The Wicked End [[Deathie Attack!]]

[Matthew Jerrolds]

March 24

Matt was tired, but pleasantly so. He had been working most of the night, but that was after spending the day with Emerald. His bride-to-be. The thought brought a huge grin onto his face, and he rolled over on his bed, turning on his side and staring at the clock. He finally fell asleep, dreaming of his beautiful girl and their future together. But suddenly, he wasn't sleeping, and the sound of his door being opened was far from reassuring. Thinking it was Emerald, he rolled over with a smile, looking over at the door. Then his smile dropped, and he was out of the bed with his wand and against the wall in five seconds flat. It was a Death Eater. Oh shit. He'd been through this once, and honestly, he had absolutely no desire to--

"Fuck." It was one word, but it held a hell of a lot of meaning. Suddenly, spells were being fired, and Matt felt like the mole in that 'Whack-A-Mole' game, and let me tell you, that's not such a great feeling. He fired a few spells of his own, but mostly they just made holes in his wall. Great. So now he felt like a fly in a spider's web and he would have to repair his wall. Stupid Death Eaters. Then, suddenly, a knife was in his side, and he staggered, finding the wall a nice support. The pain made the edges of his vision flash, and he nearly screamed. Instead, he turned and fired a spell that barely grazed his attacker's arm. Oh, shit. Then he was on him again, and this time it ended with a knife in his hip. He swore loudly, and stumbled back before collapsing on the floor.

And this time, well, there wasn't going to be running, because before he fell, there had been a knife stabbed into the right middle of his back. As blood poured from his wounds, the Death Eater advanced and pulled out his wand. Matt, slumped back against the wall, stared up at him helplessly. He wasn't one for begging, and he preferred it be him than his precious Emerald. And as lips moved, he took one last deep breath, closing his eyes, and pictured Emerald. She would look so beautiful in a wedding dress... But would he ever get to see her in one, much less ever again? He was starting to doubt it. Then the pain hit, and he bit his lip, fighting his hardest not to scream. No, he couldn't give this Death Eater what he wanted...

And after stabbing him three times and torturing him, it still wasn't enough. This one must have been either highly ticked off, psychotic, or just had it out for him. He was leaning toward the middle choice. He groaned as he tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't even manage to get off the floor. Finally, he managed to make his limbs move, and he pushed himself to his knees, swaying and holding onto the wall desperately for support. His wand was lying somewhere near his bed, so that was no use to him now. He looked up into his attacker's eyes, and he knew that he wasn't going to die... yet. No, he was going to suffer first. And as he realized this, his mind went blank as another bout of the torture curse was placed on him.

After a while, pain starts to fade away until you just feel numb. But this numb was far from comfortable. Oh no, it was so far it was pathetic. As Matt lay curled into a ball, sweating, panting, and bleeding all over his floor, he could barely manage to even feel his stab wounds. They were more like an itch. Then he got to his knees, shaking, and whispered,"You... Can't... Kill me..." It took him a while, but he finally got it out. Then he staggered to his feet, running at the Death Eater and tackling him, knocking him to the floor. His fingers found his wand, but it was kicked away. Then he saw it: the knife. Desperate, he reached out and grabbed it, his hand flying as he aimed for his attacker... and nailed him in the shoulder. He screamed, but he was far from down.

He then threw out the Avade Kedavra curse, but Matt rolled off of him and it hit the ceiling. He then tried the knife again, his wand all the way across the room, and managed to kick the wizard's wand away. Then the two proceeded to wrestle, knives flashing as each tried to kill the other. Metal clanged, but soon enough one of them was bound to win. And it happened, though not exactly in the best way. Matt's knife slipped past the Death Eater's own and stabbed him through the heart just as the Death Eater's buried itself in his stomach. Matt gasped, staggering back, as he was on his knees, and fell on his butt, his breath catching as he stared at the knife in his stomach. The Death Eater took one last, shuddering breath before he died. Matt stared in disbelief. His last thought of the day before he passed out, knife still in his stomach?

I just killed a man...


Vance had been sleeping pretty peacefully, having crashed after about the fourth beer. He'd been pretty busy all day, and he'd already used his drugs. So why not? He was out, and not dreams for him. Yippee! That meant no memories of his past, which were always very good. But sadly, his sleep was disturbed by a scream, and even though he had been pretty well drunk and high, he was wide awake and sobered instantly. Then his wand was in his hand, but his own door flew open before he could investigate, and before he could do anything, his wand was out of his hand and flying across the room and he was being hit with the torture curse. And holy hell did it hurt. He ended up on the ground, curled into a tiny ball and nearly screaming.

