The woman's smile deepened as she looked at Alaric, her gaze filled with something maternal yet unsettling. Her eyes softened as she looked down at Eric, who stood frozen in place, his heart racing. There was something about the way she observed him that made him feel small, like an animal under scrutiny.
Alaric's voice cut through the silence, thick with possessiveness. "I want to keep him forever."
The woman's lips twitched in a small, almost condescending smile as she hummed low in her throat. "Isn't he perfect?" Alaric giddily said.Her eyes never left Eric as he spoke, her gaze heavy and predatory, as if she were assessing the very marrow of his bones.
Alaric's eyes remained intense, focused on the woman. "I need him close," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. "He's special."
The woman nodded slowly, her expression darkening. "He's a good one, isn't he?" Her tone was almost dismissive, like one would speak of an obedient pet. "But you need to feed him, Alaric. You need to keep him clothed. If you don't, he'll run—like the others."
Alaric's jaw clenched at the mention of the others, but he didn't break his gaze. "The others weren't nice," he said, his voice filled with an almost unsettling softness, as though his words were meant only for Eric to hear. "They didn't behave like him."
Eric's heart beat faster, his confusion growing as he heard the words, unsure what the woman meant by "the others." He swallowed hard before speaking, his voice tight. "What happened to the others?"
The woman's smile returned, colder this time, as she raised her arm slowly. A small bracelet glinted on her wrist, a simple band of leather that held a collection of tiny, sharp teeth. The teeth were arranged in a pattern, each one more jagged than the last, as if they had been hastily collected from some dark, hidden place.
She extended her arm in front of Eric, the bracelet gleaming in the dim light. "The others," she repeated, her voice low and almost mocking. "They didn't learn to stay. They didn't learn their place."
Alaric, who had been watching the exchange, stepped closer to Eric. His hand brushed lightly against Eric's arm as if to reassure him, though the touch felt more possessive than comforting. "You're different," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "You're better."
The woman's smile widened at his words, a dark gleam in her eyes. "Let's hope he stays that way, then," she murmured, her gaze flickering back to the bracelet in her hand.
Eric could feel the weight of the woman's words pressing down on him, the fear curling in his gut as he looked from her to Alaric, trying to make sense of the twisted world he had been thrust into.
Alaric turned away from the woman, his eyes never leaving Eric. "I'll make sure he stays," he promised, his voice thick with a child's possessiveness. "I'll make sure he never becomes like them."
The woman nodded, her smile softening only slightly, but the darkness in her eyes remained. "We shall see," she said, her voice trailing off as the hum of her breath filled the space once more.
Eric stood there, trapped between them, unsure whether he was being promised safety or condemned to something much worse.
The woman's voice cut through the stillness, soft and warm as she spoke, "Supper will be ready soon, dear." Her tone was calm and nurturing, as she spoke to Alaric. She gave Eric a small, almost fake motherly smile before turning to leave, her figure fading into the shadows of the strange, dimly lit place.
Alaric, still holding Eric's arm, suddenly tugged him forward. "Come on," he said eagerly, his eyes wide with a childlike excitement. "Let's go see more of the place."
The space they entered was unlike any Eric had ever seen. Shelves filled with odd trinkets, strange symbols etched into the walls, and old books stacked haphazardly on tables. It was cluttered, yet oddly inviting. There was an air of curiosity here—an innocence, as if everything were part of a grand adventure Alaric was eager to explore.
As they moved through the dimly lit room, Eric hesitated before asking, his voice barely above a whisper, "Alaric... have you... killed the others?"
Alaric froze mid-step, his bare feet lightly tapping the stone floor as he turned to Eric with wide, curious eyes. His head tilted slightly, like a bird trying to make sense of an unfamiliar sound. "Killed them?" he echoed, the word tumbling out of his mouth as though it were foreign.
For a moment, his brows knit together in genuine confusion, his youthful face scrunching up like he was working through a riddle. "Why would I do that?" he added, his voice lilting with an innocence that felt both unsettling and sincere.
Eric faltered, caught off guard by Alaric's reaction. The question had seemed inevitable, given everything he had heard, but the boy's demeanor—so unaffected—left him questioning his assumptions.
