CHAPTER 6 - PHOENIX'S REBIRTH
CHAPTER 6 - PHOENIX'S REBIRTH
After the old madman left to uncover the truth of the outside world, I found myself with an abundance of free time. With no tortures or experiments to dread, I could focus entirely on training.
The house elves continued to bring food and perform cleaning spells, but their comings and goings were swift and silent. I tried to catch them a few times, hoping to get some answers or perhaps some help, but they always evaded me effortlessly. The guards stopped checking in between meals, leaving me alone to ponder ways to break the door or unhinge it. Despite my efforts, the door remained steadfast.
The greatest relief, however, was the absence of the torturers since the surprising announcement of Voldemort's defeat. The lack of their presence meant no more torture sessions, giving me precious time to train in peace.
For a while, I was elated. The realization that I wouldn’t be tortured anymore brought an unexpected sense of happiness. Then, a sobering thought struck me: how pathetic must my life seem if the absence of torture was a cause for joy? The notion was depressing.
Shaking off the melancholy, I focused on my training. The thought of using my newly acquired skills against my captors and ultimately escaping this dungeon was a powerful motivator.
Two months had passed since my removal from the tiny cell. The change in environment, though still harsh, had done wonders for my body. While still malnourished, I managed to maintain enough health to engage in physical exercises and training. My determination to escape fueled my efforts.
One evening, as I was practicing Occlumency, I sensed a presence. It was one of the house elves, standing quietly in the corner.
“Why do you train so hard?” the elf asked, its voice a curious whisper.
I paused, surprised by the question. “Because I will escape,” I replied firmly. “And when I do, I need to be strong enough to survive.”
The elf tilted its head, considering my words. “The master is powerful. Many have tried to escape and failed.”
“I’m not like the others,” I said, a spark of defiance in my voice. “I have something they didn’t.”
“What is that?” the elf asked, stepping closer.
“Hope,” I answered simply. “And a plan.”
The elf’s eyes widened slightly before it vanished with a soft pop. I returned to my training, more determined than ever.
Days turned into weeks, and my routine became a blend of physical exercise, Occlumency practice, and attempts at wandless magic. Each success, no matter how small, felt like a step closer to freedom.
One afternoon, as I was practicing a levitation spell without my wand, I heard footsteps approaching. A guard appeared at the door, a sneer on his face.
“What are you doing, scum?” he spat.
“Training,” I replied calmly, not letting his presence rattle me.
“Training for what?” he mocked. “You think you can escape?”
I met his gaze, my eyes unwavering. “Yes. And when I do, you’ll regret every moment you spent underestimating me.”
The guard laughed, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Keep dreaming. You’ll die here like the rest.”
“Maybe,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips. “But I’m not dead yet.”
The guard’s expression darkened, but he said nothing more. He left, slamming the door behind him.
His words, meant to intimidate, only strengthened my reSALve. I returned to my training with renewed vigor, every muscle and ounce of magic within me focused on one goal: escape.
As the days passed, I continued to refine my skills. I could feel my body growing stronger, my mind sharper. Every night, I went to sleep with the same thought: I will escape.
And when I did, the world would know that I was not to be underestimated.
I've also managed to transmute various objects into metal. The process was gradual, beginning with small pieces of rock transformed into simple items like buttons or matches. Slowly, I progressed to creating larger and more intricate objects until I finally succeeded in crafting a weapon.
Magically, my progress has been steady. Although my magical cores haven't increased in size since the ritual, the density of the magical energy within me has been growing. The fog-like magical energy has become thicker as I train, and wandless magic has been getting easier over time. This leads me to believe that my body is gradually adapting.
One of my more ambitious projects has been attempting to create a magical shield similar to the Protego charm. It's proven difficult to form a full-body shield, but I have managed to create a small, hand-sized shield. Though limited, it could be useful in certain situations.
My routine of training and experimentation was abruptly interrupted when I heard a door slam open and the sound of footsteps approaching. One of the guards rushed past my cell, heading towards the others. I heard the distinctive sound of a stun spell and the dragging of a body, followed by the guard's hurried departure without bothering to close the cell doors.
'The old bastard must have found something truly important to be in such a hurry,' I thought, listening intently. Despite my intense hatred for that abomination, I couldn't deny his meticulousness regarding his rituals.
The guard returned again, and again, and again. Each time, he left with another prisoner until I was the last one remaining.
I knew my turn was imminent. I would either survive this new ritual or die without a grave like the others. Determined to fight, I transmuted a sharp knife and positioned myself in a corner near the door, ready to strike.
A moment later, the door creaked open, and the heavy-set guard stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. I held my breath, my grip tightening on the knife.
"You," he barked, eyes locking onto me. "Get up."
I didn't move immediately, gauging his distance and the best angle for my attack. "What does he want now?" I asked, stalling for time.
"Don't ask questions," the guard snarled, stepping closer. "Move."
As he reached out to grab me, I lunged, the knife aimed at his throat. He reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade nicked his skin, and he stumbled back, cursing.