But he didn't scream. He'd had worse, but not like this. Not fucking like this. After it had ended, he staggered to his feet, throwing himself on his late-night visitor and fighting to get rid of his wand. But a well-landed punch on his jaw had him flying off and hitting the wall, sliding down it and crumpling on the floor. He winced, and the Death Eater got to his feet, wiping away blood from the lip that Vance had busted with his own punch. "You little brat! You're going to pay for that one!" Vance's eyes narrowed, and he rolled to the side and grabbed his wand, and then spells were being fired from the both of them. Sadly, it wasn't going to last very long, and Vance was soon knocked off his feet by a spell to his stomach.

Coughing and wheezing, he slammed into the wall, ending up on the floor on his knees, doubled over as he coughed up blood. His wand had flown out of his hand, and his attacker was standing between him and it. The Death Eater's lip curled up in disgust, and he said,"On your feet, twerp." Vance looked up at him, eyes flaring in hatred, and spat,"Bite me." Then the wand was lifted, and the spell that came from it nearly blew his socks off. Oh no, it wasn't the killing curse, but it was damn near close. Vance felt as though white-hot knives were piercing his skin, causing him to scream in pain and agony. Slash marks dotted his chest, abdomen, back, and arms. The Death Eater was gone, but his spell remained, and it was causing pain from the inside. The pain was a lot, more than even he could handle, and soon he was coughing up blood that splattered all over his floor. Blood from his various wounds joined it and created a small puddle that trickled closer and closer to the door, and his eyes slid closed as he fainted, his head hitting the floor hard as well as the rest of him. What was his last thought, you ask?

Well, shit on a stick, he was screwed.

[Cameron Laurier]

Letting in the death eaters had been an easy task, leave the window open. That was it. What followed was what was really hard. Cam sat curled in a corner of the older boys rooms, watching as the death eaters attempted to slew the dormitory. Mouth was agape, silent sobs wracking his body and tears falling down his eyes. Mouth opened and closed like a guppy as the fourteen year old witnessed it all with horror. What had he expected? He squeezed his arms tighter around his legs, resting his cheek against it as he watched them. When they left this room he silently trailed them to the next, feeling like a sick bastard but at the same time...he had been directed to watch. Black hair fell down into his face, covering his eyes and the marks of his eyeliner that fell in wet streaks down his cheeks.

He was wearing his day clothes, black jeans and black and grey sweater. Grey. He was wearing grey. It seemed to be a big step for the boy that hadn't worn anything but black since his older brothers death. Watching all of this, he was starting to think about avoiding the lighter shade for a few more years. Cameron moved to the next room, and watched what unfolded with silent tears and sobs, knowing that he was the one to blame for leaving that window open. Then one of the death eaters turned to him, and he took a step back into the wall, his back pressed firmly against it. This was it. How to get rid of the evidence that he was the one helping them. He bit down on his peircing, and watched as the death eater raised his wand and said the curse with utter coolness.

The ripping sensation that swept through his wrist, shoulder and collar bone brought out a scream. Cam had always been one to cry in silence, yet this brought out a gut wrenching scream. It was sharp and clear but ended quickly as he fainted. Falling to the ground in a heap of long legs and arms, his head resting on the arm that did not have the broken wrist and collarbone. Lips slightly apart, and looking utterly peaceful as he lay there. Looking dead, until you were nearly upon him where you saw his side moving ever so slightly in draw of breath.
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[Serphius de la Ravin]

((As to be expected of your darling Pickle, the following post contains: DRINKING! REFERENCES TO DRUG ABUSE! SEXUAL CONTENT (NON-CONSENSUAL & OTHERWISE)! VIOLENCE! AND OTHER GOOD STUFF! =D Enjoy, y'all. It took me long enough to write, gay though it still is...))









Drink, drink, drink. It was becoming a nasty habit for Serphius. For the third night in a row now, he was mind-bogglingly drunk having locked himself in his room for the evening with four bottles of wine, a half bottle of gin and just a dribble of vodka. He hadn't eaten in about a week either, which was getting close to hid personal record of ten days without anything solid passing his lips. Of course, he didn't care. Serphius had never cared much for food - in fact, the very thought of it could turn his stomach.

