Chapter 17

Erik could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the air thick with the tension of the battle that was about to unfold. The figure, still standing at the center of the chamber, had its head tilted slightly as though savoring the moment before the storm. Erik's mind raced as he formulated his next move, his senses alive with the power that surged beneath his skin. This was no ordinary foe; it was something far older, something that had existed before even the Mikaelson family's bloodline.

"You think you can face me with your limited power, Erik?" The figure's voice was like ice, sharp and unforgiving. "You may have been born of demon blood and witch magic, but you are just a pawn in a game that spans centuries."

"Don't speak of things you don't understand," Erik growled, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. The weight of it felt like an extension of his own power, and he was ready to strike. But deep inside, he knew that simply using force wouldn't be enough. This was a war for the soul, for control over the balance of power.

Erik glanced at Astrid beside him, her eyes burning with fury. The werewolf in her wanted to shift, to tear through the figure with the ferocity of her kind, but she held back, waiting for Erik's command. He didn't want her to risk herself unless absolutely necessary. If they were going to survive this, they would need strategy and cunning—not just brute strength.

"You think you're a key to something greater?" Erik's voice was a low growl, the words meant to cut through the shadows of doubt the figure had planted in his mind. "I'm no one's pawn. I'm Erik Mikaelson. And I will destroy anyone who threatens my family."

The figure laughed, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard. "You are nothing more than a broken man hiding behind a façade of power. Your family? Your bloodline? They are the reason you will fall, Erik."

A flicker of recognition sparked in Erik's chest. The words felt familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite place. He couldn't explain it, but something about the figure's voice, its presence, was all too personal. His thoughts flickered back to his mother, to the deal she'd made with his aunt, Dahlia—the one that had caused so much pain in their family. Had Dahlia's influence stretched this far? Was this figure connected to her in some way?

Astrid, sensing his confusion, stepped closer to him. "Erik, focus. This is a fight we can't win if you let them get inside your head. You've always been the one to guide us. You've led us through worse than this. Don't lose yourself now."

Erik's gaze locked onto hers, and the reassurance in her eyes brought him back to himself. Astrid was right. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He couldn't let the figure's words—whatever truth they held—break his resolve.

With a sharp exhale, Erik called on the magic within him, drawing from the depths of his warlock power. His demon blood mixed with his witch magic, and the air around him rippled with the intensity of the spell he was preparing. He'd never faced something like this, but he was determined to make sure it would regret ever challenging him.

The sigils around him glowed with a blinding light as Erik began to weave a complex spell, the magic flowing through him like a river of fire. Astrid's energy joined his, her wolf power feeding into the spell, strengthening it with every passing second. The figure's face twisted in a snarl, as if it could sense what they were preparing.

"No matter how much power you gather, it will never be enough," the figure sneered, stepping forward. "I am the one who controls fate now. And you, Erik Mikaelson, are nothing more than a stepping stone in my grand design."

But Erik was beyond words now. His spell was nearly complete, and as he channeled the last of his magic into it, he sent it crashing toward the figure like a storm of raw, unrelenting energy. The figure's eyes widened, its hands reaching out to deflect the magic, but it wasn't fast enough. The spell hit with an explosion of light and force, shaking the entire chamber.

For a moment, there was nothing but a blinding flash, and Erik had to shield his eyes against the intensity of it. The air crackled with the aftermath, and as the light faded, he saw the figure standing there, barely affected by the attack. The figure's lips curled into a grin, and Erik felt his stomach twist.

"You truly believe that can defeat me?" the figure taunted, its voice now mocking. "You are but a shadow of what you could be. You'll never be more than that."

Erik's heart raced, but his mind remained calm. This wasn't over yet. The figure's words were meant to break his confidence, to make him question his power. But Erik had faced far worse—he had seen the depths of despair, had walked through fire and come out unscathed. He was the eldest Mikaelson, and no one—not even this being—was going to take that away from him.

He locked eyes with Astrid once more, and without a word, they moved in sync, their bodies shifting into battle-ready stances. Astrid's eyes flashed with the primal fury of her wolf, and Erik's focus sharpened to a razor's edge. They would need to hit the figure with everything they had.

As they charged forward, the figure's laughter echoed through the chamber again, but this time, it was not one of triumph. There was a flicker of something—fear, perhaps?—that Erik didn't quite understand, but he wasn't about to waste the opportunity. With a surge of magic, he released another wave of energy, this time focused and precise, directed directly at the figure's core.

The figure staggered back, its dark aura flickering and warping, as if the very fabric of its being was unraveling under the pressure of Erik's magic. But even as it faltered, Erik knew they were far from winning. This battle was only just beginning, and the true test would come when they faced the figure's full power.

Astrid growled beside him, her claws extended as she prepared to strike again. Erik could feel the pull of the fight, the adrenaline surging through his veins. But somewhere, deep inside him, a thought lingered, growing louder with each passing second.

This wasn't just a battle for survival. This was a war for the future of his family—and he would stop at nothing to win.