Oh, Death

The sky had been painted black that evening, and the Earth a deep shade of maroon. Not a sound was made that could be heard by human ears, for none had been spared.

One house after another, Death had visited, and yet, hungry he remained. Not a soul that he had devoured on that silent street had appeased his appetite. And once more he was left with nothing but the feeling of emptiness at his very core, and the rank scent of the blood that stained his white suit, and of the many decaying bodies that had been scattered across the pavement.

With an overpowering feeling of rage, and that familiar, unquenchable longing settling within him, Vito walked on. Not with a destination in mind, or a purpose did Vito move forward, but with the hope of distracting himself from the severe discomfort that he was experiencing. Over the course of a mere week, the hunger had manifested, until alas he had lost control.

No longer did he keep in mind the possibility of exposing himself to the Ministry as he committed murder. How could he while his every internal organ burned like fire? No; Vito had nothing in mind but the pain, and his need to relieve himself of the torturous feeling that plagued him.

Surely, this was how it felt to die.

Death was coming from the streets, and Zoe froze, staff in hand, eyes glued to the too dark pavement not far away. She knew the scene, she had caused it a few times, and now she was staring at someone else's handiwork. Creeping into the light of a lamp post, Zoe stood and stared in disgust and horror. The road was littered with bodies, something horrible had come through here, and Zoe nearly retched. Zoe didn't kill muggles, or muggleborns, she didn't kill innocents.. she killed monsters who hurt others, that was her directive... but this.... Zoe knew the signs, knew the handiwork, and her heart seemed to freeze.

A poltergeist had come through here. A poltergeist that Zoe knew... one she knew she couldn't handle, and it just so happened that the person who could, had been locked away in Azkaban for treasonous activity. Jack Dyllan, her poltergeist savior... and now.. this man had struck again. Zoe very quickly pulled out a muggle cell phone, and quickly whispered into it. The man was here.. she needed immediate action, NOW. She knew he was here, the corpses were too fresh. "I need someone to release Jack Dyllan from Azakaban, there has been a serious issue that only she can deal with." Zoe listened for a moment. "I don't care about the stupid administration! This is a big deal! You listen to me you.." Zoe stared at her phone in shock. They had hung up.. they didn't care. "Dammit. "Zoe whispered and her eyes darted up to the street. Cold air swept over her, and Zoe froze in fear and shock. He was near... "Paris.. Paris.." Zoe whispered and sent up her wand, sending a patronus to the person she knew might be able to help.

To the sound of rustling within the room, Paris awoke. He sat forward hastily on the dusty couch that he had begun to doze on, and peered across the foreign room in the hopes of identifying whomever had joined him. While it was not in the nature of Paris Ravindra Radborn to take a surprise so seriously, the response only seemed logical while he spent the evening in a home that did not belong to himself. On the run, he had been when the heavy gray clouds had claimed the sky, and once more he had been left with no further choice but to hide away in the nearest abandoned household.

Paris climbed to his feet, and cocked his head to one side in an expression of curiosity. From where he stood in that poorly lit room, he could make out the familiar glow of a Patronus. It was but a faint blur of silver to him then. But as he stepped nearer to it, Paris' straining eyes recognizing its shape. With an arm extended towards the Weasel, he crouched down to its height. "Bonjour," he greeted it with a toothy grin. "How may I be of service?"

Zoe's voice sounded from the Weasel, which stared intently at Paris. "We have a situation Paris.." Her voice said, staring up at him. "I hope you recognize my voice, Zoe Gould." She said and the Weasel played with it's fur for a second before continuing. "A poltergeist has gone on the rampage, and the only one we have that can do anything about it, is Jack Dyllan, unfortunately, she has been thrown in Azkaban... and the Ministry isn't willing to help." Zoe said, her voice full of obvious strain. "The Poltergeist is still here... I can feel the cold, but we need her.. now..." Zoe's voice grew very strained, before it looked intently at Paris. "I need you to break her out.. I don't care how, I don't care if you get caught... I need her out... there has been a mass slaughter of muggles in London..."

Zoe's Weasel grew weaker. "She'll be in Azkaban... and you are our best.... hope to get her out. Please... hurry Paris... My life may be on the line right now.." She grew tense, and then the Weasel disappeared completely.

The instructions that Paris had been given were simple. He had been assigned a task by an employee of the Ministry of Magic – a task which he was incapable of refusing. But it was not solely the man’s addiction to adrenaline that put him in this position ; in exchange for the Ministry’s mercy, he had offered his skill in lock picking and weaponry. And it was by this deal that Paris was bound.

Paris lifted a hand to his forehead and saluted the Patronus before it vanished from his sight.

-

It had taken quite some effort on Perry’s part to gain access to the prison in which his target had been locked. The building was heavily guarded, and not by men alone. Both the ocean and the dementores that drifted in the air above it acted as a wall of protection from the world outside. But the feat had not been impossible. Not with the aid of an infuriated auror.

With rough hands, he was thrown forward by the auror with whom Paris had started an unnecessary duel. The auror was not a stranger to Paris; a truth that had greatly assisted Paris in his attempts to enrage the other man to the point of apperating him to Azkaban. They had encountered one another once before under similar circumstances; Perry had mistakenly sounded an alarm while attempting to defeat a security system that he was not familiar with.

True to his nature, Paris had escaped the auror’s grasp on this occasion, thus making the man all the more willing to lock Paris in a dank cell to rot for his having made such a fool of him. Surely, the act of imprisoning an ally to the Ministry would make him all the more laughable - as well as having perfectly plaid the part that Paris had assigned him as he'd intentionally exposed himself.

