Chapter 66: Let There Be Darkness
Chapter 66: Let There Be Darkness
In the Bible,
Christ once said, "Let there be light."
And there was.
But this was not His day.
On this day, all fell silent.
On this day, Alexander—the forsaken child, the forgotten brother—rose from the ashes of ruin, with no heart left to offer. His soul was burnt, disfigured, unrecognizable. And with Bonnie's blood still warm in the soil beneath his feet, he raised his gaze to the heavens...
"I reject the light," he whispered. "Let there be darkness."
And the sky listened.
The stars—those born in eternity, scattered across endless space—vanished behind clouds blacker than origin itself.
The moon wept and dimmed.
And darkness erupted—not nightfall, not shade, but pure sorrow, surging through Alexander's body like waves bursting from a dying star.
Standing on the other side, no longer laughing, was Malach—chaos incarnate.
"You dare challenge me like this?" Malach sneered. "You will shatter."
"I already have," Alexander said quietly. "You made sure of that."
Without warning—without even a blink—the ground beneath Alexander cracked. He moved. Faster than sight, faster even than Klaus or Lucifer could anticipate—his fist collided with Malach's face.
And the sky broke.
No thunder.
No lightning.
Just rupture—as if someone had punched the dome of the heavens.
Malach flew across the clearing, his body tumbling through trees, piercing mountains—until an explosion echoed on the horizon, and an entire cliff collapsed.
But he rose.
Brushing dust from his shoulders.
Smiling once more.
"Now this..." he growled, licking blood from his lips, "this is more like it."
And then it began.
The battle of monsters.
Not vampires. Not angels. Not hunters.
But something beyond them all.
Lucifer stood between the battle and the others, shielding them as waves of raw energy erupted with every clash. Lightning without storm. Fire without heat. Warped gravity pulling in broken directions. The very world around the battle began to distort.
Stefan froze in place. "This… this isn't a fight. It's a catastrophe."
Damon clenched his jaw. "That's not Alexander anymore."
Alexander's movements weren't graceful, nor calculated. They were driven. Fueled by torment, guided by rage. And yet—there was precision in his strikes.
He no longer fought to win.
He fought to destroy.
Malach laughed again, dodging a burst of black energy that obliterated the mountain behind him. "Do it, Alexander! Show me how far you'll fall!"
Alexander didn't speak.
He opened his arms, and with a scream that turned rivers to steam, he summoned something ancient. A form of magic unseen before. A storm of darkness, laced with grief and vengeance.
And for a single moment...
Malach hesitated.
Lucifer's eyes widened. "He's trying to rewrite the laws of power. He's summoning magic older than death itself."
Mazikeen, beside him, whispered furiously, "He'll tear the world apart."
Elena wept in Caroline's arms as she watched the man who once loved Bonnie so gently... become a force rivaling the rulers of old.
Klaus stepped forward. "Can we stop him?"
Lucifer didn't answer.
He only looked toward the horizon—where Malach stood, arms glowing, chaos erupting from within—and where Alexander floated in the air, darkness swirling around him like a crown of nothingness, their gazes locked.
Then they collided.
And the sky turned to blinding white.
In a single moment, across the earth—from Mystic Falls to New York to Tokyo—the world halted.
People raised their heads to the light, as if a new sun had been born.
But it wasn't light.
It was the end.
And when the smoke faded...
And the dust began to fall like pale snow...
Only two remained standing.
Malach—bloodied, smiling, barely breathing.
And Alexander—kneeling on one knee, gasping, his eyes hollow.
Two beasts.
Merciless.
But only one still had something left to lose.
And Alexander...
Had lost everything.
Alexander was on his knees now—
Not in surrender.
Not in weakness.
But in truth.
He had given everything—everything—in this battle. His strength as a vampire, his cursed, brutal blood, the ancient power he wielded in his war against the Forgotten Blood. He used fury as his weapon, hatred as his storm. And still… it wasn't enough.
Malach stood before him, laughing through a cracked jaw, bleeding yet unbowed. "Is that all you've got?" he mocked. "Is that the best a grieving man's revenge can do?"
Alexander didn't reply.
He couldn't.
Every cell in his body screamed. His bones crushed beneath his skin. His soul dimming like a candle nearing its end. The world around him twisted and buckled, frozen black clouds above, fires burning beneath. He was collapsing—not from pain.
But from emptiness.
Then… he felt it.
Warmth.
A whisper.
A spark.
In the wreckage of his soul—something stirred. Something soft. Familiar. Impossible in its gentleness amid all this rage.
It was her.
Bonnie.
It wasn't her voice. Nor a vision.
But her magic.
A part of her—left behind. Given willingly. Given with love. Her final act before death.
He felt it now, awakening within him, glowing like a sun being born in his veins.
"You are not alone, Alexander."
The whisper wasn't real. But the magic was.
His hollow eyes welled with tears. Not from grief. Not from loss.
But from hope.
For the first time since her fall, he felt her again. Not as memory. But as power.
Bonnie Bennett—the witch whose magic was beyond compare—had poured her essence into him before she died. And it had remained dormant inside him, buried beneath layers of rage and loss. But now… with his soul on the brink of collapse…
He reached for it.
And the moment he touched it… everything changed.
The darkness around him didn't vanish—it transformed. It no longer devoured. It protected. The magic of the Bennett bloodline was never fueled by wrath—but by love. And when that magic united with Alexander's broken might, something new was born.
Malach froze in mid-laugh.
Because Alexander rose.
And he glowed.
Not with fire. Not with shadow.
But with balance.
A witch. A vampire. A cursed soul. A rage reborn.
But now—complete.
His voice returned, low and rough. "You think I was fighting alone?"
He raised his hand, and the sky answered.
From above, the clouds ignited with violet magic, and thunder rolled—in harmony.
Alexander spoke again, louder this time: "I'm not alone… I never was."
And Bonnie's magic—pure, radiant, eternal—rushed through his body like sacred fire blazing through his veins.
Malach took a step back, his brow furrowing. "No—"
Alexander moved.
Faster than before, but it was no longer about speed.
It was about purpose.
Each step shattered the ground—without wounding it.
Each motion tore the air—without harming life.
This was not chaos.
This was justice.
He raised his hand, and with a single word—unknown to him, yet etched in his blood—he summoned an explosion of white fire.
It struck Malach in the chest and sent him flying.
And this time… he didn't rise laughing.
This time… Malach bled.
Lucifer narrowed his eyes with interest. "He's not just fighting. He's… transcending."
Mazikeen whispered, "This isn't vengeance anymore. This is power with a heart."
The Salvatore brothers watched, barely breathing.
Damon said quietly, "This… is Bonnie."
Stefan nodded.
And high in the sky, Alexander floated, arms open, his eyes glowing with purple and gold—rage and love merged to form a force that made even the oldest monsters falter.
He didn't roar this time.
He whispered.
"Harming her… was your mistake."
Then he vanished.
And a second later, Malach's scream echoed.
Alexander appeared behind him, one glowing hand thrust through his back—not to kill—
—but to extract.
He pulled, and with a cry that turned the sky crimson, tore something dark from Malach's soul—the source of his chaos, the seed of his demonic strength.
Silence fell.
Malach collapsed.
And Alexander… stood amidst the ruins of his wrath, holding in one hand a shard of darkness, and in the other, Bonnie's magic.
The war was over.
.
.
.
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