Blood-Soaked Succession CHapter 23 (Patreon)

Chapter 23:

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The iron clasps holding the sides of every single coffin flew out of their holsters as if fired from nail guns and down dropped the covers.

Inside of each were the most pristine corpses Voldemort had ever seen, and based on their condition he would have never guessed they were actually inferi. They were too in tact, with no sign of decay whatsoever. Save for the pale color, they almost looked alive. Ready for an open casket wake.

Voldemort recognized them as the snatchers and low ranking Death Eaters he had personally stationed at Grimmauld Place after Yaxley captured it. Each was picked for being expendable, but for also having the free time to to do nothing but occupy a home all day.

They each opened their eyes and stepped out of their coffins, and proved to be the same lifeless, thoughtless corpses he knew inferi to be. There was no sign of intelligence in their gaze or emotion on their faces, nor skill in their shambling, sloppy movements.

Then, all at once, several of them came to life. Four of them suddenly had that spark. Their eyes looked into his and he knew there as thought behind them now.

A woman, whose name he couldn’t even begin to recall, drew her wand and with a smooth motion began a fast-paced spell chain of spells that were at first difficult to identify, but whose effects were readily apparent. The first he successfully dodge, only for his cloak to suddenly increase in weight by an order of magnitude.

Despite the sudden resistance to his movements he dodge the second one, which whizzed past him into the ocean, and the third stopped short of him completely. Finally drawing his wand he let forth a simply, but overpowered, flame charm towards the undead woman only for the air between them to consume the flames entirely and turned it into a pillar of flame like that out of an oxyacetylene torch.

Ah. That third spell was an air-solidifying charm. Complicated spell. The flames would try to use said air as fuel only to be turned into a full-blown jet of flames by the compressed air. Compressed air that he was less than a meter away from touching.

He was firstly caught off guard by an inferi being able to use a wand at all, secondly by the strange choice of spells and thirdly by the fact, thirdly by the third degree burns now spreading across his body and fourthly by the root-shaped vines of water now wrapping around his legs and digging into his skin.

What kind of artificial intelligence had Wormtail managed to implant into these corpses? Moreover, how? Or were these actual people pretending to be undead? If so, they were very skilled.

He swept his wand at the ground and summoned up a tornado of sand around his person that served the duel purpose of shredding the water roots and expunging the flames. The concealment it provided him gave him enough time to duck and roll under the solidified air to where the undead woman had been before but knew wasn’t anymore. Both she and another of the intelligent undead had surrounded the whirlwind where he had been before and had performed some kind of compression spell on the space he was just in, which would have turned him into a cube the size of a pebble.

Standing back up he sliced his wand through the air to eviscerate the woman and a blasting curse at the man, before casually casting a new flame wall spell to form a barrier of separation between them and the still dumb inferi, who cowered from its light and heat.

Four had still been shambling about, leaving two more unaccounted for.

The woman was nearly bisected from shoulder to hip and from the wound she bled a thick, black liquid. The one he’d blown smithereens was all but vaporized, with the shredded remains of every organ, bone and muscle – each of which would normally be removed from an inferi – flew into the ocean beyond and were revealed to be a light brown color instead of the gray or pink of dead flesh.

Then the most impressive thing yet happened. The pair of inferi repaired themselves.

The long gash eviscerating the woman corpse sewed itself back together like a zipper, and the man turned into a long debris trail put himself back together like lego blocks. Both were incredibly fast processes, and Voldemort could have easily destroyed them more thoroughly in that time, but seemed more valuable to observe the process and understand it.

Most notable was the thick sludge that they bled and the brown substance that their flesh seemed to have been infused with. The former was not congealed blood, but he could smell what is was; Tar, plain and simple, identical to that used for asphalt. The usefulness of such as glue to keep the repaired bodies together was self-evident, both inherently and magically. But why were all of the muscles, organs and bones infused with river clay?

The answer was obvious and brilliant. To re-sculpt a broken body, just as all people were born of clay and shall return to it upon death, ritualistically rebuilding the body from clay could reconstruct the flesh of the dead. It was a perfect, symbolic cycle of flesh turning to clay turning into new flesh as was the way of men’s existence. For clay was what men were made of and returned to upon death. It was so simple and beautiful, uniting the principles of necromancy with theological creation into a whole new level of advanced magic.

