A Young Vampires Journey

by mwimer

Summary:

5 years before the Vampires revealed themselves to the world, Sookie finds herself having an encounter with an Original Vampire and becoming a Vampire herself. Not going to be Bill Friendly

Notes:

This is an idea I had one day at work, let me know if you like the idea and I'll continue it. Here's the First Chapter, the secound one will jump to the time of the first episode of True Blood I own nothing.

I'm sorry that I have to place this Note here on my stories, but here we are. If you are an Artist looking to commission work, I'm not Interested. Do not message me or leave a comment asking me about commissioning artwork for any of my stories.

Chapter 1: The Roadside Encounter

Summary:

Rebekah encounters a crash on the side of the road

Notes:

I own nothing but the ideas in my head.

The sun was beginning to set over the quiet stretch of highway, casting long shadows as Rebekah Mikaelson drove away from New Orleans, her heart heavy with the knowledge that leaving her city—her home—was necessary for Hope’s safety. The baby was sleeping peacefully in the backseat of the car, the soft sound of her breath the only thing keeping Rebekah grounded as she drove down the empty road.

 

But then, something caught her eye.

 

A dark, twisted shape just off the side of the road. At first, she thought it was just another accident, but as she drew closer, her sharp vampire senses took over. She slowed the car, her eyes scanning the wreckage. A small, battered car had slammed into a tree. The twisted metal and shattered glass glinted faintly in the dying light, but it was the body slumped over the wheel that caught her attention.

 

She stopped the car with a screech of tires and immediately stepped out, her heart pounding in her chest. Without hesitation, she moved toward the wreckage, her vampire speed allowing her to reach the car in an instant. She knelt beside the wreck, her fingers gently brushing the blonde hair of the girl, no older than 18 or 20. She was pale, her breath shallow and labored, her body broken and bloodied from the impact.

 

Rebekah’s heart clenched. This girl, whoever she was, was moments from death.

 

Without a second thought, Rebekah bit into her wrist, her blood flowing freely. The sight of it made her feel almost nauseous, but she ignored it. She needed to act fast.

 

Bringing her wrist to the girl’s lips, she whispered softly, "This is all I can do for you."

 

The girl’s body twitched briefly as the blood entered her veins, but then… nothing. Her heart didn’t beat faster, her color didn’t return. There was no sign that the blood had healed her wounds, no sign that she’d even been revived.

 

Rebekah’s pulse raced, panic starting to rise in her chest. She couldn’t lose another innocent. Not like this. Not after everything. The girl’s breathing stopped, and Rebekah felt a pang of guilt shoot through her.

 

Tears of frustration burned in her eyes as she carefully cradled the girl’s body in her arms. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

 

Without further hesitation, Rebekah moved swiftly, lifting the girl’s body from the wreckage and placing her gently into the back of her car. She couldn’t just leave her here.

 

She drove the girl to Shreveport, her thoughts spiraling. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this girl than she could comprehend. As the night deepened, Rebekah checked the rearview mirror again, making sure Hope was still asleep. But her thoughts kept drifting back to the girl who had just died in her arms.

 

At the hotel in Shreveport, Rebekah carried the girl into her room, placing her delicately on the bed. She sat beside her, waiting. The girl was dead, yes, but for some reason, Rebekah couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of her story.

 

And maybe, just maybe, there was more to this girl than just an accident. Maybe, just maybe, Rebekah had found something—or someone—she couldn’t leave behind.

The hotel room in Shreveport was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to block out the world. It was one of the few places Rebekah had come to rely on for her quiet moments of solitude. She had Hope to think about, but this girl—this stranger—was something she couldn't ignore.

 

She placed the girl carefully on the bed, her hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary on the soft fabric. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to bring her here, to wait with her like this. But after everything she’d seen, everything she’d been through, there was something in her that just needed to help—whether it was a lingering trace of humanity or simply an impulse to save someone who was broken like she had once been.

 

Rebekah set her jaw and moved to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room, pulling out a blood bag she had stashed there. She hadn’t had to deal with a transition in ages. Not since she’d been forced to turn her first human centuries ago, and it had always been a messy process. But this time, she felt a certain level of certainty as she carefully heated the bag in a microwave.

 

Her eyes never left the girl, whose pale form still lay motionless on the bed. Rebekah couldn't decide whether she should hope the girl would wake up or dread what would happen if she did. If the girl woke, there was a chance—no, a certainty—that she would transition into something entirely different.

 

Was that something this girl would even want?

 

Rebekah set the blood bag down on the nightstand and pulled a chair closer to the bed, sitting beside her new, unexpected guest. She gently brushed the girl's blonde hair away from her face, eyes narrowing as she studied her. Who are you? she thought, her mind racing with a million questions. Her fingers lingered near the girl's neck, a sudden flash of hunger rising in her chest as she remembered the sensation of blood—of life—coursing through another's veins.

 

She shook her head, banishing the thought. There was no time for self-indulgence right now. She needed to be careful. She couldn’t afford to mess this up.

 

Rebekah reached for the blood bag again, squeezing it gently to check the warmth. The contents were just the right temperature. She uncapped it, the rich smell of blood filling the air, and placed the bag beside the girl’s mouth. Her fingers hovered over the girl's lips, watching intently for any sign that she was aware of her presence.

 

For a moment, there was nothing—no movement, no change. The girl was dead, still and cold, her pulse having long since stilled.

 

Rebekah let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in the chair, rubbing her temples. The girl’s death still weighed on her. She could still hear the faint echo of the crash in her mind, the way the girl's breath had sounded as her heart stopped. She couldn't save her, not in time. But perhaps…

 

Perhaps the transition could save her now.

 

But what if it didn't? What if the girl rejected it, as so many humans had done in the past? What if she ended up an empty shell, lost and alone, like Rebekah herself had been for so long?

 

With a soft sigh, Rebekah reached over and touched the girl’s wrist, her cool fingers pressing lightly against her skin. It was still soft, still warm enough to feel human.

 

Then, she saw it.

 

A twitch.

 

The girl’s hand moved ever so slightly, and Rebekah froze. Her heart leapt in her chest. She could feel the slight flutter of breath, and in that moment, everything inside her shifted. The girl wasn’t dead. She wasn’t gone. She was still here.

 

The girl’s eyes fluttered open, and Rebekah leaned forward, instinctively prepared to act, her hand ready to lift the blood bag to her lips.

 

The girl’s gaze was blurry at first, unfocused, as though she was struggling to pull herself from the haze. Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping them as she weakly attempted to speak. Her voice was faint, barely audible. “W-where...?”

 

Rebekah’s expression softened. “You’re safe now,” she said quietly. “You were in an accident. I found you.”

 

The girl’s eyes shifted, and she blinked at Rebekah. Then, slowly, her gaze dropped to the blood bag in Rebekah’s hands. Her nostrils flared slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in her eyes.

 

“Are... you...?”

 

Rebekah smiled faintly. “I am, yes. And if you want to live, I can help you. You just have to drink.”

 

There was no turning back now. If the girl drank, she would transition. If she didn’t... well, then she’d die. Rebekah hated that there were no other options, no perfect solution. But this was the reality.

 

The girl hesitated, her gaze flicking between Rebekah and the blood bag. Rebekah held her breath, waiting for the girl’s decision. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath along with them.

 

Finally, the girl reached for the blood bag, her hand trembling.

 

Rebekah exhaled softly in relief. She chose life.

The air in the hotel room was thick with the scent of blood as Sookie Stackhouse drank deeply from the blood bag Rebekah had offered her. Each swallow seemed to revive her, but there was still a haze in her eyes, her movements sluggish and unsteady. She had been through a traumatic ordeal, and Rebekah knew that the transition was never easy.

 

Sookie looked down at the blood bag in her hands, her brow furrowing as she continued to drink. There was something foreign about the taste, something metallic and unfamiliar, but it felt... necessary. Like a part of her needed it to survive.

 

When she finished, she slowly lowered the bag, her fingers trembling. The world around her seemed sharper, the edges of her vision clearer. She could hear every creak of the hotel’s floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator, even the faint rush of traffic outside. It was overwhelming.

 

She blinked, trying to shake off the disorientation. "What just happened?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, still processing everything that had just transpired. "I—I was... dead, wasn’t I?"

 

Rebekah sat across from her, her expression unreadable. She had seen this many times before—humans who had been turned against their will, forced into a new existence that they didn’t ask for. But Sookie was different. There was no fear in her eyes, just confusion and curiosity. Rebekah could respect that.

 

“You were dying,” Rebekah said softly, her tone calm and controlled. “I found you, and I did what I had to do to save you.”

 

Sookie frowned, her mind trying to grasp the reality of her situation. "But... I was just... driving. How did I end up here?"

 

Rebekah’s gaze softened as she recalled the moment she found Sookie—unconscious and bleeding, half-dead by the side of the road. She hadn’t planned to save anyone that night. But something about the girl’s vulnerability had struck a chord with her.

 

“Your car was off the road,” Rebekah explained. “You were badly injured. I could feel you slipping away. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

 

Sookie’s eyes narrowed as she took in the information, still struggling to make sense of it. “So... you’re saying I’m... alive?”

 

Rebekah nodded. “Yes. But not in the way you were. You’ve... changed.”

 

Sookie glanced down at her hands, as if searching for some sign of the change she hadn’t yet fully understood. Her heartbeat felt odd, as though it was slower than it should be, but still there—deep inside her chest. The world around her felt strange, as though the very air had shifted.

 

“And... what does that mean?” Sookie asked, her voice wavering.

 

Rebekah paused, choosing her words carefully. “It means you’ve... transitioned. You’re a vampire now.”

 

Sookie’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening in disbelief. “A vampire? That’s... That’s not possible. Vampires aren’t real.”

 

Rebekah’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it was laced with a certain sadness. “They are. But up until now, you’ve been fortunate enough to never have to encounter them.”

 

Sookie shook her head, trying to make sense of what Rebekah was saying. “Wait, no... That can’t be right. I... I’ve never met a vampire. No one’s ever—”

 

“You have now,” Rebekah interrupted gently. “And if you want to live, you’ll have to accept this. Accept what you’ve become.”

 

Sookie sat back against the bed, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure what was real anymore. She had no idea what kind of life awaited her, and the reality of it was settling in slowly, like a heavy weight on her chest.

 

"But why me?" Sookie asked quietly, her voice filled with more confusion than fear. “Why would you save me?”

 

Rebekah hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something soft crossing her features. She was no stranger to loss, to regret. She had made mistakes—lots of them—but something in her couldn’t bear to let Sookie die, even if it meant dragging her into this dark new world.

 

"I don’t know," Rebekah replied honestly. "Maybe I just saw someone who deserved a chance to live. I don’t often get that feeling anymore." She paused, then added, “And maybe I just couldn’t leave you there. Alone.”

 

Sookie studied her, eyes narrowing with a mixture of skepticism and gratitude. "And what happens now? Do I... do I have to do... vampire stuff?" The words came out awkwardly, as though she was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept.

 

Rebekah couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “You’ll learn. Slowly, but surely.”

 

The room fell silent for a long moment as Sookie processed the enormity of what was happening. The girl had no prior knowledge of the supernatural world. She didn’t know what being a vampire would mean for her life, and she certainly didn’t know what it would mean for her future. There were so many questions, and Rebekah had very few answers.

 

Sookie’s voice broke through the quiet. “I don’t even know what to do. What do I... what do I become now?”

 

Rebekah’s expression softened, and she stood from the chair, walking over to the window to look out into the night. “You become whatever you choose to be. You have control of that. But if you don’t feed... if you don’t complete the transition, you’ll die.”

 

Sookie swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. “And if I do... complete the transition?” Her voice was tentative, as though the thought of fully giving in terrified her.

 

“If you feed, you become a vampire,” Rebekah explained, her tone gentle. “You’ll be stronger, faster... more than you were. And you’ll have to make choices—difficult choices.”

 

Sookie sat there, processing it all. The girl from Bon Temps—who had never known about the supernatural world—now found herself in the middle of a reality she couldn’t comprehend.

 

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Sookie said, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

 

“No,” Rebekah replied quietly. “But I’ll be here to help you. You don’t have to face this alone.”

 

Sookie nodded, her gaze drifting out of the window, her thoughts swirling. “Bon Temps... it’s never gonna be the same, is it?”

 

Rebekah shook her head. “No. But you’ll find your way. One step at a time.”

 

And so, the girl who had never known the darkness was now bound to it, standing on the edge of a new life—one that would come with pain, sacrifice, and perhaps even some unexpected discoveries.

 

Notes:

Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 2: Reflections and a return to Bon Temps

Summary:

A return to Bon Temps after 5 years away

Notes:

I own nothing. this chapter time jumps 5 years, I won't have anymore time jumps at least on the plan for now, but I wanted to line up the story with the True Blood season 1 time line, I won't be sticking to the story as a whole, I will update this story once a week on the weekends, so it's extra special that you get a second chapter this quickly.
Sofia (Guest) Thank you for your comment, yeah I thought it would be interesting to explore a world where both the Vampire of True Blood and Vampire Diaries coexist, and I thought what is Sookie was a Vampire from the Mikaelson Line.

Here's Chapter 2 enjoy.

Sookie stood in front of her vanity, fingers sliding through her blonde hair as she stared at her reflection. The past five years had changed everything. She was no longer the shy, small-town girl who could hear people’s thoughts. No—now she was something else entirely. A creature of the night.

A vampire.

And not just any vampire—she was of the Mikaelson bloodline, created by dark witch magic over a thousand years ago.

 

She adjusted the lapis lazuli ring on her finger, a gift from Rebekah. The daylight ring. Witch-made, rare, and powerful. It let her walk under the sun like she was still human. Not all vampires were so lucky.

 

Her mind wandered as she compared herself to the older vampire species—the first, ancient line that had walked the earth for more than six thousand years. No one truly knew whether witches or gods had brought them into existence. These were the vampires of the old world. Their bloodlines stretched endlessly through the centuries, and though they were powerful, they bore ancient weaknesses. They slept during the day, truly dead until nightfall, and silver was poison to them.

 

The Older Vampires

Sookie often wondered what it must be like for them—to miss the sun, to hide from the world, trapped in shadows until night returned. It was a curse she didn’t share. And while their power was raw and primal, it wasn’t as adaptable. They couldn't just whip up a daylight ring and go grocery shopping. Their magic, if you could call it that, was tied to natural forces, passed down through blood and legacy.

 

Their history was steeped in tragedy and survival, long before Rebekah’s family ever existed. No one knew their true origin. Some whispered about ancient, god-like beings whose blood birthed them. But whatever the truth, Sookie knew this: they resented her kind.

 

The Mikaelson Vampires

Sookie belonged to the newer breed—the Originals' bloodline. Rebekah, her sire, had ensured she’d never fear the sun, and the witch who crafted her ring had given her the freedom of day.

 

The spell that created the Mikaelsons had called upon dark, forbidden magic. Esther, their mother, used the blood of the doppelgänger, the power of the sun, and the eternal strength of the White Oak Tree to make her children immortal. When they awoke, Mikael had forced them to drink human blood, completing their transformation and birthing the Original vampires—and eventually, all vampires.

 

But nature had struck back.

The same sun that gave them life could now burn them. They needed to be invited into homes. Vervain, which grew at the base of the White Oak Tree, could burn them and block their mind control. The tree itself—the source of their immortality—could also destroy them. And the hunger? The bloodlust? It was eternal.

 

Average vampires, like Sookie, could be killed with any wood through the heart. But she was not average.

 

Not anymore.

 

She had learned, a few years ago, that she wasn’t just vampire. She was part fae. A hybrid, like Niklaus. Though she didn’t fully understand what that meant yet, it made her stronger than most. And being turned by Rebekah, an Original, meant the blood in her veins was closer to the source. She could do things other young vampires couldn’t—she was faster, stronger, and her powers kept growing.

 

Now, she lived in an apartment building in Shreveport, one owned by Elijah Mikaelson, so she didn’t pay rent. She was close to the whole family. Hope—Klaus's daughter—called her “Big Sis.”

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of her phone. She picked it up.

 

“Jason was what now?” she said, already moving. “I’m on my way, Gran.”

She didn’t even stop to change clothes. With one last glance at herself in the mirror, Sookie grabbed her leather jacket, slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, and headed out the door. The moment she stepped outside, the sun kissed her skin—warm, golden. A reminder of the magic she wore on her finger. A reminder of what she was... and what she wasn’t anymore.

 

The 1965 Chevy Camaro sat parked just outside the building, sleek and gleaming like a predator waiting to pounce. Midnight black, with deep red leather seats and an engine that roared like thunder. It had been a gift from Niklaus last year—her birthday present, and more than that, a thank-you for all she’d done for Hope.

 

“You’ve been family to my daughter when she needed it most, love,” he’d told her, handing over the keys with a rare smile. “I don’t forget things like that.”

 

The car was powerful—just like her. It purred to life with the turn of a key, the rumble vibrating through her chest. She peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing, heading toward the one place she thought she’d never go back to.

 

Bon Temps.

 

It had been five years since she’d left that sleepy little town behind. Since she’d left behind Gran’s old house, Merlotte’s, the gossip, the judgmental stares. The voices. But now, her brother was in trouble, and no matter what had changed about her, some things hadn’t.

 

Jason Stackhouse was family. And family meant everything.

 

She drove fast, windows down, wind in her hair, the Camaro devouring miles like a beast unchained. As the pine-lined roads grew more familiar, unease settled in her gut. Something wasn’t right. Jason being arrested for murder? That was bad enough. But there was something else. She could feel it, like electricity on her skin. A wrongness humming in the air.

 

She didn’t know it yet, but this visit home would unravel everything.

 

The girl Jason was accused of killing hadn’t just been murdered.

 

She’d been drained.

 

And her death would be the first thread in a web of secrets tied to the older vampire species—the ones Sookie had only heard whispered about. The ones who didn’t wear daylight rings. The ones who didn’t need to be invited in.

 

And some of them?

They were already watching her.

The familiar sign that read Welcome to Bon Temps came into view, faded and weather-worn. Sookie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as the Camaro slowed to a more measured pace. The air here was thick with humidity, and memories. It was like driving into a ghost town made of her past.

 

As the road stretched on, her thoughts wandered—drifting back two years, to the moment everything changed.

 

That was when they came out of the shadows. The Older Vampire species. The ones ancient enough to remember empires falling. The ones whose eyes held the weight of millennia. They revealed themselves to the world with icy calm and terrifying poise, walking into television studios, political chambers, and prime-time news with one simple truth:

 

“We’ve been here longer than you.”

 

Humans lost their minds. Panic swept across the globe. Religious fanatics declared it the end times. Scientists scrambled to study them. And governments—predictably—tried to control them.

 

That was when Tru Blood hit the market. A synthetic blood alternative, rushed into production to calm the masses. To give the illusion that vampires could “coexist” peacefully with humans. That they didn’t need to hunt anymore.

 

Sookie scoffed under her breath.

 

Tru Blood was fine for the older species. Barely. But for vampires of the Mikaelson line—her kind—it was worse than useless. Thin, watery, metallic. It didn’t feed her. Didn’t soothe the hunger. It tasted like licking a rusted coin. She’d tried it once just to be polite. Never again.

 

The world believed that all vampires were the same. That they all sipped Tru Blood from chilled bottles and played nice with humans under the fluorescent lights of nightclubs and interviews.

 

But her kind? The ones born from dark magic and twisted ritual? They couldn’t survive on that synthetic garbage even if they wanted to.

 

Worse, the revelation of the older species had made it harder to stay hidden. Before, the Mikaelson vampires had the luxury of being myth within myth. Ghost stories whispered among the shadows. But now? With the world alert and suspicious, cameras on every corner, and blood tests to weed out the undead from the living—it was only a matter of time before the real monsters were discovered.

 

Sookie had managed to keep her head down. Rebekah had helped cover their trail. Elijah pulled strings where needed. And Klaus… well, when Klaus threatened a senator, things usually got sorted real fast.

 

Still, the shadows were thinner now. The balance had shifted. The game had changed.

 

And if Jason really wasn’t guilty, Sookie had a feeling this wasn’t just a murder case.

 

This was the beginning of something bigger.

 

She pulled into the parking lot of the Bon Temps Sheriff’s Department, the Camaro’s engine growling to a stop.

 

Time to find out what kind of storm she’d just driven into.

The bell above the door jingled as Sookie stepped into the Bon Temps Sheriff's Office, the cool air inside a sharp contrast to the humid Louisiana heat outside. It smelled like stale coffee, cheap cologne, and stress—just like she remembered.

 

Andy Bellefleur looked up from behind the desk, eyes narrowing the second he saw her.

 

“Well, well,” he grumbled, pushing up from his seat. “If it ain’t the prodigal Stackhouse back from the dead. Literally.”

 

Sookie gave him a tight-lipped smile, walking toward the counter like she owned the place. “Hello to you too, Andy. Where’s my brother?”

 

Andy crossed his arms, puffing out his chest like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “In holding. He’s a suspect in a murder case, Sookie. Girl was found in the woods, drained of blood.”

 

Her expression didn’t change, but her jaw clenched. “And you arrested Jason because what, he was nearby? Or was it just easier than doing real detective work?”

 

Andy’s nostrils flared. “I know your brother, alright? He’s got a record longer than my arm. Bar fights, indecent exposure, sleeping with half the town—including a married councilwoman. He’s a walking headline, Sook. And where trouble goes, Jason Stackhouse follows.”

 

Sookie leaned in slightly, letting her eyes meet his. Her tone dropped, smooth as silk and colder than ice. “Except you don’t have any actual evidence, do you? You’re just mad he embarrassed you at Missy Cleary’s wedding when you found him in the coat closet with your cousin’s girlfriend.”

 

Andy flinched. His heartbeat kicked up—she heard it, sharp and uneven.

 

“You can’t hold him, Andy,” she said softly, almost kindly. “You know it. No prints, no DNA, no witnesses. Just your bruised ego and some backwoods gossip.”

 

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she stepped closer. Her voice dropped again, her pupils dilating slightly—just enough to make the compulsion slide in like a velvet rope.

 

“You’re going to release Jason into my custody,” she said gently. “Because you know he didn’t do it. And you’ve got better things to do than chase ghosts and vendettas.”

 

Andy blinked. His breath slowed. “I… I should release Jason into your custody.”

 

“That’s right,” Sookie murmured. “You’re gonna forget this nonsense ever happened. And you’re gonna tell anyone who asks that the Stackhouse boy was cleared and released due to lack of evidence.”

 

A long pause. Then Andy nodded, dazed.

 

“I’ll get the paperwork.”

 

Sookie leaned back, letting the glamour fade, her expression unreadable.

 

That’s one problem down, she thought. Now to find out who’s trying to set my brother up.

 

And more importantly… why.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Questions, Comments and Kudos are all welcome. I'll see you all back here next weekend.

Chapter 3: Trouble Brewing at Merlotte’s

Summary:

Sookie and Jason have a sit-down and trouble brews

Notes:

I own nothing. You all are lucky today, as I already have chapter 3 ready for you.
Bibliophile79, you are going to get some Bad ass Sookie in this Chapter, hope you like her.

Here's Chapter 3 Enjoy!

The familiar neon glow of Merlotte’s Bar and Grill flickered in the evening light, casting soft yellow hues across the gravel parking lot. Sookie pulled her ‘65 Chevy Camaro—Niklaus’ birthday gift—into her usual spot near the back. The rumble of the engine died, and she glanced at her brother sitting in the passenger seat.

 

Jason was unusually quiet.

 

“You gonna talk now?” she asked, cutting the engine.

 

Jason glanced at her, lips tight. “You know, I really hate it when you mess with people’s heads.”

 

Sookie raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way. You’d still be behind bars if I hadn’t.”

 

“I know,” he muttered. “I just don’t like it. Makes me feel like I owe you.”

 

“You do owe me,” she said with a wry smile. “Now come on. We need to figure this out.”

 

Inside, Merlotte’s was exactly the same as it had always been—dim lights, sticky floors, and the faint smell of beer and fried everything. A few regulars nodded as she walked by, though more than a few eyes lingered longer than she liked. She was used to stares, even more so since she came back… changed.

 

They settled into a booth in the corner. Arlene shot them a look from behind the bar but said nothing. Sam wasn’t around, thankfully. Sookie didn’t feel like fielding questions from her ex-boss about why she hadn’t aged a day in five years.

 

“So,” she began, fingers tapping on the table. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on? Who was the girl?”

 

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I don’t know much. Her name was Caitlin. She was new in town. Pretty, quiet. I might’ve… talked to her once or twice.”

 

Sookie gave him a look. “Jason.”

 

“Okay, okay, we hooked up once! But that was it. I swear. She was weird, though. Said she came to Bon Temps looking for someone. Kept asking questions about the woods, the old cemetery. Thought she was just into ghost stories or something.”

 

Sookie frowned. “Or maybe she was looking for someone specific.”

 

Jason leaned forward, lowering his voice. “That ain’t even the weirdest part. You know that old house across from Gran’s? The Compton place?”

 

Sookie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Been empty for decades.”

 

“Not anymore. Some guy moved in a couple weeks ago. Name’s Bill Compton. Said he’s ‘returning to his family home’ or some old-timey crap like that. Whole town’s been talking about him.”

 

“Bill Compton?” Sookie repeated, the name tasting strange on her tongue.

 

Jason nodded. “Said he’s a vampire. One of the old ones. Like, real old. Fought in the Civil War or something.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Wait—he told people he’s a vampire? Just like that?”

 

Jason gave her a pointed look. “Sook, you’ve been gone a while. Things are different now. Ever since the older vamps came outta hiding and Tru Blood hit the shelves, people are… I dunno, kinda used to the idea. Some are even excited about it.”

 

“Tru Blood doesn’t do anything for our kind,” Sookie muttered. “Tastes like carbonated cough syrup and does nothing to take the edge off. Might as well drink mud.”

 

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s enough to keep the press happy and the pitchforks down. But this guy—Compton—he’s not like you. Doesn’t walk around in the daylight. Keeps weird hours. But the way he’s been asking around… I think he’s interested in you.”

 

Sookie stiffened. “He said that?”

 

“No,” Jason admitted. “But he’s asked about you. About Gran. Hell, even asked me if you were still around. Gave me the creeps, if I’m being honest.”

 

Sookie leaned back, her mind turning. A six-thousand-year-old bloodline with a connection to the earth. A girl drained in the woods. And now a mysterious vampire from the old world moving in across from Gran?

 

Coincidence? Not likely.

 

“Alright,” she said finally. “You’re sticking close to me from now on. And we’re paying this Bill Compton a little visit.”

 

Jason blinked. “What? Why me?”

 

“Because you’re the bait,” she said with a smirk. “And because if this guy has answers, I want them.”

Sookie was halfway through her beer when she felt it—the subtle shift in the air, the tingle along the back of her neck that always came with trouble.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Jason, who was too distracted by Arlene’s legs to notice the storm brewing around his sister.

 

She stepped out the back door of Merlotte’s, intending to get a breath of night air, when a sharp crack echoed in her ear. A stun baton struck her side, followed by the acrid smell of burning silver.

 

She didn’t even flinch.

 

“You picked the wrong girl tonight,” she said flatly.

 

A man lunged from the shadows—Mack Rattray. Greasy hair, beer gut, and a permanent sneer plastered across his face. His wife Denise wasn’t far behind, holding a chain of silver like it was holy water, trying to loop it around Sookie’s throat.

 

“Hold her down!” Mack barked. “She’s one of them! We drain her, we get rich! Think what a bottle of Mikaelson blood’ll fetch on the black market!”

 

So that’s what this was. Dealers in V—Vampire Blood. They thought she was like the others. Fragile. Sensitive to silver. Easy prey.

 

They were so, so wrong.

 

Denise barely had time to scream before Sookie's body tensed and her head snapped up, lips curled back in a snarl. Her fangs didn’t just slide out—they snapped down, long and needle-sharp, meant for ripping, not just biting.

 

But it was her eyes that froze them in place.

 

Gone was the soft, warm hazel. In their place blazed two glowing orbs of blood-red fire, pulsing with power. Thick, dark veins spiderwebbed out from beneath her eyes, crawling across her cheekbones and temples like cracks in porcelain. Her face twisted with something ancient—something feral. Her voice, when she spoke, didn’t even sound human.

 

“You really thought silver would work on me?”

 

Denise dropped the chain like it was a venomous snake, stepping backward, her face draining of color. Mack’s hand trembled around the stun baton as he stumbled away.

 

“This isn’t what we—what the others said—” Mack stammered.

 

Sookie's lips twitched into a smile, but there was nothing kind behind it. It was the kind of smile a wolf gives before it rips out your throat.

 

“You were expecting fangs and a pretty face,” she said coldly, advancing. “Something you could handle. Something familiar.”

 

Her voice dropped an octave, low and guttural, as her face darkened with hunger and fury.

 

“I’m not that kind of vampire.”

 

She moved in a blur. One moment, she was feet away. The next, she had Denise pinned to the wall, her hand wrapped around her throat. Her eyes burned like fire, and those veins—those dark, inhuman tendrils—made her look like something from a nightmare. A predator, not a person.

 

Sookie sank her fangs into Denise’s neck without hesitation. Not gently. Not gracefully. It was messy, brutal, punishing. Blood sprayed across her collarbone as Denise shrieked, thrashing weakly against Sookie’s unyielding grip.

 

Mack screamed and ran—tried to, anyway.

 

Sookie tossed Denise aside like a rag doll and turned, stalking after Mack with slow, measured steps. She wasn’t in a hurry. She knew he couldn’t escape.

 

He turned to face her, hands shaking, a small silver blade clutched in his palm like a talisman.

 

“Stay back!” he cried. “You’re not real—you’re not real! You’re not supposed to look like that!”

 

“Oh, I’m real,” Sookie purred, her voice echoing with something not of this world. “I’m just not the bedtime story kind of vampire.”

 

She was on him in an instant. Her hand lashed out, seized his jaw, and yanked him toward her.

 

“Look. At. Me,” she commanded.

 

His eyes locked with hers, and he froze. She could feel his panic, his terror. It was delicious.

 

“Who’s paying you?” she compelled, her voice slipping into his brain like a vice.

 

“Gabe... Gabe Lewis. Shreveport. He buys... Mikaelson blood... black market... it’s worth thousands…”

 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

With one brutal, fluid motion, her hand punched through his chest, and her fingers curled around his heart. His eyes widened, a final gasp escaping his lips—then she ripped it free.

 

The heart thudded once in her blood-slick hand before going still. She let it drop to the ground with a wet smack.

 

Sookie stood still for a moment, chest heaving, red eyes glowing, blood dripping from her chin. She looked like death.

 

She glanced at Denise, who was sobbing quietly in the corner.

 

“You tell anyone what happened here,” Sookie said, her voice back to that eerie calm, “and I’ll come back for you. And I won’t be nice about it.”

 

Denise nodded frantically, her terror thick and choking.

 

Sookie wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, blinked once—and the red eyes faded. The veins receded. Her face returned to its calm, beautiful human facade.

 

She walked back into Merlotte’s like nothing happened, the sounds of the bar welcoming her home.

 

Jason looked up from his beer. “You good?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, sliding into the booth with a small, satisfied smile. “Just needed some fresh air.”

The sun had dipped below the horizon, and with it came the slow shift of energy in Bon Temps. Merlotte’s always buzzed louder after dark—laughter a little rowdier, drinks flowing freer, and the shadows just a little deeper near the corners of the bar.

 

The bell over the front door jingled, and the temperature in the room seemed to dip by a few degrees.

 

Heads turned.

 

He stood in the doorway with the kind of stillness that didn’t belong in a place like this. Not awkward—deliberate. Pale skin, dark hair combed back like he’d just stepped out of another century, and eyes the color of storm clouds locked in the calm before a downpour.

 

Bill Compton.

 

He scanned the room with a gaze that lingered just long enough to unsettle, but not enough to invite confrontation. Slowly, he made his way toward the bar.

 

Sam glanced up from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

 

Bill’s voice was low and smooth—southern charm layered over something colder.

 

“I’ll take a True Blood. O-positive, if you have it.”

 

Sam gave a cautious nod and pulled a bottle from the cooler, sliding it across the bar. The synthetic blood sloshed sluggishly inside the dark glass, its label unmistakable.

 

Bill popped the top with a flick of his thumb and took a slow sip, the corners of his mouth barely twitching.

 

Then—he felt it.

 

A pulse.

 

Something wrong.

 

His eyes shifted, honing in like a predator that just caught the scent of something unexpected. He turned slightly, gaze landing on a booth in the corner.

 

Sookie.

 

He studied her, the bottle forgotten in his hand.

 

She was laughing at something Jason had said, wiping condensation from her glass. There was no trace of blood or violence left on her face, but the hum beneath her skin—that ancient buzz of power—was unmistakable. And it wasn’t just vampire. It wasn’t right.

 

Jason caught Bill’s stare first. His expression shifted from casual to wary in an instant.

 

“Sook,” he said under his breath, “don’t look now, but one of them just clocked you.”

 

Sookie didn’t turn, just swirled her drink and said coolly, “Let him look.”

Bill approached the booth with the air of a man used to drawing attention—but it wasn’t just charm that followed in his wake. It was predatory stillness. Every movement deliberate. Calculated.

 

“Evenin’,” he drawled, resting a hand on the back of the booth, his gaze flickering between Sookie and Jason. “Mind if I join you?”

 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “We were kinda talkin’, man.”

 

Sookie just sipped her drink, not even looking at him. “Doesn’t stop him from invitin’ himself, does it?”

 

Bill slid in beside Jason anyway, his cold eyes settling on her like frost. “You’re different,” he said softly. “I noticed the moment I walked in. There’s something about you… your blood, maybe. Your energy.”

 

Then came the shift.

 

His pupils dilated. His voice dropped low, melodic. Pushing. “Tell me your name.”

 

Sookie smiled.

 

Her eyes glinted gold for just a second—playful, almost—but her voice came out flat. “Don’t do that.”

 

Bill blinked, disoriented. “What?”

 

“That little glamour trick. Doesn’t work on me. Won’t ever work on me.”

 

His face twitched. “That’s not possible.”

 

“Try again if you want. But the only thing you’re gonna get is more confused.”

 

Bill leaned forward now, something darker rising in his expression. “You’re not like us. You’re not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

 

Sookie’s voice dropped low and deadly. “That’s the thing, sweetheart. I’m not your kind of vampire. I’m the other kind, I don’t drink your fake blood, and sure as hell don’t sit around whisperin’ in people’s heads to get what I want.”

 

Bill’s composure snapped. He grabbed her wrist in a flash, whispering too fast for Jason to catch: “You need to come with me—now. Before they find out what you are.”

 

Sookie stood in one smooth, controlled motion, dragging Bill with her by his collar.

 

Jason stood up, alarmed. “Sook—”

 

“I’ve got it,” she said coolly. “Just give me a second.”

 

She shoved Bill through the front door, her grip vice-tight, dragging him into the dark lot beside her Camaro.

 

“You made a mistake,” Bill hissed. “You think you’re safe pretending to be one of us?”

 

Sookie let her eyes shift.

 

Blood-red irises bled into her gaze, veins thick and black crawling up her temples and under her skin, her fangs fully extended as her face twisted into something monstrous. The sight alone made Bill freeze.

 

“You really want to see what I am?”

 

She slammed him against the side of the Camaro, lightning-quick, and before he could react—crack—she snapped his neck.

 

Bill crumpled to the pavement like a rag doll.

 

Sookie didn’t waste a second.

 

She popped the Camaro’s trunk, grabbed the silver chain left behind in the backseat—still sticky from Denise Rattray—and tightly wrapped it around his arms and neck, just enough to keep him down, not kill him. Then she stuffed him in the trunk and slammed it shut.

 

Dusting off her hands, she walked back inside the bar like she’d just taken a smoke break.

 

Jason looked up, wary. “Everything good?”

 

She slapped a few bills on the table for Sam. “Peachy.”

 

Then she looked at her brother and said with quiet finality, “We’re goin’ back to Shreveport. I’ve got a package for the Sheriff.”

 

Jason stared at her. “What kind of package?”

 

Sookie gave him a dry look. “The kind that talks too much and tried to manhandle me.”

 

Jason blinked. “You put a vampire in your trunk?”

 

She smirked. “Damn right I did.”

The Camaro roared down the old highway toward Shreveport, the night air thick with tension and the lingering copper scent of spilled blood. Jason kept throwing glances at the trunk like it might grow legs and walk off the car.

 

“I still can’t believe you stuffed a damn vampire in your trunk,” he muttered.

 

Sookie kept her eyes on the road. “He’ll be fine. Might have a stiff neck when he wakes up, but maybe next time he’ll think twice before putting his hands on me.”

 

They rolled into the city just after midnight. Sookie veered off toward her apartment first. If they were going to Fangtasia—Eric Northman’s territory—they needed to look the part. Showing up in worn jeans and mud-stained boots wasn’t exactly going to win respect with the Viking.

 

Inside, Jason flopped on her couch while Sookie disappeared into her bedroom. “You better not take forever,” he called. “Vampires don’t strike me as the patient type.”

 

She didn’t answer.

 

When she stepped back out ten minutes later, Jason sat up fast, his eyes widening as he took in her appearance.

 

Sookie wore a pair of tight black jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin, tucked into worn but polished boots. Her blood-red T-shirt was cut wide at the neck and rode low on her chest, showing off ample cleavage and the faint outline of nipple piercings beneath the thin fabric. The shirt skimmed her figure like it had been sewn in place, leaving little to the imagination. Nestled at the edge of her cleavage was a silver necklace, the Mikaelson Family Crest prominently displayed. Her short sleeves hugged her arms just above the elbow, showing off the faintest shimmer of ink just barely visible beneath her skin. A black leather jacket draped over her shoulders, completing the look.

 

But it was her face that had changed the most.

 

Dark eyeliner and smudged shadow turned her normally soft features into something sharper, bolder. Her lips were stained a deep crimson, nearly the color of blood. Her golden hair was tied back in a loose, tousled knot that made her look effortlessly dangerous.

 

Jason cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on her chest before meeting her eyes. “Damn, Sook… You look like you’re about to headline a goth rock band.”

 

She smirked. “Good. That’s the vibe.”

 

“You sure that’s necessary?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at her outfit. “You already look like trouble.”

 

She zipped the jacket halfway and tossed him a clean shirt. “You need to look like someone I’d be seen with at Fangtasia. That T-shirt you’re wearin’ has a mustard stain and a hole in it. Fix it.”

 

Jason grumbled, but did as he was told.

 

They headed back out into the night, the Camaro cutting through the shadows like a blade. In the trunk, Bill remained unconscious—bound, silvered, and unaware that he was being delivered to one of the most feared vampires in the southern United States.

 

As they neared Shreveport’s warehouse district and the bright neon of Fangtasia came into view, Jason turned to his sister with a hint of worry.

 

“Are you sure this Eric guy’s not gonna just… kill us for showin’ up with another vamp in chains?”

 

Sookie gave a thin smile. “Let’s just say I know how to handle Eric. He’s not exactly the trusting type, but he respects power. And right now? We’ve got the upper hand.”

 

Jason nodded slowly. “God help us both.”

 

The Camaro slid into the back lot behind the bar, engine purring low. Sookie stepped out first, her boots hitting the pavement with purpose. She walked around to the trunk, her fingers brushing the keys as she looked toward the entrance to Fangtasia.

 

“Time to meet the Sheriff.”

Notes:

I'm really having fun with this one, I'd Like to thank everyone you reads this story. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome. I'll see you back here once I finish Chapter 4 Fantasia!

Chapter 4: Fangtasia

Summary:

Sookie meets Eric for the First time

Notes:

I own Nothing, this will be the last Chapter that I'll post today for this story, so now you'll have to wait till Friday or Saturday for Chapter 5, but i couldn't wait for you all to see Sookie's first encounter with Eric. Enjoy!

The thump of bass-heavy music leaked out onto the pavement as Sookie and Jason stepped out of the Camaro, the neon-red glow of Fangtasia casting long shadows across the lot. A crowd had already formed outside the club’s black velvet ropes—humans eager to flirt with danger, and vampires ready to drink in more ways than one.

 

Jason looked around nervously. “Place gives me the creeps.”

 

Sookie didn’t reply. She was already moving with purpose, boots clicking across the pavement, hips swaying with confident power. Jason hustled to keep up as she cut straight to the front of the line like she owned the damn place.

 

Pam stood by the door in her usual uniform—tight leather, expression sharp as a blade. She raised an eyebrow the second she spotted them.

 

“Back of the line,” she said with casual disinterest, eyes flicking over Jason with disdain. “This isn’t your local watering hole, sweetheart.”

 

Sookie didn’t stop. She took one step closer to Pam, leaned in just slightly, and spoke in a voice low enough that only a vampire could hear.

 

“I need to see Sheriff Northman,” she whispered. “I’ve got a vampire in my trunk who needs to be punished.”

 

Pam blinked. Her fangs clicked out for a fraction of a second in surprise before she schooled her face back into its usual smug calm. She gave Sookie a once-over, then glanced over her shoulder at the car behind her.

 

“Name?” she asked, quieter now.

Pam's smirk barely twitched as she waited for a name. Sookie, calm as moonlight and twice as cold, straightened her back and let the low lighting catch the glint of silver around her throat.

 

“Sookie Mikaelson,” she said coolly.

 

That got Pam’s attention. Her sharp eyes dropped to the pendant resting right above Sookie’s exposed cleavage—a delicate, intricate crest worked into a silver necklace. The shape was strange and unfamiliar, ancient-looking. It shimmered like it didn’t belong in this century… or this continent.

 

Pam frowned. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

 

Sookie only smiled faintly, letting the silence stretch.

 

Pam eyed the crest with suspicion. “Looks old. Pretty. Cultish.” She shrugged. “But unless that necklace unlocks a VIP booth, I still don’t care.”

 

Jason shifted uncomfortably behind his sister. “She ain’t lyin’. We really do got a vamp in the trunk.”

 

Pam gave him a look, then turned on her heel and typed something quick into her phone again. She glanced toward Eric, then leaned in, muttering under her breath.

 

The shift in Eric’s posture was nearly imperceptible, but it was there—the way his head slowly turned toward them, and his gaze zeroed in on the necklace.

 

He stepped down from his platform in eerie silence. His voice was low, but it carried across the thumping music like thunder through the ground.

 

“Where did you get that necklace?”

 

Sookie tilted her head just slightly, her expression unreadable. “It was a birthday gift. From my sire.”

 

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “And who would that be?”

 

She smiled. “Rebekah Mikaelson.”

 

Eric went very still. The crowd around them faded into meaningless background noise as the air in the club seemed to shift—charged now, thick with tension.

 

Pam blinked. “Wait. Who the hell is Rebekah Mikaelson?”

 

Eric ignored her, his eyes never leaving Sookie’s. “You say your name is Mikaelson… You wouldn’t be from that bloodline, would you?”

 

“I’m exactly who I say I am.” Sookie’s voice dropped to a soft, dangerous hush. “And there’s a vampire in my trunk who tried to glamour me. I want to turn him over to his Sheriff before I change my mind and deal with him my way.”

 

Eric stared at her for a long beat, then slowly nodded.

 

“Bring him in.”

 

Pam looked between them, confused and more than a little annoyed. “Okay, seriously, what am I missing here?”

 

Eric didn’t take his eyes off Sookie. “Let’s just say… her family has a reputation. One even the Old World remembers.”

Eric stepped aside, gesturing toward the private hallway at the back of the club. “Come. We’ll speak in my office.”

 

Sookie nodded, motioning for Jason to follow. As she turned, she flicked her gaze toward Pam, who was already halfway to the front door, her heels clicking against the floor.

 

“Pam,” Sookie called after her, her tone light—too light.

 

Pam paused without looking back.

 

“If you scratch my car, dent it, or so much as breathe wrong on the paint, I will rip your arms off and use them to beat the smug outta you. Got it?”

 

Pam turned slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Well, aren’t you charming?”

 

“Dead serious, too,” Sookie said sweetly, the faintest hint of fang behind the smile.

 

Pam rolled her eyes with a muttered, “Vampires and their cars,” before strutting out the front.

 

Jason blinked. “You really like that Camaro, huh?”

 

Sookie smirked as they moved through the dim hallway, the music of Fangtasia fading behind them. “Nik gave it to me. You know how long it took him to admit he liked me, let alone say ‘happy birthday’ without threatening someone?”

 

Eric chuckled quietly ahead of them. “Niklaus Mikaelson… now that explains quite a bit.”

 

They entered Eric’s office—dimly lit, stylish, and modern, yet with antique furniture that screamed old money and older age. Jason dropped into one of the leather chairs, looking completely out of place. Sookie remained standing, arms crossed.

 

Eric moved behind his desk but didn’t sit. His gaze flicked to Sookie again. “You carry his scent. Not on your skin—your blood.”

 

“I’m his childe,” she confirmed softly. “Rebekah turned me. Klaus claimed me. You understand what that means.”

 

Eric’s expression turned thoughtful, even respectful, but there was still curiosity dancing behind his ancient eyes. “I didn’t think any of your kind still walked this side of the world. Most thought your bloodline was legend.”

 

“We prefer it that way,” Sookie replied. “But Tru Blood and your kind coming out of the shadows has made that harder.”

 

Before Eric could reply, there was a knock at the door. Pam entered, looking amused as always—with a limp, silver-bound Bill Compton slung over one shoulder like a sack of flour.

 

She dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.

 

“Found your True Blood enthusiast,” she said dryly. “Still smells like swampwater and poor decisions.”

 

Bill groaned faintly.

 

Eric folded his arms. “Let’s see what your kind does with trespassers.”

Eric leaned against his desk, his gaze lingering on Sookie for a moment longer than necessary. His thoughts drifted to her physique, noting the subtle curves and the hint of piercings beneath her top. He imagined the cool metal against her skin, the way it must glisten under certain lights. The image of her pierced nipples flashed through his mind, and he quickly pushed the thought away, focusing on the conversation at hand.

 

Sookie, seemingly unfazed by his scrutiny, continued, "If death is off the table, perhaps we should consider other permanent solutions. How about we remove your cock and balls and replace them with a silver plate? That way, they'll never grow back, and you'll have a constant reminder of our encounter."

 

Eric raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Bold suggestion, Sookie. But I must admit, it's creative. However, I think I'll pass on the silver plate. I have a few other ideas in mind for dealing with trespassers."

 

Pam chuckled from her spot by the door, "Always the diplomat, Eric. But I must say, Sookie, your proposal is... unique. Perhaps a bit too permanent for my taste, but I appreciate the thought."

 

Bill groaned softly from the floor, his eyes fluttering open as he tried to process the conversation. "Silver plate?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Sounds... uncomfortable."

 

Eric pushed off from the desk, his expression turning serious. "Enough banter. We have more pressing matters to discuss. Let's focus on why you're here, Sookie, and what we're going to do about it."

As Sookie stood there, her arms crossed, she found her gaze locked with Eric's. There was something in his ancient, piercing eyes that stirred a primal urge within her. It was a sensation she hadn't felt before, a deep, instinctual pull that resonated through her very being. She felt a sudden, intense heat spread through her body, and her heart began to race. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a tense, charged silence.

 

Eric, seemingly unaware of the turmoil within her, maintained his composed demeanor. But Sookie couldn't shake the feeling that was growing stronger with each passing second. It was a primal, almost feral urge, whispering in the depths of her mind that Eric was her mate. The realization was both shocking and exhilarating, sending a shiver down her spine.

 

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The scent of him, rich and intoxicating, filled her nostrils, further fueling the primal urge. She could feel her body responding, her senses heightening, and her instincts screaming at her to act on this newfound knowledge.

 

Sookie's mind raced as she tried to process the overwhelming sensation. She had always been independent, strong-willed, and guarded. The idea of a mate, especially one as powerful and enigmatic as Eric, was both terrifying and intriguing. She couldn't help but wonder what this meant for her future, for her relationships, and for the delicate balance of power in the supernatural world.

 

Pam, noticing the tension, glanced between Sookie and Eric, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Well, this is interesting," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Looks like someone's got a crush."

 

Bill, still groaning on the floor, managed to prop himself up on one elbow, his eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Crush? What are you talking about?"

 

Eric's expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, as if he too was aware of the underlying current between them. "Enough," he said, his voice firm. "We need to focus on the matter at hand. Sookie, why don't you tell us more about why you're here and what you want."

 

Sookie took a deep breath, pushing down the primal urge that threatened to consume her. She needed to stay focused, to keep her emotions in check. "Right," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Let's get down to business."

Sookie took a deep breath, trying to push down the primal urges that were still stirring within her. She needed to focus on the task at hand and explain the situation to Eric. "Bill was following me," she began, her voice steady and calm. "He's been obsessed with me for some time, and I think his feelings have grown more intense lately."

 

She paused, her eyes flicking to Bill, who was still on the floor, groaning softly. "I believe he used his glamour on the Rattrays to attack me. He wanted to eliminate any obstacles between us, and he thought that by getting them to do his dirty work, he could keep his hands clean."

 

Eric's expression darkened as he listened, his arms folded across his chest. "And where are the Rattrays now?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

 

Sookie met his gaze without flinching. "They're dead," she said bluntly. "I had to defend myself. They were relentless, and I had no choice but to fight back. I'm sorry if that causes any issues, but I won't apologize for protecting myself."

 

Pam whistled lowly, her eyes widening in surprise. "Well, that's one way to handle a problem," she commented, a hint of admiration in her voice.

 

Eric's expression remained serious, but there was a hint of respect in his eyes. "I understand the need for self-defense, Sookie. But involving humans in our world can have serious consequences. We need to be careful about who we expose our secrets to and how we handle situations like this."

 

Sookie nodded, understanding the gravity of her actions. "I know. And I'm willing to face the consequences if necessary. But I can't ignore the fact that Bill is a danger to me and to others. He needs to be stopped."

 

Bill, hearing his name, managed to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and desperation. "Sookie, please," he begged, his voice hoarse. "I only did it because I love you. I can't live without you."

 

Sookie's expression hardened, and she took a step closer to Eric, her voice firm. "You see, Eric? He's delusional. He thinks his actions are justified because of some twisted sense of love. But I won't let him hurt me or anyone else again."

 

Eric's gaze flicked between Sookie and Bill, his mind processing the information. "We need to deal with this carefully," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Bill's actions are unacceptable, and he needs to be held accountable. But we also need to consider the broader implications of his involvement with humans."

 

Pam nodded in agreement, her expression serious. "We can't have rogue vampires running amok, glamming humans, and causing trouble. It puts all of us at risk."

 

Sookie took a deep breath, her eyes locked with Eric's. "So, what do we do now?" she asked, her voice steady and determined.

Eric's gaze flicked between Sookie and Bill, his expression thoughtful. "Bill will be taken before the magister for trial," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "His actions are unacceptable, and he needs to be held accountable for his involvement with the Rattrays and for his obsession with you, Sookie."

 

Bill groaned softly, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. "No, please," he begged, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to be with Sookie."

 

Pam stepped forward, her expression stern. "Too late for that, Bill," she said, her voice cold. "You should have thought about the consequences before you acted."

 

Eric turned his attention back to Sookie, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But I have a condition," he said, his voice measured. "In exchange for handling Bill's case and ensuring he faces justice, I want something from you, Sookie."

 

Sookie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice steady.

 

Eric leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. "I've had some issues at my bar," he began, his voice low. "Someone has stolen $60,000 from me. I want you to use your abilities to find out who's behind it. I need this resolved quickly and discreetly."

 

Sookie nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I can do that," she said, her voice confident. "I'll use my telepathy to dig into the minds of your employees and patrons. I'm sure I can find out who's responsible."

 

Eric's expression remained serious, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. "Good. But that's not all," he continued. "I also need your help in Dallas. There's a vampire who has gone missing, and I need someone with your unique skills to help me locate him. He's an important figure in our community, and his disappearance is causing concern. I need to find him and ensure he's safe."

 

Sookie took a deep breath, processing the request. "Dallas, huh?" she said, her voice thoughtful. "I've never been there, but I'm sure I can handle it. When do we leave?"

 

Eric pushed off from the desk, his expression determined. "As soon as possible," he said, his voice firm. "The sooner we deal with this missing vampire, the better. And in the meantime, you can start investigating the theft at my bar."

 

Pam stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. "Sounds like you've got your hands full, Sookie," she said, her voice amused. "But I have faith in your abilities. You'll get the job done."

 

Sookie nodded, her expression serious. "I won't let you down, Eric," she said, her voice steady and determined. "I'll find out who stole your money and help you track down that missing vampire. You have my word."

 

Eric's gaze flickered with a hint of satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, his voice low. "Now, let's get to work. We have a lot to do, and time is of the essence."

 

Sookie took a moment to consider her next words, her eyes meeting Eric's steadily. "Before we proceed, there's one more thing we need to discuss," she said, her voice calm but firm. "My time and skills come at a cost. I want $5,000 a day for my work. This includes investigating the theft at your bar and helping you locate the missing vampire in Dallas."

 

Eric raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Five thousand a day?" he repeated, his voice measured. "That's a steep price, Sookie. But I understand the value of your abilities. Very well, we have a deal."

 

Sookie's lips curved into a small smile, satisfied with the agreement. "Good. Then let's get started. I'll begin by investigating the theft at your bar. The sooner we resolve this, the sooner we can focus on finding the missing vampire."

 

Pam, who had been quietly observing the exchange, let out a low whistle. "Five thousand a day," she murmured, her eyes wide with surprise. "You drive a hard bargain, Sookie. I like it."

 

Eric pushed off from the desk, his expression determined. "Let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice firm. "Pam, make sure Bill is secured and taken before the magister. Sookie and I have work to do."

 

Pam nodded, a smirk still playing on her lips. "Consider it done, Eric," she said, her voice amused. "I'll make sure Bill gets what's coming to him."

 

With that, Pam grabbed Bill by the collar and dragged him out of the office, leaving Sookie and Eric alone. Sookie took a deep breath, her mind already focused on the tasks ahead. She was ready to get to work and prove her worth to Eric.

As Pam dragged Bill out of the office, Sookie took a moment to gather her thoughts, her eyes locked with Eric's. She took a step closer to him, her movements deliberate and confident. Eric's gaze followed her, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in his eyes.

 

Sookie reached out, her hand gently resting on Eric's chest before slowly moving lower. She could feel his cold skin through his thin shirt, and she allowed her fingers to trace the contours of his body until they reached the waistband of his pants. Without hesitation, she grasped his cock through the fabric, her hand rubbing it gently.

 

Eric's eyes widened in surprise, but he made no move to stop her. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his breath hot on her ear. "Sookie," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "What are you doing?"

 

Sookie leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "If Bill is punished severely, I'll make it worth your while. I can be very... accommodating."

 

She continued to rub him through his pants, her touch firm and deliberate. Eric's breath hitched, and she could feel him hardening beneath her hand. She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his, a smirk playing on her lips.

 

"Consider it a bonus for a job well done," she said, her voice low and sultry. "But only if you make sure Bill gets what he deserves."

 

Eric's expression darkened, a mix of desire and determination in his eyes. "Don't worry, Sookie," he said, his voice firm. "Bill will face the consequences of his actions. And I have no doubt that you'll make it worth my while."

 

Sookie's hand lingered for a moment longer before she pulled away, her eyes never leaving Eric's. "Good," she said, her voice steady. "Then let's get to work. The sooner we resolve this; the sooner we can enjoy the benefits."

 

Eric nodded, his expression serious. "Agreed. Let's start with the investigation at the bar. We need to find out who stole the money and put an end to this."

 

With that, Sookie and Eric set to work, their minds focused on the tasks ahead. But beneath the surface, there was an undeniable tension, a mix of desire and determination that added an extra layer of complexity to their partnership.

Sookie and Jason made their way back out to the main part of the bar, where the music pulsed through the air and the crowd was alive with energy. Sookie gave the place a quick once-over, then walked up to the bar, Jason close behind her. She caught the bartender’s eye—Longshadow, a tall, dark-haired vampire with an air of arrogance that made Sookie’s skin crawl.

 

He flashed her a grin. “What can I get you, miss?”

 

“A bourbon, neat,” Sookie replied smoothly, her tone laced with confidence. She leaned her elbows on the bar, her posture casual, but her mind was already moving in a different direction.

 

As Longshadow turned to prepare her drink, she slipped into the mental flow of the bar. It didn’t take long for her to catch fragments of thoughts—disconnected, jumbled, but enough for her to filter through the crowd. She could hear every whisper, every stray thought, but she was focused on one thing: finding the thief.

 

Sookie sifted through the murmurings until she hit something solid. A thought, sneaky and full of guilt, wove its way through the crowd—Longshadow.

 

Her eyes narrowed. She followed the thread, tuning out the world around her until she locked onto his thoughts—slow, calculating, and completely unaware of her presence.

 

"If I can just get another couple grand off these idiots tonight, it’ll be enough to pay off the debt..."

 

Sookie’s heart beat a little faster as she continued listening.

 

"They never notice. Just a little extra from each of them. A small trickle... Longshadow’s plan. The others don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll skim off the top. Hell, they can afford it."

 

She dug deeper, unearthing the plan. Longshadow had been using his glamor on the wait staff, convincing them to pocket a portion of their tips and slip it into a separate bag at the end of their shifts. It was small, insidious—just enough to go unnoticed, but when added together, it amounted to a significant chunk of change.

 

The pieces clicked together, and she realized—this was how $60,000 had gone missing.

 

Sookie’s fingers curled around her glass, but she kept her cool. She gave a small nod, signaling Jason to keep quiet. He didn’t need to know the full details yet. They both knew better than to make a scene.

 

Longshadow returned with her drink, setting it down in front of her with a smooth smile. “Here you go, darling.”

 

“Thanks,” Sookie replied sweetly, sipping the bourbon as she gave him a lingering look.

 

Her gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, she let the power of her bloodline slip into her eyes. The mesmerizing glow of her gaze wasn’t quite a glamour, but it was enough to make a vampire like him take notice. Her voice dropped into a soft, dangerous purr as she leaned in just slightly.

 

“I know what you’ve been doing,” she whispered, low enough for only him to hear. “And I know exactly how you’ve been skimming off Eric’s money.”

 

Longshadow froze, his eyes widening imperceptibly. A flash of fear crossed his face, but he masked it quickly with a cocky smirk.

 

“You think you can just come in here and—”

 

Sookie didn’t let him finish. She leaned forward, her fangs elongating just enough to make her point. The room around them seemed to go still, and the noise of the bar faded as she raised her voice—just loud enough for Longshadow to hear, and everyone else in the bar to feel the weight of her presence.

 

“I don’t need to think, Longshadow. I know. You’ve been making your little side hustle off Eric’s back.” Her voice dropped even lower, every syllable wrapped in ice. “I suggest you return everything you’ve taken, or I’ll make sure your next nightshift involves a lot less breathing.”

 

Jason’s hand rested lightly on the counter, his usual playful grin replaced with an expression of quiet menace. He could already see how much power Sookie was wielding in that moment. He’d learned quickly that when she was on the warpath, it was best to stand back.

 

Longshadow’s eyes flicked nervously to the back of the bar, where Eric’s office was. The last thing he wanted was to anger the one person in the room who could make him a pile of ash.

 

“Now, Longshadow,” Sookie added with a wicked smile, “you don’t want to find out what happens next if you don’t clean up your mess. Trust me. You’ve been caught.”

 

For a moment, he hesitated, then lowered his gaze. The silence was suffocating, thick with the weight of her threat.

 

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll—I'll return it. Just don’t tell Eric.”

 

Sookie’s smile remained cold as she took a sip of her drink, savoring the moment. “Good. You’re learning. Now go clean up your mess before Eric has a chance to notice.”

 

Longshadow nodded quickly, and without another word, he turned to go into the back. Sookie leaned back, the warmth of the bourbon spreading through her chest. It wasn’t often she had to use her powers to this extent, but she was glad she’d caught the bastard in time.

 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “So, that was fun. Think he’ll actually return it?”

 

Sookie gave him a sharp look. “He’s not stupid. Eric’s not someone you want to piss off.” She glanced toward the back of the bar, where Longshadow had disappeared. “But if he tries anything funny, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

 

Jason chuckled. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere.”

 

Sookie nodded. “Yeah. But there’s still a lot more to do before the night’s over. Let’s wait for Eric’s move before we make ours.”

Notes:

Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome, Thanks for reading and I'll see you all back here in a couple of Days.

Chapter 5: Consequences

Summary:

Bill gets punished and Sookie has a surprise waiting for her at her apartment.

Notes:

I own nothing, so I finished this chapter faster then I thought I would, so here's Chapter 5 enjoy!

Eric didn't waste time. The moment Longshadow returned from the back—tense and avoiding Sookie’s gaze—Eric summoned both him and the unconscious Bill to the front of the club. Pam dragged Bill’s limp body in by the collar of his jacket, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she tossed him at Eric’s feet.

Eric stared down at Bill and Longshadow, then lifted his cold gaze to Sookie. “The Magister will want to see both of them.”

 

Longshadow stiffened. “Sheriff, please—”

 

“Silence,” Eric snapped. “You stole from me. You glamoured my staff. And Bill... tried to glamour a Mikaelson. You’re both lucky I didn’t deal with this myself.”

 

With that, he motioned for Pam to help load the vampires into his car. “Take them to the Magister. I’ll meet you there.”

 

Sookie and Jason exchanged a look. The tension was thick, but Eric nodded toward her with the faintest hint of respect.

 

“You did well, Sookie Mikaelson. I owe you.”

 

Sookie gave him a tight nod. “You’ll repay me by making sure justice is done.”

 

Eric gave a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It will be.”

 

With the problem of the night hauled away, Sookie and Jason left Fangtasia and headed back to her apartment. The air outside was cooler now, the streets quieter.

Back at the Apartment

 

They didn’t even make it up the stairs before trouble found them.

 

Sookie’s senses screamed danger a half second before the back door burst open. Jason spun instinctively, but Sookie had already caught the scent—sweat, beer, and rage.

 

It was Rene, a Guy that works with Jason on the Road crew.

 

He came at them with a crowbar in one hand and silver chain in the other, screaming, “Fangbanging whore! You think you can bring your sickness to this town?!”

 

Sookie moved like lightning. The silver hit her shoulder, but it barely slowed her down. She grabbed the chain, yanking him forward. Jason jumped in, slamming Rene against the wall.

 

“You set me up, you son of a bitch!” Jason shouted. “You killed Caitlin, and all those other women then tried to pin it on me!”

 

Rene spat blood, snarling, “She was trash—like all of ‘em. You brought her here. You brought that filth into our town.”

 

Sookie’s fangs dropped, and her eyes bled red as the veins pulsed around them. “I’m not the one who left a girl strangled and drained in the woods. You’re done.”

 

She grabbed his face, her compulsion pouring through her words like venom. “Tell the truth.”

 

Rene’s resistance shattered.

 

“I killed them all. I hated them... those women, letting vampires touch ‘em. She was the worst. I wanted people to think it was your brother.”

 

Jason looked like he might vomit.

 

Sookie growled low in her throat. “You’re going to confess to the police. You’re going to sign a full statement. And if you so much as breathe wrong, I will find you. And it won’t be quick. Also once your behind bars you are going to find the guy with the biggest cock there and you will enjoy letting him fuck you in the ass every day, you’ll even beg for it, now get out of my sight.”

 

She released him with a violent shove. Rene collapsed, sobbing, before he made a run for it out of her apartment.

Sookie had just finished showering and getting the guest room ready for her brother, when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen and froze, completely naked after her shower. Her wet hair cascaded down her back, and droplets of water glistened on her smooth, pale skin. Her curves were accentuated by the soft lighting in the room, and her DD breasts, adorned with silver barbell piercings through her nipples, stood firm and proud. The piercings glinted in the light, adding a touch of edginess to her otherwise delicate features.

 

Klaus Mikaelson.

 

She frowned. Strange timing.

 

She swiped to answer, trying to keep her voice steady. “Hey—”

 

A tiny voice chirped through the line. “Big Sis?”

 

Sookie blinked, confused for a second before a soft smile pulled at her lips. “Hope?”

 

“Uh-huh!” the little girl beamed through the speaker. “Daddy was taking a bath and left his phone on the bed. I pushed the button with your face!”

 

Sookie let out a laugh, sinking onto the couch, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. “You little gremlin. What if I was busy fighting monsters?”

 

“Are you fighting monsters? Can I help? I’ve got my sparkle sword and everything!” Hope whispered like it was top secret.

 

“You always help, baby girl. Just hearing your voice makes things better,” Sookie said, her voice softening.

 

From the background, she heard Klaus’s voice echoing: “Hope Mikaelson, have you taken my phone again?”

 

Sookie chuckled, her nipples hardening slightly from the cool air in the room. “Sounds like your dad’s caught you.”

 

“I gotta go!” Hope whispered. “Love you! Come visit!”

 

The line shuffled a bit before Klaus’s voice came on, low and amused. “I see my daughter’s hijacked international diplomacy again.”

 

Sookie laughed, her breasts rising and falling with her breath. “She’s persuasive. Must get it from her mom.”

 

Klaus gave a dry chuckle. “You called?”

 

“Not yet. I was about to. I need the jet.”

 

A pause. Then, “Trouble?”

 

“No, but I got hired to go to Dallas and look for a Vampire of the other kind, and I don’t fancy traveling with the Vampire that hired me, he’d likely ask me to travel in a coffin like his kind like to do.”

 

“Very well. I’ll call the airport and have them get the jet ready within the hour. But there’s one condition,” Klaus said smoothly.

 

“Let me guess,” she sighed, her fingers tracing the curve of her hip.

 

“You come to New Orleans. And I want you to take Elijah and Freya with you.”

 

Sookie looked out the window, her eyes tired but glowing faintly red in the reflection. Her nipples, still hard, caught the light, adding a sensual edge to her appearance.

 

“I was already packing,” she said.

 

Klaus's voice softened. “Good. Come home, Sookie.”

 

“I’ll head to New Orleans in about an hour or two.”

 

As she hung up the phone, Jason emerged from the guest room, heading into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw his sister sitting naked on the couch. Her wet hair framed her face, and her breasts, with their silver barbell piercings, were fully exposed. His eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing slightly.

 

"Sookie, I... I didn't know you were... um, I can come back later," he stammered, his voice awkward.

 

Sookie glanced up, realizing her state of undress. She smiled softly, not bothered by her brother's presence. Her nipples, still hardened from the cool air, stood out prominently. "It's okay, Jason. I was just on the phone with Klaus. What's up?"

 

Jason cleared his throat, still avoiding direct eye contact. "I just wanted to talk to you about what happened with Rene. I can't believe he did all those things. It's just... it's hard to process."

 

Sookie stood up, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. She grabbed a robe from the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself, concealing her naked form. She walked over to Jason, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's tough, Jason. But we'll get through it. You need to take care of yourself, okay?"

 

Jason nodded, his expression serious. "I will. Thanks, Sookie. And I'm sorry for... you know, seeing you like that."

 

Sookie laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it. We're family. Now, let's get you something to eat. You look like you need it."

 

As they moved into the kitchen, Sookie's mind was already on her upcoming trip to New Orleans. She had a job to do in Dallas, but for now, she focused on supporting her brother and preparing for the challenges ahead. With Klaus, Elijah, and Freya by her side, she felt ready to face whatever came her way.

Junkyard

 

The night air was thick with smoke and the faint scent of rust and oil. Flickering floodlights cast long shadows between the twisted hulks of old cars and heaps of scrap metal, giving the junkyard an almost apocalyptic feel. At the center of it all, a large clearing had been carved out, illuminated by torches that burned with an unnatural green flame.

 

This was no ordinary place of refuse. This was neutral ground, claimed by the Magister—a place where secrets bled as freely as traitors.

 

Eric Northman stepped out of the black SUV with the confidence of a predator at the top of the food chain. Pam followed close behind, her heels crunching against gravel, as two of his guards dragged Bill Compton and Longshadow—bound in silver and still unconscious—behind them.

 

Vampires from various nests and territories lurked in the shadows, drawn by the scent of punishment. Some were curious. Others, afraid. A few looked hungry, like they hoped the Magister would be in a merciful mood—merciful meaning execution by public display.

 

At the heart of the clearing stood a rusted-out flatbed truck converted into a platform. Upon it sat a single, ancient-looking chair—half-throne, half-torture device. And seated in it, regal as a corpse and twice as cold, was the Magister.

 

He was an imposing figure—tall and pale, with silver hair and eyes like spilled mercury. He wore no crown, but the silence that fell as he lifted his gaze said he needed none.

 

“Sheriff Northman,” the Magister intoned, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Step forward.”

 

Eric obeyed; his face unreadable.

 

“These two,” he said, nodding toward Bill and Longshadow. “Stand accused of crimes against their kind. One for attempting to glamour another Vampire—an offense punishable by death. The other for theft and deception, skimming from the coffers of Fangtasia and glamoring humans into silence.”

 

The Magister’s eyes narrowed.

 

“And what of the one glamoured?”

 

Eric’s lip curled in distaste. “Sookie Mikaelson. She is... not one of us. But of the other kind.”

 

A hush fell over the crowd. Whispers darted through the air like knives.

 

The Magister’s expression darkened with ancient memory. “They still exist...?”

 

Eric said nothing.

 

The Magister leaned forward. “Bring them to me.”

