Warning: This chapter gets a bit dark, so it might not be for the faint of heart.
***
I considered my next move for a moment. I dismissed the idea of leaving immediately; it was out of the question. I held a deep contempt for cruelty performed solely for primitive entertainment; if I walked away now, I likely wouldn't be able to live with myself. Animal fights to the death, where the dregs of society shrieked with glee, sickened me beyond measure. And the fact that those creatures were devouring each other out of hunger? That was an indescribable bestiality.
The wretch with the greasy hair stood at attention under the influence of my Imperio. No sound came from the back of the warehouse, but I knew Eric and John were waiting there. Mentally, I commanded him to tell me who those two were.
He immediately began to whisper with an enthusiastic smile: "Eric is a Squib. When he was little, his parents kicked him out onto the streets. He learned how things work among Muggles, and he knows exactly what he can get away with. John is a wizard, but he's not much good with a wand... he prefers physical strength. I once saw him kill a witch in the Blind Blackbird bar."
Their personal tragedies did not interest me. However, I had learned the essentials: inside waited only one Squib and one incompetent wizard. Upon my next mental command, he continued his story with rotten breath: "Eric is as thin as a twig; everyone laughs at him because he can't put on weight. John, on the other hand, has a large belly and a shaved head."
I had the feeling the man was actually enjoying the Imperio. I felt absolutely no resistance from him, no effort to fight my control. Either he was mentally that weak, or he was a drug addict and the curse induced states of euphoria similar to drugs. Given his rotten teeth, even though he was relatively young, it would make sense.
I loosened the top button of my robes and sent another mental command. My puppet immediately headed for the door to the back area, shielding me with his own body. I was firmly determined that he would serve as a living shield, and that was exactly the order he received. I still did not feel even the slightest flicker of rebellion in his mind.
Slowly and quietly, he opened the door. In that moment, a wave of an even stronger, sickly-sweet metallic scent hit me, this time mixed with excrement and pungent ammonia. The room was brightly lit and spacious; in its center stood a makeshift circular arena fenced with wooden planks and rusty wire mesh. I could now clearly hear low whines accompanied by growls, hisses, and sobs. The closer we got, the louder they became, and my anger grew with every step.
Above the arena towered a stand that apparently could hold enough of the rabble to make it worthwhile for these bastards. Along the way, I noticed empty bottles and layers of filth. It was only when we bypassed the arena that I saw the Squib from behind my shield. He was crouching by the cages, but I didn't know exactly what he was doing because his back was turned to us. To his right, a fat man with a shaved head sat at a table. He was drinking and intently counting coins that clinked between his fingers.
I didn't intend to drag this out. We moved a bit closer without being noticed, and I launched the attack.
"Stupefy!" I uttered the incantation softly, yet I poured enough power into it to make it devastating. A flash of red light forced the fat man to raise his head, but it was too late. He didn't even have time to cry out before he collapsed sideways. He hit the ground with a heavy thud; a bottle fell from his hand and rolled across the floor with a soft ringing sound. It didn't break, but the sound was enough to make the scrawny wretch by the cages startle immediately.
"Stupefy!" I shouted again. He was in such shock that he didn't even have time to move. The red beam hit him with full force. He fell backward onto one of the cages, which groaned under his weight. The animal inside, however, didn't make a sound.
"Accio wand!" I called out, and a moment later, a brown wand flew to me from the fat man. I immediately tucked it into the pocket of my robes and sent another mental command.
My slave went straight to work and began dragging the limp body. Meanwhile, I headed for the cages. Out of pure rage, I kicked the bastard who had collapsed onto one of them under the ribs. Only then did I inspect the cages themselves—they were surprisingly high quality and sturdy, which stood in sharp contrast to the wretched state of the rest of the building.
A deathly silence settled over the entire warehouse, broken only by the sound of a body being dragged across the dirty floor. In the cage the Squib had been leaning against earlier, something white moved. As I stepped closer, I saw a dog. Silently and expectantly, it looked me straight in the eyes and slowly wagged its forked tail. I was certain it was a magical dog, although its coloring was an unusual white and brown. It was dirty and had dried blood on its fur, but a cursory glance told me it wasn't its own. It didn't look injured and, unlike the others, didn't look starved either. It had obviously been here only a short time.
"Alohomora!" I growled, pointing my wand at the bars. With a loud crack, the lock fell apart, and the dog immediately ran out. It instantly bared its teeth at the lying Squib and lunged toward him with clear intent.
