The mirror portal rippled like disturbed water as Dracula emerged into the throne room of his castle.
The journey had been taxing, especially in his weakened state. For a moment, he stood tall, regal despite his tattered clothing and the lingering evidence of battle on his pale skin.
Then, his dignity briefly faltered, he collapsed to one knee.
The vast chamber, with its vaulted ceilings and ancient tapestries, fell silent save for the crackling of torches in their iron sconces.
Shadows danced across stone walls that had witnessed centuries of darkness.
"My lord!" Isaac rushed forward from where he had been waiting, concern evident in his normally impassive features. He reached Dracula's side, offering a supporting arm. "Your wounds-"
"Mere scratches," Dracula interrupted, though his voice carried a rasp that betrayed the lie. He examined his arms where the skin was still regenerating from Rebekah's fire and Elijah's wind-blades. "Nothing that time won't heal."
His crimson eyes lifted to Isaac's face. "Where is the boy?"
"Exactly where you ordered him to be, my lord," Isaac replied with quiet satisfaction. "Secured in the eastern dungeon. Hector is finalizing the restraints as we speak."
Dracula nodded, rising slowly to his feet. Though he attempted to hide it, pain flickered across his features.
The Originals had proven more formidable than anticipated.
"These Originals," he mused, more to himself than to Isaac. "They've grown stronger than I expected. Fascinating."
With visible effort, Dracula straightened to his full imposing height. His wounds continued to heal, albeit slower than usual. He adjusted what remained of his cloak, a gesture of composure regained.
"Take me to him," he commanded. "Now."
----------------------
The descent into the castle's depths was marked by the steady drip of water against stone and the distant moans of other prisoners.
Torchlight cast elongated shadows as Dracula and Isaac moved down a spiral staircase worn smooth by centuries of use.
"The preparations were made according to your specifications," Isaac said, his voice echoing slightly in the narrow passage. "The chains are ancient, predating even your time, my lord. Recovered from Jerusalem during the Third Crusade."
Dracula nodded, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "And the sigils?"
"Enochian, as you requested. Hector transcribed them precisely."
They reached a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands and marked with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed directly. Isaac produced an ornate key and worked through several locking mechanisms.
For a moment, both men stood before the door, a brief silence hanging between them -anticipation mingling with the damp, cold air of the dungeon corridor.
Then Isaac pushed the door open.
The cell beyond was spacious for a dungeon, with a high ceiling and walls of fitted stone that glistened with moisture. Four torches cast flickering light from iron brackets, illuminating the two prisoners within.
Lucien hung against the far wall, unconscious, his wrists and ankles secured by ornate chains that seemed to pulse with subtle energy.
His bare chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Beside him, Stefan Salvatore huddled in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, face hidden as if to make himself as small as possible.
Hector turned from securing the final restraint, offering a respectful bow as Dracula entered. "My lord. The containment is complete."
Dracula approached Lucien slowly, studying the boy with interest. He circled him once, noting the steady pulse at his throat, the youthful features now slack in unconsciousness.
"Explain their function," Dracula commanded, gesturing to the chains.
"As you specified, my lord." Hector indicated the ancient metal links. "These chains contain Enochian sigils that respond to divine energy. Should the boy attempt to access his powers, be they celestial or mental in nature, the sigils will activate, causing pain that adapts to his threshold - essentially, the more he resists, the worse it becomes."
Isaac moved closer to examine the restraints. "Impressive craftsmanship, Hector. The binding points are perfect."
"I've also added the blood seal at the base of his spine," Hector continued. "It should prevent any external divine intervention on his behalf. No prayers will reach out."
Dracula nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression as he traced a finger along one of the chains. "And the monitoring spell?"
"In place. We will know immediately if he attempts to escape."
A silence fell over the cell, broken only by the distant dripping of water and Stefan's shallow breathing.
Hector shifted his weight slightly, his curiosity warring with self-preservation. Finally, he spoke, his voice carefully modulated.
"Perhaps I might ask, my lord..." Hector began, his eyes fixed on the floor rather than meeting Dracula's gaze. "This boy - if he truly is the Son of God as you believe - what does that mean for us? Would not Yahweh Himself descend with wrath upon those who imprison His son?"
Isaac shot Hector a warning glance, but Dracula merely smiled, a cold expression that never reached his eyes.