 

Pam and the guards hauled Bill and Longshadow forward. Bill had begun to stir, groaning weakly as the silver sizzled into his flesh. Longshadow’s eyes darted around, panic barely contained beneath a mask of arrogance.

 

The Magister raised one hand.

 

“Tonight... we will decide if they live. Or die screaming.”

The Magister stood, his long coat trailing behind him like a funeral shroud. His expression was carved from stone, cold and without mercy as he gazed at the two vampires before him.

 

“Longshadow,” he said, his voice echoing across the clearing. “You have betrayed your Sheriff. You have stolen from the coffers that fund your kind’s survival and glamoured humans into compliance to hide your greed. You are found guilty.”

 

Longshadow hissed, his eyes glowing bright with desperation as he struggled in the silver chains.

 

“Please—Magister, I didn’t—”

 

The Magister raised one hand, and the guards didn’t wait for the order to finish.

 

Two moved in swiftly.

 

Thwack.

 

The stake drove straight through Longshadow’s chest, piercing bone and heart. His scream was short, sharp—cut off as his body spasmed, then exploded into a wet, blackened pile of goo and ash, splattering the gravel and boots of the nearby guards.

 

The vampires in the shadows flinched, but no one spoke.

 

“Clean that up,” Pam muttered, stepping back with a wrinkle of her nose.

 

The Magister turned now to Bill Compton, who lay kneeling in the dirt, barely holding himself upright.

 

“And you...”

 

Bill didn’t speak. He was trembling.

 

“You attempted to glamour a creature you did not understand—one who walks under the sun, one with blood older than yours by eons. The other kind. You risked exposure and political chaos, and yet... you are still useful.”

 

The Magister motioned, and another guard opened the rusted trunk of a nearby car.

 

From within, a young redheaded girl was dragged out.

 

She was no older than eighteen. Pale from fear, her hands bound, a strip of duct tape across her mouth. Her eyes were wild as she thrashed in their grip.

 

“Her name is Jessica Hamby,” the Magister said, stepping back. “You will create a new vampire. You will feel what it means to take a life, and to give it.”

 

Bill looked up, eyes wide with horror.

 

“No... please...”

 

The Magister’s voice was iron. “You do this, or I end you here.”

 

There was no choice.

 

The guards pulled Jessica to her knees, and Bill—still sizzling with silver wounds—crawled forward. His fangs dropped with a wet click as he leaned in, brushing her neck with shaking hands.

 

Jessica’s muffled scream filled the junkyard as his fangs plunged deep into her neck.

 

Her body thrashed, then stilled.

 

Blood smeared Bill’s chin as he opened his own wrist and pressed it to her lips.

 

She drank.

 

When her heartbeat faltered, the guards pulled her away. One snapped her neck, quick and clean. She dropped like a doll, lifeless in the dirt.

 

Bill, barely able to stand, was dragged to her body.

 

“You will bury yourself,” the Magister said. “With her.”

 

Bill collapsed beside Jessica, blood and mud mixing in the pit the guards had prepared. The vampires watched in reverent silence as they were covered in dirt, two bodies tangled in a shallow grave.

 

One dying.

 

One already dead.

 

A rebirth would come by nightfall.

 

And the Magister turned back to Eric.

 

“Take them when they rise. Your debt is paid.”

 

Later That Night – New Orleans, French Quarter

 

The sleek black SUV cut through the warm, humid night like a shark in water. The soft hum of the engine was the only sound for miles, save for the distant echo of jazz and the occasional bark of laughter spilling from Bourbon Street.

 

Sookie sat in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, staring out the tinted window at the glowing lights of the city she hadn’t visited in years. New Orleans always had a heartbeat of its own—old magic, deep roots, and secrets whispered on every corner. It made her skin tingle.

 

Jason, at the wheel, adjusted the volume on the stereo, letting a blues guitar solo drift lazily through the car. He kept sneaking glances at her.

 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I mean, after all that happened back in Bon Temps…”

 

“I’m fine,” Sookie said quietly, voice edged with something darker. “Rene’s lucky I didn’t rip his spine out.”

 

Jason didn’t argue. He’d seen the other side of his sister now—the side that wasn’t just tough, but ancient and dangerous. And after seeing her with that Rattray couple, and Bill, he wasn’t about to question how deep the Mikaelson bloodline ran.

 

They turned off onto Royal Street, pulling up in front of a walled garden tucked behind tall wrought-iron gates. The estate was quiet, but not empty. Sookie could feel it—vampires, witches, even a ghost or two.

 

She stepped out of the car, boots crunching softly on the brick path. Her black jeans hugged every curve, the blood-red T-shirt catching the streetlight in a way that made Jason cough awkwardly and look away. The dark leather jacket added a sleek edge, while her makeup made her look downright lethal.

 

A guard at the gate bowed slightly. “Miss Mikaelson. Master Klaus is expecting you.”

 

“Of course he is,” Sookie murmured with a smirk, brushing past him as Jason trailed behind her, wide-eyed.

 

Inside the courtyard, the scent of jasmine and blood hung heavy in the air.

 

And from the upper balcony, Klaus Mikaelson appeared, shirt unbuttoned, drink in hand, his smile sharp and wicked.

 

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

 

Behind him, Hope came barreling out, her golden curls bouncing, still in her pajamas. “Sookie!” she squealed, ignoring her father’s warning to slow down.

 

Sookie crouched, catching the little girl in a hug that was gentle despite her strength.

 

“Hey, sweetheart. You been causing trouble?”

 

“Only the good kind!” Hope beamed, looking up with her usual mischief. “Daddy let me eat ice cream before bed.”

 

“You did what?” Elijah’s smooth, calm voice echoed from inside as he and Freya stepped out, both sharply dressed and clearly amused.

 

“Don’t look at me,” Klaus said with a shrug. “She took the phone. You told her she could call.”

 

Sookie just laughed. “Well, I’m here now. And I brought my brother Jason.”

 

Klaus's gaze sharpened. “Nice to meet you Jason Stackhouse?”

 

Jason coughed. “Same, Y’all got any beer in this place?”

 

Freya smiled and took his arm. “Come on, Jason. Let’s get you a drink before your brain explodes.”

 

Sookie watched as the door closed behind them, her smile fading slightly as she turned to Klaus and Elijah.

 

“We need to talk. About what the hell kind of mess is coming.”

 

Klaus’s grin turned predatory. “Then let’s get comfortable. I suspect this is only the beginning.”

Sookie lingered behind as Jason followed Freya into the estate, his usual curiosity piqued by the idea of drinking with a literal witch. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to Klaus, her expression shifting from casual to sharp and serious.

 

"Did Freya finish the ring?" she asked quietly, stepping closer so no wandering ears—human or otherwise—could overhear.

 

Klaus arched a brow, then offered that sly half-smile that always made it impossible to tell if he was amused or annoyed. "You do know most people say hello first."

 

"I’m not most people. Did she finish it?"

 

He gave a slight nod, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “She finished it yesterday. Bloodstone core, spelled with a binding from the Veil, laced with elder vampire magic and a touch of her own. It’ll bring him back from any supernatural death.”

 

Sookie took the small black velvet pouch he offered, untying it carefully. Inside was a simple, masculine silver ring. The bloodstone shimmered faintly under the courtyard lights, pulsing like it had a heartbeat.

 

She exhaled slowly. Relief, mostly. "Thank you," she said, softer now. "He’s human… and he’s a Stackhouse. That kind of makes him a supernatural trouble magnet."

 

Klaus gave a small chuckle. “He’s also got a sister who could rip the spine from a dragon, so he’s better off than most.”

 

Sookie smirked, slipping the ring into her jacket pocket. “He doesn’t need to know what it does. Just that it’s a gift.”

 

“Of course,” Klaus said with a bow of mock elegance. “Your secrets are safe with me… until they’re not.”

 

Sookie rolled her eyes. “God, you’re dramatic.”

 

“And you’re still charming when you try to be cold,” Klaus shot back.

 

They shared a quiet moment, the tension easing just a little.

 

Then Sookie’s eyes drifted toward the house, where she could still hear Jason laughing with Freya inside.

 

“Because if anything ever happened to him,” she said under her breath, “I’d burn the whole damn world.”

 

Klaus didn’t respond with words, just gave her a knowing look, one that said he believed her.

Sookie’s phone buzzed as she stood on the balcony of the Mikaelson estate, the night air thick with the smell of magnolia and magic. She glanced at the screen—Eric Northman.

 

She swiped to answer. “Northman.”

 

“Sookie,” Eric’s voice came through smooth and clipped. “I’m boarding a flight to Dallas. Something’s come up with a missing vampire and a Fellowship situation. I want you there.”

 

Sookie leaned against the wrought iron railing, fingers tapping lightly. “You couldn’t text?”

 

“You’d ignore it.”

 

She smirked. “True.”

 

“I want you to fly out with me,” he said. “We need your mind.”

 

She shook her head. “Can’t. I’m catching a ride with someone else. Family business.”

 

Eric was silent for a beat. “You’re traveling with them.”

 

“I am a Mikaelson,” she replied simply. “And don’t worry. I’ll be landing in Dallas an hour after dark tomorrow night. You can have someone meet us at the airport, escort us to wherever you need us.”

 

“I’ll send Isabel. She’s the acting Sheriff of Area Nine.”

 

“Noted,” Sookie said. “And Eric?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“If anything’s happened to this vampire and it’s connected to the Fellowship... they’re going to regret dragging me into it.”

 

Eric’s soft, amused chuckle hummed through the speaker. “That’s why I called you, sweetheart.”

 

She hung up before he could say anything else, slipping the phone into her jacket pocket. Behind her, the French doors creaked open.

 

Jason stepped out, looking mildly buzzed from whatever Freya had slipped into his drink. “Everything good?”

 

Sookie gave a little smile, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “We’re heading to Dallas tomorrow night.”

 

“Is it gonna be one of those trips?”

 

Sookie’s grin widened. “Aren’t they all?”

 

Junkyard

 

The night was still. The junkyard, long emptied of the Magister and his enforcers, sat in silence under a silver moon. The only movement was the soft, near-imperceptible shift of dirt cracking—like breathless pressure easing from the earth.

 

Suddenly, a pale hand shot up from the shallow grave.

 

Fingers clawed desperately at the soil, and within seconds, the ground gave way as Jessica Hamby pulled herself free. Her once soft auburn curls were now tangled with dirt and blood, her skin ghost-pale. Her eyes, wide and frantic, glowed a deep, feral—like a newborn animal tasting its first hunger.

 

She gasped sharply, chest rising with a breath she no longer needed.

 

Bill Compton knelt nearby, still spattered with the blood of what he’d just done—his expression haunted, but composed. He held out a bottle of Tru Blood, steam curling faintly from the top.

 

“Jessica,” he said softly, his Southern drawl gentle as molasses. “You need to drink this. It’ll help... take the edge off.”

 

Jessica’s red eyes locked on him, panicked and confused. “W-what... what did you do to me?” Her voice was a broken whisper.

 

Bill didn’t flinch. “I turned you. It was my punishment.” He pressed the bottle toward her, a glint of guilt in his gaze. “I’m your maker now.”

 

Jessica looked down at her trembling hands, at the soil clinging to her torn nails. Her mouth opened slowly, and her new fangs slid into view—sharper than needles, as foreign to her as the night itself.

 

Tears welled in her glowing eyes, but hunger won out. She snatched the Tru Blood, biting into the top and drinking deep, her body shuddering as the synthetic nourishment slid down her throat.

 

Bill watched her, silent and still, knowing this was only the beginning.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments Questions and Kudos are all welcome. I'll see you at Chapter 6 when Sookie arrives In Dallas

Chapter 6: Dallas

Summary:

Plane Trip from New Orleans to Dallas, also Jason makes a discovery and a friend.

Notes:

I own Nothing, well I'm posting Chapter 6 because you'll keep showing me the love. I really am glad that you'll like reading this story, as long has it keeps to get this level of love I will keep trying to post a Chapter a day or every other day, depending on my work schedule. I know that I haven't had as much blood or sex that is scene in True Blood, but don't worry there will be plenty of sex coming up in future chapters.

Chapter 6 Enjoy!

New Orleans Airport – Private Hangar, Late Evening

 

The rumble of jet engines echoed in the background as floodlights illuminated the sleek black and silver Mikaelson private jet, sitting like a sleeping predator on the tarmac. Crew members bustled around the plane, loading sleek black suitcases and travel trunks marked with enchanted sigils under the faint glow of enchantment wards cast earlier by Freya.

 

Two black SUVs pulled up smoothly to the edge of the hangar, their headlights cutting across the tarmac. Doors opened in unison, and the traveling party emerged.

 

Elijah Mikaelson, impeccable in a tailored dark suit, stepped out first, his expression calm but alert. Freya followed, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows, while Sookie, clad in a fitted leather jacket and travel-worn boots, hoisted her bag over her shoulder with ease. Rebekah, striking in a fitted black dress, leaned against the SUV door while Klaus, ever the hybrid king, held little Hope in his arms.

 

Elijah passed his bags to the waiting crew with a nod, while Freya handed over a smaller enchanted satchel laced with protective charms. Sookie followed suit, giving the crew her duffel with a casual, “Don’t drop that. The one with runes on it bites.”

 

Klaus turned to Elijah, jaw tight with protective tension. “Keep them safe, brother. Especially her,” he nodded toward Sookie, who was now crouching to hug Hope, the little girl’s tiny arms wrapped tight around her neck.

 

“I always do,” Elijah said calmly, with just a glance at Sookie—knowing full well Klaus was talking about more than one of them.

 

Sookie stood and adjusted the collar of Hope’s little jacket, smoothing her curls. “I’ll be back in a few days, promise. You keep being good for your Daddy, alright?” she said, voice soft and warm.

 

Hope pouted. “You just got here…”

 

Sookie smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, sweet girl. But big sister’s got some business to handle in Dallas. I’ll come back for a real visit after.”

 

Turning to Jason, she clasped his shoulder. “Head back to Bon Temps, alright? I want you close to Gran, keep an eye out. Something’s off about all this, and I don’t want her caught in it.”

 

Jason, a bit quieter than usual, nodded. “Yeah. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

 

Sookie turned back to Klaus, giving him a crooked smile. She leaned in and handed Hope back to him. “See you in a couple days, Dad,” she teased with a wink, the word sounding almost normal on her lips.

 

Klaus gave her a knowing smirk, shifting Hope in his arms. “Don’t let Dallas try to keep you.”

 

As the trio walked toward the waiting plane, Hope’s little voice echoed behind them. “Good luck, Sookie! Don’t let the mean vamps bite!”

 

The crew sealed the cargo doors, and the jet engines roared to life as Elijah, Freya, and Sookie boarded. Moments later, the Mikaelson jet taxied to the runway and lifted into the dark skies—its destination: Dallas.

 

Scene: The Old Compton Place – Bon Temps, Louisiana

Later That Night

 

The front door of the Compton House creaked open as Bill stepped in, the old wood groaning in protest. The place smelled of dust and damp earth, untouched for too long. He glanced back over his shoulder at Jessica, who hovered on the porch, wide-eyed and fidgeting, her newly reborn senses soaking in every detail.

 

“This is home—for now,” he said softly, stepping aside to let her in.

 

Jessica stepped hesitantly across the threshold, her movements jittery, like a newborn colt. Her bright red hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and she clutched the edge of her hoodie like it might anchor her. She glanced around, sniffing the air. “Smells… old. And kinda dead.”

 

Bill offered a faint, tired smile. “It’s seen better days. But you’ll be safe here while we… adjust.”

 

He led her through the parlor and into the small sitting room, flicking on a lamp. A dim yellow light buzzed to life, casting long shadows across the furniture.

 

Jessica looked at her reflection in a dusty mirror, then down at her hands. “So this is it? I’m a vampire now. Just… like that?”

 

Bill nodded solemnly. “Yes. And with it comes responsibility—and restraint.”

 

Before he could continue his lecture, his cell phone vibrated. He frowned, pulling it from his coat. The Caller ID flashed one name in all caps:

 

SOPHIE-ANN LECLERCQ – Queen of Louisiana

 

His jaw tensed as he answered.

 

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head slightly even though she wasn’t there to see.

 

“Spare me the niceties, William,” came the sharp, imperious voice of Queen Sophie-Anne, her tone cool and unamused. “I was told you would have Sookie Stackhouse under your watch by now. Where is she?”

 

Bill swallowed, glancing back toward Jessica. She had wandered into the corner and was testing the bounce of an old couch cushion with both feet.

 

“There have been complications,” he said carefully. “She’s… not what we believed. She’s something different. Something dangerous. And she’s made allies—powerful ones.”

 

There was a long, tense pause on the other end before the Queen spoke again, her tone laced with fury.

 

“Excuses don’t interest me. I sent you there to secure her, not chase her across parishes like some star-crossed ghoul. Return to New Orleans. Now. You’ll explain this nonsense to me in person.”

 

Bill’s jaw clenched. “And the girl?”

 

“Leave her,” Sophie-Anne ordered without hesitation. “She is of no concern to me.”

 

The line went dead.

 

Bill lowered the phone slowly, then turned back to Jessica. “I have to go,” he said, voice softer now, but with urgency beneath it. “I’ll be back by dawn. You stay here, understand? No going out, no answering the door.”

 

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Wait—you’re just gonna leave me here? Alone? After turning me into a freaking vampire?”

 

“It’s safer this way,” Bill replied, already grabbing his coat. “I’ll explain more when I return. Just… stay out of trouble.”

 

He was gone before she could argue, the door shutting behind him with a final thud.

 

Jessica stood alone in the silence of the old house, fangs barely hidden, eyes wide and uncertain as the night deepened around her.

 

Mikaelson Jet – Somewhere Over Texas

 

The low hum of the engines was the only consistent sound aboard the luxurious private jet as it cruised through the night sky. Plush leather seats, sleek lighting, and the faint scent of aged scotch filled the cabin. Sookie was sprawled out across one of the reclining seats, boots kicked up and arms behind her head, while Freya lounged nearby sipping something definitely not coffee from a silver tumbler.

 

Elijah paced, perfectly dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his hands clasped behind his back in a display of growing agitation. He paused and turned to face them both, a deep furrow in his brow.

 

“Elaborate to me, please,” he said, voice calm but clearly strained, “why neither of you are dressed appropriately to meet the vampire leadership of Texas. You both look like you’re headed to a punk concert or a—bar fight.”

 

Sookie cracked one eye open and smirked. She wore black jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin, a blood-red crop top that left little to the imagination and even less to support, and a dark leather jacket hanging lazily off her shoulders. The Mikaelson crest glinted on a chain at her neck. Her makeup was darker than usual—smoky eyes, crimson lips, and a streak of eyeliner sharp enough to stab someone with.

 

“Relax, Elijah,” she drawled lazily. “We’re not going to tea with the Queen of England. We’re meeting vampires. The kind who run clubs and live off drama. I’m dressed to speak their language.”

 

Freya chuckled and wiggled her fingers, her outfit no less bold—a black mesh top over a blood-colored bandeau and leather pants that squeaked with every movement. “Besides, we’ve got power on our side. Who needs pearls when you’ve got hexes?”

 

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re both insufferable.”

 

Sookie and Freya exchanged a glance, then Sookie said, “If it will make you feel better, Elijah, we can change our shirts.”

 

Freya nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we can put on something more... appropriate.”

 

Sookie stood up and began to unbutton her leather jacket, slipping it off and revealing her blood-red crop top. Freya followed suit, removing her black mesh top to reveal a blood-colored bandeau. As they both began to unbutton their crop tops and bandeau, Elijah's eyes widened in surprise.

 

Neither of them were wearing bras, and their bare chests were fully exposed. Freya's eyes flicked to Sookie's pierced nipples, and she let out a low whistle. "Damn, Sookie, those look amazing. Elijah, don't you think I should get mine done?"

 

Elijah's face flushed, and he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I... I don't think that's necessary, Freya. Please, just put on some shirts."

 

Sookie and Freya shared a smirk, then each grabbed a dress shirt from the jet's closet and began to button them up. Sookie slipped her leather jacket back on over the dress shirt, while Freya left her shirt untucked and open at the collar.

 

"Better?" Sookie asked, a playful smile on her lips.

 

Elijah sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... just sit down, both of you. We'll be landing in Dallas soon."

 

Sookie and Freya exchanged a satisfied glance, then settled back into their seats, leaving Elijah to pace and fret as the jet continued its descent towards Texas.

 

Just Outside Shreveport – Midnight

 

Jason’s truck rolled down the quiet stretch of road just outside Shreveport, the headlights cutting through thick shadows as he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.

 

“Too damn tired to make it to Bon Temps,” he muttered. “Sook’s place is closer anyway.”

 

He turned off the main road, aiming for Sookie’s apartment. But just as he passed the edge of a rundown city park, movement caught his eye. Several tall figures under the dim streetlights—men surrounding a woman.

 

He slowed, squinting.

 

They weren’t flirting.

 

They were fighting.

 

Jason hit the brakes hard and yanked the truck off to the shoulder. He was out and running before the door even fully shut, flashlight in hand.

 

“Hey! Back the hell off!”

 

The men turned—startled—and then bolted into the trees, vanishing like cockroaches in the dark.

 

Jason skidded to a stop in the dirt, breathing hard. The woman stood there, shoulders tense, fists clenched. Long dark hair clung to her face, and her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths. She looked up at him—and that’s when he saw it.

 

Fangs. Not the kind of monster movie fangs, just two subtle but unmistakably sharp canines. Elegant. Clean. Controlled.

 

She was a vampire.

 

Not like Sookie.

 

Like Eric and the others from Fangtasia.

 

Jason’s eyes widened. The pieces fell into place. Those bastards were V dealers—trying to drain her.

 

He lifted his hands slowly. “Hey. It’s okay. I ain’t here to hurt you.”

 

But the woman’s adrenaline was still spiking. Her instincts were locked in survival mode. One of the retreating men shoved past Jason from behind in his rush to escape—and the sudden movement triggered her reflexes.

 

In a blur, she lunged.

 

Jason didn’t even have time to shout.

 

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him with terrifying ease. And before she fully registered who he was, her hand snapped forward—twisting his head with a sickening crack.

 

The sound echoed into the trees.

 

She froze.

 

Jason went limp in her arms, eyes wide with confusion that was already fading.

 

Realization dawned slowly.

 

“No,” she whispered, voice raw. “No, no, no…”

 

She lowered him to the ground, checking his pulse—anything. But he was gone. Not drained. Not turned. Just… gone.

 

Her hands shook as she cradled his head, lips parted in silent horror. Then her eyes narrowed.

 

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered again. She scooped him up carefully, glanced once at the shadows where the men had fled, and then blurred into the night with Jason’s body in her arms—heading for help.

 

Jason’s Truck – Highway to Bon Temps

 

The brunette vampire sat silently behind the wheel, hands tight on the steering wheel. Jason Stackhouse’s body lay across the back seat, his head propped against a duffel bag.

 

She hadn’t meant to kill him.

 

She’d just… reacted.

 

The guilt sat in her chest like a stone. But at least she’d been able to check his wallet, find his license. Bon Temps. Jason Stackhouse. Hopefully, someone there could help.

 

The truck rumbled through the back roads of Renard Parish until the GPS dinged: Arrived.

 

She pulled into the dirt driveway of a modest house. Porch light still on. A place that looked like it held memories.

 

She stepped out of the truck, paused to wipe the blood from her hands onto her jeans, then opened the back door. She reached in—

 

Jason gasped.

 

Loud.

 

Ragged.

 

His whole body jerked upright, and he scrambled against the seat like he was waking from a nightmare. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, chest heaving.

 

“Holy shit!” she shouted, stumbling backward and falling to the gravel.

 

Jason blinked, looking around, confused as hell. “Wh-what the hell just happened? Where am I?”

 

“You… you were dead!” she shouted, still sprawled in the dirt, pointing at him like she’d seen a ghost. “I snapped your neck!”

 

Jason winced, rubbing the back of it like it still ached. “Yeah, I kinda remember that part…”

 

He glanced down, trying to piece it together—and that’s when he saw the ring on his finger. The heavy silver one Sookie had given him back in New Orleans, with the swirling design etched into its face and the faint glimmer of power he hadn’t really noticed before.

 

Sookie had made him promise to never take it off.

 

Something about protection from supernatural creatures.

 

His eyes widened. “No way…”

 

“What?” the vampire asked, finally standing and brushing herself off, though she still kept a healthy distance from him.

 

Jason looked up at her. “I think my sister gave me a magic freakin’ resurrection ring.”

 

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

 

He looked back at her and gave a half-grin. “So… uh… you still wanna talk about what the hell just happened?”

 

Jason’s Driveway – Bon Temps

 

Jason and the vampire stood awkwardly in the glow of his porch light, gravel crunching under their feet. The night air buzzed with cicadas, but Jason’s heart still hadn’t quite calmed down.

 

She was staring at him like he might drop dead all over again.

 

“So…” Jason started, rubbing the back of his neck. “You gonna tell me your name, or should I keep calling you ‘fangy park girl’ in my head?”

 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Thalía.”

 

He blinked. “Like the singer?”

 

“No,” she said flatly. “Like the ancient Greek fury. And if you call me that again, I will snap your neck—ring or no ring.”

 

Jason held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Thalía it is.”

 

She crossed her arms, still tense, but less predatory now. “I just moved here. Nestmates in Baton Rouge kicked me out. Said I was too aggressive.” Her mouth twitched into a bitter smile. “They didn’t like that I spoke my mind.”

 

Jason tilted his head. “So… you’re basically like my sister with fangs.”

 

Thalía’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure if that was an insult.”

 

Jason shrugged. “Neither am I.”

 

She sighed, clearly debating whether to just vanish into the night, but Jason beat her to it.

 

“Look,” he said, walking toward the porch and unlocking the front door. “You can crash here. Couch is clean, shower’s got hot water. You need a couple days to figure things out, you’re welcome.”

 

Thalía blinked. “You’re inviting a vampire who killed you into your home?”

 

“Well technically, you accidentally killed me,” Jason corrected. “And I got better. So we’re square.”

 

“…You are so dumb,” she muttered, following him to the door.

 

Jason just grinned and held it open. “Yeah, but I’m a good host.”

 

Dallas – Private Airport Tarmac, Just After Dark

 

The Mikaelson jet touched down smoothly on the private runway, its engines humming low as it taxied to a stop near a reserved hangar. The stairs lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, and the door opened to the warm Texas night.

 

Sookie stepped off first, her boots clicking against the metal stairs, the wind catching her loose blonde curls. She had changed mid-flight into something that screamed both trouble and confidence—black jeans, collared shirt, leather jacket. Freya followed her, looking just as unbothered by Elijah’s complaints about their fashion choices, even though she changed her shirt also. Elijah descended last, perfectly put together as always in a tailored suit, looking every inch the dignified Mikaelson.

 

Waiting at the edge of the tarmac was Isabel, standing near a sleek black SUV, arms folded, posture elegant and just a little wary. Her eyes zeroed in on Sookie first, then lingered briefly on Freya and Elijah. She gave the trio a small nod.

 

“You must be Sookie,” Isabel said, her voice smooth but guarded.

 

Sookie returned the nod with a polite, slightly amused smile. “I am. And these are my Aunt Freya and my Uncle Elijah Mikaelson.”

 

At the name, Isabel’s expression shifted. A flicker of recognition passed through her eyes—respect, curiosity, and maybe even the smallest spark of apprehension.

 

“It’s an honor,” Isabel said with a graceful tilt of her head toward Elijah. “Your family has quite the legacy.”

 

Elijah gave a slight bow. “We do our best to live up to it. Miss—?”

 

“Isabel,” she said simply. “Second of Godric, Sheriff of Area 9.”

 

Freya stepped forward with a grin and offered her hand. “Don’t let the title scare you. We’re just here to help... and stir up a little trouble if necessary.”

 

Isabel took Freya’s hand and shook it firmly, a mutual understanding passing between them.

 

Behind her, the black SUV purred softly—Elijah had arranged the rental in advance, of course. The driver stood nearby, waiting to load their luggage.

 

“We’ll take our own car,” Elijah said, handing the keys to the driver. “I find it best to be… self-reliant in new cities.”

 

“Very well,” Isabel said, her eyes still flicking occasionally to Freya and Elijah. “Follow me. Your hotel is only fifteen minutes away.”

 

As the bags were loaded and the group settled into the SUV—Elijah taking the passenger seat, Sookie and Freya in the back—Sookie glanced out the tinted window at the Dallas skyline.

 

“Hope this visit goes smooth,” she muttered.

 

Freya leaned over, whispering with a smirk, “If it doesn’t, we burn it down.”

 

Elijah sighed.

Notes:

Thanks for reading, your Comments, Questions and Kudos keep this story alive, and are all welcome.

Chapter 7: Godric and the FOTS

Summary:

Our Hero's go to the FOTS

Notes:

I own nothing. Here's Chapter 7 Enjoy

The Hotel Camella in downtown Dallas loomed tall and modern against the night sky, its sleek glass reflecting the city lights. The black SUV pulled up to the private VIP entrance, and a doorman in a crisp suit opened the door with practiced ease.

 

Isabel stepped out first, scanning the entrance. Elijah exited next, adjusting the cuff of his jacket, followed by Freya—still dressed more like a rock star than a witch—and finally Sookie, who looked like she'd stepped out of a dream and into a potential bar fight.

 

The concierge had already been briefed.

 

"Mr. Mikaelson," the man said with a respectful bow, "your suite is ready. Top floor. The Presidential."

 

They took the private elevator up, the hum of tension lingering just beneath the surface. Sookie was quiet, her eyes flicking to her phone every so often—Eric hadn't texted yet.

 

Once inside the suite—complete with a panoramic view of the Dallas skyline, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a bar stocked better than most clubs—Sookie threw her bag on the bed and plopped down beside it. Freya was already raiding the minibar for anything remotely caffeinated, while Elijah walked the perimeter like he was casing the place for hidden threats.

 

Meanwhile, Isabel stepped out onto the balcony to make a call.

 

She didn’t even wait for a greeting. “Eric. Sookie’s here. But she didn’t come alone.”

 

A pause. Then, “Who?”

 

“Elijah and Freya Mikaelson,” Isabel said bluntly. “They're… interesting.”

 

There was a longer pause.

“Well,” Eric said finally, “that explains the aura shift.”

 

“They’re coming with me now. We’re heading to Area 9 HQ.”

 

“Godric’s home?” Eric asked. “I’ll meet you there.”

Click.

 

Back inside, Isabel reentered and gave the group a brief nod. “Let’s go. Eric’s expecting us.”

 

Area 9 Headquarters – Outside of Dallas

 

The drive out of the city took less than an hour. The compound was modern, sleek, and surrounded by a high wall with a steel gate. Vampire security—some in suits, others in tactical gear—opened it upon Isabel’s approach. It wasn’t just headquarters, it was also Godric’s home base.

 

But tonight, it was quiet. Too quiet.

 

Inside the main building, Isabel led them through a central hallway and into a conference room lit by soft recessed lights. A large screen displayed the emblem of Area 9, and maps of Dallas were spread across the central table.

 

Eric was already there when they arrived, arms folded across his chest.

 

He glanced up as they entered. “You’re late.”

 

“We landed twenty minutes ago,” Sookie said. “And I told you to expect me tonight.”

 

Eric looked at Elijah and Freya. “You didn’t mention they were coming.”

 

“They’re not just tagging along,” Sookie said firmly. “They’re my family. And they're here to help.”

 

Elijah nodded. “Our interest is in making sure Sookie doesn’t get into trouble.”

 

Eric gave a curt nod. “Fair enough.”

 

Isabel pulled up a folder and placed it in front of Sookie. “Godric has been missing for three nights. No note. No warning. We know he’s still in the city… but he’s not responding to any calls. And his last known location was near the outskirts, too close to Fellowship of the Sun territory.”

 

Sookie flipped through the contents, eyes scanning rapidly. “So we think he was taken.”

 

“We know it,” Eric said darkly. “But without proof, there’s little we can do officially. The Fellowship has sympathizers in law enforcement.”

 

“So we’ll have to do this unofficially,” Sookie said.

 

Eric nodded. “That’s why you’re here.”

 

Sookie closed the file and looked up. “Then let’s get to work.”

 

New Orleans – Sophie-Anne’s Estate

 

The Queen’s estate was tucked behind tall, vine-covered walls on the edge of the Garden District—opulent, ancient, and quietly menacing. Bill Compton stood in the grand foyer, uneasily adjusting his coat as one of Sophie-Anne’s human servants escorted him inside.

 

She waited for him in her lavish parlor, sprawled elegantly on a fainting couch, wearing a crimson dress that looked centuries out of style, but still unnervingly regal.

 

“You’re late,” Sophie-Anne said without looking up from her glass of Tru Blood. “And you’re empty-handed.”

 

“I came to explain,” Bill began, stepping forward slowly. “Things are more complicated than expected.”

 

“Oh, I know that,” she interrupted. “Because somehow, instead of delivering the telepath to me, you’ve become sentimental. You let her run off with Vikings and witches like this is some kind of supernatural slumber party.”

 

Bill’s mouth tightened, but before he could answer—

 

BOOM.

 

The front doors of the estate shattered inward. The guards stationed outside didn’t even have time to scream before they were liquidated, bodies erupting into vampire goo and pools of blood.

 

Sophie-Anne bolted upright, her glass shattering as it hit the floor. Bill spun toward the door just as the smoke cleared—

 

And Niklaus Mikaelson stepped inside.

 

His suit was immaculate. His presence was oppressive. And his smile? Predatory.

 

“Well,” Klaus drawled, looking around at the charred remains of the guards. “You’ve redecorated.”

 

“Klaus.” Sophie-Anne stood, fury on her face, masking the undercurrent of fear. “You dare enter my domain—”

 

“I dare quite a bit, darling,” Klaus said, stepping closer. “You see, I heard an interesting rumor. That you sent one of your lapdogs sniffing after my DAUGHTER.”

 

His eyes turned cold. “I don’t like it when people play with my family.”

 

Sophie-Anne scoffed, though it wavered. “She’s not yours—”

 

“Is she not?” Klaus raised a brow, then tilted his head and finally noticed Bill.

 

He narrowed his eyes and took a slow step toward him.

 

“And you must be the infamous William Compton.” Klaus smiled faintly, voice dark and honeyed. “I believe we have quite a bit to talk about.”

 

Bill straightened, trying not to show fear. “I am. And you’re who exactly.”

 

“Klaus Mikaelson, but you can call me your death” Klaus said, circling him once like a predator. “So, tell me, Bill. Did you come here to grovel, or confess?”

Klaus circled Bill slowly, his expression unreadable, though a storm brewed just behind those icy eyes.

 

"You know," he said quietly, voice laced with velvet menace, "I’ve killed kings for less than what you’ve done. But you? You tried to manipulate my daughter.”

 

Bill flinched. “She’s not—”

 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Klaus raised a finger. “She is. In every way that matters. And if you ever raise your voice in reference to her again, I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to the dogs on Bourbon Street.”

 

He glanced at Sophie-Anne, whose smug expression was beginning to crack.

 

“I should thank you, Your Majesty,” Klaus said, the title soaked in sarcasm. “If you hadn’t been so spectacularly short-sighted, I might never have learned how deep your fingers run in this little game.”

 

Sophie-Anne stepped forward, trying to reclaim her composure. “This is a political matter. She is a valuable asset—”

 

Klaus turned on her so fast she froze mid-step.

 

“She is not an asset.” His voice thundered, rattling the crystal chandelier overhead. “She is my daughter. Which means you don’t send vermin like him—” he jabbed a thumb toward Bill, “—to spy on her. You don’t make demands of her. You don’t even breathe near her without my blessing.”

 

A tense silence stretched out like a blade between them.

 

Bill took a cautious breath. “I didn’t know she was connected to you, I swear—”

 

Klaus’s head tilted, mock sympathy in his voice. “And that’s your only saving grace, Compton. That you're stupid rather than treasonous. But don’t worry,” he added with a cruel smirk, “I’ll make sure you’re properly educated before this is over.”

 

He looked back to Sophie-Anne with that same cold fire.

 

“I suggest you find a new hobby, Queenie. Because if I find out you’re still playing with my family, I’ll turn your entire bloodline into mulch.”

 

Then he turned on his heel.

 

“Come along, William,” Klaus said casually, strolling toward the door. “We’re going to have a nice, long chat.”

 

Dallas – Godric’s Compound (Area 9 HQ)

 

Godric’s compound was sleek and fortified, a stark blend of elegance and security. High stone walls surrounded the estate, with armed guards—both vampire and human—posted at each checkpoint. Inside, it had the crisp order of a military command center, and the subtle opulence of a vampire’s domain.

 

Sookie stood in the main hall, the air cool and quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of passing footsteps. Freya and Elijah lingered near one of the side corridors, speaking quietly with a vampire officer about the staff records.

 

“I’m tellin’ you,” Sookie murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “somebody in here is feedin’ information out. I can feel it.”

 

“Then find them,” Elijah said simply. “Use your gift.”

 

Sookie nodded and let her eyes drift shut, expanding her senses. The surface thoughts of the compound’s human staff buzzed around her like a swarm of insects—mundane chatter, errands, food cravings—and then—

 

…upload it quick. They said don’t get caught. Just drop the bug in the server room…

 

…they’re monsters. Vampires. These people think they’re civilized…

 

…Fellowship’s right. This place is crawling with demons…

 

Her eyes snapped open, locking on a clean-cut young man in his twenties, dressed in logistics gear and pushing a supply cart down the eastern hall.

 

“That one,” she said, voice tight. “The one with the cart.”

 

Elijah gave a single nod and strode after the man with Freya in tow. Sookie followed behind, calm but alert.

 

The man turned a corner and nearly dropped the clipboard in his hands when he saw the three of them. “Oh—uh, can I help you?”

 

Sookie tilted her head, her voice sweet and Southern. “What’s your name?”

 

“Uh, Ben. Supply team.”

 

“Ben,” Elijah said sharply, stepping forward. “How long have you worked for Area 9?”

 

“Two months, sir.”

 

Freya narrowed her eyes. “Two months is long enough to plant surveillance equipment.”

 

Ben stiffened.

 

Sookie stepped closer, gaze piercing. “You're with the Fellowship of the Sun. You're not here because you need a paycheck. You’re spying. Listening. Reporting back to your preacher and whatever hateful zealots sent you.”

 

Ben’s mouth opened and closed, sweat forming on his brow. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Oh, bless your heart,” Sookie whispered, stepping in so close that he froze. “I can hear your lies, Ben. They’re loud as hell.”

 

Elijah’s voice was like frost. “You're going to tell us everything. Or we’ll find someone else in the Fellowship to interrogate. And unlike you, they may not be so lucky.”

 

Ben swallowed hard. “Okay—okay! Look, I was just supposed to plant a bug. That's all. No one told me about vampires getting hurt. The Fellowship just wanted to monitor them.”

 

Freya crossed her arms. “So they’re not just watching anymore… they’re planning.”

 

Elijah nodded, eyes dark. “We need to find that surveillance equipment. Now.”

 

Sookie exhaled slowly. “And maybe we need to make sure the Fellowship knows — spying on us has consequences.”

 

Dallas – Godric’s Compound, War Room

 

The room was dim, lit only by recessed lights and the glow of a digital map on the wall. Several screens displayed external footage of the Fellowship of the Sun’s church compound — perimeter fences, patrol patterns, infrared scans.

 

Eric leaned forward over the table, arms braced on either side. His expression was carved from stone, his voice calm but laced with anger. “We don’t have the luxury of waiting. The Fellowship has eyes inside our strongholds, and Godric is still missing. This ends now.”

 

“They’re hiding something,” Isabel added, tapping a folder on the table. “Too much foot traffic for a ‘small church group.’ They’re recruiting, stockpiling. There’s more going on behind those smiling sermons.”

 

Elijah was silent, watching the map with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture regal even in tension.

 

“We need eyes inside,” Freya said, standing beside Isabel. “But they’re not going to let a vampire stroll through the front gates.”

 

Sookie leaned against the edge of the table, one arm folded across her chest. “That’s why you’re going in,” she said, gesturing between Freya and Isabel. “You two—and Isabel’s human, Hugo. Go during daylight, play the part. A sweet couple lookin’ to find salvation or somethin’. Maybe even ask to volunteer. Scope the place out.”

 

Isabel nodded. “We can do that. Hugo’s a good actor.”

 

Eric looked at Sookie sharply. “And what about you?”

 

Sookie met Elijah’s gaze, her expression unreadable. “Me and Elijah… we’ll get in another way.”

 

A pause stretched across the room as Eric turned to look between the two of them.

 

Elijah gave a faint smile. “She has an idea. And yes… I already know what it is.”

 

Eric frowned. “You’re being cryptic.”

 

“Deliberately,” Sookie replied with a calm confidence. “Trust us. We’ll be inside when the time comes.”

 

Freya raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Isabel studied them both for a moment, then moved to gather the surveillance photos.

 

Eric exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But I want eyes on every angle. We go in tomorrow. Be ready.”

 

Elijah simply gave a nod.

 

Sookie turned toward the window, eyes narrowing at the distant glow of the city lights. “One way or another… we’re gonna find out what happened to Godric.”

 

Bon Temps, The Next Day

 

The sun was high over Bon Temps, blazing bright, but Jason Stackhouse was in a surprisingly good mood for a man who had his neck snapped the night before.

 

Thalía — the vampire who’d done the snapping — was stretched out, dead-for-the-day, on his couch under a blanket. Her pale face looked almost peaceful, and thankfully not crispy. Jason glanced at the windows and gave a low whistle.

 

“Good thing Sook replaced those old ones,” he muttered to himself. “UV-proof glass… Who the hell even thinks of that?”

 

He walked into the kitchen, looking through the fridge — nothing. No Tru Blood, no blood bags, nothing remotely helpful for a hungry vampire who might wake up in a real bad mood.

 

“Yeah, this ain’t gonna cut it.” He scratched the back of his head, then grabbed his keys off the counter. “I’ll run to Sookie’s place in Shreveport, see if she’s got a stash of the real stuff.”

 

Shreveport – Sookie’s Apartment

 

It didn’t take long for Jason to get to Shreveport. He still had a key to her place, and like most things Sookie, it was organized, tidy, and—thankfully—had a mini fridge in the corner with a stash of blood bags.

 

Jason grabbed a few and tossed them into a cooler, giving a nod of approval. “Way better than that fake stuff,” he muttered, picturing Thalía wrinkling her nose at Tru Blood. “This’ll get her purring.”

 

Back in Bon Temps – Weird Gets Weirder

 

Jason’s truck rumbled back into Bon Temps an hour later—and immediately slowed.

 

He blinked.

 

“What the hell…”

 

On the corner of Main and Pecan, right in front of Merlotte’s, a couple was going at it like it was spring break and they’d just discovered each other’s bodies for the first time. Naked. In the street.

 

Jason kept driving.

 

Another couple. On a porch. Moaning. Laughing. Shirts off, pants nowhere in sight.

 

A group of teenagers were dancing around a fire in front of the church. Half of them were topless. Someone was howling.

 

Jason stopped the truck in the middle of the road, his jaw slack.

 

“This… this ain’t normal.”

 

He looked around at the chaos. It wasn’t just wild behavior—it was feral. Like something had broken the last bit of decency in Bon Temps and let the primal side take over.

 

Jason reached for his phone, dialing Sookie out of instinct.

 

It rang.

 

And rang.

 

And went to voicemail.

 

“Hey, Sook? It’s me… uh, Jason. Listen, somethin’ real weird’s goin’ on back home. Like, real weird. I got a vampire on my couch and people havin’ orgies in the middle of Main Street. Call me back.”

 

He hung up and looked at the cooler on the passenger seat.

 

“Well, Thalía better be hungry. ‘Cause we got some serious shit to figure out.”

 

The Maenad’s Touch

 

Jason was almost home, the cooler of blood bags sitting on the passenger seat, Bon Temps still a fever dream of flesh and fire behind him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he passed through the tree-lined back roads.

 

That’s when he saw her.

 

A woman stepped out onto the road like she’d been waiting. Long wild curls framed her face like a crown of ivy. She wore a flowing, wine-colored dress that fluttered despite the still air. Her eyes met Jason’s—black, bottomless pits filled with hunger, madness, and something ancient.

 

Jason slammed the brakes, truck skidding to a halt just feet from her.

 

“Lady, you okay?” he asked, stepping out of the cab slowly. “You shouldn’t be walkin’ out here like that, you’ll get yourself killed.”

 

She smiled.

 

“Sweet boy,” she purred, voice like honey and rot. “You’re not the first to try and save me. But I’m the end of every road.”

 

Jason’s brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean—”

 

She moved like smoke. Inhuman. Fast. Jason barely had time to draw a breath before her fingers pressed to his chest and burned. His body spasmed, heart seizing up.

 

He gasped, stumbled, and collapsed—dead before he hit the ground.

 

 

Later That Day – Side of the Road, Lafayette’s POV

 

Lafayette Reynolds had seen some shit in his time, but this? This was getting biblical.

 

He was driving back from a little side hustle—dropping off some "natural wellness" for a client in Monroe—when he spotted Jason’s truck on the side of the road, door wide open.

 

He slowed, cautious, because ain’t nobody sane leaves a truck like that out here unless something’s real wrong.

 

“Jason?” he called, stepping out, his heels crunching gravel. “You best not be butt-naked and dead in here…”

 

And then he saw it.

 

Jason. Slumped across the front seat. Pale. Eyes open and glassy.

 

“Shit!” Lafayette rushed up, checking for a pulse. Nothing.

 

“Oh, hell no. No, no, no, Jason Stackhouse, you are not leavin’ me to deal with your crazy ass sister alone.” He shoved the passenger door open and hoisted the body inside, grunting. “You heavy as sin.”

 

He climbed in, ready to head for the nearest hospital or maybe even call Eric Northman himself—

 

When Jason suddenly gasped.

 

Lafayette nearly screamed, hand flying to his chest.

 

Jason bolted upright with a jolt. “Damn! Who knew dying hurt like that?!”

 

Lafayette blinked.

 

Jason looked at him, wide-eyed, then down at his chest. “Did you—did you bring me back? You a witch now?”

 

Lafayette stared, eyes huge. “Bitch, what?! You were dead!”

 

Jason groaned and rubbed his chest. “Yeah, I felt that. Like… like my whole body was on fire. Then bam, lights on again. Must be the ring…” He lifted his hand, the one with the ring Sookie gave him.

 

Lafayette pointed at it with a trembling finger. “Okay, that ring got some juju and I am gonna need a damn drink.”

 

Jason leaned back against the seat, dazed.

 

“She was a Maenad,” he muttered. “Don’t know how I know that… but I do. And she killed me.”

 

Lafayette started the engine, still rattled. “We goin’ to your house. You gonna explain this supernatural telenovela in plain English, boo. You done scared me into tomorrow.”

 

The Fellowship of the Sun - Infiltration

 

The fog rolled in thick over the Fellowship of the Sun compound. Mist swirled around the towering stone church, creeping through the woods like some living thing, licking at the bases of the trees. The sky overhead was heavy, a dull gray mass of clouds that muted the sunlight, casting everything in a dim, oppressive light.

 

Freya walked confidently at Hugo’s side, her expression calm, but there was a flicker of unease in her eyes as they approached the compound’s iron gates. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but she was sure of one thing: Hugo was hiding something. The way he’d spoken about the church, his eagerness to join—it had been too practiced, too rehearsed. But she’d kept her suspicions to herself for now. They had a role to play.

 

The air was thick with tension as Freya adjusted the dark cloak around her shoulders, her fingers tightening around the edges. Behind them, the low whistle of wind through the trees was punctuated by the occasional cry of birds. Two hawks circled high above, their sharp cries echoing in the mist, gliding gracefully through the gray skies. Freya’s gaze followed them for a moment before she shook herself, realizing she’d been watching them for too long.

 

There was something... almost familiar about the way they moved, as if they were silently watching, observing.

 

“Hugo,” she said, her voice steady, though she felt her heart rate quicken. “Are we sure about this? They seem... strange.”

 

Hugo glanced at her, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I’ve been with them for years. They may seem extreme, but their goals align with ours. Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.”

 

Freya nodded, though her instincts screamed that something was wrong. They approached the front entrance, where a small group of church members stood, watching them with eyes that seemed to pierce through to their very souls.

 

As they crossed the threshold, a heavy, cold air pressed against Freya. The inside of the church was stark—bare, save for the wooden pews and the altar at the front. The congregation stood in rigid rows, their eyes fixed on the stage, where a tall, lean man with sharp features spoke passionately about the dangers of vampires, about purging the world of their evil.

 

Freya’s stomach twisted. She kept her expression neutral, though every part of her wanted to reach for her magic, ready to fight. But she had to play her part.

 

She followed Hugo to the back of the room, where a member of the church approached them with a clipboard. His eyes were cold, suspicious, but he didn’t ask any questions. The same eerie feeling crept over Freya, like they were all being watched, her every movement studied. Her eyes shifted to the windows, but they were fogged, the mist pressing against the glass as if it were alive.

 

Hugo whispered something in the man’s ear, and the church member’s eyes narrowed. “Follow me,” he said curtly.

 

The floorboards creaked underfoot as they followed the man down a narrow hallway, toward a set of stairs leading to the basement. The air grew colder the further they descended, the dim light casting long shadows over the walls. It wasn’t until they reached the bottom of the stairs that Freya’s suspicions became a reality.

 

A cage.

 

A large metal cage, with a thick lock, stood in the center of the basement. It was dark, damp, and smelled faintly of mildew and decay.

 

“Wait a second,” Freya said, her voice rising with sudden realization. “What is this?”

 

Hugo’s expression shifted. He stepped away from her, his face cold. “This is where you’ll be staying. You’ve been... marked. A traitor. You should’ve known better than to support the vampires.”

 

Freya’s breath caught in her throat as the trap snapped shut around her. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the cold, stone room.

 

“Hugo,” she said, her voice dark and dangerous, her power starting to stir beneath her skin. “What have you done?”

 

Hugo didn’t respond. Instead, the church members gathered around, smirking in silent approval as the cage door clanged shut.

 

Freya’s eyes narrowed, her magic swirling inside of her, ready to break free—but she knew she had to bide her time. They hadn’t taken everything from her yet.

 

Above, the hawks continued to circle, their wings slicing through the heavy air, as if they were waiting—just waiting—for the right moment.

The basement was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Freya's heart pounded in her chest as she heard the creaking of footsteps approaching. She braced herself, her magic stirring beneath her skin, ready to defend against whatever threat was coming her way.

 

The door to the basement creaked open, and a man named Gabe stepped inside. He was tall and muscular, his eyes gleaming with a sickening mix of lust and malice. He looked at Freya, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

 

"Well, well, well," he said, his voice a low growl. "Look what we have here. A little witch in a cage. I've been told you need to learn to appreciate the cock of living men, not those undead freaks."

 

Freya's stomach churned with disgust. She kept her expression neutral, her eyes narrowed as she watched him approach. Gabe's hand went to his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness. He pulled out his cock, which was already hard and about six inches long. Freya's disgust turned to revulsion, but she knew she had to stay calm and focused.

 

"I'm going to teach you to love it," Gabe said, his voice thick with arousal. "You're going to suck this cock like your life depends on it."

 

Freya's magic surged within her, fueled by her anger and disgust. She couldn't let this happen. She took a deep breath, focusing her energy on the lock of the cage. With a sudden burst of power, she broke the lock, the cage door swinging open with a clang.

 

Gabe's eyes widened in surprise, but it was too late for him to react. Freya's magic wrapped around him, lifting him off the ground and forcing him to his knees. His own cock was pushed towards his face, and with a sickening twist of her magic, she made him deepthroat himself.

 

Gabe's eyes bulged as he choked on his own member, his body convulsing in pain and humiliation. Freya watched him, her expression cold and unyielding. She would not be a victim, not here, not ever.

 

Just as Gabe's struggles began to weaken, a sudden noise from the adjacent room caught Freya's attention. The sound of a cage door being forced open echoed through the basement. She turned her head just in time to see a figure emerging from the shadows—a tall, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes. It was Godric.

 

Godric's gaze swept over the scene, taking in Freya's magic, Gabe's struggling form, and the open cage. His expression was a mix of surprise and relief.

 

"Freya," he said, his voice steady and calm. "It seems you've had quite the adventure."

 

Freya's magic relaxed slightly, but she kept Gabe suspended, his own cock still forced down his throat. "Godric," she acknowledged, her voice tight with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

 

Godric stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Freya's. "I was captured and brought here," he explained. "I've been in the cage next door. I heard the commotion and thought I should intervene."

 

Freya's magic flickered, and Gabe's struggles intensified. She looked at Godric, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and determination. "We need to get out of here," she said. "And fast."

 

Godric nodded, his gaze shifting to Gabe. "What about him?"

 

Freya's expression hardened. "He's a monster," she said. "But I won't kill him. Not like this. We need to leave, and we need to do it now."

 

With a final surge of magic, Freya released Gabe, who collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking. She turned to Godric, her eyes filled with urgency. "Let's go. We have a lot to discuss, and we need to get as far away from this place as possible."

Notes:

Thanks for all the Kudos and the Read. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome. Sookie is about to meet Godric and what did Klaus do to Bill find out in the next chapter.

Chapter 8: Massacre at the FOTS

Summary:

Sookie has a party of blood at the Fellowship of the Sun

Notes:

I own Nothing, this chapter turned out longer than I thought it would, I hope you enjoy Chapter 8

SHIPPING CONTAINER - NIGHT

 

The shipping container is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of metal and blood. Bill Compton is strapped to a silver chair, bolted to the floor. His eyes flutter open, disoriented and in pain. He looks around, his vision blurry.

 

A confused Bill looking around as he remembers that Klaus broke his neck, whispering to himself, “Where am I?”

 

Klaus Mikaelson steps into view, his eyes glowing with an eerie light. He leans down, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “Welcome back, Bill. I trust you're enjoying your new accommodations.”

 

Bill's eyes widen as he realizes the silver restraints and the knife lying on the floor beside him.

 

Panic rising, a still confused Bill asks “What is this? What do you want from me?”

 

Klaus smiles, a chilling expression that sends shivers down Bill's spine.

 

“You know what I want, Bill. You will take this knife...” Klaus picks up the silver knife and hands it to Bill, who hesitates before taking it. “...and you will stab yourself once every five minutes in one of your legs. And once an hour, you will stab yourself in the groin. You will not be able to achieve an erection or engage in any sexual activity with any woman. Do you understand?”

 

Bill's hands tremble as he holds the knife, the reality of his situation sinking in. His voice shaking as he replied “Yes... I understand.”

 

Klaus leans in closer, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Good. Because if you fail to comply, the pain will be... unbearable.” Klaus steps back, his eyes never leaving Bill's. Bill looks down at the knife, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He knows he has no choice but to obey.

 

Bill whispering to himself “Just do it, Bill. Just do it.” As he raises the knife, his hand shaking violently. He takes a deep breath and plunges the knife into his thigh, a guttural scream escaping his lips.

 

 Klaus watches, a satisfied smile on his face. Softly he replies, “That's a good boy.”

 

The container falls silent, except for Bill's ragged breathing and the occasional drip of blood onto the metal floor. Klaus leaves Bill alone with his torment, the silver knife glinting ominously in the dim light.

 

The Sanctuary at the FOTS

The old wooden doors groaned on their hinges as they swung open, revealing the sanctuary of the Fellowship of the Sun church. Candles flickered in sconces along the walls, casting a golden glow over the high ceilings and polished pews. At the far end, a simple cross loomed above the altar, its shadow stretching long across the floor.

 

Freya walked beside Godric, her boots soft against the worn stone beneath them. The moment was eerily quiet, the air thick with incense and something unspoken. Godric, as always, moved like a shadow—silent, graceful, ancient.

 

But there was something different about him now. Something subdued. As if the centuries had finally caught up to him.

 

Freya studied him out of the corner of her eye before finally breaking the silence.

 

"You're not a prisoner here," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the stillness of the sanctuary. "The cage... the guards... all for show, wasn’t it?"

 

Godric said nothing at first, his gaze drifting up toward the cross. He stopped halfway down the aisle, his hands clasped behind his back, as though standing in judgment of himself.

 

"You're free to leave," she said again, firmer this time. "So why are you still here? Why are you going along with them?"

 

Godric’s lips pressed into a thin line. He tilted his head, eyes reflecting the candlelight like dull amber. "Because I’m tired," he said finally. "Tired of the killing. Of pretending there's a future for creatures like us."

 

Freya turned to face him fully. "That’s not your choice to make. You’ve protected more than you’ve harmed. You’ve tried to live better."

 

"And yet," he replied, his voice hollow, "the blood never leaves your hands. No matter how many centuries pass. No matter how many good deeds you perform to cover the sins. In the end, we are still monsters, Freya."

 

Her jaw tightened. "That’s not true. I’ve known true monsters. And you don’t get to lump yourself in with them because you’re tired or lost."

 

Godric smiled faintly, the expression more sadness than mirth. "What do you think this place is? A prison? No. It's a sanctuary—for them... and for me. This is where I chose to end it."

 

Freya’s eyes narrowed. "So that’s it? You came here to die?"

 

Godric finally looked at her. Really looked. "Yes."

 

A long silence fell between them.

 

The last of the twilight faded beyond the stained-glass windows, plunging the sanctuary into a warm, flickering half-light. The candle flames danced nervously as if they sensed the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

 

Freya felt it before she heard it—that wrongness in the air. The heavy tread of boots. The mechanical click of safeties being disengaged.

 

The sanctuary doors slammed open with a thunderous crack.

 

Floodlights mounted to shoulder rigs blasted into the room, washing over the pews and illuminating the shadows in cold, sterile white. Armed figures fanned out in formation, assault rifles drawn, movements practiced and precise.

 

Reverend Steve Newlin strutted in behind them like he owned salvation itself, wearing a tailored black suit with a white clerical collar that gleamed under the lights. His smile was bright, wolfish, manic.

 

“Well, now,” he drawled, stopping just a few steps into the sanctuary. “Looks like our guest of honor’s wandered off before rehearsal.”

 

Godric turned toward the light, calm as ever. “You were rehearsing my execution?”

 

Steve laughed as if it were the funniest thing he'd heard all week. “Oh, come on now. Don’t be so melodramatic. We were planning your salvation. Fire cleanses, after all.”

 

He gestured dramatically toward the altar. “Tomorrow, we will show the world what you are. A monster. An unholy parasite. We’ll burn away the darkness—and all these good folks here will see it happen with their own eyes. Proof that the Lord’s light prevails!”

 

Freya stepped in front of Godric, her tone like sharpened steel. “You won’t touch him.”

 

Steve raised a brow, unimpressed. “And you must be the vampire sympathizer. The blonde who walked right through our front door.” He chuckled. “A shame, really. You're pretty. But misguided.”

 

One of the armed men beside him tilted his head. “Sir, should we cage her again?”

 

“No,” Steve replied, gaze never leaving Freya’s. “Let her watch. She’ll see what happens to leeches like him—and the traitors who protect them.”

 

Then, as if remembering something, Steve looked toward the high stained-glass windows. “Assuming, of course, this creepy fog lifts by morning. The Lord said, ‘Let there be light,’ but this stuff?” He waved a hand through the hanging mist that had begun to seep even into the church’s old stone halls. “Feels more like the devil’s breath.”

 

High above, through the thickening haze outside, two large hawks circled in perfect silence—watching. Waiting.

 

Godric didn’t flinch. “You think burning me will make you holy?” he asked. “All it will do is show the world what you are.”

 

Steve’s grin widened. “A man of conviction.”

 

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

 

Several of the church men stepped forward. “Take him back to the holding cell. And put a muzzle on the redhead this time.”

 

Freya tensed, ready to fight, but Godric gently reached out and touched her arm—subtle restraint in the smallest of gestures.

 

“Not yet,” he murmured.

 

As the soldiers advanced, the fog thickened outside, curling against the stained-glass like tendrils of smoke. The air hummed with the threat of something ancient watching... something powerful.

 

And it wasn’t God. The air inside the sanctuary grew heavy—thick with something unnatural.

 

The fog outside surged against the walls like an incoming tide—and then, without warning, it poured in.

 

Not through cracks, not through vents, but through the very stone itself. It slithered across the floor like smoke, rising around the pews, cloaking the armed men in a suffocating shroud. The churchgoers screamed as the white veil swallowed them one by one.

 

Muffled cries echoed—thuds, choking gasps, and the sickening sound of bone snapping.

 

Then silence.

 

Freya’s eyes widened, heart hammering, even though she didn’t move. Next to her, Godric remained calm, unreadable. He tilted his head back, as if listening to the fog itself.

 

Then came the sound—the scrape of boots on rafters.

 

Above them, in the third-story beams, a shadow crouched.

 

Red eyes gleamed through the mist.

 

She leapt.

 

Sookie landed with the grace of a predator, three-point crouch, like a panther dropped from the heavens. Her blonde hair whipped around her face, wild and untamed, but it was her eyes that chilled the blood of every man in the room—glowing blood red, veins branching out across her cheeks like cracked marble. Her fangs glistened, fully extended, lips pulled back in a feral snarl.

 

One of the church members screamed and raised his rifle—but Sookie was already moving.

 

She blurred.

 

By the time the first shot rang out, she was behind him, hand around his throat. She slammed him into the nearest column with enough force to splinter stone, then sank her fangs into his neck with a growl that was anything but human.

 

Another tried to run—she caught him with one hand and tore his throat open with the other, blood spraying across the sanctuary wall like paint. The scream never even made it out of his mouth.

 

A third, smarter or maybe just luckier, dropped his gun and fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender. Sookie looked at him—and then past him, at the others.

 

More screaming as the mist churned. From its depths, bodies were dragged away by unseen hands. Limbs vanished into the white, muffled cries silenced in seconds.

 

Steve Newlin, standing near the altar, stared in wide-eyed horror. “What… what are you?!”

 

Sookie turned toward him, blood dripping from her chin, her voice guttural, layered—otherworldly.

 

“I’m the nightmare you built, preacher.”

 

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stalking through the carnage. “You lit the match. I’m just the fire.”

 

Steve stumbled back, eyes wild, crossing himself with trembling fingers. “This is blasphemy! You’re unholy! The Lord—”

 

Sookie blurred again, too fast for him to track.

 

When she reappeared, she was in front of him, her hand on his chest. “He’s not listening.”

 

With a shove, she sent him flying into the altar, cracking the wood.

 

Blood soaked the sanctuary, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows against the mist that finally began to thin.

 

Freya stood still in the center of the devastation, breathless, staring at Sookie.

The last wisps of fog twisted like dying spirits across the blood-soaked sanctuary floor, revealing the carnage left in Sookie’s wake—shredded pews, broken bodies, the altar cracked in half.

 

Then the heavy, old church doors creaked open.

 

Boots clicked against stone.

 

Eric Northman entered first, flanked by Isabel and a half dozen other Dallas vampires—faces tight, fangs out, eyes glowing with anticipation and bloodlust.

 

But all of them stopped dead just inside the doorway.

 

Sookie stood in the middle of the massacre, her clothes splattered with blood, fangs bared, red eyes still glowing with rage and power. She turned her head slowly toward the newcomers, a predator measuring who was prey.

 

Eric stared—stunned, for once. His breath caught, his pupils dilated, and his posture shifted from confident swagger to… something else. Something primal.

 

He wasn’t scared.

 

He was turned on.

 

He stepped forward almost reverently, jaw clenched tight as his gaze swept down her body, then back up to her face. “Sookie…” His voice was low, roughened with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood. “That was… beautiful.”

 

One of the younger vamps beside him whispered, “She’s one of us.”

 

“No,” Eric said, eyes locked to hers, a slow smirk forming. “She’s better.”

 

Isabel elbowed him lightly, sensing the tension and the fact that his very obvious reaction was pressing against the seam of his pants. She gave him a look. Eric didn’t care.

 

From the far side of the sanctuary, the mist curled again.

 

A figure emerged—tall, elegant, deadly.

 

Elijah Mikaelson stepped out from the haze, his suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, blood staining his shirt and hands. He looked utterly calm, like this was a dinner party he had just excused himself from.

 

He wiped his palms with a handkerchief, stained red.

 

“Apologies,” Elijah said mildly, looking over at Sookie. “I had to deal with a few of their ‘deacons’ outside. Very rude men.”

 

Eric looked between them, piecing it together. “You planned this?”

 

Sookie gave a slight, savage smile. “We gave them a chance to stop.”

 

Elijah tucked his bloody handkerchief away, walking across the floor as if the carnage didn’t exist. “They chose poorly.”

 

Behind them, one of the still-breathing church members groaned. Sookie moved toward him in a blur and put him out of his misery with a sharp twist of the neck—no hesitation.

 

Eric let out a soft moan.

 

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Eric. Control yourself.”

 

He didn’t even look at her. “I’ve never been more in love.”

As the mist finally cleared and the wreckage of the Fellowship sanctuary was fully visible, screams echoed down the pew-lined aisles. Blood soaked into the wood, the scent sharp and coppery in the air.

 

From behind the pulpit, Revered Steve Newlin stumbled backward, face pale with horror as he clutched a silver cross to his chest like it could protect him from the hell he’d invited in.

 

But it wasn’t the destruction that paralyzed him.

 

It was her.

 

Sookie Mikaelson—no longer sweet, no longer human, no longer merciful—was moving through the aftermath like a wraith, her eyes still red, her fangs still dripping. She had become wrath incarnate.

 

And she had one more soul on her list.

 

“Sarah!” Steve cried, spotting his wife cowering by the altar, her blonde curls disheveled, mascara streaking down her cheeks. “Run!”

 

But Sookie was already there.

 

She moved like shadow, like smoke. One moment Sarah was scrambling to her feet, the next Sookie had her pinned by the throat against the altar.

 

Sarah whimpered. “P-please don’t—”

 

Sookie grabbed a knife from a dead church guard’s belt, sliced cleanly across her palm, and forced the bleeding hand to Sarah’s lips. “Drink.”

 

Sarah resisted at first, but Sookie’s strength was absolute. The blood touched her lips, and instinct took over. She swallowed.

 

“Good girl,” Sookie whispered darkly, pulling her hand back. “You’ll be waking up hungry.”

 

Then, with a vicious twist, Sookie snapped Sarah’s neck like it was nothing more than a twig.

 

Steve screamed, falling to his knees, tears pouring down his face.

 

Sookie turned to him, slowly, her expression somewhere between cruel and coldly amused. “She’ll rise by dawn, Steve. I’ll be making sure she becomes a good Vampire, Maybe you and her will meet again.”

 

She crouched in front of him, tilting her head like a curious child. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Proof that your wife’s soul can be saved?” Her voice dripped with mockery. “Guess she’ll find out soon enough.”

 

Steve sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, his cross trembling in his hands.

 

Elijah appeared beside Sookie, watching with quiet approval, hands now clean, voice calm. “That was unnecessary,” he remarked dryly.

 

“But satisfying,” Sookie replied, not taking her eyes off the broken preacher. “And you know it.”

 

Eric, behind them, simply chuckled. “Remind me never to piss you off, älskling.”

 

Jason Stackhouse's House – Bon Temps, Late Afternoon

 

The living room still smelled faintly of reheated pizza and blood bags. Thalía sat upright on the couch now, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her sharp eyes darting around the room as she took in her surroundings with an ancient wariness. A half-empty blood bag hung loosely from her fingers, her lips stained dark.

 

Jason stood nearby, arms crossed proudly, grinning like he'd just handed out a winning lottery ticket.

 

“See? Told ya I had the good stuff.” He motioned to the small cooler near the door. “AB-negative. None of that bottled crap. My sister keeps a stash at her apartment. Figured you’d appreciate the real deal.”

 

Thalía arched an eyebrow, licking the corner of her mouth. “You’re surprisingly well-prepared... for someone with such a reckless face.”

 

Jason beamed. “Thanks! Wait—was that a compliment?”

 

“Mm.” She didn’t confirm or deny, just took another sip.

 

Lafayette, perched dramatically on the arm of the chair in a kimono and slippers, fanned himself with a pink glittered handheld fan. “Okay, sweet cheeks. Let’s circle back to the part where your fine ass died and just woke up like it was nothin’. And now you got Queen of the Damned on your damn couch actin’ like she lives here?”

 

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… about that. So… I think I can’t die. Or like, I did die. Twice. But I came back both times. Kinda feels like cheating.”

 

Lafayette blinked, then took a slow sip from his spiked iced tea.

 

Thalía set her now-empty blood bag down gently. “That ring you’re wearing. I felt magic on it last night, even before I snapped your neck.”

 

Jason held it up. “Sookie gave it to me. Swore up and down I couldn’t ever take it off.”

 

“You should listen to your sister more,” Thalía muttered.

 

Lafayette leaned in with wide eyes. “Hold up. Your sister is a vampire?”

 

“Yep!” Jason said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “But she’s not like Thalía. She’s... newer, I guess. From a whole different bloodline. She’s Mikaelson.”

 

Thalía stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Mikaelson? Those vampires still exist?”

 

“Yeah. Rebekah’s her maker. And I think Elijah and Klaus are like her uncles or somethin’. It’s all real confusing and real dangerous.” Jason scratched his chest. “Honestly, they scare the hell outta me, but they treat Sook like family. Klaus even calls her ‘daughter.’”

