The Vampire King, seated upon his elevated throne overlooking the grand ballroom, exuded a calm authority as he watched the assembly below. Beneath the flickering light of the chandeliers, the rulers of various factions stood clustered, their whispers filled with excitement and trepidation.
They had waited centuries for this moment.
Then, the deep hum began—a sound that resonated through the ancient stones of the palace. It silenced every voice, every breath, as the sound grew louder.
The Vampire King rose from his throne, his crimson eyes flicking toward the arched windows at the far end of the hall. Outside, a strange golden glow spread across the dark night sky, illuminating the forest and gardens in an eerie, otherworldly light.
The crowd turned as one, gazing at the glow with a mix of awe and unease. They all knew what it heralded.
With a flick of his hand, the King commanded the grand balcony doors to open, the heavy wood groaning under their weight. He stepped forward, flanked by two guards, as the source of the disturbance came into view.
Above the courtyard, the night sky tore open in a cacophony of light and energy. A massive portal swirled with iridescent hues, its edges crackling with raw power. The very air seemed to buckle under its intensity.
And from the heart of the portal, two figures emerged.
The first stepped forward with a grace that defied human comprehension. He was tall—towering even—and ethereal, his alabaster skin glowing faintly in the unnatural light. Silken white hair cascaded past his shoulders, framing a face so perfect it was almost cruel. His silver eyes, cold and piercing, scanned the gathered rulers with disdain.
Heavy cuffs adorned his wrists, their intricate sigils glowing faintly, suppressing the power that radiated from him even now.
Behind him, Elias followed, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The hunter's sharp green eyes darted across the crowd, his expression cold, ready. But unlike Alaric, he did not command the attention of the rulers. All eyes remained locked on the chained being standing at the edge of the portal.
The Vampire King rose from his throne and descended the balcony steps with deliberate slowness. His lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile as he approached the figure. "So," he began, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard, "this is Alaric. The creature of prophecy. The so-called all-powerful being."
The crowd stirred at his words, the whispers resuming. Some gazes lingered on Alaric's ethereal beauty, awestruck, while others burned with disdain or skepticism.
A werewolf chieftain sneered, his golden eyes narrowing. "He doesn't look like much. The legends spoke of a monster, a destroyer. This—" he gestured toward Alaric's serene yet restrained figure "—this is not what I expected."
A fae queen, standing nearby, arched a delicate brow. "Perhaps that is your own failure, then. True power is rarely so crude as the claws and teeth you favor." Her voice was sharp, dismissive, earning a low growl from the werewolf.
A vampire elder spoke next, his voice dripping with scorn. "Does it matter what he looks like? He's bound, isn't he? Chained like a dog. I see no cause for fear here."
Elias tensed at the words, his hand tightening on the hilt of his weapon, but Alaric remained unmoving, his silver eyes fixed on the Vampire King as if the rest of the crowd didn't exist.
The Vampire King chuckled softly, stepping closer. "You're all missing the point," he said, addressing the gathered rulers. "It doesn't matter how he looks. What matters is that he is here, in chains, at our mercy."
The murmurs of the rulers were abruptly silenced as the air in the grand hall shifted. The glow of the portal flickered and faded, leaving the room bathed in the golden light of massive candelabras lining the walls.
One by one, the rulers began to vanish.
The Vampire King was the first to go, his crimson eyes narrowing in suspicion before his form dissolved into shimmering mist. Others followed in rapid succession, their startled cries swallowed by the empty void they left behind.
In mere moments, the vast hall stood empty save for Alaric and Elias.
Alaric stood motionless in the center of the chamber, the chains on his wrists glinting faintly under the flickering lights. His face betrayed nothing, though his eyes scanned the room with cold precision.
Elias stood a few paces to his side, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword. He didn't speak, his posture radiating disinterest.
"What now?" Elias muttered, more to himself than to Alaric.
Before Alaric could respond, the two were suddenly transported, the edges of the hall melting away into darkness before reforming into something entirely different.
They now stood in the center of an enormous, circular chamber. The room was cavernous, its towering ceiling lost in shadow, and around them sat the rulers—each one perched on grand thrones arranged in a semicircle.
