Kol Mikaelson-The Wild Original

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this chapter has gore but only little bit I am thinking to add more gore after reading give opinion on the torture( want more or less)

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The room was a void of darkness, lit only by a single flickering bulb that swung precariously from the ceiling. Shadows danced ominously across the stone walls, and the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood. At the center of the room, a man hung by his wrists, chains digging deep into his flesh. Blood dripped steadily from open wounds, pooling beneath his feet, which barely grazed the cold floor. The steady plink of droplets falling was drowned out by manic laughter echoing in the chamber, mingled with muffled groans of pain.

Kol Mikaelson stepped into the dim light, his face alight with unhinged glee. His shirt was stained with blood, but he hardly seemed to care. In his hand, he twirled a curved dagger, its blade glinting menacingly as he approached his prize.

"You know, Salvatore," Kol began, his tone light and conversational, as if discussing the weather. "I've been looking for something… entertaining. Waking up after a century in a coffin tends to put one in a rather foul mood. And then… I find you." He grinned, flashing sharp teeth. "What a delightful stress relief you've turned out to be."

Damon Salvatore glared at him through bloodied, swollen eyes. His lips were cracked, and his muffled shouts of defiance were barely audible through the vervain-soaked cloth stuffed into his mouth. Every breath burned his throat, and every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his body.

Kol tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. "I must say, I'm quite curious about this doppelgänger of yours. Elena, is it? Should I invite her to join us? Perhaps she'd enjoy the show." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or maybe I'll make her part of it."

Damon thrashed against his chains, his muffled protests growing louder. Fire burned in his eyes, but his struggle only earned him a chuckle from Kol.

"Oh, come now," Kol said, stepping back and twirling the dagger again. "Why so protective? I don't quite understand this obsession men have with doppelgängers. Scheming vipers, the lot of them. I had my fun with one a thousand years ago, and I'll admit she was… what do you call it these days? Freaky? But hardly worth this level of devotion."

Kol's eyes darkened, and his grin twisted into something cruel. "Ah, but you… You've made a habit of obsession, haven't you? First Katerina, then Elena. It's almost poetic how you shifted your fixation from your brother's girl to your brother's girl again. Tell me, does betrayal taste as bitter as it sounds?"

Damon's muffled shout was a mix of rage and defiance, his body convulsing with the effort to break free. Kol's laugh rang out again, sharp and mocking.

"Oh, don't get too excited," Kol said, pulling the cloth from Damon's mouth. Damon gasped, choking on the acrid taste of vervain that lingered on his tongue. Before he could speak, Kol poured a herbal mixture down his throat. Damon coughed and sputtered, the liquid burning like acid as it went down.

"A little concoction of my own," Kol said proudly, as if explaining a fine wine. "Keeps the mind sharp and the body… compliant. You'll thank me later."

Kol stepped closer, gripping Damon's jaw with icy fingers. He tilted the vampire's head to the side and sliced open his wrists with a precise flick of his dagger. Blood poured freely, mixing with the vervain and sending fresh waves of searing pain through Damon's body. He bit back a scream, his teeth clenched tight.

"You've endured quite a bit in your time as a vampire, haven't you?" Kol mused, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Good. I hate it when they break too easily."

Kol's eyes gleamed with sadistic excitement as he traced the edge of the dagger along Damon's chest, cutting shallow lines into his skin. "Why don't we make this more interesting? I'll use you for a bit of practice—you know, to keep my skills sharp—and in return, you'll regale me with the absolute truth of your miserable little life. Sound fair?"

Damon's lips curled into a defiant sneer, but his silence only seemed to amuse Kol further.

Kol retrieved a hooked blade from a nearby table, its edge gleaming with cruel intent. "Let's see if you've heard of the blood eagle," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "It's an old favorite of mine. Very theatrical."

Kol's movements were precise and deliberate. He began by slicing through Damon's back, peeling away the layers of flesh with surgical precision. Damon's screams filled the chamber, raw and agonized, but Kol continued undeterred. He severed ribs one by one, pulling them outward to form the grotesque semblance of wings.

Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the floor beneath them. Damon's breathing was ragged, his body trembling with the effort to stay conscious. Kol stepped back, admiring his work with a satisfied smirk.

"Beautiful," he said, wiping his bloodied hands on a cloth. "And yet… you still cling to life. Impressive."

