Chapter 57:Passing Days

Eric didn't know how long he had been sitting in the bloodied cage, knees pulled to his chest, his hands trembling as they rested on the cold bars. The stench of death lingered, thick and nauseating, even after the vampires' bodies had been dragged out. They had left behind smears of dried blood and faint, grotesque impressions of their final moments, etched into the floor. His mind was a mess of fragments—memories, screams, and the sound of flesh tearing apart—each one gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

He rocked back and forth, the motion soothing in its mindless repetition. His hollow gaze was fixed on the floor, where blood had pooled and dried in sticky rivulets beneath the cage. The cold iron bars dug into his shoulders with every movement ,the green barrier was gone and now it truly felt like a cage. His lips were cracked, his throat dry from screaming hours ago. Time had bled into itself, much like the blood staining the floor.

A faint shuffle broke the silence. At first, Eric thought it was his imagination, another cruel trick of his deteriorating mind. Then, a voice—sweet yet sardonic—cut through the haze in his head like a blade.

" You're a wreck."

His body stiffened, every nerve in him snapping to attention. His head shot up so quickly that his neck cracked in protest. Blinking against the dim light, his eyes darted across the room, searching the shadows.

"Isabella?" he croaked, his voice raw and uncertain, as if he wasn't entirely sure she was real.

From the darkness, a figure emerged. Her slender frame was draped in a dark dress that clung to her like a second skin. The flickering light played tricks, casting an almost otherworldly glow on her pale face. Her crimson lips curved into a smirk which was the only thing visible as her eyes were covered in a new mask.She strolled forward, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the blood-streaked floor. She stopped in front of the cage, casually leaning against the bars, her hands dangling loosely at her sides.

"You seem surprised," she said, tilting her head, her dark curls spilling over one shoulder. Her amber eyes gleamed, sharp and vibrant against the bleakness of the room. "Though I can't say I blame you. You've seen better days, haven't you?"

Eric's breath hitched as he stared at her, disbelief tightening his chest. "What… what are you doing here?"

She arched a perfectly shaped brow, her smirk deepening with amusement. "Getting you, of course. The other hunters didn't want to touch you. What else would I be doing? Sightseeing?" She gestured vaguely at the blood-smeared walls, her tone light but cutting. "Though I must admit, the decor here is charmingly macabre. Very fitting for someone like you."

Eric flinched, pressing his back harder against the bars. His hands gripped the cold iron as if it would somehow anchor him. "I didn't think anyone would come," he muttered, his voice trembling. "I thought I'd—"

"Die here?" Isabella cut him off, her words sharp but strangely soft. "Oh, please, Eric. You're far too useful to rot in a place like this. Don't flatter yourself."

Her tone was biting, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of concern, quickly buried beneath her smirk.

Eric's gaze flickered to the bloodstains around him before returning to her. "Why are you even here, in this place?"

Isabella's smirk grew wider, crueler, as she gripped one of the cage bars, leaning in closer.

"Clarify something for me, Eric," she said, her tone deceptively sweet but brimming with venom. "Do you mean why I'm here getting you? Or why I'm standing in this prison, staring at my ex-husband, who's become nothing more than a pathetic creature clinging to scraps of what he used to be?"

Eric flinched, but his eyes narrowed as her words sank in. There was something different in her tone, something that twisted in his gut.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice low and hoarse.

"Do this?" Isabella let out a soft laugh, her amber eyes glinting with something dark and unrecognizable. "Oh, Eric, you really haven't figured it out yet, have you?" She straightened, letting her fingers trail along the cage bars as she stepped back, her presence suffocating despite the space between them. "I didn't come here to save you."

His stomach sank, dread pooling in the pit of his chest. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed, tilting her head as if she were speaking to a stubborn child. "I've found my salvation, Eric. Something greater. Something beyond all this." She gestured vaguely at the blood-smeared walls and his trembling form, her lips curling into a sneer. "I finally understand the truth. This world needs change. It needs power. And I'm the one who's going to bring it."

