The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

1114

The compound was eerily silent, its usual hum of activity replaced by an oppressive stillness that pressed against Ivar like a suffocating shroud. His boots crunched softly against the gravel as he strode through the entrance, his emerald eyes scanning the shadowed corners with sharp intent. His frown deepened, the faint crease between his brows betraying his unease. The wind whispered faintly, rustling leaves and brushing against his unruly hair, but otherwise, the compound felt dead—too dead.

His steps slowed as he reached the center of the courtyard, his senses heightened. The stillness was unnatural, and Ivar's smirk tugged faintly at the corner of his lips. Something's off, he mused, his eyes narrowing.

A faint ruffling sound broke the silence, coming from the bushes near the edge of the compound. Ivar's gaze snapped toward the sound, his head tilting slightly in curiosity. He chuckled softly, the sound low and amused, a predator acknowledging its prey. "Who's there?" he called out, his voice calm but carrying a commanding edge.

Silence.

Ivar's smirk widened, his sharp teeth glinting faintly in the dim light. "Fine," he murmured, waving his hand lazily through the air as though brushing away an invisible cobweb. From the bushes, a man was yanked into view, his body floating unnaturally as though held by an unseen force. His hands clawed at his neck, gasping and choking as he was dragged closer to Ivar, his boots scraping uselessly against the dirt.

Ivar tilted his head, his emerald eyes alight with cruel amusement as he studied the man. The hunter's face was pale, his expression a mix of fear and desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breaths shallow and erratic. Ivar's smirk deepened as he stepped closer, the casual confidence in his stride contrasting starkly with the panic radiating from the hunter.

"Ah," Ivar murmured, his voice like silk laced with venom. "A hunter." His eyes roved over the man with a calculating glint, as though deciding the best way to dispose of him. His smirk curved into a predatory grin, and without warning, Ivar's hand shot forward, gripping the man's head with unrelenting strength. The hunter's eyes widened, terror flashing across his face, but before he could utter a sound, Ivar twisted sharply.

A sickening crack echoed through the compound as the man's head separated from his body. Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc, staining Ivar's hand and the ground below. He let the lifeless body drop with an almost careless flick of his wrist, his expression unreadable as he wiped his hand clean against his dark jacket.

But he wasn't done.

In a blur of motion, Ivar vanished, his vampiric speed carrying him around the perimeter of the bushes. The air seemed to hum with his presence, the faint sound of rustling leaves following in his wake. When he stopped, his figure materialized amidst three other hunters, each one too stunned to react. In less than a heartbeat, Ivar's hands plunged forward, his movements precise and brutal.

When he straightened, he held the hearts of the three men in his grasp, the crimson organs still beating faintly before they stilled. The hunters collapsed to the ground, their lifeless bodies crumpling like discarded marionettes. Ivar let the hearts slip from his fingers, the wet thud of their impact breaking the silence.

He stepped back, surveying his handiwork with a faint smirk. His emerald eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he dusted off his hands, the movement almost lazy. "And the last one," he said, his voice a low murmur, "should be with Rebekah."

Without another word, he vanished again, his vampiric speed leaving only a faint blur in the air where he had stood. The compound remained silent in his wake, the lifeless bodies scattered like macabre trophies, a testament to Ivar's deadly precision and unrelenting power.

Ivar materialized in the doorway like a dark storm, his emerald eyes blazing with fury. The scene before him froze him for a split second—a dagger poised inches from Rebekah's chest, her back arched defensively against Alexander's grip. Yet what sent a fresh wave of rage coursing through Ivar wasn't just the dagger—it was Alexander's lips brushing against his sister's, a grotesque mockery of affection that turned Ivar's stomach.

"Get off my sister, you lying bastard!" Ivar's voice rang out, a thunderous snarl that seemed to shake the very air in the room.

Alexander leapt back as if struck by lightning, his grip on the dagger faltering for a moment before he tightened it instinctively. His eyes darted to Ivar, wide and wild with fear, like a predator cornered by a much larger beast. His lips parted as though to stammer out an excuse, but no sound came, his mind too tangled in panic to form coherent words. His body trembled slightly, betraying his attempts to maintain some semblance of composure.

Rebekah, however, had no such hesitation. Her wide, cerulean eyes locked onto Ivar, the shock on her face melting almost instantly into a mixture of joy and disbelief. "Ivar!" she gasped, her voice breaking slightly as she rushed toward him. Her movements were uncharacteristically frantic, her arms flinging around his neck as she pressed herself against him. Her grip was tight, almost desperate, as though she feared he might disappear if she let go.

Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, and Ivar stiffened for a heartbeat before his posture softened, his free hand moving to rest gently on her back. His fury dimmed slightly, replaced by a flicker of tenderness as he looked down at her, his earlier rage momentarily tempered.

"It's been ages!" Rebekah's voice was muffled against his jacket, trembling with unspoken emotion. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands lingering on his shoulders as though grounding herself in the reality of his presence. "I've missed you so much," she whispered, her tone raw with sincerity, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Ivar's lips quirked into a small, almost imperceptible smile, his emerald eyes softening. "I've missed you too, Bekah," he said, his voice low but steady, a rare warmth threading through his words.

Rebekah's joy seemed to overflow as she gestured behind her, her hand still trembling slightly. "Ivar, I need to introduce you—" Her words died in her throat, her smile faltering as her eyes fell on Alexander. Her gaze zeroed in on the dagger still clutched tightly in his hand, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief, and finally, to a sharp frown that mirrored Ivar's earlier anger.

"Alexander," she said slowly, her voice low and laced with suspicion. Her hand dropped to her side as she took a small step back, her brows knitting together. "What were you going to do with that dagger?"

Alexander's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, his face pale as he tried to muster a response. "Rebekah, I-I can explain," he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of her glare and Ivar's unrelenting presence. He instinctively took a step back, the dagger trembling slightly in his hand.

Rebekah's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing as her voice grew colder. "Explain what, exactly?" she demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut. She folded her arms across her chest, her posture stiff with betrayal. "You were about to stab me, Alexander. Why?"

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, crackling with tension. Ivar's emerald gaze bore into Alexander, his smirk returning, but this time it was devoid of humor. "Yes, Alexander," he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Why don't you explain? I'm dying to hear this."

Alexander swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he scrambled for an answer. His hand clenched around the dagger, but it was clear he was trapped. Rebekah's gaze burned with hurt and fury, and Ivar's looming presence was a constant, unspoken threat.

The room was silent except for Alexander's labored breaths, the tension hanging thick in the air as everyone awaited his response.