Alaric's grip on Eric's arm tightened slightly, not in a threatening way, but as if grounding himself in the conversation. He gave a small, casual shrug, his other hand trailing along the cool wall, fingers tracing invisible patterns. "They didn't listen," he said matter-of-factly, glancing at Eric with a quick, impish grin, like he'd just shared a harmless secret. "But that's okay. My mama always takes care of the bad ones. Even though I don't remember what they did to make them so bad... Mama knows what to do with them."
He skipped a step ahead, spinning on his heels to face Eric with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "She's really good at it, you know. She makes sure they stay where they belong." He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet, his tone growing lighter, as if he were talking about an ordinary chore. "I don't really know how she does it. But it always works."
Eric stared, his stomach twisting as he tried to reconcile the boy's playful energy with the darkness hidden in his words. Alaric's wild, untamed movements, the way he darted forward like an excitable child one moment and stood still with a knowing, almost devilish grin the next, sent a chill through him.
"She takes care of everything," Alaric added with a quiet, almost reverent smile, his voice softening as though speaking of a bedtime story he loved to hear.
Eric swallowed hard. The idea that the woman, who had seemed so kind and motherly, could take care of people so callously left a sour taste in his mouth. "What do you mean, 'takes care of them'?" Eric asked again, the question now heavy in the air.
Alaric's eyes glinted as he looked at Eric, as if the answer were the most natural thing in the world. "She just... makes sure they don't get away," he said matter-of-factly. " She said if they didn't listen, they'd have to go away. And that's fine. She's smarter than them, so she knows how to fix it."
Eric felt a deep chill in his bones as Alaric spoke, the innocent tone making the words all the more unsettling. Alaric wasn't being malicious—he was simply unaware of the weight his words carried. He didn't understand that what his mother did was wrong.
Eric's heart pounded in his chest. "So... you don't know what happened to them?"
Alaric shook his head with a playful grin, as if the answer were obvious. "I don't know. I don't ask. But I know they don't run anymore. And that's good. We don't need people who don't listen."
Before Eric could ask anything further, Alaric's eyes brightened. "Oh! Let's not worry about that," he said eagerly, grabbing Eric by the arm again. "Let's go explore. My mama said supper is almost ready, but I don't think we need to worry about that right now. We should see the rest of the house!"
Alaric eagerly pulled Killian through the winding, cramped passageways of the hut. The walls, made of rough-hewn wood, were damp and smelled of earth and mildew. The flickering light from a single, dim candle cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, making everything feel darker, more claustrophobic. Alaric's bare feet padded softly on the wooden floors as he eagerly led the way, his excitement palpable.
The hut was small—uncomfortably small. The air felt thick with the smell of something that had long since gone sour. The floor was scattered with hay and fur sheets, the kind that looked more like remnants of animals than anything cozy. There was no bed in sight, just patches of fur and scattered hay where someone might sleep—or at least rest. The walls were cluttered with jars of unidentifiable substances, dried herbs, and strange symbols that made the entire place feel like it belonged to another world, one governed by strange rules Killian could barely comprehend.
"Come on, it's over here!" Alaric said, pulling Killian by the sleeve, his childish voice filled with excitement as he led him into a darker, more secluded room.
The stench grew stronger as they entered. The room was filled with human remains, their pale, withered forms arranged in grotesque piles, some partially rotted, others preserved by strange methods. Skulls grinned at them from their resting places, and scattered bones lay on the floor, some still wrapped in tattered clothing, while others were mere skeletons. The air was heavy with decay, the walls covered with dark stains that Killian dared not examine too closely.
Alaric stood in front of the remains, looking almost proud, his small hands pointing to various parts of the room. "This is my favorite!" he said, his voice full of innocent wonder, as he gestured to one particularly well-preserved corpse. The body, barely recognizable, was sitting upright, its limbs stiff and awkwardly positioned as though it had been placed in that position long ago and never moved since. "Mama said this one was special because it's so perfect. I like how its teeth look," Alaric continued, smiling brightly, oblivious to the horror his words might invoke in someone who understood what it meant. "I like the way it still has skin."
Eric stood frozen, his throat dry, his mind racing to process the sickening reality of the situation. Alaric didn't seem to understand the weight of his words. He wasn't being malicious—he was simply... unaware. It was as though he were describing a routine, a game, rather than the grim reality of the decaying bodies surrounding them.
"Why do you have all these?" Eric asked quietly, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the dread curling in his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to ask outright if Alaric had eaten them—but the thought lingered, an unspoken horror hanging between them like a dark fog.
