“He is the Kyndrak, the Dark One of legend and the Lord of so many. The power he wields is death to his enemies and a terrible addiction to his allies. It was so very wrong to attempt to make him flawless Morgan, so very foolish of us. What made each of the Primordials strong, combined together makes the greatest flaws in one being and the Blood Ritual has twisted something horribly. Now he is like a babe at his mother’s breast, hungry for the milk that gives him life, that fluid which grants him growth and contentment. His thirst can be sated for a few hours but that hunger will always remain and he Feeds on nothing but the best, the most exquisite and pure blood available in this World. Do you understand what we have done? Can you even imagine?”

Morgan couldn’t speak…couldn’t even vocalize the conclusion she had reached.

Grandmother smiled bitterly. “I can see in your eyes that you realize what we have done. We have made literal his designation, he will be a Blood Child for as long as he shall live and that will be well beyond a scope of time that either of us can imagine. Without blood he is nothing and without him, the world we strive to create is nothing and the price for both is blood, the blood of Primordials and his. And no one outside the Chylla know…yet.”

Lilac eyes closed and when they opened, they were cold as Morgan had always known them to be. “This ‘scheme’ as you call it is the destiny that I could not escape Morgan. Be thankful that yours was not as difficult, nor as damning. What I have told you is the first flaw of many and this one the least disastrous of what has begun to emerge. In aspiring to create perfection, we have created nothing but a misshapen shadow of what we had originally intended to bring forth into this world. What feelings of guilt I bear for that which I have sacrificed or destroyed to bring him into being is a mere shadow of the guilt I bear for what I have done. I have allowed the Kyndrak be born into this world and housed in such a flawed vessel. That crime alone is almost as terrible as having created what will be a thrice cursed Blood Child.”

Morgan sighed. “I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve had to do in my life to get to where I am. We’re not as different as I wish we were grandmother, and I think that’s what bothers me most. Yet…there are lines that even I wouldn’t cross, not for power, not for fame, not even for this Prophecy I’ve worked so hard to help fulfill. The price of bringing a thrice cursed Blood Child into the world is unfathomable and a steeper price than I’m willing to pay to meet my goals.”

“And that is what separates us, Morgan. Your manipulations are only to improve the Wizarding World and mine…mine will change the world itself.”

Morgan watched silently as her grandmother collected herself and strode off regally. She had wanted answers but all she received were more questions and a terrible secret that she did not want to contemplate at length. She didn’t know what bothered her more, the fact that she now knew a great deal more about her grandmother’s plots or the fact that in her own way, she wasn’t that much different. Shaking her head she turned her face up to the sky letting the drops of rain wash down her face, hiding her tears.

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The Assembly Rotunda
Headquarters of the Ratification of Equalizing Legislation Internationally Coordinated, Cyn Raeva, Tempest Island, Atlantic Ocean
Monday the 3rd of November 1997
8:58 AM

Cyriacus was highly irritated which, considering his mood of late, spoke volumes. This was truly the last place he wanted to be but even he could not afford to miss this particular meeting. His dragonhide boots thumped along the polished marble floor as he made his way to the Assembly Rotunda, passing by gossiping portraits of former members of the organization. Winding his way through the maze-like building Cyriacus inwardly grumbled about the foolishness of the RELIC organization which was in charge of International Magical Cooperation, despite the confusing name the organization went by. It had been around for nearly eight hundred years and it had been located on the remote island of Tempest for a little over two hundred years.

Cyn Raeva, the largest Wizarding City on Tempest Island, had been founded in 1728 and four decades later had been chosen as the new location for the RELIC headquarters. Selected because of the populace’s neutral standings in Wizarding beliefs, it was an ideal choice. As the years passed by, Tempest Island and Cyn Raeva in particular, soon boasted some of the largest populations of Wizarding folk. Current statistics showed that Cyn Raeva was the third highest populated Magical area, only the sprawling American megalopolis of Lumen-Umbra and the Machiavellian borough of Dalhoor had more people.

Turning the corner, Cyriacus spotted a set of huge double doors guarded by two bored looking Wizards. As he approached, the older of the two stopped him.

“Halt, no one is authorized to enter these doors by order of Chairman Wright.”

Cyriacus frowned as he pulled back the hood of his cloak. “I do believe Chairman Wright will be expecting me. I am Cyriacus Snape, Lord of more titles than I want to list at the moment and here representing the British House of McKnight.”

The Wizard stiffened, “I’ll need to see some identification before allowing you to pass, Sir.”

“Honestly,” Cyriacus grumbled as he quickly unbuckled the gauntlet on his right arm before yanking it off and obligingly holding out his hand. The Watch-Wizard quickly nicked Cy’s index finger and then smeared his blood on a piece of Blood-Right Parchment. Mumbling a Healing spell, which was unnecessary except to prevent suspicion, Cyriacus tugged the gauntlet back on and buckled it with a spell. Meanwhile the parchment had begun to glow as it formally listed all the wonderful titles he now called his own.

Cyriacus Severus Alcaeus Snape
b. Saturday the 22nd of August 1981

Father: Severus Honoratius Snape, Patriarch of the Snape Family
Mother: Celeste Genevieve Levesque, Matriarch of the Levesque Family (deceased)
Siblings: n/a

Patriarch of the Families:

Thorne
Potter
McKnight
Merryck
Argyle
Frost
Ciodné
Levesque
Gryffindor

Heir Apparent to the Families:

Snape
Ruskin
St. Germaine

The Watch-Wizard nodded as he cast an Incendio on the slip of paper. “Go straight through the doors and take a staircase up to the next floor, you’ll want to enter through the set of double doors labeled A2, the British Wizengamot Seats are to the right on the back row, three box suites in.”

“Thank you gentlemen,” Cyriacus said coolly as he walked past them, pushing the doors open.

Cyriacus calmly walked through the long tunnel, faintly able to hear Dumbledore’s speech about unity in the face of Voldemort’s terrorizing of the Wizarding World. After about fifty feet, he passed through the final arch of the tunnel, stepping into one of the most interesting rooms he’d seen. As the name implied, the Rotunda was a circular room, with a diameter of 160 feet. On this level, which was located underground, there was another smaller walled off circle, the walls of which contained beautiful Romanesque mosaics depicting famous Wizards and Witches. Cyriacus marveled at the huge marble columns which not only supported the supposedly massive domed ceiling but also acted as stairs to the upper level which contained the Meeting Chambers. Climbing the stairs set directly in front of the portico, Cyriacus gaped as he set his feet on the upper level.

