Chapter 63: Released

Eric stood in the dark, his forehead pressed against the cool steel door. The weight of everything he'd endured bore down on him, crushing his chest and tightening his throat. His voice, barely a whisper, escaped like a plea.

"Please… you have to help us. I don't know what to do anymore. Help me. Help us."

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Then a cold draft slid beneath the door, carrying with it a presence that wasn't entirely human. The air shifted, heavy and unnatural, before a voice finally broke through, low and soft, tinged with an unsettling amusement.

"Close your eyes," it whispered, the command laced with something irresistible, even as it made Eric's stomach twist.

He hesitated, his heart hammering, but desperation overruled caution. Slowly, he obeyed, letting the darkness behind his eyelids swallow him. For a moment, the air stilled, suffocating in its silence. Then an electric sensation prickled over his skin, as if the fabric of reality itself was unraveling.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the same room.

A shadowed hall stretched before him, vast and unfamiliar. The air was cold, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and decay. At the far end of the corridor stood a figure, tall and motionless, cloaked in shadows. Something about the silhouette stopped Eric in his tracks—it was familiar.

His breath hitched.

"Killian?" Eric's voice trembled, barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

The figure didn't respond, nor did it move. The stillness was unbearable, compelling Eric forward, his footsteps echoing hollowly through the emptiness. As he closed the distance, the figure became clearer.

It was Killian.

Eric's chest tightened, a storm of emotions crashing through him. Relief. Fear. Anger. His hand twitched at his side, torn between reaching out and holding back.

"Killian," he whispered again.

The figure turned sharply, and Eric froze. Killian's face was cast in shadow, but his eyes burned through the gloom, cold and piercing, seething with something akin to anger.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision collapsed. Darkness swept over Eric, suffocating and endless. He stumbled, disoriented, but the voice returned, sharper now, cutting through the void like a blade.

"Submit to me. Surrender. I can give you everything you crave—control, power, freedom."the voice whispered, insidious and unrelenting.

The words coiled around his chest like a vice, cold and unyielding, squeezing the air from his lungs. They were both promise and poison, tempting and toxic, pulling him toward a darkness that beckoned with open arms. The allure of it frightened him, yet it stirred something deep within, something he feared might have always been there.

Eric felt conflicted ,he knew what kind of man Killian was .Although he didn't understand exactly what power Killian had, he knew he was evil.He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to push back the insidious whisper. And then, abruptly, it was gone, leaving only silence in its wake.

But the reprieve was short-lived.

Eric froze, his breath caught in his throat, as an all-too-familiar presence materialized behind him. He hadn't heard him approach. Hadn't felt the shift in the air. Yet there he was—Killian, standing just out of reach, radiating an oppressive darkness.

Killian's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, sharp and laced with venom. "You let it happen."

The words hit Eric like a blow, stealing what little breath he had left.

"You let those vile creatures touch him. You let them hurt him. You were weak to fight, Eric, and you let Alaric be tortured. How could you?"

Eric's body stiffened, shame and fury warring within him. The accusation burrowed deep, each word a dagger that twisted in his chest.

"I—" he began, but Killian didn't let him finish.

"You knew," Killian spat, his voice rising, cold and unrelenting. "You let it happen! Alaric trusted you, and what did you do? Nothing. You stood there, spineless, while he suffered!"

The rage in Killian's voice burned, and it was enough to crack the fragile dam inside Eric. Heat surged through his veins, his fists trembling as his nails broke skin. Blood seeped into his palms, unnoticed, as he stared at the ground, his breathing ragged.

"You don't think I know that?" Eric hissed, his voice breaking. He lifted his head, his eyes blazing with a mixture of guilt and fury. "You don't think I replay it over and over in my head? Every scream, every look of pain on his face—it's all I see! I failed him. I know that, Killian. I know!"

The confession spilled out like poison, raw and unfiltered. Eric's voice cracked with the weight of it, each word drenched in anguish.

But Killian was unmoved. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his gaze cutting through Eric's defenses like a blade. "You want redemption?" he snarled. "You think your guilt changes anything? Alaric doesn't need your regret, Eric. He needs you to act. He needs you to fight. But don't expect forgiveness—not from him, and sure as hell not from me."

Eric's jaw clenched, his chest heaving with barely restrained emotion. The guilt threatened to crush him, but beneath it, something darker simmered—something cold and furious, clawing to the surface.

"You're right," Eric whispered, his voice low, trembling. "I don't deserve forgiveness." His gaze snapped up, locking with Killian's. "But I'll make it right. I'll make them pay. I'll make sure Alaric never feels that pain again."

Killian's expression softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. Then it hardened once more.

"Good," he said, his tone razor-sharp. "Because if you fail again, there won't be a second chance. Do you understand me?"

Eric didn't flinch, his resolve hardening like steel. "I won't fail," he growled.

But Killian wasn't finished. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "You're still holding back, Eric. Still pretending to be something you're not. You can't save him if you don't let go. You know what needs to be done. You just won't admit it."

Eric flinched, his resolve faltering for a split second.

Killian seized on the hesitation, pressing closer. "You're a killer, Eric. It's who you are. Stop fighting it. Stop pretending you're something better. If you want to free Alaric, if you want to destroy the witch, then you'll need me."

The room seemed to darken, the air thick with tension. Eric's mind reeled, the weight of Killian's words threatening to drown him. He closed his eyes, gripping the edges of his sanity as memories of blood and violence clawed at the edges of his mind.

"Let me in," Killian urged, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "You can't do this alone. You know that. Stop resisting, Eric. Embrace it. Embrace me."

