𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒.
Eris Achlys believed nothing could save her. She was another puppet waiting to be mastered. A witch crafted from Hades' hands and cast to Tartarus, doomed for all eternity to fail. A talented girl born purely to be used...
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August of 1976
Kynance Mews, London
⋆ 。° ⋆ ━━━━━━━ ⋆ 。° ⋆
Agony. They screamed in pure agony.
The street was massacred. Bodies hung from roofs, nooses pulled tight. The cobbled road was dyed red. It was a junkyard of limbs.
Blood sprayed a thin line across Valeris' mask as she yanked the blade from out of her shoulder. She felt the drops of blood run down her hands, tickling her fingertips as they fell. Dripping down like droplets falling from flower petals into a puddle of pain. She remained stoic even as the heavens cried at her sins, drowning the city of London in furious rains.
The screaming had not stopped. Eris eventually joined them; the pitiful whimpers from those who had not yet been granted the blessing of death cried out. To her left, she faintly heard the sound of a mother pleading for help for her unconscious son.
She paid no mind.
Alarms rang, echoing across the stormed skies as the Order signaled their arrival. Eris clawed at her shoulder, fingers clawing at the gaping puncture as blood poured down her arm like a waterfall dyed red. She gritted her teeth, bared her claws, and stumbled up from her place on the cobblestone, dragging herself away from the bodies that lay, lifeless from the same poison that flowed through her veins now.
Death laid its claim over another muggle police officer. To make her exist, safe and alive, she had to breach the security (who barely even posed a threat to the assassin). A simple and quiet getaway: infiltrate the Order's medical wing and obtain the knowledge they possess on Scrofungulus - but these jobs never could be as easy as they sounded, not with Eris' luck.
As Eris laid the law enforcement member beside his fellow comraderies of muggles, she knelt over his body, covered in blood, and tugged the badge off from his uniform: he deserved no recognition of protectorate, not when she had posed no threat (yet) and attacked her. War was full of causalities, civilians always seemed to take the blow to the most numbers.
Survival of the fittest, she supposed; Social Darwinism practices executed. To the victor, the crown. There was no room in the world for the weak.
Nobility, in the Wizarding World, was a system of classes, made up of the most prestigious, the most monopolized families. Without a name, you hold no title, with no title comes no power, and so the pattern goes. Most of the wealthy aristocrats preferred to not get their hands dirty, rather pay someone who pays someone else to do their labor. So, while Eris did find her hands covered in the blood more often than not, her weighed-down pockets were worth the work.