The rulers looked different now.
Gone were their cloaks, crowns, and masks. Their faces were bare, exposing their true selves—some regal, others monstrous, all of them radiating a strange, unsettling power. The Vampire King, now pale and hollow-eyed, lounged on his throne with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The werewolf chieftain, hulking and scarred, growled low in his throat, his golden eyes locked on Alaric. The fae queen, ethereal and shimmering with an otherworldly glow, watched with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
At the far end of the semicircle sat a figure cloaked in shadow, her face still hidden beneath a dark hood.
Alaric stood tall, his eyes scanned the rulers, lingering briefly on each face, but he said nothing. He forced himself to remain calm, his desire to behave warring with the simmering fury within him.
"Is this the mighty force you spoke of?" the werewolf chieftain growled, his voice a low, guttural snarl. "Pathetic. He's no more than prey."
A murmur rippled through the assembled rulers. The fae queen tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "And yet, you seem uneasy, Ulric," she said softly.
The werewolf, Ulric, growled, his claws scraping against the arms of his throne. "Uneasy? Hardly. If this is the creature of prophecy, then I am unimpressed."
Elias smirked faintly but didn't look at Alaric. He had no intention of defending him. He remained by Alaric's side for now, his stance relaxed, though his gaze occasionally drifted to the cloaked figure at the far end of the room.
The hooded figure rose slowly from her throne, her movements deliberate, calculated. The air grew colder as she stepped forward, her presence commanding every gaze in the room.
As she lowered her hood, a collective gasp echoed through the chamber.
It was her.
The witch
Alaric's serene facade cracked, his eyes narrowing as they burned with barely restrained fury. The glowing sigils on his chains pulsed faintly, reacting to his growing anger.
The witch's face was ageless, her features sharp and cruelly beautiful. Her piercing green eyes locked onto Alaric, and a cold smile tugged at her lips.
"You doubt him, Ulric?" she asked, her voice as smooth and cold as ice. "Then why not see for yourself?"
Ulric's golden eyes snapped to her, narrowing. "What are you suggesting, witch?"
She gestured toward Alaric with a graceful sweep of her hand. "Kill him," she said simply.
Elias shifted slightly, his expression unreadable as he regarded the witch. Then, without a word, he took a deliberate step away from Alaric and toward her.
He moved to stand at the witch's side, his hand still resting on his sword. "I trust your judgment," he said lightly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
The witch chuckled softly, her voice dripping with amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about tricks, Ulric. If he's truly powerless, then you have nothing to fear."
Alaric's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—a cold, humorless expression that sent a shiver through the room. His eyes, burning with fury and something deeper, locked onto the werewolf.
The rulers' chamber hummed with tension. Though some rulers sat in smug silence, others were visibly uneasy. The fae queen crossed her legs, her glowing form shimmering with faint curiosity. A hulking troll grunted in confusion, while a vampire lord with a blood-streaked mouth sneered. The werewolf, Ulric, remained tense, his golden eyes flickering between Alaric and the witch.
"Surely this… creature isn't the being we've feared for centuries," one of the lesser rulers scoffed, a thin elven man with an air of arrogance. "He doesn't look the part. Pale, bound in chains, and silent like a disciplined dog."
Another—a grotesque, reptilian being with black scales—tilted his head. "He doesn't even resist. Perhaps his imprisonment broke him."
"Or perhaps he knows his place," Ulric snarled, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light.
When the elf's comment reached him, Alaric finally moved, tilting his head as if considering the insult. "A disciplined dog?" His voice, deep and smooth, rolled through the chamber like thunder wrapped in silk. "If I'm a dog, then what does that make you?" His smile widened, razor-sharp, dripping arrogance. "An insect? Waiting to be crushed."
The elf bristled, but before he could respond, the werewolf chieftain let out a booming laugh. "So, he speaks! But words are cheap, pale one. You may act arrogant, but we've seen no proof of your supposed immortality. Your legends are nothing but stories, and I've grown tired of them."
Alaric shifted his gaze to Ulric, his smirk never wavering. "You're welcome to test them, if you dare."