"Wait," I stopped it with a firm voice. "I have other plans for him."
The dog stopped, hackles raised, and growled threateningly at me with bared fangs. I didn't raise my wand, however; I kept it lowered to show him I wasn't a threat.
"I promise you he'll die in a moment," I promised him coldly. "He'll regret every evil thing he's done. Just leave it to me."
He watched me seriously for a moment, while I wondered inwardly if I was still sane, talking to a dog. Subconsciously, however, I believed that as a magical creature, he must be more intelligent than an ordinary animal. My hunch was confirmed the moment he stopped growling and bowed his head.
In the next instant, however, he whipped around and bared his teeth at my slave, who was approaching us.
"He will die too, don't worry," I told the Dog in a calm but cold voice. "But for now, he is under my control."
The dog quieted down again, but didn't take his eyes off the seller for a second—watching him even as he grabbed the Squib by the legs and began to drag him callously toward the ring. Seeing that the situation was stabilized for now, I turned back to the cages.
Slowly, I walked down the row of prisons. In the very next cage lay the corpse of a small humanoid creature; based on the body structure, I assumed it was a gnome. It was deathly pale, a trickle of dark blood leaked from the corner of its mouth, and flies were already circling its head. It was clear that it had spent enough time in this house of horrors to have gone through hell.
The smell made my stomach churn. I tried to breathe only through my mouth, covering my nose with the sleeve of my robes. I moved further, but the hope of saving anyone else was fading fast. I was over halfway through, and all the cages were full of bodies showing no signs of life. It looked like I had arrived too late. Most of their "fighters" had likely died right in the ring, and the others simply died in the cages from hunger or injuries. They were probably planning to restock with new victims soon. Bastards.
I clenched my knuckles so hard that pain throbbed in them. When I was almost at the end of the row, I heard a faint, painful wheezing accompanied by sobs. I immediately smashed the lock with another Alohomora; I was so angry that the metal literally crumbled under my power. Inside crouched another gnome. It was extremely emaciated, its belly bloated from hunger so much that every single rib was visible. One shoulder was dislocated, and a sharp, broken bone protruded from the elbow of the other arm. Part of its leg was missing, and I knew it was too late. St. Mungo's would hardly take in a gnome... I felt truly sorry for it. The only thing I could offer it was a mercy killing.
With a heavy heart and a short white flash of the Diffindo spell, I silenced its sounds forever.
After a few more corpses, I found a whiskered, ugly cat in the last cage. It too was emaciated, and through the bars, I could see patches of missing fur. However, when I broke the lock, it shot out immediately and vanished from my sight in the shadows of the warehouse. It had clearly been waiting for this moment and absolutely did not trust me. It looked like the Kneazle Granger had in the movies. I didn't have time to notice its state of health, but judging by that sprint, it was doing relatively okay.
The magical dog, meanwhile, acted as a guard. It watched the ring and my slave, who stood motionless by the cages waiting for my commands, like a hawk. I feared that if I gave him another order, it would be an order to take his own life. I felt like tearing them to pieces immediately, but that would be too fast.
With a slow step, I walked to the table where the fat man had been counting coins earlier. Such money was foul, but pragmatically, I knew the coins weren't to blame for how this rabble used them. I slowly moved all the Galleons into my pocket—there were a few hundred of them. Other than an empty bottle of alcohol, parchment, and a quill, there was nothing there.
I took a moment to breathe through my built-up anger, then turned to the slave.
"Where is your wand?" I asked coldly. "In the table, at the front," he replied enthusiastically.
Mentally, I gave him the instruction to enter the ring with the others. First, he dragged them there one by one across the dirty ground, and finally, he climbed into the enclosure himself.
I wondered for a moment where that little black cat that had led me here had gone, but I immediately dismissed it. I headed for the ring. The dog walked by my side; he wasn't wagging his tail, he was tense and ready to kill. But that would be far too quick and merciful a death for these bastards.
I stood on the elevation under the stand, directly above the arena—the place where one of them probably stood when overseeing the fights. Two short Enervate spells and one mental command to release the Imperio were enough for the show to begin.
My former slave blinked, and at that same moment, liquid began to pool beneath him on the dirty ground. Apparently, he didn't care, because he immediately collapsed to his knees... and I hadn't even started yet. The Squib and fat John also woke up and began scrambling to their feet with wide eyes. John instinctively tried to feel for the wand I had taken from him long ago.
