The Originals

Vows in the Void

"This better work," the President says.

"It will," Yin replies.

"It has to," Claire adds, dropping to a knee in front of Hiro's limp body. Blood pools out of the wound as Yin, Yang, and the President follow suit. Silence engulfs the area, as if the world itself stood still in anticipation for what was about to happen.

After about one minute of this stillness, the winds began to shift. Wind howled through the holes in the Citadel, and distant thunder rolled like an ominous drumbeat. Hiro's blood, which had pooled beneath him, suddenly stopped. It reversed course, spiraling unnaturally back into his body.

All four of them, kneeling by Hiro's side, watched with eager, trembling eyes.

When all the blood was back within him, Hiro's eyes snapped open. They were fully black, void of any white. His arms moved, pushing himself up with unnatural precision. Upon standing, he stretched, each motion accompanied by the cracking of his neck and bones.

Looking down, he saw the sword of light still piercing his stomach. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and yanked it free. The wound sealed instantly.

"This yours?" The voice that came from Hiro's mouth was not his. It was deeper, colder—a voice that carried millennia of authority.

"Yes, my lord," Claire answered, bowing her head to the ground.

"You killed my vessel to draw me out?" Hiro's body began to shift, the aura surrounding him morphing from cosmic radiance to a dark and sinister presence. His legs elongated, his hair grew, and his clothes twisted into a dark red suit. Within seconds, Hiro's body was no more.

In its place stood a man who towered over them by nearly a foot. His slick, shoulder-length black hair gleamed under the dim light, and his eyes remained black voids that seemed to pierce through their souls.

"It was my idea, Achana, my lord," the President stammered, sweat running down his brow.

"And you are?" Achana's gaze fixed on him like a predator cornering its prey.

"Grandson of Clatius, my lord."

"Clatius? The old geezer?" Achana chuckled, twirling the sword with unnerving ease.

"Yes, sir. He passed shortly after your descent into the boy."

"Shame. He was a worthy follower," Achana said, his tone devoid of true sentiment. His gaze bore into the President. "My vessel was fine. He would have pulled through. Why would you dare to awaken me in such a way?"

The President's mouth opened, but no sound came.

"LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU TALK TO ME, BOY!" Achana's voice thundered, causing the President to flinch violently.

The President's head snapped up, terror written across his face. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"Stand."

As if compelled by a force beyond his own, the President rose instantly.

"Sir," he said, his voice shaking.

"Continue."

"A threat looms overhead, and we can't control it forever. Whether they realize it or not, the things they've been experimenting with will cause a terrible power struggle. The same one you got rid of all those years ago," the President said, his face now dripping with sweat.

"Not good enough," Achana said. With an almost imperceptible swing of the sword, the President's head rolled across the floor. His body remained standing for a moment before collapsing.