Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Apologies for not posting for a week—I've been busy with several things. Here's the latest chapter.

As an apology for the delay (and for missing last week's Powerstone goal), I'll be posting the next chapter as well and will post again on the weekend.

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Klaus vs Stefan

As Stefan lunged at Klaus, his fangs bared, the Hybrid barely moved—effortlessly sidestepping the attack. In a blur, Klaus slammed a sharp jab into Stefan's liver, his fingers digging in cruelly before wrenching his hand free and callously tossing him aside.

Stefan, carried by his own momentum, crashed to the ground, gasping as pain flared through his body. His fingers clawed at the dirt, his breath ragged, but he refused to stay down.

Klaus tilted his head, watching him struggle with something akin to mild amusement. "You know, Stefan," he mused, stepping forward leisurely, "I could have killed you easily—many times, in fact. You've tested my patience more than most. But I didn't. Do you know why?"

Stefan forced himself up to his knees, glaring, his jaw clenched.

Klaus smirked. "Because your Ripper self, as you like to call it, was something I hadn't had in a long time—a friend. A companion. Someone I treated as a brother." His voice softened for a moment, almost nostalgic, before his expression hardened once more.

"Even when you and Rebekah… fraternized," Klaus continued, his lips curling slightly in distaste, "I gave my permission. And you should be joyous—because that kind of permission hasn't been granted to anyone in the past millennia."

Stefan staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. His eyes burned with anger, but there was something else beneath it—confusion, maybe even doubt.

Klaus sighed, shaking his head. "When our father hunted us down in Chicago, I made sure you couldn't be harmed. I erased your memories to keep you safe. And yet, ever since I set foot in this town, you've been nothing but pathetic—preaching about the doppelgänger and her virtues, acting as though you're somehow better than me."

His expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You detest me? You, who can't even understand yourself, dare to lecture me about my issues?"

Stefan let out a ragged breath, his fingers curling into fists. Klaus only smirked.

"But I let it go," Klaus admitted, feigning a wistful sigh. "Because I thought—deep down—my friend was still in there. I kept giving you mercy, Stefan." His smirk faded, his eyes turning cold. "But it seems you won't understand until I show you my cruelty."

In a blink, Klaus was in front of him, his hand closing around Stefan's throat. He lifted him off the ground effortlessly, watching as Stefan clawed at his grip, struggling for breath.

"You even dared to kidnap my family," Klaus hissed, his features shifting, his fangs elongating. "And yet, you still breathe—a testament to my friendship." His grip tightened before he finally released Stefan, letting him collapse to his knees, coughing violently.

Klaus crouched beside him, his voice eerily calm. "Because when I give my loyalty, I don't take it back. And when I receive loyalty, I expect it to be upheld." His gaze bore into Stefan's, his next words a chilling warning.

"You failed on both counts."

Stefan looked up, eyes blazing with defiance, but Klaus merely shook his head, almost disappointed.

"For the sake of what we once had… stay down. Otherwise, this will be the last time you ever get up."

Rebekah vs Damon

Damon smirked as he circled Rebekah, cocky as ever despite the tension crackling in the air. "You sure you want to do this, Barbie?" he taunted, rolling his shoulders. "I mean, considering how often you Originals get your asses handed to you, I'd hate to ruin your hair again."

Rebekah's eyes darkened, her lips curling in disdain. "You talk too much."

Before he could register the movement, she was in front of him, her fist driving into his ribs like a sledgehammer. The impact sent him flying, his body shattering through a wooden table before crashing onto the ground in a heap.

Damon groaned, coughing up blood, but before he could push himself up, Rebekah was already there. Her boot came down on his chest, pinning him in place.

"Not so funny now, is it?" she sneered.

Damon gritted his teeth, grabbing her ankle and twisting, yanking her off balance. She stumbled back just enough for him to roll away and scramble to his feet. He wiped the blood from his lips, giving her a cocky grin despite the pain lancing through his ribs. "Oh, please—was that supposed to hurt?"

Rebekah tilted her head, her expression eerily calm. "No." Then she blurred forward and really made it hurt.