He was familiar with a few Lost Arts but whatever Art had been applied during the building process was like nothing he’d learned of! The entire structure was made of white marble which had been polished to an eye blinding sheen; the walls of the Rotunda were decorated with huge stabilizing arches that pulsed with magic so potent, he could almost taste it. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the massive dome ceiling which had been decorated with intricate, flowering vines. Only the most observant would realize that hidden in the delicate designs were the names of the Wizarding Families that made up the International Wizengamot and the inherited RELIC positions.

Shaking his head with awe, Cyriacus turned to take in the rest of the room. Directly in front of him was yet another wall, this time decorated with mosaics of magical creatures. More columns spiraled up to support the ceiling, these left untouched by the hands of artisans, yet stunning in their perfect form. After a few minutes of examining the ornate decorations around him, Cyriacus started forward and on impulse walked to his right spotting a set of double doors. Glancing above the doors, he noted it was labeled A2 and taking a deep breath to prepare himself, he pushed the doors open and walked inside.

“…cannot allow Voldemort to win! Our world is in a perilous condition as it is but should Voldemort and his minions take this quest to purge the Wizarding World; all that we have known will be destroyed! Can you stand aside and do nothing in the face of the destruction of our society?”

Cyriacus came to a halt, holding the doors open as he took in his surroundings; the interior room had high walls, but was not enclosed on the top. Watch Wizards guarded every point leading to the stairs which lead below to the Portico entrance, which left little reason to guard the upper level of the Rotunda. No one would be able to pass by without detection and likely, wouldn’t bother to begin with. Why eavesdrop on this when they could just steal the transcript later? Despite what the Watch-Wizards thought, he had not been late at all for the meeting which had begun at seven o’clock. Cyriacus had explored the old RELIC building, room to room until he had prepared a mental map that had more details than the official copy Kieran had found him.

The room itself was rather plain, considering the ornate designs outside but he supposed, considering what took place here, it was probably for the best. The room looked much like what he had expected, there were rows of boxed suites arranged around the room in a stadium layout. The ones along the walls were at the top and sunk lower as they neared the center of the Rotunda itself. Some suites were populated by members of a single country while others were divided up into sections and shared by the representatives of smaller countries.

Looking at the center of the Rotunda, Cy spotted Dumbledore standing on the raised dais in the center of the inner circle of the Rotunda. Resisting the urge to snort at the tired, foolish Wizard, Cyriacus made his way to find his seat releasing his hold on the doors which closed behind him with a loud bang. Heads turned to look and soon whispers spread across the room once he had been identified.

“Hmph, a child here to do a man’s job!”

“…Scandalous liaisons…”

“Father has no control over his actions. Unsurprising really, there are rumors his father is a follower of You-Know-Who.”

“…Ought to be at school in classes than here trying to find a solution to save the Wizarding World…”

Chairman Wright, an old Wizard in his late seventies stood up from his place at one of the crescent tables located in the center of the room. “Mr. Snape, you have shown an admirable desire to help your fellow Wizards in these troubled times but I must say, your presence here is most…unexpected. As a minor, you will not have the ability to cast a vote when and should it be asked.”

“I assure you Chairman; I have every right to cast my vote when it will be asked for. You see, I’ve been granted emancipation as is my due as the Lord of Gryffindor, Minister Fudge signed the paperwork a good number of weeks ago. Despite how the media has portrayed me, I’m no one’s fool or lackey for that matter. If you choose to believe otherwise that is, of course, your prerogative.” Cyriacus replied sharply, his tone dripping with disdain.

The whispers stopped for two heartbeats before beginning anew. Cyriacus ignored everyone in favor of removing his cloak and taking his seat among the other members of the British Wizengamot. Behind him, he could hear stifled noises of surprise at his choice in attire. Unlike the robes he had worn in August, he had chosen something quite distinctive on this occasion, dismissing the plum colored Wizengamot robes he was supposed to wear. He wore plain black velvet robes, under which he wore dragonhide boots, black velvet trousers and a black silk shirt. His hair was neatly pulled back in a braid, his arms from the shoulder down were covered by his dragonhide gauntlets and he wore one piece of jewelry. Hanging around his neck was a long platinum chain which, to any idle observer, looked rather plain as was intended. The chain was meant to look like a simple statement of wealth and status, its real power lay in the miniscule runes etched into the interlocking loops.

On the back of his robe was a large tower shield, divided into seven distinct sections each dispicting the chosen animal of the Seven Families he was now Patriarch over. In gold thread was the Potter’s playful Griffin, the Frost’s wise Owl, the Argyle’s eerie Thestral, Gryffindor’s proud Lion, Merryck’s regal swan, Levesque’s all-knowing Grim, Thorne’s ever hungry Crow, McKnight’s ferocious Dragon and Ciodné’s moody Augurey. On the sleeves of his robes, inscribed in elegant silver calligraphy were the names of the Families he was Heir to: Snape, Ruskin and St. Germaine.

Cyriacus sat down gracefully, acting as though he wasn’t the center of attention in the entire room. Absently straightening the chain around his neck, his every touch infused the runes alerting the other Arcanum Alumni present that it was time to begin the first phase of his plan to sow disorder amongst the Light. A cool, sarcastic smile crossed his lips. From this point forward, there would be no turning back and he would have to tread carefully but he would succeed, there was no other option.

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Room 27
Aphrodisiac, Vitium Court, Unplottable Unknown
Friday the 7th of November 1997
10:42 PM

Pushing the door open, the man slipped inside the room and after checking to make sure his hostess was present, shut the door and erected a number of Privacy Charms around the room. Striding past the decadent room, which was filled with all manner of inviting furniture, rugs and decorations, he sat across from his hostess and pushed back the hood of his cloak.

“I hope you realize, madam that contacting me was a foolish gesture. I could kill you easily and no one would be the wiser for it.” Cyriacus replied, getting right to the point.

His hostess chuckled and removed her hood, revealing herself as none other than Iphigenia Fudge nee Bristow. “Of that, I am well aware Mr. Snape and I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop you if that’s your wish. However, if you were so inclined, you would have already killed me, correct?”

Cyriacus smiled slightly, his eyes boring into her. “Indeed but I admit your note intrigued me, I’ve gone to much effort to hide my identity change from the world at large. But enough about that; let us get to the point of the matter. Dear lady, what do you have to offer me in exchange for your life?”

Iphigenia smiled wickedly, her face coming alive with emotion. “What would you say if I could hand you documents destroying Cornelius’s political career and even a few…transcripts that would demonize the untouchable Dumbledore?”

“Dear lady, I do believe we might be able to come to an agreement but first, I’ll have to take care of the pesky fool that’s waiting for you downstairs in the lobby. Shall we come to terms when I return?”

