Maybe it was the sound of screams echoing through the prison, a wave of panic started to spread. Most prisoners huddled in their corners, too terrified to glance toward the iron doors of their cells. They assumed the guards were at it again, tormenting yet another unfortunate soul.
Then, without warning, the heavy doors of some cells groaned open. The prisoners barely had time to process what was happening before a figure moved through the darkness, swift and silent, like a ghost. An unnatural whiteness lingered in its wake, faintly glowing before it vanished.
Moments later, chains that had bound prisoners for years snapped open with brutal force. Some of the strongest creatures in the prison couldn't disrupt those bindings, but there they were—shattered, clattering to the ground. Those resigned to a life of confinement stumbled out of their cells. But what awaited them was beyond comprehension. The once-gray walls were now painted deep red, and scattered across the floor were the mutilated remains of the guards—the very men who had tormented them.
It was a grotesque display of vengeance, yet for the first time in years, the prisoners felt the suffocating grip of fear loosen, replaced by an undeniable flicker of hope.
---
The prison corridors were silent now, save for the wet sound of flesh being torn and the faint gurgles of dying men. Alaric crouched over a guard's body, his hands drenched in blood as he tore into the man's abdomen. His teeth sank into the warm flesh, savoring the rich, metallic taste of fresh blood. With each bite, Alaric's face twisted in ecstasy, hands digging deeper, pulling out glistening entrails. He sucked on the intestine with grotesque pleasure, blood smeared across his mouth as he devoured it like a ravenous beast. The heat of the organ filled the air, and he paused only to lick the slick blood from his fingers before diving back in, his hunger insatiable.
Not far away, Eric stood over another guard. The man had stopped struggling minutes ago, his body slack in Eric's arms as his life ebbed away. Eric's sharp teeth were buried deep in the guard's neck, drawing life from him , each pull bringing the man closer to death.
When Eric finally pulled away, the guard slumped to the ground, lifeless, his hollow eyes staring at nothing. Eric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blood trailing across his skin. His gaze shifted to Alaric, who was still feasting with reckless abandon, his face buried in the cavity of the guard's torso.
"You could at least save some for later," Eric muttered, his voice low and dry as he stepped over the lifeless body. Maybe he had grown so accustomed to death after weeks in this place that it didn't faze him as much anymore.
Alaric didn't respond, lost in his meal, consumed by the thrill of tearing apart those who had believed they could keep him locked away forever.
Eric watched as Alaric ran his tongue over his bloodstained fingers, eyes still burning with the high of the slaughter. The way he moved— savoring every moment—made Eric's stomach twist, though whether from unease or something more wanting, he couldn't tell.
His fingers curled into his palm as he exhaled, forcing himself to focus. Get it together.
Alaric turned to him, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand, though it only smeared the mess further. His grin was sharp, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of the kill. There was no remorse in him—only hunger.
Eric should have been disgusted. Should have felt something deeper than just the mild discomfort curling in his chest. But when Alaric looked at him like that, like he was the only one worth acknowledging, the unease dulled.
"You're quiet," Alaric noted, tilting his head."What's wrong? Too much for you?"
Eric scoffed, lying through his teeth. "I've seen worse."
Alaric hummed, unconvinced. His fingers, still warm from the kill, traced lightly over Eric's neck, smearing red across his skin. "You look like you want to run," he murmured, voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But you won't. Not from me."
Eric swallowed, his pulse quickening. Alaric was right—he wasn't going anywhere. Even if the blood and the bodies unsettled him, Alaric didn't. And maybe that was the strangest part of it all.
"You're staring," Alaric pointed out with a smirk, his voice laced with something dangerous.
Eric quickly looked away, his throat tight. "You're a mess."
Alaric's grin only deepened, more predatory this time. "Then clean me up."
Eric's gaze snapped back to Alaric, drawn to the way his lips curled, so dangerously inviting. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as his body betrayed him, heat rising in his veins.
"We need to move soon," Eric forced out, his voice thick, almost strangled, as if the words were fighting to escape. But Alaric didn't respond, his hands deftly pulling free another organ from the gruesome scene.
Eric tried to pull his gaze away, but his eyes were locked on Alaric's lips again, watching the subtle shift in the curve of his mouth, the way his tongue flicked out to wet them ever so slightly. His breath hitched, his body frozen in a tumult of frustration and dark fascination.
"We're not done here," Alaric said, his voice low, drenched in venom, but there was something else beneath it, something dangerous and thrilling. "This isn't enough. Not until every last one of them pays for what they did to us."