All this time Peter’s genius exceeded what he knew it was capable of, and which he always lamented his cowardice in refusing to pursue. He now understood that he had persued it, but just wasn’t willing to wield it in service to him. What a shocking betrayal, and from the last person he would have ever expected it from.(Sarcasm)

“What has Wormtail done? Are you the simulated consciousness of portraits somehow embedded into the bodies of the dead?” Voldemort asked, trying to confirm the first theory to come to his mind.

The two glanced at each-other and smirked. So they could understand him. But if they were the false minds of portraits somehow implanted into dead bodies, then who could they be? It didn’t necessarily need to be somebody dead. Was a copy of Filius in that woman’s body?

He heard Bellatrix’s telltale cackling and knew that she was having fun with the other pair of sentient inferi, and likely the masked girl.

Whatever process Wormtail was using to impart intelligence onto these undead clearly either took so much preparation work that he’d only managed to make four, unlikely as if that were the case he would not have brought ten inferi, or that he could only do it for four at a time. That was equally unlikely, because again, why bring all ten? Just use four at a time and keep the others on standby. More likely it just had such a high rate of failure that only four succeeded to animate. He shuddered to think how poorly he would have fared if all ten had succeeded.

“Come, charms master and stranger.” Voldemort invited, holding his wand out in a fencing position.

The man-inferi went on the offensive as the woman weaved a defense. Splitting his focus between defending against the blood-curdling, hair-ripping and other minor curses from the man and whatever she was attempting took all of his focus, but it gave him time to analyze whatever defensive measure the woman was attempting.

Based on the complicated motions and chanting it was some kind of ward. Anybody insane enough to try and cast a ward in the heat of battle with Lord-Fucking-Voldemort was too dangerous to be left alive. And when he heard the trilling of a canary begin to ring, he finally recognize the ward. A mass carbon monoxide transmutation of the air. If she was trying to cast it on all of them it would turn every molecule of gaseaos O2 into C2, including the air in his lungs and blood stream.

The male inferi cast a familiar kneecap shattering curse and Voldemort caught it with the tip of his wand, throwing it back in the direction of the charms mistress. He followed it up by an air-vacuum charm which his cast at the point directly between the two of them. It sucked in several cubic meters of air to a single point, which phased them not at all, before exploding.

Both spells hit their mark. Splintered bones exploded out of the woman’s knees and both lost half of their torsos, and most of the arms closest to the air explosion. Like before, they began to piece themselves together. More slowly this time.

It was clear that each time they regenerated their body was more stone than flesh, less dextrous and less quick. And being undead, they were neither to begin with, even if their minds were.

Even downed and regenerating they kept fighting, and he added “impervious to pain” to their traits, but he had succeeded in interrupting the woman’s ward.

They responded with old faithful, piercing and cutting hexes color. He ducked, sidestepped, blocked, swatted away and redirection all of them. Every single one he redirected left a new hole or gash in their limbs, which repaired themselves into brown, clay, clumsy new ones.

The next spell of theirs to really catch him of  guard was a curse neither of them should know, and yet the man cast all the same. Swarm of bloat flies. It was a curse that sent a black cloud of smoky flies that, upon biting a victim, would cause vining burns like a lightning flower that would scale away painfull. It was a curse that belonged to the House of Black and which only he and Bella knew how to cast.

So the male was definitely a Black. It made sense, there was no shortage of portraits in Grimmauld place to use as a base. But only one of those had ever opposed him. Who would have thought that he had made a portrait before dying?

He performed the esoteric counter to the spell and addressed the man.

“Ah! Sirius Black.” Voldemort said smugly.

The surprise and confusion on the man’s face confirmed his suspicion at the man’s identity and he smiled.

“Back to oblivion with you.” Voldemort said in satisfaction.

Breaking out of his hatchet defensive posture, he merely pointed his wand directly between the man’s feet and once again made sand his ally. This time it spun downward into the earth like a maelstrom and took Sirius with it. The speed and pressure of the spinning sand chewed him up, shredding him as if sucked into a blender.