“As you wish,”

Cyriacus smirked, his eyes burning with amusement. “Very well, that would best be done in a more secure place. Expect my Portkey to arrive Tuesday morning.”

Iphigenia nodded, watching as Cyriacus rose from his seat in a single fluid motion. “How long shall I wait before leaving?”

“Give me an hour that should be enough to weave a Mind Web convoluted enough to suit our needs.” Cyriacus bowed with exaggerated grace, “Until we meet again, dear lady. Be cautious, your husband is a jackal when it suits him.”

“Don’t worry about me, he has never seen past my mask.” Iphigenia commented amused. “He’s not smart enough to look beyond what I appear to be.”

Cyriacus snorted. “How unsurprising,” That said, he spent a few moments re-arranging his appearance while Iphigenia watched with keen interest. Twenty minutes later his hair was disheveled, his face flushed as though he was drunk and lips begging for attention. Dressed in a pair of leather trousers that looked as though they had been sown onto his legs and paired with a tantalizing flesh colored spidersilk vest spun so thinly it hide nothing, Cyriacus looked like sex on legs.

“Well now I know why it’s so hard to get copies of Witch Weekly after one of your wild nights at Vitium Court,” Iphigenia said chuckling.

Cyriacus winked, “Nil magis amat cupiditas, quam quod non licet. The most true lesson I have ever learned, dear lady.” (Lust wants whatever it can’t have.)

Iphigenia laughed, collapsing against the side of her chair, tears running down her cheeks. “Ah, you are such a charming man! Alas, you are not fifteen years older!”

“Have no fears dear lady, a woman of your brilliance shall find a man worthy of you someday! Let us work together now and rid you of that vile buffoon first.” Cyriacus said charmingly as he waved goodbye to her before striding out of the room, stalking out like a tomcat on the prowl.

Iphigenia chuckled, shaking her head. “Poor fool doesn’t have a chance,” she commented, referring to the young Auror who had been coerced into following her everywhere she went.

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Voldemort’s Suite
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, UK
Saturday the 15th of November 1997
9:32 PM

It had been two weeks, Voldemort mused standing in front of the fireplace in his sitting room, staring into the flames. Nagini was sleeping and Voldemort was thankful, as his Familiar had spent the last two weeks after his confrontation with Cyriacus, ranting at length about how ill suited the pair had been. Originally he had not intended to break things off with the younger Wizard but after the fiasco during lunch he had been too angry and too…hurt.

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FLASHBACK

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Cyriacus had just finished his meal when a seething Voldemort stalked into the room and headed directly towards him. Taking a last drink, Cyriacus calmly tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and turned to face his lover, casting several wordless Privacy Charms around the immediate area. His Carapace had always known about Voldemort after all, so the fact that they would overhear the argument was irrelevant.

“You turned them all into Lichs!” Voldemort shouted, pointing at Cyriacus as though there could be any doubt he was responsible for doing it.

Cyriacus frowned, “I thought it would help us resolve our…issues.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “If you think I’m going to feel less jealous if you turn all the Dementors into Lichs by having sex with them, you’re wrong!”

“What are you talking about?” Cyriacus exclaimed, slightly surprised.

“Ascyltus was ever so kind about informing me, how he became a Lich. How could you have sex with that…skeletal monstrosity?”

Cyriacus attempted to rein in his temper. “First of all, he was a Lich when I fucked him and second of all, fucking him did not turn him permanently into a Lich! It was the exchange of blood that did it! You make me sound like I’m some kind of whore because I’ve slept with a few people. We have an arrangement and when we started it, you’ll remember that neither of us agreed to be monogamous!”

Voldemort scowled, “That’s true enough but sleeping with him did nothing to aid your pretense of being a good little spy for the Light.”

“Some things are unavoidable and what happened last night was one such occasion. Power calls to power Voldemort and I was helpless to resist the attraction. I have never claimed to be something I’m not and if you’ll recall, I never claimed to be anything less than mortal.”

“I have offered to give you everything within my power to grant, have offered you a position others would kill for…”

Cyriacus waited a moment before speaking. “And I said I was not interested…not ready.”

“It is rather clear at this point that you are not interested as you put it,” Voldemort said with a bitter smile. “Which is just as well, I think it best if we end our arrangement for the time being. Things have gotten far too complicated and the last thing I want to deal with are the inevitable duels that will result in attempts to gain my favor…my affections.”

“So be it then,” Cyriacus agreed, willing away the pain those words caused him.

Voldemort turned to go and paused, “How would it have helped? The Lichs I mean…”

“Now that they are properly restored as Lichs, that irrational, irresistible attraction is gone. What I feel for them now is rather what you feel for your Death Eaters; they are merely a means to an end.” Cyriacus commented coolly.

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END OF FLASHBACK

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Voldemort sighed and wondered how things had become so difficult. Turning he looked at the stack of newspapers and magazines scattered across an end table. Walking over, he picked up the top most media and reluctantly smiled. There on the front page of the International Zephyr was a picture of the upheaval that had occurred at the emergency meeting at the RELIC Headquarters some two weeks ago. What was supposed to have been a meeting to deliberate about how to take action to ‘save’ the Wizarding World against his campaign approving archaic bigotry had turned into a joke.

Cyriacus had played his role as devil’s advocate to perfection, stirring up trouble like no one else could. It had reduced the civilized, orderly meeting to chaotic discord erupting in near fisticuffs and several outright duels as the most ardent and hot-headed attempted to prove their point against the ‘Wizarding World’s most influential, thrill seeking rogue’ as Witch Weekly put it. Almost overnight, Cyriacus’s image as ‘Potter’s boy-toy’ had been replaced with a veneer of respectability laid over the foundation of his scandalous thrill seeking and jaded nonchalant nature.

If the media hadn’t been swarming him before, they definitely had taken it up to a new level after the RELIC debacle. Shocking titillating pictures, which could barely be accepted for publication in anything less than media reserved for ‘mature’ audiences, cropped up in every publication. Whether pictures of Cyriacus were on the front cover or hidden away on the social pages, the Wizarding World was quickly loosing its traditional stance on certain subjects. Speaking candidly of the Wizarding World’s ‘lack of progressive thinking’ and ‘stubborn insistence that age equaled wisdom’, Cyriacus’s scathing words led to an explosion of new products quickly being patented and released. Young, talented Wizards and Witches everywhere rejoiced as influential positions in the RELIC organization and Ministries of Magic were assigned to younger, equally talented candidates, within days of Cyriacus’s sharp remarks.

