Threatening Lucius

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Lucius carefully avoided the gazes of others as he slipped into the dense forest. The shadows stretched long and ominous, swallowing his hurried steps.

Suddenly, a figure lunged from the underbrush, startling him.

"Lucius! Come quickly! The master has an order—" rasped the man in a hoarse, urgent voice.

"Stop shouting my name, damn it!" Lucius hissed, his pale face twisting in irritation and fear.

"Go now! I'll follow shortly," he snapped, gesturing impatiently.

The man nodded, his lips curling into a wild, unsettling grin before darting back into the darkness, his laughter echoing eerily through the trees.

"Damn lunatics," Lucius muttered under his breath, his words laced with disdain.

A sharp, searing pain erupted from the Dark Mark on his arm, as if a branding iron pressed against his skin.

He clenched his teeth, struggling to mask the agony, and reached for his black hood. With a resigned sigh, he prepared to don it, stepping once more into the chaos he despised.

"So, you've truly decided to serve Voldemort, haven't you, Mr. Malfoy?"

The voice, calm yet chilling, sliced through the silence behind him. Lucius froze, his blood running cold. Trembling, he turned to see Ethan leaning casually against a tree, his expression one of cold amusement.

Ethan held a dagger, its blade catching the moonlight, and was methodically wiping away the blood that stained it.

The sight of the dark crimson smeared on the steel sent a shiver through Lucius. He forced himself to look away, his eyes landing on the lifeless body sprawled on the forest floor.

The Death Eater who had called out to him moments ago lay there, his throat gaping open, blood pooling beneath him. A grotesque gurgling sound—the remnants of his severed trachea—hung in the air, making Lucius' stomach churn.

"E-Ethan, you've misunderstood," Lucius stammered, his voice dry and brittle.

"I was only—"

"There's no need to explain," Ethan cut him off, his tone as cold and precise as the blade in his hand.

"The facts speak for themselves."

Lucius felt the weight of Ethan's amber eyes, their catlike gleam sharp and unyielding, slicing through his already frayed nerves.

He swallowed hard. The audible gulp seemed deafening in the oppressive silence, even startling himself.

Lucius had feared Ethan ever since he learned of what the man had done to other Death Eaters.

Rumors of Ethan's merciless methods—and the gruesome demise of Barty Crouch Jr.—had sent waves of terror through the Malfoy household. Lucius often thought if he ever fell into Ethan's hands, he'd prefer death by his own doing.

Under Ethan's withering gaze, Lucius felt his composure cracking, his polished façade splintering into fragments.

"Ethan, I had no choice," Lucius began, his voice trembling with desperation.

"The Dark Lord has returned, and his methods... they leave me no room to refuse."

But beneath the hood he clutched in his trembling hands, his fingers crept toward the wand at his waist.

"Don't," Ethan warned, his voice sharp and icy.

"If you value that hand, I suggest you keep it still. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to remove it."

The cold, unflinching menace in Ethan's tone shattered Lucius' last shred of defiance.

Lucius slumped in defeat, his shoulders sagging as the weight of inevitability bore down on him.

With trembling hands, he tore the black hood from his grasp and hurled it to the ground. His wand followed, clattering beside it in a gesture of complete surrender.

It was clear: Lucius had abandoned all resistance—physically and mentally.

"Ethan," he began, his voice quivering with desperation, "you have no idea how terrifying the Dark Lord is!"

To emphasize his point, Lucius pulled back his sleeve, exposing his forearm. Burned into his pale skin was the Dark Mark, its blackened edges raw and angry.

The ominous design—a skull with an open mouth, from which a venomous serpent slithered—glared back at Ethan. The mark was both a badge of allegiance and a tool of control, binding Voldemort's followers to his will.

"This," Lucius said, his voice shaking, "has been growing darker and more painful by the day. The burn... it's unbearable. Many Death Eaters have felt it. He has returned."

His words hung heavy with dread as his eyes pleaded for understanding.

Ethan's gaze remained fixed on Lucius' face, unyielding and icy.

"So that's why you chose to side with Voldemort?"

"Of course!" Lucius snapped, his composure fraying.

"What choice do I have? When he's fully resurrected, he'll hunt down every traitor. He'll punish those who abandoned him!"

Lucius' voice cracked, desperation spilling into his words as he sought to justify his submission.

But Ethan remained unmoved. His amber eyes gleamed with a cold amusement that only deepened Lucius' unease.

"That's not what I'm asking," Ethan said, his tone unnervingly calm. He tilted his head, the faintest trace of menace curling his lips.

"What I mean is... why do you fear Voldemort more than me?"

The question, laced with venom, pierced Lucius like a dagger.

Ethan took a step forward, the dagger in his hand gleaming under the moonlight.

"Have I been too kind to you, Lucius? Too merciful? Did I somehow give you the impression that Voldemort's wrath is worse than mine?"

Lucius' breath hitched. Ethan's slow, deliberate approach sent shivers down his spine. His pupils contracted as he realized Ethan's intent. This wasn't a lecture. This was a death sentence.

"Ethan," Lucius stammered, retreating instinctively, "you can't do this! It's—it's against the law! I'm the head of the Malfoy family! A pure-blood patriarch! Neither Fudge nor Dumbledore would let you get away with—"

Ethan's cold laughter cut him off. "And if I kill you here, now, in this forest... who exactly is going to stop me?"

Lucius' face drained of color. His legs felt rooted to the ground as the reality of Ethan's words sank in. Ethan wasn't bound by the laws of the magical world; he operated outside them, driven by a singular purpose: the eradication of Voldemort's followers.

The icy edge of the dagger brushed against Lucius' neck. The cold steel sent a wave of goosebumps over his skin, its bite a harbinger of his impending fate.

Lucius closed his eyes, his breath shallow and quick. Despite his desperation, the pride of his pure-blood lineage kept him from begging. He would die standing, even if his heart quaked in terror.

"Mr. Malfoy," Ethan murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

"What do you think tomorrow's Daily Prophet headline will say? 'Patriarch of the Malfoy Family Dies in Tragic Accident'? Or perhaps... 'Lucius Malfoy Exposes Death Eater Conspiracy'?"

Lucius' eyes snapped open. He twisted his neck just enough to glance back at Ethan, confusion and flickering hope mingling in his expression.

"What are you implying?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan's lips curled into a humorless smile. "I'm saying you have one last choice to make, Lucius. Let's not pretend you're loyal to Voldemort—or to anyone, for that matter. You've always been a survivor, a schemer, a man who picks the winning side."

Lucius bristled, his pride stung by the accusation.

"What are you suggesting?" he demanded, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Ethan leaned closer, the dagger pressing lightly against Lucius' throat.

"I'm suggesting," he hissed, "that you still have a chance to choose. Choose wisely, and I might just let you live."

A thin line of blood trickled from where the blade kissed Lucius' skin. But he barely noticed, too consumed by the storm of fear and calculation raging within him.