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Patrë-on/Se7enX
Yeah! Here's the new chapter!
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Pettigrew – shattered, burned, and weak in my hands – had no strength to respond or react to what I said. All he could do was groan in pain and whimper softly, shaking uncontrollably, overco with fear and despair.
As I stared into his terrified gaze, I couldn't help but smile cruelly, feeling a vengeful satisfaction at seeing this despicable worm so torn apart – especially after he dared to threaten the lives of my loved ones.
"Interesting..." I heard a slow, hissing voice say.
This voice montarily snapped out of my aggressive state, and still holding Pettigrew's neck, I slowly turned to look back.
As soon as I turned around I saw that all the Death Eaters in the graveyard were pointing their wands at – alard and attentive –, preparing to attack at the slightest sign of their master.
But Voldemort, unlike them, remained motionless, watching with restrained amusent and genuine interest.
The loud noise I made breaking free obviously interrupted his speech, but he didn't seem to mind, showing no sign of wanting to attack or stop .
In fact, he didn't seem at all concerned about the dangerous situation his servant was in, as if his life was irrelevant. And coming from Voldemort, it probably was.
"I wasn't expecting you to break free. And I wasn't expecting you to do it in such a… loud and flashy way," the Dark Lord comnted in a calm, almost playful tone of voice.
His eyes road the small area around - now a ss filled with debris and faint burn marks.
"Don't worry, I'm sure the cleaning crew can handle it later," I said nonchalantly.
In my eyes, there was no fear at all as I faced the dark wizards who were staring at fiercely.
I knew that until Voldemort made a move they wouldn't dare to act, and I also had full confidence in my abilities not to be at a disadvantage if that situation occurred.
"Ugh..."
It was at this mont that Pettigrew, who was almost fainting in my hands, regained so of his strength for a few monts.
Hearing the voice of his beloved master, he rembered that he was not alone in this graveyard, and that there was soone here who could help him.
And that caused a spark of hope to be rekindled in him, along with a powerful survival instinct.
"M-master..." he called out in a hoarse and weak voice, choking on his own blood.
His mind, already numb and filled with feelings of pain, made it very difficult for him to form any coherent thoughts, much less say a complete sentence.
"Master... Help... !" he managed to beg.
"Hmph. Still talking?" I snorted coldly, not hiding the contempt in my eyes.
Narrowing my eyes, I again tightened my grip on his neck, lifting him into the air with ease – demonstrating just how physically strong I was.
And then, without giving Voldemort ti to do anything, I gathered magic in the palm of my hand that held him, casting on this treacherous wizard one of the most evil and cruel spells I had created.
At the point where my hand made contact with the skin on Pettigrew's neck, black spots and veins began to appear—as if a dark, pulsating, corrupt substance were seeping into his body, exuding a sickly, malignant energy.
These marks began to expand rapidly, covering his neck within seconds and rising towards his head, while spreading towards his torso like poisonous roots.
"AAAAAH!"
Pettigrew, overco with excruciating pain, scread in agony and despair, writhing uncontrollably in my hands—both from the pain he felt and from the futile instinct of trying to free himself from my death grip.
He wanted to beg for rcy, cry out for help... but no coherent sound ca out of his mouth. Only choked screams, hoarse grunts, and broken words.
"Aaaargh!"
"N-no... Ple... Please... Aaargh... Stop..."
This excruciating pain that Pettigrew was feeling seed to last an eternity to him, but in reality it was only a few seconds.
But in just a few seconds, his body was completely corrupted—covered in black veins and sickly spots that spread like poison, invading every inch of his flesh. He looked like soone overco by an incurable plague, as if he were being consud by a fatal virus.
This spell, in addition to causing unbearable pain, acted brutally and silently from within, destroying its victim's body cell by cell.
Pettigrew's organs began to rot and fail. His blood boiled until it vaporized. His bones beca as brittle as glass, shattering into dust.
His skin eventually began to crack, entering a state of grotesque decay, as if death itself were feasting on him, from the inside out.
'I don't...'
'...want...'
"Uurg!"
'...To die...'
"Aaahhg!"
And with that last agonizing scream, filled with despair, resentnt, denial, and unwillingness, Pettigrew took his final breath in this life.
His lifeless, broken body—looking like a corpse already in a serious state of decomposition—hung limply in my hand.
Looking at this dead man I didn't even blink or frown, not shaken or showing any remorse for my cruel act.
"Despicable worm," I muttered disdainfully, before throwing him to the ground without consideration.
*Thud*
Pettigrew's limp, corrupted body hit the graveyard lawn with a muffled sound. His eyes - dull and lifeless - were wide in horror and agony.
After I killed Pettigrew, a dark and tense silence fell over the entire graveyard. All the Dark wizards present - except Voldemort - stared at with wide eyes behind their masks, scared and incredulous.
Even Harry, who had long wished for the despicable rat's death, looked shaken.
His face showed a mixture of shock, confusion, and a little fear.
He did not expect to act so decisively in this murder, with such coldness and brutality—much less in front of the Dark Lord himself.
'One down... The others to go' I thought, turning to the remaining Death Eaters with a cold glare.
Noticing my gaze falling on them, these Death Eaters unconsciously took a step back, feeling a sense of danger and death coming from .
And that feeling was sothing they had only ever felt from one other person – their master, Lord Voldemort.
Taking advantage of the stunned state of these dark wizards, I finally turned to Harry, deciding that it was ti to free him from the reaper's clutches... in a strangely literal way.
With a wave of my hand, the angel of death statue that was holding Harry opened its arms, releasing him.
However, as he was still shaken by the macabre scene he had just seen, in addition to still suffering from the pain in his scar because of the ritual, Harry ended up tripping when he was released, falling half-kneeling on the ground.
And unfortunately for him, Pettigrew's body was not lying so far from him, and in that half-kneeling position he could clearly see the decomposed face of the person responsible for his parents' death.
The Boy-Who-Lived, upon seeing this horrific scene, imdiately felt his stomach churn. A chill ran through his entire body, accompanied by a feeling of anguish.
But beyond that, he also felt a confusing mix of emotions upon seeing that the one who had caused all the misfortune in his life had died.
He felt happiness, relief, and so dark, vengeful feelings. And knowing that this was how he felt when he saw a dead man shocked him a little, making him question his own mindset and morals.
'Is it over? Just like that?' he wondered, finding this situation sowhat unbelievable.
However, knowing that now was not the ti to be thoughtful, he shook his head, leaving those thoughts aside.
And not wanting to show weakness in front of his enemies, Harry held back the bile that threatened to rise up his throat, while also resisting the invisible and unknown pressure that tornted his head.
Then taking a deep breath, Harry refocused on the current mont, before slowly standing up.
Already standing, he began to approach , walking around Pettigrew's dead body, and avoiding him with a look of disgust.
He also didn't forget to keep a wary eye on the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters in front of us, alert for any possible attacks from them.
End.
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