And somehow, with all these recent changes, little progress had been made regarding the War and efforts to strengthen security. Cyriacus, brilliant minded as he was, made sure the Wizarding Media was so enthralled with his ‘revolutionary thinking’ as the St. Louis Oracle put it, that they forgot all about other matters. Voldemort didn’t know whether to be proud of the progress he was making in disorganizing their enemies or to be jealous of how quickly he was able to sway the public. It was a shame Cyriacus’s much lauded thinking was reserved solely for his public persona, Voldemort would have appreciated him keeping the Death Eaters in better line.

Ever since the revelation and the consequent end of their relationship, all his Death Eaters had been acting oddly. In his presence, they were as they always had been, respectful and wary of him but Nagini and her offspring had begun reporting strange behavior. It was hardly noticeable, the snakes had told him, but whenever Cyriacus entered a room, heads turned and everyone took notice of the Necromancer. A dark look was enough to send any Death Eater scurrying away in fear and the rare smile or smirk caused the air to fill with arousal. This, Voldemort had not believed until he had seen it for himself during dinner and he was once again reminded of the enticing power that his former lover displayed subconsciously.

Considering the current state of their work relationship, which had mutated into Cyriacus telling him what he intended on doing and then doing it regardless of what Voldemort advised or ordered, the Dark Lord was worried about protecting his minions from becoming ensnared by the Necromancer. All too aware of how keen a mind Cyriacus had and how far he was willing to go to fulfill his goals, Voldemort was leery of the potential shift of power between the two. Now had Cyriacus agreed to be his Consort, he would not have opposed the shift in power as their goals would have been one but now that things had degenerated to icy politeness, Voldemort would be damned if he lost the slightest amount of power over his minions!

And the thing that galled him the most was that Cyriacus was counted among those minions- or at least he had, before the damned Primordials began waking any remaining dormant powers Cyriacus possessed. Now Cyriacus could and had ignored his orders. The most annoying and frustrating result of this development was that the sudden immunity to obeying his orders had also extended to the rest of his Hybrids, something which he noted, pleased a few to no ends.

Though they were currently ahead of the combined forces of the Ministry, Order and Defense League, his forces overall had been thrown into chaos by the sudden dissolution of his relationship with Cyriacus. Voldemort supposed that he had never quite been aware of how their relationship kept the overall forces working smoothly. Cyriacus continued to supply his Death Squads with creatures and Summons, as well as resurrecting those who had been tied to him as they fell on the battlefield but other than that he couldn’t be bothered to do anything else! His training sessions in the Dueling Hall had taught not only the Ouroboros Squad some new tricks, but most of the Death Squad Captains as well and provided a much necessary boost in morale.

Things were falling apart but what bothered him most of all was that he missed Cyriacus. Missed sharing ideas over reports, missed listening to the younger Wizard complain about the curriculum at Hogwarts and most of all, missed the hours spent in bed making love to his insatiable lover. He was as much at fault as Cyriacus, despite the sudden coziness neither had ever spoken about their relationship and he had not spoken up about desiring a more permanent and exclusive relationship. Waiting so long to confront Cyriacus and then allowing his emotions to overtake his reasoning was also a large error on his part. Yes, he was possessive and yes, he wasn’t particularly thrilled with that smirking Dementor Lord getting to touch and share what he considered his, but he had known weeks in advance that some experimentation would be required before restoring the Dementors into permanent, powerfully useful Lichs.

As he pondered the possibility of apologizing and beginning anew with Cyriacus, Voldemort yawned and decided he would take action in the morning. It was as he drifted into sleep that the spell that manipulated his side of the Bond twining between Cyriacus and himself, was adjusted again. He woke the next morning in a foul temper and more irritated with Cyriacus than the previous days.

---

In a room down the hall, a satisfied watcher emptied a glass Scrying Bowl, content that things were going as planned. Now, all that needed to be done was to observe the reaction said manipulation caused the other afflicted member of said Bond. This inadvertent flaw would be corrected and then the kyndrak would be one step closer to achieving true perfection.

Of course, she wouldn’t have been able to do this all herself but then she had found that jealous fool and used his own desire to become the kyndrak’s lover to suit her purposes. It was only a matter of time before she corrected this error and she had the patience to wait until the perfect moment came before taking further action to remove the Bond. So immersed in her plans, she was startled when she heard a footstep behind her. Turning, she paled when she saw the person standing behind her.

His face was pale and his lips were pinched with tension. “Kohinoor…what have you done?”

She had not planned on her actions being discovered until after the matter had been taken care of, or preferably, not at all. For the first time in years, Kohinoor was speechless and in Asadyl’s case, he felt sick with dread.

It wasn’t a matter of if- oh no, it would be a matter of when Cyriacus found out, and Asadyl feared this might be the one action that would prod him into finishing the Blood Ritual ahead of schedule. That is if he didn’t slay Kohinoor out of hand from pure rage at her meddling. Closing his eyes, Asadyl wished futilely that he could go back in time and change certain events, preventing this whole catastrophe from even starting.

A door clicked shut behind them, causing both the Primordials to turn and stare at the newcomer. Dark blue eyes met violet and then shifted slightly to meet lilac eyes.

“Oh dear,” the newcomer said slowly, “It seems we’ve been found out.”

Asadyl snapped at the bored tone the other used. “He will kill you both…if you are lucky!”

“He can’t, he needs me,” the newcomer replied with the most irritating, superior smirk.

“If you think he’ll care about how much he needs you in the face of this blatant manipulation of his private life, you’re a fool! He’s stopped fighting what he is and it won’t be long before he submits completely to his darker nature. He’ll tear the both of you apart and enjoy your screams! He does not tolerate betrayal or manipulation…that is what it is to be the Dark One.” Asadyl whispered harshly, wondering when everyone had become so blind.

Kohinoor shrugged. “He is what we created him to be.”

Asadyl frowned and stalked to the door, pausing to say a few final words. “If you think that Kohinoor, you are truly a fool. He is what we hoped he might be but he’s something far more dangerous now and there is no backing out of what we have done. Death looms ever nearer and we both will be consumed to pay the price for what darkness we have wrought and entombed into flesh. I would have thought it would be most obvious to you but, I suppose, the years have taken their toll on your mind. For that, I am sorry Kohinoor, if I could go back and change what I did then, I would.”

The door closed behind him with a sharp snap and Kohinoor shivered slightly at the sound. It was almost exactly like the sound of a person’s neck snapping and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was some twisted omen of events that had yet to come into being.