Kol wasn't finished. Over the next hours, he subjected Damon to a series of medieval tortures, each more excruciating than the last. The rack stretched his limbs to the brink of dislocation, while hot irons burned intricate patterns into his skin. Kol's laughter never ceased, a constant reminder of his sadistic pleasure.

Once Damon's body was a ruin of blood and agony, Kol stepped back and began chanting in an ancient tongue. The air around them crackled with energy as he cast a blood curse, binding Damon's pain to his very essence. No matter how much he healed, the phantom agony of his torture would remain.

Kol's magic didn't stop there. He practiced spells of compulsion, forcing Damon to relive his darkest memories. He twisted Damon's blood with enchantments that made his veins feel as though they were on fire. Each spell was a masterpiece of cruelty, designed to break both body and soul.

When Kol finally stepped away, Damon hung limply in his chains, his body trembling with the effort to draw breath. Kol smiled, satisfied.

"Well, Salvatore," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "I'd say this has been a productive evening. Don't you agree?"

Damon's head lolled forward, but his eyes burned with defiance. Kol chuckled, patting him on the cheek. "Good. I'd hate for you to give up so soon. We've only just begun."

Elijah Mikaelson

For a thousand years, I have sinned against my family and For it Always and forever a vow ad chains all rolled into one. The ledger drips with the smell of blood, a testament to my atrocities. The monster within me revels in it, while the man protests but ultimately accepts it as inevitable.

After Kol's dramatic display of claiming the elder Salvatore as his prize for daring to attack him, we returned home. I accompanied our mother to her chambers. Kol had subtly signaled Klaus and Rebekah not to drink the toast she offered. But not me. It seems my betrayal is still carved deeply into our family history—or perhaps it's simply the hypocrisy of it all.

"All I ask is for no violence. Is that too much, my son?" she implored, her voice tight with frustration.

Ah, as though we were ever innocent children. Even as mortals, blood spilled at our feasts. This authority she clings to now—it's tenuous at best. My siblings are absent, leaving me, as the eldest, with the unenviable duty of smoothing ruffled feathers.

"I will speak to Kol, Mother," I assured her. I bade her goodnight and made my way to the dungeons.

After Kol's thorough experimentation on the elder Salvatore, certain truths became apparent. Klaus and Kol were hiding something significant. Somehow, Kol had regained his magic. His power was limited in strength but devastatingly versatile.

"Well, Elijah, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Kol greeted me with a smirk.

I stood silently, knowing Kol's discomfort with stillness would make him fidget before long. As expected, he soon relented.

"What is it, brother?" he snapped, standing and moving to the liquor cabinet—one of Klaus's many thoughtful arrangements to ensure alcohol was always within reach.

"Why did you chain him, Kol?" I asked calmly.

Kol's methods are erratic, but they are never without reason. He thrives in chaos, much like the wars he so loves to wage. This was no impulsive act.

"Well," Kol began, his tone mocking, "from what I've pieced together, these children made a deal with you when Nik was still making his way here. Then they daggered you."

He looked positively giddy at the thought.

"And then you, dear brother, went and shoved your hand into Nik's chest. Cheers to that. But of course, you were dragged out of your delusions soon enough—thinking Nik of all people would throw us into the ocean like old debris."

"Nik doesn't have that kind of emotional fortitude, he would break down in a week at most" he continued, swirling his glass, "and he knows better than to test me. He fears what I would do once unbound, so he plays it safe. But these Salvatore brats? They've been incessantly meddling. And you, all of you, let them think it's acceptable."

Kol's grin turned sharp. "Well, I'm sending a message, Elijah. A Kol Mikaelson message. Not one of the trio's passive, calculated maneuvers—but one that says Kol Mikaelson will not tolerate blatant disrespect."

"So, yes, I chained him. He attacked me, after all. Once he's drained of vervain, I'll have some fun. When he's on the brink of death, I'll release him. Perhaps I'll even suggest he pursue Katerina again. That should be entertaining."

Faster than I could think I reacted, My hand shot out, gripping Kol's throat. At the same moment, I felt the cold bite of a dagger sliding into my side.

"My, my," Kol taunted with a grin, his face inches from mine, "someone's two-timing one doppelgänger with another. Whatever would Katerina say?"

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Words -1713

well I will be seeing you guys back on Wednesday

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