Selene rose from her seat with calculated grace, her dark robes sweeping the floor like liquid shadow. The firelight flickered weakly in her wake, as though the very flames shrank from her presence. Each movement of hers seemed to consume the space, filling the room with a tension that left no room for comfort.
"Do you understand now?" Her voice, smooth and dangerous, cut through the silence like a blade, making even the sharpest rulers lean in closer. There was something undeniably magnetic about her, but it was the kind of pull that threatened to suffocate. "With this force at my command, the balance has shifted. No longer will I be dismissed, silenced, or undermined."
She swept her gaze across the table, as though she were inspecting a collection of fragile insects. Kings, queens, dukes, and lords—all powerful in their own right, yet they shrank under the weight of her gaze. Some drummed their fingers nervously on the table, others gripped their goblets tighter. No one dared meet her eyes for long.
Alaric stood behind her, unnervingly still, his presence almost invisible—an immovable shadow. But his mind churned with thoughts that clashed violently with the composed stillness of his body.
Selene continued, her voice softening into a mock nostalgia. "I was a name you whispered in the dark. The court witch, the outcast, the one tolerated but never truly trusted. And yet, here I stand, and here you sit, your kingdoms trembling beneath your feet." She gestured to Alaric, her fingers sparking with a barely contained flicker of magic. "You built armies; I built certainty. The question is, which of us holds the real power?"
There was no answer immediately. The room had grown thick with tension, the rulers' minds working in overdrive, weighing their options, calculating her words. But it was the Vampire King, seated at the far end of the table, who spoke first. His presence alone seemed to dominate, dark and timeless. His eyes, burning with contempt, never once left Selene.
"You've made a bold move," the Vampire King's voice was rich, measured, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of disdain. "Boldness is fleeting. And magic?" He sneered, as though the word itself was beneath him. "Magic is fickle. And witches?" His eyes narrowed. "Unpredictable."
Selene's lips curled into a smile, though it was one filled with venom. "Fickle, Your Grace?" she purred, her voice laced with unspoken mockery. "Boldness reshapes the world. And right now, it is I who hold the pen." Her gaze locked with his, unflinching, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
The Vampire King didn't flinch, but a flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes. His lip curled slightly, but he said nothing more. Neither one trusted the other. And Selene was well aware of the stakes.
"Let's not mistake tonight for a mere display of power," Selene continued, her tone shifting again, becoming smooth as oil. "This is an opportunity. A new order is being forged—one where we all have a place. Provided, of course, you see the wisdom in aligning with me." She let the words hang in the air, laced with venomous implication. "After all, unity is far more productive than resistance."
She moved closer to the table, her gaze never leaving the Vampire King's, as though daring him to speak. "But rest assured," she said, her voice softer now, dripping with cold finality, "those who resist will be remembered… in stories of caution."
There was a subtle shift in the air as the Vampire King stood, his figure towering over the table like a looming storm. "Do you think your words hold weight, witch?" His voice was low, dangerous, filled with centuries of disdain. "I have seen the folly of those who overestimate their magic."
Selene tilted her head, her smirk turning sharper, more predatory. "Underestimating magic is a fatal mistake, Your Grace. But let's not pretend we don't already know that."
The room remained silent, the rulers unsure of where the conversation would go next. Some exchanged glances, subtle nods passing between them, while others held their breath, their eyes darting between the two at the head of the table. The undercurrent of a brewing war hung in the air.
Hours later, the rulers left the hall in groups, their steps careful, their words murmured low. The witch remained at the head of the room, fingers idly tracing the edge of her goblet.
Alaric glanced toward the departing rulers, noting their stiff postures, the way some avoided her altogether while others stared too long, silently marking her as an enemy they would eventually strike down. Alaric's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. They feared her. They hated her. But they underestimated him.
As the last ruler left, Alaric took a moment to savor the silence, his lips twitching into the faintest of smirks. The door clicked shut, and the air seemed to shift, thickening with the tension of an unspoken understanding. .
She turned to face him, her smile wide and smug, a gleam of victory in her eyes. "Well done, my dear Alaric," she purred, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness as she reached up to pat his cheek. It was the kind of gesture you give a child for a job well done, and Alaric couldn't help the amused spark in his eyes.
"Come," she said, snapping her fingers as if beckoning a dog. She turned on her heel and strode down one of the many winding corridors of the castle, her black robes trailing behind her. Alaric followed, his steps heavy with reluctant obedience.