---

Argyle Tower, West Lower Valley, Dalhoor
Sunday the 23rd of November 1997
6:23 AM

Cyriacus carefully stirred the cauldron as he carefully added a strange, glowing powder. Watching alertly, he stopped adding the powder as the thick liquid in the cauldron began to darken to a rich ruby. Turning the heat down, he placed a cover on the cauldron and left it to simmer for the next day. He pulled on his dragonhide gloves as he walked over to the next workstation. Carefully removing the cauldron from the fire, he poured it into a large dispenser which emptied the liquid into several large twenty milliliter vials and capped them. He arranged the vials into circular rings which fit twenty five vials and then moved them into the second cooling cabinet. Pausing to toss a few cleaning charms to neaten the workstations and to clean the cauldrons at the sinks, he took out the rings he had stored the previous night and headed for the door.

Stepping into the main hallway in the secondary dungeon level, he stalked down the hall and took the stairs down to the last dungeon level. The air was cooler here and the torches burned dimly. Striding down the hall he opened the last door on the right and walked inside. Flicking his wrist, the torches in the room leapt to life casting a bright glow in the dark room. Twenty covered vats were spread around the large rectangular room. The vats towered over him, requiring him to cast a Levitation Charm on himself in order to pour the necessary five vials into the cylindrical dispensers on the covers of the vat. After emptying all the vials into the dispensers, he carefully began pulling the short levers on the side of the vats which would slowly release the liquid into the vats over the next day.

He had just extinguished the torches and was about to activate the wards on the door when he felt a familiar presence step out of a Shadow Doorway. Nusayr, dressed in the black and silver clothes the Primordials favored, gave him a quick half-bow.

“Your subordinates have arrived.”

“Show them into the training room and tell them to start their usual morning exercises; I will join them after a quick shower.” Cyriacus instructed before walking into a shadow and re-appearing in his bedroom.

Quickly stripping out of his Potions robes, he got into the shower and scrubbed himself clean. After the sudden end to his relationship with Voldemort, Cyriacus had thrown all his allotted nights away from Hogwarts into sowing more discord in the Wizarding World coupled with pursuing forbidden or lost magical arts at the Archive. Alternating days with Asaph, who was the best at mimicking his moody personality, Cyriacus was able to divide his priorities evenly. The fact that Asaph was more than willing to enjoy the decadent pleasures of Vitium Court, made it easier for both of them.

As Kieran had said many weeks ago, he was truly unproven as a Necromancer and he would need to learn his limits soon, preferably before the activities of the War increased. His visions had hinted that he had explored his limits around Christmas and he was more than willing to take the burden of taking charge of overseeing the Christmas Attack. It wasn’t more than a week after he had begun his daily sojourns into the Archive that a plan had begun to formulate in his mind after an extensive study session on the nature of Necromancers.

Recalling that Blaze had given him the location of the Hawthorne Vault, located somewhere in what was now the Peak District National Park, Cyriacus had spent a frustrating week searching for the entrance into his ancestral Vault. Blaze had been unable to give him an exact location merely a few mental images which, so far, had proven to be difficult to pinpoint. So many years had passed and the slope the Hawthorne Vault was hidden in could have been one of many hills or Tors. It was by sheer luck that he had found the entrance, which had been hidden between Chrome Hill and Parkhouse Hill which, incidentally, was known as Dragon’s Back by the locals. A dragon and a wyvern were somewhat similar, minus a set of front legs, and the Hawthornes had been adamant about stamping everything they owned with a wyvern. At the end of the day, he really should have been unsurprised by the choice in location.

Despite how frustrated he’d been while trying to find the exact location, what he’d found in the Vault was beyond priceless. Ancient Magical Artifacts, books written by the first Necromancers of the Hawthorne lineage, crystals unlike anything he’d seen before and two huge trunks filled with Necromancer regalia and tools. He had abandoned his sojourns to the Archive in favor of learning more about his family’s Blood Gift and had been most pleased with the discoveries he’d made. By this time, the plan which had been formulating in his mind was beginning to come together, piece by piece until he’d developed a full proof plan.

Fifteen minutes later, Cyriacus had finished his shower and changed into his usual training clothes, body hugging dragonhide trousers, a loose spidersilk shirt and Spellwoven dragonhide boots and gauntlets. Stepping into a shadow in his closet, he quickly re-appeared in the training room where his fellow Elite were going through their stretches.

At least once a week, he gathered the rest of the Elite for half a day of physical and magical training. Working them through various exercises, he worked them relentlessly until they began to collapse. After they dropped from exhaustion, he passed out a highly condensed Rejuvenation Potion and then put them through their paces by teaching them new spells and sparring ruthlessly against them. Once he was satisfied with their progress for the day, he allowed them to shower and change into fresh clothes before eating an early or late dinner, depending on when they met.

Currently, he had set aside their physical training in favor of preparing them for their first Transformations, which could happen anywhere between now to early January. Fortunately after a two day jaunt into the Plane of Enlightenment, he had returned to the world of the living with the knowledge and ability to see and modify Blood Runes. This new ability allowed him to arrange when and where the other Elite would have their First Transformations. After a long drawn out ceremony, he had altered all their Blood Runes to only allow them to have their first Transformations in his presence and specifically in a location that was high in either Necromantic energy or Blood Sacrifice energy. Both conditions would limit their Transformations to areas that were essentially ‘safe’ from active Light supporters.

Stepping into the training room, he spotted his Commanders clumsily sparring against each other in their Hybrid forms. Frowning with displeasure, he quickly moved to intercede before they did themselves any harm. The Lestrange twins had the most practice as they had Transformed for the first time on the second weekend in November while Draco and Valerius had Transformed a week after. Despite what his Commanders thought, neither of them had enough skill to be doing anything other than learning to adjust to having wings, small though they were.

“Enough!” Cyriacus snapped, once he was within ten feet of them.

They stopped, surprised to see him appear so quickly seemingly from nowhere.

“No sparring in your Hybrid forms until your wings get bigger and more durable, fools! You seem to have forgotten the fact that your wings are just developing, breaking bones in your wings if you land badly would be beyond stupid. I didn’t start attempting to learn to fight in my Hybrid form until eight months after I had begun Transforming and six months since I started taking the Invictus Potion.” Cyriacus explained sharply. “Please use your brains next time before acting foolishly, we were bred to lead after all. I want to see how each of you has progressed since last week and then I’ll show you a new set of exercises. Summers, we’ll start with you.”

---

Seven hours later, the Elite were gathering in the large Dining Room to eat a late lunch. Cyriacus watched benignly as his subordinates devoured their meals as though they hadn’t eaten in days instead of hours. It was understandable though, the Transformation required a large amount of energy and they would find themselves eating more and more to power the Transformation in the coming months. The best he could do for them was teaching them how to build up their muscles in preparation for the Transformation and eventually teach them how best to use their wings in a combat situation.