 

Thalía hissed softly under her breath, not in anger, but with the weight of history behind it. “You’re right to be afraid.”

 

Lafayette leaned forward, whispering like he was suddenly in a gothic soap opera. “Oh damn. We in the deep end now.”

 

Jason chuckled nervously. “Y’all think we should... tell someone what’s goin’ on?”

 

Lafayette tilted his head. “Honey, I think the question is who’s still alive to tell.”

 

Thalía stood smoothly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Then it’s good I’m staying. Seems like Bon Temps might be interesting after all.”

Lafayette tilted his head, glancing between the blinds and Thalía, who was now lazily reclining on the couch like some queen of the underworld on vacation. Sunlight still streaked through the living room—muted, soft, filtered through special UV-blocking windows Sookie had installed months ago.

 

“Okay, baby girl, hold the hell up,” Lafayette said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s three in the damn afternoon. You should be in a crispy-ass coma right now. How are you walkin’ around lookin’ all fresh and fabulous like the sun ain’t even tryna barbecue you?”

 

Thalía smirked, stretching her arms behind her head. “You’re right. I should be dead to the world. Most vampires are. But I’m not most vampires.”

 

Jason looked confused. “Wait, what’s that mean?”

 

“It means,” she said, her voice smooth and old as stone, “that I’m over two thousand years old. I was born before your Christ. Before most humans learned to write. With enough age, time, and blood… some of us evolve.”

 

Lafayette blinked slowly. “So you got vampire superpowers and you get to ignore the snooze button of death? Girl, that’s just rude.”

 

Thalía chuckled, then gestured toward the windows. “But don’t get cocky, Stackhouse. If it wasn’t for your sister and her very thoughtful UV windows, I’d be ash on your hardwood floor.”

 

Jason held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I just liked that I could keep the AC in better with ‘em. Didn’t realize they’d save a vamp's life.”

 

“You saved my life,” Thalía said softly, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through her usually hardened demeanor.

 

Jason froze. “Uh… what now?”

 

Thalía stood and crossed the room slowly, her eyes dark and intense as they locked on his. “You didn’t just feed me. You cared. You checked on me. And then you brought me real blood instead of that factory-bottled garbage. You didn’t have to.”

 

Jason blinked, clearly flustered. “Well, yeah, I mean… you were sleepin’ on my couch and all. Figured it was the polite thing.”

 

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically left his face. “Uh huh. And I’m guessin’ the sexual tension up in here ain’t just me bein’ dramatic.”

 

Thalía turned slightly, her gaze still on Jason. “I’ve developed... feelings. For him.” She looked back at Lafayette, then down at her hand. “It’s inconvenient. But compelling. I’ve lived lifetimes without caring about anyone. But something about him…” she sighed, “...makes me want to stay.”

 

Jason’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “I, uh… I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Don’t say anything,” Thalía said, brushing her fingers along his arm. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

 

Lafayette threw his hands up dramatically. “Lord, Jesus, we’re all gonna die. But at least y’all gonna be cute about it.”

 

Godric’s Compound – Dallas, Just After Midnight

 

The black SUV rolled quietly through the wrought-iron gates of Godric’s secluded estate, tires crunching over the gravel drive as mist still lingered in the moonlight. The aftermath of the Fellowship raid clung to everyone in the vehicle—blood, smoke, silence.

 

Sookie was the first to step out once they arrived, her bare feet hitting the cool stone of the driveway. Her bloodstained dress clung to her frame, and her hair was wild from the night’s violence, but her expression was unreadable—calm, eerie, regal.

 

Eric emerged next, followed by Elijah and Freya. Isabel trailed last, her gaze flicking between Sookie and the others as if still processing the storm she’d just witnessed. None of them said anything for several long seconds.

 

Freya broke the silence with a quiet sigh. “That... went better than I expected.”

 

Eric smirked as he adjusted his shirt, still half-torn from the chaos. “Depends on who you ask. I believe half the congregation might disagree.”

 

“Let them,” Elijah said coolly, brushing invisible dust from his suit jacket, his hands still faintly stained crimson. “They brought it upon themselves.”

 

Sookie stayed quiet, her eyes fixed ahead on the darkened entryway of the compound.

 

Godric was already there, standing in the open doorway.

 

He looked different—cleaned up, calm, almost ethereal in a linen shirt and slacks. The weight of his decisions still hung around him, but something had shifted. The suicidal weariness that had haunted him seemed dulled, softened. Maybe it was Sookie’s arrival. Maybe it was the blood spilled in his name.

 

“You’re all safe,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure… Thank you.”

 

Sookie nodded. “We weren’t lettin’ you go out like that, Godric.”

 

He met her eyes and gave a faint, grateful smile.

 

Elijah stepped forward, his tone diplomatic. “We should all rest, regroup. There may still be retaliation, but for now, Area 9 is secured.”

 

Eric looked over at Sookie, his expression softer than usual. “You were… impressive tonight.”

 

Sookie gave him a dry look. “That a compliment or an innuendo?”

 

“Both,” he said, voice low and sultry, even as he stepped inside.

 

Godric motioned them in. “The staff has turned in for the night. The house is yours.”

 

As they entered the estate one by one, the tension began to ease. The war might not be over, but for now, they were alive. They were together.

 

And the Mikaelsons had made their presence known.

 

ERIC’S ROOM, LATE NIGHT

 

The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from a nearby lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Sookie sat curled up at the end of a plush chaise lounge near the window, wrapped in one of Eric’s black silk robes. Her hair was damp from a recent shower, and her eyes held a distant yet alert gaze. The faint scent of rain and blood lingered in the air.

 

Eric stood across the room, shirtless, toweling off his hair. His eyes had not left her since they entered the room. The television murmured quietly in the background, tuned to a local Dallas station. A news anchor with a stern expression sat in front of a grainy aerial view of the Fellowship of the Sun church, police lights flashing in the background.

 

NEWS ANCHOR (ON TV)

Authorities are reporting what appears to be a wild animal attack that left several members of the controversial religious organization dead. Local police have cordoned off the area and are warning residents to avoid the scene while they investigate.

 

Sookie let out a soft, sarcastic huff. “Wild animal, huh. Guess that makes me a wolf now.”

 

Eric crossed the room silently and knelt beside her, his hand gently brushing over her knee. “More like a lioness,” he murmured, his eyes glittering with a mix of admiration and desire. “Powerful. Beautiful. Lethal.”

 

She gave him a weary smile, her fingers absently playing with the hem of the robe. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“You didn’t,” he replied smoothly. “You fascinated me.”

 

His hand trailed up her thigh, slow and reverent. “I’ve known thousands of vampires, Sookie. Seen darkness, cruelty, passion, madness… but I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

 

She shifted slightly, her voice soft. “I didn’t even know I had that in me.”

 

“You were magnificent,” he whispered, his fingers cupping her chin to guide her gaze to his. “You’re not just part vampire. You’re something more. And I think… you were made for this world.”

 

Sookie leaned in, resting her forehead against his. “Maybe I was. Or maybe this world is just finally catching up to me.”

 

She kissed him, the kiss starting slow and tentative but deepening quickly with unspoken truths and longing. Eric pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling him as the silk robe slipped from her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts. His eyes flicked to her nipple piercings, a mix of appreciation and discomfort flashing across his face.

 

Eric says softly “Those are new. They suit you, but silver burns my skin.”

 

Sookie smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “I know. I wanted something that would protect me from your kind of vampires.”

 

Eric’s hands moved to her waist, his thumbs brushing against her hips. “You don’t need silver for that. You have my heart, Sookie. Forever.”

 

She kissed him again, this time with fiery intensity, allowing the robe to slip completely to the floor, leaving her naked in his lap. Eric’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of her, his hands roaming over her body with a hunger that matched her own.

 

Sookie whispering to him “I want to give you your reward, Eric. Let me pleasure you.”

 

She slid off his lap and knelt between his legs, her hands working quickly to unfasten his pants. Eric’s cock sprang free, hard and impressive at 9 inches. Sookie wrapped her hand around him, marveling at his size and the velvet-soft skin.

 

voice husky Eric “Sookie, you don’t have to—"

 

She cut him off with a sultry smile, leaning in to take him into her mouth. Eric’s head fell back with a groan, his hands tangling in her hair as she began to move, her lips and tongue working their magic. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the television’s murmurs fading into the background.

 

Eric whispering “Sookie... you’re incredible.”

 

She continued to pleasure him, her movements growing more confident and intense. Eric’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body tensing as he neared the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he released into her mouth, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

 

Sookie looked up at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction and love. Eric pulled her up into his lap, holding her close as they both caught their breath. Whispering “Thank you, Sookie. You are truly one of a kind.”

 

She smiled against his chest, content and safe in his arms. The room was silent except for their soft breaths, the world outside forgotten in the heat of their passion.

 

Main Room, Moments Later

 

The main living room buzzed with a low, tense energy. Godric stood near the hearth, his expression unreadable. Freya and Elijah flanked the edge of the room, quietly talking in hushed tones. Isabel hovered nearby, arms crossed, her eyes darting toward the couch every few seconds.

 

On that couch, laid out like a sleeping angel draped in sin, was Sarah Newlin.

 

Her once-pristine white dress was streaked with blood—Sookie’s blood. Her skin had taken on the pale, waxen look of death, but her fingers were twitching. Her lips parted and closed as though struggling to form words in a dream.

 

Sookie stepped into the room, Eric trailing closely behind her. She’d redressed, her hair still damp from earlier. Eric’s shirt was loosely draped over her frame, her eyes rimmed in tired red. Eric looked freshly fed, and… incredibly pleased.

 

All eyes turned to them.

 

Sookie glanced at the couch, then at Elijah. “She’s waking.”

 

Elijah gave her a slight nod. “You were sure she will complete the transition?”

 

“I will force her to drink human blood if I have too. She’ll turn,” Sookie said simply, no guilt in her voice. “Wasn’t like she gave anyone a choice after the mess she helped make.”

 

Sarah suddenly jerked upright with a gasp—a terrible, choking sound that filled the room.

 

Everyone stilled.

 

Her eyes flew open. Veins bulged under her skin. She clutched her stomach and writhed, falling from the couch and scrambling backward across the floor like a spider.

 

“W-what’s happening?!” she screamed, her voice shrill, breaking. “W-where am I? What did you do to me?!”

 

Sookie took a step forward, her arms folded loosely. “Welcome to your second life, sweetheart.”

 

“You bit me—” Sarah’s voice cracked. “You—you’re a monster!”

The air in the room was tense, heavy with anticipation. Sarah lay on the couch, still in transition, her body twitching as the transformation took hold. The others stood around her, unsure whether to speak or wait, the uncertainty hanging like a thick fog in the air.

 

Then the door to the main room creaked open, and everyone froze.

 

A man stumbled into the room, ragged and disheveled. His eyes were wide, his breath shallow, and the pallor of death was unmistakable on his face. But it wasn’t the man's appearance that caught everyone’s attention—it was the unmistakable shape of a bomb strapped to his chest.

 

A quick glance was all it took for Sookie to sense the immediate danger.

 

Her heart hammered in her chest, but her mind was already racing. She could hear his thoughts clearly as he stood there, his panicked mind screaming for release.

 

They’re going to kill me. But I won’t let them. Not now. Not ever. If I die, they all die with me. This is how we’ll win. This is how we’ll make them see. They won’t stop us.

 

Sookie's eyes locked onto the man, and the weight of his intentions settled over her like a dark cloud. He wasn’t just here to die—he wanted to take them all down with him. The others were still frozen, processing the situation, but Sookie didn’t hesitate.

 

She could already hear the countdown in his mind.

 

I have to go. I just have to press the button.

 

Without a moment to spare, Sookie’s vampiric speed kicked in. In the blink of an eye, she was at the man’s side, grabbing him by the shoulders. She didn’t even pause to think—her focus was purely on getting him away from the others.

 

With a forceful push, she sent him stumbling toward the door, her own body following in swift pursuit. She could hear the pounding of his heart, his fear radiating through his every thought.

 

But as Sookie reached the door and flung it open, she felt the cold air hit her face—a brief moment of clarity before the explosion detonated just outside, sending a shockwave of heat and force ripping through the compound.

 

The blast hit her hard. The ground beneath her feet gave way as the force of the explosion threw her backward. The door slammed shut behind her with a deafening noise, and she was hurled across the yard, her body crashing against the hard earth.

 

She didn’t have time to react. The blast knocked the wind out of her as her vision blurred, her body skidding across the ground like a ragdoll.

 

For a moment, everything was white. Pain. Then darkness.

Notes:

Thanks for reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome. I'll see you in chapter 9

Chapter 9: Godric and the Sun

Summary:

Klaus makes a discovery. Sookie recovers from the bomb, and Godric still seems on wanting to meet the sun.

Notes:

I own nothing. here's an interesting chapter, enjoy.

The explosion had left a crater just outside the compound, the air thick with ash and char. What remained of the attacker was little more than scorched bone. But the real damage wasn’t physical—it was the message. A declaration of war.

 

In the wake of the chaos, the group had returned to Hotel Camella, the presidential suite buzzing with tension. Elijah stood with perfect composure as he watched over the still-twitching form of Sarah Newlin. She was fighting the change—trembling, sweating, her veins blackened by the taint of undeath she had never wanted.

 

She whimpered in protest, but Elijah’s voice was cold steel.

 

“You chose this path when you walked into the fire. Now finish it.”

 

He gripped her jaw, pried her mouth open, and poured fresh human blood down her throat. Her eyes rolled back. The moment the blood touched her tongue, she spasmed violently, gasping—and then she stilled. Her heart had stopped. The transformation was complete.

 

In the next room, Sookie groaned as she stirred, her body mostly healed but ravenous. Eric was by her side in an instant, offering a blood bag without a word. She didn’t hesitate. Their eyes met as she drank, a storm of emotions behind both of them—fear, lust, power.

 

Just then, the elevator dinged.

 

The doors slid open to reveal Nan Flanagan, flanked by four Vampire guards in full AVL regalia. She stepped into the suite like she owned it, lips curled into a scowl.

 

“Where is Godric?” she demanded, barely looking at the others. “This stunt has brought unwanted media attention. The human news thinks it was a wild animal. We know better. This was reckless.”

 

Godric stepped forward, calm as ever.

 

“We were attacked. The Fellowship planted a bomb. One of ours sacrificed herself to save everyone.”

 

Nan waved a manicured hand dismissively.

 

“You failed to contain the situation. As of now, you are removed from your position as Sheriff of Area 9. Isabel will take your place.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Isabel blinked in shock. Godric said nothing.

 

Nan turned to Elijah, clearly unimpressed.

 

“And you. I don’t know who you are, but this is official AVL business. Stay out of it.”

 

Elijah smiled, a slow, dangerous curl of his lips.

 

“You don’t know who I am?”

 

Without another word, Elijah blurred across the room in a flash of movement faster than even the vampires could track. He gripped the first AVL guard by the throat and twisted—snap—before turning to the second and punching clean through his chest.

 

Nan shrieked, blood splattering across her blouse.

 

“I am Elijah Mikaelson, and you will not raise your voice in my presence again.”

 

Nan stumbled back, eyes wide with fear as the remaining guards cowered behind her.

 

“Sheriff? Titles are meaningless where I come from. You will not touch another hair on Godric’s head. Am I understood?”

 

Nan nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper.

 

“Understood.”

 

Sookie, still weak but alert, gave Elijah a faint smirk from the couch.

 

“Remind me not to piss you off, Uncle.”

 

He gave her a soft glance, inclining his head.

 

“You are my family in every way that matters. They’d have to go through me first. Always and Forever,”

Both Sookie and Freya agree replying together “Always and Forever”

 

New Orleans - The Quarter After Dusk

 

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with life—jazz melodies wove through the night air, mingling with the scent of bourbon, blood, and magic. Klaus stood on the balcony of a crumbling French Quarter townhouse, overlooking the chaos below with a brooding intensity. His phone was still warm in his palm after the conversation with Bill Compton, who had proven as predictable and useless as ever.

 

He exhaled slowly, then dialed again.

 

“Kol,” he said the moment the line clicked. “Meet me at the cemetery. And bring Davina. I need to speak with the dead.”

 

Lafayette Cemetery No. 1

 

Moonlight cast long shadows across the crypts and moss-covered tombstones. Mist clung to the ground in patches, not supernatural—but eerie all the same. Klaus waited with his arms folded as Kol strolled in, his usual smugness dulled by wariness. Davina Claire, now Davina Mikaelson, walked at his side in her black leather jacket and dark lipstick, magic humming around her like static.

 

Davina raised an eyebrow as they approached.

 

“This better be important. I don’t make a habit of disturbing the Ancestors for just anyone.”

 

Klaus offered her his trademark smile—half charm, half menace.

 

“You’re not just anyone, love. You’re my sister now. And I have questions only the dead can answer.”

 

Davina narrowed her eyes.

 

“You want to speak to the Ancestors. Why?”

 

Klaus took a step closer, his voice lowering.

 

“They know things. Ancient things. I want to know why half the vampire population is suddenly sniffing around my daughter. Why creatures older than me are moving like shadows in the dark. Why Sookie—a girl who should’ve lived an ordinary human life—is suddenly the center of every prophecy and power play.”

 

Davina exchanged a glance with Kol, then sighed.

 

“Fine. But no temper tantrums if they don’t give you what you want.”

 

She knelt between two tombs, drawing a sigil on the cracked earth with chalk soaked in vervain and salt. Her voice rose into the night, a chant in the old tongue echoing across the cemetery.

 

The wind stilled.

 

The candles she’d placed flickered out all at once.

The whispering of the dead crescendoed into a low hum of voices that twisted in the air like smoke. Davina’s body trembled, her eyes glowing white as she became a conduit between the living and the Ancestors. Then, a single voice rose above the rest—Esther Mikaelson, the Original Witch and Klaus’s mother.

 

“Niklaus,” she said, her tone a strange mixture of maternal and commanding. “You always seek control, power... but this time, you must listen.”

 

Klaus straightened. “I didn’t summon you for riddles, Mother. Why are so many after Sookie?”

 

Esther's voice was heavy with ancient knowledge.

 

“Because she is not just a girl. She is Elijah’s blood. Long ago, before we became what we are... your brother loved a woman in a village. A healer. She bore him a child—though he never knew.”

 

Klaus’s face darkened. “You’re saying—”

 

“Sookie is Elijah’s tenth-generation granddaughter. A Mikaelson by blood. But she is more than that.”

 

Lightning crackled in the distance. The torches flickered, casting sharp shadows.

 

“Her father’s line traces back to Niall Brigant, King of the Fae. That power runs in her veins. It is why her blood calls to the old Vampires, why it is addictive to every blood-drinker who smells it.”

 

Kol muttered, “Well... that explains a lot.”

 

Klaus’s jaw clenched, fury and protectiveness mixing in his eyes. “And you kept this from us?”

 

Esther’s voice shifted, softened.

 

“I did what I thought was right. But now, with her turned—she must be protected. The world will not stop until they possess or destroy her.”

 

Klaus’s expression turned calculating. “So what do you suggest?”

 

“She must be made one of you. An Original. Freya can perform the ritual... but only with my guidance. I will speak to her through the Ancestors.”

 

Davina suddenly gasped, shaking as another presence forced its way through her—a colder, more brutal energy.

 

“The witches... they’re planning something,” she choked out.

 

Esther’s voice returned, grave now.

 

“They intend to resurrect your father. Not to destroy you... but to help protect Sookie. He will remember everything. And this time, he will see her as his bloodline, not a stain.”

 

Klaus looked away, conflicted, his breath heavy. “Mikael...”

 

Kol gave a low whistle. “Well, this family reunion just got a hell of a lot more awkward.”

 

Esther’s final words echoed:

 

“Protect her, Niklaus. She is the beginning... and the end.”

 

With that, the connection shattered. The light dimmed, the voices vanished, and Davina collapsed into Kol’s arms, breathing hard.

 

Klaus stood motionless, the truth settling in his bones.

Klaus turned away from the altar, lost in the weight of revelations—Sookie, Elijah’s blood, Niall Brigant, the Original ritual. His mind spun with fury and purpose.

 

Kol helped Davina steady herself, wiping a trickle of blood from her nose as she leaned against a crumbling tombstone, breathless. “Didn’t know séance night would turn into a damn family documentary,” Kol muttered, half to himself.

 

But then... Davina's eyes widened. Her gaze snapped over Klaus’s shoulder.

 

“Uh… guys?”

 

The wind died.

 

Behind the altar, behind the flickering candles and the veined marble stones, the earth shifted. Dirt cracked and roots curled back like something unseen was retreating.

 

And there he was.

 

Mikael.

 

Lying on the cold, cracked earth. His clothes in tatters, skin death-pale and slick with old blood and grave-soil. His chest heaved—one breath, then another.

 

His eyes opened.

 

Blue and burning with a fury that could shake Heaven. He looked directly at Klaus.

 

“Well, son,” Mikael rasped, voice like a blade across iron, “it seems I’m back.”

 

Klaus’s heart stilled.

 

Kol took a step back. “Bloody hell…”

 

Mikael smiled.

 

HOTEL CAMELLA – DALLAS – NIGHT

 

The sitting room was a flurry of hushed voices and cautious glances. Nan Flanagan paced in front of the fireplace, her heels echoing like warning shots on the marble floor.

 

“There is no record of an Elijah Mikaelson existing in any vampire registry, old or new,” she snapped, glaring at Isabel and Sookie like it was their fault. “And yet, here he is—ripping apart AVL guards like it’s a goddamn opera!”

 

Isabel stood still, impassive but tense, her new title hanging around her neck like a collar.

 

Freya casually flipped through a weathered grimoire, seated cross-legged on the couch like this was all just mildly interesting.

 

Sookie, pale but healing, stared silently out the window, her hand idly touching the faint burn marks on her arms—the bomb's aftermath still echoing in her bones.

 

Elijah looked unbothered, elegant as ever, a crystal glass of dark red in hand. His lips curved in an amused smirk.

 

“You seem... rattled, Ms. Flanagan,” he said softly. “Perhaps some chamomile tea would ease your nerves?”

 

“You’re not supposed to exist!” she spat. “The Originals are myths! Not walking around killing sanctioned agents of the AVL like it’s sport!”

 

Before Elijah could offer another charming retort, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

He glanced at the screen.

 

NIKLAUS.

 

He answered, his tone instantly more serious. “Brother.”

 

Freya looked up, sensing a shift.

 

Sookie turned from the window. Even Nan fell silent.

 

“Esther came to us,” Klaus said on the other end. “She told me… Sookie’s your bloodline. Your descendant.”

 

Elijah blinked, heart slowing. “What?”

 

“Ten generations back. Before you were turned. She’s your great-granddaughter.”

 

The room seemed to contract.

 

“And she’s part Fae. Niall Brigant’s blood. That’s why her blood drives other vampires mad. Esther says the only way to protect her is to make her one of us. An Original.”

 

Freya slowly rose to her feet, the weight of the magic already gathering around her.

 

“There’s more,” Klaus added grimly. “The witches are bringing back Mikael. He’s already stirring.”

 

Elijah’s lips parted but no words came.

 

Sookie’s expression twisted in disbelief and confusion. “Wait—Mikael? Your father?”

 

“Our nightmare,” Freya whispered.

 

Elijah finally lowered the phone, eyes fixed on Sookie.

 

“We have much to discuss,” he said.

 

But in the background, unnoticed in the chaos, a quiet figure slipped out of the room.

 

HOTEL CAMELLA – STAIRWELL – MOMENTS LATER

 

Godric moved in silence, unseen, unheard. He didn’t take the elevator. He climbed, floor by floor, like a man already embracing the weight of his choice.

 

HOTEL ROOFTOP – NIGHT

 

The sky above was clear now. No clouds. Just stars blinking in velvet silence. The first pale blush of dawn began to tease the edge of the horizon.

 

Godric stepped out into the open, his ancient eyes reflecting the soft light like pools of regret and peace.

 

He sat cross-legged near the edge, his face turned to the coming sun.

 

And he waited.

The sky was shifting, that faint gradient between violet and gold blooming on the horizon. Godric sat cross-legged, utterly still, the breeze stirring the edge of his long coat. There was peace in his posture… but also profound sorrow.

 

He didn’t flinch when the door behind him opened with a soft click.

 

Sookie stepped out, barefoot, her hair tangled from sleep and ash, a blanket thrown around her shoulders. She said nothing at first, just walked slowly across the rooftop and sat beside him.

 

He gave her a sideways glance. “You should be resting.”

 

“So should you,” she replied gently, watching the eastern sky with him. “But here we are.”

 

A silence stretched between them, full of unspoken things.

 

“You don’t have to do this, Godric,” she finally said, her voice quiet but firm. “You don’t have to die to make peace with who you are.”

 

He closed his eyes. “I’ve lived for over two thousand years. I’ve committed sins no one remembers but me. I’ve tried to atone, but my existence… it is a burden now, not a gift.”

 

“But there’s still good in you,” she insisted, turning to him. “You saved people. You saved me. That means something.”

 

“Not enough,” he whispered.

 

The first beam of sunlight began to crest over the horizon, golden and sharp. Godric stood slowly, his face tilting toward the warmth.

 

Sookie stepped in front of him without hesitation, placing herself between him and the rising sun.

 

“Sookie,” he said, alarmed. “You can’t—”

 

But the light struck her—and nothing happened.

 

No smoke. No scream. No sizzle of flesh.

 

She just stood there, defiant, her eyes glowing faintly crimson in the light.

 

Godric blinked. “That’s… impossible.”

 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” she said with a small smirk.

 

He stepped back, startled. “You’re… not burning. Not even blistering. Your kind shouldn’t be able to—”

 

“I know a witch,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “She found a way, but it works.” She didn’t want to say Freya made her a Ring that lets her walk in the sun.

 

She didn’t mention the ring on her finger, hidden beneath the folds of her blanket.

 

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you go to such lengths?”

 

Sookie looked him dead in the eye, voice thick with emotion. “Because I don’t want to lose someone else who matters to me.”

 

Godric stared at her, something ancient and sad flickering in his expression. Then slowly, he sat down again. The dawn light spilled around them, kissing the rooftop in gold.

 

He didn’t speak, but for the first time in what felt like centuries—he didn’t reach for death either.

 

STACKHOUSE PROPERTY – PORCH – NIGHT

 

Jason sat on the steps of his front porch, phone pressed to his ear, while Thalía paced behind him restlessly, her leather boots crunching against the gravel. Lafayette lounged in a chair nearby, watching both of them with a mix of amusement and nerves.

 

“Yeah, I’m serious, man,” Jason was saying into the phone. “People are acting… weird. Like sex-cult weird. And there’s this woman… says she’s immortal or some crap. Says she’s gonna raise a god. Like a real god.”

 

COMPOUND – NEW ORLEANS – NIGHT

 

Klaus Mikaelson stood in front of a large window, phone in one hand, whiskey in the other. His expression tightened at Jason’s words.

 

“Let me guess,” Klaus drawled, voice low and dangerous. “She smells like wine and madness and leaves your men helpless on their knees?”

 

“Yeah!” Jason exclaimed. “Exactly! You know her?”

 

“She’s a Maenad,” Klaus replied, his tone shifting cold. “A handmaiden of Dionysus. Dangerous, ancient, and utterly insane.”

 

Jason swallowed hard.

 

“I’m coming,” Klaus continued. “And I won’t be alone. I’ll bring Kol, our father, and a witch. We’ll put this thing back in the ground where it belongs.”

 

Jason blinked. “Wait—your father?”

 

STACKHOUSE PROPERTY – CONTINUOUS

 

Jason hung up, wide-eyed, as he turned to Thalía and Lafayette.

 

“They’re comin’. Klaus, his brother Kol, a witch… and their dad.”

 

Thalía stopped pacing. Her eyes widened—actual fear flickering across her ancient features. She stepped forward, tension crackling off her.

 

“You called Klaus Mikaelson?” she snapped. “Jason, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

 

“Yeah, I called for backup!” Jason shrugged, gesturing around. “You said we needed help. And they’re Originals. That’s, like, the top of the vampire food chain!”

 

“Exactly,” Thalía growled. “The Originals are real. And Klaus… he’s not just ruthless—he’s chaos in flesh. He hunts people like this Maenad for sport. And his father…”

 

She trailed off, visibly shaken.

 

“Mikael is a butcher,” she said after a long beat. “A destroyer of his own kind. He was the monster the monsters feared. Even back when I was young.”

 

Lafayette stood up slowly. “So, what you sayin’ is we traded one crazy bitch for a whole damn psycho vampire family reunion?”

 

“I’m saying,” Thalía replied, voice tight, “that we better hope the Maenad’s the bigger threat. Because if Mikael sets his sights on Bon Temps… we’ll be lucky if the town’s still standing by next week.”

 

Jason looked from one to the other and muttered, “Well, hell…”

 

He didn’t say it, but deep down, he was hoping like hell his sister made it back before the Originals did.

 

Hotel Camellia Roof

 

The roof is dimly lit by flickering candles placed in a wide circle, their flames steady despite the still tension in the air. Sigils are drawn in white chalk across the floor and walls—some ancient Norse, some belonging to Fae magic far older than any vampire present.

 

Freya stands at the center of it all, robed in dark blue, her fingers stained with powdered crystal and herbs. Her eyes glow faintly as she finishes whispering the last of the incantation to prepare the ritual space.

 

Sookie sits cross-legged in the center of the circle, wearing a simple black slip dress. Her blonde hair is loose, her hands resting on her knees. Her fangs are out—not from hunger, but anticipation. A quiet kind of readiness.

 

Eric leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes locked on Sookie with fierce pride and a flicker of possessiveness. He’s seen her do the impossible—but this, this will change everything.

 

Godric sits beside him, a rare, small smile on his face as he watches the witch work. His tone is warm when he speaks.

 

“She reminds me of you, you know… when you were still young. Fiery. Unpredictable. Capable of great love—and great destruction.”

 

Eric chuckled softly, eyes never leaving Sookie.

 

“She’s something different entirely.”

 

Godric’s gaze softened.

 

“So is this world. I think I’d like to stay in it a little longer.”

 

Eric glanced at him, surprised.

 

“You’ve changed your mind?”

 

“I have,” Godric nodded. “Shreveport isn’t far. I think it’s time I stopped running from the sun and started walking beside my child again. If you’ll have me.”

 

Eric didn’t say anything, but the way his posture shifted said enough. A silent, unspoken yes.

 

Across the room, Freya’s voice grew louder, more commanding. The spell had begun.

 

A pulse of light shot from her palms to the floor, lighting the runes in brilliant gold and violet. The air shimmered as Fae energy stirred, resonating with Sookie’s very blood.

 

Sookie arched backward, fangs bared, eyes wide and glowing red as her entire body convulsed in pain. Her veins lit up like lightning beneath her skin—red for blood, gold for magic.

 

Freya pushed on, sweat beading on her brow.

 

“You are more than Vampire,” Freya chanted. “You are the child of light. The flame of immortality. The echo of the First Ones. You are the heir to the Fae—and you are of our blood.”

 

Outside, the wind howled. The magic grew thicker, hotter, and more wild.

 

Eric took a step forward, but Godric caught his arm.

 

“Let it happen. She must survive the rebirth to become what she’s meant to be.”

 

Sookie screamed, but her voice cracked into laughter—powerful, burning, unhinged with power—as her body lifted off the floor, the spell’s light surrounding her like wings of fire and mist.

 

Then—

 

Silence.

 

Sookie fell gently back to the floor. Her skin was glowing faintly. Her eyes opened—not red, but a swirling storm of gold and silver. Her fangs extended, her presence radiant, her aura lethal.

 

She was no longer just vampire.

She was Original.

She was Fae.

She was something entirely new.

 

Freya exhaled and sank to her knees, drained but smiling.

 

“It is done.”

 

Eric stepped into the circle, eyes locked with Sookie’s, mesmerized.

 

“You look like a goddess,” he whispered.

 

Sookie grinned.

 

“Maybe I am.”

 

Godric’s voice was quiet but resolute.

 

“The world has just changed. And I am proud to be here to see it.”

 

BON TEMPS – WOODS – NIGHT

 

The air is thick with humidity, the trees looming like silent watchers as Jessica Hamby stumbles through the brush. Her eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale and drawn. Dried bloody tear stains trail down her cheeks, and her once-vibrant hair hangs limp around her face.

 

It’s been days since Bill left. Since anyone even checked on her. Since she fed.

 

She’s starving. And the hunger burns now — deep in her bones, in her gut, like fire licking through every inch of her being.

 

She sniffs the air. A flicker of hope. People. Nearby. Laughing. Talking. Warm. Alive.

 

She doesn’t think. She doesn’t stop.

 

BON TEMPS – CAMPSITE – MOMENTS LATER

 

A group of young adults are gathered around a small bonfire, drinking beer and playing music on a Bluetooth speaker. They don’t notice the blur that rushes them until it’s too late.

 

Jessica slams into the first man — a tall guy with a ponytail — and bites deep into his neck, drinking like an animal, groaning as the blood fills her mouth.

 

Screams break out. Someone tries to run. She’s faster.

 

She doesn’t register faces, only heartbeats. The next girl falls under her claws, neck torn open. Another tries to grab a metal pipe, but she crushes his wrist like paper before plunging her fangs into his throat.

 

One by one, she drains them. All of them.

 

By the time the silence returns, there are six bodies lying still around the campfire. The flames flicker on bloodied skin, on wide-open eyes staring into nothing.

 

Jessica drops to her knees in the center of it all, blood covering her face, dripping down her chin, soaking into her clothes. Her chest heaves as she comes down from the high.

 

Her eyes, now glowing red, dart around the carnage. And then—

 

Realization. Horror. Guilt.

 

“Oh god… what did I… what did I do…”

 

She trembles. But no tears come this time. Only blood… again. Always blood.

 

The music still plays faintly in the background, a twisted contrast to the massacre.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 10: SEX GOD AND A RETURN TO BON TEMPS

Summary:

They Deal with Maryann

Notes:

I own nothing, here's the next chapter. Enjoy

BON TEMPS – EVENING

 

A sleek black SUV rolls into town, engine purring like a beast restrained. Behind the wheel, Niklaus Mikaelson peers out the window with a half-amused, half-irritated scowl.

 

“This place reeks of desperation and swamp water. Charming,” Klaus mutters.

 

In the back seat, Kol Mikaelson lounges with his boots up, tossing a blood bag in the air. Davina Claire, his witch-queen wife, sits beside him, eyes focused and alert. Mikael, their long-dead and newly-resurrected father, rides shotgun — quiet, his arms crossed, his presence suffocating.

 

“The Maenad’s here,” Davina says, her fingers glowing faintly. “The power is old… older than most gods.”

 

“Wonderful,” Mikael grunts. “Let’s kill it.”

 

Klaus smirks, looking to the approaching town square.

 

“No one raises a god in my territory, not without an invitation.”

 

MIKAELSON PRIVATE JET – SAME TIME

 

The interior of the jet is plush, sleek, and silent — save for the quiet hum of the engines and the whispered exchange between Elijah and Freya as they prep their magical supplies. Across from them, Sookie, still feeling the effects of her transformation spell, leans against Eric, her head resting on his shoulder.

 

Godric sits nearby, staring out the window contemplatively, his decision to live rather than die still fresh, still unfamiliar.

 

“It’s strange,” he finally says. “To feel… something again.”

 

Freya glances toward him, smiling softly.

 

“That’s the first step back to being part of the world, Godric.”

 

Sookie shifts, her eyes briefly flaring with hybrid power, and Eric tightens his hold on her, possessive and proud.

 

“New Orleans is going to feel real different now,” Eric says with a grin. “I think we just tipped the balance of power.”

 

“Good,” Elijah replies coolly. “Because the world is changing. And I’d rather we shape it than react to it.”

 

As the jet descends through the clouds, the skyline of New Orleans sparkles below — unaware of what’s coming.

 

BACK TO BON TEMPS

 

Jason Stackhouse opens the door to his house — and freezes at the sight of Klaus and company walking up the path.

 

“Uh… hey there… y’all’re real, huh?” he stammers.

 

Klaus offers a sharp smile.

 

“Hello, Jason. Heard you’ve got a sex goddess and a chaos cult problem. Thought we’d bring some reinforcements.”

 

Jason’s eyes flick to Mikael, then Kol and Davina.

 

“That’s your dad, right? The one they say even monsters are scared of?”

 

“Correct,” Klaus replies cheerfully. “And luckily for you, he’s on your side. For now.”

 

Inside, Thalía stands tense, her fangs bared the second she sees Mikael.

 

“You brought him here?” she hisses. “Do you want the town to burn?”

 

Kol laughs.

 

“Sweetheart, I promise — it’s already halfway there.”

 

The tension sizzles in the air as the Mikaelsons settle into Bon Temps — just in time for hell to break loose.

 

STACKHOUSE HOME – BON TEMPS – NIGHT

 

Jason stands in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, eyes narrowed. His instincts are screaming at him. He doesn’t back down often, but this—this is different.

 

His gaze lingers on Klaus, then Kol, and finally on Mikael, whose mere presence sends a ripple of primal fear through the air.

 

“So let me get this straight…” Jason says slowly, “…you’re tellin’ me my sister’s runnin’ around with y’all—y’all who are like the first vampires? And now you’re here ‘cause a sex demon wants to raise a god in my town?”

 

Kol grins.

 

“That’s the gist of it, mate.”

 

Jason doesn’t smile.

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen what y’all do when you don’t like something. You burn through it like a damn wildfire. What happens if you decide I’m the problem?”

 

Klaus steps forward, face unreadable. His voice drops, low and steady.

 

“Jason… you're family now. Not by blood—but by something far stronger. Your sister is ours. And that makes you ours.”

 

“We don’t abandon our own,” Klaus continues. “We protect them. With everything we have. Always and forever.”

 

Behind him, Kol and Davina nod in unison. Even Mikael, ever the warrior, offers a grudging look of agreement.

 

Jason shifts, his jaw tight, clearly still unsure—but something about Klaus’s words hits deep. There's truth there. Dark and violent, maybe—but truth all the same.

 

Thalía steps out from the living room, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. She had only ever heard of the Mikaelsons in hushed whispers—legends that even her kind feared.

 

Now they were real. And Jason... was one of them?

 

“You…” she breathes, staring at Jason. “You’re with them? With the Originals?”

 

Jason gives a slight, confused shrug.

 

“Didn’t exactly plan for that to happen.”

 

Thalía backs up a step, her heart thudding.

 

“I’ve lived over two thousand years… and even I stayed out of their way. The Mikaelsons are myth made flesh. They are death and fire and ruin—”

 

“—And family,” Elijah’s voice echoes from behind, as he and the others step into the yard, fresh off the jet and newly arrived.

 

Freya stands tall beside him, her eyes glowing faintly with power.

 

“We don’t destroy what’s ours,” she adds softly. “We protect it.”

 

Klaus glances to Thalía, voice like velvet over steel.

 

“You care for him, don’t you?”

 

She stiffens, eyes flicking to Jason.

 

“…Yes.”

 

“Then you’d do well to believe us when we say,” Klaus growls, “we would burn this town, this state—the world—to ash before we let harm come to Jason Stackhouse.”

 

A long silence follows.

 

And finally, Thalía exhales and nods once, a slow, solemn acknowledgment.

 

“Then… I believe you.”

 

Jason runs a hand through his hair, glancing between them all with a crooked smile.

 

“Y’all sure know how to make a guy feel safe. And slightly terrified.”

 

Kol claps him on the back with a laugh.

 

“Welcome to the family, mate.”

As the final echoes of Kol’s laughter fade into the thick southern air, the creak of the old wooden gate swings open again.

 

Sookie steps into view, flanked by Godric and Eric. Her presence is like a subtle shockwave—powerful, grounding, and completely different from what it used to be.

 

Everyone turns. There’s a pause.

 

Jason steps forward, his relief evident.

 

Jason: “Sook… You okay?”

 

Sookie (soft smile): “I’m good, Jase. Just… a little more sparkly.”

 

She pulls him into a hug, and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of them—the Stackhouse siblings, surviving yet another world-ending problem.

 

Thalía watches her with wide eyes.

 

Thalía: “You’re not just vampire anymore…”

 

Sookie (nodding): “Nope. Turns out I’ve got some Original blood… and a fae prince in the family tree. Freya helped me unlock it.”

 

Klaus, standing nearby with Mikael, watches the scene quietly. Then, stepping forward, he puts a steady hand on Sookie’s shoulder.

 

Klaus: “You’ve done well, Sookie. I’m proud of you.”

 

Sookie looks up at him with a warmth in her eyes that says she sees him not as a monster or legend, but as something far more personal.

 

Sookie: “Thanks… I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

 

Klaus gives her the faintest of smiles, rare and sincere.

 

Klaus: “You’re family. And family is everything.”

 

Kol, still leaning against a post, adds dryly:

 

Kol: “You know Nik won’t let anything mess with what’s his.”

 

Jason (still baffled): “Wait… I’m family too now?”

 

Klaus (firmly): “You are. You’re Elijah’s blood. That makes you one of us.”

 

Thalía stiffens slightly beside Jason, her gaze darting between Klaus and Mikael.

 

Thalía: “The Mikaelsons are real… You’re all real…”

 

Her voice trails off. There’s fear in it. Reverence.

 

Thalía: “And your father—he’s a legend. A terrifying one.”

 

Mikael, standing silently behind Kol, narrows his eyes but says nothing.

 

Klaus, sensing her unease, steps forward slowly—not with aggression, but with deliberate calm.

 

Klaus: “I understand your fear. But you need to understand something, too. Jason is protected now. Utterly. Anyone who tries to hurt him… we’ll burn the world.”

 

He looks back at his family—Elijah, Freya, Kol, Mikael—then returns his gaze to Jason and Thalía.

 

Klaus: “Always and forever. That’s our vow. It includes you, now.”

 

Sookie, still beside Jason, speaks softly.

 

Sookie: “They mean it. I’ve seen it. We’re not fighting alone anymore.”

 

Jason, overwhelmed but deeply moved, nods once.

 

And somewhere in the distance, a low, ancient rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

 

Something is coming.

 

But so is the Mikaelson family.

 

STACKHOUSE FARMHOUSE

 

The moonlight cuts through low-rolling clouds, casting a haunting glow over the abandoned farmhouse that once stood as the heart of the Stackhouse family.

 

Now, it’s unrecognizable.

 

Flames dance in ceremonial rings, carved into the earth with blood and wine, forming intricate sigils. The house is in ruins—shattered beams, broken walls, the screen door swinging wildly on broken hinges.

 

In the center of it all stands Maryann Forrester, naked beneath a thin robe that billows with supernatural wind. Her arms are raised to the sky, her voice a shriek of ecstasy and ancient tongues.

 

Maryann (the Maenad): “Oh Dionysus, Lord of Madness and Ecstasy, awaken from your slumber and FEAST upon this land!”

 

Around her, the townspeople, eyes glazed and bodies slick with sweat, move in orgiastic, trance-like waves—writhing, moaning, offering themselves to the ceremony of awakening.

 

On the ground, near what’s left of the front porch, lies a lifeless body: Adelle Stackhouse.

 

Her hand still clutches a rosary. Her expression is frozen in terror, her eyes open wide—no blood, no marks.

 

Just the pale, still look of someone who’s seen something too unnatural to bear.

 

A voice from one of the possessed townspeople, in a high, dissonant tone not their own:

 

Possessed Voice: “She tried to fight the ecstasy… but her heart gave out. No place for purity in the revel.”

 

Maryann steps over Gran’s body with no remorse, her bare foot trailing blood from a goblet she’s overturned.

 

Maryann: “The old always resist… but the new shall rise. The god demands chaos.”

 

She spreads her arms wider.

 

Maryann: “And chaos he shall have.”

 

As a pulse of dark energy ripples from the ruins, and in the distance, animals howl, the trees tremble, and the sky itself seems to darken.

 

SHREVEPORT – ALLEY OUTSIDE A BAR

 

The streets reek of blood and fear. Bodies lay slumped against brick walls and in the gutters. Their throats torn open. The echo of screams still lingers in the air, fading into silence.

 

Jessica, red-eyed and trembling, stumbles through the alley. Her mouth is coated in blood, her fangs still bared. She's barefoot, wild, lost in her hunger.

 

Jessica (hoarse): “I… I didn’t mean—”

 

But she can’t finish. Her eyes dart toward a nearby figure—another human, drawn by the commotion.

 

Her body twitches like a puppet yanked on strings.

 

Jessica (growling): “Just a little more…”

 

Suddenly—

 

CRACK!

 

A silver chain lashes out, wrapping around her neck and dragging her backward in a flash of blinding pain. Jessica screams, her skin sizzling.

 

Pam (coldly, stepping from the shadows): “Alright, Ginger Snap. That's enough murder and melodrama for one night.”

 

Pam is in black leather, her expression bored and pissed. She's holding the end of the chain, and in her other hand, silver cuffs.

 

Jessica thrashes like a feral animal, snarling, blood tears streaming down her face.

 

Jessica: “Let me GO! I can't stop—please—”

 

Pam (tightening the chain): “I know, sweetheart. That’s why I’m not going to.”

 

With supernatural speed, Pam subdues her, clamping on the silver cuffs, and dragging her to the back entrance of Fangtasia, ignoring Jessica’s howls of pain.

 

FANGTASIA – BASEMENT – LATER

 

The room is cold and bare, stone walls and thick chains bolted to the floor.

 

Pam locks Jessica into place—shackled at the wrists and ankles, the silver burning into her skin. Jessica is weeping blood, her face a mask of shame and agony.

 

Pam (finally showing a flicker of sympathy):

“You’re starving. You’re grieving. And you’re new. I get it.”

“But if I let you loose right now, this whole town becomes an all-you-can-drink buffet.”

 

Jessica sobs, curling against the wall.

 

Jessica (barely audible): “I just wanted him to come back…”

 

Pam leans in close, brushing a strand of bloody hair from Jessica’s face.

 

Pam: “I’m not Bill. But I am the bitch who’s going to keep you alive. So suck it up, cupcake.”

 

She turns and walks out, locking the door behind her. As she disappears up the stairs, Jessica's ragged cries echo in the empty dark.

 

JASON’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM

 

Everyone is gathered—maps, books, candles. Plans forming in whispers and glances.

 

Jason watches the room warily, trying to hold it together.

 

Klaus pours a drink with casual confidence, while Kol leans in close to Davina, who’s paging through a worn spellbook. Mikael stands like a statue, unreadable. Thalia is near Jason, arms folded, eyes scanning the room.

 

Jason (quiet but firm):

“Just so we’re clear, I still don’t know how I feel about trusting a family known for murder and mayhem.”

 

Klaus (measured):

“Trust takes time. But you have my word—you're family. And we protect our own. Always and forever.”

 

Kol (grinning):

“Bit dramatic, but true. We’ve wiped out kingdoms for less.”

 

Thalia steps forward slowly, eyes focused on Mikael. Her voice is calm but edged.

 

Thalia:

“I’ve lived a long time. I’ve heard what your father did to his enemies—and his children.”

 

Mikael meets her gaze. There’s weight in the silence between them.

 

Thalia (after a moment):

“Just tell me this isn’t another war you plan to start, Klaus. Because Bon Temps doesn’t have a chance if it is.”

 

Klaus (genuine):

“We’re not here to start a war, love. We’re here to end one. You have my word.”

 

Thalia studies him, then Jason, then finally exhales and nods.

 

Thalia:

“Alright. I’ll stand with you. But if this all goes sideways, I’m dragging you all down with me.”

 

Klaus chuckles softly.

 

Klaus:

“Fair enough.”

 

Davina (cutting in):

“Maryann’s trying to bring a god through. We’re talking about total possession, mass death—probably worse.”

 

Kol:

“Oh, good. A cult, a Maenad, and now divine apocalypse. Bloody perfect.”

 

Jason (dryly):

“Y’all ever deal with anything normal?”

 

Klaus:

“Not if we can help it.”

 

The candlelight flickers as tension grows. Outside, a wind picks up. Something is coming.

 

STACKHOUSE FARMLAND – NIGHT

 

The once quiet property is now a scene from a nightmare. The farmhouse lies in ruins, replaced with stone altars, torches, and frenzied townsfolk dancing in a trance around Maryann, who stands in the center of a blood-soaked circle, arms outstretched. Her eyes are solid black, her voice inhuman as she chants in Ancient Greek.

 

Jason, Klaus, Kol, Davina, Mikael, Thalia, and a few others stand just outside the madness, concealed by trees.

 

Jason (whispering):

“That’s her. She killed my grandma... twisted the whole town.”

 

Kol (low and annoyed):

“And she’s wearing someone’s liver like a scarf. Classy.”

 

Davina (to Klaus):

“She's already started the ritual. If she completes it, this god she's calling—he won’t be able to be stopped.”

 

Klaus (eyes locked on Maryann, voice calm but cold):

“Then we don’t let her finish.”

 

Kol and Thalia charge in to handle the possessed townspeople, expertly subduing them without killing. Mikael tears through the perimeter with ruthless precision.

 

Maryann sees them, smiles wickedly, and stretches her arms wide.

 

Maryann (inhuman voice):

“Ah... the abomination comes. The Beast with a thousand hungers.”

 

She gestures. The earth trembles. Jason doubles over, affected by the psychic weight of the god she’s channeling.

 

Maryann:

“You can’t kill what serves the old gods, mongrel. I will feed your blood to Dionysus himself!”

 

Klaus doesn’t flinch. He walks calmly into the circle, the torches flaring brighter with each step. The chants falter. Maryann hesitates for the first time.

 

Klaus:

“You have no idea what gods fear, do you?”

 

She lunges. A blur of claws and teeth—too fast for the others to follow. Klaus catches her midair, his hybrid strength overwhelming hers. She tries to infect him with her madness—screaming in his face, trying to control him.

 

But it doesn’t work. He smiles.

 

Klaus:

“Your power doesn’t work on me. I’m everything you hate: born of the moon and the night. And I don’t kneel to anyone.”

 

He rips her heart out in a single, brutal motion. Maryann gasps—silent for the first time—as her body begins to wither and turn to ash. Her worshippers collapse, released from the trance.

 

The torches sputter out. Silence falls over the ruined land.

 

Jason rushes forward, breath ragged, looking down at the crumbling remains.

 

Jason:

“That’s it? She’s... gone?”

 

Klaus (softly):

“She won’t trouble your town again.”

 

Thalia walks up beside Jason, eyes wide but impressed. Even Mikael offers a silent nod of approval.

 

Kol (grinning):

“Well. That was fun. Who’s up for bourbon?”

 

Jason (exhausted):

“I just want pancakes and for the world to be normal again.”

 

Klaus (clapping a hand on his shoulder):

“This is normal, brother. Welcome to our world.”

 

They begin walking back toward the truck, leaving behind the broken altar and a silenced god.

 

STACKHOUSE FARM – NIGHT

 

The air is heavy. The once-pristine farmhouse that had been Sookie’s childhood home now lies in ruins, ravaged by the frenzy of the Maenad’s ritual. The stone altars, shattered wood, and blood stains remain, a painful reminder of the horrors that took place here.

 

Sookie, standing at the edge of the devastation, stares blankly at the broken remains of the house, her heart heavy with grief. She takes in the splintered wood, the broken windows, the scorched earth. It feels as though everything she held dear has been destroyed.

 

Sookie (softly, voice cracking):

“Grandma… she’s gone… and now… this.”

 

Eric stands beside her, sensing the overwhelming sadness radiating from her. His usual cool demeanor softens, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the pain she's feeling.

 

Eric (gently):

“Sookie, I’m sorry.”

 

She doesn't respond immediately, lost in the weight of the destruction before her. Her shoulders slump, and she closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself the briefest moment of grief.

 

Sookie (with a shaky breath):

“I never imagined it would end like this. This place... it was home. And now it’s just… gone.”

 

Eric’s gaze never leaves her. He takes a step closer, his voice low, offering her the kind of solace only he knows how to give.

 

Eric (quietly):

“I can fix this.”

 

Sookie looks up at him, startled by the offer.

 

Sookie (confused):

“What? Fix it? How?”

 

Eric’s lips curve into a subtle, reassuring smile. He gestures around the broken house, his gaze lingering on the devastation.

 

Eric:

“Money has a way of making things right. I’ll pay to have this place restored—to its former glory. Every brick, every window. It won’t bring your grandmother back, but it’ll at least give you something to hold on to.”

 

Sookie’s eyes well up, and for the briefest moment, she feels the sting of tears. But she blinks them away, focusing on his words. She wants to protest, to tell him she doesn't need charity, but her heart aches too much.

 

Sookie:

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

 

Eric reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder, offering a gesture of comfort that she can't deny.

 

Eric:

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s what I can do. Let me help you, Sookie. You’ve carried the weight of this world on your shoulders for too long. Let me carry some of it for you.”

 

For the first time since the devastation, Sookie allows herself to lean into his comfort, not as a vampire or a supernatural being, but as a person who’s lost everything she ever loved.

 

Sookie (quietly):

“Thank you.”

 

Eric gives a small nod, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding, before he turns his attention to the others, offering the same calm reassurance.

 

Eric (to the group):

“This place will be fixed. It’s the least I can do.”

 

As Sookie stands there, the weight of the loss still heavy on her heart, she feels a slight sense of peace knowing that the one thing her grandmother loved the most, the house, won’t be lost forever. For tonight, it’s enough.

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY CHAMBER

 

The chamber is dimly lit, cast in crimson and shadow. Massive stone walls loom high with gothic arches. The table at the center holds the highest-ranking members of the Vampire Authority, cloaked in power and silence, their faces masked in part shadow, part intrigue.

 

The heavy doors open and Sophie-Anne Leclerq, regal and perfectly composed, strides in with all the arrogance of royalty. She wears a blood-red dress and a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes. Two vampire attendants follow in her wake but stop at the threshold as she approaches the tribunal alone.

 

The Council Members regard her with thinly veiled annoyance, save for one or two who seem curious. Roman, the Authority’s current head, gestures for her to speak.

 

Roman (bluntly):

“Queen Leclerq. We were told this was urgent.”

 

Sophie-Anne clasps her hands in front of her, posture flawless.

 

Sophie-Anne:

“It is. A very important asset of mine—Sookie Stackhouse—has been taken from me. Without my permission, and in direct violation of the accords between sovereign vampire territories.”

 

Roman (dryly):

“Sookie Stackhouse...? I was under the impression she was no longer under your protection.”

 

Sophie-Anne’s eyes glint.

 

Sophie-Anne:

“She was never released from my hold. She is still registered under my protection, my care, and my claim. What has happened is nothing less than theft. A blatant violation of vampire law.”

 

Councilwoman Callista (sharp, skeptical):

“And who, exactly, do you accuse?”

 

Sophie-Anne smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

 

Sophie-Anne:

“Eric Northman. Godric of Dallas. And Elijah Mikaelson… though I believe he should not exist at all.”

 

A few murmurs rise from the council. The name Mikaelson clearly catches their attention.

 

Sophie-Anne:

“Sookie is a unique creature—telepathic, part fae, and now a vampire. I had plans for her, and those plans have been interfered with. I demand that the Authority intervene. Retrieve my asset. And issue a ruling reaffirming her status as mine.”

 

A long silence follows.

 

Roman leans forward, steepling his fingers, expression unreadable.

 

Roman:

“These are heavy accusations. And you tread dangerously close to treating a sentient being like property, Queen Leclerq.”

 

Sophie-Anne (smoothly):

“She is a vampire now. And vampires are bound by law. She belongs under my jurisdiction. I have documents. Blood contracts. She’s mine.”

 

Roman leans back, considering.

 

Roman:

“We will discuss the matter. Until then… do not act against the individuals you’ve named. If you do, we will not protect you from what follows.”

 

Sophie-Anne (gritting her teeth):

“Very well. But make no mistake. If the Authority won’t act… I will.”

 

She turns with a swish of her gown, expression like carved marble. As the doors close behind her, the council murmurs begin again. The game has changed.

 

And war may be coming.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome. Next chapter will see the Mikaelsons along with Sookie and our True Blood vampires meet with the Authority

Chapter 11: THE VAMPIRE AUTHORITY

Summary:

The Mikaelsons make waves in the supernatural pond

Notes:

I own Nothing, Here's Chapter 11, I hope you enjoy

ROMAN’S PRIVATE CHAMBER – NIGHT

 

The chamber is sterile and cold, lit dimly by flickering sconces. The heavy silence weighs on Roman like a stone pressing against his chest. A full glass of synthetic blood sits untouched beside him. He runs a hand through his hair, then over his face.

 

He hesitates.

 

Stares at the secure comm interface.

 

Then, with visible reluctance… he presses it.

 

Roman (quietly, like invoking a curse):

“Elijah Mikaelson…”

 

The line connects.

 

NEW ORLEANS – MIKAELSON COMPOUND – NIGHT

 

Elijah is in his private library, firelight dancing against the mahogany shelves. He’s reviewing a leather-bound tome when the call comes through. His brow arches slightly as he answers, unhurried.

 

Elijah (smooth, precise):

“Roman.”

 

INTERCUT BETWEEN LOCATIONS

 

Roman (voice tight, forced calm):

“I… apologize for the late hour. This call is not one I make lightly.”

 

Elijah closes the book. He can already tell Roman is unsettled — which is unusual.

 

Elijah (measured):

“Then get to the point.”

 

Roman (uneasy):

“A formal claim has been made before the Authority… by Queen Sophie-Anne Leclerq. She alleges that an asset of hers—someone named Sookie Stackhouse—has been taken unlawfully.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

Elijah’s expression freezes.

 

He rises from his chair, voice low and laced with steel.

 

Elijah:

“My granddaughter, Sookie Mikaelson, is not an asset. She is not subject to any Queen’s rule. She is blood.”

 

Roman pales.

 

He knew the Originals were real — a whispered truth buried beneath centuries of lies. But hearing Elijah claim her by name, tie her to the family…

 

That changes everything.

 

Roman (nervous):

“Of course, I meant no offense—this is simply a procedural matter, brought before us—”

 

Elijah (cutting him off):

“Then consider this your only warning. The Mikaelsons are en route. Myself. Freya. Niklaus. Kol. And our father, Mikael.”

 

Roman nearly drops his glass. His voice trembles now.

 

Roman (hushed):

“Your father…?”

 

Elijah (calm as a blade):

“You know what it means when my family moves as one.”

 

Roman (whispers):

“Massacre.”

 

Elijah:

“Correction. Retribution.”

 

He ends the call without another word.

 

ROMAN’S CHAMBER

 

Roman lowers his hand from the comm with shaking fingers.

 

The glass of synthetic blood shatters in his grip.

 

A bead of red trails down his palm, but he doesn’t notice. He stares at the dark wall as if it might crumble in on him.

 

Roman (to himself):

“They’re real… they’re real…”

 

He turns toward the Authority emblem behind his desk — once a symbol of absolute control.

 

Now it feels… hollow.

 

Because the Mikaelsons are coming.

 

And nothing can stop them.

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – GRAND PARLOR – NIGHT

 

The heavy oak doors swing open as Elijah strides into the room, his face a perfect mask of control—but those who know him recognize the storm behind his eyes.

 

Elijah:

"We have a problem."

 

The family is already gathered—Klaus, leaning against the fireplace, eyes flickering with interest. Freya pauses her spell preparations at the table. Kol looks up from sharpening a blade. Rebekah and Davina sit together on the couch, both sensing the shift in the air. Mikael stands silently in a dark corner, arms crossed, brooding like a thundercloud.

 

Sookie, Eric, Godric, and Thalia are nearby, all attuned and waiting.

 

Elijah (cool and clear):

“Sophie-Anne has made a formal claim to the Vampire Authority. She’s declared Sookie as her property—an asset stolen from her.”

 

Klaus (snarls):

“She dares?”

 

Freya (firm):

“Then we tear down the halls of the Authority.”

 

Kol (smirking):

“Been a while since we’ve made the entire vampire world piss itself. I’m in.”

 

Rebekah:

“She crossed a line. And she’ll pay.”

 

Mikael (growling low):

“They’ll all pay if they think they can claim what’s ours.”

 

Sookie (shocked, but touched):

“You’re all… coming for me?”

 

Elijah (with finality):

“You’re a Mikaelson. That means something.”

 

Klaus (quiet but deadly):

“Always and forever, love.”

 

Godric (stepping beside Sookie):

“She is worth defending. We’ll show them what happens when they threaten our own.”

 

Thalia (to Sookie, softly):

“You have an army, girl.”

 

Jason steps forward, fidgeting slightly.

 

Jason:

“I’ll stay back. Someone’s gotta look after Hope.”

 

A small voice pipes up from the hall.

 

Hope (disappointed):

“I want to come.”

 

They all turn. Hope stands with her arms crossed, chin lifted, stubbornness carved into her expression like her father’s.

 

Hope:

“I want to protect Sookie. She’s my big sister.”

 

Klaus (kneels to her level, voice gentle):

“And that’s why you need to stay. If something happens here… we need someone strong. Someone we trust. That’s you.”

 

Hope’s lip trembles, but she nods.

 

Hope:

“Promise me you’ll bring her back.”

 

Sookie (kneeling beside them):

“I promise. And when I get back, you’re telling me all about those spells you've been hiding in your notebook.”

 

Hope smiles faintly.

 

PRIVATE AIRSTRIP – NIGHT

 

A sleek black jet waits on the tarmac, its engines humming.

 

The Mikaelsons walk in formation: ancient, regal, lethal.

 

Sookie walks between Elijah and Klaus. Behind them, Kol and Davina, Rebekah, Freya, Mikael, Godric, Eric, and Thalia. The family moves like a storm—silent, dark, and inevitable.

 

Because when the Originals come together...

 

The world trembles.

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY HEADQUARTERS – RECEPTION AREA – the next NIGHT

 

The sleek marble-floored reception area is quiet. Too quiet.

 

Two uniformed vampires behind the desk glance up as the front doors swing open with a resonant boom, echoing through the halls like a death knell.

 

Klaus Mikaelson steps in first—black suit, no tie, storm in his eyes.

 

Elijah, buttoning his cufflinks mid-stride, calm but radiating menace.

 

Rebekah, every step like royalty gliding through a battlefield.

 

Kol, smirking like he’s just waiting for a reason.

 

Davina, spell at the edge of her fingers.

 

Freya, already holding a glowing talisman.

 

Mikael, looming, wordless, terrifying.

 

Sookie, walking beside Godric and Eric, regal but shaken. Thalia follows, blade hidden beneath her coat.

 

The entire reception area freezes. You could hear a drop of blood hit the floor.

 

Receptionist #1 (nervously):

“I-I’m sorry, you can’t be here without—”

 

Klaus (growls):

“We are the Mikaelsons. Announce us.”

 

Receptionist #2 (barely above a whisper):

“You’re... not real.”

 

Kol (grinning):

“Oh, darling. We’re real. Want me to show you?”

 

Freya (to Elijah, softly):

“They know who we are. They’re terrified.”

 

Mikael:

“Good.”

 

Suddenly, security vampires rush in—six of them, weapons drawn, hesitating for a second too long.

 

Rebekah:

“They drew weapons. That’s enough.”

 

Kol (mock pity):

“Poor bastards.”

 

Without another word, the family moves.

 

—Kol snaps one vampire’s neck before he blinks.

—Freya sends two flying with a shockwave of magic.

—Rebekah crushes another against the wall with inhuman strength.

—Mikael impales one with a silver dagger pulled from nowhere.

—Davina mutters a spell and the last drops screaming to his knees, blood seeping from his ears.

 

Within seconds, all six guards lie broken, a pile of goo, or writhing.

 

Klaus (snarling):

“We didn’t come to ask. We came to take.”

 

Elijah (dusting off his sleeve, to the remaining staff):

“Bring Roman. Now.”

 

Receptionist #1 nods frantically, fumbling for the comms.

 

Sookie (quietly, to Eric):

“They didn’t even hesitate.”

 

Eric (flatly):

“This is hesitation.”

 

Godric:

“This is restraint.”

 

The receptionist stammers into the intercom:

“Th-the Mikaelsons are here to see Guardian Roman… a-all of them.”

 

There’s a pause on the other end.

 

Then a click, and a voice answers:

“…Bring them up.”

 

Klaus (with a cold smile):

“Good. I was beginning to worry we’d have to kill our way to him.”

 

The family moves toward the elevator, the stunned survivors parting like the Red Sea as they go.

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY – COUNCIL CHAMBER – NIGHT

 

The council chamber is bathed in sterile blue light. The long semicircle of the Authority elders sits in silence. Roman, pale and anxious, stands at the head. Across from him, seated on a crimson throne, is Sophie-Ann LeClerq—Queen of Louisiana—her appearance regal, her expression smug… but her scent betrays her: she’s sweating fear.

 

She knows what she’s done.

 

And what’s coming.

 

Sophie-Ann (calmly):

“I bring this matter to the Authority as a matter of law. My asset, Sookie Stackhouse, was taken from me—kidnapped—and turned without consent. I believe she has been... manipulated.”

 

Her voice is measured, elegant. But her eyes are calculating.

 

She knows every word is a lie.

 

Sophie-Ann (continuing):

“She has rare abilities. She is fae. Powerful. Dangerous if untethered. I’ve always kept her safe. But now? She’s being twisted by outsiders.”

 

In her mind, she thinks: If I can claim her, I can control that power. Use her. Feed from her. The potential of a fae-vampire hybrid is unlike anything she’s ever seen.

 

She just didn’t count on who had taken her.

 

The doors slam open.

 

Enter the Mikaelsons—a living storm walking into court. Elijah leads, quiet power in every step. Klaus beside him, deadly and barely holding back his rage. Rebekah, Kol, and Davina glide in. Freya, eyes glowing faintly, follows. Then comes Mikael, silent as a grave.

 

And finally, Sookie—uncertain but strong—flanked by Eric, Godric, and Thalia.

 

Every vampire present freezes.

 

The room temperature drops ten degrees.

 

Roman (barely composed):

“Elijah. Klaus. Mikael… we weren’t expecting—”

 

Klaus (coldly):

“Then you’re stupider than I thought.”

 

Elijah:

“You brought our family into this, Roman. And you allowed a petty queen to lie to your faces.”

 

Sophie-Ann (trying to remain collected):

“I’ve told nothing but the truth—”

 

Freya (interrupting):

“Lie. Again.”

 

Kol (grinning):

“Go on. One more time. We love stories.”

 

Sophie-Ann (defensive):

“She was mine! She lived under my protection—”

 

Elijah (cutting in):

“She is Sookie Mikaelson. My granddaughter. Our blood. Your claims are void.”

 

The words ripple like thunder.

 

Roman pales. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He glances at Sophie-Ann, then back at the Originals. There’s no backup plan for this. No countermeasure. They could all die in seconds.

 

Roman (nervously):

“I… wasn’t aware of the family connection.”

 

Klaus (dangerously calm):

“Now you are. That means you’ve run out of excuses.”

 

Sophie-Ann’s façade begins to crack. Her voice raises, her mask slipping:

 

Sophie-Ann:

“She’s a weapon! You think I don’t see what she is? That power? She should be under control—”

 

Mikael (voice rumbling like a glacier):

“If anyone seeks to control my kin, I will see their blood run like rivers.”

 

Sookie (quietly):

“I’m not a weapon. And I’m not yours.”

 

Eric (smirking toward Sophie-Ann):

“You always were a terrible liar.”

 

Godric (to the Authority):

“Sophie-Ann knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted a fae-blooded queen of her own. She saw Sookie as leverage. Nothing more.”

 

Rebekah:

“She overreached. And now she’s drowning.”

 

Davina (to Sophie-Ann):

“You tried to steal a Mikaelson. That’s like trying to bottle a lightning storm.”

 

Freya (coolly):

“Except this lightning bites back.”

 

Roman, trembling now, nods once.

“We will... deliberate.”

 

Kol (whispering to Sookie):

“He’s trying not to piss himself.”

 

Sookie gives a small, nervous smile. But her hands shake. Her eyes flicker with grief, with anger. She's finding her voice—and it’s nearly time to use it.

 

As the Authority files out, Sophie-Ann rises from her throne.

 

Sophie-Ann (to Sookie, a last gasp):

“This isn’t over.”

 

Sookie (meeting her gaze, firm):

“No. It’s just beginning.”

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY – COUNCIL CHAMBER – MOMENTS LATER

 

The chamber is thick with silence. The Authority is rattled, whispering among themselves.

 

Sophie-Ann stands defiant in the center, her lips curled in a smug smile. She's pretending not to be terrified, but her body betrays her—tense, shaking.

 

Roman:

"We will—"

 

Mikael (low, dangerous):

"No."

 

Everyone turns.

 

Mikael, the Original Patriarch, steps forward with the weight of centuries behind him. His eyes burn with righteous fury, and there’s a feral growl in his throat.

 

Mikael:

"This creature has manipulated, lied, and sought to enslave my granddaughter. There is no deliberation."

 

Roman (desperate):

"Mikael, this chamber is sacred—"

 

Mikael:

"It’s not sacred enough to let this snake draw breath any longer."

 

Sophie-Ann (panicking now):

"You can't! I'm a Queen! I rule Louisiana! I—"

 

Mikael VAMPS forward. One instant she’s speaking—the next, his hand is through her chest.

 

Mikael (coldly):

"You ruled nothing."

 

He rips upward—tearing her head from her shoulders.

