What Would Rhys Cadwallader Do? (cymru) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-09-18 16:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | rhys cadwallader, rodolphus lestrange |
WHO: DE Rodolphus Lestrange & Ar. Rhys Cadwallader.
WHAT: It goes about as well as to be expected.
WHEN: Nearly a year ago.
WHERE: A crime scene.
WARNINGS: Violence, Unforgiveables.
The last thing Rodolphus had done, after he’d murdered the Peterson’s, was set the house on fire. Flames grew higher and higher, consuming the building, a thick, black plume of smoke oozing out of the house’s windows. It was thick enough, dense with magic, that it almost seemed like a hazy monster as it rolled out, alerting the neighbours. Rodolphus waited before he sent up the Dark Mark, its distinctive light bathing the street. He could feel the tension crackle through the air. He smiled and still waited, aware of the pop of apparation around him as DMLE arrived. He didn’t pick one out, in particular. There wasn’t an Auror he’d been keeping an eye out for. He could have named some of them, but this wasn’t about a revenge — this was about fun, about letting them know that the Dark Lord’s best were out there, that they weren’t going to stop, that they were to be feared. The heat of the fire spread out, catching on the Peterson’s neighbours and sending the roof up. Rodolphus found one Auror and followed him. “Do you like my handiwork?” he asked, twirling his wand. Rodolphus wanted a fight. Rhys whisked around, turning away from the blaze with his wand at the ready. “Not particularly,” he said dryly, brow furrowing. All Death Eaters were the same to him, and nothing in particular stood out about this one -- they were masked assholes committing wanton murder and acts of destruction, and he was here to stop them, plain and simple. He’d never been a particularly chatty duellist, so without further ado, the Auror levelled his wand at the masked figure, aiming a Depulso at his head. Rodolphus blocked the spell, a strong shield sending it barelling towards a nearby swingset that flew back against the fence. “That’s a shame,” Rodolphus said, though it was unclear if he was talking about the swings or Rhys not adequately appreciating his handiwork. It was clear, however, that Rodolphus intended to fight hard — he pointed his wand at the ground beneath Rhys’ feet, charming clods of earth out and sending them up at him with speed. Rhys cast a shield of his own, casting it wide, but not nearly wide enough; he managed to deflect some of the earth, but not all, which hit him with a blunt thud. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he swore, realising that his opponent clearly wanted this fight to become A Thing. If it was a fight he wanted, however, it was a fight he was going to get. Not to be outdone by some errant clods of earth, Rhys charmed a few of the decorative boulders to levitate out of the neighbours’ rock garden and hurl toward the masked man. The first boulder exploded, the second careened into the house, and the third hit Rodolphus, knocking against his shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards. He didn’t expect it: he’d been too focused on wondering whether he could send the now burning boulder towards the Auror. It was a mistake he could feel from the pain in his shoulder, a burst which made his breathing catch momentarily. It made Rodolphus stand straighter and the next spell he used was a series of blasting curses, designed to drive the Rhys back, towards the flames. Rhys was able to shield himself from the first few blasts, though they nonetheless pushed him back toward the burning building; he’d been so focused on Rodolphus’ curses that he didn’t notice the flames until they were already upon him. He yelped as his robes caught on fire, then hastily conjured a stream of water to put them out. Then, the drenched and singed Auror redirected the water toward the Death Eater as hard as he could -- it likely wasn’t the best spell he could have chosen, but it was the quickest. “Really?” Rodolphus shouted at Rhys, a laughing edge to his voice. “What are you going to try and do? Drown me?” The stream of water had been halted, vanishing into thin air, and Rodolphus was still laughing as he sent slashing curses at Rhys. Rhys sighed, exasperated. “Well, it would have been nice,” he said, flicking away some of the excess water from his sleeve before hastily attempting to defend himself from the flurry of slashing curses hurled his way. “Ow! Fuck! Son of a -- ” he shouted, as his shields missed not one, not two, but three of the curses, which caught him in the shoulder, leg, and lastly, face, knocking him askew. Blinded by the blood now pouring down into his eyes, he nearly stumbled into the flames again, but caught himself just in time. With a CRACK, he apparated away, reappearing with a second CRACK just a few feet from Rodolphus. “You’re going to prison,” he snapped, casting a lightning spell at the masked man with another booming CRACK. Arrogance was not Rodolphus’ best virtue. His head thrown back, a full laugh left him, as he turned towards the Auror a second late: he missed the beginning of the lightning curse. The few scant seconds were enough — there was no hope of dispelling it. He threw a shield up, flinging himself out of the way, but it did no good: the spell found him and tore a path through him, a buzzing energy scraping across every nerve in his body, setting his teeth on edge as a white-hot flash of pain, of light, seemed to explode behind his eyes. Rodolphus couldn’t stop the grunt of pain, the way he stumbled backwards again, body betraying him. “I’m going nowhere,” he panted. “Nor will you.” The first spell he sent was a Killing Curse, his aim too poor to land; the second was a bone-twisting curse, aimed at Rhys’ ankle. The Killing Curse missed Rhys, but the bone-twisting curse did not -- Rhys had just narrowly avoided an Avada Kedavra, so he did not expect a curse to be aimed at his ankle next. His shield went too high as the bone twister went low, and he went down with a yelp of pain. He gritted his teeth as his ankle wrung itself. “Alright. I guess we can swing that,” Rhys said in a strained voice, wordlessly summoning the mangled swingset