"An intelligent question, Hector," Dracula replied, turning his attention fully to his forgemaster. "You misunderstand the nature of what a 'Son of God' truly is."
Dracula circled Lucien slowly, "The angels are God's 'children', as is humanity itself. But these rare beings we call 'Sons' - they are something altogether different."
He paused, his eyes distant as if recalling ancient knowledge. "They are vessels, Hector. Pure vessels capable of containing God Himself were He to descend to Earth. Jesus was not God's offspring - he was God's vessel for a time, a perfect container for divine essence."
Isaac's eyes widened slightly at this. "And this boy possesses the same capacity?"
"Indeed." Dracula nodded, studying Lucien's unconscious face. "The universe treats these vessels differently. They exist in a state of... potential divinity. Not gods themselves, but capable of housing godhood. And with that come certain... Rights."
Hector's curiosity once more overcame his caution. "How can you be certain this boy is such a vessel?"
A shadow passed over Dracula's face. "Because I was once God's champion, the protector of His prophets. Even now, corrupted as I am, I feel my original nature responding to this boy." His voice hardened.
"Even now, I feel the command to protect him - a command I choose to ignore. To get to the point Hector, Heaven won't interfere. For they didn't interfere with Jesus. So long they believe it is part of their... Script. Their plan. They won't act."
Though something about his words, when he said "script" made it seem like he was talking about more than simply the story of sacrifice.
Without warning, Dracula extended a fingernail and drew it diagonally across Lucien's bare chest. A thin line of blood welled up, causing the boy to stir slightly in pain, though he remained unconscious.
Rather than leaning in to drink, Dracula produced a small crystal vial from his tattered clothing. He carefully collected several drops of blood before stepping back and cleansing his hand with water from a nearby basin.
"The boy is divine, as I said," Dracula confirmed, holding the vial up to the torchlight. The blood seemed to glow from within, casting an unnatural radiance.
"But his divinity is pure in ways I did not anticipate - it is the first even for me to meet a 'Son'. I wasn't born when Jesus walked this earth." he fell silent for a moment, as he continued to gaze at the blood.
"I cannot simply drink his blood to heal myself or regain my strength."
He returned the vial to his pocket carefully. "He is akin to the sun. Drinking directly from him would destroy me from within - his blood is simply too potent."
Isaac frowned, concerned. "Then how will you obtain what you need from him, my lord? How will you regain your full strength?"
A slow smile spread across Dracula's face, revealing the tips of his fangs. "It is quite simple, really."
He turned and gestured toward the huddled form in the corner. "The boy will need to feed his blood willingly, and to reduce its potency, our little ripper will be the one it is fed to."
Stefan's head snapped up at these words, true horror dawning in his eyes.
"I will then drink from Stefan instead," Dracula continued, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. "The willingly offered blood will no longer attack me from within, and with its potency diluted through Stefan's body, it will serve my purposes perfectly."
Stefan made a strangled sound in his throat - the closest he could come to protest without his tongue. Tears began to stream down his face as he pressed himself harder against the wall, as if trying to pass through solid stone to escape.
"A brilliant solution, my lord," Isaac nodded with approval.
Hector remained silent, his eyes moving between Lucien's unconscious form and Stefan's terror-stricken face.
The scientific part of his mind noted the elegant solution while something deeper - something he tried to suppress - recoiled at the cruelty of using one prisoner to process the other.
In the corner of his mind where Hector kept his most private thoughts, he reflected on Stefan's particular suffering.
Few knew the true reason behind Dracula's methodical breaking of the Ripper of Monterey.
It wasn't just about creating another loyal servant.
It's about... venting.
The compulsion Klaus had used was thorough; Stefan had no memory of the blood-soaked jazz clubs of Chicago, no recollection of calling the Original Hybrid 'friend.'
But Dracula knew.
And every torture session carried the weight of three centuries of hatred for the hybrid who had nearly destroyed him.
"But how," Hector questioned, his brow furrowing, "could we possibly get the boy to willingly offer his blood? We brought him here by force, and many times nearly killed his loved ones. Surely, he would resist aiding you."
Before Dracula could respond, Isaac stepped forward, his dark eyes gleaming with understanding.