But the auror was evidently unaware of this truth.

Paris stumbled forward, and into the cell that he had been assigned. The cell’s heavy door followed suit, clattering noisily against the frame that it belonged to. “Merci!” Paris called after him with a wide grin; one that twinkled past the bars that had locked him inward.

Cue: Jack Dyllan

It had been the wind, Vito’s faithful companion, who had delivered to him news of a survivor. With eager ears, Vito had accepted this message, for the ache in his stomach had taken hold of him once more. He was to be presented with another opportunity to curb his appetite.

Vito paused in mid-step, and from his frostbitten fingers he released the heart that he had previously held within his grip. She was not far from where he stood; her voice was near, as was the frantic beating of her heart. The sound echoed like the clapping of thunder in Vito’s ears, and in response, he turned from the heap of organs that had previously held his attention.

He stepped in her direction – or what he had assumed was her direction, as he had not yet eliminated enough of the distance that remained between them for his eyes to locate her. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Vito called, his voice as smooth as silk as it traveled about the chilled evening air.

Zoe's heart froze in her chest, when she heard a voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Zoe slid out of sight and rushed to hide behind a tree near her. Her heart was hammering, and her mind was telling her how bad that was. He could hear her.. she was going to die. Zoe swore softly under her breath and looked around her for a way to get out of this. She had to stay on scene.. and as long as he was focused on her.. he wasn't focused on anyone else. And Zoe knew.. if he killed her, she wouldn't be to sad, she didn't have much of a life anyway.. but if she could save someone's life in the process, it would be worth it.

Zoe glanced around the tree she was standing by, and she immediately gulped and took off towards one of the houses. His voice hadn't come from it. She opened the door and slid inside, she knew she had to distract him, and as long as her heart was beating, he would be distracted. She jumped up the stairs in the house, and immediately swung around and found a bathroom. She pointed her wand into the room, and started the water in all the taps, before she flung herself down the stairs, and turned on the water in there too. If he was in a killing mode, the water would freeze before he came in, and she'd be a little prepared. So she sat down in the corner of the room, and waited for him to find her.

Jack had been alone for awhile now. Days. Weeks… Probably years. Time was nothing here, that much she knew. She was sane, yes, she could tell. She ran through a list of things that she knew proved she was sane. She would run through difficult algebra problems, she would list magical creatures by Ministry ranking, she would name everyone she could remember in her year at Hogwarts.
Aaron had been gone for awhile. He had never actually committed a crime, after all. Technically, neither had Jack, but not in Grindelwald’s eyes. The Death Eaters had ins at Askaban, so he had easily slipped in then out, easy as that. Jack had stayed, grinding her hands into mush to keep herself from losing to the torrent of memories, abusing her own body to protect her mind.

She could hear a commotion and she looked up, wiping more blood off of her hands onto her pants. Her hands were almost disfigured- it was the only way to escape the fog, and she was sure they would be fine. Scarred, maybe, but fine. She tilted her chin, looking out through the bars. Most of the other inmates ignored newcomers. Jack tried to memorize who came in, so she could bring something back to the Order.

The bars rattled and she looked up. Suddenly, a man was flung into the cell. Jack blinked and then moved away, glancing at him. He uttered a word of French and she coughed. “Um…. Who are you?” Best figure out if she needed to fear for her life or not now.

How strange was his luck, to have been delivered straight to the woman whom he'd been instructed to assist. Paris had anticipated the difficulty that would undoubtedly surround the task of locating Jack Dyllan amongst the thousands who resided within the prison - only to find that he'd been made the woman's inmate. Paris was bewildered; never before had something come with such ease to the man.

After having turned to face the young voice that had greeted him, Paris' previously fast-working fingers went still. No longer did his leather pouch of lock picks occupy his attention, rather, the redhead who sat at his sneaker-clad feet. His eyebrows jumped upward to tease his hairline, and yet another smile graced his lips. "Jack Dyllan, am I correct?" he inquired, so to make certain that the face he had pictured within his mind's eye, prior to receiving word of his mission from Zoe Gould's Patronus hadn't simply been another dose of Déjà vu.

She was a spitting image of the woman that he had seen.

Before having received an answer, Paris continued, "I have been sent by Zoe Gould to free you."

With ease, Vito recognized the human’s ever increasing heart rate for what it was; a symptom of a body that was being forced to exceed its expectations. It was a feeling that Vito could not recall; the anguish of a vital organ overworked. For the vessel in which he resided had long since gone quiet in response to the mistreatment that it had been subject to. Hadn’t Vito’s only temperature run so cold, the man may very well have begun to decay.

As Vito stepped towards that deafening drumming song, he weaved his way through the field of muggles and wizards alike that lay upon the ground, broken and dissembled. With narrowed eyes he swept the street in search of the human who had so impolitely fled from his voice. But to no avail. As one second faded after another, Vito’s hunger grew increasing unbearable. He was in no mood for a hunt; he only desired the comforting warmth of blood against his icy skin. But his prey was not as keen to join those who had gone before her.

“I can hear you,” Vito spoke through a pair of parted, bloodstained lips.

He extended an arm at his side to ghost his fingertips against the glass of near window, tracing trails of frost upon its smooth surface. Alas, he had located the household in which he was certain the human being cowered. Both corners of the poltergeist's stolen lips curled upward, and at once, the windowpane burst into a chaotic storm of shattered glass.