"You'll pay for that," he growled, pulling out his wand.
I knew I had only seconds before he would cast a spell. Summoning all my concentration, I extended my hand, forming the small shield I had practiced so many times. The spell he cast ricocheted off the shield, surprising him.
"Impossible," he muttered, eyes wide with shock.
"Not for me," I replied, pushing forward. With a swift movement, I knocked his wand out of his hand and pressed the knife to his throat. "You're going to help me escape."
The guard's eyes darted around, searching for an escape. "You'll never get out of here," he spat. "The master—"
"The master won't do anything if you're dead," I interrupted. "Now, get up."
Reluctantly, he stood, and I kept the knife pressed against his throat as we moved towards the door. "You're making a mistake," he said through gritted teeth.
"We'll see about that," I replied, keeping my eyes and ears alert for any signs of other guards.
As we moved through the dimly lit corridors, my mind raced. I had to stay focused. One wrong move, and it would all be over. But this was my chance. My one shot at freedom.
We reached a junction, and the guard hesitated. "Which way?" I demanded, tightening my grip.
"Left," he answered, his voice a mix of fear and defiance.
We turned left, and I saw the main exit up ahead. My heart pounded in my chest. Just a few more steps, and I would be free.
But suddenly, alarms blared, and I knew our time was up. Reinforcements would be here any moment.
"Move!" I ordered, pushing the guard forward.
As we reached the exit, a group of guards appeared, wands at the ready.
"Stop right there!" one of them shouted.
I pressed the knife harder against my captive's throat. "Let me go, or he dies."
The guards hesitated, and in that moment of indecision, I made my move. Shoving the guard towards them, I sprinted for the door.
Spells flew past me, but I kept running, fueled by adrenaline and sheer determination. Bursting through the exit, I felt the cool night air on my face.
I was free.
But my journey was far from over. I had to keep moving, find a place to hide, and figure out my next steps.
But for now, I allowed myself a brief moment of triumph.
I had escaped.
My cell door creaked open, and I sprang into action. I pushed off the ground and bent low, moving swiftly. The overweight goon didn't see me until I was right in front of him. I drove my knife into his gut, feeling the warm blood on my hands. Before I could pull the knife out for a second stab, his massive fist swung toward my face. I released my grip on the knife and pushed away, reducing the impact but still feeling the blow.
He pointed his wand at me, but I dodged to the side, running toward the exit. He fired spells at me, and I deflected a few with my small palm shield, relying on reflexes. I sprinted past him, heading for the stairs when I heard a furious "CRUCIO!" from behind me.
Pain exploded through my body, and I fell forward, screaming. The goon kept casting the Cruciatus Curse, his face twisted in rage, until he was standing right beside me. He started kicking me, cursing with every blow.
"Damn filthy half-blood brat! Filthy half-beast mongrel! You dare to attack me? You dare harm me? You're lucky you're the last one and that Sir Avery wants you, or I'd have killed you already!" he yelled, delivering a final kick to my head. Darkness engulfed me.
I woke to the sound of voices. The old bastard and the overweight goon were talking, and I realized I was strapped to a table.
"This is the last one, sir. The filthy mongrel tried to escape! He stabbed me in the gut! We're lucky we don't have anyone else. We have to leave after he dies and start again somewhere else. The aurors are hot on our trail since we stole that egg," the goon said, his voice a mix of anger and worry.
"I know! You don't have to keep reminding me!" the old bastard snapped.
"I know it'll succeed this time. I calibrated it properly after the other trials just to get this one shot right. He's the perfect test subject for this. If this succeeds, the Dark Lord can regain his power almost immediately and take his place at the head of a new world!" The old man sounded completely insane, his eyes gleaming with a manic light.
The goon, clutching his bleeding gut, stepped back as the old man prepared for the ritual. I struggled against my restraints, trying to focus through the pain. My mind raced, searching for a way out.
"Ready the instruments," the old man commanded. The goon obeyed, setting up various arcane tools and potions.
"You're mad if you think this will work," I spat, trying to stall.
The old man turned to me, his expression twisted with a mixture of annoyance and excitement. "Your defiance is pointless. This will work, and you will be the key to our success."
The goon approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "What if it fails again? What if we have to flee?"
"It won't fail," the old man hissed. "I have fine-tuned every detail. This ritual is foolproof."
I glanced around, my eyes landing on a small, sharp instrument on a nearby tray. I had to distract them, create an opening.
"So, what exactly does this ritual do?" I asked, feigning interest.
The old man sneered. "It channels your magical energy to restore the Dark Lord's power. You, with your unique abilities, are the perfect conduit."
"And what happens to me?" I pressed.
"Why, you die, of course," he replied with a chilling smile.
As he turned away to adjust a potion, I seized the moment. Summoning every bit of strength, I focused my energy on the sharp instrument, willing it to move. It wobbled, then slid off the tray, landing near my hand.