Elias stood silently in the corner, his arms crossed and a casual smirk playing on his lips. He gave Alaric a small nod as he passed, as if they were allies in some unspoken plan. Alaric ignored him.
When they reached one of the castle's many darkened rooms, the witch pushed the heavy wooden door open and gestured for Alaric to step inside. "After you," she said, her voice laced with false sweetness.
He hesitated, just for a second, but the pull of the magic forced him forward. Once he was inside, she turned to Elias.
"Wait out here," she ordered curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Elias raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms as the door creaked shut, leaving Alaric alone with her.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single candelabra, its flickering light casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. Alaric turned slowly to face her, his expression unreadable, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Selene stepped closer, her smile almost too sweet. "We need to talk," she said, her voice smooth, but with a sharp edge. "You'll make sure my power stays unchallenged, won't you?"
Alaric didn't respond right away, his silence both a challenge and a refusal. He clenched his fists at his sides, eyes cold.
"You seem to think I'm here for your little power games," he said finally, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Let me guess—you'll threaten me, maybe curse me again, and expect me to bend?"
Selene's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. "You'll obey, or else."
Alaric tilted his head slightly, a mock thoughtful expression on his face. "Or else what? You'll take everything I have? You're forgetting, darling, I've seen all this before. You're not the first to try."
He moved past her, brushing his shoulder against hers just enough to make a point. He could almost feel her frustration rising.
"You want me to do what you say?" Alaric said over his shoulder. "That's cute. But here's the thing: I don't take orders."
Selene's eyes narrowed with cold fury, and in an instant, the temperature in the room dropped.
The air thickened, a crushing force pinning Alaric to the ground, his knees buckling as though gravity itself had doubled in weight. His body trembled with the invisible pressure, but no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't stand.
"Better," she murmured, her voice soft but final.
Alaric's breath came in ragged gasps, his pride burning even as the magic forced him down. His fists clenched into the cold stone floor beneath him, but he said nothing.
Selene took a step forward, her heels clicking ominously against the floor as she circled him, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. She reached out, her fingers grazing his hair, the touch a deliberate, mocking caress.
"You look so small now, Alaric," she purred. "How fitting for the mighty to fall."
His jaw tightened, and he raised his gaze, meeting hers without flinching, his defiance still burning through the haze of the magic suffocating him.
"Do you remember them?" Selene asked, her voice suddenly sharp with venom. "The screams of my sisters? The blood you spilled? You showed no mercy, and now…" She paused, her smile chilling. "Now, I'm going to return the favor."
She yanked his hair back suddenly, forcing his head to tilt upward to meet her gaze. The flames in her eyes burned brighter with hatred. "You think you're above me, don't you? Like everyone else,but you're not. You're mine now. And if you disappoint me," she whispered with a smile, "you'll regret it."
Alaric's body trembled, but he forced his lips shut, refusing to beg for mercy.
Selene took her time, moving around him as though inspecting a prized object, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her touch deliberate and possessive. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long. Watching you suffer, watching you feel the pain you caused me." She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. "And I'll make sure you feel every second."
He stayed silent, the fire in his eyes unyielding. But that only seemed to excite her more.
The witch's smirk faded as she clenched her hands into tight fists, and in an instant, Alaric's body tensed. A searing, unnatural heat surged through his veins, as though his insides were being boiled alive. His breathing hitched, his teeth gritted against the agony, but the pain was unlike anything he had endured before.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, the coppery taste sharp against his tongue. He trembled, his body wracked by the violent magic coursing through him. It wasn't just pain—it was a burning, a torment that dragged him back to the darkest days of his youth. Memories of flames licking at his skin, the cruel laughter of villagers as they tried to burn the monster they believed him to be, resurfaced like an unwelcome specter. He hated fire. Hated it because it reminded him of how powerless he had once been.
The witch tilted her head, watching him tremble with a sadistic delight. "There it is," she said, her voice carrying an unsettling sing-song quality. "That look in your eyes. Fear... and hatred."
Her laughter filled the room, sharp and cold. She leaned closer, her hands still clenched as she continued to torment him, feeding off his silent suffering. "Do you want to know something interesting, Alaric?" she asked, her tone mockingly conversational. "My mother—yes, even as old and frail as she is now, kept alive only by the magic she once wielded—still yearns for you."
Alaric's gaze flicked to hers, the fire in his eyes dimming just enough to show the weight of her words. She grinned, savoring the reaction. "Oh, yes," she continued, her voice dripping with venom. "The great Alaric, the man who brought her so much joy in her little, insignificant life. Even after all you've done, even after the pain you've caused, she still wants you."