 

Her body collapses. Her head turns to goo. A shriek of death echoes—

 

—and then there’s only a pile of black, oozing sludge on the Authority’s marble floor.

 

Gasps ripple across the chamber.

 

Even Godric, Eric, and Thalia stagger back.

 

Godric (quietly, to Eric):

"That was… something ancient."

 

Eric (tense):

"We’ve lived a thousand years and I’ve never seen a kill like that."

 

Thalia (whispers):

“I’ve never been more glad I’m on your side.”

 

The Authority elders are frozen in place, none daring to move.

 

Mikael stands tall, regal and grim, his hand still dripping black gore.

 

Sookie (quietly, stepping forward):

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

 

Her voice is small, but sincere.

 

Sookie (shaking, but clear):

“I was gonna do it… but I’m glad it was you.”

 

Mikael turns, the coldness in his expression fading only for her.

 

Mikael (gently):

“She will never threaten you again, my sweet girl.”

 

The room dares not breathe.

 

Elijah (to Roman, voice like iron):

“Let this stand as the ruling. Final and absolute.”

 

Klaus (grinning darkly):

“Anyone else feel like arguing?”

 

Silence.

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY – COUNCIL CHAMBER – CONTINUOUS

 

The silence is deafening in the aftermath of Sophie-Ann’s execution. The pile of goo on the floor still simmers, and the room reeks of fear.

 

Roman is pale, frozen in place behind the tribunal desk. The other Authority members won't even meet Klaus's eyes.

 

Klaus steps forward, every bit the apex predator they all feared he was.

 

Klaus (calm, deadly):

"Let this be the first and final lesson to all of you."

 

He slowly walks the perimeter of the chamber, locking eyes with each Council member.

 

Klaus:

"The next time one of you or your precious kingdoms dares to lay claim to a Mikaelson—" (he gestures at Sookie)

"—you won’t just lose your title… or your head."

 

He leans in slightly, voice dropping into a threatening whisper, but loud enough to echo.

 

Klaus:

"You will lose everything. This council. Your rule. Your legacy. You exist only because we allow it."

 

Klaus (smiling without warmth):

"Always and forever… means we protect our own. To the death. Yours, if need be."

 

Freya flicks her fingers, cleaning the floor of Sophie-Ann’s remains with a spark of magic. Mikael simply stands behind Klaus like a looming executioner, silent and unrepentant.

 

Rebekah (to the Council, dryly):

"Consider yourselves… warned."

 

Elijah (nodding to Roman):

"This matter is closed. We will see ourselves out."

 

As the Mikaelsons turn and begin to walk out of the chamber with Sookie, Eric, Godric, and Thalia flanking them, none of the Authority dare to breathe.

 

Roman (whispering to himself, trembling):

"God help us if we ever forget what they are..."

 

RUSSELL EDGINGTON’S MANSION – THRONE ROOM – NIGHT

 

The opulence of the Mississippi King's court stands in stark contrast to the ragged figure kneeling before the throne. BILL COMPTON — disheveled, blood-streaked, his clothes torn and dirty — breathes hard as if he still needed air. His leg twitches involuntarily.

 

RUSSELL EDGINGTON, King of Mississippi, reclines on his throne, swirling a goblet of blood lazily. His expression is one of bemused curiosity.

 

RUSSELL:

"My, my, William… What did you do to earn the wrath of the Mikaelsons?"

 

Bill’s lips curl in a snarl, but it's empty. He reaches down and winces as he clutches his leg — the still-healing wound from Klaus’s silver blade twitching with phantom pain.

 

BILL (bitter):

"He made me… stab myself. In the leg… then lower."

 

His voice breaks off. A hollow silence fills the room.

 

RUSSELL (mockingly):

"Oh no… Don't tell me. Klaus Mikaelson gelded you? Turned you into a little gelding like a prized stallion who got too uppity?"

 

Bill turns his face away, the shame raw and obvious. The burn scars peek through his shirt — silver-soaked cuts refusing to fully heal, evidence of Klaus's cruelty and precision.

 

BILL (low):

"He compelled me. Compelled. I didn’t know they could do that to us. Not to vampires."

 

Russell sits up a little, more intrigued now. The smirk fades slightly.

 

RUSSELL (more serious):

"They shouldn’t be able to. Not unless they’re... ancient. Older than the blood that made us. And far more powerful."

 

BILL (voice trembling):

"My body… won’t respond. Not even to bloodlust. Or… other things. I’m broken. A vampire who can’t feel."

 

He stares down at his trembling hands.

 

BILL:

"And Sookie… she’s one of them now. Their blood. Their family. I’ll never get near her again."

 

Russell stands, his expression darkening. He circles Bill like a predator.

 

RUSSELL:

"Then maybe it’s time you stop thinking like a suitor… and start thinking like a weapon. You want revenge? You want power?"

 

Bill looks up at him, hesitation warring with desperation in his eyes.

 

RUSSELL (smiling):

"Then stay here, William. Learn from me. Because if the Mikaelsons are gods… then we must become devils."

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY CHAMBER – NIGHT

 

The chamber remains tense after the Mikaelsons' departure. Roman Zimojic, visibly shaken, addresses the remaining council members.​

 

ROMAN:

"With Queen Sophie-Anne Leclerq's demise, Louisiana stands leaderless. We must act swiftly to restore order."​

He picks up a secure phone and dials.​

 

ROMAN (CONT'D):

"Godric, this is Roman Zimojic. The Vampire Authority recognizes your wisdom and leadership. We appoint you as the new Vampire King of Louisiana."​

A pause as he listens.​

 

ROMAN (CONT'D):

"Your experience as Sheriff of Area 9 in Dallas and your reputation for balance make you the ideal choice."

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – NEW ORLEANS – NIGHT

 

The grand living room is alive with laughter and warmth. Sookie sits on the floor, playing with little Hope, who giggles as she tries to braid Sookie’s hair. Jason, Thalia, and Eric lounge nearby, nursing drinks and watching the impromptu tea party Hope has declared. Freya flips through an old spellbook at the edge of the room. Godric enters from a side room, a subtle smile on his face.

 

GODRIC:

Well, I’ve got news. The Vampire Authority just named me King of Louisiana.

 

Everyone reacts with a mix of surprise and joy.

 

SOOKIE (grinning):

You serious? That’s amazing!

 

ERIC:

It’s about damn time. You’re the only one who wouldn’t treat it like a blood sport.

 

THALIA:

Long live the King, I guess.

 

They all raise their glasses. Sookie throws her arms around Godric in celebration. Before another word can be said—

 

KNOCK. KNOCK.

 

The mood shifts slightly. Jason gets up, always a little more wary these days, and opens the large front door. Standing there is an older gentleman—tall, regal, with a silver mane and eyes like living moonlight. There’s a sense of ancient power that seems to settle around him like a cloak.

 

MAN:

I am Niall Brigant, Prince of the Fae Realm. I’ve come to speak with my great-granddaughter, Sookie Stackhouse.

 

The entire room goes still. Hope, sensing something, clutches Sookie’s hand tighter. Sookie stands slowly, eyes wide, her voice a whisper.

 

SOOKIE:

You’re... Niall?

 

NAILL (warmly, with a faint smile):

I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Sookie. But now that the worlds have changed… it’s time you know the truth of who you really are.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 12: Family

Summary:

Sookie meets Niall

Notes:

I own Nothing, here's Chapter 12 enjoy.

BAYOU COTTAGE – OUTSKIRTS OF NEW ORLEANS – NIGHT

 

The moonlight filters gently through the moss-covered trees. Elijah kneels beside Hope, bundled in a tiny jacket, her wide eyes shining with curiosity and excitement. She clutches a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. He’s brought her here to see her mother since a coven of witches cursed the werewolves of New Orleans to walk durning the day as a wolf and become human only during the full moon.

 

HOPE (whispers):

Do you think Mommy will like these?

 

ELIJAH (smiling warmly):

She'll love them. And she’s missed you very much.

 

He straightens his jacket, brushing the wrinkles off with that ever-present elegance, before knocking gently on the cottage door. A moment later, Hayley answers—human for the night thanks to the full moon. Her breath catches at the sight of her daughter.

 

HAYLEY (tearing up):

My little wolf...

 

Hope drops the flowers and runs into her mother’s arms.

HAYLEY (holding Hope tightly, whispering):

I dreamed about this moment every night.

 

HOPE (muffled against her shoulder):

I missed you, Mommy.

 

ELIJAH (stepping back slightly, giving them space):

The night is yours. Take all the time you need.

 

Hayley slowly pulls back to study Hope’s face, her fingers brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek. There's joy in her eyes… and something else. A flicker of concern.

 

HAYLEY (softly, to Elijah):

Thank you… for bringing her. How long do we have?

 

ELIJAH:

Until moonrise ends. Just a few hours.

 

HAYLEY (nodding, eyes brimming):

Then we make every second count.

 

She lifts Hope in her arms and carries her inside. Elijah lingers at the door, one hand resting lightly against the weathered frame. As the door closes, the wildflowers Hope dropped are left behind, glowing silver in the moonlight.

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – NEW ORLEANS

 

Sookie sits on the patio with Niall Brigant, her great-grandfather, watching little fire fae flicker through the courtyard garden. The moment is peaceful—almost surreal.

 

SOOKIE (softly):

So… I’m half vampire, part fae, and somehow still just me?

 

NIALL (chuckling):

You are more than just “you,” child. You are Mikaelson and Brigant. Magic and blood. Light and shadow. That makes you rare… and dangerous to the wrong sort.

 

SOOKIE:

I don’t want to be dangerous.

 

NIALL:

But you must know how to protect yourself. You’re waking up in ways the world hasn’t seen before. I’ll send someone from our realm to guide you—someone who can help you unlock your fae birthright.

 

Sookie nods slowly, understanding that life is never going back to the way it was.

SOOKIE (after a beat, quietly):

Does it always feel like this? Like I’m standing on the edge of something too big to understand?

 

NIALL (gazing at the fire fae, voice gentle):

That’s how it begins. Power hums in your bones, but your heart… it’s still finding its rhythm. Trust that. It’ll guide you better than any spell.

 

A faint shimmer appears beyond the courtyard gate—an ethereal silhouette, neither wholly solid nor spirit. Niall turns his head slightly, sensing it.

 

NIALL (smiling faintly):

It seems your guide has arrived sooner than expected.

 

SOOKIE (nervously):

Are they… like you?

 

NIALL (standing, brushing imaginary dust from his coat):

No. She’s something older. Wilder. But she owes me a favor.

 

The figure steps closer, revealing a woman draped in moonlight, her eyes glinting like stars over deep water. Sookie rises to her feet, breath catching.

 

FAE WOMAN (soft, musical voice):

Child of light and night… it’s time you learned who you really are.

 

APARTMENT – UPTOWN NEW ORLEANS

 

Rebekah lets herself into the secure apartment where Sarah Newlin now lives. The former anti-vampire crusader, now newly turned, is curled up with a cup of blood and a faraway look in her eyes.

 

REBEKAH:

Well, look at you. Sitting still and not setting anything on fire. I’m impressed.

 

SARAH:

I… I’m trying. Every instinct I had is flipped upside down. I spent my life hating what I’ve become.

 

REBEKAH (coldly):

And now you’ll spend the rest of it learning how not to be a hypocrite.

 

Sarah flinches but nods. Rebekah sighs and walks toward her, tone softening a little.

 

REBEKAH:

Sookie gave you a second chance. Don’t waste it.

SARAH (quietly):

I don’t even know who I am anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see the faces of people I hurt.

 

REBEKAH (arching an eyebrow):

Good. Means there’s still a soul in there somewhere.

 

SARAH:

I don’t expect forgiveness. Especially not from you.

 

REBEKAH (coolly):

Oh, darling. I’m not in the business of forgiveness. I’m in the business of survival. And if you plan on surviving in my city, you’ll need more than guilt and blood.

 

She steps closer, eyes glittering with centuries of experience and just a hint of sympathy.

 

REBEKAH:

Learn control. Learn your strength. Or someone less merciful than Sookie or I will put a stake through your heart—and I won’t stop them.

 

Sarah swallows hard, but lifts her chin just a little, some of that old fire returning, tempered now by pain.

 

SARAH:

Then teach me. Or point me to someone who will.

 

REBEKAH (smirking):

There’s hope for you yet, Newlin.

REBEKAH (softening, just a fraction):

Sookie gave you a second chance. Don’t waste it.

 

She turns, about to leave, then pauses—her voice quieter now, but still carrying that dangerous lilt.

 

REBEKAH:

If you prove you can handle this life… if you stop whining and start evolving… then maybe, one day, you’ll earn something more.

 

SARAH (looking up, cautious):

Like what?

 

REBEKAH (glancing over her shoulder):

A Daylight ring. One forged by our family witches. A mark of trust. Freedom under the sun.

 

Sarah’s eyes widen slightly, her fingers tightening around the cup.

 

SARAH:

You’d really give me one of those?

 

REBEKAH (cool smile):

I said maybe. Those rings aren't trinkets. They're earned—through loyalty, strength… and a little humility.

 

She strides toward the door, her heels echoing on the hardwood, then stops once more, not looking back.

 

REBEKAH:

You want to walk in the light again? Prove you deserve it.

 

And with that, she’s gone—leaving Sarah alone in the silence, a flicker of something new burning in her eyes. Hope… or ambition.

 

FANGTASIA

The neon glow of the Fangtasia sign hums overhead, but the club is closed for business tonight. The usual pulse of music is gone, replaced by a heavy silence and the tension of power shifting.

 

ERIC stands near the bar, arms crossed, his gaze scanning every movement in the room like a hawk. The throne-like chair at the center of the floor—usually for show—now holds new weight.

 

Seated upon it is GODRIC, calm, timeless, and as ancient as the roots of the vampire race. Though soft-spoken, the power rolling off him is undeniable.

 

Around the club are the Vampire Sheriffs of Louisiana, each summoned under royal command. Most are nervous. Some fidget. One dares to smirk.

 

GODRIC (measured tone):

Louisiana has lost its Queen. Unjustly appointed. Corrupt. And now, dead.

 

The smirking sheriff goes still.

 

GODRIC (cont’d):

I have been named King. Not by war, nor by ambition, but by necessity. The Authority knows. And now, you know.

 

SHERIFF #3 (hesitant):

With respect, Your Majesty… Sophie-Ann’s alliances ran deep. Many owed her favors.

 

GODRIC (cold smile):

And now they owe me loyalty—or death.

 

A ripple of unease washes through the room. Godric rises, slow and deliberate. Despite his small frame, he commands the entire space.

 

GODRIC (firm):

You will maintain order. You will ensure our kind does not slip into chaos. And if anyone dares try to claim what is mine… what is ours…

 

He gestures subtly to Eric, who steps forward with a silver-daggered smile.

 

ERIC:

…They’ll get Sophie-Ann’s treatment. Only slower.

 

The sheriffs nod quickly. The message is clear.

 

GODRIC (final):

Swear fealty now. Or walk away and never step foot in this state again.

 

One by one, the sheriffs kneel. Some genuine. Others trembling. All understanding the truth: Godric is not just king by name—but by fear, and earned reverence.

The heavy steel door opens with a groan. Pam strides in, her expression unreadable, followed by a silver-bound and noticeably weaker Jessica Hamby. Her eyes are red from blood tears, and she avoids everyone’s gaze. Godric watches from the throne, still silent, but it’s Eric she’s brought to.

 

ERIC (coldly):

You can remove the silver, Pam.

 

PAM:

She’s calm—for now. But she lost it, Eric. Went full feral. Drained an entire group in the woods near Bon Temps. No finesse. No control. Not even hunger—just grief and rage.

 

Eric’s jaw clenches as he rises from his chair. He circles Jessica slowly, looking her over like a disappointed father inspecting a broken tool.

 

ERIC:

Bill Compton made you, and then left you to rot in your own ignorance. But ignorance is no excuse for massacre. You’re lucky I’ve decided you’re worth salvaging.

 

Jessica finally meets his eyes, guilt and fear swimming behind her red-rimmed stare.

 

JESSICA (choked):

I didn’t mean to—I just—I was hungry, and scared, and I thought he’d come back. He just left me.

 

ERIC:

And you thought murdering innocents would fill that hole? You brought attention to yourself. To us.

 

PAM (flatly):

And let’s not forget—you ruined a pair of my best silver chains. You owe me.

 

Jessica flinches as Eric stops directly in front of her.

 

ERIC:

Your punishment is this: For the next year, you are under Pam’s command. You will learn vampire law. You will learn control. You will learn to think before you act. And if you fail to do so again...

 

He leans in close, whispering—his voice like cold steel:

 

ERIC (quietly):

…I will end you myself.

 

PAM (grinning):

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

 

GODRIC (softly):

Jessica. We do not punish you to be cruel. We punish you to protect you—from yourself… and from those who would see you as weak.

 

ERIC (nods):

You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t waste it.

 

Jessica nods slowly, blood tears threatening to fall again. She doesn’t speak. She just whispers:

 

JESSICA:

Thank you.

 

ERIC (to Pam):

Take her upstairs. Let her clean up. Her training begins tonight.

 

ANCIENT MANOR – MISSISSIPPI – UNDERGROUND CHAMBER

Torchlight flickers along damp stone walls. The air is thick with age, rot, and blood. Russell Edgington lounges in an ornate throne carved from bone, sipping from a crystal goblet filled with human blood. Across from him stands Bill Compton, his eyes darker than usual, his movements sharper—erratic.

 

Bill is gaunt, the silver scars on his leg and groin still visible beneath his half-buttoned shirt. He winces slightly as he moves—his pride more wounded than his flesh.

 

RUSSELL:

Still limping, Billy? Klaus really did a number on you. I've never seen a vampire compelled like that before... magnificent.

 

BILL (growling):

He stole everything. My dignity. My purpose. My… manhood.

 

RUSSELL (chuckles darkly):

Yes, yes, the whole “eunuch by compulsion” bit. Tragic. But let’s talk about your brilliant little idea again. The Authority… dead. Lilith’s blood… ours.

 

BILL (coldly):

They sit in judgment of us. Pretend they are gods. We’ll show them what a real god looks like.

 

RUSSELL (eyes gleaming):

And we’ll bathe in the blood of their hypocrisy.

 

Russell sets the goblet down and rises to his feet, pacing.

 

RUSSELL (muttering):

Lilith’s essence. Her blood is locked in their vault. Roman keeps the key. Once we gut the Authority, we take what’s ours… ascend.

 

Bill stares into the middle distance, eyes glazed with obsession.

 

BILL:

I saw her, Russell. In the blood. She called to me. Said I was chosen. That all would bow before me. Even Klaus… even Eric… even Godric.

 

RUSSELL (smirking):

Darling, we’re not just going to kill the Authority. We’re going to burn the whole damn house of cards. We’ll drink Lilith's blood together... and become gods.

 

He steps close to Bill, his voice a seductive whisper:

 

RUSSELL:

Then we’ll see how Mikaelson blood tastes on our tongues.

 

They exchange a wicked, hungry look as the camera pans to an ancient scroll on the wall—an image of Lilith drawn in blood, her eyes wide and mad.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 13: The Die is Cast

Summary:

Bill and Russel begin their killing Spree

Notes:

I own nothing. Enjoy

SHREVEPORT – NIGHT – CLUB M

 

Nestled on a shadow-drenched street in downtown Shreveport, Club M looked like it had been plucked straight from the Gatsby era and dropped into the supernatural underworld. A large iron marquee framed with antique gold filigree arched over the entrance, flickering with vintage bulbs that spelled out its name in art deco lettering. Jazz, blues, and dark synths blended in the air like absinthe and blood, smooth and intoxicating.

 

From the outside, it hinted at elegance. Inside, it drenched you in decadence.

 

The club was a cathedral of black and gold: velvet drapes pooled along the walls, crystal chandeliers cast glittering shadows over marble floors, and gold-accented columns lined the perimeter like sentinels. The main bar, a long mirrored stretch of dark wood and burnished brass, reflected everyone who approached it—except the vampires, of course, a silent trick that amused Rebekah to no end.

 

Waitstaff and bartenders wore period-inspired attire—corsets, suspenders, bow ties, beaded gowns, and three-piece suits with vamped-up flair. No polyester in sight. Everything was silk, velvet, lace, and leather.

 

Sookie Stackhouse, club owner and secret powerhouse, commanded the room in a deep burgundy flapper-inspired gown with a plunging neckline, sheer back, and delicate beadwork that caught the light with every step. A silver dagger nestled discreetly at her thigh beneath the slit of her dress. Her blond curls were pinned into soft, vintage waves, a subtle nod to the past—but her confidence was all present day.

 

She weaved between tables like a queen surveying her court, the scent of her fairy blood faint beneath expensive perfume. Patrons parted instinctively—some in awe, some in fear, and some who had no idea just how dangerous she truly was.

 

The dance floor was alive with supernatural grace. Vampires and humans alike spun under the chandeliers to a live band tucked behind velvet curtains. Instead of modern EDM, the music was a heady, electrified fusion of 1920s jazz and darkwave beats—think Postmodern Jukebox meets Nine Inch Nails.

 

In a high-backed leather booth in the VIP mezzanine, Thalia sat like an ancient empress. She wore a black silk pantsuit reminiscent of Marlene Dietrich—tailored to perfection, open at the collar, and paired with a red silk blouse that matched her lipstick. Her heels were razor-sharp. She refused to wear glitter, but she did allow a silver pocket watch chain to swing at her hip—a nod to the era, and a weapon if need be.

 

She sipped on a blood martini and watched the crowd with cold curiosity.

 

THALIA (to herself):

Strip for Eric, or rule over the damned? I chose wisely.

 

Pam walked in like a sneer wrapped in chiffon, clicking her tongue at the club’s opulence.

 

PAM:

Looks like Gatsby threw up in here. But I have to admit… it’s fabulous.

 

SOOKIE (smirking):

High praise coming from you.

 

SARAH NEWLIN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

 

The apartment is quiet, the only light coming from the flickering flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The room is clean but sparsely furnished—a blend of government-issue minimalism and the occasional overly cheerful throw pillow that Sarah insisted on for “balance.”

 

She sits curled up on the couch, barefoot, dressed in a soft white hoodie and leggings, trying to pretend she's just a normal girl watching TV.

 

But she’s not.

Not anymore.

Not since Sookie Mikaelson turned her.

 

A half-drained bottle of scotch sits beside her on the coffee table. She grimaces every time she drinks it.

 

The TV flickers through late-night news, then:

 

TV ANCHOR (V.O.)

"In breaking news, the American Vampire League has just announced its new national spokesperson following the mysterious death of Nan Flanagan earlier this month."

 

Sarah frowns, sitting up straighter.

 

TV ANCHOR (V.O.) (CONT’D)

"Her replacement is a familiar face to many of you—former televangelist and leader of the Fellowship of the Sun, and now... vampire—Steve Newlin."

 

Sarah’s mouth opens. She stares in stunned silence.

 

ON TV:

 

A flashy video rolls—Steve, now pale-skinned and fang-toothed, grins like the showman he always was. He stands behind a podium bearing the AVL crest, suited up in dark blue, with a brand-new designer haircut. His eyes gleam with excitement.

 

STEVE NEWLIN (ON TV):

"Good evening, America! I may have once feared vampires… but now I am one! And I’m here to tell you—we’re not monsters. We’re your neighbors, your coworkers, and yes, even your leaders."

 

Cut to a photo-op: Steve shaking hands with human politicians. Then another of him sipping synthetic blood at a fundraising gala.

 

STEVE (CONT’D):

"I’ve been given a second chance at life—and at love. And I plan to use my voice to build bridges between our communities."

 

Back in the apartment, Sarah lets out a choked laugh—a bitter, disbelieving sound.

 

SARAH (to herself):

You’ve got to be kidding me.

 

She fumbles for the remote and pauses the screen on Steve’s smug, undead face. Her hands tremble.

 

SARAH (CONT’D):

You were supposed to be dead. You were supposed to burn in Hell, not come back looking like a damn vampire Ken doll.

 

Her fangs drop—instinctive, angry, hungry. She punches the remote, and the TV goes black.

 

SARAH (quietly, but with venom):

You joined them.

You always did like the spotlight more than the truth.

 

She slumps back into the couch, her expression hollow. And for the first time since turning, she looks… utterly lost.

 

VAMPIRE AUTHORITY – COUNCIL CHAMBER

 

The room is dimly lit by candlelight and the soft glow of tech screens. The Authority Council is mid-session, unaware that death is already in the room.

 

Roman is seated in his usual position at the head of the chamber. The remaining council members murmur among themselves—Russell had vanished from radar, and Sophie-Ann’s public execution by the Mikaelsons still weighs heavily.

 

A strange smell begins to rise. Metallic. Burnt flesh?

 

Then—

 

BOOM!

 

The doors blast open with supernatural force.

 

Russell Edgington, elegant and manic in a deep burgundy suit, steps through the wreckage with Bill Compton, pale, smirking, his shirt soaked in blood. A silver dagger still clutched in Bill’s hand.

 

ROMAN (standing)

What is the meaning of this?

 

Russell flashes a predatory grin.

 

RUSSELL

"Justice. Evolution. Fun."

 

Before anyone can react, Russell blurs forward, grabs a Council member, and rips his head clean off, splattering the walls in arterial spray.

 

BILL follows with cold precision, staking another member through the heart, then twisting the stake upward, snapping bone.

 

Chaos erupts.

 

Vampires scream. Bodies blur in motion. Guards rush in, only to be torn apart within seconds.

 

A blur of blonde hair vanishes down a hallway—NORA, Eric’s vampire sister, narrowly escaping through a hidden side door, dragging another young female vampire, a child of Godric, behind her.

 

NORA (whispering to the girl)

"To Shreveport. To Eric and Godric. Run. Don’t look back."

 

They vanish into the shadows.

 

Back in the chamber, the floor is painted in blood.

 

Russell casually picks up a heavy, sacred decanter from a shrine-like altar in the back. Inside: Lilith’s blood, swirling dark and viscous, glowing faintly with unnatural power.

 

RUSSELL (to Bill, reverent)

"Shall we?"

 

BILL

"To a new age."

 

They each drink deeply from the decanter. Their veins pulse red, glowing through their skin, and their eyes burn with new intensity.

 

Russell throws his head back in ecstatic laughter.

 

RUSSELL (howling)

"LET THERE BE BLOOD!"

 

CITY STREET

 

A peaceful New Orleans evening. Couples walk hand-in-hand. Jazz drifts from a club.

 

Then, a scream.

 

Russell descends from the sky like a demon, his hands clawing into a man’s chest, ripping out his heart mid-step. People run in all directions. Bill stalks forward, eyes feral, fangs gleaming, tearing into a woman’s throat as her partner watches in horror.

 

Police arrive—one is decapitated before he can raise a weapon. Another is torn in half.

 

Russell lifts a newscaster by the neck as her camera continues rolling, live.

 

RUSSELL (to the camera, grinning)

"Hello, America. Daddy’s home."

 

Bill smashes the camera with a glance.

 

Blood runs down the gutters. The Age of Terror has begun.

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – DAVINA AND KOL'S ROOM – NIGHT

 

The room is dimly lit, cozy despite the towering ceilings of the compound. Candles flicker gently. A breeze flows in from the open balcony doors. Davina sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, staring down at a small, glowing witch's talisman in her hands — an old fertility charm that lights up in the presence of new life.

 

It’s glowing.

 

She stares at it in disbelief, heart thudding in her chest. Her hands tremble as she clutches the charm tighter.

 

DAVINA (softly, to herself)

No way… it’s not possible… Not for us…

 

A knock sounds at the door.

 

KOL (through the door, cheeky)

Darling? You’ve been hiding in there for ages. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.

 

She doesn’t answer right away. She bites her lip, trying to keep the overwhelming tide of emotion from spilling over.

 

DAVINA

Come in.

 

Kol enters, dressed in black, rakish as ever. He pauses when he sees her expression—wide-eyed, vulnerable, the charm glowing in her hand.

 

KOL

That’s… not a nightlight, is it?

 

Davina laughs through a tear. She nods toward the charm.

 

DAVINA

It’s a fertility charm. It glows when there’s a baby.

 

Kol freezes.

 

KOL

Wait. You’re saying… you’re pregnant?

 

She nods slowly, eyes shining.

 

DAVINA

With your child, Kol.

 

Silence hangs heavy, and for a split second, she looks afraid — of what he might say, of what this could mean.

 

But Kol rushes to her side, kneels before her, and gently places a hand on her stomach.

 

KOL (whispers)

We’re having a child… Our child.

 

His voice cracks, a rare moment of vulnerability from the centuries-old Original.

 

KOL (looking up at her)

You’re giving me something I never thought I’d have. A family. A future. A legacy.

 

DAVINA

I didn’t think it was possible, not after everything…

 

He pulls her into his arms, holding her tight.

 

KOL

Magic brought me back from the dead. It makes sense that it would give us this miracle too.

 

A soft glow begins to emit from Davina’s skin — a reaction of her magic aligning with the new life inside her, and Kol watches in awe.

 

KOL (smiling through tears)

You’re going to be an incredible mother, Davina Claire.

 

DAVINA (smirking)

And you’re going to be exhausted.

 

They laugh, but there’s love behind it. Real, powerful, ancient and new all at once.

 

FANGTASIA – ERIC’S OFFICE – NIGHT

 

The office is dim, the walls lined with antique books, weapons, and gothic furnishings. Eric sits behind the desk, casually swirling a glass of blood wine. Godric stands by the window, silent as always, lost in his ancient thoughts. The tension in the air is palpable — as if both sense a storm coming.

 

Suddenly — the doors burst open.

 

PAM (offscreen, alarmed)

Eric! She just appeared outside the club—she’s a wreck!

 

ERIC (sharply)

Who?

 

Before she can answer, NORA stumbles in, bloodied, burned, and clearly having traveled a great distance in agony and haste. Her usually impeccable composure is shattered. Her clothes are torn, her arms streaked with ash and soot. Her eyes are wild — full of terror.

 

NORA

Eric… Godric…

 

Eric is on his feet in an instant.

 

ERIC

Nora!?

 

She falls into his arms. Godric is at her side a moment later, his face shifting into something rarely seen — panic.

 

GODRIC

What happened?

 

Nora pulls herself together enough to speak, her voice hoarse.

 

NORA

They’re all dead. Roman. Dieter. Rosalyn. Salome. All of them. Everyone in that chamber… gone.

 

A heavy silence falls.

 

ERIC (coldly)

Who did this?

 

Nora’s lips tremble.

 

NORA

Russell Edgington… and Bill.

 

Eric’s eyes widen, but Godric is already turning toward the window, rage simmering in his gaze.

 

ERIC (disbelieving)

Bill? No. He was—

 

NORA (cutting in)

Gone, yes. But somehow he escaped. They… they shared Lilith’s blood. They’re mad with power. They killed the Authority and… and they’re killing humans. In public.

 

She breaks into sobs now.

 

NORA

I barely made it out. I only survived because I was already running.

 

Eric’s hand tightens on her shoulder, protectively.

 

ERIC (low)

You’re safe now. With us.

 

GODRIC (quietly)

This is a declaration of war.

 

Eric looks at Godric. His expression says everything.

 

ERIC

Then we remind them why they used to fear us.

 

As Nora sobs quietly in the background, Eric and Godric exchange a look — not of fear, but of vengeance. A reckoning is coming.

Notes:

Thanks for the Read, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 14: Blood & Broadcast

Summary:

The Bloodbath continues

Notes:

I own nothing, Chapter 14 Enjoy

TV NEWS STATION – LIVE BROADCAST

The screen flickers with the 10 O’Clock Nightly News. The anchor, Melanie Cruz, a poised and polished woman in her early 40s, sits at the desk. Behind her is the usual backdrop of cityscapes and weather radars. She smiles into the camera, unaware her last moments are seconds away.

 

MELANIE CRUZ (cheerful)

In other news, a mysterious blackout in Baton Rouge has left thousands without power. Officials are still investigating, though rumors of strange sightings and—

 

CRASH!

The studio doors explode inward.

 

The camera shakes violently as crew members scream in the background. On live television, Russell Edgington, in full regalia — suit soaked in blood, hair wild — strolls onto the set with the swagger of a rock star.

 

RUSSELL (grinning at the camera)

Good evening, America!

 

Melanie gasps, backing away. Bill Compton follows behind, eyes glowing a deep crimson, lips stained red, the madness of Lilith burning in his veins.

 

Russell saunters up to Melanie, lifts her from her chair by the throat as she kicks and flails, and stares directly into the camera lens.

 

RUSSELL (gleeful)

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming… to bring you a reality check.

 

He rips her throat open mid-sentence, blood spraying across the desk and camera lens.

 

Her body slumps lifelessly. The camera feed glitches, then stabilizes again — now fixed on Bill, who steps forward.

 

BILL (calmly, yet hauntingly)

The Vampire Authority is dead. There are no more kings. No more councils. No more laws.

 

He raises his arms, messianic and deranged.

 

BILL

There is only Lilith. And her chosen ones.

 

Russell licks blood from his fingers and leans into the camera, his voice almost seductive.

 

RUSSELL

Tell your leaders… your presidents, your pastors, your hunters…

You cannot stop what’s already begun.

 

The screen fills with static as blood splatters across the lens once more — then—

 

CLUB FANGTASIA – MAIN FLOOR –

 

The club is closed to humans. The lights are dim, the air tense. Vampires of various ages and origins pack the floor, whispering nervously, eyes flicking toward the bar. The room hums with fear — many just saw their entire worldview collapse on live television.

 

ERIC NORTHMAN, calm but cold, stands at the center of the stage. His presence is commanding, regal. Beside him, GODRIC stands quiet, the old soul radiating quiet intensity. Behind them, Pam watches the crowd with narrowed eyes, arms folded, lips tight with displeasure.

 

ERIC (loudly, voice crisp)

Enough.

 

The murmurs die. The crowd focuses on him, some angry, some terrified, all waiting.

 

ERIC

What you saw tonight was not a call to arms. It was madness.

 

He lets that sit.

 

ERIC

Russell Edgington and Bill Compton are no longer our brothers. They are feral beasts. And beasts are put down.

 

A murmur rises — some nod in agreement, others hesitate.

 

GODRIC (softly, but his voice carries)

If you follow them, you will die.

Not for glory. Not for Lilith.

But for nothing.

 

He pauses, eyes sweeping the room.

 

GODRIC

We do not survive by losing control. We endure because we remember what we are. What we can be.

 

ERIC

The Vampire Authority is gone. What replaces it is not chaos — it’s strength. Structure. Discipline. Us.

 

Eric paces a step forward, his tone darkening.

 

ERIC

If any of you wish to follow in their path — to massacre, to terrorize — know this:

I will hunt you.

Godric will end you.

And the Mikaelsons… will erase your name from the world.

 

That gets their attention. The mention of the Mikaelsons chills the room.

 

ERIC

You want to live? Then fall in line. Now.

 

Silence reigns.

 

GODRIC (nodding slightly)

Those who wish to remain under our protection will swear fealty here and now.

Loyalty will be returned with safety. And order.

 

One by one, vampires step forward — some nervously, some gratefully — to kneel before Eric and Godric.

 

Pam smirks as the balance shifts. Order is returning, even if only by force.

 

ERIC (to the crowd)

We will rebuild.

But if any of you so much as thinks of betrayal—

remember what happened to Sophie-Ann.

 

Silence again.

 

CLUB M – MAIN FLOOR – NIGHT

 

The roaring '20s charm of Club M is muted tonight. The bar is closed to humans, the jazz band gone, the chandeliers dimmed to a low, intimate glow. Art Deco shadows dance across the walls.

 

The tables have been cleared, forming a wide-open space. Sookie Mikaelson, in a tailored vintage-style velvet gown, sits on the bar counter with a glass of blood wine in hand. Her blonde curls are pinned up, her eyes focused.

 

Across the room, Jason Stackhouse leans against the back wall, arms folded, shotgun nearby — just in case. Thalia, fierce and elegant in black, stands with arms crossed near the back corner, silent but alert.

 

The room is full of Mikaelson-type vampires, about thirty in total — many of them newly turned, others older, from different backgrounds and eras. Some wear modern streetwear, others cling to vintage suits and dresses. They’re all here for one reason.

 

VAMPIRE #1 (nervously)

We saw the broadcast… those two—Compton and Edgington… they aren’t one of us, right?

 

VAMPIRE #2

They're not Mikaelson-blooded. You can feel it. They’re wrong.

 

Sookie (calmly but firm)

No. They’re not one of ours.

Bill Compton was a bastard even before he was turned, and Russell’s been mad for centuries. That ain’t our bloodline. That ain’t how we rule.

 

A murmur of relief ripples through the group. Some unclench their fists. Others exchange glances.

 

VAMPIRE #3 (earnestly)

We didn’t come here to beg. We came to stand with you. To prove we ain’t with them. We follow the Mikaelsons. We follow you, Sookie.

 

THALIA (coldly)

As well you should. If you weren’t here tonight… I’d be out hunting you.

 

Jason chuckles dryly at that, but there's weight behind Thalia’s words.

 

SOOKIE (softens)

You’re not the enemy. You came to stand with us. That means somethin’.

But make no mistake… this isn’t gonna be a peaceful time. There’s a storm coming. And you’re either with us — or you’re in our way.

 

VAMPIRE #4 (nodding)

We’ll take whatever judgment the Mikaelsons hand down. If we need to help clean up the mess, we will. Just… tell us what you need from us.

 

SOOKIE (with quiet authority)

I need y’all to hold the line. Stay quiet. Stay hidden. Keep your bloodlust in check. Until I say otherwise, not one of you makes a move without checking with Thalia or me first.

 

Jason whistles low, impressed.

 

JASON (to Sookie, grinning)

You sound like Rebekah when she’s pissed off. That’s high praise, sis.

 

SOOKIE (smirking)

She’s rubbing off on me.

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – SALON

 

The ornate chandeliers flicker gently above the long table. The Mikaelson family has gathered — a rare full assembly.

 

Klaus stands at the head, eyes sharp with fury. Elijah, in a fitted three-piece suit, leans against the fireplace, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Rebekah paces restlessly, the echo of her heels against the marble floor the only sound for a long beat. Kol sits low in a leather chair, spinning an ornate dagger between his fingers, his cocky façade slipping under the weight of tension.

 

Hope, curled up with a book and a plush wolf doll on a nearby couch, is being quietly watched by Hayley, who’s human for the night under the full moon’s influence.

 

KLAUS

Russell Edgington and Bill Compton have made their move. A public massacre… they’ve shattered the masquerade. They killed the Authority. There will be panic in the streets by morning.

 

ELIJAH

If the world burns, so does our position within it. We cannot afford chaos. Not now.

 

REBEKAH (growling)

They want to play gods? Then let’s remind them who the real monsters are.

 

Freya (wary)

What about the humans? They’ll retaliate—especially with this going public. If they start rounding up vampires, they won’t stop with just Compton and Edgington.

 

KOL (smirking faintly)

Sounds like a good time to disappear for a few centuries, yeah? Or maybe blow up a few government offices while we’re at it.

 

REBEKAH (snapping)

You’re not running anywhere, Kol.

 

Kol opens his mouth to sass her back—

—but Davina enters, hesitant, her hand resting over her stomach.

 

KOL (softens instantly)

Davina?

 

Everyone goes quiet. The change in Kol’s energy is almost shocking. Klaus tilts his head, suspicious. Rebekah squints.

 

DAVINA (nervous, voice soft)

I… I need to tell the family something.

 

KOL (standing up slowly)

You alright, love?

 

DAVINA (nods)

I’m pregnant.

 

Silence. Total, heavy silence.

 

Rebekah’s jaw drops. Elijah raises his eyebrows. Klaus’s expression flickers through half a dozen emotions before settling on something dark and complicated.

 

KLAUS (lowly)

Well. That’s… unexpected.

 

REBEKAH

Bloody hell, Kol.

 

Elijah (wide-eyed, stunned)

Are you sure?

 

DAVINA (nodding)

I did a blood charm. Twice. I even had Freya confirm it.

 

Kol is frozen, eyes darting between her and the others. Then his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. He moves to her side instantly.

 

KOL (quietly)

We’re having a baby.

 

Davina nods again, and he pulls her into a hug. Over her shoulder, he looks up — and sees the eyes of the family fixed on them.

 

KLAUS (after a beat, voice serious)

Then we protect them. Both of them.

No matter what.

 

ELIJAH

The child of a Mikaelson and a powerful witch… it will be a target before it’s even born.

 

REBEKAH (calming)

Davina… you’ll stay here, where it’s safe. With Freya. You’re family now.

 

Hope stirs from her spot, sleepy but alert.

 

HOPE

Does that mean I’m going to have a cousin?

 

Rebekah smiles faintly, brushing hair behind Hope’s ear.

 

REBEKAH

Yes, darling. You are.

 

Klaus places a hand on the table, leaning forward with that dangerous calm he reserves for war.

 

KLAUS

We prepare. No more hiding. No more waiting.

Edgington and Compton have declared war on our world.

We show them what happens when you cross the family Mikaelson.

 

STACKHOUSE FARMHOUSE – DAY

 

The golden Louisiana morning stretches over the fields as the deep purr of a midnight black 1965 Chevy Camaro rolls down the gravel driveway. Dust curls up behind the sleek, vintage muscle car like smoke from a dragon’s breath.

 

Sookie steps out, sunglasses in place, sundress catching the breeze, her cowboy boots clicking against the gravel. The Camaro gleams behind her — all black chrome and rebellion.

 

The farmhouse is coming back to life. Contractors hammer away at the new roof, and fresh lumber lines the porch. The scent of sawdust and progress hangs in the air.

 

SOOKIE (to herself, soft)

Yeah… you’re startin’ to feel like home again.

 

She walks the perimeter, clipboard under one arm, inspecting the repairs with a critical but satisfied eye. She leans on the railing of the half-finished porch, glancing out toward the woods.

 

A sudden shift in the wind — cool, sweet, and wild — rustles the trees, and Sookie’s senses flare.

 

SOOKIE (dryly, without looking)

You know, for a forest spirit, your entrance ain't exactly subtle.

 

From the treeline steps a tall, striking woman wrapped in layered silks and leathers the color of moonlight and forest moss. Her hair is a cascade of silver and pale gold, her eyes like polished opals — bright, unsettling, ancient.

 

This is AILA, Princess-General of the Fae, Sookie’s teacher… and kin.

 

AILA (smirking)

You would know subtle if it hit you with a branch, girl.

 

SOOKIE (grinning)

Ain’t that what you did last lesson?

 

AILA (archly)

You learned, didn’t you?

 

She steps forward, and the grass bends beneath her feet as if curtsying. Magic pulses in the air around her — not loud, not angry, but undeniable. The few construction workers on the property suddenly feel the need to… take a long coffee break inside.

 

Aila circles Sookie slowly, assessing her.

 

AILA

You smell of vampire blood and dragon fire, but the Fae in you is awake now. You’re vibrating with power you barely understand.

 

SOOKIE

Well, maybe if someone taught me the basics instead of speakin’ in riddles all the time—

 

Aila raises a hand and flicks a glowing sigil into the air — a silver glyph that hovers between them before dissolving with a chime.

 

AILA (serious now)

The time for basics is over. The world is shifting. Your bloodline — both Fae and vampire — is changing everything. And there are beings watching you now… gods, monsters, things older than either realm.

 

SOOKIE (calmly)

So teach me how to beat 'em.

 

Aila gives her a long look — equal parts pride and pity — then nods.

 

AILA

Today, we start with light and shadow. Tomorrow… you tear the sky open.

 

Sookie drops the clipboard, kicks off her boots, and squares her stance on the porch like it’s a battlefield.

 

SOOKIE

Good. I’m tired of holdin’ back.

 

Jason’s Home Bon Temps

 

In the late afternoon, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the town of Bon Temps. Jason's house, a modest but cozy dwelling, was filled with the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sounds of the city. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of old wood and faded memories.

 

Jason stood in the living room, his eyes fixed on Thalia as she moved gracefully through the space. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, her long, dark hair cascading down her back, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Her movements were fluid and hypnotic, a dance of seduction that left Jason breathless.

 

Thalia turned to face him, her lips curving into a smirk. "You're staring," she said, her voice a low purr.

 

Jason's eyes never left hers as he took a step closer. "And you're a sight to behold," he replied, his voice thick with desire.

 

Thalia's smirk deepened, and she took a step back, beckoning him to follow. "Come here," she said, her voice a soft command.

 

Jason did as she instructed, his heart pounding in his chest as he closed the distance between them. Thalia's hands reached up, her fingers tracing the lines of his face, her touch cool and soothing. He leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a soft, gentle kiss. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of their previous encounters, a moment of tenderness amidst the chaos of their lives. Jason's hands reached up, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with a desperate hunger.

 

Thalia's hands roamed over his body, her touch both gentle and possessive. She traced the lines of his muscles, her fingers lingering on the scars that marked his skin. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.

 

Jason's heart raced as he nodded, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Yours," he agreed, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer.

 

Thalia's lips curled into a wicked smile, and she turned, leading him towards the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat that was building between them.

 

Thalia turned to face him, her eyes glowing in the dim light. She reached for the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. She stood before him in just her lingerie, her body a vision of curves and shadows. Jason's breath hitched as he took in the sight of her, his desire growing with each passing second.

 

He reached out, his fingers tracing the lace of her bra, his touch light and teasing. Thalia's breath hitched, her body arching into his touch. He leaned in, his lips pressing against her neck, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone. She moaned softly, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

 

Jason's hands roamed over her body, his touch urgent and desperate. He unhooked her bra, his fingers brushing against her nipples, making her gasp. He broke away from her neck, his lips capturing one of her nipples, his tongue teasing and exploring. Thalia's head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips as she surrendered to the pleasure.

 

Jason's hands moved lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips, his touch sending shivers down her spine. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down, revealing her most intimate places. Thalia stepped out of them, her body trembling with anticipation.

 

She reached for Jason's shirt, her fingers tugging at the fabric, eager to feel his skin against hers. He obliged, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Thalia's hands roamed over his chest, her touch gentle and exploring. She leaned in, her lips pressing against his skin, her tongue tracing the lines of his muscles.

 

Jason's hands found her hips, pulling her against him. He could feel the heat of her desire, the urgency of her need, and it only served to fuel his own passion. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. The soft sheets were cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he lay beside her.

 

Thalia's hands roamed over his body, her touch urgent and desperate. She wanted to feel him, to taste him, to explore every inch of his being. She pushed him onto his back, straddling him as she leaned down to kiss him. Her hair fell around them like a curtain, blocking out the world and leaving only the two of them in their own private universe.

 

Jason's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she moved against him. He could feel the heat of her desire, the urgency of her need, and it only served to fuel his own passion. He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked up at her.

 

Thalia's eyes were glowing, her lips curled into a wicked smile. She reached down, her fingers tracing the length of his erection, her touch light and teasing. Jason's breath hitched, his body arching into her touch. She leaned down, her lips capturing his in another deep, consuming kiss.

 

She broke away, her lips trailing down his chest, her tongue teasing his nipples. She moved lower, her lips and tongue exploring every inch of his body, her touch driving him wild with desire. She reached the waistband of his pants, her fingers tugging at the fabric, eager to reveal what lay beneath.

 

Jason lifted his hips, allowing her to pull his pants down, revealing his hard, throbbing erection. Thalia's eyes widened, her lips curling into a smirk as she took in the sight of him. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his length, her touch gentle and exploring.

 

Jason's breath hitched, his body trembling with anticipation. Thalia leaned down, her lips capturing the tip of his erection, her tongue teasing and exploring. He moaned softly, his hands gripping the sheets, his body arching into her touch. She took him deeper, her mouth and tongue working in tandem, driving him wild with pleasure.

 

Jason's hands reached down, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her movements. She took him deeper, her mouth and throat working in perfect harmony, her touch driving him to the brink of ecstasy. He could feel the tension building, the coil of pleasure that threatened to explode.

 

Thalia pulled away, her lips glistening with his desire. She crawled up his body, her eyes locked onto his. She straddled him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she lowered herself onto him. Jason's breath hitched, his body arching into hers as she took him deep inside her.

 

The sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that made him gasp. Thalia began to move, her hips rocking against his, her body taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust. The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking, a symphony of moans and whispered words.

 

Jason's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he matched her rhythm, his body moving in sync with hers. The tension built, a coil of pleasure that threatened to explode. He could feel it, the edge of oblivion, and he clung to her, desperate for release.

 

Thalia's eyes were glowing, her body trembling with the effort of holding back her own release. She leaned down, her lips capturing his in a deep, consuming kiss. She broke away, her voice a soft whisper. "Let go," she murmured, her voice hoarse with desire. And he did, his body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over him. Thalia followed soon after, her body tensing as she found her own release.

 

In the aftermath, they lay entwined, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths slowly returning to normal. The room was filled with a sense of peace, a rare moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of their lives. Thalia curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, a steady rhythm that grounded her.

 

Jason's hand stroked her hair, his touch gentle and soothing. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

 

Thalia's lips curled into a smile, and she looked up at him, her eyes glowing in the dim light. "Yours," she agreed, her voice a soft purr.

 

As they lay there, the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the room, the world outside fading into the background. In that moment, they were content, two ancient souls finding solace in each other's arms, if only for a brief moment. The wild, passionate encounter had left them both sated and exhausted, their bodies and souls intertwined in a way that was uniquely their own. The house was silent, the only sounds the soft whispers of their breaths and the distant hum of the city, oblivious to the secrets and passions that lay hidden within its walls.

 

SHREVEPORT CITY LIMITS – NIGHT

 

The moon hangs heavy and red over the Louisiana skyline. The roads are empty. Silent. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

 

From the darkness, a sleek black SUV glides down the backroads like a predator on the hunt. Its headlights slice through the mist rolling low across the pavement. The tires crunch gravel, then still.

 

The passenger door opens slowly.

 

RUSSELL EDGINGTON steps out first — elegant in a blood-red velvet coat, his hair neatly styled, his face a mask of gleeful madness. His eyes gleam like a man who’s just remembered what joy feels like — and it’s made of carnage.

 

RUSSELL (softly)

Ah, Shreveport… how quaint.

 

The driver’s side creaks open with a groan.

 

BILL COMPTON emerges next — gaunt, twisted by the power of Lilith’s blood. His once-handsome face is now too still, too pale. His eyes glow faintly crimson, like embers about to catch flame. He walks with slow precision, every step deliberate… like a man with nothing left to lose and too much to prove.

 

He stops beside Russell and inhales deeply.

 

BILL (low)

I can smell them. Eric. Godric. Her.

 

RUSSELL

Oh, I know. It’s in the air… thick with fear and old blood. Delicious.

 

Bill’s jaw clenches. His voice is cold.

 

BILL

This city thinks it has order. Balance. Kings. But soon, there will be only one law… ours.

 

Russell chuckles, licking his lips.

 

RUSSELL

Let’s make it biblical.

 

The two of them turn toward the city.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 15: Blood soaked Shreveport

Summary:

Bill and Russel encounter Mikael

Notes:

I own Nothing. Sorry I didn't post yesterday, I got stuck on the Interstate because of a crash for 2 hours on my drive home from work and just didn't feel the muse once I was home, I hope you enjoy the Chapter.

SHREVEPORT – NIGHT

 

Shreveport burns.

 

Storefronts are shattered. Fires flicker along the streets. Screams echo in the distance — some human, some not. Blood paints the sidewalks in streaks and pools. The scent of iron lingers in the air like smoke after a battle.

 

Bill Compton and Russell Edgington stroll through the chaos, surrounded by a pack of rogue vampires — feral, wild-eyed, and blood-soaked. These are the ones who believe in Vampire supremacy. The old ways. The Lilith doctrine.

 

Russell gleefully licks blood from his fingers, eyes darting with manic energy.

 

RUSSELL

The world was always meant to be this way — fire, blood, chaos... and the strong feeding on the weak.

 

BILL (flatly)

The Authority was a lie. Their laws? Shackles. Now we are free.

 

They round a corner… and spot Club M.

 

A young human woman in a torn red dress sprints across the street, limping — bloody but alive. One of the rogue vampires snarls and lunges after her.

 

VAMPIRE

Got you now, little piggy—

 

The moment his foot crosses into the Club M parking lot, a blinding pulse of golden light bursts from the ground beneath him. His body is hurled backward as if struck by an unseen force. He lands in the middle of the street with a scream, skin smoking.

 

CRACKLING MAGICAL ENERGY flickers along the iron gates and black fencing that surround the club property. Runes glow softly on the brick pillars at each corner of the lot.

 

From inside the gates, dozens of terrified humans huddle together under the club’s awning. But now they’re watching with wide eyes — because they’ve just realized something:

 

They’re safe.

 

The club is protected.

 

RUSSELL (eyes narrowing)

What… in hell was that?

 

BILL (growling)

Mikaelsons. That bitch Freya…

 

They step forward. As Bill’s toe nudges the first stone of the lot’s edge, the glow intensifies, humming with ancient energy. A whisper of Old Norse fills the air — the words of a protection incantation not heard by mortal ears in centuries.

 

BILL (gritting his teeth)

A sanctuary spell. No violence — human or supernatural — on the grounds.

 

Russell pouts like a child denied dessert.

 

RUSSELL

How tedious. Magic takes all the fun out of slaughter.

 

The rogue vampires hiss and growl, circling the edge of the club like wolves denied their prey.

 

BILL (coldly)

Let them hide for now. The Mikaelsons won’t protect them forever.

 

And behind the thick doors of the club… Sookie Mikaelson watches it all on a security monitor, her eyes narrowing as she sees Bill and Russell pacing outside the line they cannot cross.

 

She doesn’t speak. She just mutters:

 

SOOKIE

They’ll pay for every drop of blood they spill.

 

Smoke curls into the sky. Sirens wail faintly in the distance. The streets are soaked with blood and strewn with bodies. And then… a stillness settles.

 

A shadow moves at the end of the street.

 

Boots crunch glass.

 

Three figures step into the city limits of Shreveport.

 

MIKAEL MIKAELSON walks ahead of his sons, his long coat billowing behind him like a reaper’s cloak. His presence is cold, heavier than gravity. His pale, regal face shows no emotion — only purpose. His eyes are fixed forward.

 

Behind him, KLAUS MIKAELSON and ELIJAH MIKAELSON walk with matching intensity, but their gazes sweep the area, assessing the destruction and the wounded.

 

KLAUS (under his breath)

So much blood... They’re not even hiding it.

 

ELIJAH

Bill and Russell are making a statement.

 

MIKAEL (flatly)

Then I shall make mine. I will tear them apart, piece by piece.

 

He looks up, eyes shining in the firelight.

 

MIKAEL (cold and calm)

I do not drink from humans. But I shall feed tonight.

 

KLAUS (to Elijah)

I told you bringing him was the only way to end this quickly.

 

Mikael turns to his sons briefly.

 

MIKAEL

Protect the humans. I care not for their fates… but your mother would.

 

ELIJAH (nodding)

Consider it done.

 

Klaus pulls out his phone and dials.

 

FANGTASIA

 

The mood is tense. Godric, Eric, Pam, and several local vampires — including a shaken but present Jessica — are huddled together, watching the news flicker on a large TV screen behind the bar.

 

The footage shows grainy aerial shots of Club M, the shimmering barrier, and footage of Bill and Russell slaughtering a police precinct.

 

Eric’s phone buzzes.

 

He answers it instantly.

 

KLAUS (V.O.)

Eric. It’s Klaus.

 

ERIC (coldly)

I figured you’d be calling.

 

KLAUS (V.O.)

Mikael is in the city. He’s hunting them. You know what that means.

 

Eric stiffens.

 

ERIC

Every vampire in the state knows what that means.

 

Godric slowly rises behind him, hearing every word.

 

KLAUS (V.O.)

Stay out of his way. Mikael will kill Russell and Bill — or die trying, and you know as Originals we can’t be killed. You and Godric need to keep the others in line. Protect the humans. Let the rest fall into place.

 

GODRIC (stepping forward)

Tell Klaus we understand. And tell Mikael… I remember the last time I saw him. I hope this time, he finishes what he starts.

 

KLAUS (V.O., amused)

He will.

 

The call ends.

 

Eric turns to the group of vampires around him.

 

ERIC

Mikael Mikaelson is in Shreveport.

 

A ripple of fear passes through the crowd.

 

JESSICA (softly)

I thought he was just a legend…

 

PAM (deadpan)

Sweetheart, so was Dracula. And I once danced with him in Prague.

 

ERIC (grimly)

If you see Mikael — you run. Or you pray. And if you’re lucky, he ignores you.

 

EXT. SHREVEPORT – NIGHT

 

Mikael walks alone now. A soft wind blows embers past him.

 

He stops in the middle of a ruined street.

 

Sniffs the air.

 

MIKAEL (low, predatory)

Russell… Compton… I smell your rot.

 

He smiles, just a little.

 

And vanishes in a blur of motion.

 

DOWNTOWN SHREVEPORT

 

A thin fog clings to the streets like a bad memory. Most businesses are shuttered, streetlamps flickering weakly. Despite the late hour, there’s movement — the nervous scurrying of humans trying to get home before the next vampire attack.

 

SARAH NEWLIN, in a sleek black coat and heels, carries a couple of boutique bags, her platinum-blonde hair catching the dim light. She walks quickly, on edge — the chaos in the city is growing. She’s trying to act normal, but the tension is real.

 

A scream pierces the quiet.

 

Sarah freezes.

 

Another scream — this time, a child's.

 

She drops her bags and rushes toward a dark alleyway off the main street.

 

 

DARK ALLEY – CONTINUOUS

 

A young family — a father, mother, and two kids — are cornered. The father's shoulder is bloodied, shielding the kids behind him.

 

STEVE NEWLIN, Sarah's husband, is no longer the polished preacher. He's a vampire twisted by fanaticism, blood smeared across his chin, fangs fully extended, eyes burning with unholy devotion.

 

STEVE

Praise be to Lilith, the Mother of All! You don’t understand — I’m SAVING you!

 

He lunges toward the mother, dragging her back as she screams.

 

SARAH (O.S.)

Steve, STOP!

 

Steve whirls around at the familiar voice, still holding the woman by the throat.

 

STEVE

Sarah? Is that really you?

 

SARAH (stepping into view, voice tight)

Let her go.

 

Steve tilts his head, amused, as he drops the woman who gasps and crawls to her children.

 

STEVE

My beautiful bride. You came back to me.

 

SARAH (cold)

You’re slaughtering humans. Families, Steve.

 

STEVE (beaming)

Only the wicked! They’ll thank me when they see the light. The Authority was corrupt — but Lilith… she speaks the truth.

 

SARAH (steely)

You think this is holy? You’re butchering people in the streets.

 

Steve steps closer, eyes flicking to her hands — noticing no weapons.

 

STEVE

You’re one of us now, Sarah. The better kind. Together, we could cleanse this nation. Restore order in her image.

 

SARAH

I didn’t choose this. And I’m nothing like you.

 

Suddenly, Steve lunges.

 

But before he can touch her, a bright pulse of magic ripples through the air. He’s thrown back, smashing against a wall with a howl. He scrambles to his feet, growling.

 

STEVE (snarling)

Freya’s damn wards… You think they’ll protect you forever?

 

Two large bouncers from Club M arrive, armed with silver chains and stakes. The family runs past them toward safety.

 

BOUNCER #1

Back the hell off, Newlin.

 

Steve scowls, eyes locked on Sarah.

 

STEVE (growling)

This isn’t over. We’ll finish this — like husband and wife.

 

He vanishes in a blur.

 

Sarah exhales slowly, the glow from the ward fading off her skin.

 

SARAH (to the bouncers, steady)

Take them to Club M. No one gets hurt on that property. Not while Freya’s spell holds.

 

She watches the family go, jaw clenched.

 

SARAH (quietly, to herself)

He’s lost. But I’m not.

 

FANGTASIA – NIGHT

 

The vampire bar is tense, more so than usual. Eric and Godric sit at a table surrounded by trusted lieutenants. Vampires murmur in quiet panic in the background, disturbed by the ongoing carnage across the city. The air is thick with old blood and rising fear.

 

The door SLAMS open.

 

THALIA walks in like a queen of shadows — tiny, furious, and utterly calm. In one hand, she drags a limp, headless body, the other cradling a severed head. It's unmistakably Jason Stackhouse.

 

Silence crashes over the room.

 

THALIA

I need a flat surface.

 

Godric slowly stands, eyeing the scene. Eric leans forward in his chair, already suspicious.

 

ERIC

Is that... Jason Stackhouse?

 

THALIA (calmly)

Was. Will be again.

 

GODRIC

You seem remarkably composed, considering your boyfriend’s... current state.

 

THALIA (dryly)

He dies a lot.

 

She walks through the stunned crowd like nothing's unusual and sets both pieces of Jason on a pool table with eerie gentleness. She lines his head up with surgical precision.

 

ERIC

I’ll bite — how the hell do you expect to reattach a human head?

 

Thalia gestures to the onyx ring on Jason’s finger, set with a dull red stone etched with old Norse runes. (eyeing the ring)

Where the hell did you get that?

 

THALIA

Sookie gave it to him. Said it was made using Mikaelson magic. One-of-a-kind. Protects him from supernatural death. Comes back good as new — as long as the ring stays on.

 

GODRIC (quietly)

Mikaelson magic... that explains why even I couldn’t sense it.

 

NORA (whispers)

What kind of human needs that kind of protection?

 

THALIA (dryly)

The kind who thinks with his fists and leads with his heart.

As they speak, a gasp tears through the bar.

 

Jason's chest rises.

 

He sits up, wild-eyed, completely intact.

 

JASON (confused, looking around)

Did I… pass out at a bachelor party again?

 

A chorus of gasps echoes from the gathered vampires. Nora, standing near the bar, nearly drops her glass, eyes wide.

 

NORA

What the hell is he?

 

Jason rubs his neck, oblivious to the murmuring.

 

JASON

What happened? Did someone jump me? Did I win?

 

THALIA (bored)

You died. Again.

 

JASON

Huh. Well, damn. What’s that, like… five times now?

 

ERIC (low, to Godric)

We need more of those rings.

 

GODRIC (watching Jason carefully)

Or we need to figure out who wants a human that can’t stay dead walking around Shreveport.

 

Jason stands and stretches.

 

JASON (grinning)

Anyone got a beer?

 

THALIA

You’re not drinking. You lost your head tonight.

 

JASON (groans)

I get decapitated one time...

 

Laughter bubbles under the surface of the tension, but Eric’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

ABANDONED DOWNTOWN BLOCK – SHREVEPORT – NIGHT

 

Screams echo as firelight flickers off crumbling buildings. Cars are overturned, bodies lie in the streets, and blood glistens in thick rivers down cracked sidewalks.

 

RUSSELL and BILL stand surrounded by six other vampires, all drunk on bloodlust. Some feed openly in the street, others laugh and destroy at random.

 

Suddenly—

 

The air grows still.

The fires dim.

The scent of ash and old death fills the street.

 

One by one, the lesser vampires look up.

 

VAMPIRE 1

What the hell is that?

 

From the far end of the block, MIKAEL MIKAELSON steps forward.

 

He’s not in a hurry.

 

He doesn’t speak.

 

His eyes burn gold with purpose.

 

Russell freezes. His grin falters.

 

RUSSELL

...No. It can't be.

 

BILL

That’s Mikael. That’s him.

 

One of the other vampires lunges forward—cocky, foolish.

 

VAMPIRE 2

Big mistake, old man!

 

In a blur, Mikael catches the vampire mid-air and rips his spine out through his back, flinging the body like trash against a wall.

 

The rest freeze. Horrified.

 

MIKAEL (quietly)

You’ve broken the natural order.

Now... I break you.

 

Russell screams and charges.

 

Mikael catches him by the throat, lifts him into the air, and plunges his entire hand into Russell’s chest, fingers gripping his heart.

 

RUSSELL (gurgling)

You... you don’t scare me...

 

MIKAEL

You should.

 

He rips Russell's heart out, then tears his body in half like wet paper. Blood explodes outward, splattering the buildings in a crimson wash.

 

The vampires following them panic.

 

VAMPIRE 3

RUN! RUN!

 

VAMPIRE 4

HE’S A MONSTER!

 

They scatter, but Mikael is faster than their fear.

 

One by one, he hunts them down. A blur of claws, fangs, and rage.

 

—One is beheaded and used as a club to smash another. —One is pinned to the street and crushed underfoot until his body caves in. —Another tries to take flight but is dragged mid-air and shredded to ribbons, her blood raining down like a storm.

 

And Bill?

 

He tries to crawl away. Pathetic. Broken.

 

Mikael kneels beside him.

 

MIKAEL

Lilith’s blood made you arrogant.

 

Bill tries to beg, eyes wide in terror.

 

BILL

Please… please don’t—

 

MIKAEL

But it didn’t make you immortal.

 

He drives both hands into Bill's torso and tears him apart, flinging the pieces across the street. A final, wet explosion of gore coats the concrete.

 

Silence returns.

 

The city holds its breath.

 

Mikael stands alone amid the carnage, surrounded by piles of blood-drenched bodies and ash.

 

And the word spreads, whispered on lips of every surviving vampire:

 

Mikael is here.

 

And judgment has begun.

 

FANGTASIA – NIGHT

 

The bar is quiet. Tense. Every vampire inside is alert, wide-eyed, and frozen mid-movement.

 

ERIC, GODRIC, NORA, and the rest of the area's supernatural leaders are gathered near the back. THALIA leans against the wall, watching over JASON, who’s casually sipping a beer like he didn’t just come back from the dead two hours ago.

 

The doors of Fangtasia swing open.

 

MIKAEL walks in.

 

Blood still stains his coat. His boots are soaked. He doesn't try to hide it.

 

The room goes deathly still.

 

A few younger vampires recoil in instinctual fear. Others whisper his name.

 

GODRIC (tense whisper)

He really came here...

 

ERIC (under his breath)

This should be interesting.

 

Mikael doesn’t rush. He strides to the bar like he owns the place, glancing around with that unnerving, ancient calm.

 

He plants a hand on the counter and locks eyes with the bartender.

 

MIKAEL

Bourbon. Neat.

 

The bartender doesn’t hesitate. Just pours, hand shaking.

 

Mikael turns around, finally acknowledging the people watching him like he might explode.

 

His eyes fall on Jason, then Thalia.

 

He smirks.

 

MIKAEL

Well now.

Hello, Grandson.

 

Jason coughs on his beer, blinking.

 

JASON

...Grandson?

 

Thalia just crosses her arms like this is Tuesday.

 

Mikael raises his glass in their direction.

 

MIKAEL

And Thalia. Lovely as ever.

You’ve got good taste, boy.

 

He downs the bourbon in one smooth sip, sets the glass down, and looks at Eric.

 

MIKAEL (casually)

I want to catch up with Jason. Mind if I stay a while?

Notes:

Thanks for Reading and your continued support. Comments, Questions and Kudos are always welcome.

Chapter 16: Aftermath

Summary:

Aftermath of the Attack in Shreveport

Notes:

I own Nothing, here's a new chapter hope you enjoy.

FANGTASIA – NIGHT

 

Mikael sits at the bar with a glass of bourbon, his presence like a thunderstorm in a bottle. Vampires huddle in corners, trying not to breathe too loudly. Every eye is on him. Except Jason Stackhouse, who sits beside him with a mix of curiosity and bold, small-town charm that most wouldn’t dare.

 

JASON

So let me get this straight... you're, like, my great-great-something grandfather?

 

MIKAEL (smirking)

Something like that. The blood runs deep in your family. I can feel it in you. And in your sister.

 

THALIA (dryly, arms crossed)

Explains the attitude. Royal bloodline, country manners.

 

JASON (grinning)

Aww, babe. That’s the nicest insult you’ve ever given me.

 

Mikael chuckles — a deep, rumbling sound that makes every vampire in the bar flinch. But to Jason and Thalia, it sounds oddly... warm.

 

MIKAEL

Your lineage may be distant, Jason, but you carry our strength. And a stubborn streak that rivals Klaus’s.

 

THALIA

He does have a talent for not dying when he should.

 

JASON

Hey, I do my best.

 

Mikael nods toward the enchanted ring on Jason's finger.

 

MIKAEL

That ring. Mikaelson magic. Woven into our legacy. It recognizes blood... and protects it.

 

He sips his bourbon again, then smiles as if remembering something.

 

MIKAEL

Hope charmed the kitchen staff into letting her bake cookies yesterday. Used magic to mix everything at once and nearly blew the stove through the wall. Declared herself Supreme Baker of New Orleans and demanded we build her a throne of flour bags.

 

JASON

That kid’s a menace. I like her.

 

THALIA

She's a Mikaelson. What did you expect?

 

Laughter ripples softly between them. Then Mikael’s smile fades. He turns slowly, gaze scanning the club. The tension crashes in again.

 

Every vampire in Fangtasia stiffens. Nora, standing near the door, flinches under the weight of his stare.

 

MIKAEL (calmly)

Now... let me ask the rest of you something.

 

Silence.

 

He turns fully, eyes like cold fire.

 

MIKAEL

Do any of you still believe that humans are cattle?

 

Nobody answers. Not a breath.

 

MIKAEL (with steel in his voice)

Because if you do...

Your time ended the moment Bill and Russell burst like overripe fruit in the street.