The witch's soft chuckle broke the tension. "Go on, Ulric. Prove him wrong. He won't fight back." She turned to Alaric, her voice dripping with mockery. "Isn't that right? You said you'd behave."
Alaric's eyes flickered with something darker, but his smirk remained. "Oh, I did. I mustn't misbehave. Not today." His voice carried a dangerous undertone, subtle yet chilling.
Ulric snarled, his massive form lunging forward with terrifying speed. His claws gleamed in the low light as he tore into Alaric's chest with feral brutality, his movements so swift that even the lesser rulers recoiled. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, staining the intricate runes.
Alaric staggered back under the assault, his expression unreadable as Ulric's claws shredded into him. The werewolf grabbed him by the throat, lifting him high, and slammed him into the floor with enough force to crack the stone. Alaric didn't cry out, didn't resist. He simply fell limp, his body crumpled and bloodied.
Silence filled the chamber.
Ulric straightened, his broad shoulders heaving with exertion. He turned to the witch, a triumphant, arrogant grin on his face. "Pathetic."
The witch raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. She said nothing, her gaze fixed on the motionless figure on the floor.
And then, the sound began.
A sickening crack echoed through the room, followed by another, and another. Ulric froze, his ears twitching as he turned back toward Alaric.
The pale man's body twitched. His twisted limbs began to snap back into place, the wounds across his chest and arms knitting together with unnatural speed. Blood dripped from his lips, but his smirk returned.
Alaric rose from the floor, his movements languid, almost lazy, as though he hadn't just been ripped apart. He dusted off his tattered shirt, crimson streaks staining his pale skin.
"Impressive," Alaric said, his voice low, dripping with mockery. "You've managed to ruin my shirt. Do you feel better now, beast?"
Ulric's grin faltered, his golden eyes narrowing. "How…?"
Alaric took a step forward, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. "You thought you'd kill me? How amusing. It must be exhausting, living in that tiny little mind of yours." He tilted his head, his smirk widening into something feral.
Ulric's growl rumbled through the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls like a storm about to break. His amber eyes burned with unfiltered hatred as he took a step closer, his claws flexing. "You're no god," he snarled, his voice venomous. "You're an abomination. Not a man, not a vampire, not a fairy—just a twisted mistake that shouldn't exist."
Alaric, standing perfectly still in the center of the room, cocked his head slightly, the chains on his wrists glinting under the flickering light. His silver-crimson eyes gleamed with a maddening mixture of arrogance and amusement. "Believe what you like," he said softly, his voice calm and dripping with mockery. "I'm on my best behavior, after all."
The witch, standing silently among the rulers, smiled faintly. "Maybe we should show him," she said, her voice smooth and authoritative. She stepped forward, her dark robes trailing behind her. "Alaric,show him what you're capable of."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The weight of the witch's words seemed to settle over everyone, including Alaric, whose smirk widened. He raised his hands, the heavy chains clinking as he tilted his head to the side. "Finally," he murmured, almost to himself.
Ulric hesitated for only a moment, then lunged. His claws tore into Alaric's chest, sending blood splattering across the floor. The force of the attack sent Alaric stumbling back, but he didn't retaliate. Not yet.
The werewolf didn't stop. He ripped into Alaric with brutal efficiency, clawing, biting, and slamming him into the ground. Each blow was more savage than the last, and soon Alaric lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.
Ulric watched horrifyingly as Alaric rose from the ground, his body contorting and snapping as his broken bones realigned themselves.
Alaric smiled—a slow, sinister expression that sent a shiver down even the most battle-hardened rulers' spines. "Oh, you're not done yet, are you?" he said, his voice low and taunting.
Ulric roared in frustration and lunged again. This time, Alaric moved.
He sidestepped the attack with inhuman grace, his movements almost lazy as he dodged the werewolf's claws. When Ulric turned to strike again, Alaric grabbed him by the throat, his cuffs not allowing much movements but it would have to do.
The rulers watched in stunned silence as Alaric tightened his hold, his cocky smirk never faltering. Blood dripped from his lips as he leaned in close to Ulric's face. "You've had your fun," he whispered. "Now it's my turn."
