บท 64: Chapter 38: I died how I lived, alone.
[POV Reginald Prince]
*Grinning*
"I think I'll do as much damage as I can before I kick the bucket!" I muse to myself, narrowly dodging another *Avada Kedavra* from this delusional prick.
"Hey, bastard!" I shout, taunting him as I sidestep. "Do you know any actually useful spells, or are you just gonna keep tossing those overcharged *Unforgivable Curses* at me? I mean, sure, they can get the job done, but if you wanna call yourself the Dark Lord of anything, at least have some flair for it!" I duck as another curse flies past me, this time hitting the poor bastard in a mask behind me.
"You're getting on my nerves, old man!" the wannabe Dark Lord growls. "Why don't you just die instead of wasting your breath trying to taunt me?"
I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief. "Wow! Just, wow! And you idiots actually chose this guy to lead you? I get it, compared to the rest of you, he manages to string together a coherent sentence, but seriously? Asking your enemy in a life-and-death duel why he isn't just rolling over and dying? That's insanity!"
With a flick of my wand, I transfigure the cutlery scattered around into sharp, thin spikes, launching them at the fugly bastards surrounding me. Some manage to dodge, others throw up shields, but a few of them just stand there, dumb enough to think they can tank it.
"Pathetic. How the hell did you lot manage to group up? You lack any semblance of skill!" I scoff. "The only reason you're even a threat is because that old goatfucker Dumbledore has weakened us so much that you idiots actually count as strong!"
*Sigh*
"Shut the fuck up, you old fossil!" Abraxas Malfoy bellows, his face contorted with rage.
"Hey, Abraxas!" I shout back, grinning like a madman. "My grandson fucked your son up! How does it feel to know your son's a walking disappointment? I mean, the poor sod needed his daddy to wipe his arse, and his daddy needed his daddy to wipe his! What a legacy!"
"Why are the Princes always so good at riling people up?" I hear someone muttering from behind me.
"The whole damn lineage is like that!" another voice grumbles in response.
I laugh out loud, relishing the chaos. "Yo, wannabe Dark Lord with daddy issues says what!" I shout, and, like clockwork, the idiot actually responds.
"What?"
"Hahahaha! Seriously? He fell for it!" I laugh so hard I nearly forget to dodge another *Crucio* hurled my way.
'If I were 20 years younger, I'd have fucked this guy up already,' I think with a mix of amusement and bitterness as I sidestep yet another curse. But I'm bleeding out, and all I can do now is dodge and wait for an opening.
Getting old is part of life, sure, but damn, it sucks not being able to do the things I once took for granted.
"Duro!" I shout, pointing my wand at the floor beneath the masked lackey's feet, turning the ground into solid stone, causing them to stumble.
"Confringo!" one of the lackeys of this Dark Lord-wannabe bellows, and I barely manage to deflect the explosion curse to the side, sending debris flying.
I smirk, my mind racing. "Too slow, you twat! Expulso!" I shout, aiming directly at his wand hand. He deflects it, but the shockwave still sends him staggering back.
"I'm just getting warmed up, you bastard!" I sneer, though I know I'm running out of time, and blood I can feel myself getting colder, and I don't think these guys will be giving me the time tend to my wound. But if I'm going down, I'm taking as many of these pricks with me as I can.
"Hey Black, is this how this is going to be? You have thrown your Honour and your families at the feets of these bastards, and their mudblood Lord?" I shout to the old man that has been a pain in my arse since my first day in Hogwarts, and I know this is going to hurt him. But he should have known better those who lie in bed with dogs wake up having wands shoved up their arseholes, and it is gonna itch because wands are made of wood and they splinter.
I fought with everything I had, but deep down, I know this is where it ends. The realization that I'll die here today settles like a stone in my gut. It's almost poetic, really—my whole life has been one long, relentless struggle, so it makes sense that my end would be just as bleak, just as empty.
When I look back, there's so little that didn't suck. The only things that stand out, that brought me even a sliver of joy, were my wife, my daughter—at least before she lost her way—and Severus.
*Severus...*
I sigh, feeling a pang of regret that cuts deeper than any curse ever could. I hope the boy doesn't take this too hard, but knowing him, he'll mourn and brood over it. He'll probably blame himself, maybe even hate me for leaving things unresolved. We never got the chance to reconcile, and that thought is almost more painful than the wounds that are slowly draining my life away.
My daughter was taken from me by these bastards, but I could not prove it, my wife died shortly after because of the heartbreak, and now I am leaving my grandson behind to fend for himself against all these vultures.
*Sigh*
"Hey, Moldy Fart," I rasp, forcing out a weak laugh despite the crushing weight in my chest. "I think I'll go out with a bang today."
I start drawing in as much magic as my body can hold, feeling it surge through my veins like liquid fire. Grindelwald never went after pureblood families with the same fervor he showed others, likely because he knew just how dangerous we could be. There's something in our blood—maybe it's the generations of inbreeding, or maybe it's the old codes of conduct we used to live by. Whatever it is, it makes us unhinged, unpredictable.
Severus always joked that it was the incest, but I think it's more than that. It's the old ways, the rituals we used to perform. The idea that if you're going to die, you might as well take down as many of the bastards attacking you as you can. Make sure your death means something, that it has weight.
I went through my own ritual years ago. Turned my blood into a deadly poison, something that would burn and spread like wildfire if I was ever pushed to the edge. If I'm going down, then everyone around me—friend or foe—deserves to go with me. The friends should have done more to help, and the foes? Well, they're just getting what they deserve.
With my body near its limit, I feel the magic building to a crescendo, my skin practically vibrating with the raw energy I'm channeling. There's a moment of clarity, a stillness, and then I transform, pushing myself into a sprint towards the enemy. My vision blurs, and I feel the explosion building inside, ready to rip through everything in its path.
And then... darkness. Silence. Cold.
In the void, I wonder if I'll see my wife again. Or if I'll finally get to meet Eileen again, to tell her how proud I am of the son she gave life to, how sorry I am for everything that has happened between us. I have so many stories to share, so many apologies to make.
I hope... I hope there's something waiting for me on the other side. Some semblance of peace after all this pain.
But all I feel is cold.
So very cold.
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