Her hands unclenched, and the searing pain subsided, leaving Alaric panting softly as the remnants of the agony clung to his body like ash after a fire.
"But do you know what's funny?" she asked, her tone turning bitter as she began pacing the room. "I've been the one to care for her. I've been the one to keep her alive, to bear the burden of her existence. And yet, she loves you more than her own daughter."
She stopped, her eyes flashing with jealousy and anger. "She talks about you as if you're some hero, some savior. Do you know how pathetic that is? How infuriating it is?"
Alaric, still kneeling, didn't respond. Blood dripped from his mouth, a dark stain on the floor beneath him. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but his expression remained blank, save for the faint flicker of disdain in his eyes.
The witch knelt before him, her face close to his, her voice low and sharp. "I hate you for it. I hate that she loves you more than she ever loved me." She reached out and cupped his face roughly, forcing him to look at her. "But I will make her see. I will make you see. You belong to me now, Alaric, and no one—not her, not anyone—will take you away."
Without warning, she raised her hand, and Alaric was flung across the room like a rag doll. His body collided with the stone wall, the impact sending cracks spidering through the ancient surface.
She didn't stop there. With a flick of her wrist, he was yanked into the air and thrown against the opposite wall, then another, each collision more brutal than the last. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling as the room bore witness to her wrath. Alaric's body, though immortal and unyielding in its strength, was battered, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Finally, with a violent thrust, Selene flung him onto the bed. The frame groaned under the impact, but Alaric remained still, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain some semblance of control.
A few seconds passed in heavy silence, and then Selene's calm voice cut through the air. "You can speak now."
The spell released from his mouth, and Alaric inhaled deeply, his body still trembling from the pain. His voice came out low at first, strained, but it quickly gained strength as his fury bled through.
"You..." His laugh was short, almost bitter. "You're disgusting ."
Selene's eyes flashed with surprise, but Alaric didn't let up. "Filthy. Disgusting," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "You reek of entitlement and desperation. A creature who would burn the world just to satisfy her petty whims."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thickening, only the crackling of distant torches daring to disturb it. Selene's face tightened, her shock slowly shifting into fury.
"You dare—" she began, her voice trembling with anger, but Alaric cut her off with a growl.
"I dare." His voice was colder now, almost a hiss. "Because no matter how much power you have, no matter how beautiful you think you are, you'll always be a pathetic shadow. A hollow, desperate thing." His eyes gleamed with something unhinged, something wild as he stared up at her.
Selene's hand trembled as it hovered near his throat, a struggle playing out on her face—rage mixed with something darker, something deeper. But Alaric didn't flinch. His chest heaved with each breath, pain clawing at him, but his gaze never wavered from hers. There was no fear, no regret in him—just raw, unfiltered hatred.
His lips curled into a twisted grin, his words slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. "And you'll never be more than that. No amount of magic or beauty will ever make you real. You're nothing but a fragile illusion."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Selene stared at him, her rage simmering beneath the surface, but Alaric's defiant gaze never faltered. Even in agony, even broken, he remained unbowed.
Suddenly, Selene's hands moved with brutal precision, her powers surging through the air like a venomous strike. Without a word, she raised her hand once again, her eyes alight with rage, and the air hummed with a dark energy. Alaric barely had time to react before the sharp, invisible blades of her power slashed across his neck.
The pain was immediate—searing and unrelenting—as though his very skin was being peeled away. Alaric gasped, his body jerking against the restraints, but they held him firm. His muscles screamed, his breath became shallow as he fought against the invisible force that shredded his flesh.
"Ah!" he gritted through clenched teeth, struggling against the invisible chains that bound him, but it was futile. His body twisted in agony, but the more he fought, the deeper the cuts became, more precise and vicious with every passing second. His vision blurred from the intensity of the pain, but his eyes never left Selene, burning with a wild, defiant light.
Alaric faltered suddenly, his breath catching as a sudden, almost overpowering scent hit him. His body tensed, his eyes narrowing as he instinctively sniffed the air, his senses working overtime. There it was again, a sharp, familiar scent that made his pulse spike. Something about it struck deep—memories, too hazy to grasp fully, but undeniably close.
It smelled like... him.
The recognition made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the agony that still pulsed through his body. But before he could pinpoint what it was, a scream shattered the air.
Selene's body arched violently, and she fell to the ground, clutching her chest as if her heart was being ripped out from the inside.