The solution to these threats was obviously to damage their bodies so thoroughly and repeatedly that they become useless clumps of clay, then merely dry them out. Fire was still his friend against undead, it would seem.

“Bombarda!” The woman yelled, putting everything she had into the curse.

This wasn’t saying much, as while the wand likely belonged to the person whose body she occupied, it did not recognize her as a master. The same had been true for Sirius, or else this fight might have been interesting. He batted it away and retaliated.

“Bombarda.” Voldemort calmly said back.

He removed her head, neck and most of her torso with that spell, and yet it still tried to repair itself. Like shatter pieces of pottery gluing together by spiderwebs of clay and tar. He was preparing to follow it up with a fire tornado to match the sandy one he had made earlier when he, quite unexpectedly, found himself engulfed by a cloud of black flys. The same ones from before.

He canceled them the same way he had earlier, with the offensively simple countercurse movement of waving your hand in front of your face, and turned around to confront the Sirius duplicate yet again. Sure, it was a different body, but it didn’t take a genius (which he was, thank you very much) to realize that there was a connection between his defeating the sentient inferi and one of the dumb ones becoming sentient.

So. The intelligence can jump bodies? That explained why Wormtail bothered to bring ten along. Looking past the new threat it was to see that only two more dumb ones remained. Of course Bellatrix was putting them down faster than him, she didn’t share his enthusiasm for taking apart and analyzing new forms of magic.

He flicked his wand and sent the blender of sand to consume the still regenerating woman inferi before advancing on Sirius, who actually had the gall to charge forward and try to punch him.

Voldemort grabbed him by the wrist, twisted it behind his back, than pressed his wand to the bottom of his spine.

“Incendia Magmos.” He whispered into Sirius’ ear.

With those two litter words he transfigured every bit of the clay making of Sirius’ new body into molten hot magma. It was an advanced spell, even for him, combining charms for super-heating stone and transfiguration, yet it worked beautifully.

He stepped back just as the inferi collapsed into a puddle of red hot magma and rapidly vaporizing flesh. The tar he had for blood probably quickened the destruction.

He then whipped his wand towards the last female and from the tip of his wand came a recruit favorite, the flame whip, which he overpowered and used to dice her into cauterized pieces that did not put themselves back together.

Looking on the last two inferi which had yet to complete the intelligence transfer, he realized the obvious solution to them and could smacked himself for not figuring it out sooner. It had been fun but he got the information and exercise he wanted. Time to end this charade.

“Evanesco Lutum.” He said.

An instant later, all of the clay in both of their bodies was annihilated and they practically imploded on themselves, like a corpse being dehydrated. So the clay also worked as a filler to replace bodily fluids and give mass, did it? They went from the prettiest inferi he’d ever seen, to the ugliest. Just as emaciated and bony, but with thick, black veins bursting with tar. He concentrated on said veins and, with a flick of his wand, lit the flammable substance on fire.

The last two inferi burned up from the inside. He was suddenly sad to remember that they did not, in fact, feel pain.

He looked down the beach, past the coffins to see Bellatrix had discovered the same method for eliminating her own inferi. When the remains of said inferi vanished themselves – obviously a measure to prevent anybody from reverse engineering them – the coffins vanished with them. As such, Voldemort was unsurprised to find Wormtail and the masked woman, whom he now suspected was also a highly advanced inferi, had gone.

“They were just trying to stall us!” Bellatrix said, breathless, as she approached him.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at her state. He hadn’t even gotten winded from the work out, and save for the minor burns, it had been a rather pathetic attempt on his life. Yet here Bellatrix was, clothes as singed as his, but completely out of breath and with a nasty cut gracing her cheek and eyebrow. Had they sent the more dangerous inferi after her instead of him? They were probably hoping to eek out a win in killing her, knowing they had no chance of doing so to him. If she had also faced the two he fought, she would definitely be dead now.

“But of course. I knew that from the start. And yet, I feel rather satisfied in the new information we have received during this battle.” Voldemort told her. “We now know the avenues Potter took to extend his life, and how he had been so effective. And I had such fun, but now it is back to business.”