It was as dessert ended that conversation began as everyone had sated their hunger. Cyriacus had just finished his slice of strawberry cheesecake when Draco turned and asked him what he was planning on doing since he had taken responsibility for the Christmas Attack. Immediately the others hushed turning their attention to Cyriacus, looking startled.

“I’m not going to ask how you know that and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep that information to yourself,” Cyriacus paused until Draco nodded agreeably. “As for what I’m planning, that is a secret. Suffice to say; what I will be doing is going to be something no one’s dared to do before. I will only be taking a few to act as backup support; I will do everything else on my own. It’s only a matter of time now; I have everything plotted out perfectly.”

Blaise snorted, “Of course, you always have a plan Cy!”

“This foray will be quite the sight and I expect it will be captured and displayed to certain parties via the much lauded Live Action Recording Sentinel (LARS), which my sources say will be released to world-wide governmental use by the first of December. I’ve arranged with a contact to have twenty Crystal Display Units (CDU) delivered here the first weekend in December so you lot should be able to watch the Attack as it occurs as soon as I gain the codes to access the LARS of the location I’ll be leading the Attack from.” Cyriacus continued, smirking. “It’s going to be a spectacular show, trust me; you want to make sure you’re available to see it at one of the CDUs. I’ll see if I can pull some strings and get an extra set to put into the Common Room but no promises.”

Valerius shook his head, his chestnut colored bangs dangling and obscuring his chartreuse eyes. “If our parents had had your connections twenty years ago, the world would be ours already.”

“All good things come to those who wait,” Cyriacus replied softly, his dark green eyes glittering with humor. “I’m ready to show the Wizarding World what I’m made of and it’s going to be a glorious show!”

---

The Strategy Room
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 6th of December 1997
9:50 PM

As was his wont, Cyriacus arrived nearly twenty minutes after the meeting began, irritating Voldemort and several members of the Inner Circle to no ends. Severus Snape was among those ranks and just like the others present, had little control over the Necromancer’s habits. Striding into the room in the middle of a discussion about the recent increase in recruiting members to their cause, Cyriacus was followed by the members of his Carapace. Asadyl and Kohinoor stood at the edge of the room, watching and waiting to see what would come of this meeting, both edgy.

Voldemort looked at his former lover with annoyance. “It’s about time you arrived, we have business to discuss and unlike some we do not have all hours of the day to while away.”

“And I believe that I have made it more than clear that I require no aid from your Death Eaters. The Christmas Attack is solely my responsibility and will test the limits of my abilities. All details regarding where the Attack is to take place and when, is currently a secret that no one has been privileged enough to know outside of myself. You will see what I’m planning along with the rest of the Wizarding World.” Cyriacus snapped sharply.

Lucius glanced at the two Wizards, noting the disdain and frustration both had with each other and wisely interfered before they could progress to another shouting match, picking apart each other’s flaws. “Your plans require no needed distraction?”

Cyriacus shook his head, “No. Where I am staging the attack is a place no one in their sane mind would dream of attacking. My sources have gathered all the intelligence I will need and I’ve planned for every possible scenario. I assure you, this is not a foolhardy barely planned Attack, I’ve spent weeks gathering information and arranging to counter every possible move they may make in response. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Antares tells me that we will be able to watch the Attack as it takes place?”

“Yes, I’ve already installed the Crystal Display Units that have been Portkeyed to the Mansion. I took the liberty of putting five CDUs in the Throne Room, Dueling Hall, Dining Hall and with your permission,” Cyriacus said looking at Voldemort, “I will install the last five here in this room. I’m sure I do not need to explain how they work, the Wizarding Media has been chattering endlessly about the brilliance of the CDU for weeks now.”

Voldemort nodded, “Install the final five here if you wish it.”

Cyriacus glanced at a nearby clock. “There are two pieces of information I would share with you before I take my leave. The first is that I’ve found a reliable source who has given me incriminating papers on our dear Minister of Magic and that fool Dumbledore. I do not expect that things will go awry, but if something should go wrong during the Attack and I am disabled, I have already arranged for the information to be leaked by the Daily Prophet on New Year’s Day. Regardless of my condition, the news will do severe damage to the British Ministry so I would warn those present with political ambitions to begin formulating your speeches. Fudge will be booted from office by the second of January or I’m not the Lord of Gryffindor.”

Before anyone could ask him who his contact was, Cyriacus continued speaking.

“I will be out of reach from the nineteenth of this month until well after New Year’s in preparation for the Attack and no doubt, recovery from the Attack. No one will be able to contact me directly and only my Carapace will know where I have gone. Should an emergency arise while I am gone the only way I can be reached will be by Owl and expect at least a four hour delay.” Cyriacus nodded curtly to everyone before twisting around and leaving in a rush.

---

The Parapet
Argyle Tower, West Lower Valley, Dalhoor
Monday the 22nd of December 1997
5:25 PM

Pacing restlessly, Cyriacus slowly circled around the top of Argyle Tower as he absently stared into the distance. From his vantage point a good eighty feet in the air, Cyriacus could see all of Dalhoor laid out in front of him. Known to the rest of the Wizarding World as an asylum to Dark Wizards, Dalhoor was a cesspool of trouble waiting to happen.

For centuries the infamous Tartessan (1) Market located in the East Lower Valley, was known as the only Market in the entire Wizarding World which carried every imaginable, and sometimes fabled, artifacts, books and ingredients. It was one of Arcanum’s main suppliers and Cyriacus, like all the customers who frequented the mythical marketplace, found items that he had only heard of as legends. In a day’s idle wandering he had managed to stumble upon Kraken tentacles, the private journals of Deimos of Sparta, newly hatched Amphisbaenas, Secundus Albrici’s Veritas, and a scroll in Phoenician that supposedly contained the forbidden powers associated with the God Resef (2). He’d gone home that day several thousand Galleons poorer but he couldn’t deny that it’d been worth it. The private journals had proven to be legitimate as far as he could tell and his Raichos seemed to like the fresh Kraken tentacles.

Dalhoor was a nice enough place, if you were powerful enough to hold your own and intelligent enough to keep your experimentation confined to your property. There was nothing more troublesome than monstrous ‘pets’ slaughtering their creators and running amok. Or the power hungry Dark Wizard down the street who happened to botch the Blood Moon Potion and was now a dangerous Werewolf-Vampire Hybrid. And then there was the Blood Mage from the Northern Basin who had somehow managed to get her hands on a Necromancer’s Primer and well…let’s just say there was a great deal of death and destruction until someone wisely contacted him to banish the Ravagers. Aside from experiments going badly and ‘pets’ getting free, Dalhoor was a pleasant enough place to live in. There was no crime to speak of, probably because it’d start a civil war the likes of which hadn’t been seen since 1369 and the denizens of Dalhoor knew better…now anyway.