Alaric tilted his head at the question, his wild, dark hair falling into his wide, innocent eyes. He blinked up at Eric with confusion, as though the answer should've been obvious. "Mama says I have to eat people," he said simply, his voice light and matter-of-fact, like he was explaining why the sky was blue. "She says if I don't, I'll get too hungry, and... and bad things happen if I get too hungry."
Eric's lips parted, but no words came. Alaric, oblivious to his discomfort, kept speaking, his voice soft but filled with the conviction only a child could carry. "Once, I got too hungry, and... I didn't mean to, but Mama said it was my fault her eye got hurt." He tapped the corner of his own face as though mimicking the injury. "She said I get too wild when I'm like that, and it's really, really bad. That's why I have to eat. Mama says it keeps me good."
Eric's chest tightened as Alaric grinned brightly, almost proud of the lesson he'd learned. The child stepped closer to one of the bodies, pointing at it with a small hand. "They're not like other food. Mama says other food doesn't work for me. It doesn't fill my belly, and it makes me weaker and weaker until I'm not me anymore. But people... people are different. They've got everything I need."
"Why people?" Eric managed to ask, his voice trembling despite his effort to stay composed.
Alaric turned back to him, his face scrunching up in thought as if Eric had asked a riddle. "Because... they have all the good stuff," he said slowly, his tone carrying the certainty of someone repeating a trusted lesson. "Mama says their blood and everything else inside them makes me strong and keeps me tame. She says if I don't eat them, I'll stop being good, and I'll... I'll hurt her again." His voice softened as he spoke, guilt flickering in his eyes before vanishing as quickly as it came.
Eric felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck. Alaric wasn't cruel. He wasn't even trying to justify himself—he genuinely didn't see anything wrong. To him, this was survival, something his mother had taught him to do to keep them both safe.
"Do you eat... all of them?" Eric whispered, unable to keep the question from slipping out.
Alaric's face lit up with a bright, almost excited smile, his hands clasping together. "Not all of them! Some of them are better than others, though. The ones that have been here the longest are the best," he said with the eager tone of a child sharing his favorite snack. "They're soft, and they don't run away like the others. Mama says it's because they've already stopped fighting."
Eric's stomach turned as Alaric glanced back at the bodies with an almost reverent expression, his gaze flickering with a strange mix of innocence and something far more chilling.
"Alaric," Eric said gently, swallowing the lump in his throat, "you don't have to do this. There are... other ways to be strong, other ways to be good. You don't have to hurt people."
Alaric frowned, tilting his head like he didn't understand the words. "But Mama says this is the right way," he said softly, his voice full of childlike certainty. "This is the only way for a creature like me."
The words hung in the air, cutting through Eric like a blade. Alaric's small hand wrapped around his wrist as he began to pull him forward again, leading him deeper into the twisted labyrinth of horrors. His wide eyes gleamed with a haunting mixture of innocence and belief, a child too young to question the lessons he'd been taught.
Eric's heart ached as he followed ,and the worst part was that Eric couldn't even blame him. The boy had been shaped by a mother who had taught him that survival came at a cost—a cost that Eric now feared might be too great to bear if he realised what he was doing.
---
The woman's voice echoed through the dimly lit hut, smooth and coaxing, calling them to supper. "Alaric, Killian, it's time to eat," she said, her tone as calm as ever. Alaric immediately perked up, his small eyes lighting with anticipation. He looked up at Eric, his expression bright and innocent, as if nothing strange had happened at all. Without thinking, he gingerly reached out, taking Eric's hand in his small, warm fingers. The touch was surprisingly tender, and Eric could feel the weight of it—almost like a silent plea for reassurance, though Alaric had no understanding of the deeper implications of their situation.
Alaric pulled Eric towards the small table, where a strange, unsettling scene awaited them. The food had been served in three large skulls that had been carefully cut and hollowed out, fashioned into makeshift bowls. The sight was grotesque, the edges jagged, and the dark, uneven interior of each skull only served to highlight the twisted nature of this place. Some skulls had been polished, others rough, but all held something inside—steaming, thick concoctions that reeked of something both familiar and alien. The smell alone made Eric's stomach twist in protest, though he fought to keep his expression neutral.
The woman sat down across from Alaric, her sharp eyes watching as he eagerly settled into his seat, looking down at his meal with childlike wonder. Alaric took the bowl in both hands, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. He glanced over at Eric, waiting for him to sit as well.
