"I want you to pay very close attention, Niccolò," Alastair muttered under his breath, "Because I am about to give you the most important choice of your life. You get to make it all over again. Do you understand?" He grinned madly, excitement feeding into crazed energy. He knew he was even more unhinged than usual- Hell was too much even for him to bear without any scars- but for his purposes, it only made him stronger.
Over the past few days, Alastair had set out to destroy everything positive Niccolò had ever created. He killed refugees and starving children, spoiled water supplies, and everything else he could think of while the voice in his head struggled against him. Niccolò's presence had become so small that Alastair could barely feel it. This would be the final nail in his coffin.
A man with blonde hair and cold blue eyes strolled into the Stille family library. Christofer rose to greet the stranger, extending a hand.
Alastair watched himself threaten the mother and two sisters of seventeen year old Niccolò. "This is it. The night it all began," he whispered gleefully, his voice lacquered in temptation. "If you overtake me now, you can reverse it all. Every person you've ever harmed-" the small presence within him stirred- "safe. Every epidemic we've ever brewed," it thrashed wildly, "nonexistent."
Christofer's expression quickly changed to one of horror, as the stranger slowly advanced till he was backed between a blade and a desk. He had to think of something. There was no way he could take the knife away, and even if he could, he wouldn't know how to use it, but he couldn't stall forever- he had to think of something...
Alastair bent over, sliding a few feet down the slanted roof across the street where he'd stationed himself, his fingers curled tightly in his hair. "Every world... We've ever destroyed..." he now spoke in shortened bursts of breath, a splitting headache overtaking him. "Your sister's children..." He drew a shuddering breath, and then was gone.
Niccolò rose to his feet inside the house- he had teleported before he fully regained control of his thoughts- and threw two knives at once; one buried itself in the neck of the young Alastair, and the other he drove through the bone of his own skull. Croatoan took a slow breath, closing his eyes, and sank to the floor. He didn't even feel himself sobbing. Finally- finally, it was all over.
An unfamiliar scream sounded over his shoulder. He glanced backwards at an unfamiliar woman who was trembling uncontrollably, and realized a few seconds later that the setting had changed. He wasn't in his library anymore. The revelation tore through what was left of his spirit. He had never been in his library at all.
Two young boys, three and five years old, lay dead where they had been chasing each other around a kitchen table. Then there was nothing. Alastair tucked away the shriveled, blank presence that had once been Niccolò, knowing that from this point forward it would perceive nothing, and feel nothing. It had no fight left. He smirked in content, thinking quietly to himself. You were right. It was, in fact-
A/N: Took place shortly after Alastair gained control from Niccolò, just before Aladra started to form.