Before the war, he had been the butcher’s son in a tiny wizarding village off the coast of Rügen. Like most of the village children, his closest relatives were the ones to teach him to harness his magic – to be of use to the family business.
He had enjoyed those lessons as much as any child forced to butcher animals with magic would have. Which was to say he absolutely despised it. It wasn’t so much slaughtering the pigs and the lambs and the chickens that was an issue to his child-mind than was the act of butchering.
Sure, the pigs would squeal pitifully before they were stunned for slaughter, but that wasn’t the horror-inducing part. It was skinning the bodies, tearing apart the bone cartilage, draining the blood, chopping the bodies into neat hunks of flesh. Putting the scraps aside and ripping out the intestines and cleaning the waste from them to make sausages. Grinding the meat. Wrapping them up in paper. The odour of blood and sweat and spices and animal waste and meat would meld together into a foul stench that would take him years to get accustomed to.
Then there was Cousin Diedrich, who grew up off after his Ma died. Cold, like he couldn’t figure out how to be human any more.
Where Gustav would keep the livestock away from the slaughterhouse until it was absolutely necessary, Diedrich would take pleasure in killing the creatures in front of each other. He’d conveniently forget to stun them and revel in their screams and the carnage, and on one horrifying occasion managed to skin a whole pig alive before Gustav found and stopped him.
It was only going to be a matter of time before he transferred his sights to the villagers, Gustav knew.
The Draft had been as much a relief as it was a tragedy. Cousin Diedrich had ended up dying during the war, and no one was entirely sure if he’d been killed by a fellow soldier or an enemy.
Meanwhile, Gustav had handled his conscription marginally better – desensitising himself from blood and gore early in life worked wonders for surviving on the battlefield. Having a sense of empathy and kindness made him popular among his peers. He’d risen through the ranks as a reliable and obedient soldier – it ended up serving him well. He was offered a handsomely paid job barely a year after the end of the war.
“Oy Gustav! The ICW dogs caught one of the A-Listers and want reinforcements. You’re up.”
“What do you mean they caught an A-lister? Ain’t we supposed to kill’em on sight?”
“Higher-ups want to fill the vacuum Lady Regina left behind. What better candidate than the Failure who killed her, eh?”
“...is it safe?”
“Obviously. Word from HQ is that they’ve shackled and muzzled him. We just need manpower to keep him secure for the re-education officers to work their magic on him. Trust me, you’ll want this gig. It’s thirty galleons a night.”
“Thirty?!”
“Thought so. Here’s the papers. Report 1900 sharp at HQ.”
The escaped prisoner was still wearing his muzzle, yet his mouth and teeth eerily bore the tell-tale signs of recently mauling someone. His canines were stained completely red, and there were bits of flesh still attached to them. The dark leather of the muzzle, cuffs, and collar were crimson-brown-scarlet and caked with sludge. The stiff choker-collar hugging his neck was attached to a length of broken steel chain. Gustav knew those chains. Knew they were charmed to be physically unbreakable.
A cuffed hand attached to a broken chain was grasping a sobbing half-dead man by the neck.
“Spare me…please… I have famil–” a squelch, followed by a weak scream. No, It was a squeak.
An eerily chipper and terrifyingly calm voice emerged from the prisoner’s mouth.
“I’ll be sure to pay your family a visit. Thank you ever so much for the invitation. Tschüss!”
Gustav managed to close his eyes just before the unfortunate victim’s left clavicle was ripped from his body with a snap. The prisoner let go of the body and it fell to the ground with a sickening crunch.
The man was still alive, writhing in soundless agony with half his organs on the floor beside him.
God. He was going to have nightmares about this.
Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to live long enough to have nightmares about this.
The prisoner had Cousin Diedrich’s eyes. And they were looking straight at him.
“Now, good sir, it is your turn. Do you have any requests? Would you like me to visit your family as well?”
Gustav shook his head vigorously, amazed that he was even capable of moving between the white hot terror coursing through his veins and the body-freezing charm the prisoner had cast on him. Apparently the prisoner was not expecting any response, for he let out a bark of delighted laughter.
“Oh? You seem to have some spirit, at least. Will you beg for mercy?”
The man began stepping forward. Gustav felt himself lose control over his bowels, but there was no room for shame over the panic that was overtaking his very being.
“I must warn you, your speech will have to be very creative to stand out against the twenty-seven others I’ve heard tonight. Good job on soiling your pants, though!”
Gustav Fleischer had fought on the frontlines. He knew the horrors of war. The sights, the smells, the sounds of a battlefield.
Stepping into the room drenched in blood and covered in guts, with the pitiful moans of those unfortunate enough to still be alive echoing against the walls, he’d been hit by an unexpected rush of warm nostalgia.
(The man was smiling, and he’d looked strangely innocent. Like he couldn’t quite figure out how to be human anymore.)
This wasn’t anything close to a battlefield. It was the slaughterhouse of his childhood home. And there was only ever one mercy he could ever grant the hundreds of animals who came to live and die under his care.
“Please,” whispered Gustav, “Make it quick.”
It had been nearly four decades since he’d left the wizarding world behind him for good. Seeing the Butcher Lord casually stroll down the streets of Mundane Berlin had nearly given him a heart attack, but not as much as the sight of his companion.
He made the Sign Against Evil against his heart.
Odin help that poor girl-child.