Descent - Mattheo Riddle

Chapter eight

With a flick of his wand and the same incantation, he conjured fire once more. This time, however, he didn't stop at inflicting a simple burn. He set my leg ablaze, the flames slowly devouring my flesh. I screamed in misery as the fire spread, the open wound only intensifying the pain. Yet, he didn't let me burn completely. I suppose he still needed me alive.

"Well?" he prodded again; his tone laced with impatience. The searing torture coursing through my body threatened to overwhelm me, each breath a struggle against the relentless pain. If not for the chains and the binding spell, I feared I might crumple to the ground in utter defeat. Yet, I remained resolute, refusing to show him the full extent of my suffering. "It would certainly be in your best interest to start cooperating, my dear," he continued, his wand twirling idly between his fingers as he circled around me. "I don't think your hot little body, or your dear mind could take anymore."

I gasped for air; my voice strained with the effort to speak through the torment. "You... know nothing about me," I managed to utter, the words punctuated by sharp pangs of anguish radiating from my wounds.

His grin widened, a cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah but isn't that why we're here?" he quipped, his tone dripping with mockery. "To become better acquainted?" He paused, relishing the agony etched across my face. "Unfortunately, you seem rather reticent. Otherwise, we might have made more progress in our budding relationship, wouldn't you agree?"

Through clenched teeth and despite the pain, I could muster a sarcastic response, "Oh, forgive me for not being in the mood for small talk while you're setting me on fire."

"You persist in offering useless retorts instead of valuable information? Very well, but you shall suffer the consequences, witch," he declared, raising his wand once more. "Diffindo!"

A searing pain erupted across my abdomen as a massive, gaping wound tore open on my stomach. I struggled to catch my breath, but the pain refused to subside. Blood trickled slowly from the wound, staining my body crimson.

"It could be so simple. All you must do is speak," he continued, his tone now tinged with boredom and irritation. "Surely that is within your capabilities, little one, given that you can't seem to keep your mouth shut."

I remained silent, focusing on regulating my breathing as best I could.

"You are more foolish than you appear, sweetheart," he spat, his annoyance palpable. With another flick of his wand, he cast the slicing curse again, this time carving a deep gash into my collarbone. Once again, twinge coursed through me, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

"You... can... cut and burn me however you like... but I won't tell you anything," I managed to choke out, my voice strained with desperation. The pain was unbearable, and the temptation to divulge what he sought grew stronger with each passing moment. Perhaps if I yielded to his demands, the suffering would cease. Maybe then he would leave me be, if only for a few precious hours of respite.

But I knew better.

If I surrendered the information he sought, if I uttered a single word too many, I would become expendable. They would no longer have need of me. They would cast me aside, leaving me to rot in this wretched cell, branded a traitor to my family. I refused to allow that to happen. No matter the cost, I would cling to my resolve. I would endure, for to yield would be to forfeit not only my dignity but my very soul.

"So, you still refuse to speak? You should be well acquainted with the rules of this game by now," he sneered, his voice dripping with annoyance and impatience. Whatever he had said during my reverie, whatever question he had posed or quip he had made, it mattered little. I would not answer, and he would continue to inflict his torment upon me.

As he raised his wand once more, poised to inflict yet another excruciating blow, the heavy door to the cell swung open.

"Riddle!" announced another Death Eater, their voice distorted by the silver mask they wore. "Your father requests your presence."

My blood ran cold at the mention of the name 'Riddle'. Could it be? Was he truly the son of Lord Voldemort?

I had heard whispers of the Dark Lord's offspring, but I had never imagined that I would come face to face with him, let alone endure his torment. And yet, here he was, the progeny of the most feared dark wizard of all time, and the one responsible for my suffering.

"I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment, don't you think?" retorted the Dark Lord's progeny, his tone laced with disdain as he redirected his attention to me. Yet, before he could wield his wand once more, the other Death Eater interjected.

"It's of utmost importance, Mattheo," he insisted, divulging the given name of the man who had reveled in my torment for the past several hours. Mattheo.

Slowly, Mattheo turned back to the Death Eater, fixing him with a gaze so chilling it seemed to freeze the very air around us. The Death Eater visibly recoiled under the intensity of his stare. "What did you just call me?" seethed Lord Voldemort's offspring. "By what right do you address me by my given name? And more significantly, who do you think you are to address me in such a manner in her presence?" he gestured towards me with a flick of his wand. "To address me so informally?!"

"I...I apologize, I...we were...in a class together-" the messenger stammered. Mattheo's countenance darkened once more. "Abbott," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You insufferable-" Mattheo halted himself, raising his wand and uttering the incantation for the Cruciatus Curse before the unfortunate Abbott crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony.

I could barely register Abbott's anguished screams amidst the haze of pain and exhaustion enveloping me. My body was depleted, drained of both blood and strength. Amidst the rush of adrenaline and the turmoil of my ordeal, I had failed to recognize the extent of my physical degradation.

Even the piercing cries of Mattheo Riddle's latest victim failed to prevent me from succumbing to the encroaching darkness. Gradually, inexorably, consciousness slipped away, and the world dissolved into darkness.

Mattheo

As Ambrose Abbott, undoubtedly the ineptest Death Eater to grace our ranks, writhed and wailed in agony on the floor, my attention returned to the unconscious witch before me. Fuck.

Admittedly, I had exercised barley restraint during the torture. I was fully aware that her delicate frame couldn't endure indefinitely, particularly under conditions of dehydration and severe blood loss. However, given her reputation as a powerful witch possessing unique abilities, I had expected a bit more resilience. Disappointing, to say the least. With a roll of my eyes, I muttered the incantation to release her from her suspended position. "Liberacorpus..."

Her body twisted awkwardly as it returned to its normal orientation. Since she was unconscious, she couldn't brace her fall and landed unceremoniously on her back, utterly spent and vulnerable, lying on the cold dungeon floor like an empty vessel.

I stopped the curse, allowing Abbott to collect himself. "Summon the medics and ensure she receives some water. Not too much, just enough to keep her alive," I instructed him, turning to leave. Yet, as Abbott remained motionless, I fixed him with a cold, penetrating stare. "Now!"

Startled, Abbott scrambled to his feet, slipping deplorable on the stone floor. With an air of pathetic desperation, he managed to regain his composure and hastily departed the dungeon. I watched his feeble attempts to preserve a shred of dignity with thinly veiled contempt.

Casting one last glance at the unconscious witch lying within the cell, before I closed the door and exited the dungeon.