and sending it hurtling toward the Death Eater. A few well-placed curses and the swingset missed him, a few blasting curses smashing it to pieces. The pieces didn’t entirely miss him: bits of metal found their way through the air, burrowing into skin, small rivulets of blood running down. “That was funny,” Rodolphus said, because it was, and because affirmation was important. “Well done.” Any affirmations did not extend to Rodolphus’ use of spells however. He sent a burst at the flames behind Rhys’ back, adding to the fire spilling its way out, and an acid curse. Fire. Why did it have to be fire? Rhys made a mental note to check this Death Eater against any other cases of Death Eater-related pyromania once he got back to the office, right as the acid came splashing toward him. He deflected it with a shield, though this caused it to splatter even wider. It hit him in several places, eating through his robes and much of his wand arm. The skin melted from his fingers as though he were a melting wax figure succumbing to the fire's heat. He clutched his injured arm to his chest and apparated again, trying to get further away from the flames, though this only meant he was driven nearer to Rodolphus. The Auror appeared with another CRACK several feet behind him, managing to teeter upright just long enough to send a blasting curse at the Death Eater -- hopefully nudging him toward the fire -- before his ankle gave way again. The curse hit Rodolphus in the back and the fire was right there, too close, the heat of the flames brushing close as Rodolphus flew into the edge of it. They started to scorch their way through his robes and Rodolphus aimed a jet of water at the flames with a pained hiss. He could feel the heat, the tightness of his skin. Spinning, he practically ran out of the way of the fire, stopping when he was out of its reach. It was gratifying to see the Auror keeled over on the ground. Rodolphus smiled, a vicious slash of amusement behind his mask. “That was close enough to fun,” he said and his wand snapped, another bone twisting curse aimed at the ankle. “Have you enjoyed yourself? Are you quite ready to give up?” Rhys cried out as the bone snapped and splintered, the pain effectively pinning him to the ground. He struggled to remain focused; to give in meant certain death, and Rhys was far too stubborn to die just yet. “Are you kidding me? This is a -- fuck -- walk in the park,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt as he struggled to pull himself up off the ground. He managed only to bring himself up into a kneeling position before he gave up. Wincing, he tried to conjure another bolt of lightning, this one far sloppier than the first due to the fact that his wand arm was partially liquefied. It was easier to shield himself from the lightning this time: the power was lacking. Rodolphus smiled and advanced towards Rhys. His walk was confident, arrogant, and he laughed lightly as he stopped, a few paces in front of the other man. “I’d like to see you go for a walk, though,” he said, and with a flick of his wand Rhys was up, walking, his eyes glassy and faded, walking with a kind of confidence that people normally didn’t when their ankle was completely shattered. Rodolphus let it continue for a moment, before he dropped the spell. “Are you feeling quite all right after your walk?” Just as quickly as he'd fallen under, Rhys snapped out of the Imperius. He responded to Rodolphus’ question with an agonised howl once the pain of having taken a stroll on a badly broken ankle hit him all at once. He crumpled to the ground again, face-planting in the dirt with his shattered limb splayed out at an awkward angle. A less obstinate man might have kept his mouth shut at this point; Rhys, however, opted for sarcasm in an attempt to hide his mounting panic. “Oh, I'm just peachy,” he muttered into the dirt, which he then tried to summon and hurl at the Death Eater as a last ditch attempt at distracting him long enough to get away. Dirt made its way through the hole in Rodolphus’ mask and into his mouth, the gritty taste of it spreading quickly. Rodolphus spat out the dirt onto the ground and angrily snapped his wand, summoning Rhys’ to him and then tossing it aside. “You’re not going to be,” he said, mouth still remembering the taste of dirt. It made him feel like his words were harsher. His spellwork echoed this. The first spell — a momentary deafness one — was purely for fear, to make the Auror squirm, to appease a need for violence when was rarely ever truly sated. The second singed the grass near Rhys instead of his body. The third spell, a bright violet light, crashed into Rhys’ spine: designed to break and crush, to twist and separate bones, to make his body start to pull itself to pieces. Wandless, deaf, and terrified, Rhys was unable to hear his own screams as his body tore itself apart; vertebra broke and shifted out of alignment, bones shattered, his nerves lit up with searing pain -- blistering, stabbing agony -- all he could do was to helplessly attempt to curl up into a ball, but even that failed when he realised with horror that his lower limbs were useless. So this was how it ended. Cowering in the dirt, powerless, hopeless and defeated. Nora was going to be a widow at thirty. They were supposed to have a family someday. He hoped she’d someday be able to forgive him. He looked up at the Death Eater that was going to end his life; he wanted to look defiant, but instead he just looked terror-stricken. Rodolphus watched the expression morphing on the Auror’s face, changing completely: pain overrode everything else, fear was often stronger than pride. It was stronger than this man’s defiance. Rodolphus smiled and squatted down beside him, stopping to pat Rhys’ cheek. The touch was almost gentle, comforting. It was, perhaps, worse for it. With a wave of his wand, he dropped the deafness charm. “I’m going to leave you here,” Rodolphus informed him, close enough that he could pitch his voice just above a whisper. “Your colleagues are nearby. They might find you in time that there’s no permanent damage.” He stood, then, swiftly moving back. “Then again,” he said, with a shrug, “I doubt that very much. Have a good hospital stay, Auror.” |