"It is simple," Isaac stated, his voice carrying the calm certainty of a man who had studied human nature in its most vulnerable states. "The boy is a hunter, a bleeding heart, a redeemer. He consorts with vampires already - loves that vampire woman, Katherine."
Isaac's gaze moved to Lucien's unconscious form, assessing him like a specimen. "He clearly believes in salvation and redemption. It is his nature as the Son of God - to save, to sacrifice for others. To save them from injustice."
A slight smile touched Isaac's lips as he turned toward Stefan's huddled form. "All we need to do is... give the boy proper motivation."
The implication hung in the air like a blade. Stefan's body began to tremble as he understood what Isaac was suggesting - that his pain would be the lever used to break Lucien's will.
"And if the ripper doesn't provide sufficient incentive," Isaac continued, his tone unchanged as if discussing a minor logistical matter, "we'll simply bring in other humans. Men, women, the elderly... children." He shrugged slightly. "All until the boy complies."
Isaac's eyes met Dracula's, confidence evident in his posture. "But I don't believe it will come to that, my lord. The ripper will be enough."
Dracula nodded, pleased with his servant's insight. "Indeed. The nature of such vessels is predictable in their compassion. They cannot bear to witness unjust suffering they believe they can prevent." His smile turned cold. "A weakness we shall exploit thoroughly."
Stefan pressed himself harder against the wall, silent tears continuing to stream down his face. Not just for himself now, but for the boy who would soon face an impossible choice - and for those who would suffer if he refused.
Hector observed this exchange with clinical detachment, though something in his eyes betrayed a flicker of... not quite sympathy, but perhaps recognition of the elegant cruelty of the trap being laid.
The boy would be damned by his own compassion - a particularly sophisticated form of torture that broke the spirit far more effectively than mere physical pain.
"When shall we begin, my lord?" Hector asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Dracula's eyes narrowed as he studied Lucien's unconscious form. "Now. Immediately. I've waited long enough."
Without hesitation, Isaac moved to a corner of the cell where a metal bucket sat. He lifted it and approached Lucien's chained form.
"Wake, Son of God," Isaac intoned coldly, before hurling the contents - ice-cold water - directly into Lucien's face.
The shock of freezing water hit Lucien like a physical blow, causing him to instinctively gasp, and hurl upward for a moment, before coming down because of the chains.
For several heartbeats, he remained still, his body processing the sudden assault on his senses.
Then, slowly, his eyes opened, blinking rapidly against the moisture streaming down his face.
Silence filled the cell as awareness gradually returned to him. The cold. The damp. The weight of metal against his wrists and ankles.
His gaze, unfocused at first, began to sharpen. Stone walls. Flickering torchlight. Three figures watching him with interest.
The disorientation lingered, his mind struggling to bridge the gap between his last memory - Prague, Katherine, Nadia - and this dark, unfamiliar place.
His eyes found Stefan in the corner. The vampire's hunched posture. The terror in his eyes. The silent tears tracking down his face.
Understanding dawned gradually, each realization landing with terrible weight.
Captivity. Chains. Danger.
Instinctively, Lucien reached for the Force - despite being so exhausted, he could only try to reach to control a fraction.
The consequences were immediate and agonizing.
"AAAHHHHH!" The chains glowed suddenly, sending waves of excruciating pain through his entire body, as he screamed. Finally, the pain subsided and his screams stopped and turned into a gasp, his back arching against the wall, eyes wide with shock and pain.
Only then, after this moment, did Dracula step forward.
His movement broke the heavy silence, the soft sound of his boots against stone floor echoing in the chamber.
"Welcome to your new home, Lucien Raphael Winchester."
----------------------
Devastation stretched across Prague's historic district - shattered cobblestones, collapsed buildings, scorched facades.
Emergency vehicles' lights flashed in the distance, their siren sounds everywhere.
Bodies lay scattered where civilians had been caught in the crossfire.
In the midst of this destruction stood Elijah, his normally immaculate suit torn and covered in dust.
His eyes surveyed the damage with a mixture of anger and regret before he pulled out his phone, and dialed the numbers.
The connection established, and he spoke without preamble. "Niklaus. They have him. Dracula has taken Lucien."
For a long moment there was only silence, besides in the beginning the sound of shattering glass.
On the other end, Klaus's voice carried a dangerous edge that made even Elijah wince. "What happened?"
