The room went quiet when a presence swept over them, heavy and cold. Everyone turned toward the doorway, and there he was—standing tall, dark, and unmistakably familiar.
Elena's breath caught. The man looked just like Stefan. Same face, same sharp features, but his eyes... They were darker, colder, like they'd seen centuries of blood and destruction.
Damon was the first to break the silence, stepping forward with a raised eyebrow and his usual sarcasm. "Well, well. If it isn't Stefan's evil doppelgänger twin. Let me guess—long-lost family drama?"
The man didn't respond, didn't even glance at Damon. His piercing gaze landed on Stefan, and for a moment, it was like no one else existed in the room. "It's been a while," he said, his voice low and smooth but laced with something dangerous.
Stefan tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Ivar," he said quietly, the name dripping with both familiarity and unease.
"Ivar?" Damon repeated, looking between the two of them. "You're telling me this guy is real? I thought we'd seen enough of the Stefan lookalike club."
Ivar ignored him, his attention shifting to Elena. His dark eyes locked onto hers, sending a shiver down her spine. Damon, noticing, moved quickly, stepping in front of her like a shield. "Yeah, no. You don't get to look at her like that, buddy," Damon said, his tone sharp.
Ivar frowned, his gaze flicking to Damon with thinly veiled annoyance before returning to Elena. "Are you ready to die?" he asked, his voice calm, as if he were asking about the weather.
The words hit the room like a bomb. Elena's heart slammed against her chest, and she instinctively stepped back, bumping into Stefan, who was already on edge. Damon, on the other hand, didn't flinch.
"Alright, now you're just being dramatic," Damon snapped, his posture stiffening as his hand twitched toward his pocket—where his trusty stake always rested.
Ivar let out a long sigh, the sound almost bored, before his arm shot out in a blur. His hand wrapped effortlessly around Damon's throat and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Damon clawed at Ivar's hand, his boots kicking at the air as he struggled.
"Let him go!" Stefan shouted, moving forward instinctively.
Damon, still dangling, didn't waste time. With a quick motion, he pulled a wooden stake from his jacket and aimed for Ivar's chest. But before he could strike, Ivar's other hand lashed out and caught Damon's wrist mid-swing. His grip tightened, and Damon's face twisted in pain.
Ivar tilted his head, his expression calm yet menacing. "Never," he said slowly, his voice low and cutting, "in your pitiful existence… question me again." He squeezed Damon's wrist harder, the stake slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor.
Stefan didn't hesitate. With a flick of his hand, the shadows in the room twisted and surged toward Ivar, aiming to wrap around him and force him to release Damon. But the moment the shadows touched Ivar, they stopped, trembling in place as if unsure of their purpose. Then, like smoke in the wind, they dissipated completely.
"What the—?" Stefan froze, his shock evident.
Ivar glanced at him, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "A fool," he said, his voice steady. "Using a bloodline ability against its progenitor?" His tone was mocking, almost amused. "Did you truly think that would work?"
Stefan's blood ran cold. Progenitor?
Meanwhile, Damon was still dangling, his face turning red as he fought for air. "Damon!" Elena shouted, panic lacing her voice.
Ivar's gaze shifted back to Damon, his eyes narrowing slightly. With a casual motion, he flung Damon across the room. Damon crashed into a wooden table, breaking it in half before landing in a heap on the floor. He groaned, trying to push himself up, but his movements were sluggish.
Elena ran to Damon's side, dropping to her knees as she checked him over. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice shaky.
Damon coughed, rubbing his throat. "Yeah… just peachy," he rasped, glaring at Ivar. "What the hell is this guy?"
Stefan stepped in front of Elena and Damon, his posture defensive. "What do you want, Ivar?" he demanded, his voice cold.
Ivar's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet intensity. He stepped forward slowly, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like a predator closing in on its prey. "I told you," he said, his eyes locking onto Elena once again. "I'm here for her."
