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"You're not my son," Derek Hale spat, his eyes narrowing as he gripped the war hammer in his hand, the gleaming metal a stark contrast to the dusty battlefield. Eli Hale stared back at him with a mix of anger and confusion.
The clank of swords and the roar of the crowd filled the air around them, a cacophony of chaos that seemed to amplify Derek's harsh words. Eli's grip tightened around the hilt of his war fans, the metal digging into his palm. He had been thrown into this battle as a pawn, a mere symbol of hope for the people of Edenia, a land he had never truly known.
"Then why raise me as your son?" Eli's voice was steady despite the tumult around them. "Why pretend?"
Derek's gaze was cold as ice. "I never asked for this, for you," he said, gesturing at the surrounding carnage with his hammer. "Stiles was a prize, a king to conquer. An heir was just... collateral."
Eli's eyes searched his adoptive father's, trying to find a shred of truth in the harsh words. "But you raised me," he insisted, his voice echoing with a pain that cut through the din of the battle.
Derek's expression grew even more severe. "I did it out of obligation to Stiles, not love," he said, his voice like a whip crack in the heat of battle. "You were a part of him, yes, but you are not of my blood, not truly mine."
With a snarl, he lunged at Eli, the hammer arcing through the air with lethal intent. Eli had no time to process anything; his instincts took over. He raised his war fans, the twin circles of steel spinning to meet the descending weapon. The clang of metal on metal rang out, the force of the impact sending tremors up his arms. Derek was stronger, more experienced, and driven by a rage that had been simmering for years.
Their weapons locked in a battle of wills, Derek pushed Eli backward. Eli's feet slid over the uneven ground, his muscles straining to keep him upright. The fury in Derek's eyes was unmistakable. "You're weak," Derek spat, his teeth bared. "Stiles was a fool to think you could lead."
Eli felt a surge of anger. This wasn't the father he had known, the one who had taught him to fight, to lead, to be a man. This was a monster wearing Derek's skin. He gritted his teeth and pushed back, the war fans slicing through the air as he fought to keep the hammer at bay. The crowd's cries grew distant as the two men focused solely on the lethal dance between them.
In a swift, decisive move, Eli twisted his wrists, and the fans spun, catching the hammer's handle. With a twist and a pull, he disarmed Derek, sending the weapon flying. The crowd gasped as Derek stumbled, unbalanced. Eli took the momentary advantage, spinning in a blur of motion, the sharp edges of his fans carving through the air.
Derek staggered back, his eyes widening in shock as the steel glinted before his face. Eli's strike was precise, a blur of anger and betrayal manifesting in the steel. The fans sliced through the air and into Derek's eyes, the metal sizzling as it made contact. The sound of Derek's scream pierced the battle's din, a high-pitched wail of pain and despair that sent a shiver down the spines of the onlookers.
"He did it" Isaac Lahley gasped. "He did" Hikari smiled softly.
Eli stood panting, his war fans now stained with Derek's blood, the reality of what he'd done slowly seeping into his consciousness. He had never intended to harm Derek so grievously, but the man's cruel revelation had unlocked something primal within him. The rage had taken over, and he'd acted without thought.
Erica was tending to Boyd, trying to help him feel his legs after Derek broke his back. "Can you feel anything?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and hope.
Boyd took a deep breath, his face contorted with pain. "I... I think so," he managed to croak out. "It's... it's faint, but it's there."
Eli's attention was torn from his own battle as he heard Boyd's hopeful voice. He felt a brief flicker of relief before the weight of his actions fully settled on him. The crowd's reaction was a mix of horror and awe. Some of Derek's followers took a step back, while others looked at Eli with newfound respect. The battlefield had gone quiet, the fighting momentarily stalled as everyone processed what had just occurred.
Through the haze of pain, Boyd's words reached him, clear and firm. "Eli... you're the rightful Kahn... of Outworld." Despite his agony, Boyd pushed himself up, his eyes finding Eli's. "You must take your place... and lead us."