"A mirror portal. Some form of transportation magic we couldn't counter." Elijah's free hand clenched into a fist. "We failed him, brother."
The sound of something else shattering came through the connection, followed by Klaus's voice, now a barely controlled growl. "Find him. NOW."
"We're trying, but-"
"Not good enough!" Klaus roared through the phone. "Kol! Contact your witchy friends immediately! I want location spells, tracking spells, anything that can find the boy!"
Elijah could hear Kol's response in the background: "Already on it, brother. The Bennett line owes me a favor or two."
Several yards away, Rebekah stood with arms outstretched, her vampiric face on. The air around her shimmered with power as reality itself bent to her will.
"FORGET," she commanded, her voice reverberating with ancient power. "A STORM CAME. LIGHTNING STRUCK. BUILDINGS FELL."
The command rippled outward like a visible wave, washing over emergency workers, civilians, and damaged buildings alike.
As it passed, people's expressions went momentarily blank before returning to normal - their memories now containing a fabricated but coherent narrative of a sudden, devastating natural storm.
Selectively, cobblestones began sliding back into place. Glass shards flew upward, reforming into windows.
But Rebekah left strategic damage - a collapsed wall here, shattered windows there, scorched patches of stone that supported the lightning strike narrative.
"BELIEVE," she continued, blood beginning to trickle from her nose with the effort. "NATURAL DISASTER. TRAGIC BUT EXPLAINABLE."
Nadia watched with undisguised awe, her eyes wide with shock. "What... how is she doing that?" she whispered, clutching Katherine's arm.
Katherine's expression remained outwardly composed - internally trying to keep it together and not go into hysterics, cry and rip apart everything around her in a feeding frenzy to drown out the guilt, fear and rage at her god being gone - and answered. "Reality bending compulsion," she explained quietly.
"Vampires - especially the Originals can command not just minds but matter itself, if they're strong enough."
Elijah approached them, still holding the phone. "Rebekah's only recently awakened from being daggered. This is draining her significantly."
He watched his sister with concern as more blood began to trickle from her nose. "The more life force we store - excess blood we've consumed - the more powerful our compulsion becomes."
Emergency workers continued tending to the dead and injured, now fully believing they were responding to a freak weather event that had struck without warning - lightning bolts that had shattered buildings and claimed lives in an instant of natural fury.
"Then why aren't you helping her?" Nadia asked.
Elijah was stumped for a moment, he tried to begin to answer-
"I'm coming to you. Now." Through the phone, Klaus's voice suddenly came, having gone dangerously quiet.
"Niklaus, the jet-"
"Too slow."
The line went dead. Elijah lowered the phone slowly, his expression grim as he understood what was coming.
-------------------
In the Mikaelson mansion thousands of miles away, Klaus stood in the shattered remains of his study, rage radiating from him in almost visible waves, his eyes gold.
"Find. Him." Klaus growled at Kol before storming out to the balcony.
Outside, Klaus tilted his face to the sky, allowing his fury to consume him completely.
His body began to crackle with electrical energy, blue-white lightning dancing across his skin.
With a roar that shook the mansion's foundations, Klaus's physical form dissolved entirely into pure lightning - a blinding column of electrical fury that shot upward into the gathering storm clouds.
The transformed Klaus entered the cloud system, using the developing storm front as a conduit, traveling at the speed of electrical impulse across continents.
-----------------------
Back in Prague, Rebekah completed her compulsion, the final buildings restoring themselves to fit her narrative.
She collapsed to her knees, exhausted but successful - Prague now showed evidence of a natural disaster rather than a battle.
"We need to move quickly," Elijah stated, helping Rebekah to her feet. "Niklaus is-"
The sky above them darkened suddenly as storm clouds materialized from nowhere. A massive lightning bolt struck the cobblestones beside Elijah with explosive force, leaving a smoking crater.
From within the blinding light and billowing smoke, Klaus's form reconstituted, his eyes still glowing gold with rage, clothing smoldering from the transformation.
"Tell me," he demanded, voice vibrating with barely contained fury as he blurred towards Elijah and gripped lapels, "exactly what happened here."
-----------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.
So... How will Lucien escape this predicament?
Dracula may not know of the Force, but it is still a mental ability, and the magic activates when any mental strength is used to affect something beyond the body.
I'm interested in your thoughts.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)