 

He sets his bourbon down with a clink that echoes like a war drum.

 

MIKAEL

Let me be very clear: anyone who harms the innocent — anyone who threatens what remains of peace — will answer to me. And I’m not nearly as forgiving as my children.

 

The silence is absolute.

 

Mikael turns back to Jason and Thalia with a smirk.

 

MIKAEL

Now. Tell me more about this shotgun wedding your cousin almost had with a were-panther.

 

JASON (groaning)

Oh man. Do not bring that up. It’s a whole thing.

 

THALIA (murmuring to herself)

I’m dating into chaos...

Mikael lifts his glass again — clink. The room is still silent, until a low growl cuts through the thick tension.

 

A COCKY VAMPIRE, maybe a century old, too arrogant and too stupid, steps forward from the shadows.

 

COCKY VAMPIRE

You think you can walk in here, threaten us? You’re just another relic from the past.

 

Jason opens his mouth to warn him — too late.

 

The vampire lunges.

 

In a blur of motion, Mikael rises from the stool, grabs the attacker mid-air by the throat, and drives him through the floorboards, splinters flying.

 

MIKAEL (low and calm)

I warned you.

 

The vampire struggles — only for a moment — before Mikael’s hand plunges into his chest with surgical precision, ripping out his heart and pulling the vampire’s entire body apart like tearing paper. Blood rains down as the remains collapse into black goo and ash.

 

Mikael stands, calm as ever, brushing a drop of blood off his sleeve.

 

THALIA (deadpan)

And that, Jason, is why we don’t lunge at ancient vampire royalty.

 

The rest of the vampires in the club look toward Eric and Godric, their eyes wide with fear, silently pleading.

 

NORA

Well? Do something!

 

Eric folds his arms. Godric shakes his head.

 

ERIC

Do what, exactly? Die faster?

 

GODRIC

We are powerful. He is something else entirely.

 

ERIC (nodding at Mikael)

He doesn’t just kill vampires. He’s what vampires fear.

 

NORA (quietly, stunned)

He’s the storm that walks like a man...

 

Mikael returns to his seat, casual once more, lifting his bourbon again. Then, he turns to Jason, his tone shifting — warmer, but no less intense.

 

MIKAEL

Your sister gave you that ring. Our family’s magic protects you for now... but if there ever comes a day when you grow tired of bleeding and breaking, if you choose to join us as something more...

 

Jason swallows, suddenly aware of the weight of what Mikael is offering.

 

MIKAEL (cont’d)

You won’t be like them. You won’t be one of these broken, petty things clinging to old power.

 

THALIA

You’re saying he’d be... like you?

 

MIKAEL (nodding)

Freya would prepare the ritual herself. You’d be made an Original, as I was. Stronger. Cleaner. A predator with purpose... not a parasite.

 

Jason looks down at his ring, then back up at Mikael, uncertain.

 

JASON

You really think I’d be cut out for that?

 

Mikael gives a rare, almost fatherly smile.

 

MIKAEL

You’re already part of this family. It’s just a matter of when... not if.

 

Jason looks to Thalia. She doesn’t smile — but she reaches for his hand.

 

THALIA

Whatever you choose... I’ll be right there with you.

 

The rest of the club remains silent, no one daring to move or speak. The message is clear: a new order has come to Shreveport — and Mikael is at the center of it.

Mikael finishes the last sip of his bourbon, places the glass on the bar with a soft clink, and stands.

 

Every vampire in the room instinctively backs away as he moves toward the exit. He stops at the doorway, turning just slightly to glance back over his shoulder — not at the crowd, but directly at Jason.

 

MIKAEL

One last thing, boy.

 

Jason straightens.

 

MIKAEL (soft, but clear)

If you and your Thalia are thinking of making a life together... of becoming a true mated pair...

 

He glances at Thalia, who raises an eyebrow, still keeping her usual cool despite the rising heat in the room.

 

MIKAEL (cont’d)

Freya may have a way. A path for her to shed what she is... and become like us.

 

A ripple goes through the vampires.

 

THALIA (flatly)

You saying I could become a Mikaelson vampire?

 

MIKAEL (smirking)

If the bond is true — and you’re both willing — yes.

 

He turns fully toward them for a moment.

 

MIKAEL (cont’d)

We don’t turn lightly. But blood and loyalty... that’s something we honor.

 

Jason looks from Mikael to Thalia, emotions storming behind his eyes.

 

Mikael doesn’t wait for a reply. He walks out of the club with an aura of absolute command, the doors swinging shut behind him, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

 

Only after he’s gone do the other vampires start breathing again.

 

ERIC (under his breath)

Well… that’s going to complicate the next council meeting.

 

THALIA (to Jason, quietly)

So... want to be royalty?

 

Jason lets out a breath.

 

JASON

Only if you’re my queen.

 

Thalia actually smiles this time. Just a little.

 

 

TV NEWSROOM

 

The channel’s “LIVE BREAKING NEWS” graphic spins across the screen as dramatic music plays. A shaken news anchor, mid-30s with perfectly styled hair, stares into the camera with barely concealed fear.

 

ANCHOR (V.O.)

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with urgent breaking news coming out of Shreveport, Louisiana...

 

ON SCREEN: NEWS FOOTAGE

 

The screen cuts to shaky, grainy cell phone video footage. Screaming. Chaos. Blood. A vampire—feral-eyed and snarling—lunges at a human, only to be intercepted mid-air by a blur of movement.

 

The video cuts sharply to Mikael, ripping through vampires like paper, his movements unnaturally fast, his expression cold and merciless. Fangs flash, bodies fall, and blood explodes into mist. Vampires try to flee, but Mikael is relentless.

 

Another angle shows him casually ripping a vampire in half, tossing the pieces aside like trash. A woman behind the camera gasps audibly.

 

WOMAN (O.S.)

Oh my God, he’s not even human...

 

ANCHOR (V.O.)

What you’re witnessing appears to be... a vampire—yes, a vampire—hunting and executing other vampires in the streets. This figure has not yet been identified, but sources are calling him “The Reaper.” Others whisper the name “Mikaelson.”

 

CUT TO: AERIAL DRONE FOOTAGE

 

The drone camera hovers above Club M, a glowing blue shimmer enveloping the entire property like a transparent dome. Dozens of humans are inside the barrier, safe and untouched, while vampires snarl and shriek outside, unable to cross.

 

ANCHOR (V.O.)

Meanwhile, a mysterious supernatural sanctuary appears to be protecting civilians. Eyewitnesses say Club M, owned by a woman identified as Sookie Mikaelson, is the only place where humans are truly safe.

 

CUT TO: INTERVIEW CLIP – HUMAN SURVIVOR

 

A young woman covered in blood and dirt speaks to the camera with wide eyes.

 

SURVIVOR

We ran... they were everywhere. But when we got to the club’s parking lot, it was like they hit a wall. They couldn’t come in. I don’t know what that place is, but it saved our lives.

 

ANCHOR (V.O.)

Reports suggest a magical barrier, likely placed by one of the supernatural community’s most powerful figures. We will have more on this as the story unfolds.

 

BACK TO STUDIO

 

The anchor turns to camera two.

 

ANCHOR

Authorities are urging citizens to stay indoors. The National Guard is being deployed to contain the situation. We will continue to bring you updates on this unprecedented vampire uprising. Stay safe, Shreveport.

 

SCREEN GRAPHIC:

“VAMPIRE CARNAGE IN SHREVEPORT – LIVE COVERAGE CONTINUES”

 

 

MIKAELSON FAMILY COMPOUND – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

 

The grand New Orleans home is dimly lit by flickering candles and warm firelight. Gothic archways cast long shadows across the stone floor. The large flat-screen TV dominates one wall, showing the same live news broadcast from Shreveport. The gruesome footage of Mikael tearing through vampires plays again.

 

Freya Mikaelson stands with her arms folded, brows furrowed, her eyes sharp with both concern and calculation. She’s wearing black leggings, a long grey tunic, barefoot, her hair loose. On the velvet couch, Rebekah Mikaelson lounges in silk pajamas, a glass of wine in her hand, watching with a bored expression slowly twisting into one of mild horror.

 

Curled up next to Rebekah with a bowl of popcorn is little Hope wearing fuzzy pajamas with bats on them. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t look afraid—she looks impressed.

 

HOPE

Grandpapa Mikael is kinda scary... but also kinda awesome.

 

Rebekah scoffs into her wine glass.

 

REBEKAH

Darling, “scary” doesn’t even begin to cover it. That man once hunted us across continents like a hound chasing rabbits.

 

FREYA (flatly)

And now he's shredding vampires in the street like wet paper. In public. On the news.

 

She turns and glares at the screen as it replays the scene of Mikael ripping a vampire’s heart out with one hand.

 

FREYA (CONT’D)

This is going to accelerate everything. Panic. Chaos. Exposure. The other factions will start choosing sides.

 

HOPE (grinning)

He really went squish! Did you see that vampire’s head fly off?

 

Rebekah gently covers Hope’s eyes, even though the child pulls her hand away with a giggle.

 

REBEKAH

Alright, no more murder TV for you, little monster.

 

Freya moves to turn off the TV but pauses, eyes narrowing as the footage shifts to a zoomed-in still of Club M's glowing barrier.

 

NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)

...and this mysterious barrier appears to be emanating from the ground surrounding Club M. Experts are baffled. Some believe it to be fae magic... others, something darker.

 

FREYA (softly)

No... not darker. It's ours.

 

She glances toward the massive family grimoire open on a nearby table, glowing faintly with residual magic.

 

REBEKAH

That sanctuary spell you did for Sookie—did you expect it to hold this well?

 

FREYA

Not this well. I think the bloodline connection strengthened it.

 

HOPE (perking up)

Because Big Sis is family too, right?

 

Freya smiles faintly and walks over to brush Hope’s curls back from her face.

 

FREYA

Yes, sweetheart. And if Mikael’s out there protecting them... then things are about to change. For everyone.

 

Rebekah downs the rest of her wine and stands up, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

 

REBEKAH

Well then. If Daddy’s playing hero in Shreveport, perhaps it’s time we make sure the rest of the supernatural world knows exactly where the Mikaelsons stand.

 

HOPE

Can I come?

 

FREYA (teasing)

Only if you promise not to show off.

 

HOPE (grinning like Klaus)

No promises.

 

CLUB M – NIGHT

 

The sigils along the barrier shimmer like moonlight on water, and the faint hum of protective magic blankets the property. Inside the club, the air is thick with adrenaline, smoke, and the lingering fear of what’s happening outside.

 

At the bar, Sookie Mikaelson—calm but clearly exhausted—hands a bottle of water to a shaken human teen. Her jacket is off, and her hair’s pulled back as she moves between people, reassuring, organizing, keeping the panic down with quiet strength.

 

SOOKIE

You’re safe in here, sugar. No one’s getting through that ward, not tonight.

 

The front doors creak open, and every eye in the room flicks toward them. KLAUS and ELIJAH step through like wolves into a henhouse—calm, regal, and deadly. The room stills.

 

SOOKIE (turns with a raised brow)

‘Bout time you two showed up.

 

KLAUS (half-grins as he approaches her)

Always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart. Looks like you handled this better than most cities.

 

SOOKIE

Because I planned for this. Had Freya bless the whole property after that weird cult came sniffing around last month. Barrier’s held up just fine.

 

ELIJAH (with a polite nod)

You’ve done well, Sook. No casualties?

 

SOOKIE

Not inside. Outside... different story. But your daddy’s been real busy cleaning that mess up.

 

Klaus lets out a breath that’s half amusement, half exasperation.

 

KLAUS

Of course he has.

 

From a back room, a witch hustles over to whisper to Sookie, handing her a phone.

 

WITCH (whispers)

It’s already on the news. People filmed it—Mikael. Tearing them apart. Full broadcast.

 

Sookie sighs deeply, rubbing her temple as she glances between the Originals.

 

SOOKIE

You guys really know how to make an entrance.

 

KLAUS

We prefer to make statements.

 

ELIJAH (quietly, watching the shaken humans)

The right ones, I hope.

 

Sookie looks around at the people she’s protecting—some injured, some sobbing, some just staring at nothing. But they’re alive. And they’re safe.

 

SOOKIE

I just want to get through the night without losing anyone else.

 

Klaus steps closer to her, dropping his voice.

 

KLAUS

And you will. With us here, no one’s touching your people.

 

SOOKIE (firmly, with that old fire in her)

Damn right they won’t.

 

U.S. FEDERAL AGENCY – WAR ROOM

 

The room is dimly lit by multiple screens, each showing different angles of the chaos that erupted across Shreveport. Several federal agents sit around a long, polished table. There’s an air of tension, of urgency. The footage of Mikael—ripping through vampires with his bare hands—flashes across the screens, followed by images of the barrier protecting Club M, and then a gruesome shot of the aftermath in the streets.

 

AGENT O'REILLY (early 40s, sharp, calm)

This is beyond containment. The public’s already terrified. We have to make a decision.

 

He adjusts his glasses and presses a button on the table, bringing up a map of the region. Pins mark known vampire hot spots.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ (late 30s, more cautious)

We’ve got confirmation that Mikael, the vampire hunter, is responsible for most of the damage. But we can't ignore the vampires themselves—Russel Edgington and Bill Compton—that caused the original outbreak. Their forces... what remains of them... are unaccounted for. It’s chaos.

 

AGENT PARKER (early 50s, hardened by years of dealing with supernatural cases, looks directly at the screen showing the barrier around Club M)

We can’t just sit on this. The barrier around Club M—is that magic? Some kind of shield? If so, then we’re dealing with something far more complicated than just rogue vampires.

 

O'Reilly shifts uncomfortably in his chair and glances at another agent sitting quietly off to the side: Director Richards—early 60s, a grizzled veteran of high-stakes operations. The Director is unmoved, arms crossed, watching the footage intently.

 

DIRECTOR RICHARDS (low, calculating)

We’ve been monitoring the vampire problem for years. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. But now... now we’ve got a bigger issue. Mikael—he’s a weapon we haven’t seen before. We don’t have a protocol for him. And if he keeps tearing through vampires like that, it won’t be long before humans get caught in the crossfire.

 

AGENT O'REILLY (pensively)

We need to decide whether to escalate or contain. If we attack, it’ll just make them fight back harder. But if we wait... the humans in Shreveport won’t last long.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ (looking at the screen showing the chaos in the streets)

What do we even do about the vampires? If they’re all like that—violent, unpredictable—do we go full force and risk another war? Or do we play the long game?

 

AGENT PARKER

And there’s still the matter of Sookie MIkaelson and her people in Club M. That barrier’s unlike anything we’ve seen. If there’s any chance it’s Mikael’s doing, that’s even more reason for us to be cautious. We have no idea how deep this runs or how many others are involved.

 

Richards rubs his chin thoughtfully and then turns to the room, his voice lowering but carrying authority.

 

DIRECTOR RICHARDS

If we act now, we risk starting a war with an enemy we don't fully understand. But if we do nothing... we’ll lose control of the situation entirely. And I won’t let that happen. The Agency will handle this. We will go after Russel and Bill—but cautiously. We’ll need full intel on their movements. As for Mikael, I’ll reach out to our… specialists. He’s a different breed. For now, we wait and watch. And we prepare for everything.

 

O'Reilly nods, but it’s clear he’s not convinced. Martinez shifts uneasily, unsure of how the Agency can hope to control the fallout from the destruction.

 

AGENT O'REILLY (with a sigh)

You’re saying no action unless it’s absolutely necessary?

 

DIRECTOR RICHARDS

Correct. We gather information, work our sources, and we’ll decide what to do next. But I need all of you on high alert. No one gets through this without us knowing what they’re doing. Not the vampires. Not the humans. And certainly not Mikael.

 

Martinez looks at the screen one last time—the shot of the aftermath of the massacre, the boundary around Club M—and then nods, more resigned than convinced.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ (under his breath)

It’s a ticking time bomb...

 

Richards stands up, turning to face the team, his voice firm.

 

DIRECTOR RICHARDS

Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t explode on our watch. Get the agents in position. We’re staying ahead of this. No mistakes.

 

As the agents scatter, the screens behind Richards flicker, showing the images of chaos in Shreveport—vampires, humans, the deadly rampage that seems to be spreading faster than anyone can control.

 

Sookie’s Apartment

 

Sookie sits on the couch, still shaken from the events at Club M. The news footage is playing on her TV, showing the aftermath of Mikael’s violent rampage through Shreveport. Her mind is reeling from the chaos, the destruction, and the unsettling power Mikael had displayed. She knows the vampires—like Eric—will be thinking differently now, responding to the shifting power dynamics in the supernatural world.

 

The sound of a knock at her door breaks her out of her thoughts. Her heart skips a beat—she knows who it is without even checking. It’s Eric.

 

She stands, a mix of curiosity and unease washing over her. She opens the door to find Eric standing there, his expression unreadable, but there's a raw edge to his eyes, a hunger that's more than just physical.

 

ERIC (grinning slightly, voice low and dark)

You look like you could use some company.

 

Sookie hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching his face for any signs of ulterior motives. She knows how Eric operates—he’s always been about power and control, but tonight there’s something more primal in the way he’s looking at her.

 

SOOKIE (cautiously)

What do you want, Eric?

 

ERIC (steps closer, his presence overwhelming)

What do I want? (He chuckles softly, his tone a bit more dangerous than usual.) After tonight… I’m sure you can guess.

 

His gaze flicks toward her, lingering a little too long, before his eyes meet hers again. There’s a tension between them, something thick in the air that she can’t ignore. Eric's normally composed demeanor is cracked, revealing something much darker beneath the surface.

 

ERIC (with a smirk)

Mikael’s display of power in my bar tonight… It reminded me of a few things. The strength, the control, the way everything just falls into place when power is asserted.

 

Sookie takes a deep breath, stepping back slightly. She’s not sure if she wants this, if she should trust him, especially with everything that’s happening in the world around them.

 

SOOKIE (softly)

Eric, we’ve been through enough lately. I don’t need… this right now.

 

ERIC (his tone shifts, a little more vulnerable, though his smirk remains)

I’m not asking for your permission, Sookie. But I’d never force you. Not like that. But tonight... it’s just the two of us. The world’s spinning out of control, and I’ve got a feeling you’re feeling it too. We both need something to ground us.

 

His voice lowers, becoming almost a whisper as he steps closer, his hand gently touching her arm.

 

ERIC (continuing, his breath warm against her skin)

Let me remind you that, even in chaos, we still have something... real.

 

Sookie’s pulse quickens, and she finds herself torn. Eric has always been an enigma—dangerous, seductive, and yet somehow, when he wants to be, sincere. His desire for control has always been his greatest strength and his greatest flaw.

 

SOOKIE (looking at him, her voice soft but firm)

I’m not a distraction for your desires, Eric. I’m not just a way to relieve your... tension.

 

Eric’s eyes flicker with something deeper, something that suggests he might understand her more than she realizes. He tilts his head slightly, a softer side to him coming through as he speaks again, more measured this time.

 

ERIC

I never said you were, Sookie. I’m not looking for a distraction. But we’re connected, aren’t we? In ways neither of us can deny. If this is a moment of weakness for me… then maybe it’s the same for you.

 

Sookie stands still, caught between the desire to push him away and the undeniable pull he has over her. She knows, though, that this isn’t just about desire—it’s about something much deeper. A connection that neither of them can escape.

 

Eric’s hand slides from her arm to her waist, pulling her closer. His lips find hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. Sookie’s initial resistance melts away as she succumbs to the intensity of the moment. Their tongues entwine, exploring each other with a familiar yet renewed hunger.

 

Eric’s hands roam over her body, tracing the curves of her hips and the small of her back. He lifts her effortlessly, carrying her to the couch. Sookie’s breath hitches as he lays her down, his body pressing against hers. The weight of him is both comforting and exhilarating, a reminder of the raw power he possesses.

 

Eric’s lips trail down her neck, his fangs grazing her skin. Sookie shivers, her body aching with a mix of fear and anticipation. He knows exactly how to push her boundaries, how to make her crave more. His hands slip under her shirt, pushing it up to expose her breasts. He takes his time, teasing her nipples with his fingers, his mouth, his fangs.

 

Sookie arches into his touch, her moans filling the room. Eric’s eyes glow with a primal hunger as he watches her react to his every move. He knows he has her, body and soul, and he relishes the control.

 

He unbuttons her jeans, sliding them down her legs along with her panties. His fingers trace the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, inching closer to her core. Sookie’s breath comes in ragged gasps as she waits for his touch. When it comes, it’s electric, his fingers slipping inside her with ease.

 

Eric’s thumb circles her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her. Sookie’s hips buck against his hand, her body begging for more. He obliges, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. He wants to hear her scream, to feel her come undone beneath him.

 

Sookie’s orgasm hits her like a wave, her body convulsing with pleasure. Eric watches her, a satisfied smirk on his face. But he’s not done yet. He wants more.

 

He stands up, quickly shedding his clothes. Sookie’s eyes widen at the sight of him, his body a testament to his strength and power. He joins her on the couch, his body covering hers. She can feel his hardness pressing against her, and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer.

 

Eric enters her with a single, powerful thrust. Sookie cries out, her nails digging into his back. He moves inside her, his strokes deep and unyielding. Each thrust brings them closer to the edge, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling.

 

Sookie’s second orgasm rips through her, her body clenching around him. Eric’s control snaps, and he comes with a growl, his body shuddering with release. They lie there for a moment, their hearts pounding in sync, their bodies entwined.

 

As they catch their breath, Eric’s expression softens. He brushes a strand of hair from Sookie’s face, his touch surprisingly gentle.

 

ERIC (softly)

Even in the chaos, we find our way back to each other.

 

Sookie looks at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. She knows this connection is dangerous, but she also knows it’s real. And in a world that’s spinning out of control, that’s enough.

 

Jason’s House – Bon Temps

 

Jason’s house is quiet, the moonlight casting soft shadows over the porch. Inside, the atmosphere is heavy, the weight of recent events hanging in the air. Jason and Thalia sit together on the couch, both lost in their own thoughts. Jason’s hands are clasped tightly in his lap, his brow furrowed as he processes what Mikael had said to him earlier.

 

Thalia, sitting beside him, watches him carefully. She can tell he’s thinking about what was offered to him—what it means for their future. She’s still in shock from the encounter with Mikael, but the idea of what Jason could become, what they could have together, lingers in her mind.

 

JASON (breaking the silence, his voice heavy)

You heard what he said, right? About the ritual, becoming one of the Originals.

 

Thalia nods slowly, her gaze focused on the floor for a moment before she meets his eyes. She knows what’s at stake—becoming an Original isn’t something to take lightly. It means power, immortality, and a future they can control. But it also means becoming something new, something different.

 

THALIA (quietly, almost to herself)

I heard him. He said it could change everything for us.

 

Jason leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression intense. He’s been grappling with the weight of the decision ever since Mikael walked out of Fantasia, but hearing Thalia’s voice brings clarity to his thoughts.

 

JASON (after a long pause, meeting her gaze)

I can’t deny it, Thalia. The idea of being an Original, not just some… regular vampire, it's tempting. And the idea of us… having control, having the strength to make our own future? That’s something I’ve never had before.

 

Thalia moves closer, her hand finding his. She looks at him, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

 

THALIA (softly, but with certainty)

Jason, we both know what it’s like to be powerless, to have everything we care about ripped away. Mikael’s offer… it’s the chance to change that. Together. We could be more than we are now. We could finally stop running, stop hiding in the shadows.

 

Jason’s expression softens, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he squeezes her hand. He’s torn, but he knows what she’s saying is true. There’s power in the choice they have now, and there’s no going back once it’s made.

 

JASON (sighing, leaning back against the couch)

I never thought I’d be the one to say yes to something like this. But… after everything that’s happened—everything we’ve been through—it feels like the right time to make a change.

 

Thalia tilts her head, studying him closely. There’s a quiet strength in his eyes now that wasn’t there before. She knows this is the right choice for them.

 

THALIA (whispering, almost as if sealing their pact)

Then we accept his offer. Together.

 

Jason looks at her, his expression unwavering. The weight of the decision is still there, but with Thalia by his side, it feels right. He nods slowly, resolute.

 

JASON (firmly)

Together. We take control of our future. No more hiding. No more waiting. We’ll become Originals.

 

Thalia smiles softly, her fingers tracing the back of his hand. They’ve made their choice, and there’s no turning back now.

 

THALIA (with a sense of finality)

Then it’s settled. We’ll do this… for us.

 

Jason nods again, standing up and offering her his hand. She takes it, and they share a moment of quiet understanding. The decision is made. Their future is theirs to shape now—powerful, immortal, and united.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 17: Ritual

Summary:

The Ritual for Jason

Notes:

I own nothing, I know the chapter is a little short sorry, Enjoy

Mikaelson Compound, New Orleans – NIGHT

 

The iron gates creak as Caroline Forbes steps up to the front doors of the Mikaelson compound, the cooler clutched tightly in her hands. The night air is thick with magic—old, powerful, and humming like a heartbeat beneath the surface of the Quarter. Her blonde hair is pulled back, her expression tight with worry and barely concealed emotion.

 

She pauses for a moment, then raises her hand and knocks. The door swings open almost immediately, revealing Klaus Mikaelson standing there in a dark shirt, his expression unreadable but his eyes immediately landing on the cooler.

 

KLAUS (calmly, but direct)

Did you bring what I asked for?

 

Caroline doesn’t speak at first—she just nods, silently holding out the cooler. Her fingers tremble slightly as he takes it from her. Her voice is brittle when she finally speaks.

 

CAROLINE (quiet, with a weak laugh that cracks halfway through)

Three bags… fresh from Elena. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. Told me if I ever show my face in Mystic Falls again, she’d have Damon and Stefan rip my head off.

 

She tries to keep the moment light, but the weight of it hits her, and tears spring to her eyes before she can stop them. Klaus sees it, and his expression softens. He sets the cooler down on a nearby table, stepping closer to her.

 

KLAUS (gently)

You did what I asked, and more. Thank you, Caroline.

 

She wipes at her eyes, shaking her head with a sad smile.

 

CAROLINE

I don’t even know why I’m crying. I knew it would go this way. They’ll never understand what we’re trying to do here... what this ritual really means.

 

Klaus steps forward and gently cups her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear.

 

KLAUS

Let them judge. Let them rage. But one day, they’ll understand. Or they won’t—and it won’t matter. You’ve made a choice, and it’s a brave one.

 

Caroline leans into his hand for just a moment before pulling herself together, stepping back.

 

CAROLINE (softly)

Is everything ready?

 

Klaus nods, the cool certainty returning to his voice.

 

KLAUS

Mikael, Freya, and Elijah are already preparing the circle. Jason and Thalia will be here soon. The blood you brought—it’s the last piece we need.

 

CAROLINE (whispering)

Let’s hope it’s enough.

 

New Orleans – En Route to the Mikaelson Compound

Outside the city limits, rolling down the winding highway

 

The midnight-black 1965 Chevy Camaro slices through the Louisiana night like a shadow on wheels, its engine a low, steady growl. Behind the wheel, Sookie Mikaelson keeps her eyes on the road, her expression caught somewhere between excitement and disbelief. In the passenger seat, Thalia rides with a still, composed expression, while Jason Stackhouse, sitting in the back, keeps nervously glancing at the small wooden box sitting next to him—the enchanted family ring inside glowing faintly with Mikaelson magic.

 

SOOKIE

(breaking the silence with a soft, incredulous laugh)

Never thought I’d be driving my brother to become a supernatural being… again.

 

JASON

Hey, this time I ain’t getting turned into a panther against my will. This… this is a choice.

 

THALIA (dryly)

And a rather permanent one.

 

Jason shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips.

 

JASON

I’m okay with permanent if it means we get to be together. Forever. No more worrying about silver bullets or sunlight… or my head getting chopped off again.

 

Thalia smirks but doesn’t look at him, though the warmth in her eyes betrays her affection.

 

SOOKIE (glancing in the rearview mirror)

Looks like our escort’s still with us.

 

Behind them, headlights from several cars glow in the night, keeping steady pace. Leading the following pack is a sleek black Cadillac Escalade, followed by a pearl-white Mustang and a classic blood-red Thunderbird.

 

Inside those vehicles ride Eric Northman, Godric, Pam, and Jessica—all silent, watching, curious… and maybe a little reverent.

 

Back in the Camaro, Jason runs a hand through his hair, nervous energy rippling off him.

 

JASON

Think they’re just coming to watch… or make sure I don’t chicken out?

 

THALIA

They're vampires. Rituals involving ancient magic? Blood? Power? Of course they’re coming. It’s the event of the century for them.

 

SOOKIE

Let them watch. Just means more witnesses when you two walk out of this as something... more.

 

As the convoy curves down the last long stretch of road toward the Mikaelson compound, the magical energy in the air thickens. Even Sookie, not fully supernatural, can feel it—an electric buzz beneath her skin, like static before a thunderstorm. The ritual is close. Destiny is waiting.

 

New Orleans – Louis Armstrong International Airport

Late Night

 

A sleek, black government SUV pulls away from a private tarmac entrance. The runway lights glitter like stars on the asphalt behind them as Agents O'Reilly and Martinez sit in silence, the hum of the engine almost deafening in their ears.

 

AGENT O’REILLY

(tightening her ponytail, eyes sharp)

So let’s get this straight. Dozens of civilians slaughtered. Supernaturals rampaging through a city. And not a single local law enforcement agency's report makes any damn sense.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ

(scrolling through his tablet)

Survivors are calling it an 'uprising.' Most mention a barrier around a nightclub—Club M. Others are blaming rogue vampires. Then there’s the footage…

 

He taps on the screen, and a paused video shows a massive man tearing vampires apart with his bare hands. The freeze-frame captures the exact moment a blood-soaked creature explodes into red mist.

 

AGENT O’REILLY

(frowns)

This isn’t rogue behavior. This is tactical, deliberate. Like something older. Smarter.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ

The name that keeps coming up? Mikael. No last name. No history. But the way the other vamps talk… if they even are talking? They’re terrified of him.

 

AGENT O’REILLY

I want every scrap of intel we have on this 'Mikael' pulled before we hit Shreveport. He’s not a nobody, and if he’s a vampire that hunts other vampires—we’ve got a bigger problem than just a PR nightmare.

 

The SUV speeds down the causeway, heading toward the bridge that will take them north. In the distance, New Orleans glows like a haunted ember in the dark. The city is quiet… for now.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ

You think this is the beginning of something?

 

AGENT O’REILLY

I think it already started. And we’re just late to the party.

 

New Orleans – Mikaelson Compound

Moments later

 

The courtyard is bathed in warm torchlight, casting flickering shadows across the ancient stone and wrought iron. Jason Stackhouse stands at the center, shirtless, barefoot, and calm in a way only someone who’s already died a few times can be.

 

Freya Mikaelson steps forward, dressed in ceremonial black robes stitched with golden sigils of protection and power. She holds a goblet, its contents a rich, dark red — blood, laced with magic, and drawn from the Petrova doppelgänger.

 

FREYA

(softly)

This is the path of your ancestors, Jason. Once you drink this, you must die. And when you wake, you’ll be one of us — something no other vampire on this Earth is.

 

Jason glances over at Sookie, standing beside Thalia, Eric, Pam, Godric, and Jessica, all watching in reverent silence.

 

JASON

(half-grin)

Tell Hope I expect a cousin headbutt from her once I wake up.

 

He takes the goblet. The blood smells like fire and honey, ancient and electric. He downs it in one go. Freya gives a small nod, and without hesitation—

 

KLAUS steps forward from the shadows.

 

KLAUS

Forgive me, nephew.

 

And plunges a dagger straight into Jason’s heart.

 

Jason gasps, stumbles back… and collapses. Dead. Again.

 

Mere Minutes Later

Jason's eyes shoot open. He inhales sharply, and his entire body jerks upright. The onlookers can feel the change in the air — like the sudden drop in pressure before a thunderstorm. His eyes glow faintly gold for a moment. His skin is flushed, and power pulses just beneath the surface.

 

ERIC

(whistles low)

Well, damn.

 

JESSICA

He smells... different.

 

GODRIC

He smells like Mikael. Like an apex.

 

FREYA

Jason is now the first Original Vampire to be born in generations… and the first one sired by family instead of violence.

 

Then Freya turns to Thalia.

 

FREYA

But yours… yours will not be the same.

 

Thalia steps forward, expression unreadable. The silver ring on her finger, the one that once kept her alive through supernatural death, glints in the firelight. Freya reaches for her hand.

 

FREYA

You were created through blood that wasn’t ours. But you’ve lived long with honor. You love one of our blood. That gives us… options.

 

Freya raises her other hand, revealing a spell scroll inscribed with glowing runes.

 

FREYA (to Jason)

If you’re truly to be mated — we can rewrite her. But her death won’t be enough. We'll need to strip the old magic from her blood and rebuild it, molecule by molecule.

 

Klaus and Rebekah exchange glances. This has never been done before.

 

THALIA

(nodding)

Do it.

 

FREYA

Then lie down, and do not scream.

 

Thalia lies at the center of a carefully drawn symbol — a hybrid of Norse runes and ancient Druidic glyphs that glow faintly beneath her. Around her, white candles burn with black flames, the air thick with incense and chanting.

 

Freya kneels beside her, eyes closed, hands glowing with power.

 

FREYA

You carry old blood, Thalia. Vampire magic born from the dark — not our family. We will unmake that lineage within you and rebuild it with ours.

 

Thalia remains calm, even serene, as Freya presses one hand over her heart and the other to Thalia’s forehead.

 

FREYA (CHANTING)

"Óld blood be undone, darkness recast. Flesh, bone, and spirit — return to first breath. Let family bind her, let blood define her. By my hand, by our power… arise anew!"

 

A surge of golden light engulfs Thalia’s body. She doesn’t cry out — only closes her eyes as her body arches off the floor, floating midair for several moments. A wind swirls through the room, howling like the forest spirits themselves are bearing witness.

 

The black flame of the candles turns to brilliant white for a split second—then extinguishes in unison.

 

Thalia falls back to the floor gently. The ritual circle vanishes in a pulse of light, and the runes fade to ash.

 

REBEKAH

She’s still…

 

THALIA (sits up suddenly, eyes glowing gold for a second)

…me.

 

*Jason rushes to her side, helping her up. She looks at him, and there’s something different in her gaze now—older, deeper, even more focused than before.

 

FREYA

She is now one of us. Her body and magic have been remade. She’s an Original — not a mimic or turned vampire, but trueblooded.

 

Klaus claps once, smiling proudly.

 

KLAUS

Welcome to the family, Thalia.

 

ERIC (low to Godric)

That’s two of them now. I’m starting to think we’re all on borrowed time.

 

Jason and Thalia embrace, both radiating strength that wasn’t there before. Whatever comes next, they’ll face it together — not as prey or lesser vampires, but as royalty among monsters.

 

Moments after the ritual concludes

 

Jason and Thalia are still adjusting to their new forms — the subtle hum of power in their veins, the sharpened senses, the strange calm of no longer needing to breathe.

 

From the grand staircase, Hope Mikaelson bounds down with a grin and a small velvet box in her hands.

 

HOPE

Granddad said you’d need these now.

 

She opens the box and holds it out, revealing two silver rings, each set with a shimmering lapis lazuli stone.

 

Jason raises an eyebrow. Thalia tilts her head, curious.

 

FREYA (stepping forward, smiling softly)

Daylight rings. Enchanted by me, using our family’s magic. That stone — lapis lazuli — allows vampires of our bloodline to walk in the sun without burning. It’s how we’ve always done it.

 

Sookie

Mine still gets a little warm in the heat, but it’s worth it. No more hiding in the dark like some sad Dracula movie.

 

Jason chuckles, slipping the ring onto his finger. The metal is cool but pulses faintly against his skin — alive with ancient power.

 

Thalia takes hers more reverently, then looks at Jason as she slides it on.

 

THALIA

Sunlight… together?

 

JASON (grinning)

Damn right.

 

FREYA

You’re both Originals now. You’ll need to be careful — you’re stronger than most, and that kind of power draws enemies. But with your family, you’re never alone.

 

REBEKAH (raising a glass)

To the newest members of the family — may your enemies burn and your daylight always shine.

 

Everyone raises their glasses as Jason and Thalia exchange a look — a mix of wonder, joy, and quiet resolve. Whatever lies ahead, they’ll face it not as prey, not as outsiders, but as Mikaelsons.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions, or Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 18: Feds

Summary:

lets check in with the feds

Notes:

I own nothing, I hope you enjoy this chapter

Shreveport, Louisiana – Late Evening

Hotel Astoria – Downtown

 

The unmarked black SUV rolled to a stop in front of the Hotel Astoria, its sleek body streaked with dust from the long drive. Agent Elena Martinez stepped out first, straightening the lapels of her tailored blazer as her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding streets. Her partner, Agent Thomas O’Reilly, followed close behind, a duffel slung over his shoulder and a look that suggested he was already regretting this assignment.

 

MARTINEZ

Shreveport. Never thought I’d be back here. Not like this.

 

O’REILLY (gruffly)

Better hope we get answers this time. The Bureau’s not thrilled about us playing catch-up while cities burn.

 

They entered the hotel lobby, a surprisingly upscale place for the chaos gripping the region. The concierge barely glanced up as they approached the desk, clearly used to the steady stream of government officials and investigators flooding into the area since the vampire rampage.

 

MARTINEZ

Room for two. Reservation under DHS.

 

The clerk handed them two keycards without a word.

 

As they rode the elevator up, the silence stretched between them until O'Reilly finally broke it.

 

O’REILLY

You think it's true? That one vampire killed the others? Tore 'em apart in the street like goddamn confetti?

 

MARTINEZ (flatly)

There’s video. Classified, but real. And then there's that weird barrier around the club downtown. No one's explained that either.

 

O’REILLY

Magic barriers. Day-walking vampires. And now a monster that hunts them. Jesus.

 

MARTINEZ (glancing at him)

Welcome to the new America.

 

The elevator dinged and they stepped into the hallway, unaware that Shreveport was about to get even stranger.

Agent Martinez & Agent O'Reilly’s Hotel Room – Minutes Later

 

The door clicked shut behind them, and Agent O'Reilly tossed his bag onto one of the beds, stretching his back with a tired groan.

 

O’REILLY

We drive ten hours, and now we get to deal with ancient vampire politics. I miss good ol’ human crime.

 

MARTINEZ (ignoring him)

Turn on the news. Let's see what the public’s seeing.

 

O'Reilly grabbed the remote, flicking on the flat-screen mounted to the wall. It immediately lit up with a live feed from WNN. The lower-third chyron read:

 

"BREAKING: Vampire Authority to be Reformed – Official Statement from Nora Gainsborough"

 

The camera zoomed in on Nora, standing calmly at a podium, surrounded by tense journalists. Her eyes were sharp, her tone cold and commanding.

 

NORA:

“The Vampire Authority, which was destroyed by Russell Edgington and Bill Compton in their deranged crusade, will be reformed. Effective immediately, I am acting as interim spokeswoman for the Authority while we rebuild our ranks and reestablish order.”

 

O’Reilly sat on the edge of the bed, eyes narrowing.

 

O’REILLY

Did she just admit to a vampire government?

 

MARTINEZ

That’s not even the interesting part. Keep listening.

 

NORA:

“To vampires across the United States—and the world: if you align with the beliefs of Russell or Compton… if you think humans are beneath you, food to be hunted at will… know this: Mikael will find you. And he will end you.”

 

She paused, letting the words hang heavy.

 

NORA:

“I saw him. I survived being in the same room as him. And that is no small miracle. He doesn’t just kill. He annihilates. He is a predator of predators. And if you cross him, if you harm even one more human… you deserve death. And that is exactly what you’ll get.”

 

The screen cut to footage of streets littered with blood and ash, blurry video captured by bystanders showing the horrifying speed and brutality with which Mikael had dispatched Bill and Russell. The reporters in the studio looked pale.

 

O’REILLY (low whistle)

Jesus Christ. That’s not a vampire. That’s a damn biblical plague in human form.

 

MARTINEZ (quietly, watching the screen)

Or a nuclear deterrent in a leather coat.

 

O’REILLY

So what’s our move?

 

MARTINEZ

We watch. We listen. And we figure out whether we’re dealing with a solution… or just a more powerful problem.

 

New Orleans – Mikaelson Compound

The living room is dimly lit, the flickering light of the television screen casting dancing shadows over the ancient stone walls. Mikael stands with a bourbon glass in hand, while Klaus lounges on a leather couch. Freya is seated with a book open in her lap, though she’s clearly not reading it anymore. Elijah stands near the fireplace, and Rebekah sits beside Hope, who’s curled up with a tablet in her hands.

 

On screen, Nora Gainsborough’s press conference is concluding. Her final words echo in the room:

 

NORA (TV):

“He is a predator of predators. And if you cross him… if you harm even one more human… you deserve death. And that is exactly what you’ll get.”

 

The broadcast fades to a reporter nervously trying to summarize, but Mikael lifts the remote and mutes the TV. Silence falls for a long moment.

 

REBEKAH (half-smirking)

Well. She certainly didn’t hold back.

 

KLAUS (with a chuckle)

I do love when the truth terrifies the masses.

 

ELIJAH (adjusting his cufflinks)

It’s one thing to be feared, brother. It’s another to be acknowledged as the ultimate consequence.

 

FREYA (glancing at Mikael)

You’ve made quite the impression. Even I didn’t expect her to pledge global obedience under threat of your wrath.

 

MIKAEL (quietly, with a small smile)

Good. Let them fear me. It may be the only thing that keeps the humans safe.

 

HOPE (perking up)

Does this mean I get to blow things up with magic if someone steps out of line?

 

FREYA (grinning at her)

Only if I say yes. And only if Mikael says no first.

 

REBEKAH (smirking at Hope)

Our little enforcer in training.

 

KLAUS (to Mikael)

I assume you’re not done making examples?

 

MIKAEL

Not even close. That was just a warning. If the rest of the vampire world can’t evolve… they’ll be replaced.

 

Mikael downs the rest of his bourbon, then turns and looks out the large French doors onto the courtyard, where the city lights shimmer beyond the compound walls.

 

MIKAEL (without looking back)

Let them rebuild their authority. We’ll be watching.

Bon Temps – Jason Stackhouse’s Front Yard

The sun has just begun to rise, casting golden light across the dew-slick grass and sleepy trees. Birds chirp lazily, the calm of a Southern morning wrapping the world in peace. Jason steps out onto the porch in a pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt, barefoot, his silver ring with the lapis lazuli stone glinting faintly in the light.

 

Behind him, Thalia steps out slowly, her movements deliberate. She’s wearing one of Jason’s flannels over a camisole and shorts, barefoot as well, her long dark hair unbound and tumbling around her shoulders. She lifts her hand, letting the sunlight touch her fingers first.

 

THALIA (in awe)

I haven’t stood in the sun for two thousand years...

 

She walks out fully, eyes closed, face tilted toward the morning light. A breath escapes her lips — not out of need, but pure, overwhelming emotion. Her skin doesn’t smolder. Her body doesn’t burn. The ring works.

 

THALIA (softly)

It’s warm… I forgot what warmth felt like.

 

Jason watches her with a crooked smile, stepping down the porch steps and into the grass beside her.

 

JASON (teasing)

Well, I can tell ya one thing. You look real pretty in daylight.

 

She turns to him, eyes bright with unspoken gratitude, and she throws her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. After a moment, she pulls back and rests her forehead to his.

 

THALIA (smirking)

If I’d known being tied to your ridiculous human bloodline would get me this… I might’ve considered it centuries ago.

 

JASON (grinning)

Well, darlin’, lucky for you I’m all in. Sunlight, immortality, crazy powerful family and all.

 

Thalia's eyes gleam with a mix of gratitude and desire. She steps back slightly, her hands moving to the buttons of Jason's flannel. She begins to unbutton it slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

 

THALIA (whispering)

I want to feel the sun on my skin. All of my skin.

 

Jason's breath hitches as he watches her, his own desire growing. He quickly pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing his muscular chest. Thalia's hands roam over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, her touch electric.

 

JASON (voice low)

You drive me crazy, Thalia.

 

Thalia smirks, her fingers moving to the waistband of his jeans. She unbuttons them, pushing them down along with his boxers. Jason steps out of his clothes, standing naked in the sunlight, his body hard and ready.

 

Thalia's eyes widen at the sight of him, her desire evident. She quickly sheds her own clothes, standing before him in all her glory. The sunlight bathes her skin, highlighting her curves and the beauty of her form.

 

Jason's eyes roam over her, his hunger growing. He pulls her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss. Their bodies press against each other, the warmth of the sun amplifying their desire.

 

They lower themselves to the soft grass, their bodies entwined. Jason's hands explore every inch of Thalia's skin, his touch gentle yet demanding. She arches into his touch, her moans filling the air.

 

Jason's lips trail down her neck, his fangs grazing her skin. Thalia shivers, her body aching with need. He takes his time, teasing her nipples with his fingers, his mouth, his fangs. She bucks against him, her body begging for more.

 

Jason's hand slips between her legs, his fingers finding her wet and ready. He teases her, his fingers circling her clit, slipping inside her. Thalia's hips move in sync with his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

Jason can't wait any longer. He positions himself between her legs, his hardness pressing against her entrance. With a single, powerful thrust, he enters her, filling her completely. Thalia cries out, her nails digging into his back.

 

He moves inside her, his strokes deep and unyielding. Each thrust brings them closer to the edge, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling. The warmth of the sun on their skin adds to the intensity of the moment, their connection deepening with each movement.

 

Thalia's orgasm hits her like a wave, her body convulsing with pleasure. Jason watches her, his own desire growing. He wants to feel her come undone beneath him, to hear her scream his name.

 

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more insistent, more demanding. Thalia's second orgasm rips through her, her body clenching around him. Jason's control snaps, and he comes with a growl, his body shuddering with release.

 

They lie there for a moment, their hearts pounding in sync, their bodies entwined. The sunlight warms their skin, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves above them. It's a moment of pure bliss, a connection that transcends time and circumstance.

 

As they catch their breath, Jason's expression softens. He brushes a strand of hair from Thalia's face, his touch surprisingly gentle.

 

JASON (softly)

Even in the chaos, we find our way back to each other.

 

Thalia looks at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. She knows this connection is dangerous, but she also knows it's real. And in a world that's spinning out of control, that's enough.

 

THALIA (smiling)

So… this is our beginning then?

 

JASON (taking her hand)

Yeah. Let’s make it one hell of a story.

 

They walk hand in hand into the front yard, bathing in the light of a brand new day—the first they’ve ever shared like this. The sun warms their skin, the birds sing their songs, and the world around them seems to hold its breath, witnessing the birth of a new chapter in their lives.

 

Shreveport – Daytime – Outside Club M

 

The black government SUV pulls up outside the fortified exterior of Club M. Agents O’Reilly and Martinez step out—O’Reilly, tall and broad, and Martinez, a sharp-eyed woman with dark hair tied back in a tight bun, wearing a fitted black suit and aviator sunglasses.

 

MARTINEZ (glancing up at the tinted windows)

This is the place. Club M. Owned by a Sookie Mikaelson. Registered as a bar, but intel ties it to some major vampire activity.

 

O’REILLY (approaching the gate)

Yeah, looks like a bunker. Cameras everywhere, reinforced gates… and dead quiet. Not a great combo.

 

MARTINEZ (crouching to inspect blood stains on the pavement)

Still traces from last night. Human and vampire. And this barrier... it’s not tech. That shimmer? It's magical. Someone’s protecting this place with something old.

 

O’REILLY (grimly)

We’re dealing with more than just bloodsuckers now.

 

MARTINEZ (standing up, brushing off her hands)

We’ll come back after dark. When the freaks come out.

 

Chicago – A Rooftop Penthouse Overlooking the Skyline

A tall, well-dressed vampire in a tailored suit watches the city below, sipping from a crystal glass of blood.

He narrows his eyes at the flickering TV in the background—Nora’s press conference.

CHICAGO VAMPIRE (low, cold)

So Mikael’s awake…

He turns to his inner circle.

CHICAGO VAMPIRE

Call the sheriff. We’ll bend the knee. For now.

 

Las Vegas – A Vampire-Owned Casino Lounge

The music dims. A sultry vampire queen sits on her throne-like lounge chair, her nails tapping the armrest as she watches Nora’s speech.

VEGAS VAMPIRE QUEEN (amused)

Hunted down like dogs?

She sips her drink and chuckles.

VEGAS VAMPIRE QUEEN

Let them come. I’ve cheated death before.

 

Her smile fades when the screen plays a slow-motion clip of Mikael tearing a vampire in half.

She immediately turns to her assistant.

VEGAS VAMPIRE QUEEN

...Get me in touch with the new Authority. Now.

 

Seattle – Underground Vampire Bar

An older vampire, covered in tattoos, slams his hand on the bar.

SEATTLE VAMPIRE

Mikael? He’s a ghost story. You telling me he’s real?

 

Another vampire shows him the footage on a phone. Blood drains from his face.

SEATTLE VAMPIRE (whispering)

...Shit.

 

Atlanta – A Hidden Estate in the Woods

A reclusive vampire elder watches the news alone. His eyes flash amber in the dim firelight.

ATLANTA ELDER (murmuring to himself)

The King is hunting again.

He smiles grimly and picks up a dusty book marked Mikaelson.

ATLANTA ELDER

This world’s about to remember fear.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Questions, Comments and Kudos are welcome.

Chapter 19: Fallout and Witches

Summary:

Witches come out of the wood work

Notes:

I own nothing, Here's chapter 19 Enjoy

Morning News Broadcast | National Network – LIVE

 

The screen fades in from black to the bright, sterile glow of a modern TV studio. The anchor, a composed woman in her early forties with perfectly styled hair and a sharp navy suit, looks into the camera with a grim expression.

 

ANCHOR:

Good morning, America. Our top story today — the devastating fallout from the Shreveport vampire massacre continues to unfold across the country, leaving political, social, and economic shockwaves in its wake.

 

Cut to clips of the destruction: burning buildings, blood-stained streets, hazmat crews in daylight collecting ash-covered remains, and survivors giving shaken interviews.

 

ANCHOR (V.O.):

Following the brutal attacks led by the rogue vampires Bill Compton and Russell Edgington, the Vampire Rights Amendment failed to pass in Congress late last night. The vote came after a heated, emotional debate that ended with a decisive rejection—348 to 87 in the House, and 63 to 37 in the Senate.

 

Footage plays of Congress members arguing, some shouting that “humans must come first,” while others walk out in protest.

 

Cut back to the studio. The anchor continues with practiced calm, though tension is visible in her posture.

 

ANCHOR:

Across the nation, a growing wave of anti-vampire sentiment is sweeping through cities and small towns alike. In the last twelve hours, more than 4,000 businesses have put up signs reading “Humans Only” — a move that many legal experts say may violate existing civil rights protections but is being largely ignored by local law enforcement.

 

Images flash across the screen: coffee shops with freshly printed “HUMANS ONLY” signs taped to their windows, protesters holding candles and signs reading “NEVER AGAIN,” and vampires being refused entry at convenience stores.

 

ANCHOR:

Meanwhile, vampire leadership — what remains of it — has yet to offer a unified response, although some, like Nora Gainsborough, have made public efforts to distance themselves from the extremists. Still, fear remains the dominant emotion across both communities.

 

Cut to a brief clip of Nora’s press conference, where she emotionally pleads for unity and reform, reaffirming that vampires who see humans as cattle “will not be tolerated.”

 

ANCHOR:

Federal agents have now been deployed to multiple cities, including Shreveport, New Orleans, and Dallas, to investigate the events and to begin assessing long-term damage. We'll continue to follow this story as it develops.

 

A Small TV in the Corner of Club M’s Lobby – Muted

 

The same footage continues to play silently in the background as staff bustle around, cleaning up for the night. Sookie watches the screen, jaw tight, arms crossed.

 

Abandoned Church on the Outskirts of Bon Temps | Dusk

 

Candles flicker inside the crumbling sanctuary. A long-forgotten altar has been repurposed into a makeshift spell table, covered with herbs, bones, runes, and bowls filled with murky water. The air is thick with incense and resentment.

 

Marnie Stonebrook, tall and intense with eyes that gleam with dangerous purpose, stands at the center of a semicircle formed by a group of witches. Holly Cleary lingers at the edge of the gathering, arms folded tightly, while Lafayette Reynolds and his cousin Tara Thornton share a wary glance.

 

MARNIE (cold, resolute):

They think they can rip humans apart in the streets, that they can terrify our children and face no consequences. But tonight — we fight back.

 

She walks slowly, deliberately, past each witch as she speaks, her fingers brushing the tops of candles and sigils carved into the floor.

 

MARNIE:

We will attack Fangtasia. Burn it to the ground if we must. Those bloodsuckers inside won’t see sunrise.

 

HOLLY (hesitant):

You’re sure about this, Marnie? This... this isn’t like the protests we did before. This is real blood, real death. What if—

 

MARNIE (cutting her off):

They’ve already drawn blood, Holly. This is justice.

 

TARA (defiant):

I’m sick of seeing them act like gods while the rest of us just try to survive. They don’t care about us. Not really. If Mikael hadn’t shown up, Bill and Russell would’ve turned this whole country into a slaughterhouse.

 

LAFAYETTE (coolly):

Look, I ain’t saying I’m against putting a little hex on some fanged assholes, but we better be damn careful. You do remember there’s a coven in New Orleans that’s tied to the Mikaelsons. And Club M? Protected by magic even I wouldn’t mess with.

 

MARNIE (nodding):

Yes. Club M is off-limits — for now. Their protection is too strong. We won’t get past it, not without losing everyone here.

 

She lifts a carved bone dagger from the altar, holding it up for all to see.

 

MARNIE:

But Fangtasia? It’s vulnerable. Their wards are weak, scattered since Edgington and Compton’s rampage. We hit them hard. We hit them tonight.

 

A murmur of agreement ripples through the gathered witches. Holly looks down, torn. Tara nods silently, her jaw tight. Lafayette exhales through his nose, eyes narrowed with both caution and resolve.

 

MARNIE (chanting softly):

By fire and blood, by moon and might… let the monsters know our spite.

 

The candle flames flare suddenly, as if in answer. Outside, thunder rumbles on the horizon.

 

Club M – Shreveport | Evening

 

A jazz-infused remix of a Billie Holiday tune floats through the smoky air of Club M. The lighting is low and moody — soft amber glows from faux gas lamps cast elegant shadows against dark wood walls and crimson velvet drapes. Patrons, dressed in vintage-inspired attire, sip cocktails from crystal glasses as the live band plays from a small, raised stage in the corner.

 

The main bar is a masterpiece of polished mahogany and stained glass, tended with quiet command by Thalia — her long black hair swept into an elegant twist, her eyes scanning the room like a queen among pawns. Her sharp features are perfectly calm, but the subtle tension in her jaw says she’s alert.

 

The front doors open, letting in a gust of night air — and two out-of-towners trying hard not to look like feds.

 

Agents O’Reilly and Martinez step in, dressed like stylish tourists with a flair for vintage. O’Reilly’s wearing a deep green satin dress with a matching fascinator perched on her curls. Martinez dons suspenders over a white button-up, sleeves rolled and hair slicked back. Their looks might pass inspection — but their energy? Still a little too focused.

 

O’REILLY (low, impressed):

Okay… this place has flavor.

 

MARTINEZ:

No security at the door. Just magic and confidence.

 

They walk in slow, taking everything in. Patrons fill every booth and corner, many of them clearly human — but some are something else entirely. The way they hold their posture, the ancient stillness in their gaze, and the hush they leave in their wake... Vampires. Quiet, powerful, and polite — for now.

 

Near the stage, Sookie Stackhouse is mingling with guests. She’s wearing a champagne-colored flapper dress, glittering in the low light. Her smile is warm, practiced, and confident. She’s more than just the hostess — she’s the heartbeat of this place.

 

Sookie catches a glimpse of the new arrivals. Her eyes linger for just a second too long. She doesn't break stride, but it’s clear — she clocked them.

 

MARTINEZ (watching Sookie):

She’s in charge.

 

O’REILLY:

Yeah. And I don’t think anything happens in here without her knowing about it.

 

They make their way to the bar where Thalia finishes mixing a Corpse Reviver No. 2 for a patron in a navy pinstripe suit. She slides it across with a nod, then shifts her gaze to the agents. Her lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk.

 

THALIA (calmly):

You two look like you’re here for more than just the cocktails.

 

O’REILLY (flashing a smile):

Just tourists. Heard this was the only place in Shreveport still worth dressing up for.

 

Thalia raises a brow, pouring two drinks with the grace of centuries behind her movements.

 

THALIA:

Then welcome to Club M. Mind your manners... and try not to bleed on the furniture.

 

Behind them, laughter erupts from a nearby table. A woman in a flapper dress leans close to a man who’s clearly under glamour — glassy-eyed, slack-jawed, utterly enchanted. The tension in the air is velvet-smooth but dangerous beneath the surface.

 

O’Reilly and Martinez clink glasses. The music swells. And somewhere deeper in the club, the magic hums — alive, ancient, and watching.

The music winds down as the band finishes their set. The lights dim a touch further, and a soft spotlight illuminates the small, art-deco stage at the front of the club. A familiar rhythm begins — the low, sultry beat of a slow jazz number playing just under the hum of voices.

 

Sookie MIkaelson glides onto the stage in her glittering champagne flapper dress, her heels clicking softly against the polished wood. Conversations hush as all eyes turn toward her. She takes the vintage-style microphone in both hands and smiles, but there’s iron behind her charm.

 

SOOKIE:

Evenin', y’all.

 

The crowd gives a soft murmur of response, respectful and quiet.

 

SOOKIE (continuing):

Now, I know most of you’ve been here before — and some of y’all are new. Either way, I like to remind everyone, just once a night, how things work around here.

 

She slowly paces the stage, her eyes scanning the audience. They stop briefly on the federal agents, then sweep over the rest — humans, vampires, shifters, witches… all kinds of folk, seated side by side in uneasy harmony.

 

SOOKIE (voice like honey, but steady as stone):

Club M is neutral ground. That means no fighting, no feeding, and absolutely no compelling or glammering the humans. I don’t care how thirsty you are or how old you are. No means no.

 

She stops and leans slightly into the mic, her Southern drawl thickening just a little.

 

SOOKIE:

We’re here to enjoy good music, strong drinks, and maybe a little old-school charm. If you can’t follow my rules, I suggest you leave now… before I’m forced to make an example.

 

The room is utterly still. A tense silence lingers for a breath too long. Then she smiles again — bright and sweet.

 

SOOKIE:

But if you can behave, well then — welcome to Club M. Drink up, dance slow, and tip your bartender.

 

The lights brighten just a touch. The band kicks off the next number — a sultry swing tune — and the spell breaks. Conversations resume. Laughter returns. But a new weight hangs in the air — one of respect, and maybe a little fear.

 

From behind the bar, Thalia smirks in silent approval. The agents exchange a glance. Whatever they thought of Sookie Mikaelson before — they’re rethinking it now.

 

Fangtasia – Nightfall

 

Outside the bar, the air is thick with tension. The neon red glow of the Fangtasia sign flickers slightly. A slow line of guests — mostly vampires, with the occasional thrill-seeking human — moves past the bouncer, unaware of the storm about to break.

 

Across the street in the shadows, Marnie stands cloaked in dark robes, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Beside her are Holly, Lafayette, and Tara — each holding enchanted candles or protective talismans. A circle of witches behind them chants low under their breath, the ground humming faintly with the energy building.

 

MARNIE (coldly):

They think they’re untouchable. That they can slaughter people in the streets and face no consequences. Not tonight.

 

HOLLY (nervous):

Are we sure about this, Marnie? Club M’s protected, and if any of the Mikaelsons show up here—

 

MARNIE (sharply):

This isn’t their club. This is vampire territory without protection. They made themselves vulnerable by drawing attention. We strike now or we never will.

 

She raises her arms, murmuring an incantation in Latin. A harsh wind kicks up, swirling around the group in a vortex of energy. As her spell intensifies, runes etched into the ground beneath their feet begin to glow faint orange.

 

Inside Fangtasia, a waitress drops a tray of drinks as the temperature suddenly plummets. Patrons freeze mid-conversation, their instincts sensing danger.

 

Suddenly — BOOM — the front doors explode inward in a blast of magical force. Vampires hiss and scatter as flames shoot into the club, igniting the bar and a few unlucky bloodsuckers.

 

The witches storm through the smoke, their eyes glowing, hands raised. Tara and Lafayette move as backup, throwing protective shields and bursts of kinetic energy to keep vampires at bay. Screams echo through the club.

 

TARA (shouting):

You wanted war? Here it is!

 

A vampire lunges toward Marnie — only to be turned to ash in midair with a flick of her wrist.

 

HOLLY (to herself, trembling):

Dear gods… what have we done?

 

One vampire manages to escape through the back — running as fast as he can, blood streaking down his chest — his only goal: warn Eric and Godric. Fangtasia is under siege.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 20: Fangtasia on Fire

Summary:

Fangtasia is in Ashes

Notes:

I own nothing, here's chapter 20 enjoy

Rooftop Lounge – Downtown Shreveport

 

A private rooftop bar overlooking the city glows under dim golden lighting. Eric Northman lounges in a sleek leather chair, drink in hand, while Godric stands silently at the edge, watching the skyline with an unreadable expression.

 

A breeze kicks up, and a faint scent hits Godric’s nose — blood and smoke.

 

GODRIC (quietly):

Something's wrong.

 

Before Eric can respond, a young vampire stumbles onto the rooftop, singed, bloodied, wide-eyed. He collapses at their feet, gasping.

 

VAMPIRE:

F-Fangtasia… attacked… witches… they came out of nowhere—

 

ERIC (sitting up fast):

What?

 

VAMPIRE (trembling):

Fire… spells… they’re killing everyone. Marnie… she’s back… she brought others.

 

Godric is already moving, grabbing his coat in a fluid motion.

 

ERIC (to the vampire):

Stay here. Heal. Don’t die unless you want me dragging you back to finish the job.

 

Eric turns to Godric, fury tightening his jaw.

 

ERIC:

I left that club standing to show restraint. That was a mistake.

 

GODRIC (grim):

This isn’t about restraint anymore. This is war.

 

With a blur of speed, they leap from the rooftop into the night, vanishing into the wind — two shadows streaking across the city toward the burning heart of their domain.

 

Club M – Shreveport

 

The atmosphere is lively and electric. A live jazz band plays on the elevated stage, golden lights shimmer off flapper dresses, and servers in waistcoats move among laughing guests. The club’s art deco elegance glows under warm chandeliers. At the far end of the bar, Thalia mixes drinks with precise flair. Sookie is gracefully mingling with guests.

 

In a booth near the back, Agents O'Reilly and Martinez sit with mock cocktails, dressed down in sleek nightlife attire, eyes scanning casually but professionally.

 

Suddenly — a scream cuts through the music.

 

A young woman stumbles backward, her shoulder bleeding, eyes wide in horror. A young vampire, his eyes gold and veins dark, is yanked back by Sookie herself, who moves faster than most human eyes can track.

 

SOOKIE (furious):

Not. In. My. Club.

 

She marches him straight through the shocked crowd, dragging him by the collar. The band stumbles to a halt mid-note. Silence falls like a hammer.

 

Sookie throws him down at center stage. Her face is unreadable rage as she faces the crowd.

 

SOOKIE (to everyone):

You all know the rules.

 

She raises her voice, magically projected through the club's sound system.

 

SOOKIE:

No blood-drinking. No glammering. No violence. This club is a sanctuary — for humans and supernaturals alike. And this leech thought the rules didn’t apply to him.

 

Without another word, she pulls a silver blade from behind the stage curtain — ceremonial, etched with glowing runes. With one smooth motion, she beheads the vampire where he kneels. He lets out a choked gasp — and then explodes into a geyser of blood and blackened goo, splattering across the stage. A few patrons scream. Most stand frozen.

 

Sookie turns back to the crowd, her eyes glowing faintly from the latent magic in the air.

 

SOOKIE:

This is what happens when you break my rules.

 

A pause. She slowly scans the room.

 

SOOKIE (stern):

Now — does anyone know who his Maker is? Because I need to have a word with them too.

 

Silence. No one speaks. Even the vampires — old and young — look away or shrink back.

 

At the bar, Thalia is smirking. At their table, Agents Martinez and O'Reilly exchange a glance, both scribbling mental notes fast.

 

The band hesitantly starts back up, slower this time, and the hum of conversation gradually returns — but the air is tense now. Electric. Fearful. Controlled.

The music resumes, but the tone is shaken. Patrons return to their drinks with a new kind of reverence. At their booth, Agents O’Reilly and Martinez sit quietly, eyes fixed on the blood-slicked stage as staff clean it with calm efficiency.

 

O’REILLY (low, to Martinez):

Well... that’s one way to run a nightclub.

 

MARTINEZ (dry):

Yeah. “Drink specials, jazz, and sudden executions.” Real tourist vibe.

 

O’REILLY (nodding to Sookie):

She’s dangerous. Not just powerful — she’s respected. You saw that crowd. No one dared speak up.

 

MARTINEZ (serious):

Or they’re too scared. That vampire didn’t just break rules — he embarrassed her. And she made an example out of him.

 

O’REILLY:

You think she answers to Mikael?

 

MARTINEZ (shaking her head):

No... I think she runs this city for Mikael. Big difference.

 

O’REILLY:

And we’re supposed to investigate this? Find a way to “restore order”? Hell, I don’t even know what order looks like anymore.

 

MARTINEZ:

We observe. For now. Poke the wrong nest and we end up headless on stage too.

 

They sip their drinks — O’Reilly’s is untouched. Martinez glances around, noting who’s watching, who’s whispering.

 

— At the bar, Thalia wipes down a glass with a smirk and mutters to herself:

 

THALIA (deadpan):

“Kids these days. No self-control.”

 

— In a corner booth, an older vampire in a silver suit, clearly from one of the ancient bloodlines, leans toward his companion.

 

ELDER VAMPIRE:

That woman moves like she’s been trained by Mikael himself.

 

COMPANION:

She’s Fae-touched, isn’t she?

 

ELDER VAMPIRE:

Worse. She has conviction.

 

— On the dance floor, a nervous young vampire holds her human date tighter.

 

YOUNG VAMPIRE (whispering):

I didn’t even know that was against the rules…

 

HUMAN DATE (softly):

Maybe stick to dancing tonight.

 

Fangtasia – Night

 

The parking lot is scorched. Broken neon flickers, casting a dim red glow over shattered glass and crumbled stone. Smoke curls up from the collapsed roof. The air hums with lingering magic — bitter, angry, and old.

 

ERIC (stepping out of his black convertible, furious):

What the hell happened?

 

GODRIC (calm but grim):

Witchcraft… and rage.

 

They walk through the destroyed front doors. Inside, Fangtasia is almost unrecognizable. Burnt furniture litters the floor. Ashes — some of them formerly vampires — coat the walls. Blood smears mark hasty exits or violent ends.

 

ERIC (growling):

This was precision. This wasn’t just an attack — this was a message.

 

GODRIC (kneeling near a charred circle of runes):

Old spells. Spanish Inquisition era. They knew exactly what to use — and who to target.

 

ERIC (pacing):

They couldn’t breach Club M… so they hit mine. Cowards.

 

GODRIC:

No. Strategists. They avoided Mikael's wrath. You, however… they expected you to retaliate.

 

ERIC (eyes glowing slightly):

And they’ll get exactly that.

 

He pauses by the remains of his throne, his expression unreadable.

 

ERIC (softly):

Pam was here tonight… do we know if—

 

GODRIC (cutting in gently):

There are survivors. Few. Some fled. Some were glamoured and escaped fire. Pam wasn’t found among the dead.

 

ERIC (coldly):

Then I want every coven’s name. Tonight. I’m going hunting.

 

Club M – Interior

 

The jazz band finishes a slow number. The room buzzes with energy, laughter, and perfume, but there’s a sudden shift in the air as Godric enters. Calm, ancient, and visibly troubled, his presence quiets the space like a whisper of thunder.

 

SOOKIE (walking over, wiping her hands on a bar towel):

Godric… I wasn’t expecting you tonight.

 

GODRIC (softly, gravely):

Fangtasia is gone, Sookie. Witches came for us. Fire and blood. Nothing left but ashes.

 

Sookie’s eyes widen, jaw tightening as she glances around to make sure none of her guests are too close.

 

SOOKIE (hushed):

Damn it. Are you alright?

 

GODRIC (nodding slowly):

I am. But many aren’t. We don’t know if Pam survived. The coven was led by a powerful necromancer. The same woman who once tried to raise the dead in Bon Temps—Marnie.

 

Sookie closes her eyes, visibly distressed.

 

SOOKIE (whispering):

Marnie. I thought she was gone for good.

 

GODRIC:

She’s not just back — she’s leading others. They avoided Club M for one reason.

 

SOOKIE:

Because they’re smart. They know whose magic protects this place. The Mikaelsons along with the New Orleans Coven don’t play around.

 

Across the room — Federal Agents O’REILLY and MARTINEZ sit quietly in their booth.

 

O'Reilly leans slightly forward, eyes sharp under her retro flapper-style hat.

 

AGENT O’REILLY (whispering):

Did you catch that? Fangtasia — attacked. Witches. This is bigger than a riot.

 

AGENT MARTINEZ (low, careful):

And protected by the Mikaelsons… that name again. I want everything we’ve got on them in the morning.