She shrieked, her nails digging into her skin, her breath ragged. Her face twisted in anguish as her back arched unnaturally. The pain was so visceral it seemed to tear at the very fabric of her being.
Alaric barely reacted, but his eyes flickered to her, torn between the burning curiosity and the sudden flare of dread that gripped him. What the hell is happening to her?
She writhed on the floor, her body convulsing, a guttural growl escaping her throat as though she were being consumed by some invisible force. "No... No... NO!" she screamed, her voice raw with agony.
Alaric's gaze sharpened, the familiar scent growing stronger now, enveloping the room in an almost suffocating cloud. His head whipped toward the door, a realization clawing at the back of his mind. Someone was close. Someone he hadn't expected.
Before he could think more of it, Selene's body jerked violently once more, and she screamed so loud it rattled the stones of the chamber. Her chest heaved as if her breath itself was being stolen away. Alaric watched, still pinned to the bed by the lingering effects of the magic, as her face contorted in pain.
Alaric's eyes widened, and his pulse quickened. The sensation of familiarity intensified, gnawing at him as though some distant thread was about to snap. And then—almost as if the very air in the room changed—he heard the softest whisper from the darkness beyond the door.
"Alaric…"
It was unmistakable. The voice was low, smooth, dangerous. Him. The scent. The presence. All of it hit Alaric like a freight train, the realization crashing over him like a storm.
Selene's chest heaved as she gasped for breath, still writhing on the floor in agony, her hands clutching at her chest as if trying to keep herself together. The pain was so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that for a moment, she seemed barely human at all. But through her screams, there was a single, desperate word that broke through.
"Elias!" she shouted, her voice laced with fury and fear.
And then, the door opened to the hunter.
"Elias..." Selene gasped, her voice barely more than a breath. "Take him... back... to the prison... now."
The command was sharp, filled with a desperation that only added to the tension in the room. Elias nodded once, his cold gaze moving from Selene to Alaric, who lay on the bed, his body still wracked with pain but now... something else entirely. Alaric's eyes, wide and gleaming with a twisted excitement, locked onto Elias as he sat up slightly, his lips curling into a grin that bordered on manic.
"Prison?" Alaric whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with a strange, giddy energy. "What... what's happening? What—what's going on?"
The words tumbled out of him, almost frantically, as though the realization of the situation was beginning to unravel in his mind, and he couldn't contain the rising wave of excitement that surged through him. His heart raced in anticipation.
"Enough," Elias said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get up, Alaric. You're going back to your cage."
The words hit Alaric like a bucket of ice water, but they only fueled his excitement. He couldn't suppress the wide, almost manic grin that spread across his face, his mind racing with the implications of what was happening. His breath came quicker as he pushed himself off the bed, his body still aching but filled with a strange, giddy anticipation.
He didn't care about the pain. He didn't care about the prison. The question on his lips, however, burned hotter than anything else.
His eyes darted from Elias to Selene, desperate for answers, his mind spinning with the possibilities. "What is this about? What's going on?"
But Selene didn't answer. Instead, she simply glared at him with venomous eyes, her lips twisted into a scowl.
"Shut up," she spat, though her voice was hoarse with exhaustion. "You'll find out soon enough."
Elias took a step forward, his gaze never leaving Alaric as he grabbed him by the arm, his grip like iron. The sudden movement jolted Alaric, but he didn't resist. His eyes still burned with excitement, his heart pounding in his chest, even as Elias began to drag him toward the door.
"Don't keep me waiting," Alaric called after him, a twisted laugh bubbling in his throat. "I've been dying for this!"
Elias didn't seem fazed. His expression was cold and indifferent, as though the sight of the all-powerful witch brought low was nothing new to him. He shrugged, adjusting his grip on Alaric's arm.
"Witch trouble," Elias muttered, his tone dripping with disinterest. "It's always something with her kind. Probably some spell gone wrong, or a price she didn't bother to pay. Not my problem."
Alaric expression was one of mild disbelief. "That's it? You're not even going to ask?"
Elias, however, seemed entirely unaffected, his expression bored as he led Alaric further from the room. "Come on," he said with a sigh, "let's get you cleaned up before she decides to fling you around again. Knowing her, it's only a matter of time.
____
Seraphina's scream echoed through the cold stone walls of the castle, sharp and desperate. Her body jerked violently as if an invisible force was tearing through her from within. She gasped for breath, her chest rising and falling with frantic intensity as her green eyes darted around, wide with panic.
