“Leave.”

“Leave? Boy do you not know the lore of death. I will spill your blood across this painting of Potter.” A pale figure uttered as a sinister smile flashed on his face.

Gregor’s smile stiffened as ancient voices went rampant in his mind, intoxicating his senses. Killing intent danced across his eyes as he desired to kill the cloaked individual. Releasing his wand; rigged in nature, with black being the only identified color besides the purposely-left blood-stains coated around it.

“You dare cast the ancient arts on to me? You know nothing of my power. Atque Unguibus Auries Mortis!” Gregor the Great vocalized with murderous intent. Gaseous tentacles emerged from the mystic air coating the room, slowly surrounding the cloaked individual. Gregor remained elated knowing he was able to soon kill. His tentacles claimed sovereignty of the room by deliberately causing destruction, lashing onto the walls, floors and ceiling. Leaving gashes and debri, they sensed an object void of ruin; the painting of Potter and the individual who stood in front of said painting.

“Gregor. You deliberately destroy this room for what reason? Your sense of superiority. Your death should’ve been cemented decades ago if I so wished. But now you seek my life and disrespect the home of my greatest ancestor. You and the lot roaming through my ancestral land will face death and abandonment.” The cloaked individual softly stated as his green eyes brightened emerald. A wand of ancient and boundless power appeared in his grasp, releasing the aura of death and destruction. As its presence alone forced the tentacles into submission, as they squealed and screeched in apology. Gregor’s once elated face transitioned into anger and disbelief as the passionate cries of threstral’s plagued his hearing. Staring at the cloaked figure, he noticed a phantom materialize into existence as a thestral of phenomenal height and aura looked at him domineeringly. Spreading its wings that spanned dozens of feet as its white eyes contained a beacon of utmost intelligence.

“The King of Thestrals, Ala-equit. The possessor of the Elder Wand…” Gregor softly spoke in disbelief as he calculated his chances of survivability. Laughing in an unconcerned manner, he pushed his tentacles towards both Ala-equit and its master. Only for it to be negated instantaneously as Ala-equit stomped its hooves upon the ground, creating a gravitational force that pushed Gregor several inches back. As he felt his bodily instincts scream to flee, Gregor ignored such sensation as he summoned a myriad of tentacles. As the tentacles grew more ferocious in appearance, resembling spider legs. They danced around Ala-equit and the cloaked individual as they cautiously searched for any semblance of opening.

“You may possess the fabled wand of legend. But hasn’t that wand seen blood exchanges throughout the hundreds of years? Such artifact is worthy to be grasped by me, Gregor the Great!” A cynical laugh resounded as more gaseous tentacles emerged into existence. Waving his wand in fervent fashion, Gregor remained alert, contrasting his energetic and careless persona.

“Est Ianua Leti.” An ancient voice echoed and boomed throughout the mountain. Alerting each and every individual located throughout the mansion, and the one climbing uphill. The ocean colored atmosphere became decrypt and aged as it exposed the beauty of the stars, leaving a void of darkness. Skeletal hands emerged from the void; opaque with the presence of death as it descended onto the mansion. Gregor, witnessing the phenomenon felt his soul struggle as the skeletal hands raced closer to snuff his life for eternity. Refusing to accept the outcome, blood drained from his orifices as he formed into gaseous clouds that barely avoided the impact of the skeletal hands. The impact itself was unmatched in destructive prowess as it nearly collapsed the entire mansion. The reverberation forced the dancing snow on the mountain to scream and race as they transformed into an avalanche, coating the once untainted mansion. Now a place of ruin as snow and ash ran rampant, what once was a place of mystery became a place of history.

Minutes ago.

“Say boy, what’s with the frown? Don’t tell me your nothing but a beta-ass bitchboy. That’s unfortunate. Oh, maybe I should get some whores to make you more manly?” The bird preached non-stop as it chided into Niel’s ear, causing him to regret not leaving with the Order. As the trio ventured into a maze with walls crafted from bones and skulls that seem to fuse with pages of great age. Forming a creative but eerie atmosphere that seemed to contain hidden knowledge and theories in the world of magic. The deeper they traveled, as they constantly twisted and turned, the emergence of ghost became frequent. Niel glanced towards his side, noticing Alicia clench her wand as her mouth quivered. He smiled mischievously, while the bird glared before it pecked at his ear.

“Fuck off. Just because we’re scared of ghost doesn’t mean we can’t smoke you bitch. Hmph! Even if this place collapsed, nothing will ever damper our spirits.” As soon as the vulgar bird uttered that statement, the catacombs quaked violently. The barely transparent ghost, became vengeful spirits with the hue of shadows as their emptied sockets soon became a ferocious red glow.

“Pipsqueak, you damnable bird. Stop using your power of bad-luck. Hey, Phoenix-boy, it seems we could use your help at this time.” Alicia spoke as her wand emitted intense light as she gave a beaming smile towards Niel. Who only sulked before pulling his wand from his robe. Earthen hands emerged beneath them as they struggled to hold the crumbling skeletal cave. As the Queen’s light forced the ghost to flee as they submerged themselves into the walls, the hands slowly forced the walls from collapsing. Sighing a breath of relief, Niel almost spoke until he saw an approaching shadow. Unable to see the figure who seemed to be clad in the shadows, Niel locked gazes with its most distinctive features; ruby eyes.

“… The Ghost.” Alicia spoke as a fighting spirit sparked within her yellow sunlight irises.

---

A party of four led themselves down the snow-painted mountain. In the forefront was a beauty with medium height for a female, as her long braided hair danced behind her. Gesturing her hand, the group suddenly paused. As they noticed a figure donned in white robes slowly approach them. Though his height was lesser, his dignified and domineering aura forced Madeline to gulp. As his appearance became clearer, Madeline and the group felt awe and admiration. The man said to be unmatched throughout the world, the man said to have the highest kill count towards dark wizards. The same man who was famed for surviving while rumored to be the only one capable to slay the leader of the Death Eaters; The Elder. As he confidently approached the group, his serious demeanor slowly lifted. As Madeline stared at the face that embodied authority and power, those dim-brown eyes of his seemed to command you by instinct. The supposed light of the world.

Lord Trenaver.