Her hand shot out, grabbing Damon by the throat before slamming him into a stone pillar with such force that cracks spiderwebbed through it. He let out a choked gasp, hands clawing at her wrist, but she only smirked before gripping his jacket and throwing him like a ragdoll.

Damon barely had time to register the movement before his back crashed through another piece of furniture. He hit the ground hard, coughing violently.

Rebekah stalked toward him, slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. "You arrogant little worm," she spat. "You think you can stand against me? Against my family?"

Damon groaned but forced himself up, swaying slightly as he wiped at the blood trickling from his forehead. "Well, considering how many times we've daggered Klaus, I'd say we're doing pretty well."

Wrong move.

Rebekah's face twisted with fury, and in the next instant, she drove her fist into his gut. Damon's breath left him in a strangled wheeze, his body doubling over in agony—only for Rebekah to grab him by the hair and slam his face into the nearest wall. Blood splattered across the surface.

Before he could even fall, she spun him around and delivered a brutal backhand across his face. His head snapped to the side, his vision swimming, but she wasn't done.

She drove her knee into his stomach, then elbowed the back of his skull, sending him crashing to the ground.

Damon gasped, spitting out blood as he tried to crawl away, his body screaming in protest. But Rebekah wasn't feeling merciful. She grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up again. His legs barely held him.

She leaned in close, her voice a cold whisper against his ear. "Do you know the difference between us, Damon?"

He groaned, barely able to lift his head. "Your... terrible... taste in men?" he wheezed.

She smiled—and then, without hesitation, she plunged her fist through his abdomen.

Damon's entire body convulsed, a strangled cry escaping his lips as she twisted her hand inside him. Blood bubbled up in his throat. His knees buckled.

Rebekah yanked her hand free, letting him collapse to the floor in a bloody heap. "The difference," she said coldly, wiping his blood off her fingers, "is that I don't pretend to be something I'm not. And you?" She nudged his barely-moving body with her foot. "You're nothing but a parasite who leeches off others and calls it charm."

Damon barely managed to glare up at her, his breathing ragged, his face bloodied and bruised. "Yeah... well... screw you, too."

Rebekah scoffed. "Not even if you were the last man on Earth."

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Damon broken, bleeding, and barely conscious on the cold floor.

As she stepped over his twitching form, her heels clicking against the ruined floorboards, she surveyed the carnage with mild disinterest. She hadn't even tried, and yet here he was, broken beyond repair.

And still, he and his wretched brother kept pushing.

She sighed, brushing dust from her dress.

For a thousand years, she had been forced to be cautious. For a thousand years, Mikael had hunted them, made them run, made them hide like frightened animals while he cut down anyone who stood with them.

But Mikael was dead now.

Their chains had been broken. There was no more reason to fear, no more reason to restrain themselves.

Yet here they were, indulging Klaus's whims—letting Stefan live, sparing the doppelgänger, humoring Elijah's obsession with honor.

And why?

Because she had been bored.

There was no longer a threat to her family. No Mikael, no hunters powerful enough to challenge them, no rival force to keep them in check. She had let Klaus and Elijah play their games because, for once, they could.

She let them toy with Stefan's fate. Let them keep the doppelgänger alive. Let them indulge in their little fantasies of friendship and redemption and second chances.

But now?

She looked down at Damon's barely-breathing form, her lip curling.

These brothers, these insects, kept poking at a sleeping lion and calling themselves brave. They whispered against her family, schemed in dark corners, tried to turn others against them.

They forgot what she was.

What her family was.

Rebekah exhaled slowly, her fingers twitching at her side. The urge to finish Damon off was strong. So strong.

But no.

Not yet.

Let him live in agony a little longer. Let him feel this humiliation, this helplessness. Let him see what happens when they poke at a power beyond their comprehension.

Next time, she wouldn't stop.

And neither would Klaus.

Kol vs Bonnie

After neutralizing spells that would incinerate me, spells that conjured acid, and curses that made my blood boil as if I were exposed to sunlight, I found myself entertained. This battle was a rarity—perhaps even the battle of a lifetime.

Nearly a thousand years, and still, magic held its thrill. In my past life, it had been nothing more than myth—whispered about, maybe hidden in plain sight, but never something I could touch. Never something I could wield.

But now?

