𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Viktor Krum [book 2]

1

CHAPTER ONE

THE SNOW FLAKES BURNED OFF of the flaming corpse crucifixed against the backdrop of the white blanketed landscape of Bucharest. The fire was blatantly tempted to travel down the wooden post, managing a few inches and somehow retreating back upwards to its primary target—fire clashing with the ice in the air.

The smell of fresh burning flesh reeked the said icy air briefly, before a gust of wind carried the stench away and spared the silently resolved witches and wizards watching the scene of their meticulously justified act from below.

There were five of them—there were always just the five of them. Traipses across borders, feet briefly planted in lands estranged and familiar only to move on to the next ground the very next moment, a life being spent in between apparation and disapparation, minds fixated on the pulsating commands of their lord, always maintaining the divine order—there were always the five of them. The veraciously picked and vigorously trained—preserving within themselves the highest of regards of The Dark Lord Voldemort himself—these were The Red Shrikes. His Red Shrikes.

He had had each of them meticulously marked two years ago—despite them only in the middle of their training and regardless of the ongoing number of battles that were being waged against countries that wouldn't surrender. Voldemort had taken time out efficiently, amidst all the chaos, all the destruction.

The Shrikes all bore the death eater mark, but alongside that, a unique scarlet mark of a small red snake. The High Shrike bore both the marks in her mind—courtesy of Voldemort burning them in himself. While the rest of the Shrikes bore the marks on their skins.

Voldemort's most trusted followers—they were each one of his five senses, an observation often made catering to his affinity of separating parts of himself, a game he played with immortality, and a game he always won.

Svetlana Morozov watched, her onyx features fixed in concentration, as though if she blinked the corpse burning—crucifixed high—would suddenly cease to be, and she would be torn away from the calm of watching a vessel—a body—creeping away, following the soul.