Only clad in a pair of jeans so immensely tight that you wonder how someone could wear them and still claim to be male, Serphius was slumped on a chair, hunched over the table with his head in his hands. He had a pleasant buzz going, but it wasn't near enough to give him what he really wanted. The high he was after left with the last of his stash which he'd finished all up a few days ago. Sephy looked downright ill, and the warm light from the few candles that lit his plush crimson room did nothing to help him. He was painfully thin, bordering on skeletal, but that was hardly different from before. It came with the life style, the anorexia and the drugs, the constant drinking and no eating, and he welcomed it. His skin was colourless, like smooth white paper stretched over barely defined muscles and bone. His hair was an absolute mess, but it looked as though he had intended it to be so now that it was shorter, still streaked with flecks of red. Dark rings circled tired looking eyes, and his lip was burst, a black crack on other wise prefect red lips. He didn't like to go places alone, and that was exactly why.

Shaky hands reached for the closest bottle, and he pressed it to his lips, taking a quick, deep drink, but one that was cut off. The clear, slow knock at his bedroom door startled him mid-swig, causing a splash of gin to dribble miserably off the end of his chin. Serphius stared at the door, eyes guarded, but eager. Was that...? Could that be...? Uncertain on his feet, Serphius stood up, and moved - or rather shuffled - cautiously towards the door. The candles flickered in his passing, but didn't go out. Still clutching the gin bottle, he pulled the door open...

"Laure," was all he managed to breathe out when, out of the darkness of the hall, there was suddenly white, and warmth, and lips...Soft fingers coaxed the bottle from his hand, depositing it on the table as he was ushered past it. The door shut and clicked shut behind his surprise guest, but everything seemed to be swallowed up in a cloud of delicate magnolia scent. Hands grasped his wrists tightly, and he was pushed to the bed, before being shoves gently onto his back. A young man of about twenty stood over him, a hand on the Intermises's chest, the other on his own hip. Serphius didn't resist.

"I got your letters," he said, his voice a sultry, rolling purr, his French accent thick as butter, and his English slightly angular. Every word, every action was crisp, and graceful. The man cocked his head coquettishly, and flashed a smirk at him, "They spoke volumes to me, Serphius. Something is so very not right, and you are unhappy. I brought you just what you need. I can't have you being sad, can I? Is it not my job to make...you....happy?"

Each syllable was like a slap in the face. All Serphius could do was nod mutely, and stare up at this intense presence that hovered over him. And what an amazing presence it was. He stood at over six foot - in fact, he was somewhat similar to Sephy in size and build, except he was a little smaller, and a sleek, toned, powerful slim, rather than uncomfortably bony. His hair was such a fair blonde that it could be easily mistaken for white. It was poker straight, and fell to just below his jaw line in an unstyled, and uncomplicated manner. He had a truly beautiful face, slightly long, with piercing feline green eyes, a straight, slender nose and a rosebud mouth that rivalled Serphius's in colour and kissablity. Across the bridge of his nose there was a smattering of freckles, barely visible against the brilliant white of his skin. He wore smart, unfussy black robes with silver clasps. Laure was certainly the last person the poor boy had expected to turn up at his door. Closer he pressed, pushing his face near to Sephy.

"Non? Cat got your tongue, mon cher?" Laure chuckled, lazily slipping an arm round Serphius's pinched waist so he was practically lying on top of him, "I tease, my love, I tease. Oh, poor child of mine, what have you let happen to yourself? You look so ill, so...frail...". Green eyes flickered down over the younger's naked torso, a ghostly finger traced the painful line on his lip, and a sigh escaped them both, though it was two very different sorts of sigh.

"Still," he continued, now so close their noses were touching, "I could just eat you alive...Gorgeous, gorgeous."

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin on Serphius's neck, making him gasp. A low chuckle escaped from the dark clad young man, and white fingers worked hard at the silver clasps. Black material pooled on the floor, and all Laure was wearing now was a predatory grin. He kissed him softly on the lips, leaning back a little, and smiled down at him.

"But you always were so beautiful...Let me make you happy."