Stefan clenched his fists. "You're not taking her."
Ivar's smirk widened as he took a slow step closer. "Who said anything about taking her?" he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I'm not running errands for my little brother." His eyes flicked back to Elena briefly before he added, "I'm just here to watch the drama unfold... see what last-minute decisions you all make before the inevitable."
With that, he turned and casually lowered himself into a chair nearby, leaning back like he owned the place. The tension in the room was palpable, but Ivar didn't seem to care. He looked completely at ease, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as if this were all a show put on for his amusement.
Before anyone could respond, the door creaked open again. A woman stepped in, her heels clicking against the floor. She was striking—tall, with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her gaze landed on Stefan, and a flicker of fascination crossed her face.
"So you must be Stefan," she said, her voice smooth and curious. Her eyes darted back to Ivar. "I see why people confuse you for him."
Everyone's attention snapped to her. Damon, still leaning heavily on Elena, straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "And you are?" he asked, his voice rough but laced with suspicion.
The woman didn't answer right away. She turned her head toward Ivar, as if waiting for him to speak.
Ivar, still lounging in his chair, gave a small chuckle. "She's with me," he said simply, as if that explained everything.
Damon rolled his eyes. "Great. Another one of you."
Stefan's gaze shifted between Ivar and the newcomer, his unease growing. "Who is she?" he demanded, his voice tense.
Ivar waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, Stefan. Alyssa is just here to observe. She's harmless... for now."
Alyssa gave a small, amused smile but said nothing, her eyes lingering on Stefan a moment longer before she walked further into the room and leaned casually against the wall.
The room was still tense when the door swung open again, and Alaric stepped in, dusting off his jacket. His presence was a much-needed dose of familiarity, but his words brought little comfort.
"The werewolf's been taken care of," Alaric announced, his voice steady. "Tyler's out of Mystic Falls, at least for now. And all the vampires in town are gathered in this room." He glanced pointedly at Stefan and Damon before adding, "John said he'd handle anyone I might've missed."
The tension thickened as Alaric's eyes swept over the room—until they landed on Ivar. His entire body went rigid, and in an instant, he had his crossbow drawn and aimed at the stranger. "Who the hell is this?" Alaric demanded, his voice sharp.
Before anyone could respond, Elena stepped forward, her hands outstretched. "Wait! Don't—just don't," she said, her voice shaky but firm. She positioned herself between Alaric and Ivar, her heart pounding in her chest.
Ivar, unfazed by the sudden hostility, leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Smart girl," he said casually, his dark eyes flicking to Alaric. "It'd be a shame if someone got hurt... unnecessarily."
Alaric didn't lower his weapon, his gaze flicking to Stefan for an explanation. "Stefan? Who is this guy?"
Stefan didn't answer immediately. He was still tense, his fists clenched at his sides. Finally, he said, "His name is Ivar. And he's... not someone you want to provoke."
"Not someone I want to provoke?" Alaric echoed, his tone incredulous. His grip on the crossbow tightened. "He's giving me plenty of reasons right now."
Ivar chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Relax, hunter," he said smoothly. "I'm not here to pick a fight. Not yet, anyway." He glanced at Elena, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Alaric. "But you're all fools if you think Klaus doesn't have a backup plan."
That got everyone's attention. Damon, still rubbing his throat and glaring at Ivar, scoffed. "Klaus always has a backup plan. We've figured that out by now."
Ivar's smirk widened. "Ah, but do you understand just how deep his planning goes?" He gestured around the room lazily. "If one piece is taken out of the equation, he always has another ready to replace it."
"Yeah, we've heard that song before," Damon shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What makes you such an expert?"
Ivar's gaze shifted to Damon, his smirk turning colder. "Because he learned it from the best," he said, pointing at himself.
The room went eerily silent. Everyone stared at Ivar, the weight of his words sinking in.
A/N
Check out my novel
I Am Chaos Incarnate