It was a dark and rainy night. Inside the damp house, a single candle flickered, throwing shadows across a filthy cell. A boy no older than three lay chained to the wall, his empty eyes fixed on the lifeless body of his mother. From outside came the muffled voices of men.
Lanny spat on the floor, voice shaking."Oi, Jon, you hear what Tim said? Before we scarper, we gotta deal with the brat."
Jon chuckled, rolling a knife in his hand."Yeah, I heard ya, Lanny. But I ain't done with him yet. Kid's no fun with spells anymore, so I'll make him squeal the old-fashioned way."
Lanny's eyes darted to the door, jittery."Bloody hell, Jon, enough's enough! We wasted three months already 'cause you and Tim wanted your kicks. The little sod don't even twitch at Crucio now. And the Aurors, if they sniff us out, we're done for."
Jon cut him off with a snarl."Aurors? Bah. You worry too much, Lanny. Nobody knows we're here. And if magic don't work…" He held up the knife with a grin. "…then I'll make him bleed the old way. Soon as I'm done, we torch this place, leave nothin' but ashes. Job done. Easy."
Lanny's eyes twitched."Fine. But don't take more than two hours. I got a bad feelin' about tonight, and I don't wanna find out why."
Jon grinned behind his mask."Then drown it in firewhisky. I'll join ya after. Keep the bottle warm."
The cell door creaked open, revealing a man wrapped in black cloth, his metal mask glinting in the candlelight. The boy knew him well. This was the man who'd spent three months beating and cursing him. And now he knew why he'd come.
Jon crouched low, grinning."Evenin, kid. Ready for tonight's game? Got a new toy just for you." He flashed the knife. "But first how bout a bit of a warm up, eh? A good beating always gets the blood pumpin'."
The boy's empty stare flickered into panic as Jon unlocked the chains. The moment he hit the floor, the fists came. And they didn't stop.
For an hour and a half, Jon pummeled him, kicking and punching, laughing between curses. But the boy, Rigel, didn't make a sound. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
Eventually, Jon spat blood from his lip and straightened up."Pathetic. You're no fun anymore." He raised the knife, ready to finish it.
He never noticed the snake sliding in through the crack in the wall. It struck fast, sinking fangs deep into his ankle. Jon screamed, dropping the knife.
Rigel, who had been waiting for this moment, snapped forward and seized the fallen knife. With no hesitation, he rammed the blade into Jon's groin. Twice. Blood sprayed across the stone, and as he shifted higher, stabbing the man's chest over and over, something inside him broke loose. And then it came.
The laugh. It started low a cracked, ugly chuckle spilling out between thrusts of the knife. But with every stab, it grew louder, wilder, until it swelled into a mad, hysterical cackle that rattled the cell walls. It was eerie, inhuman, a sound that crawled beneath the skin and froze the blood. Rigel's small body shook with it, his face twisting into something feral and unrecognizable, as though some hidden thing inside him had finally been set free. The stabbing and the laughter became as one, the rhythm of blade and breath, scream and shriek. He howled over Jon's failing body like a creature possessed, reveling in the chaos.
Only after nearly ten minutes did the sound falter. The knife slipped from his trembling hand, and the laughter dwindled into ragged gasps and shuddering breaths. Rigel stood over the corpse, chest heaving, eyes wide and glassy. Slowly, like a puppet with broken strings, he bent down beside Jon's crumpled body. His small hands shook as he pawed through the man's bloodstained jacket until his fingers brushed against the smooth wood of a wand. He pulled it free, clutching it tight, staring at it with an expression caught between wonder and fury.
For the first time in months, he felt something other than despair. Power. Rigel straightened, still breathing hard, the faint echo of his eerie laughter clinging to the air like smoke.
He straightened, the wand tight in his grip, his chest still rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The echoes of his laughter seemed to linger in the corners of the cell, like the walls themselves were afraid to let the sound go. His eyes, glassy and too bright, flicked toward the snake that coiled near the body.
Rigel tilted his head, a ghost of that broken chuckle slipping out before he stifled it. He wiped his bloodstained hand across his face, smearing red across his cheek like war paint.
His tone was polite, almost formal manners make the man, his mother had always said yet beneath it lurked the tremor of that madness, as if at any moment, the laughter might return.
Rigel's steps were slow as he crossed the cell, the wand still clutched tight in his small hand. He knelt beside his mother's body. She had been so beautiful golden hair spilled across the cold stone like a halo, her delicate face still young, no more than in her twenties. But her bright green eyes, once full of warmth, now stared wide and empty, glassy and dull, locked forever in that last moment of terror when the curse struck.