Eli's heart hammered in his chest as the gravity of Boyd's declaration sank in. He looked down at Derek, now writhing on the ground, his eyes ruined and useless. The man who had been his father figure was now a defeated adversary, and the responsibility of an entire realm rested on his shoulders. The crowd around them had gone silent, the air thick with anticipation.
He took a deep breath and turned to face the warriors of Outworld. His hands still trembled, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had never wanted to rule, had never wanted to be the symbol of hope for these people. But as he looked into their faces, the weight of his heritage and the legacy of his true father, Stiles Stilinski, settled upon him.
Eli raised his bloodied war fans high above his head and let out a roar that echoed through the battlefield. "I am Eli, son of Stiles!" he shouted, his voice strong despite the turmoil inside. "I claim the throne of Outworld!"
The crowd remained still, the silence a stark contrast to the moments before. Then, a murmur grew, spreading like wildfire through the war-weary soldiers. Some dropped to their knees in awe, while others looked on in disbelief. The name of Stiles Stilinski was not one to be taken lightly; it was a name that carried with it the promise of peace and justice, a stark contrast to the tyranny of Derek Hale.
In the distance, a peculiar trio emerged from a swirl of time and space. Shang Tsung, the ancient sorcerer, his eyes gleaming with the cunning of centuries; Nightwolf, the fierce protector of Earthrealm, his spirit guiding him through the veil; and Fujin, the wind god, his very presence causing the air to stir with whispers of fate.
They approached the soul chamber, where the essence of Stiles Stilinski lay dormant, a place of power that hummed with energy and the whispers of the ancients. The chamber's doors stood open, a silent invitation to the brave or the foolish. Eli, now aware of their approach, raced through the halls of Outworld's castle, his heart pounding like a drum of war.
As he arrived, panting, he saw the three figures standing over the crystal that contained Stiles' soul. "What are you doing?" Eli demanded, his voice a thunderclap in the sacred space.
Shang Tsung looked up, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "Resurrecting your father, young prince," he replied, his voice like the rustle of ancient parchment. "For the sake of all realms, we must unite against a new threat—Cetrion, the goddess of virtue who is aligned with her mother Kronika."
Nightwolf's gaze was intense, his spirit visibly agitated. "We've come to bring back your father, Eli," he said, his voice carrying the solemnity of a sacred oath. "We cannot fight this war alone."
"By desecrating his corpse?!" Eli roared, his anger a living force that seemed to shake the very stones of the chamber.
Shang Tsung's smile was a chilling thing to behold. "Your grief is touching, but we have no time for such sentimentality," he said, his hands moving in a complex pattern above the crystal. "The fate of the realms is at stake, and your father's power is needed."
The room grew colder as the air grew thick with arcane energy. Eli could feel the power surging around them, a storm of light and shadow that made his skin crawl. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by the unyielding presence of Fujin, his eyes the color of a gathering storm. "You must have faith, young one," the wind god said, his voice a gentle whisper that seemed to carry the force of a tornado. "The path before you is not an easy one, but it is the right one."
Eli's mind raced, torn between his anger and the desperate need to trust these strangers. His thoughts were shattered by a sudden burst of light, a blinding flash that filled the chamber. When the light subsided, his vision swam with spots, and he stumbled backward. His eyes focused again, and there, standing before him, was a man he had never met, yet knew so well. It was Stiles Stilinski, his true father, resurrected from the very form of evil.
Stiles collapsed to the floor, his eyes wide with disorientation. The chamber's walls pulsed with an eerie glow, and the air was thick with the scent of ozone.
"Welcome back your highness" Stiles growled and shoved Shang Tsung away, his eyes looking around confused. "It pleases me to see you too"
"Am I alive? Is this real?" Stiles croaked, his voice raspy as if he hadn't spoken in eons. He raised a shaky hand to shield his eyes from the flickering lights of the soul chamber.