With the witch's permission still lingering in the air, Alaric slammed Ulric into the ground with a force that cracked the stone beneath them. The werewolf howled in pain but refused to yield. He clawed at Alaric's arms, drawing more blood, but the immortal didn't flinch.
Alaric laughed, a chilling, unhinged sound that echoed through the chamber. "You're a proud one, aren't you?" he said, his voice calm but laced with sadistic glee. "Let's see how much pride you have left after this."
He released Ulric only to grab him again, this time by the arm. With a sickening snap, he twisted it until the bone broke. Ulric howled, but his fury burned brighter than his pain. He lashed out again, tearing into Alaric's side, only for the wounds to heal almost instantly.
The rulers murmured among themselves, some in awe, others in disbelief. "Is this the power of a true immortal?" one of them whispered.
"I didn't think it was possible," another said.
The witch remained silent, her expression unreadable as she watched the scene unfold.
Ulric, bloodied and panting, refused to back down. He lunged again, his claws aiming for Alaric's throat. But this time, Alaric caught his wrist mid-swing.
"Enough," Alaric said, his voice calm but dripping with malice. He twisted Ulric's arm again, this time dislocating it with a brutal efficiency that left no room for resistance.
Ulric collapsed to his knees, his pride still burning despite his broken body.
He rose to his feet, before turning to face the rulers. "Satisfied?" he asked, his voice calm and mocking. "Or shall I continue?"
The chamber was silent, save for Ulric's ragged breathing. The witch stepped forward, her dark eyes gleaming. "That's enough," she said, her voice firm.
Alaric's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something colder, darker. But he inclined his head.
Ulric remained on the ground, his pride refusing to let him show weakness even as his body betrayed him. The rulers watched in silence, their earlier bravado replaced by an uneasy respect.
The room was thick with tension, blood pooling beneath Alaric's feet, and Ulric's ragged breathing filling the otherwise hushed chamber. A deep, rich laugh suddenly echoed above them, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
All eyes turned toward the high throne where the Vampire King sat. His voice was smooth, like aged wine, yet carried a razor-sharp edge. "Magnificent," he said, the word dripping with dark amusement.
The Vampire King rose from his seat, his figure casting a long shadow. He was tall, impossibly so, with an elegant but commanding presence. His skin was pale as marble, a stark contrast to the black-and-gold armor that clung to his broad frame. His crimson eyes glowed with a sinister light, framed by sharp, angular features and a neatly trimmed beard that only added to his regal, predatory aura.
As he moved to descend, his long, dark coat billowed behind him like a cape, and when he leapt from the raised platform, the impact of his landing cracked the stone floor beneath him. Dust and shards of rock scattered, but the Vampire King didn't seem to notice—or care.
Alaric's gaze never wavered as the king stalked closer, his lips curling into an amused smile. "And what do we have here?" the king mused, his voice smooth but laced with danger.
Alaric tilted his head slightly, his chains clinking softly. That cocky, unshakable smirk remained plastered on his face. "I'm flattered you've come all the way down for little old me."
The Vampire King chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. He stopped just a few feet away from Alaric, his crimson eyes scanning him with an intensity that would unnerve most men. "I like you," he said simply, his lips twisting into a wicked grin.
Alaric arched a brow, his smile widening. "I'm honored, Your Majesty," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he bowed mockingly.
The Vampire King's grin widened, his fangs glinting in the dim light. He turned toward the witch, his tone suddenly shifting to one of calculated charm. "I like him, truly. Let me have him. I'll take good care of him—teach him a lesson or two about respect and I'll pay you the finest riches in my kingdom."
The witch's expression hardened, her dark eyes narrowing. "No," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the room like a whip.
The Vampire King turned to her fully, his grin faltering ever so slightly. "Come now," he said smoothly. "Surely you can spare him. A creature like this shouldn't be wasted as your pet."
The witch stepped forward, her gaze locking with his. "Alaric is far more valuable than you realize," she said, her tone cold and commanding. "He serves a purpose greater than your petty amusements."
The Vampire King's expression darkened, though his grin remained in place. "Is that so? And what purpose would that be, I wonder?"