For a long while he only stared, his breathing uneven, the echo of his mad laughter faint but lingering. Then, carefully, with trembling fingers, he brushed her eyelids closed, granting her the peace denied in life.
"I'm fine now, Mum…" he whispered, his voice cracking. hic <…they're gonna pay. I'll make 'em pay.>
A broken chuckle slipped out, more a gasp than a laugh, quickly smothered beneath a wave of grief. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against hers, letting a few hot tears fall onto her still face. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pressed a final kiss to her cold forehead one last act of love before he let her go.
Mrs. Hiss slithered closer, her body brushing against his ankle in quiet support. Rigel wiped his eyes with the back of his bloodstained hand. His small features hardened with grim resolve, and together with the snake, he turned toward the open door.
The stairs groaned under Rigel's bare feet as he climbed, the snake gliding silently at his side. The stench of firewhisky and sweat thickened with every step, replacing the damp cold of the cellar.
Upstairs, the house was dimly lit, the air heavy. Laughter and muttered curses drifted from the kitchen, but the men were scattered.
One was locked in the bathroom, retching into a basin. Another lay slumped in the living room armchair, bottle still clutched to his chest, snoring through his own stench. The third Lanny stood in the kitchen, swaying as he checked the cupboards for another bottle. His mask was pulled off, his pale face slick with sweat.
Rigel stepped into the doorway. Lanny turned, bleary eyed, and their gazes met.
It happened in an instant.
Something inside Rigel surged, the same dark spark that had guided his hand with the knife. His will the pure, concentrated desire to kill crashed forward like a storm. The man froze, his pupils dilating as if dragged into a black pit. He tried to scream, but only a strangled gasp escaped his throat.
Rigel's small hand trembled on the wand, though he hadn't cast a single spell. He didn't need to. The moment their eyes locked, his mind pushed through, tearing into the drunkard's thoughts. Fragments of cruelty, fear, and cowardice flickered and burned away. The man's mind buckled under the weight of Rigel's hatred, until nothing remained but a hollow, broken shell.
Lanny's body slumped against the kitchen counter, drool running down his chin, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Whatever he'd once been was gone shattered when Rigel's gaze had met his.
Rigel blinked, chest heaving. He hadn't known what he had done, only that the moment he wanted him destroyed… he was.
Mrs. Hiss flicked her tongue in the silence.
Rigel tore his eyes from the ruined man and glanced toward the living room, where the second thug lay passed out. The faint ghost of a chuckle trembled in his throat as he tightened his grip on the wand.
The boy turned away, the knife clutched tight in his small hand. The sound of retching echoed from the bathroom down the hall.
Mrs. Hiss slithered forward, tongue flicking.
Rigel gave a small nod. He didn't need to watch. The bathroom door creaked open just enough for the serpent to slip inside. A man's drunken curses followed by a strangled cry echoed through the house, cut short by the wet choke of venom. The thud that came after was final.
When Mrs. Hiss slid back out, her scales gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
Rigel said nothing. His feet carried him to the living room, where the last man sprawled across an armchair, bottle clutched to his chest. He was snoring loud enough to shake the glass in the windows.
Rigel's face was calm, almost blank, as he crept closer. But inside, the laughter clawed at his throat again, hungry to be freed.
He raised the knife Jon's knife and drove it into the man's thigh. The drunk jolted awake with a scream, thrashing, the bottle crashing to the floor and shattering. Rigel yanked the blade free and stabbed again, deeper this time. Blood sprayed, soaking the chair, dripping to the floor.
The man tried to shove him away, but the drink made him sluggish, weak. Rigel slashed again, and again, until the man's strength bled out with the crimson pooling beneath him.
Breathing hard, Rigel let the knife clatter to the floor. His gaze drifted to a small table by the armchair. Upon it sat an old, half-empty ashtray and a box of matches.
His lips curved into a thin smile.
He took the box in his little hand, slid one match free, and struck it. The flame flared, tiny and fragile, reflected in his bright eyes. Without hesitation, he touched it to the blood-soaked, whisky stained fabric of the chair.
The fire caught at once, racing greedily up the armrest, then the back, then across the man himself. The screams that followed shook the walls, raw and hoarse, as flames consumed flesh and cloth alike.
Rigel only watched, silent and unblinking, until the thrashing slowed… and stopped.
Then, without a word, he turned, the fire's glow rising behind him, and walked toward the door that would lead him to freedom, Mrs. Hiss sliding silently at his side.
Rigel reached for the handle and pulled. The door creaked open
A blinding flash split the sky. Thunder crashed a heartbeat later, shaking the night.
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