Chapter 35: Shadows of the Past

The weight of Malcolm Merlyn's death lingered in the quiet aftermath of their passion. Helena lay beside Henry, her body still flush with the remnants of their wild, frantic connection. The storm outside had calmed, but a deeper storm was brewing—one of vengeance, power, and revenge that Henry could feel thrumming beneath his skin.

He stared up at the ceiling, his mind a whirl of thoughts as he tried to process everything. Killing Malcolm had been necessary. His manipulation, his plans—they had to end. But as he thought about the way the man had fallen, blood spilling on the cold concrete, a small part of him wondered how it would feel to live without the constant pressure of enemies lurking in the shadows. Was that even possible for him?

"Henry," Helena's voice broke through his musings, soft yet firm. He turned his head to find her looking at him, her eyes full of something softer than the hunger they'd shared earlier. "You did what you had to do. But this war... it's far from over."

Henry didn't respond immediately. His mind shifted back to the scene in the warehouse, how easily the fight had played out. Malcolm's face as he realized the end had come. It had been fast, and it had been final. Henry didn't hesitate. The same way he'd been trained. The same way he'd been raised.

"We'll deal with it," he said finally, his voice steady, his gaze hardening. "Merlyn wasn't the only player in this game. He was just a piece. There are bigger things at work, and I'm going to find out exactly who's pulling the strings."

Helena nodded but didn't move closer. She could sense the shift in him, the deepening resolve that had begun to take over after everything he'd been through. Henry's focus was on one thing now—taking control, and eliminating anyone who stood in his way.

He rolled off the bed, feeling the cool air of the room brush against his bare skin. He didn't bother to put a shirt on this time, his body marked with the evidence of his past. The scars, the tattoos—they all told a story.

Helena watched him silently, her gaze flicking to the tattoos that crisscrossed his body. She knew some of the stories—bits and pieces he had shared with her—but there was always more. Always a deeper, darker side to Henry than he let on.

She stood slowly, walking over to him. "What's it like?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with curiosity. "To live this life? To be... this man?"

Henry looked down at her, his eyes softening, though a cold fire still burned behind them. He had never shared the full extent of his past with anyone—not even her. But something in his gut told him that it was time. Time for her to know everything. Time for him to confront his own demons.

"Let's go somewhere," he said quietly. "I'll show you."

Flashback: The Beginning

Henry sat in a dark alley in Moscow, the cold biting at his skin. He had been there for hours, waiting, watching, as his contact moved through the shadows. A lifetime ago, this had been his reality—waiting, planning, executing. His family's enemies were everywhere, their reach extending farther than any government or law enforcement agency could grasp.

His tattoos weren't just symbols of rebellion. They were marks of survival, of power. Each one represented a battle fought, a mission completed. The ink etched into his skin was as much a part of him as the blood running through his veins.

Henry had grown up fast. The Mikaelson bloodline was powerful, but it wasn't the blood that shaped him. It was the lessons taught by his father, by his family, by the world they lived in. His father had never been soft, never had a gentle word. Henry had learned what it meant to be ruthless, to use every skill at his disposal—hacking, hand-to-hand combat, manipulation, disguise. He had mastered them all, and in return, he had been molded into something more lethal than anyone could imagine.

Present Day

Helena followed Henry into his study, her eyes scanning the room as he moved behind his desk. He flipped open a drawer, pulling out a large map of Starling City. His fingers traced over the roads and buildings, stopping at certain key points—places where his enemies could be hiding, where power struggles had begun to manifest.

"There's a larger web here, Helena," he said quietly. "Merlyn was just one piece, and he was expendable. But there are others—more dangerous ones. I need to get to them before they get to us."

Helena studied his expression, her eyes narrowing. She saw the weight of the world on his shoulders, the quiet rage simmering beneath the surface. She knew him better than anyone now, and the more she learned, the more she realized just how deep his roots ran in this city's underworld.

Henry had never shared his past completely, but tonight, something in him seemed to shift. He stood, moving to a hidden cabinet in the corner of the room. Pulling it open, he revealed a collection of weapons, each one more deadly than the last. A part of him wanted to go alone, to execute his plans in the shadows where no one could stop him. But he knew that he couldn't. He needed her—Helena. She was too valuable an ally, too skilled, and too dangerous.

"You want to get your hands dirty, don't you?" Helena asked with a smirk, watching him carefully.

Henry met her gaze, his eyes hard. "You have no idea what it's like to live the way I have," he said quietly. "But if you want to, you can join me in this. We'll take the city together."

Helena's lips curled into a slow smile, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "And when this is over, Henry? When we've torn the city apart… what then?"

Henry didn't hesitate. He knew exactly what he wanted. "We rebuild it. But we do it on our terms. My terms."

Flashback: The Training

The memory of his training flashed in his mind—his father's cruel hand pushing him past his limits, forcing him to fight, forcing him to become the weapon he was meant to be. His father's harsh voice echoed in his ears.

"No weakness. No mercy. You don't stop until your enemy is dead."

That was the way Henry had been shaped. The boy who once feared the dark had become the man who thrived in it.

Present Day

Henry turned back to the map, his mind racing with the information he had collected. His fingers brushed the edges of the streets, plotting his next move. He wasn't just playing a game anymore—he was hunting, and he was going to destroy anyone who dared to cross him.

Helena stepped closer to him, her hand brushing against his as she leaned over his shoulder to look at the map. She didn't need to ask him what came next—she knew. Together, they would burn the city down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the ashes of their enemies.

"You'll get them," she whispered, her voice low and filled with confidence.

Henry's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile as he nodded. "I will. And I won't stop until it's over."