Eric's mind screamed at him to focus, to tear himself away from the dangerous magnetism that was Alaric. But his lips still curved into a smile, slow and lazy, though the tension in his chest deepened. "Revenge does have a certain appeal."
Alaric's eyes flared with a childlike gleam, but Eric's gaze remained fixed on the way his lips parted slightly as he spoke. He didn't even notice the unsettling joy flicker and fade in Alaric's eyes because all he could think about were those lips—how they were too close.
For a long moment, Eric stood frozen, heart thundering, his breath shallow. It wasn't just the hunger in Alaric's voice that pulled him in—it was everything about him. The way his lips looked, the way his presence wrapped around him like a vice, making Eric want to close the distance, just to feel the heat of him. The more Eric fought it, the more it seemed to draw him in, tempting him to cross a line he wasn't sure he could come back from.
"Wait…" Alaric's voice dropped, brow furrowing. "Why hasn't Elias come down yet?"
Eric's smirk faded, suspicion creeping into his gaze. "Elias?"
"Yes, Elias," Alaric snapped, his tone sharp. "The one who enjoyed it the most." His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "If anyone should've come running the second all hell broke loose, it's him. And yet…"
Eric shrugged, narrowing his eyes. "Maybe he's cowering somewhere. Rats tend to hide when the storm comes."
Alaric shook his head, a low growl escaping him. "No. That's not Elias. He'd come down swinging, desperate to prove something. Unless…" He paused, eyes flicking toward the darkened stairwell leading up. "Unless—"
Alaric's grin returned, darker now.
"We'll find him," Alaric murmured, his voice soft but filled with a quiet promise. "And when we do…" He let the words trail off, leaving the rest to Eric's imagination, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Without warning, Alaric halted. He turned just enough for Eric to see that glint in his eyes—a playful, teasing look that made Eric's pulse quicken.
Then, in a move so sudden and so effortlessly sultry, Alaric leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Eric's cheek. The gentle wet pop of his lips broke the tension between them, the sound surprisingly intimate, yet playful. It lingered in the air, making Eric's heart race.
Eric's cheeks flushed a deep red, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly averted his gaze, cursing himself for the way his body reacted to Alaric's touch. But it was impossible to ignore the way Alaric stood, that easy confidence in his posture, that knowing smile that promised more than words could say. Every little movement of his—effortless, smooth, and dangerously alluring—sent a heat coursing through Eric's veins.
Alaric's gaze remained locked on him as he straightened, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I have something to do," he said, each word dripping with playful intent. "Someone to take care of."
Eric blinked, still caught in the intoxicating spell Alaric had cast over him. "What? Now?"
Alaric chuckled, a sound low and almost predatory. He took a slow step closer, his body moving with an almost lazy grace. "Yes, now." His eyes were dark with mischief as he tilted his head, a glimmer of something more lustful flickering beneath the surface.
Eric's heart was hammering in his chest, the heat between them undeniable, and in that moment, he couldn't decide if he wanted to step away or pull Alaric closer.
Alaric grinned wider, white teeth gleaming against the smear of blood on his lips. "Wait for me. In the meantime…" He gestured lazily toward the carnage. "Have your fun. It's not like you've been holding back."
Eric opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, Alaric was gone. A blur of motion, vanishing so quickly it left Eric speechless. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in his wake.
Eric stared at the empty space where Alaric had stood, his blush deepening as he replayed the exchange.
He sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable," he muttered, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Turning his gaze back to the scattered remains and the trembling prisoners nearby, Eric shrugged. If Alaric wanted him to wait, he could oblige. But he wasn't one to let an opportunity for indulgence slip by.
"Guess I'll have my fun," he murmured, licking his lips as he approached a nearby guard still clinging to life, the scent of fresh blood filling his senses and causing him to lose control again.
_______
The chaos outside the secure facility escalated, each scream from the guards sharp against the thick, suffocating air. Bones cracked and flesh tore as bodies fell, the sounds, too real. Dr. Halloran's heart pounded erratically in his chest, each beat a reminder of the madness consuming the place. He could hear the frenzy outside as prisoners rampaged.
A group of panicked figures rushed toward him, their faces shadowed by the red emergency lights, their movements hurried. They were wearing uniforms hastily thrown on in the midst of the lockdown. One of them, a grim-faced man, grabbed Dr. Halloran's elbow, pulling him forward.
"You have to move, Halloran. Now!" the man barked, his voice tight with fear.
"Wait!" Halloran shouted, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep up with the rush. He yanked his arm free and turned back, eyeing the door to his lab, which was now a war zone. His eyes darted across the room, scanning for the carefully organized shelves, the tools, the equipment. The samples. They had all been carefully gathered, cataloged, but one was crucial.