Eric's fingers tightened around the bars, his knuckles going white. "You've lost your mind."

"No," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I've found clarity. You've been wallowing in self-pity while the rest of us—while I—have been preparing for something bigger. Do you even realize what's happening out there? What's coming? Or have you been too busy crying over your own failures?"

He glared at her, the flicker of hurt in his chest quickly being overtaken by something colder, sharper. "And what? You think you're the one who's going to save the world?"

"I know I am," she said, her voice dripping with conviction. "She showed me. She gave me the power to see what's possible. To see what I could become. And unlike you, I didn't squander the opportunity."

Eric froze. "She?"

A wicked smile spread across Isabella's face. "Oh, you'd love her, Eric. She's everything you could never be—strong, fearless, and willing to do what's necessary. She saw potential in me, gave me a chance to be more than some washed-up hunter wasting away in the ruins of what used to be. She gave me purpose."

His chest burned with fury, his hatred for her blooming like a dark flower. "You sold me out."

"I saved you," she snapped, stepping closer again. "Do you think you'd still be breathing if it weren't for me? The only reason you're still alive is because I convinced them you had some use left. But don't mistake that for mercy, Eric. If it were up to me, I'd have left you to rot here. But they insisted. And, well…" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm nothing if not loyal to the greater cause."

Eric recoiled as if her words were a slap to the face, his lip curling in disgust. "You're pathetic," he spat. "You think you're saving the world, but you're just another pawn. You've traded everything for some delusion of power."

Her smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but she quickly recovered, her expression hardening. "Believe what you want, Eric. It doesn't matter anymore. You're either with us, or you're nothing. And if you think I'll lose sleep over which one you choose,I may have loved you once ,hell I still do but you're more delusional than I thought."

As Eric rose to his feet, his knees weak and trembling, Isabella stopped near the door, her fingers brushing over the frame. She glanced back at him, a strange gleam in her eyes, something almost feverish.

"You don't get it, do you?" she said, her voice soft but filled with a kind of manic conviction. "The witch knows what's coming. She's seen it. She's felt it."

Eric furrowed his brow, his chest tightening as unease crawled over him. "What are you talking about? What's coming?"

Isabella turned fully to face him, her amber eyes shining in the dim light, her lips curving into a smile that sent a chill down his spine. "The world as we know it is changing, Eric. The balance is shifting. And she told me… something will soon happen to her. Something necessary." She took a step toward the cage, her voice dropping into a hushed whisper, as if sharing a sacred secret. "I'm to take her place."

Eric stared at her, bewildered. "What does that even mean?"

"The witch," Isabella said, her tone reverent now, "she's been guiding me, showing me glimpses of what's to come. She told me I'm destined to step into her role, to carry her power forward." She paused, her gaze sharpening.

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Eric's jaw tightened, and he shook his head, his confusion giving way to anger. "You're insane," he muttered, his voice low and trembling with disbelief.

Isabella tilted her head, her smirk returning, though it now carried a tinge of pity. "Am I?" she asked, her tone almost teasing. "Or have I just seen the truth while you've kept your head buried in the sand? The immortal is out there, Eric, and his counterpart is closer than you think. The witch has seen it all,that man had tried to kill her when she had hurt Alaric . She's shown me what's coming, and I'm ready to embrace it."

Eric took a shaky step forward, his hands gripping the bars again as he stared at her. "Why are you only now telling me this?" he demanded, his voice rising.

"Because the time is coming, Eric. Faster than any of us expected. The witch has felt it—the ripples, the signs. "

Eric's heart pounded in his chest as he stared into her eyes, searching for some trace of the woman he'd once known. But all he saw was someone consumed—by power, by belief, by madness.

"You've lost it," he said quietly, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and grief. "You've completely lost it."

Isabella straightened, her expression hardening. "Believe what you want, Eric. Deny it all you like. But when the time comes, you'll see. You'll see what's been set in motion, and you'll realize how small you really are."