The goon noticed and lunged for it, but I was faster. I grabbed the instrument and slashed at my restraints, cutting through them just as the goon reached me. I kicked out, sending him sprawling, then turned to the old man.
He raised his wand, but I was quicker. I conjured a shield with one hand and threw the sharp instrument with the other. It struck his wand, knocking it aside.
"You little—" he began, but I didn't give him a chance to finish. I tackled him, using the element of surprise to my advantage.
The goon recovered and charged at me, but I ducked and rolled, grabbing the old man's wand. I pointed it at the goon and cast a stunning spell. He collapsed in a heap.
Panting, I turned to the old man. "You're done," I said, my voice cold and determined.
He glared at me, hatred burning in his eyes. "You think you've won? This is only the beginning."
"Maybe," I replied, binding him with his own wand. "But you're not going to see it."
I took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion. I had to get out of here, but first, I needed to find out where they had hidden my things. And maybe, just maybe, I could destroy their work and prevent them from ever trying this again.
As I made my way through the dark corridors, I knew one thing for sure: I wouldn't stop fighting until I was free and they were defeated.
He moved around the room, writing symbols on the floor with blood saturated with magic. The energy emanating from the blood was palpable, almost bursting with power. But what truly captured my attention was a small box nearby. It radiated an intense magical energy, akin to a small sun. The power felt limitless, without end or beginning, and probing into it for too long threatened to dull my senses.
The old codger finished his preparations and positioned himself above me once more—bringing back unpleasant memories. I heard the unsheathing of a small dagger and the opening of the box. The sensation of the magical "sun" above me grew stronger. He began chanting in a low, rhythmic voice, building momentum until he raised the dagger and plunged it into my chest, shouting, "Quod est ad coniungere cum sanguine!"
Shock overtook me as pain surged through my body. I screamed internally at the old man. 'It wasn't enough that they took my new family and shoved me into a dungeon! It wasn't enough when he took my eyes and almost made me explode the first time! It wasn't enough when this motherf**ker tortured me every day for months! Now he wants me to die for this bullshit too!'
As these thoughts raced through my mind, the old man shouted, "Quod est ad coniungere cum flamma immortalem!" and shoved the "sun" into the stab wound.
Suddenly, my entire body felt like it was on fire. Everything burned, including my magic. At that moment, something penetrated my mind's defenses. It didn't tug or test; it simply entered. Instinctively, I retreated into my mental fortress to defend myself, but what I saw outside was a bird setting everything ablaze. It screeched in madness and pain, trying to destroy everything in hopes of ending its own suffering. My defenses were ineffective against it. How do you shoot down a species known for its immortality? How do you stop a freaking Phoenix?
I watched in horror as the Phoenix's flames spread, consuming everything in their path. My mental defenses were no match for the creature’s raw power and fury. The bird's shrieks echoed through my mind, a symphony of agony and rage. I had to find a way to confront this force, or it would destroy me from within.
Drawing on every ounce of willpower, I focused on creating a mental shield around my core. The Phoenix’s fire lashed at it, but I held firm, channeling my magic into reinforcing the barrier. I needed a strategy, a way to calm or control the creature before it consumed everything.
In a moment of clarity, I remembered the stories of the Phoenix’s rebirth through fire. Perhaps the flames were not SALely a force of destruction but also of renewal. If I could withstand the fire, maybe I could harness its power instead of being consumed by it.
Tentatively, I reached out mentally, trying to connect with the Phoenix’s essence. Its pain and madness were overwhelming, but beneath that, I sensed a flicker of something else—hope, perhaps, or the potential for rebirth. I focused on that glimmer, pouring my own strength into it, attempting to soothe the creature's torment.
The Phoenix paused, its flames flickering uncertainly. Encouraged, I pressed on, mentally projecting images of peace and renewal. Slowly, the bird’s screeches softened, and the flames began to recede. The burning sensation within me lessened, replaced by a warmth that was almost comforting.
The Phoenix, now calmer, circled above my mental fortress. It still radiated immense power, but it was no longer an uncontrolled inferno. Instead, it seemed to be waiting, as if recognizing me as a potential ally rather than an enemy.
I took a deep breath, both mentally and physically, and addressed the Phoenix directly within my mind. "We don’t have to fight. We can coexist. Together, we can be stronger."
The Phoenix regarded me with its piercing eyes, and I felt a connection form between us. The flames around it dimmed to a gentle glow, and it perched atop my mental fortress, a guardian rather than a destroyer.
Returning to the physical world, I found the old man staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "Impossible," he muttered, "No one has ever survived that ritual."
I felt a newfound strength surging through me, the Phoenix’s power now intertwined with my own. "I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met," I said, my voice steady and reSALute.
With a swift movement, I broke free from my restraints, the old man backing away in fear. "What are you?" he stammered.
I stood tall, feeling the Phoenix’s energy coursing through me. "I am reborn," I declared, summoning my magic. Flames erupted around me, controlled and powerful. "And you will pay for what you’ve done."