He reached for his jacket pocket, pulling out a small vial sealed tightly with a blood-red stopper. The blood that held the key to everything he'd been working toward. His breath quickened, a sickening thrill coursing through him. This was it—his prize, his breakthrough. Even amidst the madness, he couldn't help but feel a rush, the sense that everything he'd sacrificed had led him here, to this moment.
"Halloran!" the man snapped, tugging on his arm again. "Let it go! You need to get out—this is falling apart fast!"
The doctor ignored him, taking another step towards the nearby cabinet. He shoved a handful of research papers into his bag, along with the vial, stuffing it haphazardly next to the samples he'd already secured. His pulse raced. Every instinct in his body screamed that time was running out.
"Even if I die," Halloran gasped, shoving the vial into the man's hands, "You must find someone to continue the work. Someone who can replace me." He locked eyes with the man, desperation evident in every line of his face. "The blood... Alaric's blood... It holds the key to something—something I can't finish." His words were sharp, almost frantic. "You have to make sure the research keeps going. It must!"
Dr. Halloran didn't wait for another word. He turned sharply and followed the group of men down the narrow corridor, the sounds of distant fighting growing louder. The air was thick with smoke, and the ground beneath his feet felt as if it were trembling with the force of the chaos unfolding all around them.
"We're almost there," one of the men called, voice tight with panic. "Keep moving."
Halloran's thoughts were consumed by one thing: the blood. If Alaric's blood was truly what he believed, it could be the key to unlocking untold power—something beyond even the realm of medical science.
As they reached the emergency exit, the distant shrieks of the prisoners—many of whom had begun their bloody escape—echoed louder. The exit door groaned in protest as the men forced it open, revealing a storm of violence waiting on the other side.
Halloran's hand tightened on the bag that held Alaric's blood.
"If I die ,make sure it gets to the right people. And don't stop. Not until we understand it... understand him."
The man didn't respond, but the look in his eyes was enough. He understood. The doctor was speaking not just of the blood, but of Alaric—the person who would eventually change everything.
As the passageway opened up before them, Dr. Halloran's heart skipped. There, at the far end of the passage, standing in the murky shadows, were Elias and Isabella. Elias, lounging casually against the stone, had a grin stretched across his face—amused, almost bored by the world crumbling around them. He looked the picture of nonchalance, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his dark, tailored coat. His eyes were glinting, an almost maddening sense of enjoyment in the midst of the chaos.
"Ah, now that everyone is here," Elias said, his tone sharp with amusement, "I suppose we can leave, yes?" His smirk widened, and his gaze drifted over to Halloran with a knowing glint. "I trust you've brought everything we need, Doctor?"
Halloran swallowed, his throat dry, and nodded stiffly, his fingers still clinging tightly to the small vial of Alaric's blood. But before he could speak, Elias's voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time.
"We found the witch's body," Elias continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous murmur. "In her room. Dead. Life... sucked out of her."
Halloran's heart stuttered.
"And if she's dead," Elias went on, his grin now taking on a darker edge, "then that means someone else is in control of Alaric now and we can't defeat him."
For a moment, everything went silent. Halloran's mind raced, his thoughts scrambling to process what Elias was saying. If someone else had control over Alaric... someone else—what did that mean? Who could wield that kind of power?
"Control... over Alaric?" Halloran managed to croak, his voice barely above a whisper, his stomach churning. "But who could possibly—"
Isabella stepped forward, her icy gaze never leaving Halloran's face.
"The question you should be asking," she said coldly, her voice like a blade, "is what they plan to do with him."
A beat of silence followed, heavy and unsettling. Then, a soft laugh echoed behind them.
Elias stiffened, his grip on the gun tightening as he turned sharply toward the source of the sound.
Alaric stood in the doorway, his delicate features bathed in the, flickering red light, making him all the more sinister. His smile was soft, almost angelic—something eerily out of place in the suffocating tension of the room. He tilted his head, as if amused by his own presence, his voice slipping from his lips in a slow, lilting cadence, almost like a lullaby.
"I see everyone I wanted to see has already gathered… without little old me."
His eyes flitted from one face to another, landing on Elias, who had gone rigid .The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier, as Alaric's expression brightened with an innocence that made the moment all the more monstrous.
"I was wondering where you were," Alaric cooed, taking a slow step forward. His voice remained sweet, but the intent behind it was razor-sharp. "You've been taking my toys away from me."
His gaze darkened, his head tilting further as if considering something deeply unsettling. Then, with a soft exhale, he smiled wider.
"I can't have that."
The words were light, playful, but the weight behind them sent an invisible chill through the place .