Eric hesitated, his body tense, his mind racing. It felt as if the air itself was thick with expectation—something intangible, something that demanded his compliance. He had no choice but to sit, even though every instinct in his body screamed to run. He slid onto the hard, uncomfortable bench across from Alaric and the woman. His eyes flickered down to the skulls in front of them, then to the woman's expectant face.
She leaned in slightly, her eyes glinting with a dark amusement as she spoke, her voice gentle but commanding. "Eat, Killian," she instructed, her tone almost soft, as if she were talking to a pet, or a child she was teaching manners. "You must start. Show us how well you can handle a real meal."
Alaric smiled, his eyes wide and innocent, as if the meal were a delightful secret just waiting to be discovered. "It's really good, I promise!" he said cheerfully, as if trying to convince Eric to join him in this bizarre, macabre ritual. His tiny hands held the skull bowl so tightly, it looked almost like he was afraid it would be taken from him.
Eric's stomach churned violently at the sight, but the woman's eyes were on him, and Alaric's small, hopeful gaze mirrored hers. It was as if they were waiting for him to take the first bite, as if that would make him one of them—make him part of this warped family.
The food inside the skulls was unrecognizable. It had a grayish hue, swirling with dark clumps, and it gave off a pungent odor that made Eric's stomach lurch. Something in the mixture seemed to pulse, as if alive. He could see pieces of meat—flesh—embedded within the dark sludge. He couldn't tell if it was human, animal, or something else entirely.
Alaric, seemingly oblivious to the grotesque nature of it all, already began to scoop the food into his mouth, eagerly chewing, humming with pleasure. "Mama always makes it just right," he said between bites, the words sounding as innocent as ever. "It's better when we eat together."
The woman gave a soft hum of approval, watching Alaric with a maternal fondness. "My boy," she murmured, reaching out to ruffle his hair gently. "Always hungry for more."
But Eric couldn't bring himself to eat. The room had fallen silent, save for the clinking of Alaric's spoon against the skull. The woman's eyes remained fixed on him, her expression unreadable, yet there was a pressure in her gaze that made him feel as though his every movement was being scrutinized. He could feel the weight of her expectations.
"Go on, Killian," she urged, her voice more insistent now, a strange sweetness lingering beneath the command. "Take a bite. You'll see, it's delicious."
Eric's mind raced. His body wanted to reject the food outright, but the pressure of their eyes—Alaric's innocent, pleading gaze and the woman's calculating one—was overwhelming. Without thinking, his hand reached out, almost of its own accord, and grabbed the skull. The cold, smooth surface of the bone sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he simply stared at it, his heart pounding in his chest.
He took the spoon from the bowl, the food sloshing around inside the skull with a sickening sound. His stomach heaved, but he forced himself to steady his hand, feeling their gaze burn into him. The room was quiet except for the soft noises of Alaric fidgeting excitingly.
"Eat," she repeated, her voice now a low murderous whisper. "You'll want to be strong, won't you, Killian? Like Alaric."
Eric's fingers trembled, but he couldn't stop. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, the food almost too foul to bear. His eyes closed for just a moment as he forced the bite into his mouth, his throat tightening in resistance as he swallowed the putrid mixture.
Alaric watched him, eyes wide with excitement, as if he were witnessing some grand, important event. The woman's smile deepened as she watched Killian's reluctant movements, her face lit with a strange satisfaction. "See? Not so bad, is it?" she purred. "You're one of us now."
As Killian forced down the vile food, his mind screamed in protest, but the taste lingered in his mouth, thick and unbearable. The more he ate, the more he felt trapped. Trapped in this place, in this game, and in these twisted rules that seemed to have no escape.
But Alaric's innocent joy, his genuine belief that this was a shared meal, made it almost impossible to pull away. Eric realized he wasn't just eating to survive; he was being tested. And in that moment, he understood that there would be no easy way out.
The woman leaned back, satisfied with the scene unfolding before her. "Good, Killian," she said softly. "You'll grow strong now, just like Alaric." She looked down at the boy, who was grinning at Eric, his face smeared with food but happy as ever.
Eric set the spoon down, forcing himself not to gag as he stared into the skull, the food now swirling in the depths. He wasn't sure what would happen next, but one thing was certain: he had just crossed a line he could never return from.
