Alexander sat strapped to the chair, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His face was pale, his eyes wide and darting between the gathered Mikaelsons. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple, betraying his mounting fear. He tugged weakly at the restraints, his wrists chafing against the ropes, but it was a futile effort. The room was eerily silent except for the faint creak of the wooden chair beneath him and his own ragged breathing.
Ivar stood directly in front of him, his emerald eyes cold and unyielding. He crossed his arms over his chest, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over Alexander. There was no humor in his smirk now—only a calculated, predatory calm. He let the silence stretch for a moment longer, the tension in the air thick and suffocating, before he finally spoke.
"Before we begin," Ivar said, his deep voice steady and laced with authority, "I want you to know something." He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to Alexander's. His tone darkened, becoming almost conversational, as if he were sharing a casual secret. "Your friends outside? They're dead. I killed them—all four of them. So don't try anything funny, or you'll end up just like they did."
Alexander's breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His lips trembled, and his chest heaved as he struggled to process the words.
Finn, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightened. His expression was calm but eerily devoid of warmth. He stepped forward, his piercing gaze locked onto Alexander. "And you'll still tell us what we want to know," Finn said, his voice soft but chilling. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Because I can speak to the dead. And trust me, your friends have a lot to say."
Kol, who had been lounging nearby with his characteristic smirk, pushed off the wall and strolled toward Alexander. His movements were relaxed, almost lazy, but the glint in his eyes was anything but. He crouched next to Alexander, his smirk widening into something more sinister as he leaned in close. "Or," Kol said, his tone dripping with mock sweetness, "we could do this the hard way." He glanced over his shoulder at Rebekah, who stood with her arms folded, her sharp features twisted in disdain. "Bekah could have her way with you. Since, you know, you tried to betray her."
Rebekah's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, and she raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind," she said, her tone icy and lethal.
Niklaus, standing off to the side with his hands clasped behind his back, let out a low, menacing chuckle. His stormy blue eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and malice as he stepped closer. He stopped just behind Ivar, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Alexander. "If I were you," Niklaus said, his voice low and deliberate, "I'd start spilling everything—even before you're asked." His lips curled into a terrifying smile, the kind that promised pain.
Alexander swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. His chest heaved as panic overtook him, and he struggled against his restraints, his breathing becoming erratic. For a moment, he closed his eyes, as though willing himself to wake from a nightmare. When he opened them again, they darted to Ivar, his mind racing for any semblance of control.
"You… you said you killed my friends?" Alexander stammered, his voice cracking. "But that's impossible because of the—"
Ivar interrupted him smoothly, his voice calm but carrying a lethal edge. "The hunter's curse," he said, completing the sentence with a cold smile. He straightened, towering over Alexander once more. "Yes, I know all about it. And no, it has no effect on me." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before tilting his head slightly. "Now, for my first question…"
Ivar leaned closer again, his emerald eyes boring into Alexander's soul. His lips curled into a smile that was devoid of warmth, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What is your purpose here?"
The room seemed to close in on Alexander, the Mikaelsons surrounding him like a pack of wolves circling their prey. Each sibling's presence was overwhelming, their combined power and authority suffocating. Alexander's breathing quickened, and his lips quivered as he realized there was no escape—not from them, and certainly not from the truths they would extract.
Alexander's gaze flitted desperately from one Mikaelson to another, searching for some glimmer of mercy but finding none. Each sibling loomed with a unique, suffocating presence, their expressions cold and unyielding. His chest heaved as he took a trembling breath, realizing there was no escape from their wrath. Finally, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a shuddering sigh. His voice was hoarse, laced with hatred as he spat the words.
"We were on a mission," he began, his tone trembling yet defiant. "To kill vampires, complete our marks, and find the cure for vampirism." He locked eyes with Ivar, his gaze filled with loathing. "To rid the world of monsters like you."
The room fell silent, his confession hanging heavy in the air.
Ivar's expression shifted first. His smirk widened, not with amusement but with something darker—pride, perhaps, or a cruel satisfaction. His emerald eyes sparkled with a predator's glee, but there was no joy in them. He stepped back, his boots clicking softly against the floor, and crossed his arms again.
"Well, well," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk yet dripping with menace. "How noble of you." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze cutting into Alexander like a blade. "And how utterly foolish."
Alexander's jaw tightened as he processed Ivar's chilling words. His fear battled with a simmering anger, and his voice, though trembling, carried a thread of defiance as he asked, "Why would you say that? Why is it foolish?"
He glared at Ivar, his hatred bubbling to the surface, even as his body betrayed him with a slight shiver. His fingers clawed against the restraints, but the ropes held firm.
Ivar's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of cool indifference. His emerald eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing Alexander's question. Then he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his movements fluid and predatory. He leaned in close, his towering frame casting a long shadow over Alexander, and his lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.
"Why?" Ivar's voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of undeniable authority. His eyes locked onto Alexander's, unblinking, piercing into the man's very soul. "Because the cure you seek…" He straightened, folding his hands behind his back with calculated grace, the smirk returning to his lips, sharper this time. "It no longer exists."
The words hit Alexander like a physical blow. His eyes widened in shock, and his lips parted as though to protest, but no sound came out. His breathing quickened, ragged and uneven, as he struggled to comprehend the weight of Ivar's revelation.
Ivar tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over Alexander with a hint of disdain. "You should have known," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. His smirk remained, but his eyes darkened, betraying a flicker of something colder—something deeply calculating. So why send you on a fool's errand? he thought, though the words never left his lips.