Eric's breathing quickened, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. The temptation was suffocating, the promise of power intoxicating. He wanted to fight it, to hold on to whatever shred of humanity he still possessed, but…

But Alaric was worth it.

Slowly, Eric opened his eyes, his gaze locking with Killian's. The storm within him had quieted, replaced by something colder, more focused.

"I'll do it," he said, his voice steady, resolute. "I'll let you in. Just this once."

A cruel smile spread across Killian's face as the air around them crackled with power.

"Good," Killian murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "You won't regret this."

The darkness surged forward, wrapping itself around Eric like a shroud. He felt it seep into his very being, a violent collision of souls that left him gasping. The power was overwhelming, consuming, and for a moment, he thought he might be lost in it.

But then, the fire inside him ignited, blazing to life as the darkness became a part of him.

The room seemed to tremble, the air vibrating with raw energy. Eric straightened, his eyes glowing with an unholy light as the transformation completed.

The witch wouldn't stand a chance.

And if anyone dared to stand in his way, they would burn.

The figure lingered by the door, a faint, malevolent laugh curling through the shadows. It started low, barely more than a murmur, but it grew steadily, thickening the air with an oppressive weight that settled on Eric's chest. The sound seeped into his mind, unraveling his thoughts one by one, as if they were slipping through cracks he couldn't mend.

"That's it," the voice purred, an almost tender mockery in its tone. "Let it all unravel. Break apart the walls you've built. Tear through their lies. Unleash everything they've buried within you. Reap vengeance on those who dared to wrong you."

Eric's body stiffened, his breathing uneven as the words slithered into his brain like venom. But somewhere deep within, a darker part of him stirred—not in submission, but in defiance. This wasn't surrender; this was a reckoning, one he'd been holding back for far too long.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" the voice mocked, now sharper, more commanding. "No matter. You will, soon enough. You'll see what I've always been."

Eric's vision blurred as fragments of memories danced before him—half-formed, fleeting images that refused to solidify. He struggled to focus, but it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting, the air too thick to breathe. The pressure inside him built, relentless, clawing to be released. Killian's presence burned against his consciousness now, merging with him in a way that felt inevitable. He didn't have much time.

His body no longer felt like his own, his limbs disconnected, his movements foreign. Yet, amidst the chaos in his mind, a single image crystallized: Killian and Alaric as children, their faces bright with innocence, a stark contrast to the weight of the present. The memory came with a jolt, but it brought no solace—only rage.

A searing heat ignited in Eric's chest, spreading through his veins like wildfire. It was raw, untamed, and vengeful, and it consumed him with terrifying speed. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms as his muscles trembled under the strain of the growing power within. He felt as though he might tear apart at the seams.

Then, without warning, his eyes—once dulled by exhaustion—flared into a blood-red inferno. The world around him dissolved into chaos, every sound distorted, every movement warped. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as the beast within clawed its way to the surface.

With a guttural roar, Eric struck out, his fist slamming into the door before him. The impact was catastrophic. The door didn't simply crack—it exploded outward, shards of metal scattering in every direction, the sheer force of the blow reverberating through the walls. The blast sent Eric stumbling back, but he steadied himself almost immediately, his body thrumming with an uncontainable energy.

His chest rose and fell as the adrenaline surged through him, his freshly inflicted wounds burning, only to heal in an instant. Torn flesh knitted itself back together with an eerie precision, leaving his skin unmarked, as though the violence he had endured moments ago had never touched him.

The hall beyond the shattered door was empty. The figure, the voice, the malevolent presence—it was all gone. Only the echo of its words lingered, a ghostly reminder of the darkness it had stirred within him. Eric stood motionless for a moment, his crimson eyes slowly dimming to an unnatural calm. The storm inside him didn't dissipate; it coiled and waited, feeding off his anger and pain.

He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the remains of the door, the dim light casting jagged shadows along the corridor. His hand brushed absently over his stomach—where moments ago there had been a gaping wound, now there was nothing but smooth, unbroken flesh. It should have been a relief, but all it did was confirm what he already knew: the power surging through him was beyond control, beyond reason, and it terrified him.

As Eric's steps faltered, his vision blurred, and the weight of his own body became unbearable. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, as his consciousness slipped further and further into darkness. He could feel it—the force within him, no longer a whisper but a deafening roar, clawing its way to the surface. He tried to hold on, but it was futile.

With one final exhale, Eric's mind surrendered, his body going slack as he fell into unconsciousness. The stillness lasted only a moment before his posture shifted, shoulders straightening and head tilting upward as if pulled by invisible strings.

Then it happened—a slow, sinister smile spread across his face, one that didn't belong to Eric. It was demonic, sharp, and filled with a chilling sense of malice. The kind of smile that promised chaos and destruction. His eyes flickered open,one glowing a crimson so deep it seemed to swallow the light around them and the other a bright golden hue that burned brighter than any other sun.

Killian had awakened.

For the first time in years, the beast was free. His fingers flexed, curling and uncurling as though testing the limits of the body he now controlled. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, savoring the taste of Eric's lingering hesitation, now silenced and buried deep within.

Killian tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the shattered remnants of the door. A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, dark and unhinged, reverberating through the corridor like the prelude to a storm.

"This," he murmured, his voice smooth and venomous, "is going to be fun."

The beast stretched, reveling in the rush of power coursing through its veins. Eric was gone for now, locked away in the recesses of his own mind. And Killian? Killian was finally free to unleash the havoc he had craved for so long.