"That's none of your concern," the witch snapped.
Alaric's smirk deepened as he watched the exchange, his sharp eyes flicking between the two. "I seem to be quite popular today," he said, his tone light but mocking.
The Vampire King shot him a warning look before turning back to the witch. "You're playing a dangerous game," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Do you truly think a filthy human such as yourself can control a being like that?"
The air in the room grew heavier as the tension between the Vampire King and the witch intensified. The rulers watched, an uneasy silence hanging over the chamber, as the witch stood tall and unyielding before the Vampire King.
With a flick of her wrist, the witch summoned her power. A crackling surge of energy shot from her fingertips, twisting through the air like a serpent, and lashed out toward the Vampire King. The force of it was so intense that the stone floor beneath them cracked, and a ripple of dark magic swept across the room. The King staggered back, his eyes wide with shock, a growl of pain escaping his lips as the magic seared through his skin.
The witch's lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "You forget your place," she hissed, her voice icy cold. "You always think you're the one in control. But now, I have Alaric. You're nothing compared to him."
The Vampire King's face twisted with fury. He may have been wounded, but his pride and arrogance were unshaken. With a speed that blurred the air around him, he lunged forward, vanishing from sight for the briefest of moments before reappearing directly in front of the witch. In a blur of motion, he grabbed her by the throat, lifting her from the ground with ease.
The rulers gasped, some shifting uneasily in their seats. Alaric's grin widened as he watched the exchange, but it was clear the situation was about to escalate. The witch's eyes narrowed, and she let out a scream—raw, guttural, and filled with rage.
"Alaric!" she cried, her voice a sharp command.
Almost as though he had been waiting for the moment, Alaric appeared at her side in the blink of an eye, his movements fluid and fast—too fast for anyone to track. His gaze was locked on the Vampire King.
Without hesitation, Alaric lunged forward, his claws slicing through the air toward the Vampire King's heart. The Vampire King froze for a split second, his crimson gaze flicking from Alaric to the witch, then back to the razor-sharp claws hovering inches from his chest.
Alaric's grin spread wider, a feral edge twisting his features. "Touch her again," he snarled, his voice a low growl that resonated with barely contained fury, "and I'll tear you apart."
Alaric believed the magic binding him was not just any kind but the kind that could transfer ownership. Elias's ominous words echoed in his mind: "I'll control you soon enough." That meant killing the witch wouldn't set him free. Instead, her death would pass the bond to whoever ended her life, giving them the power to decide whether to release him or keep him bound.
That was why Alaric wanted Eric to be the one to do it. Despite his mistrust of Eric, he was the only option Alaric had left.
He wasn't acting out of mercy—it was fear that drove him. Fear of the unknown. Killian's voice rang through his thoughts, sharp and unwavering: "Magic remembers, Alaric, even when the caster dies. If you're ever bound by it, you must respect the power you're dealing with. But don't worry—I'll find a way to free you. Always."
The Vampire King's hand tightened around the witch's throat, his contempt clear, but he hesitated. Alaric's claws hovered too close, each gleaming tip a promise of swift and brutal retribution.
"Release her," Alaric commanded, his tone steady but laced with danger, the calm before a violent storm. He didn't flinch, didn't blink, his mind racing. What would happen if the witch died? What kind of magic would be left behind?
The witch gasped for air, her voice a rasping plea. "Let... me go..."
Snarling, the Vampire King's grip loosened. With a sneer, he shoved her aside, his lip curling in disgust as she collapsed to the ground. She heaved for air, her body trembling from the strain of her near-death experience.
The Vampire King glared at Alaric, his voice thick with rage. "I'll remember this, abomination," he spat, stepping back, though his crimson eyes burned with fury.
Alaric didn't move, his claws still raised, his predatory grin unshaken. "Good," he murmured, his voice unnervingly calm as a chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I hope you do."
He didn't relax until the Vampire King retreated, but even then, the weight of Killian's warning lingered. Alaric's gaze dropped to the witch, his expression unreadable. He had to understand the magic, had to know its reach—because the thought of being bound by something he couldn't break terrified him more than the monsters in this room.