I was controlled chaos.

Fighting with magic again after so long, feeling it course through me, unraveling its mysteries with every counter, every sigil burned into the air—it was exhilarating.

Bonnie was beginning to wane. Her reserves were running low, or perhaps she had overextended herself, burning out her channels. I could feel it, sense the way the Other Side stirred with interest. The witches of that forsaken limbo were already watching, judging, debating if they should interfere.

Let them try.

If they did, I would make the Other Side a prison—a true hell. Even if it required untold sacrifices, I would ensure that meddling came at a cost.

Bonnie kneeled before me, exhaustion written into every fiber of her being. Her green eyes, sharp and unyielding, stared up at me with defiance even as her body trembled.

Behind her, Caroline murmured a soft, desperate, "Please, no." Over and over, pleading for mercy that was undeserved.

I tilted my head, amused. "I am not Klaus, girl." My voice was calm, almost lazy. "She was given her chances, yet she keeps coming after us. Even when we left her and her little gang alone. Even when we didn't interfere with those doppelgänger mutts she calls friends."

I stepped closer, towering over Bonnie as she struggled to stay upright.

"So, Bonnie Bennett, any last words for your friends?" I smirked. "Know this—you die today. A pity, really. It seems I will be the one to end the main Bennett line. And to think, you come from the same bloodline as one of my mentors."

My tone softened into mock sympathy.

"Pray to your ancestors, girl. Pray they do not leave you stranded in the prison that is the Other Side. Perhaps, if you're lucky, you'll pass on to whatever comes next."

I lifted a hand, sigils flaring to life along my fingers, magic thrumming in the air—

Then Bonnie's eyes rolled back, and a surge of energy rippled through the room.

I paused, curiosity piqued.

The spiritual pressure thickened, magic crackling like a live wire. The air became heavy, humming with power beyond Bonnie's own.

A smirk curled at my lips.

"My, my. It seems a celebrity of the witch community has decided to grace us with her presence."

A presence older than Bonnie. A presence that dripped with ancient wrath and relentless purpose.

Qetsiyah.

"Nikola Mikaelson."

Her voice rang out like a bell, smooth and absolute.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Kol Mikaelson, darling," I corrected with a lazy grin.

She ignored me, stepping forward, the atmosphere freezing in response. The spirits on the Other Side stirred with whispers, their energy pressing against the veil between realms.

Kol Mikaelson, the immortal warlock," she said, her dark eyes narrowing. "You still owe favors to the Bennett line."

I tsked. "Ah, but Qetsiyah, those debts should be nullified. This is the third time your descendant has acted against me. The rule is simple—three strikes, and you're out."

I chuckled, watching as her expression darkened. "Do you think I turned Abby instead of this little witch on a whim? I thought she would help her bloodline thrive for the next five centuries. Maybe even reach your level. But instead, Bonnie has done nothing but attack me and my family. And I do not take kindly to that."

Qetsiyah regarded me in silence, calculating. Then, she spoke.

"Very well. I will bind an oath with her blood—she will owe you a favor, as long as she is willing."

Bonnie let out a weak, ragged breath.

I lifted a brow. "No, my lady. Three favors."

Qetsiyah's expression turned to stone. "Two. And she will be safe. You will also swear an oath that you will not harm her."

I chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Obviously agreed, dear Qetsiyah."

A Bennett witch in my pocket—how delightful. Who knew what I could use her for? The Bennett witches had a nasty habit of locking away the worst creatures the world had seen, binding monsters of Silas' caliber with blood and magic. Their lineage held secrets buried deep, too dangerous for most to wield. It was better to have leverage over them than to risk facing their wrath unchecked.

And Qetsiyah—well, she was already dangerous. The woman who created the first immortality ritual had counters for everything. She had crafted a cure when she was still alive. Who knew what other tricks she had up her sleeve?

Better not to make her my enemy.

The blood oath was sealed, and as Bonnie collapsed into unconsciousness, a gasp echoed from somewhere behind me and I hoped I was wrong well it seems fate seems adamant on plying with me.

I turned slowly, an amused smirk curling my lips.

"Well," I sighed, stretching my fingers. "Here we go again."

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Word Count : 2945

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