"It is your highness, we would not have gotten so far without your most loyal servant" Fujin smiled. "Sheeva?" Stiles breathed out her name as if it were a prayer. "My king, I failed you all those years ago" Sheeva knelt before him, her voice filled with regret and sorrow
"It was not your fault my friend" Stiles said, his voice filled with warmth and compassion. He reached out to touch her head, the gesture seemingly comforting them both. "Where is my son?"
Eli stepped forward, the weight of his father's gaze feeling like a physical force. "Oh Eli" Stiles reached out but Eli flinched away. "Eli, it is me, your father"
"I... I don't know what to think...I was only a child....why did you abandon me?" "Eli, I did not abandon you," Stiles' voice was a balm to the wound Derek's revelation had left. He struggled to stand, his legs wobbly from centuries of disuse. "Quan Chi, the sorcerer, he was the one who killed me. He staged it as a suicide to manipulate Derek, to keep his rage focused on the memory of a traitorous king, so he could maintain control over Outworld."
Eli felt a surge of hope, the words a lifeline thrown into the dark abyss of his confusion. "But why did you let him?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why did you let him raise me?"
"Derek is a monster but he was not a terrible father," Stiles spoke gently, his eyes never leaving Eli's. "I knew he would keep you safe, raise you as his own. It was the only way to protect you from the truth and the wars that would follow."
The words hung in the air, a bridge of understanding forming between them. Eli felt the anger begin to drain from him, replaced by a profound sadness. He took a tentative step forward, and before he knew it, he was in his father's arms, the warmth and scent of him so real, so alive, it was almost too much to bear. The hug was tight, desperate, a silent apology for lost time and a promise to make it right.
Eli hugged Stiles tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the truth of his words sinking in. "Oh father!" he choked out, burying his face in Stiles' shoulder. The weight of the revelations was almost too much to bear, but the love and warmth from his father's arms were a balm to his soul.
"Now, let me become reacquainted with my home" Stiles' words were a whisper, but they filled the cold, damp corridor of the dungeon. His steps were cautious, each echoing off the stone walls that had seen so much pain.
In the deepest recesses of the prison, a figure lay huddled in the darkness. Derek Hale, once the feared ruler of Outworld, now a blinded and broken man. When Stiles reached the cell, the sight of his once powerful husband brought a pang of pity to his heart. "Derek," he called out softly, his voice filled with the warmth of a forgotten sun.
"Husband?" The word was a rasp from Derek's parched lips. The cell was dark, but Stiles' presence was like a beacon of light in the gloom. Derek's heart raced with hope and fear.
Stiles stepped closer, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He knelt beside the ruined man, his hand reaching out to touch Derek's cheek. "I am here," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that seemed to defy the cold stone around them.
Derek's eyes searched the darkness, finding Stiles' face. The touch was gentle, but it brought no comfort. "You... you're alive," he murmured, his voice thick with shock and disbelief.
Stiles nodded, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed to swallow the room. "I am," he said, his hand trailing down to grip Derek's trembling one. "But we have much to discuss. My son is a disappointment" He spat out the words with a disgust that made Derek grin.
"He is too soft," Stiles continued, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Too much like his mother," he sneered. "But I am here now, and I will set things right."
"I missed you" Derek whispered, the tremor in his voice betraying his relief. "But why now?" His grip tightened on Stiles' hand. "Shang Tsung brought me back," Stiles said, his voice measured and firm. "We face a new threat, one that requires unity across realms"
"Meaning we'll conquer everyone and rule the realms" Derek grinned. "Precisely" Stiles said, his eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose.
He stood, pulling Derek to his feet, the chains clanking as they fell away. His grip was firm, his strength surprising considering his time spent in the soul chamber. "We must prepare," Stiles said, his voice carrying the weight of command.
They made their way through the shadowy corridors, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the emptiness.
"Where are we going?" Derek asked, his voice tentative, the first sign of doubt creeping in.
"To the soul chamber," Stiles replied, his tone unyielding. "Your body will be restored there."
