With a thunderous crash that echoed through the chamber, the heavy door was thrown open. It was Margaret who had flung it, her hand still poised in the air, the momentum of her action lingering. She froze, eyes wide, as she took in the scene before her.
Keira was similarly struck. Her mouth fell open in a silent testament of disbelief, her fingers digging so deeply into her palm that she felt the sharp sting of her nails cutting into her flesh, a stark contrast to the surreal sight unfolding before her.
"What in the name of the gods are you doing, Thorne?" Keira managed to gasp, her voice an uneasy blend of fury and dread.
There, in the centre of the room, stood Thorne, his face contorted with fury, his hands tightly wrapped around Klaus' throat. Klaus, suspended in a choked limbo, was rapidly turning a worrying shade of red, his fingers clawing futilely at his captor's hands.
"Keira is too naive to see the truth about this creature, this anomaly, and you, Margaret, are self-absorbed." Thorne bellowed, his fingers tightening around Klaus's neck, as if wringing the truth from his strangled gasps. "I, however, comprehend the colossal shifts he threatens to instigate in our world. And if anyone should be the steward of those changes, it ought to be the king."
Thorne locked eyes with Margaret as if searching for a flicker of resistance or a glimmer of dissent. But she remained silent, her expression unreadable.
"Not you, Margaret!" Thorne's voice boomed, his tone now tinged with a steely resolve. "I have two choices before me: to kill him before he endangers the world or to present him to the king."
His words reverberated, each syllable dripping with impending danger. In that moment, the room seemed to shrink, suffocating under the weight of Thorne's unwavering determination.
"Kill him," Margaret finally responded.
Her words were a shockwave. Thorne recoiled, and Keira's eyes widened in pure disbelief. She was a statue, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream of protest.
Keira's gaze shifted towards Klaus, who fought desperately to break free from Thorne's vice-like grip. Suspended in mid-air, his struggle seemed futile—a mere struggle against the inevitable.
She took a step forward, but before she would act, Margaret's hand shot out, grasping her arm with a firm grip. The touch was cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warmth Keira had once associated with her aunt. Margaret's voice, devoid of emotion, sliced through the air like an icy gust of wind.
"Stand back, Keira," she commanded, her words laced with an unsettling calmness. The authority in her voice brooked no argument.
Among the four of them, Klaus was the most stunned by Margaret's icy decree. Suspended above the floor, his legs shook as a wave of terror swept over him.
What of his knowledge of the ancient language? His ability to decode its mysteries and the ancient magic it held Was that no longer of any use to Margaret? Thorne wondered, his mind teetering on the edge of doubt while his hands remained unwavering around Klaus's neck.
"Your wish is my command, madam," Thorne retorted, his tone dripping with derision.
In an instant, his left hand was ablaze, the room aglow in a dance of cruel, fiery light. With a single, merciless motion, he drove his hand into Klaus's chest, the fabric crumbling away to expose the raw vulnerability of the flesh beneath.
A surge of unbearable agony seized Klaus, an unspeakable terror seizing his soul. Yet, within the span of a heartbeat, an uncanny numbness swept through him, erasing every trace of the torment he'd just experienced.
The anguish etched upon Klaus's countenance swiftly dissolved, replaced by an expression of bewildered confusion. Astonishment flickered across the faces of Keira and Thorne as they beheld his sudden transformation, while Margaret, observing Thorne's stunned visage, allowed a smug smirk to grace her lips.
Suddenly, the chain adorning Klaus's neck, which was once inconspicuous and unremarkable, now glimmered with an otherworldly radiance, casting a surreal glow.
Thorne's brow furrowed, the unexpected brilliance bewildering him. Before he could comprehend this uncanny occurrence, his hand, lodged deep within Klaus's chest, began to spasm uncontrollably. A wave of terror washed over him as he watched ice crystals form around his hand.
Thorne's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, his eyes stretching wide in a mixture of disbelief and dread. Propelled by a burst of adrenaline, he wrenched his hand from Klaus's chest with a gut-wrenching squelch. The ice, once birthed, showed no mercy, creeping up his arm in an unyielding stranglehold.