 

O’REILLY:

If Mikael’s the nuke, this girl Sookie might be the trigger.

 

Back at the bar, Godric’s eyes scan the crowd.

 

GODRIC:

You should be careful, Sookie. If they’re desperate enough to take on Fangtasia, they might get bold. Your rules won’t stop them forever.

 

SOOKIE (firmly):

If they come here, I won’t be alone. And I’ll burn them myself if I must. The Sanctuary Spell was placed by my Aunt Freya and the entire New Orleans Coven who practice Ancestral magic so the power of all Living and Dead witches from New Orleans protects this club. It will take more than a handful of angry witches to get past the spell.

 

She flashes a faint smile, but there’s steel in her eyes. Across the club, in their booth, AGENTS O’REILLY and MARTINEZ exchange glances.

 

O’REILLY (whispering):

That was no idle threat. Did you hear what she said? Ancestral magic. That’s some serious firepower.

 

MARTINEZ (pulling out a notepad discreetly):

And a name we can finally chase — Freya. That plus the Mikaelsons gives us a supernatural cold war in the making.

 

Shreveport – Woods Near Fangtasia

 

The night is heavy and silent except for the faint rustle of leaves. Eric Northman moves like a predator through the darkness, his clothes singed, face streaked with ash. His eyes glow faintly as he sniffs the air — searching, hunting.

 

ERIC (muttering to himself):

Cowards cloaked in fire and chants… you don’t get to walk away from this.

 

He crouches, fingers brushing the blackened ground where a witch’s charm circle had been burned into the dirt. It's old magic — he can feel it tingling against his undead skin.

 

Suddenly — a whisper of motion behind him.

 

ERIC (without turning):

You shouldn’t sneak up on me. Not tonight.

 

PAM (dryly):

We didn’t. You’re just slow tonight.

 

Eric rises and turns. Pam stands there, leather jacket scorched, blood on her cheek. Behind her, Jessica clutches a burn along her arm but looks otherwise intact.

 

ERIC (with genuine surprise):

You made it.

 

JESSICA (quietly):

Barely. Tara didn’t. Ginger might still be inside… we don’t know.

 

PAM:

They used spells to block the exits. Fire spells. I felt my flesh starting to melt off — do you know how expensive this jacket was?

 

ERIC (growling):

Marnie. I should have ended her the first time.

 

PAM:

You had your chance. She just upgraded since the last go-round. She has more than necromancy now — we saw lightning, Eric. And barriers we couldn’t pass.

 

ERIC (looking into the darkness):

Then we upgrade too.

 

JESSICA (quiet, but firm):

Do we go to the Mikaelsons? Or Sookie?

 

ERIC (gritting his teeth):

Not yet. We don’t beg. We track. We find out where the witches are hiding — and then we burn them.

 

Club M – Back Entrance

 

The music from inside the club pulses through the brick walls, but the back alley is quiet — until the sound of hurried footsteps echoes off the pavement. The door bursts open as Lafayette Reynolds stumbles inside, breathing hard, panic in his eyes.

 

SOOKIE (rushing toward him):

Lafayette? What the hell—? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

 

LAFAYETTE (holding up a hand):

Girl, I’ve seen worse than ghosts. I seen witches — pissed-off, batshit witches — and they’re comin’. Maybe not for you right this second, but it’s only a matter of time.

 

Sookie gestures to one of her staff to close the door behind him and motions Lafayette into the manager’s office. Inside, the walls muffle the sound of the club’s lively hum.

 

SOOKIE (calm but firm):

Tell me everything.

 

LAFAYETTE (pacing):

It was supposed to be a cleansing circle. You know, talk to the ancestors, maybe protect Bon Temps. But Marnie’s gone off the damn deep end, Sook. She's talkin’ full-blown vampire genocide. Fangtasia was just the start.

 

SOOKIE (tense):

I heard. It’s bad.

 

LAFAYETTE:

Bad? Honey, it’s straight-up war now. And I ain't got the stomach for witch war. I left as soon as I heard they were headed for Shreveport with fire in their eyes.

 

Sookie studies his face, searching for the part he’s not saying.

 

SOOKIE:

Tara?

 

LAFAYETTE (quietly):

She stayed. Said she owed Marnie. Said it was the only way to get revenge on the ones that turned her. She’s in deep, Sook.

 

Sookie’s jaw tightens. A mix of worry and fury flickers in her eyes.

 

SOOKIE (cold):

If Tara sets foot near this place with ill intent… I’ll protect the people here. Even from her.

 

LAFAYETTE (soft):

I know. I just wanted you to know what’s comin’. Marnie’s powerful, but she ain't stupid. She knows not to come near Club M… yet. But she might not be the only one gathering followers.

 

SOOKIE:

Thanks, Lala. You did the right thing.

 

She pulls him into a quick, fierce hug. Lafayette leans into it, just for a second, before straightening with a heavy sigh.

 

LAFAYETTE:

You got backup, right?

 

SOOKIE (with a steely smile):

Always. And this club — it’s protected by every dead witch in New Orleans who doesn’t like what Marnie’s doing.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 21: Witch Hunt

Summary:

Witch hunting with Family

Notes:

I own Nothing, I hope you enjoy this chapter

Club M – Back Lot | After Closing

 

The neon glow of Club M fades into darkness as the last staff member locks the heavy front doors. Out back, under the pale moonlight, Sookie, Thalia, and Jason stand in a tight huddle, the air crackling with tension.

 

SOOKIE (clipping a weapon belt around her waist):

You ready for this?

 

JASON (grinning):

I was born ready, Sook. Witch huntin' sounds like a good ol' fashioned Saturday night to me.

 

Thalia, standing rigid with ancient, simmering rage, slips a silver dagger into a sheath on her thigh. Her fangs glint briefly as she smirks.

 

THALIA:

I have waited centuries for a proper hunt. Tonight, witches will learn to fear again.

 

Sookie pulls out a crumpled piece of paper — the address Lafayette gave her, scrawled hastily. Her eyes blaze with cold purpose.

 

SOOKIE:

They're holed up outside town. Some abandoned farmhouse Lafayette said used to belong to a coven that practiced blood magic. Figures.

(beat)

And we’re not doing this alone.

 

Just then, two blurs of movement materialize at the edge of the lot. Klaus and Kol Mikaelson — radiating lethal calm and untamed energy — step into the moonlight. They’re dressed in dark, functional clothes, ready for violence.

 

KLAUS (grinning wickedly):

You called for a witch hunt, love? Couldn't miss out on the fun.

 

KOL (smirking):

About time.

 

SOOKIE (nods firmly, and smirks):

All bets are off.

 

JASON (hoisting a shotgun):

Damn right. Let’s go light up some witches.

 

The group heads toward a pair of waiting black SUVs parked in the alley. The night stretches before them, heavy with the promise of violence and retribution.

 

THALIA (under her breath, darkly amused):

Tonight, the hunters become the hunted.

 

Engines roar to life as they speed off into the night — headed for war.

 

The Farmhouse – Witch’s Hideout

 

The farmhouse, once abandoned and crumbling, now pulses with dark energy. The air inside is thick with the smell of burning herbs and old blood. Candles flicker wildly, casting long shadows across the peeling walls.

 

A coven of witches — Marnie at the center, with Tara, Holly, and several other tense, desperate faces — circles around an ancient ritual diagram scrawled into the wooden floor with salt and ash.

 

MARNIE (voice low and urgent):

They’re coming. I can feel it — those ancient vampires. Their blood calls to me like a storm on the horizon.

 

She raises a blackened book, its pages cracked with age, and flips to a dog-eared spell, her fingers trembling slightly.

 

MARNIE (continuing):

We won't survive a straight fight. They’ll tear us apart.

 

HOLLY (anxious, glancing at Tara):

So what do we do, Marnie? We can't stay here, but we can't run fast enough either...

 

MARNIE (grim smile):

We disappear.

 

Tara shifts uneasily, her loyalty fractured but not yet broken.

 

TARA:

You mean like a cloaking spell?

 

MARNIE (nodding):

More than that. A full veiling. We'll weave the farmhouse into the spirit world — make it invisible to blood magic and vampire senses.

(beat)

They’ll sniff around like lost dogs and find nothing.

 

The witches form a tighter circle. Marnie chants first, her voice guttural and powerful. The others pick up the words, their voices blending in an eerie, chilling harmony. The candles gutter and extinguish all at once as the magic thickens, the walls of the farmhouse shimmering as if underwater.

 

A heavy pulse — like a heartbeat — echoes through the building.

 

MARNIE (whispering):

By the ashes of our mothers... by the breath of the forgotten...

(her eyes flash white)

We are shadows... we are mist... hidden from the sight of the cursed and the damned.

 

A sudden, cold wind blows through the farmhouse. As it passes, the building seems to fade, losing solidity, as though the world itself were beginning to forget it.

 

Marnie slumps slightly, drained, but triumphant.

 

MARNIE (hoarse):

Let them come. They won’t find us. Not tonight.

 

The Woods Near the Farmhouse

 

 

The moon is high overhead, bathing the woods in silver light. A tense, predatory silence blankets the area as Eric, Pam, and Jessica move swiftly through the trees, their vampire senses sharp and searching.

 

Eric halts suddenly, nostrils flaring, his hand raised to signal the others. Pam and Jessica stop behind him, both poised and alert.

 

ERIC (low, frustrated growl):

They were here. Recently.

 

Jessica crouches near the ground, sniffing the dirt and crushed grass.

 

JESSICA (confused):

I can still smell their blood… magic too. But it’s... fading. Like it’s being pulled away.

 

PAM (dryly, arms crossed):

Great. Witchy parlor tricks. I love chasing ghosts.

 

Eric steps forward slowly, his gaze fixed ahead where the old farmhouse should be — but all he sees is a dense thicket of trees and shadows, as if the land itself had swallowed the building whole.

 

ERIC (coldly):

They’re cloaking themselves. Smart little insects.

 

Pam saunters up beside him, her tone dripping sarcasm.

 

PAM:

What’s the plan, boss? Set the whole forest on fire and see what shakes loose?

 

Jessica looks nervous but determined.

 

JESSICA:

If we can’t see them... maybe someone like Sookie could hear them? Sense them?

 

Eric’s face darkens, his fangs slightly visible.

 

ERIC:

No. I will not risk Sookie... not yet.

(beat)

But witches are arrogant. They always make mistakes.

 

He glances at Pam and Jessica, his voice hard as ice.

 

ERIC (commanding):

We search the perimeter. We wait. We watch.

(beat)

When their spell weakens — and it will — we strike.

 

Pam smirks wickedly, clearly relishing the idea.

 

PAM:

Finally. I’ve been dying to rip someone’s head off tonight.

 

Jessica gives a grim nod, falling into step with the others as they silently fan out into the darkness, their eyes and ears tuned for even the slightest crack in the witches’ defenses.

 

The hunt is far from over.

 

The Farmhouse Perimeter – Moments Later

 

The night hums with dark magic. Sookie’s Camaro slides to a stop just off the dirt road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Jason follows in a black muscle car, and Klaus and Kol arrive in a sleek vintage vehicle, their presence crackling with power. All five step out into the heavy night air—each one radiating the unmistakable dominance of an Original Vampire.

 

SOOKIE (sharp, predatory smile):

This is the place Lafayette gave us. No way those witches got far.

 

Thalia inhales deeply, her lips curling into a sneer.

 

THALIA (flatly):

The air stinks of fear and cheap magic.

 

Klaus rolls his shoulders lazily, grinning with excitement like a wolf about to tear into prey.

 

KLAUS:

Ah, witches. Always thinking a spell can save them from what’s coming.

 

Kol spins a silver dagger between his fingers, looking almost bored.

 

KOL (mockingly):

Let’s hope they scream. I do love a good scream.

 

Jason adjusts the leather jacket he wears over his black shirt, his bright blue eyes flashing dangerously.

 

JASON (gruff, eager):

No running this time. We end it.

 

Sookie steps forward, her steps confident, dangerous, her power almost pulsing off her skin. She's not some fragile barmaid anymore — she's death walking.

 

SOOKIE (coldly):

First witch that even thinks about casting? Kill them. No warnings.

 

THALIA (smirking):

I like the way you lead, girl.

 

Klaus chuckles, exchanging a wicked look with Kol.

 

KLAUS (grinning):

Then let's not keep them waiting.

 

The Originals move forward, their senses sharpening as they approach the shrouded farmhouse. The cloaking spell pulses like a heartbeat in the air, thick and clumsy. Child’s play for creatures as ancient and powerful as they are.

 

Sookie lifts a hand, her fingers brushing the edge of the magic veil. Her mouth curls into a disdainful smile.

 

SOOKIE (low):

This spell's a joke.

 

KLAUS (chuckling darkly):

Then tear it down, love.

 

Sookie closes her eyes, channels her strength, and with a flash of ancient power — magic older than the witches inside could comprehend — she shatters the protective veil. The farmhouse is suddenly laid bare under the silver light of the moon.

 

KOL (delighted):

Well, look at that. No more hiding.

 

From inside the house, gasps of panic and hurried chants can be heard. The Originals share a look — a silent agreement.

 

JASON (grinning, fangs flashing):

Let's hunt.

 

In a blur of supernatural speed, the Originals storm the farmhouse, death and vengeance at their backs.

 

The Farmhouse — Witch Bloodbath

 

The door to the farmhouse bursts off its hinges with a deafening crash. Inside, the witches scatter like terrified rats. Candles and ritual tools are knocked over, a half-finished spell circle smudged in panic. They barely have time to scream.

 

The first witch raises her hands to chant—

 

THALIA (snarling):

No spells.

 

With a feral growl, Thalia crosses the room in a blink, grabs the witch by the throat, and rips it out with her bare hand. Blood sprays across the cracked wooden floor.

 

Jason is right behind her, moving fast and brutal. He grabs two witches at once, smashing their heads together with enough force to crack skulls. One drops dead instantly; the other whimpers until Jason’s hand twists her neck with a sickening snap.

 

Klaus and Kol move like a dark storm. Klaus grabs a witch mid-chant, slamming him so hard into the wall that the plaster explodes. Before the witch can fall, Klaus rips out his heart and throws it across the room like garbage.

 

KLAUS (mocking):

Not much of a fighter, are you?

 

Kol, meanwhile, toys with his victims. He carves one witch's chest with his dagger as she screams, then finishes her with a savage bite, his mouth dripping crimson.

 

KOL (grinning):

Such messy little things, witches.

 

From the shadows, a trio of witches attempt to launch a combined attack—a burst of raw magic slams toward Sookie. She stands her ground, her eyes flashing with ancient fury. Raising one hand, she absorbs the attack into herself and throws it back at them, amplified. The blast hits with the force of a bomb, blowing the witches across the room and leaving them broken and bleeding.

 

Sookie stalks toward the nearest witch — Marnie herself, dazed but struggling to rise. Blood drips from her mouth, her eyes wild with hatred and terror.

 

MARNIE (sobbing, gasping):

You—you monsters—you're not supposed to exist!

 

Sookie crouches down, tilting her head almost sympathetically.

 

SOOKIE (coldly):

And you weren't supposed to touch my family or my home.

 

She plunges her hand through Marnie's chest with a wet, tearing sound, pulling her heart free.

 

For a moment, there is silence — just the soft crackle of dying candles and the dripping of blood.

 

Around the room, broken bodies of witches lie in ruin. Some have been torn apart, others drained dry. The Originals stand tall and untouched amid the wreckage, their clothes splattered with blood but their eyes alight with savage satisfaction.

 

KLAUS (wiping blood from his hand, chuckling):

Well, that was... therapeutic.

 

THALIA (grinning wickedly):

They got off easy.

 

JASON (low growl):

Ain't no one touches my sister and lives.

 

Sookie tosses Marnie’s heart onto the floor with a splat and looks around at the devastation. Her voice is icy calm.

 

SOOKIE:

Burn it.

 

Kol grins, producing a silver lighter. Moments later, flames consume the farmhouse, smoke and fire rising into the dark Louisiana sky, carrying the ashes of the failed witches into the night.

 

The Originals turn their backs on the inferno, disappearing into the trees — a pack of ancient predators satisfied... for now.

 

Deep in the Louisiana Woods

 

The farmhouse fire rages behind them, casting a hellish glow into the night sky. Smoke curls above the treetops. Blood still streaks their clothes, and the scent of burnt flesh lingers thick in the humid air.

 

Sookie wipes blood from her hands onto her torn jeans, her expression cold and unreadable.

 

SOOKIE (quiet but firm):

That's one nest of rats dealt with.

 

KLAUS (grinning, voice low):

But you know how it is with vermin — where there's one, there’s always more.

 

Kol twirls his blood-stained dagger lazily between his fingers as they move deeper into the woods, aiming to get some distance from the blaze. Jason keeps glancing around, primal instincts sharp.

 

THALIA (grim):

Something's coming.

 

Before anyone can react, the brush ahead shifts — and three figures emerge, equally bloodied but very much alive: Eric Northman, Pam de Beaufort, and Jessica Hamby.

 

The two groups halt at a tense distance, eyes flickering with cautious recognition.

 

ERIC (dry, cool):

Well, looks like we missed the party.

 

He surveys them — the blood, the smell of magic, the slight smirks on Klaus and Kol’s faces. Sookie steps forward, arms crossed.

 

SOOKIE (coolly):

Y’all were late. We handled it.

 

Pam lets out a short, amused laugh, though there's tension under it. She tosses her hair over one shoulder, her leather jacket torn and soot-streaked.

 

PAM (mocking):

Handled it? You burned half the parish down.

 

JESSICA (nervously):

What happened? We lost their trail... there were too many wards up.

 

Sookie shrugs, almost careless.

 

SOOKIE (sharp):

Doesn’t matter. We found 'em. They won’t be a problem anymore.

 

Klaus steps forward then, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 

KLAUS (to Eric, almost playful but edged with threat):

If you’re worried about the witches, don’t be. The ashes’ll tell the tale.

 

Eric narrows his eyes, studying Klaus with calculating wariness.

 

ERIC (even):

You Originals... always so dramatic.

 

KOL (laughing):

Says the Viking who built pyramids of corpses across Europe.

 

For a long beat, the groups just stand there — an uneasy, predatory respect vibrating between them. Ancient predators sizing each other up.

 

Sookie finally breaks the tension, her voice soft but unmistakably firm.

 

SOOKIE:

We’re not enemies. But make no mistake — anybody threatens what’s mine, supernatural or human, they get the same treatment.

 

Eric smirks faintly, inclining his head in an almost courtly gesture.

 

ERIC:

Understood.

 

Pam and Jessica exchange a glance, both relieved that a bloodbath between them hadn't erupted. Not tonight, anyway.

 

THALIA (gruff):

You’re welcome, by the way.

 

Eric chuckles lowly under his breath, but there's something genuine in the rare smile he offers.

 

ERIC:

Consider the debt noted.

 

Sookie gives a curt nod, then turns away, leading her group into the darkness. Without another word, Klaus, Kol, Jason, Thalia, and Sookie disappear into the night like the apex predators they are.

 

*Eric, Pam, and Jessica watch them go — bloodied, deadly, and untouchable.

 

PAM (muttering under her breath):

Remind me never to piss them off.

 

ERIC (softly, almost admiring):

Smartest thing you’ve said all night.

 

The smoke and the night swallow the scene as both groups fade away into the shadows, already preparing for the next battle sure to come.

 

Small Hotel Room, Late Night

 

The ancient ceiling fan rattles overhead, stirring the heavy Louisiana heat. A laptop glows on a battered desk between FBI Agents O’Reilly and Martinez. Both are still in their wrinkled "club clothes," stained from the earlier chaos at Club M.

 

O'Reilly is at the laptop, eyes sharp despite the late hour. Martinez leans back against the headboard of one of the twin beds, arms crossed, jaw set tight.

 

O'REILLY (reading aloud):

"Mikaelson Family — multiple known aliases over centuries. Originating from Scandinavia, turned into the first vampires through ancient magic. Father: Mikael. Mother: Esther."

 

Martinez gives a low, skeptical grunt.

 

MARTINEZ:

First vampires, huh? That's... not great.

 

O'REILLY (grimly):

It gets worse. Every time they show up somewhere, it ends in bloodbaths. Entire towns wiped off the map. Wars. Plagues. Disappearances.

 

Martinez straightens, now fully paying attention.

 

MARTINEZ:

You're serious.

 

O'Reilly clicks through several files — some medieval paintings, old photographs, even recent blurry surveillance images. Each one shows suspiciously familiar faces: Klaus, Kol, Elijah — unchanged for centuries.

 

O'REILLY (continuing):

Sightings as recent as two years ago. New Orleans, naturally. But before that? Europe, Africa, even South America. Anywhere chaos was brewing.

 

Martinez slides off the bed, pacing.

 

MARTINEZ:

And now they’re playing nightclub owner in Shreveport?

 

O'REILLY (dry):

Looks like it. And guess what? Intelligence agencies from Europe and South America issued internal warnings:

(quoting)

"Do not engage the Mikaelson family under any circumstances. High probability of agent fatalities."

 

Martinez stops pacing, turning sharply.

 

MARTINEZ:

So, let me get this straight.

(beat)

We’re parked right in the backyard of walking, talking, apex predators — ones who have a track record of turning towns into graveyards.

 

O'REILLY (flatly):

That about sums it up.

 

He flips to the next page — redacted reports mentioning Mikael himself, the so-called "vampire who hunts other vampires," feared even by his own children.

 

Martinez whistles low under her breath.

 

MARTINEZ (grim):

We’re in way over our heads.

 

They exchange a hard look. There’s no bravado here — only grim acknowledgment.

 

O'REILLY:

Next time at Club M, we keep our heads down. Real low profile. Watch. Listen. Stay alive.

 

MARTINEZ (muttering):

Might want to update our life insurance too.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 22: Mikaelsons and the Feds

Summary:

The Feds encounter Klaus

Notes:

I own nothing, here's chapter 22

Sookie’s Farmhouse — Morning

 

The rising sun filters through the moss-draped trees as Sookie’s car rumbles up the gravel driveway. The newly renovated farmhouse stands proud — whitewashed siding, a broad wraparound porch, and touches of Southern charm restored to full glory.

 

Sookie steps out of her car, brushing dust off her jeans. She stops short when she sees them:

 

Rebekah Mikaelson stands on the porch in a breezy sundress, hair loose and golden in the morning light. At her feet, little Hope Mikaelson — five years old and fiercely curious — instantly lights up at the sight of Sookie.

 

HOPE (shouting):

“Big Sis!”

 

The little girl sprints across the grass barefoot, arms wide. Sookie crouches, grinning, catching her in a warm, protective hug. Hope wraps her arms around Sookie’s neck with a squeal of joy.

 

SOOKIE (laughing):

“Well hey there, my sunshine. You been growin’ on me already?”

 

Hope nods excitedly, nuzzling into her shoulder.

 

Rebekah walks down from the porch, a fond smile on her lips.

 

REBEKAH:

“She’s been asking about you since we got into town. Wouldn’t stop talking about her ‘Big Sis Sookie’ the whole trip.”

 

Sookie chuckles, standing with Hope still clinging to her like a koala.

 

SOOKIE:

“Well, she’s got me wrapped around her little finger already. That’s for sure.”

 

REBEKAH (smirking):

“She gets that from her Auntie Bekah.”

 

They all laugh softly, but there’s tension under the surface — unspoken but shared. The laughter fades as Rebekah glances toward the tree line, then back at Sookie.

 

REBEKAH (quietly):

“We heard what happened with the witches. Klaus is not happy.”

 

SOOKIE (serious):

“Neither am I.”

 

A beat. The wind stirs the trees. The farmhouse, peaceful for now, feels like a fortress bracing for another storm.

 

REBEKAH (gently):

“You think they’ll come again?”

 

SOOKIE:

“I think trouble’s already on the way. But this time…”

(looking at Hope)

“…we’re not fightin’ it alone.”

 

She kisses Hope’s forehead, then meets Rebekah’s eyes — calm but fierce.

 

The purr of an expensive engine drifts through the countryside silence. A sleek black SUV pulls up near the farmhouse. Klaus and Kol Mikaelson step out, both dressed in casual but well-tailored clothes. Klaus immediately spots Sookie with Hope in her arms and smiles — a rare, soft smile reserved for family.

 

KLAUS (warmly):

“There she is — two of my favorite girls.”

 

Sookie grins, shifting Hope slightly on her hip as the little girl giggles.

 

SOOKIE:

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

 

KLAUS (walking up and placing a hand gently on her shoulder):

“I mean it, Sookie. Thank you — for all of this. Letting us use your home for Hope’s birthday... You didn’t have to, but you did. You always do.”

 

Sookie shrugs, trying to play it cool, but there’s a flicker of emotion in her eyes.

 

SOOKIE:

“She’s my niece, Klaus. And this place is hers too. Always.”

 

Klaus gives her a look filled with genuine affection — the kind of look a father gives a daughter he's proud of. He leans in and kisses the top of her head gently.

 

KLAUS (softly):

“You’ve become more than family, Sookie. You’re one of us. And I’ll protect you as fiercely as I would Hope.”

 

Kol walks up behind them, arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face.

 

KOL:

“And speaking of fiercely… prepare yourself. Father and my beloved Davina will be arriving tomorrow with Freya. Apparently, they’re bringing enough decorations to put the French Quarter to shame.”

 

Sookie chuckles and rolls her eyes.

 

SOOKIE:

“Well, long as nobody brings a coffin or starts a war in the backyard, I think we’ll survive.”

 

KOL (mock serious):

“No promises.”

 

REBEKAH (stepping up, amused):

“At least let her get the balloons up first, Kol.”

 

Hope squirms out of Sookie’s arms and runs to Klaus, who scoops her up with ease. The little girl clings to him, her expression lit up with joy.

 

HOPE:

“Daddy! Big Sis said I get to choose the cake!”

 

KLAUS (smiling at both of them):

“Anything you want, sweetheart. And if anyone says otherwise, I’ll have words with them.”

 

Sookie watches the scene, heart full, and for a rare moment in this world full of blood and war, things feel… peaceful.

 

Late Afternoon — Sookie’s Farmhouse

 

The warm golden sunlight pours into the farmhouse through wide, beautifully framed windows — but none of the vampires flinch. The glass is enchanted (or possibly tech-enhanced by Freya and Davina), shielding harmful UV rays while letting in the light. Eric Northman sits in an antique armchair, visibly annoyed, arms crossed, while Hope giggles in the background, building her Lego fortress with Klaus. Rebekah and Kol relax nearby with blood in crystal glasses, and Sookie moves between rooms like she owns the place — because she does.

 

ERIC (glancing toward the sunlit window):

“I still don’t trust those damn windows.”

 

KLAUS (smirking):

“They’ve held for over a decade, Northman. Relax. You won’t burst into flames unless Sookie lets you.”

 

Eric gives Sookie a side-eye, clearly aware who really holds power here. She flashes him a too-sweet smile as she hands Hope a juice box.

 

SOOKIE:

“I had them installed by Freya herself. If you catch fire, it’ll be because you annoyed me — not the sun.”

 

REBEKAH (smirking):

“Honestly, it’d be more entertaining that way.”

 

Sookie walks over and leans against the coffee table near Eric, her tone turning serious.

 

SOOKIE:

“Now. About Club M. You and Godric can do what you want elsewhere, but on my property, and in my club, my rules stand. No blood-drinking, no glamouring, no stripping.”

 

ERIC (raising an eyebrow):

“You expect us to dress like 1920s bartenders?”

 

SOOKIE:

“That’s the theme. Suspenders. Waistcoats. Class. If Pam walks in looking like she got lost on the set of The Matrix, I’ll throw her out myself.”

 

KOL (grinning):

“She’s not bluffing. I once wore jeans — once.”

 

KLAUS:

“It was brutal. There was glitter involved.”

 

ERIC (dry):

“I’ll…pass that warning along.”

 

CLUB M – ONE HOUR BEFORE OPENING

 

The club’s main floor glows with warm golden light from chandeliers and art deco sconces. The polished wood gleams, jazz hums faintly from the gramophone-style speakers, and the air smells faintly of blood-orange, leather, and expensive whiskey. Staff flit about in vintage attire — suspenders, dresses, red lipstick, and oxfords — prepping the bar and finalizing details.

 

KLAUS, KOL, and REBEKAH sit in a private corner booth, dressed like royalty from another era — sharp suits and elegance with a razor's edge. HOPE, now in a flapper-style dress that twirls when she spins, darts around the dance floor under SOOKIE’s watchful eye.

 

REBEKAH (smirking as she sips her blood-tini):

“I never thought I’d enjoy playing cocktail queen in a speakeasy.”

 

KOL (loosely unbuttoned collar, rolling a coin across his knuckles):

“It’s nice. Nostalgic. Reminds me of Berlin… before the bombs.”

 

KLAUS (watching HOPE dance, quietly):

“She wanted music and magic. She got both.”

 

The front doors open with a soft hiss as ERIC, PAM, JESSICA, and the Fangtasia staff step inside, all in their usual goth-chic attire — tight leather, fishnet, smudged eyeliner, and moody scowls. They freeze slightly, taking in the refined, candlelit class of Club M.

 

ERIC (looking around, quietly impressed):

“Charming. Like walking into a vampire’s memory.”

 

SOOKIE walks toward them from behind the bar, looking every bit the 1920s club mistress — dark red lipstick, sequined black gown, her hair done up in vintage waves.

 

SOOKIE (smiling, but firm):

“Glad you could make it. But if any of you want to work or walk around my club, you’ll have to look like you belong.”

 

PAM (deadpan):

“If you make me wear fringe, I’m setting something on fire.”

 

SOOKIE (without missing a beat):

“Then you can explain to Klaus why you ruined his daughter’s favorite club. Or better yet, explain it to Hope.”

 

HOPE skips up, stops beside SOOKIE, and narrows her eyes at Pam — five years old and already terrifying.

 

HOPE:

“No fire in my place. Or I’ll freeze you like Elsa did that guy in the forest.”

 

There’s a beat of stunned silence. PAM actually steps back.

 

JESSICA (quietly to Eric):

“She scares me a little.”

 

ERIC (nods, amused):

“She should.”

 

KLAUS (calling out from his booth):

“Play nice, everyone. This is the new normal — Club M is neutral ground. You don’t want to test the magic holding this place together.”

 

The Fangtasia staff reluctantly head to the back to change into provided 1920s attire hanging in the wardrobe closet — sequins, suspenders, bowties, and waistcoats included.

 

SOOKIE (to Eric):

“I meant what I said. Club M is open to all, but the rules are sacred. Keep them in line, and I’ll make sure they get the hours they need — maybe even tips.”

 

ERIC (finally smirking):

“You’re tougher than I remember.”

 

CLUB M – NIGHT – OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

 

The saxophone wails softly in the background as Club M radiates vintage opulence. Flapper dresses swirl and suspenders gleam under amber lighting. Laughter mingles with whispers, tension humming beneath the elegance. The supernatural air is thick — thrilling and dangerous.

 

At a small table near the back, AGENTS O’REILLY and MARTINEZ sit, both in club-appropriate attire but still stiff with the weight of their job.

 

MARTINEZ (sipping her drink, voice low):

"Still feels like we stepped into an alternate universe. Everybody's playing nice... too nice."

 

O’REILLY (scanning the room):

"They’re not playing — they’re following orders. Club has strict rules. No feeding, no glamoring, no violence. That Mikaelson woman? She means it."

 

MARTINEZ leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing as she spots something unusual near the stage.

 

MARTINEZ:

"Okay, but why is there a five-year-old in the club? Dressed to the nines, no minder in sight."

 

They glance over to where HOPE is perched on a velvet stool, sipping a cherry soda, with Rebekah standing protectively nearby. The girl watches the stage with wide, intelligent eyes.

 

O’REILLY (puzzled):

"No clue. Parents off-camera? Enchanted babysitter?"

 

MARTINEZ (frowning):

"In a bar? After midnight? I don’t care how weird this place is — that doesn’t add up."

 

O’REILLY (noting Rebekah):

"The blonde is also one of the Mikaelsons. That kid might be hers."

 

MARTINEZ (still watching Hope):

"Still doesn’t explain it. That girl’s too calm. Not scared, not bored. She’s… observing."

 

A moment of silence passes between them as the implications settle in.

 

MARTINEZ (softly):

"Whatever kind of child she is… she’s not ordinary."

 

The music transitions to a smooth jazz rendition of “Blue Skies” as ERIC, PAM, and JESSICA enter the room with a crew of Fangtasia staff — dressed sharp, vintage, and freshly polished. Eric’s eyes immediately find Sookie.

 

At the bar, THALIA gives a sharp nod, barely tolerating the newcomers. Sookie waves them over with casual authority, pointing them toward their assigned sections.

 

MARTINEZ (noticing the tension):

"That’s a dynamic power shift. Looks like MIkaelson is in charge now."

 

O’REILLY:

"She owns the club. But I think she owns a lot more than that."

 

As the night deepens, the club glitters brighter, but beneath the glamor, the agents can feel it — something old, and dangerous, and watching.

 

The club is in full swing. Music, laughter, and magic swirl through the air. But at a quiet corner table, Agents O’REILLY and MARTINEZ are still watching, still taking mental notes — until a shadow falls over them.

 

KLAUS (O.S., voice smooth and dangerous):

"Forgive the interruption… but you two have been watching more than you're drinking."

 

They look up. KLAUS MIKAELSON stands before them — sharply dressed, disarmingly calm. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

O’REILLY (cautious):

"Just admiring the ambiance."

 

KLAUS (chuckling):

"Charming. But let’s not waste time with games. You’re not here for the ambiance or the music. You’re federal agents. I can smell the bureaucracy on you."

 

Martinez stiffens, hand subtly drifting toward her purse.

 

KLAUS (smile tightening):

"Easy now. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

 

MARTINEZ (measured):

"Alright. You’ve got us. We're here... observing."

 

KLAUS (leaning in slightly):

"Observing who exactly? Sookie? My family? Or that little girl you haven’t stopped glancing at like she wandered into the wrong fairy tale?"

 

O’Reilly remains silent, but his eyes meet Klaus’s. He doesn’t blink.

 

O’REILLY:

"We’re here because people are disappearing. Because vampires are openly walking around in speakeasies with 1920s dress codes. Because humans are in danger and no one at HQ can explain what the hell’s happening."

 

KLAUS (smiling again, amused):

"People are always disappearing, Agent. And humans are only in danger when they forget their place."

 

A tense silence. Then Klaus straightens his cuffs, eyes flicking between them.

 

KLAUS (calmly):

"Sookie’s club is under ancient protection. You’d do well to tread carefully. You might think you’re hunting predators... but in here, you’re not the top of the food chain."

 

He pauses, voice dropping just enough to chill the blood.

 

KLAUS:

"But you’re welcome to enjoy the show. Just remember — some myths are real. And some of us bite back."

 

With a charming nod, Klaus turns and walks away, vanishing into the crowd like smoke.

 

MARTINEZ (after a beat, quietly):

"That man is a walking red flag."

 

O’REILLY (grim):

"He’s not a man."

 

Martinez exhales slowly, glancing around the club again. The lights and vintage charm suddenly feel more like a mask than a theme.

 

MARTINEZ (quietly):

"So that’s Klaus Mikaelson. Charming psychopath in a three-piece suit."

 

O’REILLY (grim):

"And very aware of who we are."

 

Martinez opens her secure tablet under the table, low light from the screen glowing faintly on her face. She taps through encrypted files — pulling up footage and satellite captures from the incident involving Bill Compton and Russell Edgington.

 

MARTINEZ:

"Let’s not forget why we’re here. Two vampires — older than America — went on a rampage. Torn apart over a dozen humans, two cops, and half a vampire coven in Baton Rouge. And they were stopped by one man. One thing."

 

She pulls up a blurry satellite image: a tall figure standing amidst flaming wreckage. Charred bodies. Ripped limbs. Trails of ash.

 

O’REILLY:

"Mikael. No last name. No records. Just rumors. The only consistent thing in every report? He doesn’t just kill vampires… he erases them."

 

MARTINEZ:

"HQ flagged him as a Code Black entity. Doesn’t belong to any registry, no known coven, no allegiance. He took out Bill and Russell like they were toys."

 

O’REILLY (looking around the club):

"And this place? Everyone acts like they’re scared of Sookie MIkaelson, but the moment she mentioned ‘Mikael,’ I saw three vamps stop breathing."

 

MARTINEZ:

"One little girl running around here calls Klaus ‘Dad.’ and calls Sookie ‘Big Sis.’ And Mikael? You think he’s coming here."

 

O’Reilly leans back in his seat, jaw tight, voice low.

 

O’REILLY:

"If this family turns hostile, we’re not looking at a vampire problem anymore. We’re looking at extinction-level power."

 

Martinez locks eyes with him.

 

MARTINEZ:

"Then we better hope Klaus was serious when he said we were welcome to enjoy the show. Because we’re already part of it."

 

FARMHOUSE – the next night

 

The birthday party is in full swing. Guests are mingling, laughing, and enjoying the food and drink. The large dining room is filled with the warmth of the occasion—Hope’s giggles as she plays with her new toys, Rebekah watching over her with a fond smile. Klaus is standing near the head of the table, quietly watching the scene unfold, his proud gaze never leaving his daughter.

 

MIKAEL enters, his presence still commanding, but there’s no hostility in his gaze. He looks around, his eyes softening as he watches Hope. There’s a subtle fondness that shows in his expression when he sees her, a rare, almost tender side of the ancient vampire.

 

Mikael (smiling softly, voice gruff but affectionate):

"Hope... you’ve grown so quickly." His voice is thick with an emotion that’s more pride than anything else. "I hardly recognize you anymore."

 

HOPE runs up to him, her eyes bright with excitement.

 

HOPE (yelling, as she runs into his arms):

"Grandpa Mikael!"

 

Mikael smiles, his hand gently lifting her and holding her close. The room watches, some even exchanging glances at the sight of the once-feared vampire hunter showing affection to his granddaughter.

 

MIKAEL (quietly to Hope):

"You are a true marvel, little one. Your father’s blood runs strong in you."

 

Klaus watches them carefully, an unreadable look on his face, but there’s no jealousy or anger. Just a subtle acknowledgment of Mikael's bond with his granddaughter.

 

KLAUS (softly, with a hint of a smile):

"She takes after her mother, as well. The best parts of both of us."

 

MIKAEL (glancing at Klaus, his voice low but warm):

"I’ve no doubt. She is special, Klaus. She will be a force, just like you."

 

FREYA (approaching the group, smiling as she watches Mikael and Hope):

"You’ve always had a way with children, father. It’s good to see you like this."

 

DAVINIA (standing beside Freya, joining in):

"Yes, Klaus. Your father seems... different, doesn’t he?" Her eyes flicker towards Mikael, but there’s no malice in her tone.

 

KLAUS (a slight chuckle):

"Different? I suppose time does that to a man."

 

The conversation is interrupted by Sookie, who approaches the group with a soft smile. She’s watching Hope, who’s still happily nestled in Mikael’s arms.

 

SOOKIE (gently):

"I’m glad you could make it, Mikael. Hope is certainly fortunate to have you here."

 

MIKAEL (his gaze softens even more when looking at Sookie, a rare warmth in his eyes):

"She is. And I owe you my gratitude, Sookie. For bringing the family together, for keeping things peaceful... for giving Hope a safe place to be a child."

 

Sookie smiles, appreciating the sincerity in his words.

 

SOOKIE (with a smile):

"It’s an honor, really. I’m just glad I could help make Hope’s birthday special. After everything that’s happened, it’s nice to have some peace, even if it’s only for a night."

 

MIKAEL (with a small chuckle):

"Peace is fleeting, but moments like this should be cherished." He looks down at Hope, who’s now playing with a new toy. "She deserves this."

 

Meanwhile, the other guests are keeping a polite distance, watching the interaction between Mikael and his family. The atmosphere is a little charged, but for the most part, everyone is on their best behavior. The party carries on, with food, drink, and music, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of tension—mainly from Mikael's presence, but also from the knowledge that the world outside still isn’t as peaceful as this night might seem.

 

The party is in full swing, but there’s a quiet sense of unease. Guests continue to mingle, each with their own intentions, but the atmosphere is tight-knit—family and powerful allies together under one roof.

 

ERIC, still as handsome as ever but with an air of discomfort as he's still getting used to the “family atmosphere.” He’s sipping on a glass of blood, occasionally looking over at Sookie with a sidelong glance, but he keeps his distance, clearly not quite at ease in this more relaxed environment. His sharp gaze scans the room, assessing every movement with the caution of someone who knows too much.

 

GODRIC stands near the window, his expression thoughtful. Unlike Eric, he’s more comfortable in this moment. He watches Mikael with a sense of knowing. Despite their complicated past, there’s a calmness to Godric that comes with age and wisdom. He’s in deep conversation with Thalia, who’s beside him, giving a rare smile as they discuss the more technical aspects of Club M's operations.

 

PAM, always composed, is talking animatedly with Jessica. They seem to be discussing the finer points of managing a club like Club M, and the conversation occasionally drifts into how Sookie runs the place like clockwork. Jessica, still new to the whole supernatural “family,” seems a bit out of her element but is eager to learn. Her usual shyness is pushed aside by Pam’s charismatic confidence.

 

At the bar, SARAH NEWLIN is trying her best to blend in, sipping a glass of blood as she watches the scene around her, obviously uncomfortable among so many vampires. She’s no longer the same woman who once targeted them—her transformation over time has softened her, but she still carries a deep-seated unease.

 

JASON has been drinking a little too much. He’s trying to keep it together, but it’s clear that the supernatural world is something he’ll never fully get used to. He's chatting with Kol and Rebekah, but his mind often drifts back to Sookie, still unsure about her new relationships, especially with Eric.

 

KOL is laughing in the corner with Rebekah, clearly enjoying himself, though his eyes are always watching. Rebekah’s laughter is light, a stark contrast to the weight of the history that surrounds her family. She’s holding Hope, who seems delighted in her arms, her tiny hands reaching up to touch her aunt’s face.

 

Meanwhile, Mikael occasionally looks toward Klaus with a stern gaze, but his face softens again when he watches Hope interact with the other children at the party. He’s careful to maintain his distance, but there's a quiet approval in the way he observes the family dynamics.

 

FARMHOUSE Outside the property

 

A few hundred yards away from the farmhouse, tucked in the shadows, the Federal agents, O’Reilly and Martinez, are parked in their car, observing the festivities inside the farmhouse. They’ve been watching this place for hours, and neither of them has spoken much since they arrived. The weight of the task ahead hangs between them like a heavy fog.

 

O’REILLY (quietly, staring out the window):

“I don’t know how much longer we can sit here. This whole thing feels like a setup.”

 

MARTINEZ (nodding but focused on the farmhouse):

“Yeah, but we have to wait. Headquarters wants intel on Mikael and those Mikaelsons. They’re the key.”

 

She pauses for a moment, considering the information they’ve gathered from earlier. She leans forward, tapping her fingers on the dashboard.

 

MARTINEZ (almost to herself):

“We've seen them rip through vampires like they were nothing. And we know Mikael’s not just some old guy...he’s the one who hunted them for centuries.”

 

O’REILLY (grimacing):

“This whole family... it doesn’t feel right. Vampires, witches... hybrids... it’s all one big mess. And there’s something going on with Sookie too, don’t forget. She's involved with them.”

 

MARTINEZ (narrowing her eyes):

“We need to get in there. If anything happens, we’re the first line of defense.”

 

O’REILLY (glancing at her):

“We’re not going in there unless we have confirmation. This... this could get us killed.”

 

A beat of silence hangs between them. They're both calculating the risk. Finally, O’Reilly gives a small, resigned nod.

 

O’REILLY:

“We can’t let the Mikaelsons get away with this. We’ve got enough evidence to put them on the map. We’ll play it smart, wait for the right time.”

 

Martinez’s gaze flicks back to the farmhouse, and her expression hardens. There’s a flicker of something—uncertainty?—but it vanishes quickly.

 

MARTINEZ:

“We’ll do what we have to. But make no mistake, Mikael is our target. He’s the key. The others? They’re just his family. We can deal with them later.”

 

The tension between them is palpable. They both know the stakes, but neither of them is entirely comfortable with the looming decision they’ll soon have to make.

 

Back inside the farmhouse, the party continues, but the air is thick with unspoken tension. The Mikaelsons and their closest allies exchange pleasantries and laughter, but everyone is aware that danger could be just around the corner. The agents may be a few hundred yards away, but their presence looms over everything. And no one knows that better than Sookie, who continues to watch the guests, ever aware of the shadows that exist outside the farmhouse walls.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 23: Double Trouble

Summary:

The Feds meet their Maker, and Hope make a surprise visit

Notes:

I own nothing, here's a new chapter, Enjoy.

Farmhouse

The party had reached its peak. Laughter echoed through the farmhouse, mingling with the faint sounds of music drifting from the vintage radio in the corner. Children chased each other across the living room, weaving between vampires, hybrids, and witches without a care in the world.

 

At the center of it all was Hope Mikaelson, beaming with joy in a twirl-ready forest green dress, her curls bouncing as she spun around with Rebekah and Jessica trailing behind her with playful groans.

 

Then the lights dimmed just slightly, and all eyes turned toward the kitchen.

 

Freya stepped out holding a large cake on a silver tray, her magic flickering just subtly around her fingers to keep the frosting from melting under the candlelight.

 

The cake was a masterpiece of love and magic—frosted in pale blue and silver, with tiny hand-painted wolves running along the sides in icing. Six golden candles flickered on top, their light dancing across Hope’s wide eyes.

 

Freya (grinning):

“Alright, birthday girl. You ready?”

 

Hope clapped excitedly and climbed onto the bench in front of the table. The room hushed, all gathered to celebrate the miracle child—the daughter of a hybrid, the future of multiple bloodlines, and the beating heart of this strange and powerful family.

 

Freya set the cake down gently in front of her, and Hope leaned forward, squeezing her eyes shut as she made her wish.

 

A moment passed. Then she blew out the candles in one strong, determined puff.

 

Applause erupted around the room.

 

Klaus stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. His voice was soft, low enough just for her to hear.

 

Klaus:

“Whatever you wished for, sweetheart... I’ll make sure it comes true.”

 

Kol chimed in from the other side of the table, cheeky as ever.

 

Kol:

“Unless she wished for a unicorn, in which case we may have to settle for a hybrid pony.”

 

Everyone laughed.

 

Across the room, Eric Northman watched, leaning against the fireplace mantle with Pam and Godric nearby. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between awe and quiet calculation. Hope Mikaelson was more than just a child. She was power wrapped in innocence. And that made her dangerous.

 

Still, there was something about the sight of her blowing out birthday candles like any ordinary little girl that softened even Eric’s usually guarded heart.

 

Meanwhile, outside the farmhouse...

 

UNMARKED CAR – EDGE OF PROPERTY

 

Agents O'Reilly and Martinez sat in silence, the glow of the farmhouse windows flickering in the distance. The sound of laughter and clapping echoed faintly even from where they sat.

 

O’Reilly (glancing at the cake inside through binoculars):

“Tell me that’s not a damn birthday party.”

 

Martinez (stone-faced):

“For a kid. A kid, O’Reilly. Who let a five-year-old into a club full of vampires and ancient monsters... and now they’re throwing her a party like this is all normal.”

 

O’Reilly lowered the binoculars, tension creeping into his voice.

 

O’Reilly:

“There’s nothing normal about that little girl. You saw the files. Klaus’s daughter. Witch, vampire, werewolf hybrid. That’s a biological WMD with curly hair.”

 

Martinez:

“Yeah... and every creature in that house would die before letting anything happen to her.”

 

They exchanged a look—one of quiet unease and reluctant respect. Then they went back to watching.

 

Inside, the party raged on. And Hope Mikaelson, the center of it all, didn’t have a clue that the world outside was watching her every move.

The wind had picked up, whispering through the trees with an eerie edge. Agents O'Reilly and Martinez sat tensely in the unmarked black sedan, eyes fixed on the glowing farmhouse.

 

A distant rumble of thunder echoed across the sky, followed by a flash of lightning that bathed the field in stark white for just a second. Then darkness again—until the wind stilled, and the air suddenly felt wrong.

 

A pulse of magic shimmered around the car, a flicker like heat rising off asphalt.

 

Martinez (narrowing her eyes):

“Did you see that?”

 

O'Reilly reached for his sidearm instinctively, just as another flash of lightning illuminated a figure standing directly in front of the car—a young woman, no more than eighteen, her golden curls whipping around her face in the windless air. She looked familiar... hauntingly so.

 

The headlights flickered wildly, then died.

 

O'Reilly (whispering):

“What the hell...?”

 

The girl slowly raised one hand. Her fingers curled in a sharp, deliberate motion.

 

CRACK.

 

Both agents jerked violently, their eyes wide in shock and pain as their necks snapped simultaneously, bodies going limp in their seats.

 

As they slumped forward, the strange young woman whispered a spell in an ancient dialect, her voice layered with unnatural echoes. The air around the car hummed, then with a sudden pop and shimmer of blue light, the vehicle vanished, teleported directly to the nearest federal field office, bodies and all.

 

The field went still once more, save for the soft crunch of boots on gravel as the girl walked up the long driveway toward the farmhouse.

 

FARMHOUSE – MOMENTS LATER

 

Klaus opened the front door, having sensed something that disturbed even his ancient soul. He looked down at the blonde stranger with furrowed brows, his stance immediately defensive.

 

She stood calmly, confidently. A maturity in her eyes far beyond her youthful appearance. Power radiated off of her in waves.

 

Klaus (eyes narrowing):

“Who are you?”

 

The girl gave a soft smile, one full of pain, joy, and a thousand unsaid things.

 

Future Hope:

“Hello, Dad. It’s me… Hope.”

 

FEDERAL FIELD OFFICE – EVIDENCE GARAGE

 

The sleek black sedan that once belonged to Agents O’Reilly and Martinez now sits in the middle of a sterile, brightly lit garage, surrounded by federal technicians and senior agents. Its sudden appearance inside a secure perimeter has already triggered a full-scale investigation.

 

Agent Hawkins, a grim-faced man in his early 50s, stands at the front of the car. He glances at the shattered side windows and the limp bodies still inside—necks twisted unnaturally.

 

Tech Agent Ramirez steps away from a rolling diagnostics cart, a hard drive in hand.

 

Ramirez:

“Dash cam was still recording when the vehicle appeared. It’s… you should see this, sir.”

 

Hawkins nods. Ramirez inserts the drive into a terminal and brings up the footage on a wall-mounted monitor.

 

DASH CAM FOOTAGE – NIGHT

 

The grainy black-and-white video shows O’Reilly and Martinez sitting in the car, parked just off a dirt road. Lightning flashes. Then the static flickers, and something flickers in front of the camera.

 

Then she appears.

 

A teenage girl, maybe eighteen, standing in the headlights with glowing eyes and storm-charged power rippling off her skin.

 

They watch in stunned silence as she lifts her hand… twists it…

 

Both agents spasm and fall, dead, their necks snapped with impossible precision.

 

The girl leans forward slightly, whispering words the mic can’t catch. A wave of heat distorts the footage—and then the video warps as the entire frame bends, and the next moment, the interior of the Field Office garage appears onscreen, captured from the same camera—the moment the car arrived here by teleportation.

 

The screen freezes on the girl’s face—her eyes still glowing faintly in the dark.

 

Hawkins (quietly):

“Rewind. Freeze it… there. Zoom in.”

 

The frame zooms on the girl’s face.

 

Ramirez inhales sharply.

 

Ramirez:

“Sir… she looks almost exactly like the little girl from the club. The one the agents saw. But older. A lot older.”

 

Hawkins (gritting his teeth):

“Get me everything. Bloodline, magical signature, birth records—anything tied to the Mikaelsons or that child.”

 

He stares at the monitor a long moment.

 

Hawkins (low):

“She just declared war. And I want to know exactly what we’re up against.”

 

SOOKIE’S FARMHOUSE – BACKYARD

 

The birthday party is in full swing under twinkling fairy lights and floating orbs of soft golden magic. The cake has been cut, gifts opened, and laughter echoing across the field.

 

Now, the celebration has... paused.

 

At the picnic table under the big oak, Future Hope, about 18 years old, sits calmly with Little Hope, age 6, curled up in her lap with a messy face full of frosting, content and unaware of the temporal paradox she’s become part of.

 

Klaus, visibly tense, stands behind her with his arms folded while Kol, Rebekah, and Freya form a loose half-circle, watching closely.

 

Sookie, sitting beside them with narrowed eyes, shifts protectively between the child and the new arrival. Jason, Thalia, and even Sarah Newlin linger nearby, uncertain but alert.

 

FUTURE HOPE (softly, to Little Hope)

"Enjoy your cake, bug. You’ve got a lot ahead of you."

 

She looks up, addressing the gathered immortals.

 

FUTURE HOPE

"The Ancestors sent me. The witches of New Orleans—those still loyal to the old ways—pulled me back. Said if I didn’t step in, this whole reality cracks like glass. And the two men responsible?"

 

(She meets Klaus’s and Mikael’s eyes in turn)

 

"...You."

 

MIKAEL, usually all cold steel and warrior’s pride, now studies her with the deep, quiet curiosity of a grandfather, as if seeing a dream come alive.

 

FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – MOMENTS LATER

 

Pam leans on a plush settee, sipping a glass of blood-wine from Club M's stash. Eric paces behind her, fangs not bared but definitely twitching with annoyance.

 

ERIC (grumbling)

"A girl from the future. The toddler is hugging her older self. Mikael’s handing out gifts. And the witches sent her back to stop... something. Am I the only one who thinks this entire family is mad?"

 

PAM (dryly)

"Darling, you were glamoured by a fairy, once. Let’s not throw stones. But yes—these people are certifiably insane."

 

ERIC (sighing)

"Yet strangely effective."

 

FARMHOUSE – CIRCLE OF SALT

 

Freya stands in a protective circle inscribed with ancient Norse runes. Future Hope stands still at its center, calm and unafraid. Freya chants under her breath, golden magic lacing through her fingers.

 

The spell culminates in a flash of violet light.

 

Freya exhales, eyes wide.

 

FREYA (stunned)

"It’s her. Same aura. Same bloodline markers. She’s Hope Mikaelson—twelve years older. And she’s been fused with some kind of... protective temporal magic. Whatever brought her here wasn’t light or simple."

 

KLAUS (low)

"Then she’s telling the truth."

 

FUTURE HOPE

"I wish I wasn’t. But I’m here to stop something you and Mikael are about to do. Something that turns this world upside down.

 

SOOKIE’S FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM

 

Everyone has shifted inside after Freya confirmed Future Hope’s identity. The room is crowded with Originals, vampires, and the growing extended family. Little Hope is curled up in Jason’s lap now, distracted by her new doll.

 

Future Hope stands calmly in front of the fireplace, her hands behind her back like a soldier reporting for duty.

 

FUTURE HOPE (matter-of-factly)

"Two federal agents were watching the house tonight from the edge of the property. They’re dead."

 

The room freezes. Even Kol stops chewing his blood-drenched slice of birthday cake.

 

KLAUS (dangerous calm)

"You killed two humans on my land. Why?"

 

FUTURE HOPE (unfazed)

"Because their deaths had to happen. If I’m going to stop the war you and Grandfather are about to start, they couldn’t leave with what they saw. This is bigger than them."

 

DAVINIA (tense)

"You killed federal agents at a child’s birthday party."

 

FUTURE HOPE (shrugs)

"They were watching the birthday party from a car in the dark. I did what I had to do. Clean, fast, and I sent the car to the nearest federal building. No mess."

 

SOOKIE (half-whisper)

"War? What kind of war?"

 

FUTURE HOPE

"The kind that starts with blood and ends with fire and ashes. And it all begins right here… unless I stop it."

 

A heavy silence settles.

 

FUTURE HOPE (suddenly chipper)

"But enough about that! Where are my two favorite nieces?"

 

DAVINIA and SOOKIE exchange a confused glance.

 

DAVINIA

"Nieces?"

 

FUTURE HOPE squints at both of them, then smirks when she sees Davinia’s rounded belly.

 

FUTURE HOPE (pointing, teasing)

"Okay, you’re obviously pregnant now. That’s one mystery solved."

 

Then she turns to Sookie, only to stop and blink.

 

FUTURE HOPE (to herself)

"...Oh. Not yet. Right. Not born yet."

 

Realizing what she’s just revealed, she winces, then grins awkwardly at Sookie.

 

FUTURE HOPE (cheerfully lying)

"Never mind! Spoilers! Doesn’t matter."

 

SOOKIE (narrowing her eyes)

"...Did you just say I’m gonna—?"

 

FUTURE HOPE (talking fast)

"Anyway! The cake was amazing. Did you know I still remember this party? Best one I ever had. Well, except the part where I time-traveled and assassinated two people. But hey, balance, right?"

 

Everyone is too stunned to respond.

 

ERIC (muttering to Pam)

"I change my mind. They’re not mad. They’re apocalyptic."

 

PAM (smirking)

"And we’ve been invited to the table."

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 24: The Hollow

Summary:

We learn why future Hope is here

Notes:

Sorry I didn't post this yesterday but I had an eye appointment and afterwards I couldn't focus on my computer screen long enough to finish off the chapter. I own nothing, Enjoy.

SOOKIE’S FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT

 

The birthday cake has been reduced to crumbs and frosting smears. Little Hope is now asleep in Davinia’s arms, and most of the guests have settled into quieter conversation. Future Hope stands near the mantle, her expression serious again.

 

FUTURE HOPE

"There’s something else. The real reason I’m here."

 

Everyone looks up. Freya straightens from the spellbook she’d been thumbing through. Klaus narrows his eyes. Sookie sits up on the couch beside Kol, suddenly tense.

 

FUTURE HOPE (grimly)

"I’m looking for something—or someone—called the Hollow."

 

Silence falls.

 

FREYA (cautiously)

"The Hollow… That name hasn't been spoken in centuries. It’s the spirit of a dead witch. Pure malevolence."

 

FUTURE HOPE (nods)

"And it can possess anyone. Vampires. Witches. Humans. Originals. It feeds on power and twists everything it touches. In my timeline, it corrupted the strongest among us and used them to tear everything apart."

 

KLAUS (growling)

"Who did it take?"

 

FUTURE HOPE (shakes her head)

"I don’t know… not yet. That’s the problem. All I know is that in this time, it’s hiding inside a federal agent. It’s using them to watch us, to influence events—to spark the war I came here to stop."

 

SOOKIE (shocked)

"You’re telling me one of those agents was possessed by some evil ghost witch?"

 

FUTURE HOPE

"One of them, maybe. Or someone else in the system. I killed two tonight because I couldn’t take the risk. But the Hollow is still out there, biding its time."

 

FREYA (eyes wide)

"And if it takes someone like Mikael or… one of us…"

 

FUTURE HOPE (quietly)

"It already has in my time."

 

A grim beat. Klaus clenches his jaw, pacing.

 

KLAUS

"Then we find it. And we end it. Before it corrupts anyone else."

 

PAM (to Eric, sotto voce)

"A dead witch playing body-snatcher inside a fed? Yeah, sure, totally normal Tuesday."

 

ERIC (deadpan)

"This family makes Armageddon look quaint."

The room remains heavy with tension after the mention of the Hollow. Future Hope is standing tall, arms crossed, a strange maturity in her presence that commands the space despite her young age. Eric stands a few feet away, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

 

ERIC (coolly)

"You talk like a war general. But you’re still just a child. Or you were. Hard to keep track in this madhouse."

 

FUTURE HOPE (smirking)

"Time does strange things when your soul’s been tethered to ancient magic."

 

Pam leans against the wall, arms folded, unimpressed.

 

PAM

"She’s definitely a Mikaelson. The dramatic speeches, the supernatural flexing. What’s next—fireworks and blood rites?"

 

JESSICA (softly, curious)

"You killed two federal agents like it was nothing. That… doesn’t feel like the girl sitting on Sookie’s lap earlier."

 

FUTURE HOPE (tilts her head)

"That version of me will grow up under different circumstances. But me? I was raised by war. Hunted by monsters. Made into one."

 

She looks directly at Eric now. Her voice lowers, almost teasing.

 

FUTURE HOPE

"What is it, Uncle? Still scared of me?"

 

Suddenly, her eyes flash—glow golden-bright for a heartbeat, her hybrid werewolf side flickering through like a predator barely held in check. Fangs extend for just a second before she reins it back in with ease. Eric instinctively shifts his stance. Pam stiffens. Jessica blinks, caught off-guard.

 

ERIC (flatly)

"I don’t scare easily."

 

FUTURE HOPE (smiling)

"No… but you should be cautious. I’m not the little girl you imagined carrying on your shoulders while feeding on tourists."

 

PAM (murmurs to Jessica)

"Yep. Definitely a Mikaelson. And definitely terrifying."

 

JESSICA (half-whispers)

"But she’s still trying to save people. That counts for something… right?"

 

KLAUS (from the background, with a proud grin)

"She’s my daughter. Of course she’s terrifying and trying to save the world. Comes with the bloodline."

 

Future Hope finally sits back down, placing a calming hand on her younger self’s shoulder.

 

FUTURE HOPE (softer)

"I didn’t come here to fight you. Any of you. But the Hollow will. And when it does… you’ll need me."

 

The adults around her exchange uneasy glances, the weight of what’s to come settling like fog over the farmhouse.

 

FEDERAL OPERATIONS BUILDING

 

The cold fluorescent lights hum overhead. Inside a secured intelligence wing, a group of federal agents move quickly between desks, manila folders, and glowing computer screens. Two agents speak in hushed tones over a surveillance video of the farmhouse, paused on the frame where Future Hope stands by the agents' car.

 

AGENT TURNER (male, early 40s)

"Playback ends there. No visual distortion, no camera tampering. Just... death."

 

AGENT LI (female, late 30s)

"We still don’t know who she is, or how she did it."

 

VOICE (O.S.)

"You’re both wasting time."

 

The agents look up. A man stands in the doorway, tall and composed, wearing a dark suit with no visible ID. His eyes have a strange sheen to them—too calm, too knowing.

 

AGENT TURNER

"Director Wallace. We’ve flagged the incident for internal inquiry. Until then, it’s off the books."

 

WALLACE (smiling thinly)

"I’ll handle it from here. You two are reassigned."

 

AGENT LI

"Sir, with respect—"

 

WALLACE (interrupting, sharper)

"You’re dismissed."

 

The two agents glance at one another, uneasy. But they nod and leave.

 

SECURE BRIEFING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

 

Wallace closes the door, locks it. The room darkens slightly. He approaches the wall-length mirror, but his reflection does not match his movements. His eyes flash a deep, eerie cobalt blue. Shadows crawl unnaturally behind him.

 

THE HOLLOW (V.O., from Wallace’s mouth, distorted)

"The child has come too soon. She will meddle. But no matter. This time, the bloodline will betray itself, and she will be mine."

 

The lights flicker. For a moment, the reflection in the mirror isn’t Wallace—it’s a female form wreathed in flickering spectral flame, lips curled in a sinister smile.

 

THE HOLLOW (V.O.)

"Let them gather. Let them scheme. The more they fight fate... the closer they come to sealing it."

 

The flames vanish. Wallace straightens his tie, face blank again, and exits the room.

 

FARMHOUSE

 

The living room buzzes with a quiet tension. Future HOPE sits at the table, young Hope asleep on the couch with a blanket draped over her. Freya, Davinia, Sookie, Klaus, Mikael, and Kol gather around as Hope unrolls a worn, enchanted parchment.

 

FREYA

(reading the list aloud)

“Blood of a tribrid born under a lunar eclipse… ash from a phoenix tree… a scale from a living dragon… the bone of a Hollow’s first host…”

 

PAM

(flatly)

Okay, pause. A dragon scale? What’s next—hair from a unicorn’s ass?

 

JESSICA

(leans in)

I thought phoenix trees were just poetic metaphors.

 

FUTURE HOPE

(dead serious)

They’re real. Extremely rare. And the scale—there’s a dragon sleeping in the Carpathians. We only need one.

 

She looks around the room, deadly calm.

 

FUTURE HOPE (CONT’D)

We’re not making a weapon to kill a vampire. We’re creating something that can destroy a spirit older than any of us, one that feeds on power and wears people like skin.

 

KLAUS

(quietly, studying her)

You’ve already fought it, haven’t you?

 

Hope nods, her eyes hardening.

 

FUTURE HOPE

Yes. And I lost people I loved because I underestimated it. Not this time.

 

FREYA

(tapping the parchment)

I’ll start working on tracking these ingredients. Some of this… might require deals we’d rather avoid.

 

Sookie

(counts on her fingers)

Alright—so we need a dragon scale, phoenix ash, spirit bone, and blood… what’s the catch?

 

FUTURE HOPE

One of those ingredients comes with a price that’ll have to be paid in blood.

 

PAM

(grimly amused)

Of course it does. Wouldn’t be a Mikaelson family recipe without blood and tragedy.

 

Everyone exchanges wary looks. The stakes have just become real.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions, and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 25: A Plan of attack

Summary:

Our hero's make a plan to fight the Hollow

Notes:

I own nothing. Sorry I've had a crazy week and sorry of the super short chapter. Enjoy

FARMHOUSE – BASEMENT SPELL ROOM – NIGHT

 

The air is thick with incense and glowing sigils drawn across the floor in chalk and bloodroot. Candles flicker in a circle, casting wavering light on the faces of the witches at the center.

 

FREYA kneels beside a large grimoire, chanting in Old Norse.

 

DAVINIA carefully pours a glowing mixture of crushed herbs and ash into a bronze bowl.

 

In the center, FUTURE HOPE sits cross-legged, holding YOUNG HOPE's hands as their magic pulses together—gold and blue energy weaving between them.

 

The bowl sparks violently, and a holographic map of the world bursts up from the bowl in green-blue light, with shimmering symbols and glowing dots marking rare items across continents.

 

KLAUS, standing in the background with arms crossed, watches with a protective edge, his jaw tight.

 

SOOKIE, by his side, keeps a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes on the children, proud and worried at the same time.

 

ERIC, leaning casually against the wall, raises an eyebrow as the map flickers.

 

ERIC

(grimacing)

Let me guess—at least one of those items is located inside an active volcano, another guarded by a cult, and the third is at the bottom of the Atlantic?

 

FUTURE HOPE

(grinning without looking at him)

Only two of those. The volcano and the cult.

 

YOUNG HOPE

(to Freya, excited)

That one in South America is glowing the brightest!

 

FREYA

That’s the Dragon Scale. It’s reacting strongest to your blood, Hope.

 

DAVINIA

And this one in Iceland… that’s the Ember Crystal. It hasn’t been seen in 400 years.

 

ERIC

(sarcastic)

Fantastic. So a scavenger hunt with stakes, lava, and probably curses. Can’t wait.

 

KLAUS

(mutters)

We’ve faced worse. At least this time we have a cheat sheet… and two Hopes.

 

SOOKIE

(smiling faintly)

I’m just glad they aren’t fighting over toys yet.

 

FUTURE HOPE

(looks up, eyes glowing faintly)

Give it time.

 

The glowing map pulses once, then embeds the symbols into parchment that Freya lifts reverently.

 

FREYA

Now we know what we need. Getting them… that’s where it gets dangerous.

 

KLAUS

Good. I was starting to get bored.

 

ERIC

Of course you were.

 

DAVINIA

We’ll need teams.

 

FUTURE HOPE

And speed. The Hollow won't wait forever to make its move.

 

As the flames flicker brighter, casting long shadows against the stone walls, the battle lines begin to form.

FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT

 

Maps, books, and enchanted scrolls cover the long farmhouse table. Freya’s parchment with the glowing item markers lies in the center like a war map. Everyone is gathered: Klaus, Freya, Sookie, Eric, Future Hope, Young Hope, Pam, Jessica, Elijah, and Mikael.

 

The atmosphere is tense but focused.

 

FREYA

(pointing at the map)

Three items. Three locations. We split into teams. We move now.

 

KLAUS

(leans over the table)

Freya, Little Hope and I will take the Ember Crystal. It’s buried in a cave system in Iceland. Harsh conditions, but familiar terrain for us.

 

SOOKIE

What about the Dragon Scale?

 

FUTURE HOPE

That one’s in the Amazon Basin. Old shamanic ruins, and a spirit ward that only someone with hybrid magic can pass through.

 

ERIC

(grinning dryly)

Sounds like my kind of vacation. Sookie, you and I take that one—with the older, slightly more sarcastic Hope.

 

SOOKIE

(nods)

We’ve got this.

 

FREYA

(reading from the parchment)

The third item is the Veil Stone. Last seen in the ruins beneath the Black Forest in Germany. Warded and buried under layers of illusion and shadow.

 

PAM

(grinning)

Shadowy ruins? Please. I already have the wardrobe for it.

 

JESSICA

(smirks)

Pam, not everything is a vampire fashion show.

 

MIKAEL

(cutting in)

I’m going with you. That place is older than most of our enemies. You’ll need someone who’s walked its halls before.

 

ELIJAH

(stepping forward, buttoning his jacket)

Then we move at once. No hesitation. No distractions. We retrieve the items and return before the Hollow suspects anything.

 

FREYA

(serious)

Remember—these artifacts are volatile. Don’t engage with anyone or anything unless absolutely necessary.

 

YOUNG HOPE

(to Future Hope)

What if the Hollow finds one of us?