"Who is this?" she cried out, her voice trembling with disbelief. Her hands flew to her face, as if to shield herself from something unseen, but her fingers trembled and her grip was weak, as if even her own body was betraying her.
Flashes of horrific visions flickered before her eyes. Her once-immaculate skin appeared to burn, her flesh slowly peeling away in agonizing strips, revealing raw, bleeding muscle beneath. Her body twisted unnaturally, contorted as if being torn apart by invisible hands. She stumbled, her legs buckling beneath her as though the weight of the torment was too much to bear.
The air around her thickened, pulsating with an ominous energy. It wasn't magic she controlled; this was something darker, something more malicious. A cold, creeping sensation wrapped around her heart, squeezing, and she could feel her own essence slowly being siphoned away, as though her very soul was being ripped to pieces.
She fell to her knees, her breath ragged as her back arched in pain. She felt the sensation of hands—phantom hands—gripping her ribs, pulling her apart from the inside. A shadow moved within her vision, something far more ancient than anything she had ever faced, its presence suffocating.
Her eyes widened in horror, the pain surging like a tidal wave through her veins. She gasped again, trying to claw at the air around her, but it was useless. Her limbs seemed to move slower, weaker, as if her very strength was being drained from her, piece by piece.
"Who is this?" she whimpered again, her voice barely a whisper now, filled with pure terror. But there was no answer—only more flashes. More destruction. More pain.
Her body was ripped apart in ways she couldn't comprehend, each flash of agony more excruciating than the last. Her neck snapped at an impossible angle, only to right itself, only for her to feel her limbs breaking, disjointed and shattered, as if some unseen force was playing with her, toying with her suffering. Blood poured from every wound, soaking her, staining the stone beneath her.
And yet, it wasn't the physical pain alone that tore at her—it was the awareness of something far greater, something more horrifying than she could fathom. The sense that she was being watched, hunted by a presence that knew her every weakness, her every fear. Something—or someone—was doing this to her, and it was growing closer, tightening its grip.
Her eyes snapped open, wide with fear. She could feel it now, creeping into her bones, wrapping itself around her very soul. The feeling of being utterly, helplessly small in the face of something beyond her control. It was a presence that haunted her dreams, but this—this was no dream.
The vision of her body breaking, shattering, and being twisted in ways that defied nature flashed again, and she felt her heart stop, her blood run cold. She screamed once more, but this time, there was no sound. Only silence. And the growing certainty that whatever was doing this would never stop, never let her go.
Far away, in a shadowed corner, where the light never quite touched and the air was thick with the scent of decay, someone stirred.
A figure lay in the dark, their face battered and bloodied, their skin pale from the weight of exhaustion. Dark circles under their eyes told of sleepless nights and endless torment. Their breath was shallow, ragged, as if they had fought through something far worse than physical pain. But then, in the stillness, a change rippled through the air.
The faintest sound broke the silence—a sharp, sudden intake of breath—and the figure's eyes snapped open. The deep red hue of them shimmered and flickered like a dying flame, but then, like a strike of lightning, the color shifted. It burned bright, a vibrant gold, seething with a fury that seemed to shake the very air. The golden light of those eyes was blinding, full of a rage that could tear through anything, anyone.
The air around them rippled, as if the earth itself was reacting to the fury brewing within the figure. Their body, though weak and bloodied, seemed to crackle with an energy that could not be contained. A presence radiated from them, dark and powerful, fueled by a force that defied comprehension.
The ground trembled beneath their feet, the intensity of their gaze cutting through the darkness like a blade. It was as if the very world around them recognized the power rising from within, felt the weight of it pressing down upon them.
His face was hidden in the shadows, but the tension in his form, the rigidity in his limbs, spoke volumes. His arms were pulled back and bound to the chair's arms, wrists shackled tight enough to draw blood. His legs were similarly restrained, the chains digging into the raw skin. Every movement he made was slow and deliberate, the effort to move causing him to wince, yet something in his posture seemed unbroken, even defiant. His breathing was labored, but it was far from surrender.
The silence that hung in the room was suffocating, oppressive, the air thick with the smell of blood and iron. The man's head hung low, his dark hair falling over his face, hiding his expression. But as the minutes ticked by, a subtle shift began—his chest rose with a deeper breath, his shoulders tensed, and a low, guttural groan rumbled from his throat.
Then, as if something within him stirred, his head lifted, eyes flashing—sharp, fiery gold—that fierce anger beginning to break free from its chains.