Kol Mikaelson-The Wild Original

It started as a hum, a burning ache I was used to after a couple of daggerings. I didn't know where I was. Hadn't I been dead already? Twice, no less. Someone's removing the dagger from my chest. Once it's gone, I feel my magic, raw and untamed. It's familiar, comforting.

When I was mortal in that world, I was always drawn to fantasy—though I never understood how I created cursed objects from the shows I watched. Now, I know better. Blood and runic magic. I can feel my power. Time to look into siphoners, see if I can strip and apply that particular ailment to someone.

To think I'm not plotting anything is like saying Nik has turned good. I couldn't bear to watch the shows after a few iterations. I liked that Claire witch. But me? I don't think I'd form such a bond. I loved a lot in my thousand years of existence, but I loved wholly, fully—and then when things got too serious, either they were killed or moved on. Because I was such a gentleman. Ha, just thinking like that makes me cringe.

Such power. It's been a while. As I open my eyes, I see Bekah and Elijah standing there. I flash in front of Bekah.

"Well, darling, it seems age does eventually catch up to us," I say, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

I always treated her like a gem. We brothers were very protective of her, and I was going to take her to my land if Mikael hadn't been such a pain in the ass. If I didn't fear him, especially with Esther backing him up. Even though I was an accomplished warlock, I couldn't fight an enhanced warrior and his psychopath of a wife.

Then I glance at Elijah.

"Well, Elijah, how have you been? Is the stick still firmly lodged?"

He was always the father figure to Nik and me. I hate to admit it, but he was also the big brother Nik needed. For Nik, he was the adult to look up to. That's why, when it came to Henrik, I always treated him like my own. When he was born, I was already doing raids and learning magic. Magic that wasn't taught to me by my mother or Ayana, as they were witches with secrets and didn't hand out their power so easily.

So, where do I hunt?

I'm bloody hungry. Nearly 100 years, locked down again. This is the last time this will happen. I was never caught when I was gallivanting on my own for a few centuries. Even hunted down Mikael, tortured him for years. That man was an abusive control freak. He didn't keep the stake with him until he was sure he could kill me in whatever twisted plan he had.

Oh, the torture he suffered.

"We have blood bags, Kol," they say.

"And what are these?"

I drink, but I can't let them know about my other life—or the show, or whatever foolishness was accessed by someone who could connect to the astral plane. They were wrong about so many things. The fact that Nik could be outplayed isn't lost on me. We were outplayed many times, fooled by Mikael. That paranoid bastard. we survived because we were honing ourselves with the shadow war with our father,

The only reason I died in the first place was because of my foolish siblings. Once they were sure there was no father or mother left in this plane, they let their guard down. Relaxed their vigilance.

And when I was frantic about bloody Silas, they thought I was crazy, throwing a tantrum. I don't throw tantrums. I just do what needs to be done. They knew that but couldn't accept it. After the passing of our mother and father, they believed themselves unstoppable when they should have been cautious as we have faced many horrors. The fact that this little town stood after my death is a testament to their ever-present delusion of "always and forever." and how I am not in it Finn I understand he was our parents heir always stoic and wanted to be just like them and deluded himself and blaming himself and us for the curse our mother places on us using dark magic that thought of what she did still makes my anger burn and I want to burn and salt this place to the ground 

Bekah, I could forgive. She was lost for a long time. The potential for a cure was an irresistible thing for our little sister. She forgot there's no need to fear Nik's tantrums anymore. The ever-hanging blade over our necks passed away with our bastard of a father. She could love now, and she would've had some support. Even when we bickered, I couldn't bring myself to hate her. The only time I was hurt was because of Marcel. Many suspected in the other world it was because of attention-seeking behavior, but they didn't understand. I live as I breathe. I don't care much for anything. I would kill children just for the sake of putting and end to the misery they would have to live because of surviving me and that would make them hate me and the cycle would repeat hence infants and children of certain age were left after the massacre to unsuspecting men through compulsion.

But they daggered me to raise a child. All because of their tantrums. When I was alone, I would always get rid of my enemies, whether through overt or covert war, and send a chilling message with my massacres. Many dared not reveal the truth about me in the vicinity of their own violation fearing what I would do. But when I was with my siblings for a decade or two, I'm being daggered again. They always play with their prey. Oh, I enjoy the hunt, as any good predator should. But after a while, it gets boring. My siblings? They go too deep into planning and forget the basics. When they finally send a message, it's too late. Slights and attacks have already been made.

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Hi, guys! It's been a long time. I was stuck with writer's block and unsure how to go about the rewrite. This time, the chapters will be well thought out. This is the base of the character's inner workings, and from now on, the focus will shift to the story. I'll try to excite your imagination.

You can support me here: [email protected]/LUCIFER482