She stepped back, her hand resting lightly on the dagger at her side. "Now move. We don't have time to waste, and neither do you."

Eric hesitated, his mind racing as her words echoed in his head. Something about this—about her—felt wrong, twisted. But he knew he didn't have a choice.

With a slow, steadying breath, he followed her, his hatred simmering just beneath the surface.

Eric followed her for a few steps before stopping abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Show me your face," he said, his tone steady but demanding.

Isabella paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Her crimson lips curved into a smirk, playful yet condescending. "Why?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. "Do you think there's something you've missed all this time?"

Eric's jaw tightened. "Do you have something to hide?"

Her smirk widened, a dark gleam flashing in her amber eye. She turned to face him fully, her fingers grazing the edge of the black mask that concealed the upper half of her face. "You've always been so curious, Eric," she murmured. "So eager to see what lies beneath."

With an exaggerated flourish, Isabella pulled off the mask, letting it fall to the floor.

Eric's breath caught in his throat. The left side of her face was just as he remembered—flawless and sharp, her eye glinting with life. But the other… her right eye was a milky white, unseeing and unnatural, as if it had been claimed by some otherworldly force. Thin veins of dark crimson spidered outward from the socket, etching a faint but menacing pattern into her tanned skin.

She tilted her head, her smirk never faltering. "Well? Satisfied?"

Eric stared, his voice caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. "What happened to you?" he asked quietly, his eyes fixated on the grotesque transformation.

Isabella ran a finger lazily down the side of her face, tracing the lines of the veins. "A small price to pay," she said, her tone disturbingly casual, "for the powers I will soon receive."

Eric's fists clenched. "Powers? Powers for what? Why would the witch choose you for something like this?"

Her smile grew, sharp and predatory. "Because of you, Eric."

His confusion deepened, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She took a slow step toward him, her expression unreadable. "You're the reason she found me. The reason I was brought into this." Her voice softened, almost as if she pitied him. "You're the connection. The thread that tied me to something greater."

Eric shook his head, taking a step back. "No. That doesn't make any sense. I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" Isabella interrupted, her tone sharp. "You didn't lead me down this path? You didn't push me to seek something bigger than myself? Eric, whether you know it or not, you've always been at the center of this. The witch saw it, and so did I."

Eric's heart pounded in his chest. Her words didn't just confuse him—they terrified him. "You've lost your mind," he said, his voice trembling. "You're trying to pin your insanity on me? That's not how this works, Isabella. This is you. You chose this."

Her laugh was cold and hollow, echoing through the room like a haunting melody. "Believe what you want, Eric. Deny it all you like. But the truth doesn't care about your disbelief." She took another step forward, her white eye glinting ominously. "This is bigger than you or me. It's bigger than anything you could possibly understand. And whether you like it or not, you're part of it."

Eric stared at her, his mind racing. The woman he had once known—the woman he had once trusted—was gone, replaced by someone he no longer recognized. And as much as he wanted to fight her, to deny her words, a small part of him couldn't shake the feeling that she might be telling the truth.

Isabella stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. Eric stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides as she approached.

She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear, her voice a whisper so soft it was almost drowned out by the pounding of his heart.

"She's listening," Isabella murmured, the words barely audible but carrying a weight that pressed down on him like a storm.

Eric's body tensed, his confusion evident as he turned his head slightly, trying to meet her gaze.

Was someone here with them ,could he not see them.He said nothing and that must have been the response Isabella wanted because she shook her head .Using her powers she dragged Eric back to his shared cell with Alaric before closing the door and leaving.

_____

After that day the days bled into one another, a seamless blur of pain and isolation. The hours crawled by as Alaric and Eric were subjected to endless torment, each trying to endure the madness in their own way. Neither knew when the day began or when it ended, the passage of time only measured by the cruel experiments, the searing pain, and the brutal hands that visited them.