Serphius groaned a little, feeling the tight denim of his jeans being slid over his thin hips. His cheeks were burning, and he was panting a little. Senses dulled, everything seemed a little blurry, as though he was dreaming. Perhaps I am, he thought. Because this can't be happening. His heart was thumping as they manoeuvred into a more comfortable position, so their legs weren't hanging off the edge of the bed, but Laure was still on top. Another little sound escaped him with the sensation of a hot mouth again his skin.

"You know, Serphius, a little bird told me what you have been up to," the white haired young man whispered, shifting down a little, biting the pale skin of his chest lightly, teasingly, "About all your new beautiful friends...Bentley. Kyrowki. The Lauriers. Soudai...Now she's a catch. Taste a sweet as she looks, mon cher?"

It took a little while for Sephy's intoxicated brain to catch up with what his 'friend' had said, but when it did, he froze up a little. What did he mean, a little bird? How did he know everyone's name?

"W-Wait...Y'mean Cove, an' everybody?" his brow creased with a confused frown, "Ah-Ashlei...I don't know, I wouldn't know...jus' friends. How'd y'...know?"

"I like to keep eyes on my favourite customer," Laure murmured, trailing his fingers down the slight concave of Sephy's stomach, "But you love to disappoint me, don’t you?”

Serphius blinked hard. He really wasn’t feeling right now. The once delicate flowery scent was now over powering, but he sucked it down like some gorgeous poison all the same. It was better than his wine, better than any of his drink to send him to sleep. The whole blood red room felt like it was sinking, and not even the sensation of fingers now digging into his wrist and neck could bring it back to the surface. Lips opened and closed mutely, like a ventriloquist’s doll struck dumb.

“They told me what you do, Serphius!” That yummy purr was spiked with malice, sharper than his nails, “You love to swan around with them, like some little pet, trailing after them, hoping for some little scraps of affection. You’re a novelty to them, child. You’re their little toy…but you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”

Breathing harshly, Serphius turned his head to the door, as though willing someone to come for him. Panic and pleasure clicked together in his stomach, like two hot stones, burning him up. A thin sheen of sweat already covered both boys, colour in their cheeks and lips but nowhere else.

“You forgot that you aren’t theirs…Not Kyrowki’s, not Bentley’s…. Most certainly not fucking Prso’s – though I’ve heard he’s quite officially ditched you – you’re mine! And I swear, I’m going to claim every part of you with every part of me…Because if I can’t have you, who can?”

Rather late, hot saline traced familiar tracks down hollow cheeks of the boy pinned to the bed. It was a chore to drag in air through his gritted teeth, never enough to stop him feeling breathless. Weak arms pushed against Laure, but it was useless. Serphius had never been strong enough to push away anyone. He cried out after a stinging blow to the face finally hit home, opening up the half healed cut on his lip. He writhed and bucked beneath the alabaster boy on top of him but to no avail. He took place there, proud and immoveable as a marble statue. Now that his eyes were shut tightly, Serphius wasn’t sure exactly what it was that was pressing uncomfortably into his chest. Part of him actually hoped it was a wand.

Please don’t – please fucking don’t!

Pain clamped it’s jaws on the rag doll boy like a dog on a bone. He screamed, the sound raw and uncontrollable as the aching avalanche that he felt had slammed into him. Fist and spell and teeth and claw tore into him, bruising his soft and breakable body, slashing his tender flesh. What confused him most though was that small buzzing pleasure that was hovering there underneath the white lightening pain. Was it another spell, or was that just him? Serphius felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not because it was all black anyway, or what the hot stickiness on his chest and face was, but what he did know was that he was face down now, his face hidden in the deceiving comfort of his velvet bed spread. He could taste blood on his lips, and hear the tremulous beating of his fickle heart in his ears. Gradually, it was like someone was turning the volume down and the lights out on the world. He lost all sensation and knowledge of what was happening now, as his conscious self was plunged into that place, a place he’d been so many times before with his father, with Asmo, and even with Lexi...Was he still screaming, or had his throat closed itself up by now? Was Laure still there, or had he gone away now? Had they found him yet, or would they never find him again? All Serphius was that the darkness was always the best place for him to be.



((And before anyone asks, Laure is Serphius's drug dealer, and much like Lexi, he's super OTT possesive over him (as we see here). He's also a Deathie. You first meet him in the roleplay sample I used to get on here, and his letter are mention in [ Every Time I Look For You ]...))