The unknown has a way of painting everything with a brush of terror.
From the bottom of the square shaft, Rey watched the two Dementors rush up toward the opening, only to vanish into the darkness above.
"Did they get out?"
"Or...?"
Rey frowned, suspicion gnawing at him. The opening of the well had been too sudden, and that scent—the bait—had arrived too perfectly on cue.
There was someone up there; that much was certain. And Rey didn't believe for a second that whoever opened the well just wanted to set the Dementors free out of the kindness of their heart.
After a moment of deliberation, Rey transformed into a thick cloud of black mist and shot upward. Whatever waited above, staying in this sunless pit was hardly a better option.
The shaft was incredibly deep and tapered like a funnel—wide at the bottom, narrow at the top. The higher he flew, the tighter it became. Rey could physically feel the friction of the stone walls against his mist form.
He had no choice but to stretch his form out, elongating the mist until he resembled a massive python slithering upward.
However, the moment Rey—the mist python—breached the opening, he realized his mistake. He had slithered straight into a trap set by a master snake catcher.
The "trap" was a large, reinforced black crate. By the time Rey realized what was happening, he was already sealed inside, listening to the exclamations of two men outside.
They sounded ecstatic about their harvest.
There were three heavy black crates in total, each larger than the last.
The largest one—Rey's crate—was also the heaviest. Even using a Levitation Charm, the two disabled Black Prison Wizards struggled to move it, grimacing with the effort.
Three crates. Three Dementors. The wizards loaded them onto a carriage specifically designed for heavy cargo.
Their original orders were to capture two, but when a third one charged out—a creature made of mist so thick and dark it was unlike anything they had ever seen—they didn't hesitate to use their largest, most secure container.
The crippled wizards didn't know what would happen to the Dementors. But they knew one thing: the heavier and darker the creature, the greater the reward.
This third one was special. They were convinced it would earn them a miracle—perhaps enough favor to regrow their severed fingers.
With hopeful eyes, they watched the carriage turn a corner and vanish.
Thud!
A dull, heavy sound echoed from the largest black crate on the carriage.
The guard driving the carriage glanced back at the box but didn't pay it much mind.
Thud... Bang!
The noise came again. It sounded like a man kicking the inside of the box, struggling to get out.
But inside that box was something the Pope required. The guard didn't know exactly what it was, but if His Holiness needed it, its importance was self-evident. He cracked his whip, and the horses, stung by the lash, surged forward, picking up speed.
---
Three heavy crates. Six fully armored guards.
Working in pairs, they carried the boxes into the Pope's private chambers.
With three heavy thuds, the crates were set down on the floor of the antechamber. The guards unlocked the latches, bowed, and retreated, closing the heavy doors respectfully behind them.
The Pope's quarters were massive, comparable to a modern presidential suite. A stranger could easily get lost in the layout.
The guards had only entered the outermost room. The Pope's true bedroom was the fifth room deep within the suite.
The heavy latches clicked open.
In the two smaller crates, the Dementors pushed open the lids and drifted out.
They hovered just above the floor, drifting slowly, likely sniffing the air for a soul to consume.
Rey, inside the largest crate, didn't rush out. Instead, he cracked the lid just a fraction of an inch to observe the situation.
He had been captured, crated, transported, and now released. It felt unsettlingly like a zoo delivery—like live prey being dropped into a tiger's pen.
I'm a sheep delivered to the slaughter.
Dementors are predators by nature; hunters of the soul. No one expects them to be the hunted. Perhaps even the Dementors themselves didn't realize the danger they were in.
Just as the two creatures prepared to drift into the inner rooms to find a meal, a frail, white-haired old man appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
He was wearing a simple white nightgown, leaning weakly against the doorframe. He looked exhausted, barely clinging to life, yet he was smiling at the Dementors.
Dementors are terrifying creatures. But to Rey, watching from the crate, the old man's smile was infinitely worse.
It was a smile that promised danger. Compared to that sinister expression, the Dementors looked like harmless pets.
---
For the Dementors, the appearance of a human meant one thing: food.
One of them lunged forward instantly. The other hesitated, lagging a beat behind.
Dementors have no eyes; they cannot see appearance or frailty. They only sense the quality of a soul.
And clearly, this seemingly dying old man possessed a soul that the Dementors found incredibly delicious. A rare delicacy.
The first Dementor reached the old man and clamped its jaws over his mouth to administer the Kiss.
But just as the old man's soul began to mist over, ready to be drained, his expression shifted. The weak, smiling face transformed into something vast and terrifying—like a deep, dark abyss.
Decay. Desire. Hatred. A torrent of negative emotions suddenly exploded from the old man's body.
The feeding Dementor sensed the trap. It shrieked, trying to twist away and flee. But it was too late. The mist of the old man's soul snapped back into his body, reversing the flow.
The Dementor screamed as its own body began to dissolve into mist, sucked helplessly into the old man's open mouth.
The predator had become the prey.
No matter how terrifying a Dementor looks, in that moment, it was just food.
The dark energy was drained rapidly, the creature's body fading. But unlike Rey's purification method, this was raw, primal consumption.
The old man didn't filter anything. And when the dark energy was gone, revealing the glowing core of the corrupted soul beneath, he didn't let that go either. He swallowed it all.
He had eaten a Dementor alive.
Rey was stunned. Even the remaining Dementor seemed to feel fear. It shrieked and banged against the walls of the room, frantically searching for an escape.
---
Devoured whole. Not even a bone was left.
Leaning against the doorframe, the old man wiped the corner of his mouth. His smile deepened.
If one looked closely, they would see that his frail body had filled out slightly. He looked a little sturdier, a little fatter. Even his snow-white hair seemed to have darkened at the roots.
His energy restored, the old man glanced briefly at Rey's black crate. Then, he turned his attention to the second Dementor cowering in the corner.
He waved his hand.
A lash of blinding white light erupted from his palm, wrapping around the fleeing Dementor and dragging it violently to his feet.
Same process. Same result. The second Dementor was consumed in seconds.
After eating two of them, the old man looked even healthier. His hair had turned from white to a steely grey, with signs of turning black.
But two were clearly not enough to satisfy his hunger.
The rejuvenated old man turned his gaze back to the large black crate where Rey was hiding. He offered a faint, chilling smile.
"Will you come out on your own, or shall I force you?"
His eyes bore into the crate.
"I must say... this is the first time I have ever encountered intelligent food."
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