Stumbling back, Thorne struggled against the encroaching paralysis that threatened to claim his muscles. Every step was a struggle, as though unseen shackles restrained him. The burdensome weight of his impending immobility was a tangible terror, etching a mask of fear onto his face.
"What have you done?" Thorne's voice shattered the silence, laced with raw fear.
As Thorne's panicked words echoed through the air, Keira and Klaus swivelled their heads towards Margaret, their expressions a mirror of perplexity. Klaus, freed from Thorne's invasive grip, gazed in wonder at the rapidly closing wound in his chest.
His face twisted into a puzzled expression, underscoring his disbelief.
Keira's attention was equally riveted to the miraculous spectacle of Klaus's self-healing injury; her astonishment was tainted with concern. The lines of her face deepened with curiosity, but as her gaze met Margaret's, a moment of clarity dawned on her. The transformation that overtook Thorne was undoubtedly Margaret's doing.
"Argh!"
A cry of pure anguish tore from Thorne's lips, echoing throughout the room with the raw power of his suffering. His body was encased in a prison of ice, with cruel shards tearing his flesh and causing unbearable pain. He writhed as the frosty tendrils encased him, binding him in a vice-like grip.
Across the room, a sinister smirk played upon Margaret's lips, her eyes gleaming with triumphant satisfaction. Each deliberate step she took towards Klaus sent shivers down his spine, her presence exuding a chilling aura that matched the frigid landscape surrounding them. Her voice dripped with a mocking tone, laced with a subtle hint of amusement.
"Did you truly believe that I would permit you, or anyone else for that matter, to harm him?" She taunted, her words slicing through the air like a razor-sharp icicle. "Perhaps I didn't make myself abundantly clear."
Her voice carried an air of possessiveness, an unyielding claim over Klaus that sent a chill down the spines of those who dared to listen. It was a declaration of ownership, a proclamation that she alone held the power and authority to protect him from any harm that might befall him.
"I have claimed Klaus as my own," she declared with a mix of conviction and possessiveness, her tone leaving no room for doubt or negotiation. In that moment, she stood as the embodiment of
"Going after him means going after me," Margaret's voice carried an undercurrent of resolute determination, "and unless you possess the audacity to believe that you can extinguish my very existence, your efforts will only result in your own self-destruction."
Thorne, trapped within the icy prison that had ensnared him, stood as an ethereal monument of suffering. Every inch of his body was cloaked in frosty armour, a cruel testament to his vulnerability. The excruciating torment coursing through his veins was unlike anything he had ever experienced, mercilessly gnawing at the edges of his sanity.
Panic clawed at Thorne's consciousness as he watched in horror as his left hand, encased in the icy grip of his imprisonment, succumbed to its frigid grasp. The crystalline appendage crumbled away, cascading to the ground in a cascade of frozen shards, leaving behind only a void of loss and mutilation.
As Klaus stared at Thorne, his hand slowly reached for the neck chain around his neck. Up until now, he hadn't given it much thought, but the event that unfolded and Margaret's words stirred a realisation within him.
There was a connection between the chain and Thorne's dramatic metamorphosis after he attacked him.
In the midst of his icy imprisonment, Thorne's voice emerged, feeble and filled with desperation, mingling with the frigid air that surrounded them. "Please save me," he uttered, his plea barely audible, almost lost amidst the tumultuous atmosphere that held him captive.
The words had barely escaped his lips when the rest of his form, encased in a chilling mantle of ice, disintegrated. Fragments of a once vibrant life, now frozen and void, are scattered across the floor.
Margaret's lips twisted into a scornful sneer, a dark satisfaction glowing in her eyes. Keira, on the other hand, drew a deep, shuddering breath, seemingly trying to steady her nerves. But it was Klaus who drew the most attention. Fear was not just visible on his face but etched into its very lines; his forehead furrowed in worry, glistening with beads of sweat.
"Klaus, are you alright?" Margaret's voice, laced with concern, cut through the tense silence like a knife.
Klaus nodded slowly, his movement almost robotic. Yet his gaze remained fixed on the icy remains before him. Thorne's scattered remains held his attention, his expression morphing into an unreadable mask.
As he continued to stare at the shattered life before him, Keira and Margaret exchanged glances. Keira raised her shoulders in a silent shrug, her face a mask of perplexity.