As the meal drew to a close, Alaric, still looking hungry despite having devoured most of the food, leaned forward, eyeing the remaining portions with a childlike determination. His small hands reached for Eric's skull, his fingers almost greedily scraping the last remnants of the meal into his mouth when he noticed Eric had stopped to watch him. Alaric's wide eyes flicked between the food and Eric's face, and with an innocent smile, he brought the bowl closer to his face "What?You're not going to eat it? I'm still hungry!" he said, almost pleading.
Without waiting for an answer, Alaric dug in again, finishing what was left of Eric's portion in moments, his face lighting up as he savored the last of the disgusting meal. His small body seemed so ravenous, and despite the grotesque nature of the food, he consumed it without a second thought, his cheeks flushed with satisfaction. "Mama says we need to be strong, so I need lots," he explained through mouthfuls, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.
Once the bowls were clean, Alaric leaned back, his eyes now heavy with the satisfaction of having eaten more than his fill. The woman, watching them both for a moment longer, stood from the table and began to move toward another room.
"It's time for bed," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. She turned to Alaric and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair fondly before her gaze shifted to Eric, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You two...stay here. The night is long, and you will need your rest."
———
Alaric now full , barely noticed as she left the room. He let out a small yawn, looking over at Eric with his big grey eyes as he pulled him along to where they were meant to sleep.Once lying down in the little corner of the room. He scooted a little closer to Eric, his soft plump body curling into itself as he stretched out, clearly too full to think about anything more.
The flickering light from the single, dimly burning candle cast eerie shadows across the room. The silence seemed to press in on Eric, the air heavy with the scent of decay and the strange, unsettling feeling that something was always just out of reach.
The night had fully settled in, the dark sky stretching across the small hut. The wind howled gently through the cracks in the walls, but within the room, everything was still, save for the sound of Alaric's slow, rhythmic breathing.
Eric, despite the chaos and the confusion swirling in his mind, couldn't shake the unease. The sense of being trapped—both physically and psychologically—was suffocating. And yet, Alaric lay there, so innocent, so unaware of the horrors that surrounded him. The boy's presence, despite the twisted circumstances, held a strange kind of comfort. He was just... a child. And that innocence, even in the face of all the darkness, was something Eric couldn't bring himself to resent.
As the woman's presence faded into the other room, the quiet seemed to deepen, and Eric couldn't help but wonder what would come next. Would he ever leave this place,would he ever wake up from such a nightmare? Would he ever escape this twisted, suffocating cage?
——
Hours seemed to drag on in the pitch-black room, the only light coming from the flickering, dim candle that had long since begun to melt down to a thin stub. The shadows were endless, stretching across the filthy walls, creating shapes that danced and swayed with every gust of wind that slipped through the cracks. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wood underfoot or the distant howl of the wind outside.
Alaric lay still for a long while, his small body curled up beside Eric, both of them trapped in the thick, dark air. The silence between them was filled only by the sound of their breathing, slow and steady, but eventually, it was Alaric who broke the quiet.
His eyes snapped open suddenly, and in the murky dimness of the room, Eric saw the gleam of youthful excitement in his eyes. The boy shifted, peeking up at Eric, his voice a quiet whisper that cut through the stillness.
"Killian, are you asleep?" Alaric asked, his voice high and eager, practically bubbling with excitement.
Eric, startled by the sudden break in the quiet, shook his head, his eyes meeting Alaric's in the faint candlelight. "No," he answered softly, barely a whisper in the dark.
Alaric's face lit up, a childlike grin spreading across his features. He immediately sat up, his small body moving with surprising energy for someone who had just finished a meal. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed Eric's hand, pulling on it with surprising force for his size.
"Then, come on!" Alaric exclaimed, his voice tinged with joy. "I wanna show you something! It's a secret!" His enthusiasm was infectious, even though the circumstances felt anything but.
Eric, unsure of what to expect but oddly compelled by Alaric's childlike glee, allowed himself to be pulled up. The boy tugged him eagerly toward the small, dusty corner of the room, his tiny fingers gripping Eric's hand as if the world depended on it.
Alaric's eyes were practically glowing with the secret he couldn't wait to reveal, and for a brief moment, Eric almost forgot about the suffocating sense of dread that had gripped him ever since he arrived. Instead, he followed the boy, his movements hesitant, but curiosity began to flicker in the back of his mind.