Shaking his head, Cyriacus stared out at the colored lights hanging over the Caelestis Gardens to the north-west. The festivities would only be starting there, as Wizards and Witches would gather to dance or drink the night away, whichever suited them best. It was a lovely place certainly but the jovial atmosphere did become grating after a while. With a grimace, his eyes passed over the eerie midnight blue lights that hung over the Demon’s Pawn, an aptly named cluster of buildings that housed all sorts of creatures for sale, human or otherwise.

Cyriacus had only set foot there once and had never gone back. The air reeked of blood, fear and hopelessness as people and creatures were bartered over and sold into servitude if they were lucky. He may be a murderer when a Summoning called for it or a killer in the heat of battle but Cyriacus would sooner die than do any of the sordid things that took place in the Demon’s Pawn. Even before Aristides had taken his virginity Cyriacus would never have used rape to break his enemies, let alone ‘test’ out his prospective human slaves. Rape was not something he would participate in and if his subordinates valued their skin, they would use other methods to break their prisoners.

The creak of wood and iron snapped him out of his thoughtful daze. Drawing a deep breath, Cyriacus stiffened slightly as he identified his unexpected and unwanted companion. If he had been avoiding spending time alone with Voldemort, Cyriacus practically vanished when he sensed Ascyltus within twenty feet of him. Reluctantly Cyriacus had to give the Lich credit for his perseverance and tenacity. The Lich still continued to pursue him, even though Cyriacus had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer interested in fucking the Lich.

As enjoyable as it had been that night, Cyriacus had known the next morning that it was a mistake, one that he had no interest in repeating. Since that damnable magnetism between them had ended, Cyriacus considered Ascyltus to be nothing more than a valuable comrade opposed to an interesting and worthwhile partner or even an occasional fuck. Now that things were over between Voldemort and him, Cyriacus had taken to using a carefully measured dosage of Heredity Suppressor and Numb Dischargers to quell his Incubus craving for sex. It probably wasn’t the best course of action to take but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with feeding his Incubus desires and juggle all the tasks associated with being Cyriacus Snape.

Of course, it probably didn’t help any that his damned visions constantly disturbed his sleep which, over time, would cause a domino effect that he already knew was going to eventually lead to a complete magical backlash on his body. Even his ‘superior’ body could only take so much stress and he knew that the Christmas Attack would constitute at least a week possibly two of recovery…hopefully. What he was attempting was something even his ancestors hadn’t tried but the theory, it seemed feasible and his initial tests had gone well. He was going to be testing more than just his skills as a Necromancer but Cyriacus felt confident in his abilities and in his ancestor Bashir’s Avatar Projection Charm. With a few modifications and a written record of his initial tests, it was as ironed out as any new charm or spell could be before being tested entirely. If this succeeded, Cyriacus would not only have created a new technique but he would hopefully manage to negate the stress put on his body when using large amounts of power.

“I never took you as someone who would act so childishly.” Ascyltus commented as he joined Cyriacus, standing so closely Cyriacus shifted to his left to regain his personal space.

Cyriacus frowned as he looked directly into the Lich’s dark blue gaze. “Perhaps if you could take a hint, you’d have noticed that I don’t particularly have any interest in you now that the magnetism between us has ended.”

The Lich looked irritated. “Surely that was not the only reason you were interested in me?”

“I hate to so disillusion you but considering who I am or is it, what I am, I can have anyone I desire should I so much as crook my finger. You are handsome I’ll admit but you aren’t any different from the fools throwing themselves at me on a daily basis. Don’t confuse what my traitorous body desires as what I know to be something I believe worth investing my time in. I may have fucked you three times the morning following the Samhain Attack but I can’t say that I don’t know a quarter-Incubus who wouldn’t have fucked anyone after a night like that. Blood and Power are amazing aphrodisiacs to someone with Incubus or Succubus blood,” Cyriacus commented, gracing the Lich with a suspicious look. “It’s the most open secret about the Incubus and Succubus…”

Ascyltus didn’t even bat an eye at the implication, staring steadily at Cyriacus. “Do you see treachery and manipulation everywhere?”

“I know more than I appear to,” Cyriacus murmured softly, his eyes darkening almost to the point where they were black. Slowly he paced forward, closing the gap between them with graceful, fluid movements that hinted at a predator stalking prey.

It took all of Ascyltus’s willpower to stay completely still as Cyriacus pressed his body against his. Warm breath fanned his neck and ear, causing his eyes to close but the voice that spoke was filled with malevolence.

“It doesn’t matter when and it doesn’t matter where, if you betray me in any way I will know and it will be your death.” Cyriacus hissed softly before abruptly stepping away.

Ascyltus drew in a ragged breath, his heart pulsing unnaturally fast. When he opened his eyes Cyriacus had paced to the edge of the parapet, eyes scanning the lights of Dalhoor. For a few minutes neither spoke, Cyriacus seemingly ignoring his presence. Slowly Ascyltus moved to the tower door that had led him to the roof but paused when Cyriacus spoke.

“Look upon the lights of Dalhoor and tell me if you can Lich, why such a place still exists? No government dictates what is and isn’t allowed here, no Aurors keep the peace yet this city flourishes.”

Ascyltus waited knowing that though the Necromancer’s comments had been phrased like a question, this was a lecture with not so hidden purposes.

Cyriacus turned to face him and for a moment Ascyltus truly saw him for what he was. A shiver wracked his body as he froze under the weight of that dark, all-knowing gaze.

“Outsiders think Dalhoor is governed by a council of powerful Dark Wizards but they couldn’t be more wrong. This den of mercenaries, Dark Creatures and Dark Wizards acknowledges two things: survival and power. To have escaped their old lives, they must have had the power to destroy those who would stop them or allied themselves with someone who could and to come to Dalhoor to begin anew; they would need to be willing to do anything to survive. So I ask you again, why is it that a city filled with so many, willing to do anything to survive, manage not to destroy itself? Because we are all here for one purpose, to either gain power or to serve someone who has power! Dalhoor needs no peacekeepers because we are always watching each other and so long as our depravities are confined to our properties or the areas of the city Warded to contain said ‘experiments’, no one cares!”

The wind shifted suddenly and the sickeningly sweet smell of Pyre herbs doused them. Cyriacus’s attention diverted as he turned to see the glowing blue bonfire situated on a rocky cliff face which had come to be known as the Necropolis.

“Dalhoor will be the first city to yield to me and unlike the others that will fall in due time, they will know what I am about. They will understand what it means to serve me and fight alongside me. Here, I need not hide what I am and what I strive to do. No one in Dalhoor will oppose me…disrespect me…betray me because if they do, they will know that they will be punished. Power such as I possess does not make me blind to the jockeying of my servants and comrades, if anything it makes my eyes see clearer.”