Derek stumbled along, his ruined eyes unable to see the path ahead, but his heart pounding with excitement at the thought of revenge. Stiles, ever the stoic leader, guided him through the twisting corridors with a firm grip. The chamber loomed before them, a place of power that hummed with the whispers of ancient beings.
The moment they entered, the air grew thick with energy, the crystals embedded in the walls pulsing with a soft, otherworldly light. Stiles laid Derek on the altar at the center, the very same one where he had been brought back to life. The stone was cold and unyielding beneath his back, a stark contrast to the warmth of his former lover's touch.
With a wave of his hand, Stiles activated the chamber's ancient magic. The crystals flared to life, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The air grew heavy with the scent of ozone, and the hum grew louder, a symphony of power that seemed to vibrate through their very bones. Derek could feel the magic tingling against his skin, a promise of restoration.
Stiles began an incantation, his voice resonating with the power of the realms. The crystals pulsed in time with his words, the light within them growing brighter.
Derek felt a warmth spread through his body, the pain from his injuries receding like a distant memory. His eyes burned, and suddenly, the world came into focus. The chamber's grandeur was stark against the starkness of his newfound hatred.
"Husband" He raised his arms to Stiles. Stiles ran into his arms and rested his head on Derek's chest, feeling the strong heartbeat that had been absent for so long.
"You've played them all for fools" Derek cackled, his eyes shining with malice. "Now we shall rule as we were meant to." Stiles' gaze was cold, his expression unreadable. He stepped back from the altar, his hand dropping to the hilt of the sword at his side.
"Our son," Stiles said, his voice low and dangerous, "has proven to be a formidable opponent, but his inexperience is his downfall."
Derek's expression darkened. "He's weak," he growled. "Just like his mother."
Stiles held up a hand to silence him. "Perhaps," he said, his voice as cold as the stone chamber around them. "But he has potential, and we have greater enemies to face. Killing him now would serve no purpose."
Derek's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with anger. "He is a traitor," he spat, his voice echoing through the chamber. "He must pay for his treachery."
"He is still my son," Stiles said, his voice like a knife through Derek's rage. "And there are other ways to deal with him."
Derek's eyes narrowed, the fire in his gaze unwavering. "Enslavement?" He tasted the word, finding it bitter on his tongue.
"Think of it as... a lesson," Stiles said, his voice a serpent's hiss. "We can mold him into the warrior we need, strip him of his defiance, and make him a tool for our greater purpose."
Derek's fists clenched and unclenched, the rage in his eyes not diminishing. "He defied me," he ground out. "He must pay in blood."
"We can kill Hikari" Stiles suggested, his voice a low growl, his eyes glinting with malice. "It will serve as an example to Eli and those who dare to stand against us."
Derek's expression softened, his anger momentarily forgotten. "Hikari," he murmured, his thoughts racing. "Yes, she has been a thorn in our side."
"Her death will serve as a warning," Stiles continued, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light. "It will show the realms that we are united and that we will not tolerate betrayal."
Derek nodded, his grip on Stiles' hand tightening. The rage had not left him, but he knew his husband's mind was set on a path of dominance, and he would not sway it. "Fine," he ground out. "But when this war is over, he will pay for what he's done."
Stiles moaned sexually as he felt Derek's warm embrace, feeling a mix of pleasure. "I missed you" Derek whispered, his voice thick with lust and power. Stiles kissed Derek back, his tongue dancing with his. "I missed you too, but we have much to do," Stiles said, pulling away.
"Capture Eli! Bring him to me!" Derek's voice echoed through the castle halls, filled with a malicious intent that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. His soldiers, now loyal to the resurrected Stiles Stilinski, moved with a swiftness that seemed almost inhuman, fanning out in search of the usurper who had dared to challenge their newfound king.
Moments later, the clatter of armor and the thud of boots grew louder, and a group of soldiers emerged, dragging a struggling Eli between them. His war fans were gone, his clothes torn and bloodied, his eyes burning with a fiery defiance that mirrored Derek's own. They threw him to the ground before the two men, and Eli's gaze shot to his father, searching for any hint of the love and compassion he had once known.