"Look, Eric! Look at this!" Alaric said in a hush, his voice suddenly turning conspiratorial. He pulled Eric toward the far corner of the room, where the shadows seemed deeper, darker, and more unsettling. There, hidden in the darkest corner, a faint glimmer caught Eric's attention.
In that corner, hidden beneath a pile of old rags and cracked trinkets, was a wooden chest—its surface weathered and scarred by time.
With the eagerness of a child showing off a treasured possession, Alaric crouched down, his small hands quickly prying open the chest. Inside was the familiar black leather-bound book, its edges worn, the cover cracked in places. There was something almost alive about it, as if the book itself held a presence, a quiet pulse of power that seemed to beckon.
Alaric pulled the book from the chest with both hands, struggling slightly with its weight, and held it up to Eric, his gray eyes round and sparkling with excitement. "Mama says this book is real special," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She says it's magic. Dark magic. From... from a lot of people. Like, a lot of people who lived a long time ago."
Eric hesitated, his eyes shifting to the worn leather cover as Alaric extended it toward him. The book felt strange even before he touched it, like the air around it had thickened, pressing down on him. But Alaric's enthusiasm was impossible to ignore, the child's flushed cheeks and quick breaths painting him as utterly enchanted by the artifact.
"Mama says," Alaric went on, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening, "the book can make dreams come true. Like anything you want! Anything at all." He hugged the book tightly against his small chest for a moment, then thrust it toward Eric again with both hands. "She says it has all the secrets. Stuff nobody else knows, and it's all ours."
Eric finally took the book, the leather cold and oddly textured under his fingers. As soon as he held it, he felt a strange shiver run through him, as if the book itself were alive. He glanced back at Alaric, whose pale face was now lit up with a wide, innocent grin, completely unaware of the weight of his words.
Alaric bounced on his toes, his excitement barely contained. "It's got everything in it! Like... like spells! Spells to make you strong, or make people stay with you forever. Mama says it even has stuff about how to stop them from running away. And... and stuff to make you not hurt anymore! Like, even if you're really, really sad, you just won't be anymore."
Eric swallowed hard, the weight of the book growing heavier in his hands. The symbols etched into the cover seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, as though they were breathing.
"Why do you need it?" Eric asked, his voice tight as he watched the boy closely.
Alaric tilted his head, his expression growing thoughtful for a moment. Then he giggled, a sound both innocent and unsettling in the quiet room. "Because Mama says we can do anything with it. We can make things like they're supposed to be. She says the book is the most important thing ever." His eyes glinted with a mix of childish glee and something deeper, something darker. "Mama says we can even keep people with us forever. And make sure they never, ever leave."
"Do you want to see more?" Alaric asked, his voice a breathless whisper.
Eric nodded slowly, unable to suppress the curiosity that gnawed at him. He leaned closer as Alaric opened the black pages, the scent of old leather and ink filling the air. At first, the symbols on the pages looked like an indecipherable mess of foreign words and images, but as his eyes scanned them, a strange clarity washed over him. He could understand them, as if some force beyond his control allowed him to see the magic within.
The first spell he recognized was a simple phrase: "Memoria Nox". It felt like a heavy weight in the air, as if it could tear at the very fabric of his mind. The spell, as he read, promised to make a person forget—memories erased as though they had never existed. The second was more unnerving, "Mortis Nox", the words curling with a darkness that seemed to drain the light from the room. It spoke of death—an easy escape, a painless descent into nothingness.
There were others, too. "Venustas Eximius", a spell to change one's appearance, to become more beautiful than one could ever imagine. "Creatus Animus", a spell that promised the ability to create life—something from nothing, a god-like power. The possibilities that the book offered seemed endless, each spell more tempting than the last. He could feel the weight of each word, the power imbued in them, like they had the potential to change everything, to shape reality itself.
Eric turned the page, and his eyes widened as something strange caught his attention. The next page was different. It wasn't filled with more incantations or magical symbols, but a sketch. A drawing of a boy. The lines were soft, yet there was an unsettling precision in the way the figure was rendered.
It was him. It was Alaric. His features were drawn with such care, capturing a raw, almost otherworldly innocence in his eyes. His hair was wild, untamed, and his expression—a smile, sweet yet somehow unsettling—was as if he were caught in a moment of childish wonder. The boy in the sketch looked out from the page, his gaze unblinking, as though he could see Eric, as if he were alive in the drawing.