I gave them time to compose themselves and remained silent. After a while, all three looked the same: terrified, pale, and trembling. The puddle, however, was only growing under one of them.
After a moment, fat John dared to speak. "Who are you? W-what do you w-want from u-us?!" he finished angrily, but his trembling voice betrayed him immediately.
"Cruelty for cruelty," I replied icily.
His terror was briefly replaced by surprise, which quickly turned into a throated laugh. "You're just a brat! That hood and black robe got me for a moment," he rubbed his hands with an arrogant smile. "Give me back my wand immediately, or I'll kill you! Do you hear me? I'll kill you!"
The two beside him continued to shake. They were still terrified, but my former slave finally worked up the courage to speak too. He knew what Imperio was and was clearly sharper than his colleague. He raised his hands in a pleading gesture and began to wail: "Mercy, please! Mercy!"
I slowly twirled my yew wand in my fingers. Not even a second passed before I shook my head in refusal. Ignoring the other two, I aimed my wand directly at the seller and, for the first time, cast one of the darkest spells in the world: "Crucio!"
A sharp red beam flew from the wand and hit him directly in the chest. I knew the spell would be successful—my anger had given it the necessary strength.
He immediately began to scream and thrash on the ground in uncontrollable convulsions. In agony, he dug his fingers into his temples as if he wanted to crush his own skull. I kept him in that state for a while; he deserved every second of that suffering. The Cruciatus was incredibly demanding magically, but with my core and determination, I had no problem torturing him even to death. Only after a while, when his vocal cords began to fail and his scream turned into a horrific rasp, did I break the spell. I didn't want him to end up as a mindless wreck right away.
The cocky smile vanished from John's face faster than he could catch his breath. The expression of absolute horror returned. Eric, the scrawny Squib beside him, was also already shaking in a puddle of his own urine.
"P-p-please," he rasped again. "M-m-mercy."
"Only God would have mercy... and I am not God," I growled coldly. "Diffindo!"
The white flash of my spell slit his throat in an instant. For those few endless seconds until he slowly drew his last breath, the remaining two didn't even move. They just shook and, paralyzed with horror, waited for their own fate.
When his last rattling, wheezing, and bubbling of blood subsided after a while, I remained silent. I watched them. I had read long ago that the expectation of pain is psychologically much worse than the pain itself. It seemed there was something to that, because their trembling intensified with every second of silence.
After an agonizing moment, I finally spoke: "One of you will get a chance at life." I paused to savor that fleeting glimmer of hope in their eyes, and then continued: "You will fight to the death. Only one of you will leave here alive."
They immediately looked at each other. Characterless losers, ready in a second to kill each other. Thin Eric realized right away that he had no chance in a direct encounter, so he clung to the last straw of hope.
"H-how do we know you'll really let one of us live?!" he cried out desperately.
Fat John fixed his gaze on me too. Beads of sweat ran down his bald head, but he remained silent, waiting for my answer.
"You have my word," I replied coldly, "that the one who survives in the ring will still be alive at the moment of my departure from this building."
That was enough for the bald one. Without hesitation, he turned and lunged at the Squib. Eric tried to dodge with a desperate cry, but his sneaker was wet with urine. I wasn't surprised when his foot slipped, and he landed hard on his back on the bloody floor. Fatty immediately jumped on him and began delivering brutal blows with his fists.
Dull, fleshy thuds and a desperate struggle for life echoed in the ring. I watched as Eric tried in vain to cover up. Despite the absolute disadvantage, he didn't give up; in a surge of desperation, he thrust the fingers of his right hand sharply into John's eye. Fat John screamed in pain, but the fingers in his eye didn't stop him. On the contrary—with even greater fury, he continued the blows, completely pinning the Squib with his weight. After a while, Eric's body went limp. I was sure he had lost consciousness.
John stood up with heavy, ragged breath and fixed one eye on me, while the other was covered in blood. Blood dripped from his knuckles, and Eric's face beneath him was indistinguishable from a bloody mass. Of course, I didn't plan to underestimate anything.
"He's still alive," I told him coldly, though I honestly doubted it.
Bald John roared aggressively like a wounded bull. He turned back to his companion and, with unprecedented force, stomped his heel directly onto his face. Once, twice, three times. Nothing was left of Eric's head but mincemeat. He wasn't walking away from that.
"S-so, c-can I g-go?" he asked shakily. Not a trace of his previous arrogance remained.
Instead of an answer, I slowly raised my wand.