Stiles stepped forward, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he bent down to caress Eli's bruised face. His touch was light, almost tender, a stark contrast to the steel in his voice. "It's a shame, my son," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Eli's jaw. "You're so much like your mother. Soft, weak, pathetic"
Eli's eyes searched Stiles' face, desperation and anger warring within him. "You brainwashed him again!" He yelled at Derek, struggling against his captors. "You turned him into this monster!"
"Turned?" Derek laughed maniacally, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
Stiles' smile grew colder, his hand tightening on Eli's chin. "I did what I had to do to ensure our reign," he said, his eyes boring into Eli's. "Lydia was a fool, giving away our riches to the weak, thinking love and peace could conquer all. And as a result....I killed her for Derek"
Eli's eyes widened in horror. "No..." he breathed, the reality of his father's revelation a knife to his soul.
"Yes," Stiles said, his voice devoid of remorse. "For Derek, for our love, for our legacy. She was weak, a liability to our rule. And now, you stand before us, her image reflected in your eyes. I will snuff it out"
Derek stepped forward, a wicked smile twisting his lips. He grabbed a gag from one of the soldiers, the fabric stained with the tears of countless others who had dared to oppose them. He bent down and forced it into Eli's mouth, the sound of the fabric biting into his skin muffling his cries.
Eli's eyes watered as he struggled against the restraints, his muffled pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. The taste of leather and fear filled his mouth, the scent of his own blood mixing with the metallic tang of the gag.
"Take him to the dungeons," Stiles ordered, his voice cold as the stone walls surrounding them. The soldiers hauled Eli away, his body limp with shock and despair. The gag cut into his cheeks, each jerk of his head sending a fresh wave of pain through his jaw.
As they descended into the bowels of the castle, the air grew colder, the light dimmer. The dampness seeped into Eli's skin, and the stench of despair was thick. He knew these halls too well; they had been his home for the first years of his life. The echoes of his mother's cries, the whispers of his father's love, they all seemed to be trapped in the very stones themselves.
In the dungeon, Eli was thrown into a cell, the iron bars slamming shut with a finality that seemed to echo his fate. He lay there, his body bruised and broken, his mind racing with the revelations of the past few moments. The love he had felt for his father, the hope that had sparked within him upon his resurrection, it was all a lie. Stiles Stilinski was as much a monster as Derek Hale, and now, they were united in their quest for power.
Above, in the grand throne room of Outworld's castle, the air was thick with the scent of lust and power. The throne, once a symbol of dominance and fear, now became the stage for a twisted reunion. Stiles and Derek, their clothes hastily discarded, intertwined upon the cold, hard seat, their bodies moving with a fierce passion fueled by the dark magic that surrounded them.
Their union was raw, a blend of anger and desire that had been simmering for centuries. Derek's powerful grip held Stiles tight, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his neck, drawing a cry of pleasure and pain from his husband's lips. Stiles, in turn, dug his nails into Derek's back, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he reveled in the feeling of Derek inside him.
Their movements were punctuated by the creaks of the ancient throne beneath them, the room echoing with their passionate grunts and gasps. The shadows danced across their sweat-slicked bodies, painting them in a macabre tapestry of darkness and light. The very air around them seemed to crackle with power, the dark energy of their love feeding the malicious intent that coiled within them.
As they reached their climax, the chamber trembled, the crystals in the walls vibrating with the force of their union. The room was bathed in a crimson glow, as if the very essence of their desire had set the stones alight. Derek's eyes rolled back in his head, a roar of victory and pleasure ripping from his throat, while Stiles' eyes remained open, his gaze locked on the door, ever the vigilant ruler.
Their breaths mingled in the air, their hearts pounding in a rhythm that mirrored the pulsing of the throne beneath them. The power surged through them, a dark elixir that made them feel invincible. The throne, a symbol of their dominion, had borne witness to their reunion and was now an extension of their power, a conduit for their malicious intent.