 

FUTURE HOPE

(locks eyes with her younger self)

Then run. If I’m not there… go to Freya. She knows what to do.

 

A silent understanding passes around the room. War is coming. But this is their first strike.

 

KLAUS

(grabbing his coat)

Let’s bring home the pieces, and end this before it starts.

 

ERIC

(smirks at Klaus)

Try not to cause an international incident.

 

KLAUS

Too late.

 

As the teams split, grabbing weapons, bags, and magical gear, the farmhouse begins to empty.

 

Three missions. One goal.

 

Stop the Hollow.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome

Chapter 26: Shadows Beneath the Trees

Summary:

Mikael, Pam and Jessica go after the Veil Stone

Notes:

I own Nothing, Here's the next chapter, Enjoy

BLACK FOREST – GERMANY – NIGHT

 

The forest is a dense, tangled sprawl of towering pines and twisted undergrowth. The moonlight struggles to pierce the thick canopy, casting everything in a cold, bluish haze.

 

PAM, dressed in a sleek black leather coat and combat boots, steps lightly over the uneven terrain, her heels clicking softly on moss-covered stones. The wind howls low between the ancient trees, almost like it’s whispering secrets. Pam rolls her eyes as her hair catches on another branch.

 

PAM

(flatly)

Ruins in a haunted forest. Couldn’t we just raid a museum like normal people?

 

JESSICA, trailing behind, looks far less enthused. Her boots are already muddy, and she keeps swatting away low-hanging branches.

 

JESSICA

(grumbling)

You’d think the supernatural world would’ve invented a better GPS by now.

 

PAM

(grumbling)

Next time, someone else can go spelunking in the haunted woods. I don’t do mildew.

 

JESSICA

(snorting)

You’d rather fight werewolves in a Walmart?

 

PAM

At least they have fluorescent lighting.

 

MIKAEL, walking ahead with eerie calm, doesn't bother with complaints. He carries no map, no light—only instinct and something ancient and cold in his expression. Ahead of them, Mikael pauses at the edge of a collapsed stone path, his pale eyes scanning the terrain. He doesn't laugh at their banter—doesn't even acknowledge it. His focus is unshakable. Cold.

 

JESSICA

(murmuring to Pam)

How do you travel with someone who looks like he eats emotions?

 

PAM

(smiling)

Oh, honey. You haven’t seen him in a real fight yet. That’s when he smiles. It’s… unsettling.

 

They reach the edge of the ruins. A broken archway choked by vines and black moss rises in front of them. Runes along the stone seem to pulse faintly as Mikael steps through. Jessica hesitates, the air suddenly heavy.

 

JESSICA

I don’t like this. This place feels wrong.

 

MIKAEL

That’s because it is.

(glancing over his shoulder)

These stones were soaked in blood centuries before Christianity ever reached this forest.

 

Pam raises a brow at Jessica.

 

PAM

And I thought I was the dramatic one.

 

MIKAEL

Here.

 

He gestures toward a nearly invisible path winding down a slope, partially covered in mist. Between the trees, faint crumbling stone arches are visible, partially reclaimed by nature.

 

JESSICA

This… is it?

 

MIKAEL

These ruins predate human civilization in this region. Witches carved them from living stone, using magic to bind the shadows here.

 

PAM

(snorting)

Lovely. Just what I needed—shadow-binding witches.

 

RUINS – UNDERGROUND ENTRANCE

 

They descend narrow steps, slick with damp moss and age. Faint runes glow briefly as Mikael passes, reacting to his presence. The air is heavy with silence, broken only by their footsteps.

 

JESSICA

(whispering)

Why is it so quiet down here?

 

MIKAEL

Because sound doesn’t travel where the dead never rest.

 

PAM

(dryly)

Oh good. That’s not ominous at all.

 

The trio continues to descend the ancient, winding stairs lit by Mikael’s enchanted torch. The flickering flame is blue, casting eerie shadows across the moss-slicked stone.

They reach a round chamber deep underground. Its ceiling is domed, etched with carvings that shift slightly in the torchlight. The Veil Stone resting atop a cracked pedestal. The stone is beautiful—liquid obsidian, shimmering as if it reflects light from another world.

 

PAM

Well, that was anticlimactic. I was expecting more… fire?

 

JESSICA

Yeah, that was easier than I thought.

 

MIKAEL

(grim)

That means the trap is still waiting. Wait for it.

 

As he approaches the pedestal, low chanting echoes from the walls—though none of them are speaking.

 

Suddenly, the walls crack. Shadowy figures erupt from the fissures—tall, twisting forms with hollow, shrieking mouths and empty sockets glowing blue.

 

As he continues to steps forward slowly. As his hand touches the edge of the pedestal, shadows are still pouring forth from the walls, taking on twisted, humanoid forms—faceless, silent, but very real.

 

PAM

(sharp, baring her fangs)

Right on cue. I hate ghost security systems.

 

The shadows rush them.

 

JESSICA

Let’s dance.

 

The fight is brutal. Mikael is first into the fray. With a roar, he slashes one in half with his rune-etched blade. The shadows are fast and intangible to ordinary attacks, but Mikael's runed dagger and Pam’s enchanted silver blade from Freya carve through them. Jessica shifts into her full vampiric speed, her eyes glowing crimson.

Pam flips backward, using her momentum to decapitate one with her enchanted dagger. Jessica dives into the thick of it, fighting faster and fiercer than usual—almost like she’s trying to prove something.

 

Pam notices and pulls her back from a shadow reaching for her back.

 

PAM

Careful, Red. You’re not invincible.

 

JESSICA

(shouting over the chaos)

Neither are you!

 

PAM

But I dress like I am!

 

Mikael impales another and speaks an ancient incantation. A burst of silver-blue light explodes from his blade, banishing the remaining shadows in a flash. The room falls deathly still. The Veil Stone pulses once.

 

Mikael lifts it with reverence.

 

MIKAEL

One down.

 

They exhale together in silence. The runes dim.

 

JESSICA

(exhaling)

That was too close.

 

Pam wipes dark ash from her coat sleeve.

 

PAM

Let’s never do this again. Agreed?

 

JESSICA

Totally. Also, why do ancient death traps never come with warning labels?

 

PAM

Because witches were jerks.

 

Mikael, calm and deadly, impales two in a sweeping arc. A moment later, Pam slashes through another and grins.

 

PAM

Now this is my kind of artifact retrieval.

 

With the last shadow evaporating into mist, Mikael steps forward and picks up the Veil Stone. As he does, the runes across the chamber go dark.

 

JESSICA

(eyes wide)

Is that bad?

 

MIKAEL

It means the magic guarding this place has recognized the transfer. We’ve got what we came for.

 

PAM

Then let’s get out of this gothic nightmare before the ceiling decides it wants to join in the fight.

 

As they turn to leave, Jessica glances back once more.

 

JESSICA

Pam?

 

PAM

Hmm?

 

JESSICA

I still think Hope’s boobs are too big.

 

PAM

(chuckling)

Sweetheart, if that girl survives her future, we’ll all be lucky she doesn’t end up ruling the world.

 

They ascend the stairs, the Veil Stone secured. The forest outside waits silent and dark.

 

OUTSIDE – BLACK FOREST CLEARING

 

The group exits the ruins, moonlight greeting them like a reprieve. Pam flicks her wrist, and the last of the ash vanishes off her sleeve.

 

JESSICA

(turning to Mikael)

Okay, be honest—do you do this for fun?

 

MIKAEL

(flatly)

This? No. War is fun.

 

Pam snorts.

 

PAM

I’m going to make sure you never babysit.

 

JESSICA

(deadpan)

Too late. Hope exists.

 

They begin walking back through the woods. The Veil Stone pulses once in Mikael’s hand, a dark shimmer crossing his face briefly. Jessica eyes it.

 

JESSICA

That thing is giving me the creeps.

 

PAM

It’s a magical rock from a ruin soaked in the blood of sacrificed druids. Of course it’s creepy.

 

Jessica watches Mikael for a moment.

 

JESSICA

Still… I hope we’re not trading one evil for another.

 

Pam gives her a rare, genuine look of concern.

 

PAM

Red... we always are. The trick is choosing the evil you can live with.

 

They vanish into the shadows of the Black Forest, their path lit only by moonlight and the faint glow of a weapon that may one day save—or doom—them all.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos ae all welcome

Chapter 27: The Ember Crystal

Summary:

Freya, Klaus and young Hope

Notes:

I own nothing. here's the next chapter. Enjoy

ICELAND – DAYLIGHT HOURS ARE DIM

 

Snow swirls like smoke across a windswept plateau of volcanic rock. The cold is brutal—biting and primal—the kind that seeps into bones, ignoring magic and warmth alike.

 

Little Hope, bundled tight in an oversized parka, trudges through knee-deep drifts behind her father and aunt.

 

HOPE (young)

(shivering)

Remind me why this crystal couldn’t be buried in a sunny meadow?

 

KLAUS

Because we’re cursed with terrible luck.

 

FREYA

(deadpan)

Because witches love hiding things where they don’t belong.

 

Klaus offers a rare smile to his daughter, his expression soft despite the swirling storm.

 

KLAUS

We’ll make this quick, little wolf. Then we’ll warm you up with cocoa—and maybe a dragon story or two.

 

Hope grins up at him.

 

HOPE

With real dragons?

 

KLAUS

That depends entirely on your imagination.

 

Freya leads them to a jagged opening at the base of a black rock formation. Heat pulses faintly from within, fogging the air around it. Ancient Nordic runes are carved into the stone—some glowing faintly red beneath the ice.

 

THE CAVE MOUTH – VOLCANIC RIDGE

The group reaches the mouth of a massive cave, its entrance ringed with ancient Icelandic runes. A hot breeze exhales from within—steam from volcanic vents mixed with an odd, almost metallic scent.

 

FREYA

This is it. The Veiled Mouth. Legend says the Ember Crystal was buried in the heart of the earth—guarded by elemental wards and fire spirits. The Ember Crystal which was sealed here during a war between witch clans centuries ago. Fire magic, lava traps, possibly trolls…

 

KLAUS

(bracing himself)

Marvelous. You always did pick the best family vacations.

 

HOPE (young)

Fire spirits?

 

KLAUS

I’m assuming they don’t bake cookies.

 

FREYA

They burn intruders alive.

 

Hope frowns and tugs at her hood.

 

HOPE (young)

Cool.

 

Klaus chuckles, clearly proud.

 

FREYA

Let’s move. The longer we linger, the more unstable the entrance becomes. I can already feel the wards twitching.

 

HOPE (young)

(grinning)

Let’s go find it!

 

Freya kneels, drawing a quick protection rune over Hope’s chest and kissing her forehead.

 

FREYA

Stay close to me. If the magic gets unstable, let me handle it.

 

They descend into the cave, torches illuminating walls lined with glowing red quartz—hot to the touch. Steam rises in pulses from cracks in the floor. It’s alive down here, breathing with the earth.

 

LAVA-CARVED CAVE SYSTEM – SHORTLY AFTER

 

The cave is a labyrinth of narrow tunnels and sulfurous heat. Veins of glowing orange crystal pulse in the walls like veins under skin. They descend carefully, steam hissing from every crevice.

 

Freya murmurs Old Norse incantations, parting barriers of warding energy. Klaus stays close to Hope, his eyes flicking warily to every sound.

 

A low, inhuman moan echoes somewhere in the depths.

 

KLAUS

This cave better be uninhabited.

 

FREYA

Technically, lava elementals don’t count as inhabitants.

 

HOPE (young)

So... we’re totally fine?

 

FREYA

Not even a little.

 

 

INSIDE THE CAVE SYSTEM

 

The deeper they go, the more unstable the energy becomes. The walls pulse. Lava veins shimmer beneath transparent rock. Klaus leads, shielding Hope instinctively when tremors shake loose stone above them.

 

KLAUS

This whole cave’s a damn deathtrap.

 

FREYA

Which means we’re close.

 

EMBER VAULT – CENTRAL CHAMBER

 

They reach a natural chamber—a wide space lit by lava streams and volcanic skylights above. In the center sits a jagged obsidian altar, around which float flickers of red-orange light like fireflies.

 

Atop the altar rests the EMBER CRYSTAL. It pulses slowly, beating like a heart.

 

FREYA

There it is.

 

But the moment she steps forward—a shockwave of heat surges out from the altar. The ground trembles.

 

Molten fissures split open as three LAVA ELEMENTALS rise from the floor—each a humanoid shape of glowing stone and liquid fire.

 

HOPE (young)

Oh... those are not cool.

 

KLAUS

(taking off his coat)

Time for a little family heat therapy.

 

THE BATTLE

 

Klaus rushes the first golem, claws and fangs bared. He dodges a molten fist and tears through its throat, but it reforms instantly, lava stitching it back together.

 

Freya draws a symbol midair, casting a binding spell. Two of the golems freeze mid-motion, cracking under the magic. But more come—four, then five.

 

FREYA

(stressed)

I need more time!

 

KLAUS

Then buy it!

 

Hope watches, breathing hard—her eyes glowing faintly golden. She holds out her hands instinctively and pushes, releasing a wild burst of energy. The nearest golem explodes.

 

FREYA

Hope!

 

HOPE (young)

I’m okay—I felt it wanted to hurt you!

 

Klaus lunges into battle, fangs bared, claws tearing at magma flesh. One elemental hurls a column of flame that Freya deflects with a shimmering shield, straining under the intensity.

 

Hope instinctively raises her hands—her eyes flashing golden-wolf for a split second—and blasts one elemental back with a raw pulse of hybrid magic.

 

FREYA

Hope, stay behind the line!

 

HOPE (young)

Too late!

 

Freya rushes forward, chanting faster now, her hands glowing as she reaches the altar. She slams her palm against it, forcing the obsidian shell to crack.

Freya uses the opening to leap across the crumbling stones and reaches the pedestal. She lays her hands on the obsidian roots and chants in an ancient Icelandic dialect. The roots hiss and recoil.

 

The Ember Crystal lifts into the air and flies into Freya’s palm.

 

Instantly, the chamber starts collapsing.

 

KLAUS

We’re leaving. Now.

 

ESCAPE

 

They bolt through the tunnels, rocks falling, magma exploding around them. Klaus grabs Hope and uses his vamp speed to carry her ahead, Freya close behind with glowing veins from the crystal still visible in her palm. The trio races through the collapsing cave, lava bursting through the ground behind them.

 

They leap through the collapsing entrance just as the entire mouth implodes behind them—a shockwave of steam blasting into the sky.

 

They land in the snow. Silence. The cave is sealed forever, sealing the Ember Crystal’s former resting place forever.

 

Breathless, Hope clutches her father’s coat.

 

HOPE (young)

Next time... can we just fight a ghost?

 

KLAUS

(smiling, holding her close)

Next time, darling, I vote for a beach.

 

Freya holds the Ember Crystal, its light reflecting in her eyes.

 

KLAUS

(panting)

Any more “fun” surprises, sister?

 

FREYA

Just two more ingredients. One of them involves venom from a dead god. No big deal.

 

HOPE (young)

Can I vote for cookies next time?

 

Klaus pulls her into a hug.

 

KLAUS

You’ve earned at least a dozen.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 28: THE DRAGON’S SHADOW

Summary:

Eric, Sookie and an Older Hope goes after a Dragon Scale.

Notes:

I own Nothing, here's the next chapter Enjoy.

AMAZON BASIN – TWILIGHT UNDER THE CANOPY

The jungle breathes around them. Vines hang like serpents from towering trees, and ferns the size of horses crowd the trail. A dense, emerald ceiling filters what little light remains, casting long shadows that slither like snakes through the undergrowth. Cicadas hum like war drums, and unseen things rustle in the gloom.

 

The air is thick—not just with humidity, but with something older. Heavier. Watching.

 

A black-cloaked figure pushes aside a curtain of moss-draped vines. HOPE MIKAELSON, older now, her face sharper, her movements calculated and catlike, steps over a knotted root with effortless grace. Her eyes scan the jungle with a predator’s patience—wolf, vampire, witch all rolled into one.

 

She pauses and presses her hand to a tree, feeling the pulse of warded magic embedded in the wood. The bark burns faintly beneath her fingertips.

 

HOPE

(softly, to herself)

The jungle remembers blood.

 

Beside her, SOOKIE MIKAELSON, dressed in worn black cargo gear and boots muddied to the knee, glances over her shoulder. No longer the naive Southern waitress, her expression is wary, almost feral. Her daylight ring glints faintly beneath a smudge of jungle grime on her hand.

 

SOOKIE

(low, tense)

I don’t like it. There’s something moving just outside what I can see. It’s not alive, not dead. Like the jungle’s dreaming us.

 

HOPE

It’s the wards. They’re semi-sentient. If they decide we’re a threat, they’ll bleed the life out of us before we ever reach the temple.

 

At the rear, ERIC NORTHMAN strides with the silent confidence of a centuries-old killer. His coat flaps behind him like a cape, and a fang-tinted smirk plays across his lips even in the heat. He flicks a beetle off his shoulder with an expression of pure disdain.

 

ERIC

(dryly)

Tell me again why we didn’t just compel a helicopter pilot to drop us in?

 

HOPE

(glancing back)

Because the last one tried to eat his own heart when we crossed the spirit boundary.

 

SOOKIE

(flatly)

These ruins don’t like anyone. I can hear the air screaming.

 

Eric stops, sniffing the air like a wolf catching scent.

 

ERIC

(fangs half-dropping)

No... that’s not the air. That’s them. The spirits here are restless.

 

Hope nods grimly and motions for silence. A warm gust slithers through the leaves, curling around their ankles like a whispered warning. Birds take sudden flight overhead, screeching as if something ancient had stirred beneath the soil.

 

The jungle quiets. All at once. No insects. No birdsong. Just the hum of magic and the slow, steady heartbeat of the land.

 

HOPE

(whispering)

We’re close.

 

She pushes forward—and the jungle opens into a shadowed glade. There, half-swallowed by vines and time, stand the weathered stones of the temple ruins. Carved jaguar heads leer from the structure, and spiral glyphs pulse faintly with blue-green light.

 

A shimmering ripple spreads through the air—a barrier of spirit magic, unseen but undeniable.

 

Sookie and Eric both stop as Hope steps toward it, her hybrid blood stirring the boundary to life.

 

SOOKIE

Dead things don’t cross that easy. So what happens if we try?

 

HOPE

If you're lucky? You puke your soul out your mouth. If not—well, there's a reason no one’s walked back out of here since the Conquistadors.

 

Eric raises an eyebrow, amused and annoyed in equal measure.

 

ERIC

Delightful.

 

Hope lifts her hand. The ward flares—recognizing her magic.

 

The real trial is about to begin.

 

THE SPIRIT BOUNDARY – EDGE OF THE TEMPLE GROUNDS

 

They arrive at a moss-covered cliff face, towering like a forgotten god in the fading jungle light. Carvings are etched into every crevice—spirals twisting into eyes, jaguar heads with fangs bared in eternal snarl, and serpents swallowing the sun. Lianas hang like ropes from ancient wars, and fungus glows faintly along the base of the rock.

 

Suddenly, the jungle falls silent. The cicadas. The birds. The wind. Gone.

Even the air feels suspended in prayer—or in fear.

 

Hope slows, her boots crunching on brittle leaf-litter. She lifts a hand to halt the others.

 

HOPE

(quietly)

This is it.

 

She steps forward and reaches out. At first, nothing. Then—the moment her fingers brush the air before the stone—a wave of force ripples out in every direction.

 

The ward reveals itself: a dome of shimmering green-blue light, rising silently from the earth like a waking beast. Glyphs begin to ignite—lines of fire racing across the invisible shell—forming complex symbols that twist and shift like they’re reacting to her presence.

 

The carvings in the cliff pulse in rhythm. The jaguar heads seem to breathe.

 

SOOKIE

(softly, stepping back)

I don’t like this. It’s like it’s alive.

(glances around)

And pissed.

 

HOPE

It is.

(beat)

The ancient shamans didn’t just guard this place—they infused it with ancestral rage. This boundary is bound in blood. It only lets in what it chooses. And it only chooses those with something old in their blood.

 

ERIC

(cynically, arms crossed)

So naturally, we brought the tribrid, the fae-blooded vampire, and the morally flexible Viking.

 

Hope turns, eyebrow raised.

 

HOPE

You’re welcome.

 

Eric smirks, then studies the barrier. His pupils flicker reptilian for a moment—a buried instinct responding to the ancient power.

 

ERIC

A scale from a creature that hasn’t walked this Earth in thousands of years.

(pauses)

But if the legends are right, this isn’t just some fossil. It’s alive. Still carrying power. Enough to anchor a weapon against the Hollow.

 

Sookie glances sideways at Hope, a nervous smirk tugging her mouth.

 

SOOKIE

And yet somehow, it still manages to have attitude.

(nods toward the ward)

That thing hissed at me.

 

Hope steps closer, placing her palm against the glowing barrier. Light curls around her fingers like steam off a boiling spring—scanning her, tasting her.

 

For a second, it resists.

 

Then—a low hum. The dome of magic parts, an arched opening appearing in the stone itself, revealing an ancient staircase cut deep into the cliff.

 

HOPE

That’s our invitation. Don’t wander. The boundary only opens once... and not for long.

 

SOOKIE

Oh good. Jungle death speedrun. Just what I wanted.

 

ERIC

(grinning as he steps forward)

Finally, something interesting.

 

Together, they step into the threshold.

 

The ward pulses once, then seals behind them with a whisper—as though the jungle had just swallowed them whole.

 

THE RITUAL ENTRANCE – JUNGLE TEMPLE

 

The air grows thick and metallic as Hope approaches the center of the stone threshold. The world outside dims, colors bleeding away until all that's left is her—and the glowing barrier between realities.

 

Her veins glow faintly gold beneath her skin, like molten magic rising to the surface. Her breath quickens but she doesn’t hesitate.

 

Suddenly, the ward pulses, a thrum that vibrates through her bones. The jungle vanishes from sight. All that remains is the wall of light and the voice that pierces her soul:

 

SPIRIT VOICE (disembodied, echoing from everywhere and nowhere)

Blood of many. Soul of both. Will you pay the cost?

 

HOPE

(steady, determined)

I will.

 

The light splits open, parting like smoke torn in a hurricane—and she steps through.

The entrance seals shut with a concussive thud, like the world itself exhaled and closed its mouth behind her.

 

Behind her, Sookie’s eyes widen.

 

SOOKIE

Oh hell no—

 

ERIC

(calmly)

She has to face it alone. It’s hybrid-specific. The spirit magic is keyed to her kind of power.

 

SOOKIE

(scowling)

Still doesn’t mean I have to like it.

 

INTERNAL TEMPLE – SPIRIT TRIAL CHAMBER

 

Hope walks into shadow.

 

The tunnel is narrow, carved from obsidian, the walls glistening like liquid night. Handprints, dozens of them, glow softly in reds and oranges—left by others who walked this path and failed. Their essence lingers in the air, a silent prayer—or a warning.

 

Whispers begin. Low and cruel. Her past bleeding into sound.

 

HAYLEY (echo)

Why can’t you just be a normal girl?

 

KLAUS (echo, screaming)

You're just like me—broken.

 

FREYA (echo, desperate)

I’m sorry, Hope, I had no choice.

 

ELIJAH (echo, calm)

You must learn to control it, or it will destroy you.

 

Hope clenches her fists.

The corridor opens into a circular chamber, a sunken pool at its center. Bones are scattered in the walls like they grew from the stone. Vines hang like veins, pulsing faintly.

 

The water in the pool is black, still—until something glimmers at its center: the Dragon Scale. Large as a shield, it floats inches above the surface, iridescent and impossibly ancient. It pulses with wild magic, the kind that predates civilization, the kind only nature remembers.

 

From the shadows, the SPIRIT GUARDIAN emerges.

 

SPIRIT GUARDIAN

(towering, cloaked in writhing serpents, its jaguar mask carved from bone)

You are not of one world.

 

HOPE

(steadying her voice)

I’m of all of them. Vampire. Werewolf. Witch. Mikaelson.

 

SPIRIT GUARDIAN

Then prove it.

 

The floor shatters beneath her.

 

Hope falls—but lands in a mirrored void, surrounded by storm and fire.

From the storm, monsters crawl: Klaus as a beast, blood-drunk and mad; Hayley’s broken body; Freya’s crying form turned to ash.

She sees herself—older, darker, a tyrant on a throne of corpses.

 

The wind screams with every mistake she’s made, every person she's failed. Her magic lashes out, wild and unfocused. She stumbles, dropped to her knees.

 

HOPE

(screaming, eyes glowing gold-blue)

I’m not them! I’m not this!

 

Her magic cracks the storm—but the visions multiply. The voices grow louder.

 

Until—

She stops fighting.

 

Hope closes her eyes… and breathes. Not to control the chaos—but to embrace it.

 

Witch. Werewolf. Vampire. Mikaelson.

 

All of it is her.

 

Her eyes flare wide—one glowing gold, the other burning witch-blue. She spreads her arms—and releases everything.

 

The void explodes in light. The illusions are torn apart. The screaming stops.

 

Silence returns.

 

The Spirit Guardian kneels.

 

SPIRIT GUARDIAN

(voice now warm, almost reverent)

You are worthy.

 

The Dragon Scale rises into the air. It floats gently into her hand—burning hot, but not with pain. With remembrance. With legacy.

 

She stares at it—feeling ancient power settle into her bones.

 

A beat.

 

Then—

 

The chamber vanishes. She’s standing again in the real temple, in front of the pool, the Dragon Scale clutched in her hand.

 

And behind her—the ward opens.

 

OUTSIDE – MINUTES LATER

 

The ward shivers, shimmering like broken glass in a heatwave—then splits apart with a final hiss.

 

Hope stumbles out, steam rising from her soaked clothes. Her boots squelch in the wet undergrowth. Her skin glows faintly, as if something ancient still clings to her aura. Magic hums around her like static—wild and barely contained.

 

Her breathing is ragged, but her posture is upright. Triumphant.

 

Sookie rushes forward, worry flashing across her face.

 

SOOKIE

You okay?

 

HOPE

(breathless, but calm)

Better than okay.

 

She opens her palm.

 

The Dragon Scale glows, vibrant and iridescent—its surface flickering with hints of moving flame, as if it’s alive and remembering. It pulses once, and the jungle responds—vines curling subtly away from it, shadows deepening, a hush falling like reverence.

 

ERIC

(eyeing it)

That thing feels like it’s judging me.

 

HOPE

It probably is.

 

She turns it in her fingers. There’s power in the object—but also weight. The sense that it’s just one piece of something much larger, and infinitely more dangerous.

 

SOOKIE

(squinting at it)

Feels like it wants to burn through the world.

 

HOPE

It might. But it won’t get the chance. We’re not here to destroy—we’re here to change.

 

ERIC

One more piece to go. Then the real fun begins.

 

HOPE

And then we rewrite fate.

 

A beat.

 

SOOKIE

Let’s just hope we survive that long.

 

They stand together for a moment—three figures surrounded by green walls of ancient jungle. The wind picks up and the foliage moves, not just in the breeze but as if reacting. The very land withdrawing, covering its secrets again.

 

Behind them, the jungle closes, vines coiling inwards, the path vanishing—leaving no trace that anything had ever been disturbed.

 

ERIC

(grinning slightly)

Next stop: farmhouse. I could use a drink. Or five.

 

SOOKIE

You just want to glare dramatically at a fireplace again.

 

ERIC

And you don’t?

 

HOPE

(smiling faintly)

Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting. And we’re running out of time.

 

She tucks the scale inside a reinforced satchel. One more piece. One more trial. And then, whatever comes next.

 

They disappear into the treeline—leaving only silence, mist, and myth behind them.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 29: Forging a weapon

Summary:

Return to Bon Temps

Notes:

I own nothing Enjoy

SHREVEPORT – CLUB M – LATE NIGHT

 

The vintage lamps cast smoky golden pools of light across the 1920s-inspired hardwood floor. Jazz hums softly on vinyl, a sultry echo of a past era reinvented for the supernatural crowd.

 

At the bar’s long, polished surface, Godric stands in dark evening wear, the sheen of leather faint against the lamplight. He cradles a glass of single malt, watching the door as Thalia slides onto a tall stool, Jason leaning in beside her. Both eyes turn to the Club’s front, where Eric’s staff stand in sharply tailored flapper dresses—dark elegance, daring but classy.

 

Thalia crosses her arms, a sharp smile playing on her lips.

 

THALIA

(smirking at the bar staff)

They look… restrained.

 

JASON

(chuckling)

You and your goth soul miss the spark.

 

Godric sets down his glass and strides over to the pair, his gaze amused.

 

GODRIC

How are you both holding up? I know this is a change.

 

Thalia gestures toward the staff.

 

THALIA

They hate it, Godric. They lived for Fangtasia’s edge—daring looks, daring dancers. Here, it’s too prim. Like a Gatsby convention.

 

JASON

If Fangtasia reopened tomorrow, they'd come running. Without question.

 

Godric nods, swirling his drink thoughtfully.

 

GODRIC

Understood. I just got word from Elijah—Fangtasia will be back up and running in two months. Top to bottom.

 

Thalia’s face brightens.

 

THALIA

(engineering relief)

Two months? That’s... actually good news.

 

GODRIC

And your shift here? It doesn’t change. You’ll be one of the first drawn back—if you want.

 

Thalia looks at Jason, then Godric, determination in her eyes.

 

THALIA

I appreciate it, but right now… this is home. And honestly? They don’t get my style, so I can push them a little.

 

Jason grins, proud.

 

JASON

She rules over this club—rules with a glare.

 

Godric smirks.

 

GODRIC

Don’t get cocky. I expect the staff to be grateful for fashion pointers while our rebuilt Fangtasia gets its feet back.

 

Thalia nudges Jason’s shoulder. He glances back at the bar staff, who are now quietly adjusting cufflinks and hairlines, trying to loosen up.

 

THALIA

(looking to Jason)

They may resist, but they need to own their look. They’ll thank us—eventually.

 

Jason takes her hand, squeezing it.

 

JASON

Just like I thanked you for teaching me how to bar fight and not barf on the carpet?

 

Thalia rolls her eyes with a soft laugh.

 

GODRIC

Attention, lovebirds—less gossip, more drink.

 

He raises the mal, and Jason and Thalia both raise theirs in return.

 

GODRIC

To Club M—its soul is solid.

 

THALIA & JASON (together)

To Club M.

 

Glasses clink.

 

Behind them, the staff straighten posture and straighten their flapper dresses with new confidence, glancing at each other and the future as the music picks up, the smoke curls, and the night begins to hum again.

 

THE FARMHOUSE – TWILIGHT GLOW

 

Golden light spills across the rolling hills surrounding the remote farmhouse, tucked deep in a Louisiana bayou. The world seems to exhale—quiet, for now. Storm clouds still linger on the horizon, but for the first time in days, there's calm.

 

The front porch creaks as Eric, Sookie, and Future Hope emerge from a shimmer of mist—bruised, muddy, but whole. Future Hope clutches the Dragon Scale in her palm, still faintly glowing.

 

Klaus, leaning against the porch rail, raises his eyebrows and smirks.

 

KLAUS

(deep voice, teasing)

Well, look who didn’t get eaten by a jungle god.

 

FUTURE HOPE

(grinning)

Barely. But it liked my vibe.

 

Sookie tosses her hair with mock flair as she walks past Klaus.

 

SOOKIE

Turns out dragon relics don’t like being disturbed. Shocker.

 

Inside, Pam, Jessica, and Mikael are just returning through the back entrance, dusted in ancient soil and spiderwebs. Pam tosses the Veil Stone onto the kitchen counter like it’s a fashion accessory.

 

PAM

I have dirt in places I didn’t know existed. And not the fun kind.

 

Jessica rubs her shoulder, clearly having taken a hit or two.

 

JESSICA

Let’s just say it didn’t give itself up quietly.

 

Mikael stands silent near the window, a rare contemplative calm across his usually stern features.

 

MIKAEL

The stone is older than even I imagined. Its power… it feels like judgment.

 

From the hallway, Freya, Little Hope, and Klaus rejoin the group. Freya places the Ember Crystal beside the others—veins of lava-red pulsing against the Dragon Scale and the Veil Stone.

 

FREYA

All three pieces.

 

KLAUS

So, what now?

 

Everyone quiets as Freya pulls open a scroll—aged parchment detailing the Weapon of Binding Flame, a construct of elemental magic, hybrid blood, and ancestral sacrifice. Her voice is steady, but reverent.

 

FREYA

Now we forge the blade. The only one that can sever the Hollow’s connection to this world. Forever.

 

ERIC

What’s it made of? Besides all the crap we nearly died collecting.

 

FREYA

The Ember Crystal forms the hilt. The Veil Stone is the heart—its anchor. And the Dragon Scale becomes the blade itself. Bonded by ancient fire, hybrid blood… and a soul willing to sacrifice itself to seal the power within.

 

A beat of silence. Everyone looks at each other.

 

SOOKIE

That last part… we skipping over that or?

 

FREYA

No. It’s not just about forging the weapon. Someone has to become part of it. The magic needs a living core. One of us.

 

LITTLE HOPE

(staring at the weapon parts)

What if it doesn’t have to be just one person?

 

Freya’s eyes flick to her niece—an idea forming.

 

FREYA

A shared soul anchor… It’s risky. But if we bond the weapon to more than one wielder—Hope and…

 

Her gaze settles on Future Hope.

 

FREYA (CONT'D)

…her future self. A bridge across time. Hybrid magic and human spirit. We could stabilize it. Delay the toll.

 

KLAUS

And buy us enough time to kill the Hollow before it takes everything.

 

GODRIC

(from the doorway)

Then we do it. But quickly. I can feel the veil thinning already.

 

The farmhouse darkens slightly, as if something ancient brushes the edge of reality. Shadows stretch long.

 

FUTURE HOPE

Then let’s make history. Or burn trying.

 

MONTAGE – PREPARATIONS BEGIN

 

Freya lays the three components on a ritual table. Runes begin to glow around the Ember Crystal.

 

Klaus sharpens stakes, quiet and brooding.

 

Eric watches Sookie from afar, a rare flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

 

Pam finds a mirror and reapplies lipstick with casual finality.

 

Mikael stares into the fire, lost in thought.

 

Little Hope hugs Future Hope silently.

 

OUTSIDE – NIGHT

 

The moon rises.

 

The Hollow stirs.

 

Tomorrow, they forge a weapon.

 

Tomorrow, they go to war.

Notes:

Thanks for reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 30: The Hollow War

Summary:

Aftermath

Notes:

I own nothing, sorry its a day late, had some computer trouble yesterday. Enjoy.

LOCATION: ABANDONED FEDERAL FACILITY - NIGHT

 

Wind howls through the decaying shell of a long-forgotten military base, deep in the swamps outside Shreveport. Floodlights flicker, casting shadows like claw marks. The Hollow has made this place its throne—fed by death, corruption, and the blood of too many innocents.

 

Inside, the air is thick with dark magic. At the center of a massive ritual circle, Agent Martinez’s body hovers several feet off the ground, her eyes black, veins glowing blue with corrupted ancestral power.

 

THE HOLLOW (in Martinez’s voice, layered and monstrous)

You brought weapons. I am the storm.

 

Lightning cracks.

 

OUTSIDE THE FACILITY

 

A united front arrives.

 

Klaus, Freya, Future Hope, Little Hope

 

Eric, Godric, Pam, Jessica

 

Mikael, Davina (power charged and cloaked), Sookie

 

Jason and Thalia, now Original Vampires

 

The group stares up at the looming building. Magic pulses from within—alive, furious.

 

KLAUS

We go in fast. No speeches. No hesitation.

 

FREYA

(whispering)

Once we breach the ritual space, we hold the lines. Hope and Hope must get to the altar.

 

FUTURE HOPE

And drive the blade into the Hollow’s core. Together.

 

Everyone nods. Then they vanish into motion.

 

INSIDE THE FACILITY - CHAOS UNLEASHED

 

Walls explode inward as Klaus and Mikael charge, vamp speed tearing through possessed agents and shadow-spawned beasts. Eric and Godric follow, slashing down twisted specters. Freya casts shields, binding spells, and ward flares.

 

Jessica and Pam move with elegance and fury, protecting Jason and Thalia as they carve a path.

 

THE ALTAR ROOM - THE HOLLOW AWAITS

 

Martinez’s body hovers above the altar, now twisted into a grotesque tree of bone and ash. As Future Hope and Little Hope step into the circle, the Hollow lashes out—tendrils of darkness slamming them back.

 

SOOKIE

(firing a blast of fae energy)

Not today!

 

Sookie hurls herself forward, shielding the Hopes.

 

THE FINAL PUSH

 

Klaus tackles the Hollow directly, fangs sunk deep before being thrown into a wall.

 

Freya anchors the spell, channeling power from the three relics now floating above the altar.

 

FUTURE HOPE

(to her younger self)

Now!

 

They grasp the forged weapon. The blade ignites with golden-blue fire.

 

Together, they charge through the storm of darkness, slicing through spectral arms. The Hollow screams.

 

THE HOLLOW

You would kill your own future?

 

HOPE (young)

I’d die a hundred times to protect my family.

 

The blade plunges into the Hollow’s heart. Screaming. Fire. A shockwave knocks everyone flat.

 

AFTERMATH

 

Silence.

 

Hope and Future Hope kneel at the altar. The Hollow is gone. The body of Martinez crumbles to ash. The air feels clean. Real.

 

Freya helps them stand. Mikael nods, proud. Sookie walks over and hugs Hope tightly.

 

ERIC

Let’s never do that again.

 

KLAUS

Agreed.

 

They survived the storm. But the world will never be the same.

 

 

FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

 

The war is over. The storm has passed.

 

Inside the old farmhouse, the atmosphere is soft—dim lighting, the quiet crackle of a fireplace, and the distant chirp of night insects outside.

 

Everyone is gathered. Some are still healing. Others just holding onto each other. There's laughter, exhaustion, silence.

 

Future Hope stands near the window, watching the stars.

 

She knows.

 

Freya notices first—the flickering glow in Hope’s skin, the faint shimmer of temporal magic returning to claim her.

 

FREYA

It’s starting.

 

Everyone turns.

 

FUTURE HOPE (softly)

Yeah... I can feel it pulling me back.

 

She steps forward, facing them all—Klaus, Freya, Mikael, Sookie, Davina, Jessica, Pam, Jason, Thalia, Eric, Godric, Little Hope—her family.

 

FUTURE HOPE

I wasn’t supposed to stay this long.

But I’m glad I did. You gave me more than just the strength to fight.

 

She looks at Freya, eyes shining.

 

FUTURE HOPE (to Freya)

You were my teacher. My anchor. You kept me grounded when magic wanted to tear me apart.

 

Then to Sookie.

 

FUTURE HOPE

You were the first person to tell me it was okay to be light and dark. You made me feel... human.

 

To Klaus.

 

She steps up to him. There’s a slight tremble in his jaw.

 

FUTURE HOPE

You tried so hard to be the father I needed. And you were.

Even if you never got to see it.

 

Klaus clenches his fists—says nothing. But his eyes are wet.

 

FUTURE HOPE

I love you. All of you.

Thank you... for raising me to be strong enough to let go.

 

LITTLE HOPE

Do you have to go?

 

Future Hope kneels, touching her younger self’s cheek.

 

FUTURE HOPE

If I stay, it unravels everything. The timeline—the victories we won—they’ll fade.

You have to be the one to carry us forward now.

 

They embrace. Little Hope’s eyes close tight, like if she holds on hard enough, she won’t have to let go.

 

FUTURE HOPE (whispers)

We’re the same, remember?

You already are me.

 

Light begins to crackle around her—gentle, not painful. Threads of magic lift her hair, her hands, her voice.

 

DAVINA (quietly)

It’s a time tether. Her window’s closing.

 

KLAUS (choked)

I’m proud of you.

 

Future Hope smiles. It’s everything.

 

Her body glows brighter, becoming translucent. Stars seem to shine through her.

 

FUTURE HOPE (last words, fading)

Remember... we win because we love.

 

FLASH.

 

She’s gone.

 

Only silence.

 

Then, as if on cue, a breeze moves through the open window—cool and calm. The fire flickers gently. Peace returns.

 

FREYA

She’s safe. Wherever she is... she’s safe.

 

KLAUS (to no one)

She was light in the darkness.

And now... the future's hers.

 

Everyone sits in the quiet, processing. Holding close. A battle ended.

 

And a legacy left behind.

 

FARMHOUSE

 

Sunlight spills over the Louisiana swamplands, golden and warm. Dew glistens on the grass. For the first time in what feels like forever—the air feels light again.

 

FARMHOUSE – KITCHEN

 

A kettle whistles. Sookie hums softly as she pours tea into mismatched mugs. She's barefoot, hair up, wearing a soft flannel shirt that definitely isn’t hers—probably Eric’s.

 

Jessica sits at the table, legs curled under her, reading a book with Godric beside her, quietly sipping blood from a wine glass. He’s smiling—actually smiling.

 

Jason and Thalia sit on the back porch through the screen door, feet up, quietly arguing over who makes the best scrambled eggs. Jason insists it's him. Thalia rolls her eyes but eats another bite anyway.

 

FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM

 

Freya lounges on the couch, fingers idly sketching a new spell into her journal. Davina sits cross-legged nearby, meditating with a single candle burning. The relics from the Hollow ritual are gone—locked away, warded, and buried deep. For now, it’s just peace.

 

Klaus stands at the window, coffee in hand. He watches the fields outside, where Hope runs barefoot through the grass, laughing. Mikael is out there too—shirt off, splitting wood with calm precision. He hasn’t said much since the Hollow died. But he hasn’t left either.

 

Eric enters the room, nods to Klaus.

 

ERIC

She’s laughing again.

 

KLAUS

It’s been a while.

 

Beat.

 

ERIC

Think the world will stay quiet for once?

 

KLAUS (half-smile)

No. But we’ll enjoy the silence while we can.

 

FARMHOUSE

 

The group gathers under a wide oak tree beside the house. Blankets and picnic baskets, someone playing soft music from a speaker. Laughter bubbles up as Pam tries (and fails) to teach Jason how to play chess. Thalia just flips the board and declares herself the winner.

 

Sookie walks over to Hope, handing her a paper plate stacked with biscuits and bacon.

 

SOOKIE

Eat. You saved the world. Again. That earns carbs.

 

HOPE

(soft smile)

I could get used to this.

 

MONTAGE:

 

Freya and Davina fixing up the damaged spell books in the barn-turned-magic-lab.

 

Jessica and Pam dancing barefoot in the kitchen to an old rock song.

 

Godric watching the sunrise from the roof, content.

 

Klaus tucking a drawing into a box labeled “Hope – Memories.”

 

Sookie curled up with Eric on the porch swing, her head on his shoulder, his eyes closed but peaceful.

 

Little Hope, staring up at the stars that night, clutching the necklace Future Hope left behind.

 

FARMHOUSE

 

The farmhouse glows with soft light. Inside, laughter, music, warmth.

 

Outside, the fireflies dance in the still night air.

 

Life continues. The scars remain, but so does the love.

 

The Hollow is gone.

 

The storm has passed.

 

And for the first time in a long time—

 

They are home.

 

Notes:

Thanks for Reading, Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 31: Family time

Summary:

They take a brief moment to enjoy Family

Notes:

I own nothing, here's the next chapter enjoy.

FARMHOUSE – BACKYARD – just after SUNSET

 

The sky is awash in deep golds and purples as the sun begins to set behind the trees. The farmhouse backyard has been transformed into something special—a long wooden table lit by string lights, set beneath the old oak trees. Fireflies blink like stars.

 

A bonfire crackles nearby. Blankets and cushions are scattered on the grass. Someone brought a guitar. Someone else brought bourbon.

 

The mood is light. Laughter rolls through the air.

 

ERIC, GODRIC, PAM, JESSICA, and SARAH are settled off to the side at first, sipping blood-laced wine, just watching the chaos unfold like bemused anthropologists.

 

ERIC

You ever think we’d be part of something like this?

 

GODRIC

(softly, as he watches Hope and Klaus laugh)

No. But I see why they fight so hard to keep it.

 

NEAR THE TABLE

 

Sookie flips something on the grill. Jason is telling a ridiculous story that somehow involves a raccoon, a shotgun, and an invisible witch. Thalia pretends not to be amused—but she’s listening closely.

 

Mikael passes out drinks. For once, he isn’t stiff. He smiles—an actual smile—at Hope and Davina, who are teasing Klaus over how bad he is at corn hole.

 

KLAUS

You wound me, witches. I’m simply... conserving energy.

 

DAVINA

You threw the beanbag into a tree.

 

FREYA

(raising her glass)

To misfires and miracles.

 

NEAR THE FIRE

 

Jessica and Pam sit cross-legged near the flames, both looking slightly stunned.

 

JESSICA

It’s... kind of weird. Seeing them like this.

 

PAM

Weird? It’s borderline wholesome. And yet...

(pause)

I don’t hate it.

 

SARAH

(quietly, watching Klaus hand a plate of food to a child vampire Sookie's been mentoring)

I thought the Mikaelsons were just chaos. Power. But this... this is what holds them together.

 

JESSICA

Loyalty.

 

GODRIC (approaching, quietly)

It’s family. Not the kind you’re born with.

The kind you bleed for.

 

LATER – NIGHT

 

Music drifts into the night—acoustic, soft, familiar. Freya hums along, playing chords as Hope sings something old and sweet. Everyone’s gathered close.

 

Klaus has his arm around Hope. Mikael leans back in a chair, drink in hand, eyes closed but clearly listening. Sookie sits beside Eric, leaning into him. Davina’s head rests on Freya’s shoulder.

 

Even the vampires who usually stand apart—Pam, Jessica, Godric—have drawn in, pulled into the circle by something magnetic and unspoken.

 

KLAUS (after a beat, raising his glass)

To peace. However brief.

To family—by blood, bond, or stubborn resilience.

And to the madness of loving each other anyway.

 

They all raise their drinks.

 

EVERYONE

To family.

 

FARMHOUSE – PORCH – LATER

 

The fire burns low. Most are asleep or drifting there. Eric, Godric, Pam, and Jessica stand on the porch, gazing out at the quiet yard.

 

PAM

I never thought I’d say this... but the Original family has its moments.

 

GODRIC

Moments are enough to build something eternal.

 

ERIC (to Sookie, quietly)

Are you sure you want to stay here?

 

SOOKIE

(smiling, eyes on the fire)

For the first time in my life... I feel like I belong.

They don’t just protect the world. They protect each other.

 

ERIC

(soft)

That’s the real power, isn’t it?

 

MONTAGE – THAT NIGHT

 

Freya and Davina, curled together on a swing, sharing a blanket.

 

Thalia, asleep on Jason’s shoulder, both snoring.

 

Klaus, tucking a note into Hope’s journal: “When you wake, remember you are never alone.”

 

Godric, standing in the yard, face turned up to the stars.

 

FARMHOUSE – close to DAWN

 

Bags are packed. The cars are loaded.

 

Hugs are exchanged. Some tight. Some wordless.

 

ERIC (to Klaus)

We’ll see you in New Orleans.

 

KLAUS

Count on it. Don’t let Pam burn the place down while we’re gone.

 

PAM (smirking)

No promises.

 

KLAUS turns to Sookie, pulling her into a hug—unexpected, firm, brotherly.

 

KLAUS

You brought us back to something we thought we’d lost.

 

SOOKIE

You brought yourself back. I just made you biscuits.

 

A final laugh. And then—taillights pulling away down the long gravel drive.

 

The Mikaelsons head home.

 

But what they built here—what they shared—won’t fade with distance.

 

This is what family looks like when the war ends.

 

Even if just for one night.

 

FARMHOUSE – SOOKIE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

(Lemon’s Ahead- Be warned)

The house is quiet now. The porch light casts a faint golden glow across the hardwood floor. Outside, the sound of tires on gravel has long faded. The Mikaelsons are gone.

 

Sookie steps into her room, brushing her fingers over the edge of her dresser, then turning as she senses him.

 

ERIC stands in the doorway—still, watching her.

 

ERIC

They’re gone.

 

SOOKIE

I noticed.

 

A beat. The air shifts.

 

He closes the door behind him with a soft click.

 

ERIC

Good.

 

He crosses the room in two slow, deliberate strides and stops in front of her, hands slipping around her waist. His voice is low, velvet and heat.

 

ERIC

Because now...

I want to ravage you.

 

Sookie’s breath hitches, caught between a laugh and a gasp. She leans into him, fingers threading into his shirt.

 

SOOKIE

Ravage, huh? That what we're calling it now?

 

ERIC

Call it whatever you like.

But I’ve had to watch you play hostess, fight monsters, and save the world... all while pretending I didn’t want to pin you to every surface in this house.

 

His lips brush her neck—teasing, not yet claiming.

 

ERIC (soft growl)

Now there’s no more distractions. No more guests. No more waiting.

 

Sookie tilts her head, inviting, daring.

 

SOOKIE

Then what are you waiting for, Viking?

 

A wicked smile. He lifts her effortlessly into his arms, her laughter spilling into his mouth as he kisses her deeply and kicks the door fully shut behind them. He carries her to the bed, laying her down gently but firmly. His hands roam her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the small of her back, the swell of her breasts. He pulls back slightly, his breath ragged, and begins to undress her, his fingers deftly unbuttoning her dress, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. Sookie arches her back, pressing against him, eager for more.

 

ERIC (whispering)

You’re so beautiful, Sookie. Every inch of you.

 

He leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing until it hardens. Sookie gasps, her fingers digging into his hair, urging him on. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands exploring her body, memorizing every curve, every scar.

 

Sookie reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head, her hands roaming his chiseled torso, the scars of his battles, the hard planes of his muscles. She unbuckles his belt, her fingers trembling with anticipation. He kicks off his pants, his erection springing free, hard and ready.

 

ERIC (growling)

I want to taste you, Sookie. All of you.

 

He trails kisses down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, before moving lower. He spreads her legs wide, his breath hot on her most intimate place. He takes a moment to admire her, his fingers gently parting her folds, revealing her glistening wetness.

 

ERIC (softly)

So fucking beautiful.

 

He leans in, his tongue flicking out, tasting her. Sookie moans, her hips bucking against his mouth. He laps at her, his tongue circling her clit, his fingers entering her, curling up to hit that sweet spot inside. Sookie cries out, her body tensing as he brings her to the brink of orgasm, then backing off, teasing her, drawing it out.

 

Sookie pulls at his hair, urging him up. She wants him inside her, now.

 

SOOKIE (breathless)

Eric, please. I need you.

 

He smirks, positioning himself at her entrance, his tip teasing her wetness.

 

ERIC

Is this what you want, Sookie? Tell me.

 

SOOKIE (moaning)

Yes. God, yes. Fuck me, Eric.

 

He thrusts into her, hard and deep, filling her completely. They both moan, their bodies fitting together perfectly. He starts to move, his hips thrusting against hers, his pace slow and deliberate at first, then building, his body taking over, his primal instincts kicking in.

 

Sookie wraps her legs around him, urging him deeper, her nails digging into his back, marking him. He leans down, his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in sync.

 

ERIC (whispering)

You feel so good, Sookie. So right.

 

He reaches between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in slow circles, matching his thrusts. Sookie’s body tenses, her inner muscles clenching around him, her orgasm building, her body coiling tight.

 

SOOKIE (crying out)

Eric! I’m close. So close.

 

He increases his pace, his body slamming into hers, his fingers working her clit, his other hand gripping her hip, holding her in place. She comes undone, her body convulsing, her inner muscles milking him, her cry of pleasure filling the room.

 

He follows soon after, his body tensing, his release spilling into her, his roar of pleasure raw and primal. He collapses on top of her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

 

They lie there, entwined, their bodies still joined, their hearts slowly returning to normal. Eric rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their legs tangling, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

 

ERIC (softly)

I could stay like this forever, Sookie. With you.

 

Sookie snuggles into his chest, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

 

SOOKIE (smiling)

Me too, Viking. Me too.

Notes:

Thanks For Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 32: A Reopening

Summary:

Eric prepares to reopen Fangtasia

Notes:

I Own Nothing, I'll be on vacation till Monday the 14th so I wont be posting a new Chapter till then. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

FANGTASIA – NIGHT

 

The old vampire bar sits in silence. Dust hangs in the air. The signature neon FANGTASIA sign hums softly above the bar, half-lit. Tables are covered in white sheets. The stage is bare, the dance floor lifeless. But even in its emptiness, the place feels alive—like it's just sleeping.

 

ERIC unlocks the front door and pushes it open, holding it for SOOKIE, who steps in slowly, taking in the shadows.

 

SOOKIE

Wow... it feels like no one’s walked in here in years.

 

ERIC

No one has for a month anyway, well except for construction crews. Not since I shut it down after—well... after everything.

 

He moves ahead, flicking on a few lights. Red bulbs flicker and cast the club in its familiar seductive glow.

 

SOOKIE

Still smells like leather, whiskey, and sin.

 

ERIC

My cologne of choice.

 

She rolls her eyes, smiling, as they make their way toward the bar.

 

SOOKIE

I can’t believe you’re reopening it.

 

ERIC

Fangtasia was always more than just a bar.

It was a message.

Power. Territory. Control.

 

He looks around, then softens slightly.

 

ERIC (cont’d)

But this time... it’ll be something else.

 

SOOKIE

Like a nightclub with heart?

 

ERIC

Let’s not get carried away.

 

He walks behind the bar, running his hand along the counter, brushing off a thin layer of dust.

 

ERIC

Godric always said places like this are like living things. They remember.

Blood spilled, secrets whispered, loyalties tested.

It’s all still here. Lingering.

 

Sookie climbs up to sit on the edge of the bar, swinging her legs.

 

SOOKIE

Well, we’re giving it a fresh start.

New rules. No glamouring humans. No draining in public view. No murdering in the bathrooms.

 

ERIC

So many restrictions.

 

SOOKIE

Welcome to post-apocalypse hospitality.

 

They share a smile.

 

Eric walks closer, his hands resting on her thighs, his gaze warm and intense.

 

ERIC

You sure you’re ready for this? All of it?

The stares. The rumors. Being the woman who runs a vampire bar... while being you?

 

SOOKIE (gently)

I’ve faced witches, fae queens, gods, and whatever the hell the Hollow was.

Running a Vampire bar, can’t be different then running Club M?

 

ERIC

You won’t be alone.

 

SOOKIE

I never was. Not really.

 

Beat. They lean into each other—foreheads touching. A soft, quiet moment in the heart of a place once full of chaos.

 

SOOKIE

We should get back soon. I still have to pick out uniforms for the human staff.

 

ERIC

Might I suggest leather and high heels?

 

SOOKIE

You would.

 

She hops off the bar. Eric offers his arm with exaggerated elegance. She takes it.

 

As they walk toward the door, Sookie glances back once.

 

SOOKIE (quietly)

It’s gonna be something new.

 

ERIC

It’s gonna be ours.

 

(LEMON)

 

The bar is dark, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the polished wood of the bar top. The air is thick with anticipation and the faint scent of whiskey. Eric and Sookie are alone, the bar not yet open to the public, and no staff in sight.

 

Eric leans against the bar, his eyes never leaving Sookie as she walks towards him, her hips swaying with a deliberate slowness. She stops in front of him, her hands resting on the bar top, her body leaning in, inviting.

 

SOOKIE (smiling)

So, Viking, what can I get you to drink?

 

ERIC (smirking)

I'm not here for a drink, Sookie.

 

He reaches out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips. Sookie leans into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

 

SOOKIE (whispering)

Oh? And what are you here for, then?

 

ERIC (growling softly)

You know what I want, Sookie. I want you. Here. Now.

 

He pulls her to him, his lips capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. Sookie moans, her body pressing against his, her hands fisting in his hair. He lifts her effortlessly, setting her on the bar top, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

 

His hands roam her body, his fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her lacy bra beneath. He leans down, his mouth capturing one nipple through the lace, sucking and teasing until it hardens. Sookie arches her back, pressing against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

ERIC (whispering)

I want to taste every inch of you, Sookie. Right here, right now.

 

He trails kisses down her stomach, his fingers unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them down her legs, revealing her matching lace thong. He spreads her legs wide, his breath hot on her most intimate place. He takes a moment to admire her, his fingers gently parting her folds, revealing her glistening wetness.

 

ERIC (softly)

So fucking beautiful.

 

He leans in, his tongue flicking out, tasting her. Sookie moans, her hips bucking against his mouth. He laps at her, his tongue circling her clit, his fingers entering her, curling up to hit that sweet spot inside. Sookie cries out, her body tensing as he brings her to the brink of orgasm, then backing off, teasing her, drawing it out.

 

Sookie pulls at his hair, urging him up. She wants him inside her, now.

 

SOOKIE (breathless)

Eric, please. I need you.

 

He smirks, positioning himself at her entrance, his tip teasing her wetness.

 

ERIC

Is this what you want, Sookie? Tell me.

 

SOOKIE (moaning)

Yes. God, yes. Fuck me, Eric.

 

He thrusts into her, hard and deep, filling her completely. They both moan, their bodies fitting together perfectly. He starts to move, his hips thrusting against hers, his pace slow and deliberate at first, then building, his body taking over, his primal instincts kicking in.

 

Sookie leans back, her elbows propping her up, her body arching, offering herself to him. Eric's hands grip her hips, holding her in place, his body slamming into hers, his pace increasing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

 

ERIC (growling)

You feel so good, Sookie. So tight. So wet.

 

He reaches between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in slow circles, matching his thrusts. Sookie’s body tenses, her inner muscles clenching around him, her orgasm building, her body coiling tight.

 

SOOKIE (crying out)

Eric! I’m close. So close.

 

He increases his pace, his body slamming into hers, his fingers working her clit, his other hand gripping her hip, holding her in place. She comes undone, her body convulsing, her inner muscles milking him, her cry of pleasure filling the room.

 

He follows soon after, his body tensing, his release spilling into her, his roar of pleasure raw and primal. He collapses on top of her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

 

They lie there, entwined, their bodies still joined, their hearts slowly returning to normal. Eric pulls her into his arms, their legs tangling, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

 

ERIC (softly)

I could stay like this forever, Sookie. With you.

 

Sookie snuggles into his chest, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

 

SOOKIE (smiling)

Me too, Viking. Me too.

 

(LEMON END)

 

FARMHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

 

The ceiling fan spins lazily above. A few windows are cracked open, letting in the soft summer breeze. Sookie, in pajama shorts and a T-shirt, carries a tray of sweet tea into the living room where Jason, Sarah, and Thalia are lounging.

 

JASON is spread out in the recliner, munching on a bowl of popcorn. Sarah is curled up at one end of the couch with a notepad—half-listening, half-sketched into something she’s been designing. Thalia perches on the other armrest like a cat, flipping through a book but clearly paying attention.

 

SOOKIE

Alright, y’all, hush up. Eric and Godric are gonna be on Channel 9 any minute.

 

JASON

(through a mouthful of popcorn)

I still can't believe they agreed to do TV. Eric hates interviews.

 

THALIA

He prefers to intimidate, not explain.

 

SARAH

Maybe the PR team got through to him. Or maybe he just wants to show off his cheekbones in HD.

 

SOOKIE

(laughing)

That man has two moods: sulking Viking and smug Viking. This’ll be a fun toss-up.

 

She grabs the remote, flips on the TV.

 

ON THE SCREEN – LIVE INTERVIEW

 

“GOOD EVENING, LOUISIANA”

A polished TV host smiles from behind a modern desk.

 

HOST

Tonight, we’re joined by two of the most well-known vampire figures in the region—Eric Northman and Godric—to discuss the highly anticipated reopening of Fangtasia, which was tragically destroyed last year in a supernatural attack. Gentlemen, welcome.

 

The camera cuts to Eric and Godric, both seated in crisp black suits, elegant and composed. Eric lounges like he owns the network. Godric, by contrast, sits straight, serene, ageless.

 

ERIC

Pleasure.

 

GODRIC

Thank you for having us.

 

BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM

 

JASON

Damn. They look like vampire royalty.

 

SOOKIE

They kind of are.

 

THALIA

Eric’s sitting like he plans to seduce half the South just through the camera.

 

SARAH

(laughs)

Mission accomplished.

 

ON SCREEN

 

HOST

There’s been a lot of curiosity surrounding Fangtasia’s return. What can the public expect from this new version?

 

ERIC

Fangtasia has always been about power and beauty. This time, it will also be about safety—for humans and vampires alike. A neutral ground. No bloodshed. No glamouring without consent.

 

HOST

So... new rules?

 

GODRIC

New era. The world is changing. So must we.

 

HOST

Some say reopening a vampire bar after it was attacked by witches is risky.

 

ERIC (smiling faintly)

Risk is a matter of perspective. We were forged in fire. The witches didn’t destroy us. They gave us a reason to evolve.

 

SOOKIE (softly, proud)

He’s really trying.

 

THALIA

He’s still Eric. He just cares more now.

 

ON SCREEN

 

HOST

And what about your co-owner, Sookie Stackhouse? Will she have a role in the club?

 

Eric’s expression softens ever so slightly.

 

ERIC

Sookie’s role is whatever she chooses. She’s the heart of this project—whether she’s behind the bar or a thousand miles away.

 

GODRIC

She helped us remember who we are.

And what we could be.

 

BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM

 

Everyone is quiet for a moment.

 

JASON

Did... Eric just get sentimental on national TV?

 

SOOKIE

(shocked)

I think he did.

 

THALIA

That witch attack must’ve really knocked something loose.

 

SARAH

He just made every vampire widow in Louisiana swoon.

 

SOOKIE (smiling softly)

Let ’em swoon. I’m the one he comes home to.

 

ON SCREEN – CLOSING MOMENTS

 

HOST

The grand reopening of Fangtasia is this Friday. Doors open at 9 PM sharp. Any final thoughts?

 

ERIC

Come if you dare.

But come in peace.

 

Godric gives a subtle bow.

 

GODRIC

We look forward to welcoming the night again.

 

The feed ends.

 

BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM

 

JASON

Alright, now that was badass.

 

THALIA

If the bar flops, they should start a podcast.

 

SOOKIE

(grinning)

I’ll tell Eric you said that. Just don’t blame me when he tries to name it "Blood & Brooding."

 

Laughter fills the farmhouse. For now, the night is peaceful, and the future—while uncertain—is full of possibilities.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 33: Old Gods

Summary:

A new enemy moves into Shreveport

Notes:

I own nothing, sorry it took longer then I thought, work this week has been crazy. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the new direction.

MOUNT OLYMPUS – GRAND HALL OF THE GODS – NIGHT

 

Clouds swirl like smoke below the marble dais. The stars above burn brighter than anywhere on Earth. At the center of the immense circular chamber stands a long obsidian table carved with symbols of fate and war.

 

Around it sit the Twelve Olympians and several older gods—figures of raw elemental power. Each god shines with their own aura: gold, silver, fire, shadow, storm.

 

ZEUS, king of Olympus, rises at the head of the table, thunder crackling faintly behind his eyes.

 

ZEUS

The balance has shifted again. The veil between worlds grows thin. Mortals consort with vampires, witches wield power beyond their station, and creatures once bound by myth now walk freely.

 

HERA (cold, regal)

They’ve tasted divinity and call it evolution. But they are not gods. They are chaos given flesh.

 

POSEIDON (gruff)

And yet their chaos stirs the deep. Even the oceans have grown restless. The Leviathans whisper in their trenches again.

 

ATHENA (measured, wise)

We have watched for eons. Is it not hubris to intervene now, when they have faced judgment by war, plague, and prophecy—and survived?

 

ARES (smirking)

Or is it cowardice to let them live? They poison the world with machines and sorcery. Let me raze the land. Let the Earth bleed clean.

 

DEMETER

And what of the children? The innocent? The farmers who still pray when they plant seed? You would burn the fields for a weed?

 

HADES (emerging from shadow)

Their souls flood my gates already. But there is something… different now. The veil is thinning, yes—but something older wakes. Something buried.

 

APOLLO

I have seen it too. In prophecy and in flame. A convergence. Vampires walking by day. Gods stirring in bloodlines. The Age of Myth breathes again.

 

A hush falls over the hall.

 

ZEUS

Then what is our judgment?

 

HERA

We should wipe the slate clean. Flood or fire. Let the Earth rest.

 

ATHENA

No. Not yet. The threads of fate are tangled but not severed. One strand—one woman—could still shift the pattern.

 

APHRODITE (dreamy, smiling)

The Fae-Vampire hybrid. The one who loves the Viking vampire. Sookie, I believe her name is.

 

ARES (growls)

A mortal? (the Gods even view Vampires as mortal)

 

ATHENA

More than mortal. She stands at the axis of change. If she lives… there may yet be a future worth preserving.

 

ZEUS (grudgingly)

Then we wait. But if the balance breaks again—

 

HADES (darkly)

There will be no second chances.

 

A rumble of thunder rolls through the mountain. The gods vanish into mist, their decision made—for now.

 

SHREVEPORT – DUSK

 

The sun dips behind the pine trees as the city lights flicker to life. A brand-new building dominates the skyline near the river—a towering, luxurious casino shimmering with white marble and gold filigree. At the top, a discreet sign reads:

 

“Parthenon Palace – Casino & Lounge”

 

Inside, ATHENA, goddess of wisdom and war, stands before a floor-to-ceiling window in a private suite. Her suit is sleek and modern, deep navy with silver trim. Her hair is pinned in braids that crown her head like a helmet, her eyes sharp as blades. Below, the mortals play and sin with abandon.

 

She smirks faintly.

 

ATHENA

You never change… until you must.

 

CLUB M – NIGHT

 

The music pulses low and sultry. Shadows ripple through the club’s deep red lighting. Vampires lounge on velvet furniture, eyes gleaming. Sookie Stackhouse stands behind the bar, laughing lightly as she finishes serving a drink.

 

Then the room shifts.

 

A silence falls like a thunderclap muffled by velvet. Every vampire instinctively turns toward the entrance—though no one saw it open.

 

ATHENA steps into the club.

 

She's radiant and terrifying. Not supernatural like a vampire. Not magical like a witch. Something older. Deeper. Her presence bends the air. Some vampires flinch and vanish. Others freeze.

 

Sookie feels the pressure of divinity crawl up her spine before she even turns.

 

SOOKIE

(slowly)

You ain’t from around here.

 

ATHENA

No. But we’ve watched this place long enough from above. Now we’ve come to watch… up close.

 

Sookie narrows her eyes, heart racing.

 

SOOKIE

“We”?

 

ATHENA

Some of us. Not all. Zeus is… impatient. Ares eager for fire. But the vote was cast. For now—we observe.

 

Athena steps closer. The music doesn’t dare resume. Her eyes pierce into Sookie's soul.

 

ATHENA

You’re important. Not just to Eric or your brother. To fate. Threads wind around you tighter than you know.

 

SOOKIE

And what do the gods want with me?

 

ATHENA

To see whether you can stand in the storm that’s coming. The vampires, the witches, the fae, the wolves… all of them danced too long on the bones of forgotten gods. Now Olympus stirs.

 

(beat)

 

You all forgot we were watching. But the divine never forgets.

 

Sookie clenches her jaw.

 

SOOKIE

If you're here to scare me, you’re doing a fine job. But I’m not backing down from anything.

 

Athena smiles—genuinely impressed.

 

ATHENA

Good. You may need that fire.

 

(She leans in, whispering)

 

Tell the vampires. Tell the witches. Tell anyone who listens:

 

The gods have taken their seats. The game is being played. And the board is the world.

 

But Zeus… will not wait forever.

 

Without another word, Athena turns, and vanishes into a flash of white light that ripples through the club like a silent explosion. The music stutters back to life.

 

Sookie grips the bar, her knuckles white, heart thundering in her chest.

 

SOOKIE

Jesus Christ…

 

From the corner, a vampire murmurs, almost reverently:

 

VAMPIRE

No, girl. That was something older.

 

FANGTASIA – NIGHT – OFFICE

 

The newly rebuilt Fangtasia gleams with dark elegance—its crimson lights pulsing like a heartbeat. In the back office, ERIC NORTHMAN sits behind a sleek desk, flipping through blueprints for the lounge’s expansion. GODRIC stands near the window, his eyes fixed on the street below, lost in thought.

 

The door bursts open. SOOKIE MIKAELSON strides in, her face pale but determined, her energy practically crackling.

 

SOOKIE

(urgent, breathless)

We have a problem. A big one.

 

Eric straightens, sensing something deeper than panic—something primal. Godric turns, expression unreadable but instantly attentive.

 

ERIC

What happened?

 

SOOKIE

I ran into someone at Club M. She wasn’t just powerful—she was divine. Like, capital "G" God divine.

 

GODRIC

A god?

 

SOOKIE

No. The Gods. Olympus. Athena, to be specific.

 

(beat)

 

She said they’ve been watching. Watching the world tear itself apart—supernaturals, humans, all of it. And they’re pissed. She talked about judgment. About blood.

 

Eric’s face hardens. Godric closes the door behind Sookie and moves toward her slowly.

 

GODRIC

What exactly did she say?

 

SOOKIE

She said the gods have been wronged. That humanity and the supernatural world have forgotten them—disrespected them. She said they voted to wait and watch for now, but Zeus… Zeus is growing impatient.

 

ERIC

(disbelieving but wary)

So the Olympian pantheon has risen from myth to start dictating terms? After all this time?