But there was something else. Above the sketch, in a foreign, flowing script, was a single word: "Omnius". The letters curled elegantly, almost like a whisper in the dark, the word both unfamiliar and strangely familiar at the same time. It seemed to hold weight, as if the name itself was significant, imbued with a meaning that transcended mere ink on paper.
Eric's heart pounded in his chest. He stared at the drawing, his fingers hovering over the page as if the sketch itself might come alive. The name—Omnius—seemed to pulse in the dim light, almost as if it was alive, waiting for something.
"What... is this?" Eric whispered, his voice barely audible as his eyes flickered from the drawing to Alaric.
Alaric looked over his shoulder at the page and smiled, a smile that was both innocent and unsettling. "Mama says that's... that's who I am." He paused, as if the weight of the name hadn't quite hit him. "I'm Omnius. I'm special. Mama says I'm not like the others. I'm different. That's why she took care of me. She says I'll be strong one day, even stronger than them."
Eric's hand trembled as it hovered over the sketch, and for a moment, the room seemed to darken even further, the air thick with a strange, oppressive energy. The name Omnius echoed in his mind, and a feeling he couldn't place settled in the pit of his stomach—a feeling that this name, this being, was tied to something much larger, something beyond what he could comprehend.
The book seemed to hum softly in his hands, the pages alive with dark magic, and Eric realized with a chilling certainty that Alaric, or Omnius, was a part of something much more sinister. Something far more powerful than either of them could fully grasp.
Eric's eyes traced the lines beneath the drawing, the eerie stillness in the room pressing down on him like an unseen weight. He squinted, his breath catching in his throat as the words seemed to shift, pulling him deeper into a mystery he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.
At the bottom of the page, written in the same fluid, foreign script, was a sentence that seemed to pulse with its own ominous energy. He could barely make it out at first, the letters twisting in his vision, but then they solidified, clear and sharp.
"The hybrid of all beings."
Eric felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a chill creeping over his skin. The words alone seemed wrong, as if the very concept was unnatural, something that shouldn't exist in this world. His heart beat a little faster as his eyes flicked back to Alaric, who seemed utterly unaware of the dark weight the words carried.
But the phrase was far from finished. Beneath it, almost as an afterthought, were more words:
"To create a being like Omnius is to defy the very fabric of existence. It requires the blood of countless souls, each bound together through rituals so forbidden they are whispered only in shadows. Their essence must merge perfectly, a feat that no mortal hands could replicate, for even the slightest imperfection would unravel it all. It is a creation so impossible, so unnatural, that it exists as both a miracle and a curse."
Eric blinked, his mind spinning. He knew these words were important, but the meaning was buried deep, beyond anything he could piece together in a single breath. The air felt heavy, thick with magic and danger. He couldn't help but feel as if the book itself was alive, pulsing with dark power, waiting for him to understand.
Alaric's voice broke the silence, his tone bright, but there was an underlying unease in it that Eric hadn't noticed before. "Mama says it's what makes me special," Alaric said, his eyes shining as he stared at the page with an almost childish innocence. "She says I'm a mix of many things. That's why I'm so strong, so important."
Eric's heart skipped a beat. A hybrid of all beings? The words echoed in his mind, reverberating through his skull like a warning bell. What was Alaric? What was he really? And why did the book describe him in such a way? The answer hovered just out of reach, teasing him, but Eric was afraid to grasp it.
"What does it mean?" Eric asked, his voice quiet but steady, the question hanging between them like an unspoken truth.
Alaric smiled, his gaze distant for a moment as he thought about the words. "Mama says it's not about what I am now, but what I'll become." His small fingers ran lightly over the page. "One day, I'll be more than anyone could ever understand. I'll be... different."
Eric's stomach churned as he processed the weight of the words. A hybrid... Alaric, or Omnius, was the product of something beyond dangerous and Eric knew he was the only one of his kind. A creature who, by design, wasn't meant to belong to any one world, but to all of them.
The air in the room seemed to grow even thicker as the weight of Alaric's innocence collided with the dark reality of the magic surrounding them. This was no simple spellbook. No mere curiosity. This was a map to something far more terrifying—a creation born from the essence of all beings. And the more Eric thought about it, the more he feared the consequences of what he had witnessed.
Alaric's hand brushed against Eric's, and Eric snapped out of his thoughts, focusing once again on the child in front of him. His eyes were wide with excitement, with something that bordered on madness, but there was still a purity in him that made everything more unsettling.