Culling Ⅶ

Unintentionally Bertram let out a breath that he had been holding in causing Sanderson to sigh loudly in disappointment. "Well, Prince, I have clearly lost the bet. It would appear that I overestimated Bertram's capacities. It is your complete and utter victory." Sanderson tilted his white-haired head towards Reginald Prince in acknowledgment of his loss.

Removing his hood, the stern face of Reginald Prince is revealed. Reginald Prince is as slender as ever and even more so after the death of his wife. The lines in his face have grown deeper, and that cold gleam of his past had returned to his eyes. There was a sense that the sleeping hungry wyvern was slowly being aroused, sharpening its talons even as it slept. And when the old wyvern finally did awake, it would devour everything and anything in its path.

"Are you going to kill me, Prince?" Bertram bluntly asked before a slow sneer appeared on his face at the lack of response from either man.

"You cannot be that correct, Prince?" Bertram contemptuously emphasized with great relish. "The Potentate of London is bound by the oath to protect and interceded on my behalf."

The icy visage of Reginald Prince's face begins to crack as a slow, cold smile appears on his face. "I will very much enjoy this," he muttered out loud, before pulling his wand back Bertram's neck. In an instant, he casts the Cruciatus curse, "Crucio," sending Bertram screaming and withering onto the cold, stone floor.

The ear-splitting shrieks of Bertram echo loudly in the stone basement causing Sanderson to wince at the unsightly shrieks. Studying his nails impassively, Sanderson removes a nail filer from his pocket and begins to clean his nails, while filing them down. Time passed by in this miserly fashion until at long last Sanderson finished both hands.

Putting the nail filer away, Sanderson claps his hand loudly to gain the old Prince's attention. "Come now, Prince, surely this has gone on long enough? My ears are ringing painfully, and my head is beginning to ache."

Abruptly Bertram's screams shut off as small gasps and sobs escape from his hoarse throat. He is simply unable to think as all he can feel is still the aftereffects of the curse. His nerves feel as they are melting on the inside of his body as his body continues to violently tremble with after shakes. It hurt even to attempt to move his fingers much less the rest of his body. The pain was such that the collective could not even pierce through the fog and connect to him. He was alone.

A trace of fear begins to appear in Bertram's as crisp footsteps can be heard as Reginald Prince approaches him. Opening his mouth to speak, he finds that he cannot make any sounds beyond gasping for breath and pained whimpers. He weakly lies there on his side gasping like a fish out of water unable to move and painfully suffocating to death.

"Thief, you are correct, I cannot kill you," Reginald Prince pointedly answered, before bending down and leaning close enough to whisper only into Bertram's ear. "That honor belongs to my dear younger sister, Georgine. You stole that which was most precious to her, the future that lay in her womb. You should have remembered that the Prince's are never to be crossed. Sanguis Enim Sanguis, Blood for blood, this debt must be repaid and it will be repaid in full with added interest."

Bertram opens his mouth to spit at the old Prince only to find Reginald Prince prying his mouth open with gloved hands. A merciless expression can be seen on Reginald's face as he removes a metal tool from his pocket holding Betram's mouth open. Holding the metal pincer-like instrument up to the candlelight, he muses out loud. "The goblins have always made excellent metalwork. They are masters of their craft."

Lowering the instrument to Bertram's mouth, Reginald begins to ruthlessly pull out a tooth from Bertram's mouth. Bertram's hoarse screams fill the dungeon once more as crimson splatters onto the floor and their clothes. However, thanks to the length of the Cruciatus curse, Bertram has no control over his body. The fragment is unable to move, and worst of all trapped within the vessel's body feeling every single shred of agony. It was trapped!

It took some time, but Reginald was a patient man. He neatly lined up all 32, blood-stained human teeth in a row. Ignoring the bloody mess on the stone floor, he rises to his feet and removes the bloodstains from his clothes in a practiced fashion, "Tergeo." Ignoring the bleeding, toothless form of Bertram that had lost blissfully consciousness from sheer agony, he makes his way towards Sanderson.

"I trust that you will finish the job that has been entrusted to you?" Reginald matter-of-factly asked as he adjusted his gloves.

"Naturally, it will be an enjoyable task for once," Sanderson jovially replied. "One can't be too careful with these things for they tend to naturally return to bite one in the back of the hand when least expected. We shall proceed as previously discussed."

"Ensure that is the case," Reginald plainly remarked, before pulling the cowl of his hood. "I will see myself out. A good evening to you, Sanderson."

"To you as well, Prince," Sanderson called out before the old Prince disappeared around the bend of the stone stairwell. There were plenty of things to get down before the night was up.

Soon enough the old Prince's footsteps fade away as Sanderson heartily begins to hum to himself, a well-known English ditty, "Sing a Song of Sixpence." (The ditty had made its way into wizard culture since the nonsensicalness of the ditty made sense to wizarding folk.)

Putting on his glove he continued to hum, before rather out of tuning singing his favorite lines. "When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing –, Wasn't that a dainty dish, To set before the king?" He only paused to bind the unconscious form of Bertram, before making his way to the terrified mob that lay on the cold stone floor.

The bloody, bagshot eyes of Mundungus Fletcher flicker in panic back and forth. They had taken over briefly over the stunned form of Mundungus Fletcher and had observed the torture of their vessel, Bertram. They had not been able to repossess Bertram with the effects of the Cruciatus curse still in place.

The dark magic of the curse was an obstacle to the connection and as a result, Bertram was completely cut off from the collective. Even worse, they were not able to aid the vessel of Mundungus Fletcher. It was not a spell that could be overthrown under the unity of the collective as a whole, but rather the work of a potion. They had no choice but to permit the effects to wear off on their own. They should not have been trapped, but the curse effects of the puppet were slowly beginning to take their toll. This was the first true sign of the trouble that the curse would bring upon the collective if not resolved soon.

However, an even more pressing and rather alarming concern were the actions of the departed Reginald Prince and that of Sanderson. It was a mild relief that Reginald Prince had departed, but not the actions taken against that of Bertram. The levels of sheer mercilessness spoke volumes about the old Prince's emotional framework. It certainly did not bode well for the future. Rather it added a bit of uncertainty and suggested that the reading of the old gypsy fortuneteller was for true. The three-headed runespoor had begun to move.

For the old Prince held power in the Ministry of Magic (and wizarding society), the Underworld, and those that had long been forgotten, the followers of Gellert Grindelwald. "The forsaken will gather anew for Fate continues to weave her tapestry," the gypsy's unbidden words returned to their mind. Life and Death were beginning to move their pawns openly against them.

A sneer appeared on their face, and what did that matter, they had defeated far greater foes than the broken serpent, the roused lion, and the runespoor with three faces. For the very Founders of Hogwarts had crumbled away before them. Let fate continue to weave away, while they emerged victorious yet again. It was their DESTINY.