“They stole my broom.” Bellatrix said with a sigh.

“Seems rather petty of a last jab to get in, but no matter. I shall fly to Azkaban alone, and you, shall walk there.”

He pointed the elder wand towards Azkaban, whose fireworks had died away to let shine the tens of patroni that protected the would be liberators. He slowly lowered it downwars, then lifted it in a quick motion.

The sea responded to his will, and a deep indent in the waters stretch from shor to shore. TI dug deeper and deeper until the two walls of water split entirely and the sea parted to form a path of algae, seaweed and other ocean critters to walk upon.

Suck it, Moses.

“I will see you on the other side.” Voldemort said calmly.

He breathed deeply and let his magic envelop him. A moment later he was hovering above the ground. A moment after that he was flying towards the prison by his own power.

-

“Whew!” Hermione sighed in relief as they returned to Grimmauld place. “I didn’t think we’d get out of there so unscathed.”

She removed her mask and leaned back, happy to be returned to the privacy of the Black cellar, where none else were allowed.

Pettigrew sat in the chair opposite her and deflated, as the shades of Regulus, Lily, Lucius and a red-hair man she suspected was a Weasley paced around the room.

“He almost guessed my identity.” Regulus said.

“You used a curse none but your family can cast, that was kind of a giveaway.” Lucius said dryly.

“Fortunately, he has come to the conclusion that I have found a method for giving the false sentience of a portrait to a meat puppet.” Pettigrew consoled them. “And that Sirius Black made such a portrait for me to use. He came to a lot of incorrect conclusions during that fight, brilliant conclusions, but incorrect ones. The more of those he has crowding his head, the more time he will waste chasing red herrings.”

And that could only be a good thing.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself during all of that, miss Granger.” Lucius said with a smirk that could almost be construed as proud.

“Taking pot shots at my killer while you and mister Weasley pummeled her was a joy. Especially as it frustrated her so.” Hermione admitted. “But I am envious of you, mister Malfoy. You got to draw blood.”

Mr Malfoy waved the compliment aside.

“Lucky shot. One I never would have gotten if it weren’t for… Fabian?” Malfoy said questioningly to the red haired man.

He nodded, and Hermione suddenly realized his identity.

“You’re Molly’s brother? The Fred of your generation. What of Gideon?” Hermione asked.

“Harry Potter did not see it as important to summon him along with me.” Fabian said.

“Shame too. If he had sent us six more shades we might have stood a chance.” Hermione lamented.

Every single one of them responded to her lamentation with a full bellied laugh.

“Not a chance.” Peter said. “Unless he had thought to send all for the heavy hitters, Albus and Alastor included. But even then, with bodies and wands so ill-suited to them and the complete disorientation of trying to use a new body at all, I doubt we could have taken Voldemort down.”

“Bellatrix? Yes. Which is why I wish we’d had time to run the plan by Harry before rushing off. And we still barely made it in time to stall him.” Lily said. “And you’re downplaying the disorientation. Moreso than possessing an imperius victim, it felt like the body was rejecting me entirely. It took half of my focus to remain in it. And the wand really didn’t like me.”

Pettigrew nodded.

“Well, these ones were experimental, and just the first batch. I have hundreds of more bodies to work with, thanks to you all, and I’m sure my methods will improve.” He offered.

“No.” Said Lucius. “The problem of compatibility is one with an obvious and singular solution. You must use our actual bodies. You have mine, do you not?”

“Draco has forbidden me from resurrecting you, and Harry has enforced his order.” Peter said apologetically. “But, I might be able to do something with older corpses for this method.”

Peter broke off and went into deep thought.

“It would only work for a single battle, but if it is important enough of a battle, I will consent to it.” Lily told him. “And I’m sure others would. Go get digging.”

-
The fight didn’t turn out anywhere near what I was planning. I was planning for more of my usual brutal, violent, blood combat but as I wrote it from Voldemort’s POV it turned into something analytical, cruel and toying. It’s amazing what changing your perspective of a scene will do to its mood and execution. This doesn’t resemble my outline at all, and yet I’m satisfied with it. Better characterization and WAY better at hinting about future developments.