"You gave your word!" he cried out desperately, this time without stuttering, and tried to scramble out of the arena.
I only shook my head at his naivety. There was no escape from this cage. Without haste, I sent the spell: "Stupefy!"
The red beam hit him in the back, and he tumbled staggeringly to the ground. I made sure to put only a minimum of magic into the spell. I needed him to wake up at the best possible moment.
"Sanguinem ardere sinite!"
The red curse dissolved into his body. He deserved to be boiled by his own blood. I was sure he would manage to wake up from the stunning in time to feel the torments he had so diligently earned.
I watched the scene for a while longer, but finally, with a deep sigh, I headed for the exit. I had saved at least two magical creatures and rid the world of three cruel existences. I considered it a success. I checked the arena one more time just to be sure—it was firmly locked. Even if he tried to climb the mesh, the boiling blood in his veins would certainly make it unpleasant for him. And to make sure no one got out of here, this house of horrors was going to burn today.
Quickly, I set fire to the table and piles of trash in the corner of the room. When I saw that the wooden floor was starting to burn properly, I stepped toward the exit. In the front part of the shop, the little black cat sat on the counter—the same one that had led me here. It reacted to the dog by my side with only a short, quiet meow. The dog replied with a satisfied wag of his forked tail.
After a moment, with one quick and fluid jump, it landed on my shoulder and affectionately rubbed against my hood. I stepped out of the building into the alley. An old, hunched woman was walking toward me. When she caught my gaze, she snapped her head up, and our eyes met. She wasn't an ordinary woman, but an old hag. In a moment, she turned on her heel and ran away as if the hounds of hell were at her heels. Before I could even blink, she was gone.
Confused, I looked over my robes. I wasn't dirty with blood... apparently, she was just frightened by the dark aura of my cloak and the hood that hid my face. I shrugged and continued toward the main artery of Diagon Alley.
"Woof!" the rescued dog suddenly barked.
I looked at him sideways, but noticed he was no longer walking right beside me, but had stopped a few meters behind me. I halted.
"You're not coming any further with me?"
The dog barked shortly at my question and shook his head. I understood—though I had saved him, his loyalty probably belonged to someone else, or he simply longed for total freedom without a wizard.
"Then I wish you well in life," I wished him with a serious nod.
The dog happily wagged his forked tail again and walked up to me. I gave him one last proper scratch on the head. He enjoyed my attention for a while, but then stepped back, gratefully licked my hand, and went his own way into the shadows of the alley.
With the little cat on my shoulder, I continued on. The warehouse behind my back was already being quietly consumed by flames.
On the way, I reflected on one fascinating fact. My Cruciatus hadn't worked because of my power, hatred, or desire to cause pain, even though I had focused on that. The spell worked because I was inwardly, firmly convinced that the man deserved it.
I realized that a deep conviction in the rightness of one's own actions is essential for the successful casting of this curse. The idea that a sadistic enjoyment of pain was enough for it to function was, in my opinion, flawed.
***
Author's note:
Vigilante Justice FTW!
I've spent a lot of time thinking about the mechanics of magic lately—specifically, how the Cruciatus Curse would realistically work. What kind of mindset does a wizard truly need to cast it successfully? That's when this twist hit me.
It's an incredibly powerful spell, and while a seasoned wizard should have enough raw magical energy to cast it, is "wanting to cause pain" really enough? I felt like there needed to be something more: the absolute conviction that the victim deserves it.
Think about it: Why was Bellatrix so proficient with it? Because in her mind, everyone was beneath her—lesser beings who inherently deserved to suffer in their "filthy" lives. Why Voldemort? Because anyone not with him was an obstacle, and as the self-proclaimed greatest wizard of all time, he believed his enemies deserved nothing but agony.
Being deeply convinced of one's own righteousness can be a force for good, but it can also be the ultimate justification for evil. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this take!
Btw: Did we just get adopted by the cat?!
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(16):
65. Adopted by Fate
66. The Scent of Darkness
67. Socks, Sandals, and Sorcery
68. From Peaks to Plates
69. Ashes of Justice
70. The Scent of Despair
71. The Old Bird's Wisdom
72. Toujours Pur
73. The Emperor of Mankind
74. Two Romans Walk into a Bar…
75. Tactical Retreats
76. The Twelve-Year-Old Dark Lord
77. Poking the Snake
78. Of False Heroes and Tethered Minds
79. The Casual Intruder
80. The Silent Partner
Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)
Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows me to dedicate more time to crafting this world.