Ascyltus didn’t speak as he left without another word. He had been warned but the question was, did Cyriacus know or did he suspect?

---

A Tunnel
The Guerrero Museum of Antiquities, Lumen-Umbra, Unplottable
Wednesday the 24th of December 1997
11:28 PM

Stretching slowly in the dim, cavernous underground tunnel, Cyriacus bided his time, waiting for the signal. Timing was absolutely crucial in order to pull this attack off properly. Miles underground the American Wizarding Megalopolis of Lumen-Umbra, Cyriacus’s location was secure, no one could possibly catch wind of his plans until it would be too late. His contacts had retrieved a mountain of information about the city and Cyriacus had memorized everything to the minutest of details. When the LARS came, he would know every possible escape route when they gave pursuit. All he waited for now was the signal.

Lumen-Umbra was the largest Wizarding City in the world, consisting of twelve specific districts divided into one hundred and twenty eight equal precincts. Nearly half the city had been was zoned as a residential area which consisted of four districts the Regalis, Praefectus, Patricius and Plebeius. As one of the wealthiest Wizarding Cities, Lumen-Umbra boasted some of the most elite residential areas with mansions and houses that ranged from anywhere from thirty-five thousand Galleons to upwards around fifty million Galleons at the highest range. With a City this wealthy only the most talented or influential could afford to live in Lumen-Umbra and surprisingly, the social hierarchy was rather easy going. Unlike some of the older European or Asian Cities there were no social barriers between the residents of Plebius or the residents of Regalis. Everyone got along and aspired to reach finer conditions of living.

There were three districts that fell into the Commercial Zoning of the city. Mercaturua was an eight precinct long district that consisted of stores that sold all manner of legal goods. The Artifex district was filled with Professionals of all walks ranging from elite architects to novelists. Lastly there was the Eruditio district which consisted of libraries, museums, schools and all places dedicated to learning. Two districts were dedicated to light and heavy industry, where the more hazardous of the Professional livelihoods were made. These districts were heavily Warded to protect the rest of the city from any dangers that came from raising a Bestiary or being a Metal Smith.

The final two districts were both slightly foreboding in nature. Sacellum was a pristine district reserved strictly for cemeteries and memorials to commemorate the dead and Tenebrae was a dodgy district where goods and services of the less than scrupulous and slightly illegal took place. As Cyriacus had told his contacts, Tenebrae was a filtered version of Dalhoor only it was placed under a little more scrutiny by the Lumen-Umbra Aurors. No matter what leanings a City had, there was always a district that catered to the Dark Arts, it was the way of the world and the sooner people realized it, the sooner the War would be won.

Over the last month, Cyriacus had been in contact with the Dementors who had joined the Covenant. Immediately after discovering how to turn them into Lichs, Cyriacus had done so and once he had begun making his plans, called the strongest to set up the huge wards he was planning on sealing the city with. Lumen-Umbra was a completely rectangular city with a sixteen by eight precinct design. All the Lichs had been formed into groups of five, with eight groups on the longer sides and four groups on the shorter sides of the city limits. Four groups consisting of the strongest Lichs would act as Anchors and were placed strategically in the center of the capital buildings of Lumen and Umbra proper. The Lichs would be busy keeping the Wards in place and Cyriacus had taken to Summoning a variety of monsters from various Planes of existence to protect them.

It was absolutely vital that no aid could be deployed from outside the city until he managed to claim the Hawthorne Heirlooms now being displayed in the Guerrero Museum. As an additional distraction, he had managed to sneak in three groups of his Summons into the city, one would set free the Bestiary animals, another would re-animate and control the actions of the newly departed in Sacellum and the last would attack any and all governmental buildings in the Vulgo district. While they attacked Cyriacus would infiltrate the Museum and retrieve his family heirlooms, the Stormsinger’s Mask and the Book of Omens. After that, he would need to make contact with Asadyl who would wait in Tenebrae to take the heirlooms out of Lumen-Umbra through a Shadow Doorway.

Once the heirlooms were safely on their way out of the city, Cyriacus would signal the Lichs to release the Wards and meet up with the four Lich groups back in the main underground tunnel. He would have to expend a large amount of energy forging a complete Shadow Corridor directly back to Argyle Tower and likely would have to find an alternate route out of the city once the Lichs passed through the Doorway. Under other circumstances they would leave on their own but as they would be channeling the power to anchor the Wards, they would be little more than fodder if discovered. By that time, the tunnels would be crawling with LARs and Aurors so his best chance would be to return to the surface and make his way across the Vulgo district north and leave through the Regalis district.

He had done as much training as he could in the past weeks but whether it would prove to be enough was another thing entirely. The wyvern pendant around his neck pulsed, alerting him that the Wards had been raised and anchored. Drawing a deep breath, Cyriacus counted slowly to a hundred, giving his Summons enough time to act as a distraction.

As he passed thirty, he Transformed and by fifty he had finished the minor Transfiguration he’d done on his feet to give him a more reptilian advantage. At eighty five he had bent as low to the ground as he could to gain as much momentum as he possible and at the one hundred count Cyriacus sprang upward.

Flapping his wings to carry him up through the cavernous shaft he sped towards the opening, blasting the stone shaft cover with a simple hex. Landing, he paused to orientate himself and then shot forward triggering a multitude of alarms which could not be disabled no matter how many hours he’d spent researching.

The Christmas Attack had begun.

TBC in Chapter XXVI: Resolution II…

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Whew! It’s finally done and hopefully well worth the wait!

1) Tartessos is a mythical kingdom in Grecian legend that was famed for being fabulously wealthy. Supposedly it was rich in precious metals and everyone lived like a king. Thus my Tartessan Market is fabulously well known for carrying anything you’d ever need or think to need.

2) Demios of Sparta, is one of the most well known Necromancers in Wizarding Memory.

Amphisbaenas, according to Encylcopedia Mythica are “a Greek serpent with two heads and eyes that glow like candles. It has a head at each end of its body.”

Secundus Albrici’s Veritas is a Dark Arts Primer which focuses on means of gaining truth from one’s enemy. Think of it as a walk through for useful torture techniques, illegal Potions, Spells and Rituals for gaining absolute truth.

Resef is a Phoenician God of lightning and pestilence and is definitely not the type of person you’d want to anger.

Final note, I have a layout of both the RELIC Rotunda and the Lumen Umbra districts. I have someone coding them so if you’re puzzled, you’ll eventually find the pics at my Group in the Files section.

Please Read and Review!

-SheWolfe7 (3-14-06)