 

SOOKIE

It wasn’t a threat—it was a warning. She opened a damn casino in Shreveport like it was nothing, Eric. She knew everything. About us. About me.

 

GODRIC

(calm but serious)

Gods don't issue casual warnings. Not like that. If they're here, if they're active, then the balance of power just shifted in ways we can't predict.

 

SOOKIE

(quietly)

Athena said we had a chance… but if things keep going the way they are—violence, corruption, chaos—they won’t wait. They’ll burn it all down. Every last soul. Human, vampire, shifter, witch... it won’t matter.

 

Eric slowly rises to his feet, jaw clenched.

 

ERIC

Then we prepare. Call in favors. Wake allies. If the gods want to watch, let them. But if they come for us, they’ll find we’re not sheep.

 

GODRIC

And if we’re truly standing at the edge of war with Olympus... then we’ll need more than strength. We’ll need unity.

 

SOOKIE

That’s why I came. We need to start pulling people together, now—before Zeus decides it’s too late.

 

(beat)

 

Because next time... they won’t send a warning.

 

Eric nods once, slowly.

 

ERIC

Then let’s begin.

 

Notes:

Thanks For Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 34: The Wrath of the Old World

Summary:

Gods Act and the Michaelson's Summon even older Gods for help

Notes:

I own nothing, sorry this is a day late, I went out to party and listen to music last night. So enjoy this chapter

 

EAST COAST, UNITED STATES – NIGHT

 

The world is screaming.

 

The sky churns with black, unnatural clouds, lit from within by green and violet lightning that never stops. Winds howl like banshees. Tidal waves hundreds of feet high crash into the coastline. Skyscrapers crumble beneath walls of water as entire cities drown.

 

NEW YORK. BOSTON. WASHINGTON D.C.

Gone beneath the sea.

 

Sirens wail until they are swallowed by the roar of the storm. Military jets scream overhead—some vanish into lightning, others are dashed to pieces. Helicopters spin out of control and explode in mid-air. Millions run for shelter. Few make it.

 

EUROPE – MEDITERRANEAN COAST

 

The seas rise without warning, swallowing towns in Spain and southern France. Venice disappears beneath a massive surge. Along the coast of Greece, ancient temples crack and collapse as if cursed by their own creators.

 

And then—silence.

The storm vanishes in an instant, like a god’s hand lifted.

 

 FANGTASIA – PRIVATE LOUNGE – LATER

 

A flickering plasma screen glows in the dim blood-red light of Fangtasia’s private lounge. The bar is quiet tonight—eerily so.

 

Onscreen, a grim-faced news anchor reports live over footage of total devastation.

 

ANCHOR (TV)

“—worst natural disaster in recorded history. FEMA has declared a state of absolute emergency along the eastern seaboard. The death toll is expected to be in the millions. Coastal cities across Europe have suffered similar destruction—”

 

The feed cuts briefly to drone footage: drowned skyscrapers, panicked survivors clinging to rooftops, fires burning on flooded streets.

 

ERIC NORTHMAN stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Shirt open, his fangs out—not from hunger, but anger.

 

ERIC

This isn’t nature. This is vengeance.

 

GODRIC, calm as ever, sits nearby, watching the screen. There’s a deep weariness in his ancient eyes.

 

GODRIC

No... this is ego.

 

(pauses)

 

Zeus and Poseidon couldn’t wait. They acted without the others.

 

ERIC

I thought the gods were divided. That they would debate. Wait.

 

GODRIC

(deeply)

They did debate. Clearly, that ended. Or the storm was their opening argument.

 

(silent beat, then softly)

 

The age of gods is not returning, Eric. It’s already here.

 

ERIC

Then the world just became much smaller. And far more dangerous.

 

GODRIC

They’re sending a message. To mortals. To supernaturals. To us.

 

(looks Eric in the eye)

 

Bow… or burn.

 

The screen shows a satellite image—the Eastern Seaboard barely recognizable. The words at the bottom read:

“APOCALYPSE ON EARTH?”

 

ERIC

Then we send one back. We are not afraid of old myths.

 

GODRIC

(quietly)

You should be.

 

STRATEGY CALL – “AN OLD ALLIANCE”

BON TEMPS – SOOKIE’S KITCHEN – NIGHT

 

Rain lashes the windows outside, and the power flickers, but the small laptop on the kitchen table remains lit—running on backup batteries. SOOKIE STACKHOUSE, still visibly shaken from her encounter with the Olympian god, sits at the table in a hoodie, barefoot. Her brother JASON STACKHOUSE paces nervously behind her, shotgun in hand—not that it would help.

 

Onscreen, four windows are open in a secure encrypted video call.

 

THALIA – fierce and ancient, a cold fire in her eyes, calling in from her safe house in Athens.

 

KLAUS – lounging in a leather chair with REBKEAH behind him and ELIJAH sipping a drink nearby, calling from New Orleans.

 

KOL – perched casually on a rooftop somewhere, the glow of the city behind him, smirking despite the chaos.

 

SOOKIE

(speaking to all of them)

He just appeared. Outta thin air. Said mortals, vampires, shifters—everyone—was guilty of forgetting the old gods. That a reckoning was coming. He said the world was... unbalanced.

 

JASON

It was like Zeus himself sent a thunderclap through our living room. You don’t forget somethin’ like that.

 

THALIA

(coolly)

That sounds exactly like Zeus. Arrogant. Impatient. Violent. And if he’s making threats, Poseidon is already acting. The storms aren't coincidence. They’re declarations.

 

KLAUS

(snarling)

Let them declare. Let them rage. I will not kneel to some toga-wrapped thunder jockey who thinks his name carries weight after two thousand years of silence.

 

ELIJAH

(calm, thoughtful)

Yet we’d be foolish to underestimate them. They once ruled the known world. Their power may not be what it was, but they’ve clearly reclaimed something.

 

REBKEAH

So what’s the plan? Wait for Olympus to drop a lightning bolt on every city? Because New Orleans is not surviving another biblical flood.

 

THALIA

(serious)

We need allies. Real ones. And there aren’t many beings older than the Olympians.

 

KOL

(suddenly serious, leaning forward)

There are a few, actually.

 

Everyone turns toward Kol’s window.

 

KOL

The Norse gods.

 

(pause for effect)

 

Odin. Thor. Freya. Loki. We Mikaelsons were born in the north, remember? We worshipped them once—before we became monsters.

 

JASON

You’re saying… go ask Thor for help? Like hammer-throwin’, cape-wearin’ Thor?

 

KOL

(grinning)

Not the Marvel one, mate. The real one. The Old One. He doesn’t wear a cape. He wears the skulls of giants.

 

KLAUS

And you think they’d care? That they’d listen?

 

KOL

(sincerely)

They might. Because to them, we were once their children. Their warriors. Their worshippers. We sacrificed in their name. Hell, we bled for them. That kind of loyalty echoes.

 

ELIJAH

If they answer, we could form a counterbalance to Olympus. If they refuse… we’ve merely awakened one more sleeping god.

 

SOOKIE

(firmly)

Then we better pray the Norse remember us fondly.

 

THALIA

I’ll reach out to my contacts. There are shrines—hidden ones. Ancient sites in Scandinavia, Iceland, Greenland. If any are active… they’ll know.

 

KLAUS

(grim smile)

Good. Then it’s time we see if Odin still sits on his throne.

 

SOOKIE

And what do we do till then?

 

KOL

(smirking again)

Hope Zeus doesn’t get bored.

 

Lightning flashes outside the kitchen window.

 

MIKAELSON ESTATE – UNDERGROUND CHAMBER – NIGHT

 

The room is lit only by candlelight, flickering shadows dancing along the ancient stone walls. Sigils drawn in Norse runes glow faintly on the floor, carved into the stone and filled with blood and ash. In the center of the chamber, Freya stands beside Davina, who is visibly pregnant but calm and focused, her hand resting protectively on her belly.

 

KLAUS, ELIJAH, REBEKAH, and KOL stand in a semi-circle, dressed in ceremonial black. All wear silver pendants etched with old Viking symbols, tokens from their mortal youth.

 

Freya speaks in Old Norse, her voice echoing with power and reverence.

 

FREYA

(chanting)

"Við biðjum ása, forna guði, verndara forfeðra okkar.

Komið til vor í þessari dimmu stund."

 

DAVINA

(her hands raised, glowing with magic)

"The balance of the world is tipping. Olympus has awakened. The gods of old stir, and mortals suffer. We call now to the protectors of our blood and name..."

 

A loud crack of thunder splits the air within the chamber—though the skies above are calm. The sigils burn brighter.

 

Suddenly, a golden rift opens in the air in front of them. Through it, shadowed figures step forward—tall, imposing, cloaked in divine presence.

 

ODIN steps forward first, his single eye glowing with ancient wisdom and fury. Beside him, THOR, hammer in hand, his armor gleaming like a storm. Behind them, FREYJA, radiant and wild, her presence fierce and serene all at once.

 

The air feels heavier, almost sacred.

 

ODIN

(sternly)

"You dare summon us, lost sons and daughter of Midgard?"

 

KLAUS

(taking a step forward, respectful but unbowed)

We do, Allfather. We who once bled beneath your stars, raised stones in your name, offer truth: Olympus threatens all creation.

 

REBEKAH

(softly)

You were our gods before we were monsters. You still are, in many ways.

 

KOL

(with a smirk, but dead serious)

So we figured, why not ask our old gods for help before the Greek ones decide to wipe the board clean?

 

ELIJAH

(nodding)

Zeus and Poseidon have already begun acting without restraint. If they are not stopped, all life—mortal and immortal—could perish.

 

Odin’s eye narrows.

 

ODIN

"The Olympians break the Accord. They risk Ragnarok for the sake of their vanity."

 

FREYJA (the goddess)

(gaze fixed on Davina)

And what do you offer, witches and vampires, in return for our hand in this war?

 

Davina’s voice is steady, her fingers entwined with Freya’s.

 

DAVINA

We offer allegiance. Aid. Our magic. Our lives, if it comes to that. And our vow to restore balance—not for power, but survival.

 

THOR

(stepping forward, electricity crackling around him)

A war of gods is no light thing. But we are not blind to the chaos Olympus spreads.

 

ODIN

Then hear this: We will not act openly—not yet. But we will prepare. Should Zeus move further to destroy this world, he will face our wrath.

 

He raises his hand, and a bolt of divine energy flows into the runes on the floor, lighting them with divine fire.

 

ODIN (cont’d)

And you, Mikaelsons, children of ice and blood, may call upon us once more—if the time comes.

 

With a final surge of thunder and light, the gods vanish. The chamber dims, silence returning slowly as the magic fades.

 

KLAUS

(quietly, glancing at his siblings)

Well then... it seems the old gods haven’t forgotten us after all.

 

FREYA

No. And let’s hope Olympus remembers what it means to provoke them.

 

They all exchange grim, determined looks.

 

 

Notes:

Thanks For Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 35: Odin confronts Zeus

Summary:

Odin visits Zeus for a chat

Notes:

I own nothing. Here's a new chapter, Enjoy.

MOUNT OLYMPUS – THRONE HALL – TWILIGHT

 

The grand throne hall of Mount Olympus trembles slightly as a sudden shift in the air sends gold-silk drapes fluttering. The marble floor pulses with divine energy. Zeus sits upon his throne, lightning crackling faintly along his fingers. Around him, Hera, Athena, Ares, and Hermes gather, tense and silent.

 

A low rumble echoes through the mountain like distant thunder, but no storm clouds roll in—this thunder walks on two feet.

 

A rip of light and fire erupts in the center of the hall.

 

From the blinding blaze emerge Odin, regal and grim with his single eye glowing beneath his wide-brimmed hat; Thor, broad-shouldered and armored, with Mjölnir already in his grip; Freyja, cloaked in falcon feathers and radiating both beauty and menace; and Tyr, stoic and fierce, his sword gleaming with runes.

 

Behind them walks Freya Mikaelson, her magic still swirling faintly around her, and Klaus, arms folded, eyes burning with warning.

 

Zeus rises.

"To what do we owe this intrusion, All-Father?"

 

Odin's voice booms like the void.

"You’ve crossed boundaries older than the stars, Zeus. Earth shakes because of your temper. Seas drown the innocent at Poseidon's whim. That is not balance. That is hubris."

 

Athena steps forward, calm and calculating.

"We do not answer to you. The humans and their abominations—vampires, witches, gods-forgotten hybrids—have tipped the scales. We are simply restoring what was lost."

 

Thor growls.

"By drowning children? By declaring war on mortals who barely know your names anymore?"

 

Freyja (Norse) gives Athena a pointed glance.

"The gods are owed reverence, yes—but not through fear. Not like this."

 

Ares scoffs.

"And what will you do? Bring Ragnarök down on us?"

 

Tyr replies coldly.

"If that’s what it takes to stop you."

 

There’s a long pause. Power hangs thick in the air. Thunder rumbles. Mjölnir sparks. Lightning coils around Zeus like a crown of fire. Neither pantheon moves—but neither do they blink.

 

Odin turns slightly toward the Olympians.

"Withdraw your hand from the world, Zeus. Let this be a warning. The next time, we do not come with words. We come with war."

 

Zeus narrows his eyes.

"This world may be big enough for two pantheons, Odin. But not if you side with the monsters."

 

Klaus smiles darkly from the rear.

"Careful who you call a monster, Zeus. Some of us were made by gods. Others were born to kill them."

 

With another flash of runes and magic, the Norse gods vanish into wind and frost, leaving behind only silence and the faint smell of ozone.

 

Hera exhales slowly.

"They came. And they’re watching."

 

Zeus stares into the distance, jaw tight.

"Then we watch back… but the day will come when words are not enough."

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – WAR ROOM – NIGHT

 

The old New Orleans compound is dimly lit with candlelight and runes carved into the walls. Ancient scrolls, enchanted weapons, and open grimoires litter the long table at the center of the room. Freya stands at the head of the table, hands still faintly glowing from the summoning spell. Davina, pregnant and serene, sits nearby, holding a scrying crystal over her belly.

 

Kol lounges with his feet on the table, a blade of celestial bronze in hand, flipping it casually.

Kol: "Well that went brilliantly. We walked into Olympus, insulted their king, and lived to talk about it. I’m impressed."

 

Elijah, ever composed, straightens a cuff.

Elijah: "We also confirmed something far more valuable. They fear the Norse gods. That gives us leverage."

 

Rebekah: "Leverage only matters if we know what we're fighting for. The Greeks want to burn the world down just to prove they still matter. Are we siding with the Norse now?"

 

Klaus: (coldly)

"We’re siding with survival, sister. If Olympus has already started their assault, there’s no ‘neutral’ anymore. We either prepare, or we die begging."

 

Freya moves to the table, spreading a celestial map of ley lines and divine energy surges across the surface.

Freya: "The balance is shifting. Earth’s mystical web is fraying at key points—New York, London, Tokyo. They’re targeting ancient convergence sites. If they unravel those, they could unmake the veil between divine and mortal realms."

 

Davina: (quietly)

"And if they do, nothing stops them from reshaping the world. Not even the Norse."

 

Kol: "So what’s our play? We’re powerful, sure, but we’re not gods."

 

Freya: "No. But we can become something close. We’ve communed with gods. We’ve stolen power from them before. It’s time we turned that into something more permanent."

 

Klaus: (smirking)

"You're suggesting we make ourselves divine?"

 

Freya: "No. I’m suggesting we become what gods fear—creatures of myth, bound to no pantheon, loyal only to each other. We’re Originals. There’s a reason they whisper our names even in Asgard."

 

Rebekah: "So what's the first step?"

 

Freya gestures to Davina.

Freya: "When the baby is born, her bloodline will be connected to this new wave of power. A witch born of death and creation. She may be the key to binding us all—to each other, to the Earth, and maybe even to something older than the gods themselves."

 

Davina places a hand on her stomach, then looks up with resolve.

Davina: "Then we better make sure there’s still a world for her to be born into."

 

Kol grins.

Kol: "I say we give Olympus a little storm of our own."

 

Klaus, looking at the flickering candlelight, nods once.

 

Klaus:

"Then it’s decided. Olympus wants a war. We’ll give them one. And this time, we set the terms."

 

OLYMPUS – THE THRONE ROOM OF ZEUS

Lightning cracks across the marble sky above Mount Olympus. The once-pristine halls of the gods are buzzing with tension. Zeus storms across the hall, his fists clenched and thunder dancing around his eyes. Athena, Ares, and Apollo stand nearby, each reacting differently—anger, calculation, unease.

 

Zeus (furious):

"The Mikaelsons dare to step into my domain, speak threats in my house, and walk away unscathed?!"

 

Athena (coolly):

"Not threats. Warnings. Freya knows more than she should about our wards. And the hybrid... he has that look—the same the Titans wore when they rose up against Cronus."

 

Ares (grinning):

"Let them come. Let Ragnarok tear the skies apart. We were made for war!"

 

Apollo:

"And yet, you bleed like any other. Did you not feel it? Freya’s magic—it didn’t tremble before us. It challenged us."

 

Zeus:

"They’ve aligned with the Norse. Odin and his children now stand behind that cursed family of Originals."

 

Athena:

"Which means we must move quickly. If Earth’s children of night, gods, and witches unite… Olympus will fall."

 

Zeus (growling):

"Then let the mortals burn first. Let their cities fall to storm and flame. We will remind the world why we were worshipped."

 

ASGARD – YGGDRASIL’S ROOT CHAMBER

The roots of the World Tree twist like massive serpents beneath the golden halls of Asgard. Odin sits upon a stone throne carved from bark and rune, his one eye gleaming. Beside him stand Thor and Freyja, while Loki lounges half-shadowed behind a pillar.

 

Odin:

"They’ve made their first move. Zeus would scorch the Earth before sharing dominion. Typical."

 

Thor (cracking his knuckles):

"Let him come. The hammer hungers for battle."

 

Freyja:

"We must be cautious. War among gods destroys more than empires. It topples ages."

 

Loki (smirking):

"And yet… it’s never boring."

 

A portal opens behind them—Freya Mikaelson’s magic signature still faint in the air. The gods turn toward it.

 

Odin (with weight):

"The Mikaelsons are powerful… but they are not immortal in the divine sense. We must make them more."

 

Thor:

"You mean to elevate them?"

 

Odin:

"No. I mean to bind them. Allies sealed in blood, not oaths. They will carry our banners into a war of gods… and live to reshape the world if we do not."

 

Loki (chuckling):

"And if they betray us?"

 

Freyja (the goddess, not the witch):

"Then the war ends with them as well. But for now, they are useful… and perhaps the only hope Earth has left."

 

FANGTASIA – GODRIC’S PRIVATE CHAMBERS – NIGHT

Low lighting. Velvet drapes and soft jazz fill the edges of the room. Godric sits in meditation, while Eric broods nearby, watching the dancers below through a pane of one-way glass. Sookie enters, tension in her stride, her energy humming with power.

 

Eric (turning, smirking):

"You’re late. I was beginning to think Olympus got you first."

 

Sookie (deadpan):

"It might still. You both need to hear this. And you need to listen—no interruptions."

 

Godric gestures for her to sit. She does not.

 

Sookie:

"My family—Rebekah, Elijah, Klaus, all of them—they went to Asgard. The real one. Odin, Thor, the whole pantheon."

 

Eric (raising an eyebrow):

"They still exist?"

 

Sookie (nodding):

"And they’re not just stories. The Greek gods have declared war—on vampires, on witches, on humans, everyone. They want to tear the world apart, reshape it in their image. And my family… they’re standing in their way."

 

Silence. Godric finally speaks.

 

Godric:

"And what of you, child? You share their blood now. Do you stand with them?"

 

Sookie meets his gaze, unwavering.

 

Sookie:

"I do. Because this isn’t just about gods and power. It’s about survival. And the Mikaelsons never run from a war… not when family is on the line."

 

Eric (after a pause, serious):

"Then tell us what you need. Because if you’re going to war against Olympus… you won’t do it alone."

 

The three share a look, something ancient stirring in the vampire kings’ eyes. War is coming—and even the oldest of night creatures must choose a side.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are are all welcome.

Chapter 36: War Planning

Summary:

Plans are made, and factions bow

Notes:

I own nothing, here is the next chapter, Enjoy.

The Council of Supernaturals – Hidden Chamber, Beneath Stonehenge

 

The chamber buzzed with tension.

 

Chiseled into the roots of the ancient stones above, the hidden meeting place of the Supernatural Council was cloaked by runes older than time. Representatives from nearly every known faction had gathered—shifters, witches, warlocks, vampires of the old bloodline, demons in their glamoured forms, even seers and elementals.

 

But one group was glaringly absent.

 

“The Mikaelsons were invited,” hissed the warlock Severian. “And they chose not to come. How typical.”

 

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the assembly.

 

“We should consider the offer from Olympus,” said Lord Galanor, an elder vampire of the ancient line. His voice was smooth, his aura pulsing with controlled hunger. “Zeus and his pantheon promise protection, order, and power. In exchange, they ask only for our allegiance.”

 

“Slavery,” growled a werebear alpha. “Let’s call it what it is.”

 

“Survival,” Galanor countered.

 

A banshee opened her mouth to speak, but a shadowy vampiress in black silk beat her to it.

 

“We’ve heard whispers,” she said coldly. “The Mikaelsons have not vanished. They’ve gone to Asgard. To the Norse gods.”

 

The chamber went still. You could hear a heartbeat thrum through the stone.

 

“Is that confirmed?” asked the elven envoy sharply.

 

Before anyone could answer, a gust of wind blew through the chamber like a sudden storm.

 

From the shadows stepped a tall, silver-haired figure clad in robes of cobalt and white, the shimmer of stars woven into the cloth. His feet didn’t touch the ground. His presence made the elementals stiffen and the demons hiss.

 

Nigel Brigant, High King of the Sky Fae and Ruler of all Faekind, had arrived.

 

“My apologies for my delay,” he said, voice echoing like a celestial bell. “I was at Asgard.”

 

Eyes widened.

 

“I can confirm it. The Mikaelsons stood before the throne of Odin All-Father. They seek alliance not out of ambition—but necessity. They wish to stop Olympus from turning this realm into a battlefield.”

 

“And do the Fae stand with them?” asked Severian warily.

 

Nigel’s eyes flared with blue-white power. “I stand with them.”

 

“But they’re not Fae,” said Galanor.

 

“One of them is,” Nigel said, his voice like rolling thunder. “Sookie Mikaelson. My granddaughter by adoption, yes—but by heart and soul, by spirit and loyalty, she is mine. And I do not abandon my own.”

 

The air shifted. Power rippled through the council chamber.

 

“The Fae will stand with the Mikaelsons,” Nigel declared. “Against Olympus, against tyranny—and against any among you who would sell Earth to the gods who see you only as pawns.”

 

Silence.

 

Then, from the shadows, the witch Morgana whispered:

 

“War is coming.”

 

MIKAELSON COMPOUND – NEW ORLEANS – NIGHT

 

The compound is alive with tension. Candles flicker in wrought iron sconces, casting shadows across maps of Olympus and Norse realms spread across tables. Old tomes, ancient relics, and mystical scrolls litter the surfaces as Freya paces, flipping pages in a thick grimoire.

 

FREYA

(serious)

If we’re truly going to war with Olympus, we need more than allies and bloodlust. We need a weapon—something they can’t defend against.

 

KLAUS

(leaning over the table)

And what exactly do you propose, sister? Spears forged by dwarves? Cursed blades?

 

FREYA

(slowly, eyes sharp)

The World Tree.

 

Silence falls across the room. Elijah and Rebekah look up. Klaus narrows his eyes.

 

ELIJAH

Yggdrasil? That’s a myth even the myths fear.

 

FREYA

It’s not just a tree—it’s a root system that touches every realm, every plane of existence. It’s said to be the only thing capable of destroying a god, body and soul.

 

REBEKAH

Wasn’t it destroyed? The Olympians made sure of that, thousands of years ago.

 

KLAUS

(quietly)

So the legends say. Burned to ash in a celestial fire. A warning to all who defy Olympus.

 

Before Freya can answer, the heavy doors creak open. Little Hope Mikaelson, now six, enters with dirt smudged on her cheeks and leaves in her curly hair. She holds up her small hands, grinning.

 

HOPE

Daddy!

 

KLAUS

(turning, kneeling)

Hope, what’ve I told you about sneaking out to the courtyard garden alone?

 

HOPE

I wasn’t alone! The tree talks to me.

 

She motions behind her, and everyone turns toward the open courtyard where, in the middle of the cobblestone, a towering sapling now stretches over six feet tall—vibrant, glowing faintly with soft golden veins along its bark.

 

HOPE (CONT'D)

That tree I’ve been growing? The one big me gave little me before she went back to the future? It got really big this week.

 

Everyone stares. Even Freya steps forward in shock.

 

FREYA

(awed)

That... that energy. I can feel it. That’s not a normal tree.

 

REBEKAH

(muttering)

Wouldn’t it be something if little Hope was regrowing the World Tree?

 

Klaus looks between the tree and his daughter—his expression a mix of pride and disbelief.

 

KLAUS

(smirking)

Of course she is. She’s a Mikaelson.

 

BON TEMPS – FARMHOUSE PORCH – NIGHT

 

The stars are sharp above the woods. Crickets sing in the darkness. Sookie, Godric, Eric, Jason, and Thalia sit on the old wraparound porch, drinks in hand, tension palpable.

 

SOOKIE

(quietly)

I didn’t know they were gonna do it... go to Asgard, I mean. But I get why they did. The Greek gods are mobilizing—threatening entire races. They weren’t gonna sit back and watch Olympus take the Earth.

 

ERIC

(stern)

And now it’s more than just politics. The Norse and the Greeks won’t fight each other directly—not yet—but they’ll use us. All of us. We’re soldiers to them.

 

JASON

So the whole damn planet's gonna be turned into some mythological turf war?

 

THALIA

(arms crossed)

It’s already started.

 

GODRIC

(turning to Sookie)

The Council was split. Many wanted to kneel to Olympus to avoid war. But the Mikaelsons chose differently. And now... they’ve chosen you.

 

Sookie looks down into her lap, fingers clenching her glass.

 

SOOKIE

I didn’t ask to be part of this.

 

THALIA

(touching her arm)

None of us did. But you're part of the Mikaelsons. Klaus is your father—blood or not. That makes you part of this war.

 

ERIC

And that means you're not alone.

 

SOOKIE

(nods slowly)

If war is coming... then I want to fight for the side that didn’t kneel.

 

The wind rustles through the trees as thunder rumbles faintly in the distance—whether natural or divine, none of them are quite sure.

 

TEMPLE OF OLYMPUS – THRONE ROOM – NIGHT

 

Lightning crackles in jagged bursts around the golden marble pillars. The air is charged, tense. At the heart of the throne room sits ZEUS, his eyes glowing like storms. Around him are gathered Hermes, Ares, Athena, and Hera — the core of Olympus. But tonight, the guest list extends far beyond Greek borders.

 

Before him now kneel emissaries or avatars of other godly pantheons:

 

A crimson-robed envoy of the Egyptian Ennead, their face veiled in gold.

 

The burning-eyed shadow of a Mesopotamian god, cloaked in ash and blood.

 

A silvery moon priestess of Shinto, standing still as water.

 

The Jaguar Knight, speaking for the forgotten Aztec gods.

 

And a mummified delegate of the Slavic gods, draped in frost and decay.

 

ZEUS (voice booming like thunder)

We stand on the edge of a reckoning. The Asgardians defy the order we built. They poison the lesser beings with dreams of resistance.

 

He steps forward, lightning rippling through the clouds that cling to the air.

 

ZEUS (cont.)

They would give mortals the power to rise… to wound gods. They align with the Mikaelsons — wild creatures, half-immortal, half-myth, with no place in the natural order.

 

He slams his staff down. A world map appears, burning red where alliances are forming.

 

ZEUS

This is your choice. Bend your knees to Olympus, or burn with the traitors. I offer unity. Power. Dominion over Earth and all who dwell beneath our gaze. But we must act now. Let us drown Midgard in fire and salt. Let no tree of life grow. Let no god of thunder answer a prayer.

 

The Egyptian emissary bows their head.

 

EGYPTIAN ENVOY

Ra is silent… but Set listens. War is in his nature. He may favor your storm.

 

JAGUAR KNIGHT

Huitzilopochtli thirsts for blood. If the Asgardians protect life, we shall answer you with death.

 

SLAVIC DELEGATE (with a harsh grin)

Perun might hesitate. But Chernobog has long waited to break chains. Darkness remembers Olympus well.

 

SHINTO PRIESTESS

Tsukuyomi is divided… Amaterasu still watches. We cannot yet answer.

 

ZEUS (low, dangerous)

Then choose quickly. The World Tree rises again. The Mikaelson child waters it with hope. Hope is poison. It spreads faster than any flame.

 

He turns to Ares.

 

ZEUS

Send word to Helios. Let the sun scorch their skies. And awaken the Titans. If the world must be torn in two to silence this rebellion, so be it.

 

ATHENA (softly)

You would destroy the Earth to preserve your throne?

 

ZEUS

I would destroy a thousand Earths if it meant keeping Olympus from falling.

 

Lightning strikes outside, sending tremors through the mountain. The council of gods disperses — each returning to their realms to consider which side of the coming war they will stand on.

 

The gods of Earth are choosing. And war is coming.

 

THE GREAT HALL OF ASGARD – Midday

 

The air is thick with divine energy. The vaulted golden ceilings of Asgard’s Great Hall shimmer like starlight. Massive banners bearing the sigils of Asgard hang behind the high dais where ODIN, regal and composed, stands before a gathering of deities from numerous ancient pantheons.

 

Seated or standing throughout the hall are representatives of the Shinto kami, Egyptian gods, Celtic deities, Hindu devas, Mesopotamian immortals, and the remaining Norse pantheon—Thor, Frigga, Tyr, Freya, Baldur, and others.

 

Each has received the same call from Zeus—a demand for allegiance or destruction.

 

But they are here for a different reason.

 

ODIN

(addressing the hall)

Zeus would see the world burn before yielding power. He rallies fire and storm to drown the Earth and erase Asgard from existence… as he tried once before.

 

SHIVA, cloaked in smoke and silence, nods once. Thoth from the Egyptian pantheon adjusts his scrolls but says nothing. A Shinto fox spirit, Inari, tilts her head and finally speaks.

 

INARI

Olympus seeks dominion, not balance. We will not bow to a tyrant.

 

THOTH

Nor shall the wisdom of Kemet be shackled to flame and wrath.

 

FRIGGA

(to the room)

Then it is settled. Those who wish to survive this war must choose a side—Olympus, or us.

 

TYR

Let Olympus find only ruin at our gates. Let them burn themselves trying.

 

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the hall. Then Odin raises a hand, silencing them.

 

ODIN

Before the war begins, you must understand something… critical.

(he turns toward the Bifrost chamber's rear corridor)

Come forward.

 

A small light shimmers—HEIMDALL steps aside to allow a projection-like vision to appear—an echo from an alternate timeline, preserved only in Asgard’s temporal vaults.

 

HOPE MIKAELSON, older, fierce and calm, stands in Asgard’s gardens, speaking with an older Odin.

 

OLDER ODIN (ECHO)

This seed is from the World Tree before the Olympians destroyed it. In your time, it may be all that remains. Take it. Give it to your younger self. Let her plant it. Let it grow, before the gods can sense it.

 

The vision fades.

 

BALDUR

The child… she’s regrowing the World Tree?

 

ODIN

She already has. The sapling grows in New Orleans as we speak. The child of vampire, werewolf, and witch. A Mikaelson. A tribrid. But more importantly… a bridge between what was and what must be.

 

FREYA (Norse goddess, not Freya Mikaelson)

Then Fate has already moved. And Olympus—has already lost.

 

Odin nods.

 

ODIN

We will not rule. We will defend. The world must be free to choose. And to that end, we—Asgard—will stand.

 

He turns, lifting Gungnir, his spear, into the air. Divine thunder echoes across the chamber.

 

ODIN (CONT'D)

Let Olympus come. Let the old gods rise. We will not kneel. We will not falter.

 

A chorus of voices echoes back as gods of various pantheons rise and draw their divine weapons.

 

ALL

We stand with Asgard.

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 37: Hell on Earth

Summary:

Hell descends as a weapon is forged.

Notes:

I own nothing. new chapter Enjoy.

New Orleans — The Mikaelson Compound

 

The storm outside broke against the French Quarter with the fury of a war drum. Lightning split the night sky, casting stark shadows across the brick walls of the Mikaelson compound. Inside, the family was gathered in the main hall, the air thick with an unspoken sense of inevitability.

 

Freya stood at the long wooden table, the fragment of the New World Tree lying before her like an ancient relic. The piece pulsed faintly, almost as if it had a heartbeat, its bark glowing with runes no mortal hand had carved.

 

"This is it," she said, her voice carrying over the rumble of thunder. "The key to ending gods."

 

Elijah, perfectly composed as ever despite the storm, leaned in slightly. "And you are certain it can be done?"

 

Freya’s eyes glinted. "The World Tree connects realms—Asgard, Olympus, all divine planes. A fragment like this… it contains threads of all realities. If I bind it to the right spell, I can fashion a weapon that pierces not only the flesh but the divine essence itself. One strike… and Zeus, or any god, will cease to exist entirely."

 

Klaus let out a dark chuckle, circling the table like a predator. "So, the King of Olympus falls with a single blow. Poetic, really. I do love when arrogant men meet an abrupt end."

 

Rebekah crossed her arms. "You’re assuming we get close enough to Zeus to use it. He’s not exactly the type to invite us in for tea and scones."

 

Freya’s fingers traced the bark, then moved to a small iron cauldron at her side. "That’s where my magic comes in. Once the weapon is forged, it won’t be just steel or wood—it will be bound to whoever wields it. No god will see it coming until it’s too late."

 

Kol leaned against the doorframe, a sly grin forming. "And who, dear sister, gets the honor of delivering the killing blow?"

 

Freya met his gaze without hesitation. "Whoever can survive the gods’ wrath long enough to strike."

 

She began chanting in Old Norse, the runes along the wood flaring to life, the fragment levitating slowly off the table. The glow filled the room, and shadows danced across the Mikaelsons’ faces—predators preparing for the hunt.

 

Klaus’ smirk widened. "Well then… let’s go hunting."

 

The lightning outside cracked louder, as if Olympus itself had heard the declaration.

 

New Orleans – The Mikaelson Compound

 

The sun had long set, and the French Quarter outside pulsed faintly with music and laughter, oblivious to the storm brewing within the ancient walls of the Mikaelson Compound. Freya stood in the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, her hands already stained with streaks of ash and shimmering gold. On the table before her lay a fragment of the New World Tree—its wood unlike anything in existence, pulsing faintly with an inner light as though it had its own heartbeat.

 

“This is it,” Freya murmured, her eyes locked on the fragment. “The only thing with enough raw cosmic potential to kill a god—any god. Including Zeus.”

 

Elijah, standing at her shoulder, watched with calm intensity. “We have killed many powerful beings, sister. But never one who claims dominion over Olympus itself. Are you certain this will work?”

 

Freya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If I’m wrong, we’ll all be dust before the week is out.”

 

Klaus, lounging nearby with a glass of bourbon, smirked. “And here I thought our lives were growing a touch too quiet. Remind me again why we’re killing Zeus instead of… oh, I don’t know… letting him and his kind destroy each other?”

 

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Because he wants to kill us all, Nik. And when someone threatens my family, they die. It’s not complicated.”

 

Freya began chanting in an ancient tongue so old it predated even the oldest vampire. The fragment of the World Tree lifted into the air, twisting and reshaping under her magic. Tendrils of molten silver coiled around it, fusing with shards of obsidian and a single drop of her own blood. The air thickened, vibrating with power.

 

A sudden gust ripped through the courtyard, extinguishing the candles as the fragment solidified into a weapon—a sleek, obsidian-tipped spear wrapped in golden veins that glowed faintly. Its mere presence radiated divinity and death.

 

“It’s done,” Freya breathed, her voice trembling. “This will pierce Zeus’s immortal heart. But you’ll only get one shot.”

 

Elsewhere – The Gates of the Underworld

 

Far from New Orleans, in the shadow of a forgotten necropolis, a black chasm split the ground. From its depths, the scent of brimstone and decay rolled like a tide.

 

Hades, ruler of the Underworld, stepped forth—tall, regal, and draped in shadow. His eyes burned like twin coals, his crown forged from the bones of kings. In his hand, the Staff of Dominion pulsed with infernal light.

 

“It’s time the living remembered why they fear the dark,” he said, his voice echoing like a thousand whispers from a thousand graves.

 

With a single thrust of his staff into the earth, the Gates of the Underworld swung wide. A roar like the breaking of the world followed as hellish creatures surged forth—winged horrors with burning eyes, skeletal beasts wreathed in black flame, and serpentine monstrosities dripping venom that melted stone.

 

Cities screamed. Skies darkened. The streets of the mortal world began to fill with nightmares that no weapon of man could kill.

 

And high above, somewhere in the ether, Zeus felt the shift in power… and smiled.

 

New Orleans, French Quarter

 

The scent of rain still clung to the streets when Sookie Mikaelson stepped out of the black town car and onto the cobblestones. The Quarter was alive in the way only New Orleans could be—jazz spilling from open doors, the mingling perfume of gumbo and bourbon in the air—but the sound felt muted, like the city was holding its breath.

 

Klaus was already waiting for her on the balcony of the Abattoir, leaning casually on the iron railing, one hand curled around a glass of whiskey. “My prodigal Daughter returns,” he greeted, his smile sharp as a blade, “you’ve come home.”

 

Before Sookie could answer, Rebekah swept in from the hall, wrapping her arms around Sookie. “You look radiant. And finally out of that backwater. We’ve much to discuss.”

 

“I can guess,” Sookie said, glancing between them. “This about the so-called gods?”

 

“Not so-called,” Elijah said as he entered, ever immaculate in a dark suit. “The Olympians are quite real, and they’ve taken offense to our existence.”

 

Klaus’s smirk widened. “And here I was thinking we’d get a welcome basket from Mount Olympus.”

 

The air shifted—an almost imperceptible hum that pressed against Sookie’s skin. Then it grew, a thrumming wave that rattled the windows and made the chandeliers sway. Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “They’re here.”

 

Lightning split the night sky, not white but gold, and in the blink of an eye, three figures appeared in the courtyard below—towering, radiant, terrible in their beauty. Ares, all burning rage and crimson armor. Artemis, her silver bow already drawn. Hermes, flickering in and out of sight, his smirk cruel.

 

Ares’ voice boomed like a war drum. “You dare trespass on the domain of gods, creatures?”

 

Klaus stepped forward to the balcony railing, utterly unfazed. “We dare a great many things, mate.”

 

Then all at once, the fight began.

 

Hermes moved first, a blur of gold and wind—only to be met with the flash of Freya’s runes from the rooftop, binding his legs in a snare of glowing chains. Artemis loosed three arrows in rapid succession, one grazing Sookie’s cheek as she moved faster than any human eye could follow. Elijah blurred down to the courtyard, intercepting the next strike.

 

The Olympians were fast. But tonight, the Mikaelsons had a surprise.

 

Rebekah tossed Sookie a sleek, black-metal spear—the head etched with symbols that seemed to hum in the blood. “Aim for the heart,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

 

The weapon sang in Sookie’s grip, feeding her strength. She didn’t hesitate—Hermes lunged at her, and she met him with a vicious upward thrust. The spearhead pierced his chest, light flaring bright enough to blind her. When it faded, the god’s body crumbled to dust.

 

The courtyard froze for half a heartbeat. Then Ares roared, charging Klaus. But Klaus sidestepped with inhuman speed, drawing a second spear from behind his back and driving it into the war god’s side. Another flare—another body gone to ash.

 

Artemis tried to retreat, loosing a final arrow at Sookie, but Elijah was already there. His strike was precise, brutal, and final. A third burst of light, and the goddess was gone.

 

The night went still except for the rain beginning to fall again. But far above, more figures shimmered into being on the edge of the storm clouds—Zeus among them, his eyes like molten gold.

 

“This is not over,” his voice thundered, before the gods vanished in a crackle of lightning.

 

Sookie exhaled slowly, lowering the spear. “Guess I picked a hell of a night to move to New Orleans.”

 

Klaus laughed, deep and wicked. “Oh, love, this is just the beginning.”

Notes:

Thanks for Reading. Comments, Questions and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 38: All out War

Summary:

War officially brakes out. The Supernatural World bends the Knee.

Notes:

I own nothing. Here's the new Chapter. Enjoy.

Olympus, Throne of the Gods

 

The air shimmered with the glow of lightning as Zeus sat upon his throne, his knuckles white on the haft of his scepter. The smell of ozone clung to the marble hall, and even the Olympians gathered could feel the crackle of his restrained fury.

 

Three thrones sat empty—gods struck down by the weapon forged from the new world tree.

 

“They dare!” Hera hissed, her voice echoing off the pillars. “Mere vampires and witches, mortals tangled in Asgardian schemes, killing gods!”

 

Apollo leaned forward, golden hair falling across his furious eyes. “This cannot stand. If we retreat again, every pantheon will scent weakness. Already whispers move among the Egyptians and the Celestials of the East.”

 

Ares slammed a fist against the arm of his chair. “Then let us end this in fire and blood! Summon our allies, every pantheon that answered Zeus’s call. Let them see Olympus is still supreme.”

 

Zeus rose slowly, his shadow stretching across the chamber. “It will not be enough to kill them. We must erase them—Mikaelsons, Asgardians, every fool who bows to the Norse pretenders. And when we are done, the Earth will burn. Let the mortals choke on ash while Olympus reigns eternal.”

 

The gods answered with a thunderous chorus, but in the shadows, some among them shifted uneasily.

 

Asgard, the Great Hall

 

The long tables of Valaskjálf were cleared, leaving only war maps spread beneath the golden light. Odin sat at the high seat, one eye blazing with grim certainty. Thor stood beside him, Mjölnir resting on the table, while Freyja, Tyr, and Heimdall flanked the king.

 

“Zeus gathers allies,” Heimdall intoned, his gaze seeing beyond realms. “The Egyptians stir. The Aztec gods whisper promises of blood. Even the Hindu pantheon wavers.”

 

Thor growled low. “Cowards! Let them join Olympus and die with Olympus.”

 

But Odin raised his hand. “Patience. The others—those who did not answer Zeus’s summons—they look to us now. They will not bow to Olympus’s tyranny.”

 

One by one, envoys from the pantheons stepped forward—the Shinto kami, the Celtic gods, even Bastet of the Egyptians who had defied Ra’s call. Each swore allegiance beneath the banners of Asgard.

 

And then Odin’s voice lowered, heavy with a truth known only to a chosen few. “Know this: the weapon that struck down Olympus’s children came from the new world tree—born because in another time, another place, I gave the sapling to the girl named Hope. Fate has circled back upon itself. If we are to win, it will be her hand that tips the balance.”

 

Thor frowned. “Then we must guard the Mikaelsons as fiercely as we guard Asgard itself.”

 

Odin’s single eye narrowed, glinting like a star in the void. “Aye. For if they fall, all falls.”

 

The Mikaelson Compound, New Orleans

 

Candles flickered against the walls, the scent of sage and blood thick in the air. Freya stood at the center, the fragment of the world tree glowing in her hands as she whispered in the old tongue. The wood twisted and reformed, taking the shape of a sleek, jagged spear—its very presence radiating god-killing power.

 

Klaus prowled the room like a caged beast, his eyes burning amber. “Three gods felled already, and yet they will come back with twice the fury.”

 

Elijah adjusted his cufflinks, his voice calm but edged. “Then we shall greet them with twice the resolve.”

 

Sookie lingered near the balcony, staring out into the stormy night. She turned back, her fae-spark bloodline glowing faintly in her veins. “Daddy,” she said softly, meeting Klaus’s gaze, “I’ve seen what’s coming. It’s not just the gods—it’s Hades’s monsters. They’re everywhere. Humans can’t fight them. They need us.”

 

Rebekah’s lips curved into a cold smile as she traced the new spear with her fingers. “Then let’s show Olympus, and the world, that the Mikaelsons are the first and the last name in power.”

 

Freya set the weapon on the table, runes flaring across its shaft. “This will kill Zeus himself. But it must be wielded by one strong enough to face him.”

 

Every eye turned toward Klaus.

 

His smile was savage. “Then the King of New Orleans will make a god bleed.”

 

The Mortal World

 

From New York to Tokyo, the night was alive with terror. Winged furies screeched through the skies, dragging soldiers from rooftops. Behemoths of flame lumbered through city streets, swatting tanks aside as though they were toys. A hydra erupted from the Mississippi, its heads devouring fleeing crowds while jets screamed past, firing missiles that only made it angrier.

 

On CNN, a reporter’s voice cracked with desperation: “The monsters… they don’t stop… the armies—nothing works!—oh God—” before the feed went black.

 

And in the chaos, humanity realized the truth: the gods had returned to war, and Earth was their battlefield.

 

Olympus

 

The throne room of Olympus burns with fury. The three gods that fell to the Mikaelsons weigh heavily on their kin. Zeus slams his lightning-scepter into the marble, the strike echoing like thunder across the heavens.

“They are abominations,” he roars. “Vampires who dare stand among gods! They wield a cursed branch of Yggdrasil itself, and they will pay.”

 

Hera, eyes sharp and cold, counters: “The Asgardians shelter them. Odin hides his true hand, and the sapling proves it. This war is no longer just between pantheons—it is for dominion over all creation.”

 

Ares grins, savage and eager. “Then let’s end it. We strike Asgard now. Burn their halls, slaughter their warriors, and the vampires with them.”

 

The gods roar their assent. The war council is set: Olympus marches to war.

 

Asgard

 

The golden halls of Valhalla glow with a somber light. Odin sits upon Hlidskjalf, ravens whispering in his ears. Beside him, Thor’s grip on Mjolnir is tight, his fury unmasked.

“They come,” Thor growls. “Zeus dares call himself All-Father. We’ll break his thunder with our own.”

 

Freyja speaks softly but firmly: “We cannot face Olympus alone. The Mikaelsons have wounded them. That weapon—only it can turn the tide.”

 

Odin nods, heavy with the burden of his alternate self’s choices. “The sapling was given for this very day. If the vampire family stands with us, then let them be counted as kin in this war. Tonight, Asgard marches with Midgard’s darkest children.”

 

New Orleans, Mikaelson Compound

 

The Mikaelson family gathers in the candlelit war room. Klaus stands at the head of the table, arms folded, his grin feral. “The gods bleed. And if they bleed—they can die.”

 

Rebekah, twirling the newly forged spear tipped with the World Tree shard, smirks. “Three fell already. Let’s see how many more scream before this is over.”

 

Freya spreads out a map of ley lines and divine nexuses. “Olympus and Asgard are on the brink of total war. When they clash, we’ll strike—not as pawns, but as the storm that devours both.”

 

Sookie, newly returned and sharper than ever, steps into the light. Her eyes glow faintly, vampire power simmering in her veins. “Then let me be the tip of the spear. If we’re to be seen as gods, let’s show them divinity wrapped in fangs and blood.”

 

Klaus smiles at his daughter. “That’s my girl.”

 

The Clash

 

High above the mortal plane, Olympus and Asgard collide. Lightning cracks against Mjolnir’s storm, the sky ripping apart with divine fury. Armies of einherjar meet the celestial hosts of Olympus in a battle that shakes the realms.

 

Into the chaos descend the Mikaelsons. Klaus and Elijah tear through demigods with vampiric speed, Rebekah drives the spear through Athena herself, her scream echoing as she falls, immortal blood staining the battlefield.

 

Sookie, faster and deadlier than any vampire before her, rips through Apollo’s golden warriors. Her strike with the World Tree dagger pierces Hermes, who collapses in disbelief before crumbling into nothing.

 

Zeus’s bellow shakes the heavens: “MORTALS DARE!” Lightning scorches the ground, scattering the family. But Klaus only laughs, blood-soaked and furious. “We are no mortals—we are Mikaelsons!”

 

The Council of the Supernaturals

 

In the great hidden chamber where vampires, witches, werewolves, and other creatures of legend convene, tension hangs heavy. News of gods slain by vampires has spread like wildfire.

 

An ancient witch rises, voice trembling. “The Mikaelsons have done what none of us dared dream. They’ve killed gods.”

 

A werewolf alpha snarls, but with respect. “If they can kill gods… they are gods.”

 

One by one, voices rise. The tide turns. Where once there was fear of the Original Family, now there is awe, reverence—even worship.

 

The Vampire King of Europe declares: “The age of Olympus and Asgard wanes. The age of the Mikaelsons dawns. And if survival demands it—we bend the knee.”

 

The council roars its assent, a pact sealed in shadows. The Mikaelsons are no longer merely vampires—they are the new gods of the supernatural world.

Notes:

Thanks For Reading. Comments, Questions, and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 39: Fall of Olympus

Summary:

Zeus gets what's coming to him.

Notes:

I own nothing. New Chapter Enjoy.

Mount Olympus – The Fading Throne Room

 

The once resplendent halls of Olympus, gilded in golden light and marble grandeur, now seemed dimmer. Cracks spread across the walls where divine power once flowed freely, and the fires of the eternal braziers flickered low. The Olympians stood gathered—wounded, fewer in number, their arrogance tempered by the bitter taste of loss.

 

The doors of the great chamber groaned open, and the representatives of the other pantheons filed in: gods of Egypt, India, the Norse allies who had yet to fully declare allegiance, and even ancient deities from forgotten corners of the world. Their faces were grave, their steps slow and deliberate.

 

Zeus, thunder still faintly sparking in his beard though diminished, slammed his staff down.

“You dare approach Olympus with such airs? Speak quickly before I lose my patience.”

 

Amun-Ra, radiant but steady, was the first to step forward. His voice was even, measured, and unyielding.

“The world trembles, Zeus. Your war has unleashed monsters upon mortals, drowned cities in fire, and spilled the blood of gods. Yet your throne weakens, your power wanes. We did not come to kneel. We came to sever ties.”

 

The murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber.

From the east, Vishnu spoke next. “Your rule has always been tyrannical. You sought dominion, not balance. But now—mortals resist you, Asgard defies you, and the Mikaelsons bleed your strength with their cursed weapon. Why should we die in your prideful war?”

 

Hera’s face paled, fury flashing in her eyes. “You would betray us? You would abandon Olympus when the world needs order most?”

 

Set, with a cruel smile, leaned upon his spear.

“Not order. Chains. You asked us to submit. We have chosen otherwise.”

 

The assembled pantheons turned their backs to Zeus as one. A ritual gesture of rejection. Power cracked in the air, threads of faith and worship snapping as their alliances dissolved. The loss hit the Olympians like a physical blow—Zeus staggered, Poseidon gripped his trident harder, and Athena’s eyes filled with fury and fear.

 

Zeus roared, his voice shaking the heavens.

“Traitors! Without Olympus, chaos will consume you all!”

 

But Odin’s voice carried from a distant echo, his words like a judgment across the chamber, though he was not present:

“No, Zeus. Not chaos. A new order. One where Olympus no longer rules.”

 

The gods of Egypt, of the East, of forgotten lands, departed through the massive gates, leaving Olympus emptier than it had ever been.

 

For the first time in millennia, Zeus looked around his hall and saw not strength, but isolation.

 

The Mikaelson Compound – War Council

 

The compound was cloaked in an unnatural silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire that burned in the great hearth. Shadows stretched long across the room, cast by the faint, eerie glow of Freya’s protective wards etched into the walls and windows. The Mikaelson family sat gathered around a heavy oak table littered with maps, arcane texts, and fragments of the new world tree that shimmered faintly with divine energy.

 

Klaus leaned forward, eyes burning with that familiar dangerous mix of determination and fury. “Olympus falters. Their so-called allies flee like rats from a sinking ship. But Zeus… he remains. And while that old bastard breathes, the others will cling to him.”

 

Elijah, ever composed, steepled his fingers. “You are suggesting we cut off the head of the snake. Kill Zeus himself, and the pantheon will collapse in on itself.”

 

Rebekah smirked, though her eyes betrayed the weight of their task. “And here I thought you enjoyed poetic speeches, brother. But for once, Elijah is right—Zeus is the lynchpin. Break him, and the Greeks will fall in line or perish with him.”

 

Freya reached across the table, laying the newly-forged weapon before them: a gleaming spear, its shaft of world tree wood, its blade forged with runes that glowed in a violent gold-blue light. “This will kill him. It carries the essence of the tree, older than Olympus, older than the gods themselves. A single strike, well-placed, and even Zeus cannot survive.”

 

Kol chuckled darkly, swirling his drink. “Charming plan, except that we’ll have to actually get close enough to plunge it into the old man’s heart. And last I checked, the King of Olympus doesn’t exactly walk around without a lightning storm guarding his hide.”

 

Sookie, seated near Rebekah, spoke up, her voice quieter but carrying an edge of resolve. “Then we make him come to us. He’s proud. Arrogant. If you wound his pride, he’ll descend from Olympus in fury.” Her eyes flicked toward Klaus. “You of all people should know how to bait a tyrant.”

 

Klaus smiled—cold, sharp, and predatory. “Oh, I do. We’ll bleed his children, strike at his precious cities, tear down his temples. And when he rages, when he cannot bear the insult, he will come. And when he does, we’ll be waiting.”

 

Elijah’s eyes darkened. “And what of the humans? Hades’ creatures already run rampant through their world. Entire cities burn.”

 

“Humans are collateral,” Klaus said with a shrug. “They’ve raised their armies and failed. This war has ascended beyond them.”

 

But Sookie’s jaw tightened. “Not collateral. If we want the world to kneel after Zeus falls, the humans need to see us not as monsters—but as saviors.”

 

Freya looked between them all, fingers resting protectively on the weapon. “Then it’s decided. We strike fear into Zeus’ heart, draw him down from Olympus, and end him. His death will mark the turning point.”

 

Rebekah leaned back, lips curving into a smile. “And then the world will learn a new truth—gods can die. But the Mikaelsons endure.”

 

Klaus stood, eyes glinting with the firelight. “So be it. Tomorrow, we begin writing the end of Olympus.”

 

The flames crackled higher in the hearth, as if the world itself sensed the storm about to break.

 

The Mortal World in Flames

 

The world groaned under the weight of divine war. Cities burned, skies blackened with ash and lightning. From New York to Tokyo, monstrous abominations poured from rifts torn open by Hades. Serpentine beasts the size of skyscrapers crushed tanks beneath their coils; skeletal legions marched through streets, fire spewing from their hollow jaws.

 

Human armies rallied bravely—fighter jets screamed across the heavens, unloading missiles into hydras that re-grew heads faster than warheads could burn them off. Battleships fired volleys into churning seas, only for leviathans to rise from the depths and drag them under. Soldiers stood their ground with rifles and courage, but their bullets only bounced off obsidian hides. Humanity was fighting, but they were losing. Badly.

 

The news feeds went silent one by one. The world’s great nations were being dragged into darkness. And in the shadows of the chaos, whispers grew louder: the Mikaelsons are fighting back, the Mikaelsons are standing against the gods.

 

The Bait for Zeus

 

On Olympus, Zeus raged. His booming voice echoed across marble halls, shaking the mountain itself.

 

“They dare challenge me? Asgard’s mongrels, those leeches of Midgard, and now… the Mikaelsons? I will strike them all down myself!”

 

Hera tried to calm him, Athena urged strategy, but Zeus’ pride drowned them out. He would not tolerate rebellion. Not from gods. Not from mortals. And certainly not from vampires.

 

Word soon reached him: Asgard was massing another offensive at the gates of Olympus. Thor’s storm called to him like a challenge he could not ignore. Zeus smiled with fury. Finally, I will end them.

 

He took his thunderbolts and descended.

 

Asgard’s Offensive

 

The rainbow bridge blazed with light as armies of Asgard charged forward—Valkyries swooping from the skies, Einherjar pounding shields, Thor and Odin themselves at the front. The clash was apocalyptic: lightning against lightning, hammer against spear, warrior against warrior.

 

The air was filled with thunder and blood. Gods screamed as steel cut divinity. Olympus trembled.

 

And then the trap was sprung.

 

Sookie & Hope vs. Zeus

 

Hidden within the battle, the Mikaelsons struck with deadly precision. Klaus and Elijah cut through Olympian demigods with practiced ease, Freya chanted incantations to weaken the barrier of Olympus itself. Rebekah fought with fire in her eyes, blade dripping ichor.

 

But it was Sookie and Hope who stood waiting. Together, they lured Zeus into the heart of the storm.

 

The sky split as he descended in a blaze of lightning, his form towering, his eyes burning with godly rage.

 

“You dare raise your hands against me?” he thundered, summoning a bolt of lightning that could shatter mountains.

 

Hope raised a shield of magic taught by Freya, barely holding back the storm. Sookie darted forward with vampire speed, striking with the world-tree-forged spear that Freya had crafted. Sparks flew as the spear met Zeus’s thunderbolt.

 

Hope joined her sister at her side, the two of them circling him like predators, one weaving magic and light, the other flashing steel and speed. Together, they moved in rhythm—Sookie striking, Hope shielding; Sookie feinting, Hope blasting runes of fire into his chest.

 

Finally, with one synchronized motion, they lunged. Hope bound Zeus’s arms in chains of magic. Sookie drove the spear through his chest.

 

Zeus staggered, disbelief etched across his face. The king of Olympus roared in fury, but Hope chanted one last spell, amplifying the weapon’s strike.

 

Together, side by side, the sisters drove the weapon deeper until it burst through Zeus’s back in a crack of light and thunder.

 

The god-king of Olympus collapsed, his body breaking apart in blinding light before shattering into ash that blew across the battlefield.

 

The storm died. Olympus trembled. The battle went silent for a single heartbeat.

 

The king of the Greek gods was dead.

Notes:

Thanks For Reading, Comments, Questions, and Kudos are all welcome.

Chapter 40: Rise of a new power

Summary:

The Universe demands new gods take the place of the dead ones.

Notes:

I own Nothing, Enjoy.

Olympus – The Ashes of a King

 

The battlefield was silent. The scent of ozone still lingered, lightning scars etched into the marble ruins of Olympus. The once-mighty king lay scattered as dust upon the wind, his thunderbolt extinguished, his throne empty.

 

The Olympians left standing recoiled in horror. Hera screamed, a sound both furious and broken, clutching her chest as the bond between her and her husband shattered. Ares stumbled back, blood dripping from his mouth, his confidence evaporating. Even Athena—stoic, eternal—lowered her gaze, fear written in her eyes.

 

Thor’s hammer fell against the ground with a heavy clang. Odin stood tall, gaze fixed on the ashes. “It is done,” he said solemnly. “The storm has broken.”

 

But then… the earth itself shook. The air thickened, vibrating with an energy older than time.

 

The Collapse of the Mikaelsons

 

The Mikaelsons, bloodied but unbowed, turned toward each other, triumphant—until suddenly, they staggered. One by one, they fell to their knees, clutching their chests as if something within was tearing free.

 

Freya gasped, her magic surging wildly, spiraling out of her control. Klaus roared, fangs bared, but his scream broke into something more primal, a sound not meant for mortal ears. Rebekah dropped her blade, convulsing as blue-white light rippled beneath her skin.

 

Hope reached for Sookie, terrified, only for both of them to collapse in unison, their hands glowing where they touched. Kol cried out, trying to crawl toward Davina, who herself was wracked with light, her pregnant form surrounded by a halo of raw, crackling magic. Mikael, even the great beast of a man, roared as the same fire consumed him.

 

The battlefield stilled. Asgardians, Olympians, all stepped back, watching in awe and terror.

 

The Rebirth

 

From their bodies erupted radiant streams of light—gold, silver, crimson, deep violet—each twisting into the sky. The universe itself seemed to hold its breath. For balance had been broken: too many gods slain, the cosmic scales tipped into chaos.

 

New gods were required. And the universe had chosen.

 

The Mikaelsons rose.

 

Klaus first, eyes burning like molten gold, thunder rumbling in his chest. His vampiric aura now fused with something divine, a storm incarnate.

 

Freya lifted her hands, and runes of living light spun into existence around her—witch no longer, but sorceress-goddess, her power endless.

 

Kol straightened, his smirk returning as violet flames danced at his fingertips, chaos made flesh. At his side, Davina shone like a star, the world tree’s magic bound to her womb, her voice resonating with creation and destruction alike.

 

Rebekah glowed with fierce beauty, every step leaving a shimmer of eternal grace. She was more than immortal now—she was untouchable.

 

Mikael’s shadow towered, his presence darker than Hades himself, war made manifest.

 

And then there was Hope—her young face illuminated by light both pure and terrible, the future incarnate, the bridge of mortal and god.

 

Finally, Sookie. Her fae blood and Mikaelson spirit intertwined, wings of golden fire unfurling from her back. She turned her gaze skyward, power radiating like a second sun.

 

Together, they stood transformed—not just vampires, witches, hybrids, or fae anymore. They were all of those things and more. They were gods.

 

The World Watches

 

In the ruins of Olympus, Hera fell to her knees, whispering, “New gods… the balance…”

 

Odin inclined his head, acknowledging what even he could not deny. “The universe has chosen its heirs. Olympus has fallen. And in its place—” he looked to the Mikaelsons, now blazing with divine power—“a new pantheon rises.”

 

Far below, in the mortal world, humans looked to the skies as storms parted, auroras split across continents, and the news cameras caught figures glowing with impossible power. The whispers began immediately: saviors, destroyers, gods.

 

And in the farmhouse back in Bon Temps, Jason Stackhouse dropped his beer, staring at the TV. “Holy hell, Sook… you ain’t just kin to them anymore. You are one of them.”

 

The Mikaelsons Awaken as Gods

 

The light surrounding them dimmed, settling into their skin, their eyes, their very beings. Power hummed through the air, raw and ancient, binding them each to a role in the balance of existence. The transformation wasn’t random—it was guided by what they were, by who they had always been.

 

Klaus – God of Storms and Dominion

Lightning flickered across Klaus’s fingertips as he flexed his hands, the storm in the sky answering his moods. His eyes glowed gold, thunder rolled with his heartbeat. He was still a hybrid, fangs sharp and wolf rising beneath his skin, but now he was something greater: the embodiment of conquest and storm. Wherever Klaus stood, dominion followed. His presence bent enemies to their knees, and with a thought he could summon winds, thunder, and the fury of the tempest.

 

“I am the storm they whispered about,” he said softly, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “Now, I simply wear its crown.”

 

Freya – Goddess of Magic and Runes

The eldest sister stood cloaked in a halo of shimmering symbols, her runes no longer tools, but living beings orbiting her like stars. Her voice carried power enough to unmake spells, to bend even divine wards to her will. Freya’s role crystallized instantly: she was the new axis of magic itself, the eternal Witch-Goddess, with the authority to shape creation’s hidden laws.

 

“Every spell, every curse, every blessing… they answer to me now.”

 

Elijah – God of Oaths and Order

Elijah’s suit was shredded, his hands bloodied, but as he stood, his spine was straighter than ever. A silver aura enveloped him, one of law and honor, a presence that demanded obedience to vow and justice. His voice could bind enemies to their words; his blade, once sharp, now carried the weight of divine judgment. He was the arbiter, the balance-keeper among them.

 

“I will be the hand that steadies our rule. And the sword that punishes betrayal.”

 

Rebekah – Goddess of Beauty and Desire

The youngest sister glowed with a golden radiance that made even Olympians avert their eyes. Her vampiric beauty had transcended into something more dangerous—her presence alone could sway hearts, bend wills, topple empires. But beneath that beauty lay steel; she could instill loyalty as easily as she could inspire ruinous obsession. Desire, power, longing—all became her dominion.

 

“The world will finally see me as more than just a dream,” she whispered, eyes burning. “They will see me as a goddess.”

 

Kol – God of Chaos and Shadows

Kol laughed as violet flames danced along his hands, shadow and fire weaving like serpents. His domain was clear: chaos, trickery, the beauty of destruction. He could slip between shadows, twist fate, and unmake magic as easily as he wielded it. The universe had crowned him its wild card, the eternal trickster god.

 

“Well, well. I always did say I was destined for greatness. Godhood suits me.”

 

Davina – Goddess of Life and the World Tree

Davina stood with her hands upon her stomach, a gentle glow surrounding her. The sapling that had once been a gift was now in her veins, in her soul. She was tied to the world tree itself, the lifeblood of creation flowing through her. With a word she could restore, heal, or birth new power into being—but with equal force, she could strip life away.

 

“The tree gave me its voice,” she said softly. “And I will decide who grows, and who withers.”

 

Mikael – God of War and Vengeance

The old patriarch rose, towering, his body wreathed in fire and steel. He was no longer just the monster they had once feared—he was War incarnate. His strength rivaled titans, his voice was a battle cry that could shake armies, his rage a living weapon. Wherever he walked, the promise of vengeance followed.

 

“For too long I was a destroyer without cause. Now… I have a kingdom to burn for.”

 

Hope – Goddess of Future and Creation

Though only a child, Hope’s divinity shone brightest of all. In her small hands glowed a light of possibility, strands of fate weaving between her fingers. She was creation itself, the future in motion, both terrifying and beautiful. Though her power was unstable, even Odin whispered of her destiny.

 

“Daddy,” she whispered, clutching Klaus’s hand, “I can see everything. All that will be. All that can be. And we… we’re supposed to win.”

 

Sookie – Goddess of Balance and Light

Sookie’s transformation was luminous. Her fae heritage fused with Mikaelson divinity, wings of radiant gold extending from her back. She was the balance to Klaus’s storm, the light to Mikael’s war, the mercy to Freya’s power. Her domain was harmony, truth, and judgment—the bridge between mortal and divine. Her touch could banish corruption, her voice could calm gods.

 

“I never asked for this,” she said quietly, wings folding behind her. “But if I have to carry it, I’ll make sure this world survives.”

 

The World Reacts

 

As they stood, the sky above the battlefield split—an aurora that stretched across the world. Mortals fell to their knees in awe and terror. The news stations that still broadcast spoke one truth in a hundred tongues:

 

A new pantheon has risen.

 

Olympus was broken. The Norse stood in uneasy alliance. The humans watched, helpless. But the Mikaelsons—once cursed, once feared, once merely vampires—were now gods.

 

And the universe had given them dominion.

 

New Orleans, Mikealson’s Compound

 

The air beneath the Mikaelson compound was damp and heavy, thick with centuries of forgotten whispers. The torchlight flickered against stone walls carved long ago, shadows stretching across rows of desiccated vampires entombed in their eternal prison. Each face, withered and silent, was a reminder of what it meant to cross Klaus Mikaelson.

 

At the far end of the chamber, a shallow grave was disturbed — dirt and dust scattered across the cold floor. From within it, the gaunt figure of Marcel Gerard lay motionless, his body long starved of blood, his eyes hollow yet defiant even in dormancy.

 

Klaus stepped into the chamber with a slow, deliberate stride, his presence commanding. The weight of his newfound divinity radiated from him — not merely the aura of an immortal vampire, but something heavier, ancient, and godlike.

 

“Four years,” Klaus said quietly, his voice echoing off the stone. “Four years, you have rotted here, Marcel. Four years since you dared to raise your hand against my daughter.” His tone sharpened, fangs flashing for just a moment. “Against Hope Mikaelson.”

 

With a wave of his hand, divine power hummed through the chamber. The earth shifted, coughing Marcel’s broken body free from its prison. He collapsed against the stone, breath wheezing into his lungs as if life had been forcibly returned to him.

 

Marcel’s sunken eyes fluttered open, rage and shame mixing in his hollowed face. “Niklaus…” His voice cracked.

 

“Yes,” Klaus stepped closer, crouching so his eyes met Marcel’s. “I could have ended you then. I could have ripped you apart, scattered your ashes to the wind. But death was too merciful for betrayal of that magnitude. So you lay here, buried alive, reminded of your failure.”

 

Marcel coughed, struggling to lift his head. “So… what now? Another century in the dark?”

 

Klaus’s smirk curled, but there was no humor in it — only something sharp, dangerous, godlike. “No, Marcel. I have decided your fate.” He extended his hand, and a golden surge of power flowed from his palm, wrapping around Marcel like fire and light.

 

Marcel screamed, his veins burning, his immortal strength ripping from him in waves of agony. The darkness of vampirism was stripped from his blood, peeled away like a curse undone by something greater than witchcraft. When the glow finally faded, Marcel collapsed to the floor — his chest heaving, his heart beating, warm blood coursing once again through mortal veins.

 

Klaus straightened, his expression unreadable as he looked down upon the man who had once called him father. “You are no longer vampire, Marcel Gerard. You are no longer immortal. You are human. That is your punishment — and your gift. You will know weakness again. You will know hunger, and fear, and time.”

 

Marcel raised trembling hands, staring at them in disbelief, his eyes wide with horror and awe. “You… you made me—”

 

“Human,” Klaus finished coldly. “The very thing you hated being. The thing you clawed your way out of. Now, live out your fragile life, knowing you once stood among kings and gods, and squandered it all with betrayal.”

 

Klaus turned his back on him, his footsteps echoing as he left the chamber. “Should you ever come near my family again, mortal though you are now… I will not hesitate to end you.”

 

The heavy stone door groaned shut, leaving Marcel alone in the dark. For the first time in centuries, he felt the weight of time pressing on him. A heartbeat that could be lost. A body that could break. A man who had fallen from power… now forced to live as nothing more than human.

Notes:

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