Alaric remained distant, his once sharp gaze now hollow. His body had endured so much, but it was his mind that was breaking. Every time the door opened and strangers entered, he felt himself retreat further into himself, as if he could escape by simply closing off every part of him. The blood, the constant ache, the feeling of being nothing more than a specimen—it weighed on him.

Eric, on the other hand, fought to hold on to something—anything. He fought to maintain his rage, to keep his insanity in check. It wasn't easy, and sometimes, he didn't succeed. He could feel Alaric's absence like a phantom limb, an ache in his chest that was becoming unbearable. It didn't matter how many times they beat him or starved him, he couldn't stop his obsession with Alaric. The sight of him, broken and distant, only made Eric more desperate to hold on to what little of him was left.

It was when the strangers came, pulling Alaric away for more experiments, that Eric truly lost himself. He became feral. His teeth would elongate, his eyes would turn red, and his entire body would tremble with rage. His hands would shake, not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to destroy anything in his path. If he could just get to them before they got to Alaric, before they took him away for more tests—he could keep him safe. That's what he told himself. But in his madness, he wasn't always sure if that was true.

And sometimes, he succeeded. There would be moments—brief, fleeting—where he could tear through the guards, rip them apart with his bare hands, his fangs sinking into flesh. He'd take down one or two before anyone could react, but each time it was like a tiny victory, a reminder that in this hell, he still had some control.

But those moments were rare, and they came with consequences. When Eric would be dragged back to his cell, bloodied and barely standing, Alaric's cold, distant eyes would look at him, and Eric would feel a new kind of pain. He would get close, desperate to comfort him, to hold him, but the distance between them was always there, like an invisible wall. Alaric wouldn't let him in.

Despite everything, Eric couldn't leave him alone. Every time Alaric was pulled from their shared cell, Eric would beg for them to leave him be. He would scream and shout, but it was useless. All he could do was wait, consumed by the unbearable longing to have Alaric near him again.

And when the strangers would leave, taking Alaric for more rounds of hell, Eric would lash out, unable to control the desperate, irrational need to protect him. His teeth would sink into whoever was closest, his claws digging into flesh. He would kill as many as he could before they overwhelmed him, and even then, he would keep fighting until his body collapsed from exhaustion. Every drop of blood he spilled felt like a small victory.

But each time he fell short, each time Alaric slipped from his grasp, the isolation grew deeper. There was nothing left but the cold, and the pain—and the ever-looming question: Would they both survive this?

Would they even be able to recognize each other once it was over?

As the days turned into weeks, Eric's hope began to wither, but his need to protect Alaric remained. It was all he had left.

The days dragged on, but there was something shifting within Eric. The endless torment, the isolation, the constant testing—they were wearing on him, yes.

It wasn't something he'd expected. The pain, the rage, the torment—they all had a price, but as the doctors and the strangers experimented, and as the walls pressed tighter around him, Eric had found an outlet. Training. He was a monster, yes, but he wasn't entirely powerless. There were moments when he could remember the skills Grayson had drilled into him. And those moments, however fleeting, became his salvation.

Grayson's brutal training sessions, designed to break him, to control him, were now paying off. The punches, the kicks, the forced confrontation.

Sometimes, in rare moments of clarity, he could even face Grayson head-on—matching his skill, the intensity of the fight surging with each blow.

The cage became a battleground, a proving ground for Eric. When Grayson shot him down, flinging him back into the steel confines, it was no longer just about survival. Eric had learned to feel the anger surge in his veins, a fire he could harness and direct. And when he killed, it wasn't out of instinct anymore—it was a conscious, almost calculated desire to destroy the world around him. The feeling of blood on his hands became less and less foreign, and more like a second nature.

But every time he was thrown into that cage, every time they used him as a test subject or an object of torment, he thought of Alaric. The man he shared this hell with.

Eric could feel the change, both in himself and in his surroundings. With each kill, with each fight, he grew stronger. He could feel the hunger for violence simmering beneath his skin, urging him forward. It was becoming harder to hold back, harder to push the gnawing desire to break free.