As Esther, peering through Kol's iridescent eyes, began a low, rhythmic incantation, the Banshee moved around the room. She reached onto the debris-strewn dining table and retrieved a cup from the floor.
The woman moved from one paralyzed original to the next. She knelt beside Rebekah first, then Elijah, and finally Klaus, using a shard of crystal to draw a dark, thick stream of ancient blood from each of them into the cup.
"I will find you," Klaus hissed as his voice came out as an angry rasp of pure malice. The Banshee's shadow fell over him. "I will tear the tongue from your head and feed it to the crows. I will spend the next millennium making you scream for a death that will never come."
The Banshee paused, tilting her head at an unnatural angle as if trying to process the concept of a threat.
Esther let out a dry, rattling chuckle through Kol's throat. "Ignore him, dear. If there is one thing my children have perfected over a thousand years of me watching them from the Other Side, it is the art of threatening their so-called enemies who, in truth, are merely the victims they themselves have created. It is a tired song, Niklaus. One I have grown quite bored of hearing."
The Banshee finished her task, her pale fingers slick with the blood of the Mikaelson line. She stood and glided back to the center of the room, presenting the overflowing chalice to Esther-in-Kol. Esther took the cup with a nod, and without a word, the Banshee turned and vanished into the darkened corridors of the manor.
Elijah, pinned against the floor, let out a sharp, sudden scoff that bubbled into a dark laugh.
"Is there something you find amusing, my son?" Esther asked, her eyes narrowing as she swirled the mixture of blood in the silver cup.
"The futility of your theater," Elijah said, his voice strained while mocking his mother, "What exactly do you intend to do with that, Mother? You are a witch, yes, but even you cannot bypass the laws of nature. You are inhabiting the body of an Original vampire. You cannot cast a full linking spell from within a vessel that is, by its very definition, an abomination of magic. Even if you could siphon enough power to try, this type of magic, this petty blood-work will not hold against us while you occupy Kol's flesh."
Rebekah looked between her brother and her mother, a flicker of hope struggling to ignite in her eyes. "He's right, as long as you are in that body you are just as trapped as we are on this floor."
Esther stood silent for a long moment, and then a laugh began to build in her chest. It wasn't the soft, maternal chuckle from before; it was a loud, hysterical peal of mirth that rang off the vaulted ceilings.
"What the bloody hell is so funny?" Rebekah snapped, her voice trembling.
"The fact that you continue to underestimate me," Esther said, finally calming her breath. "Do you truly believe I didn't think of the limitations of this vessel before I stepped into it? Do you think I would come to this battle unarmed against my own creations?"
With a sudden, violent movement, Esther-in-Kol brought Kol's own wrist to his teeth and bit down hard. The sound of tearing flesh was loud in the quiet room. She held the bleeding wrist over the chalice, letting Kol's own volatile blood hiss as it hit the mixture of his siblings'.
"I did a great deal to this body before I took up residence within it," Esther whispered, her eyes glowing with a renewed, sickly light. "I have prepared this vessel to be more than a cage. This body isn't just a component for a spell, it's also a protection against you disobedient children and a point to channel from.
"Now then," Esther said, her voice dropping into a chilling, business-like cadence. "Let us begin before we are interrupted again by the hellhound shall we."
With a steady hand, Esther-in-Kol reached into the inner pocket of Kol's velvet jacket. She withdrew a weathered parchment, the edges blackened by time. As she unfurled it, the lamplight revealed names written in deep, Viking runes, the true names of her children, written in the language of their birth. She laid it upon the marble floor and began to pour the viscous, steaming mixture of their combined blood onto the vellum. Just then the banshee came back to the room to witness the ritual.
A low, rhythmic chant began to vibrate through Kol's chest, a series of incantations that seemed to pull the very shadows toward the center of the room.
"If your plan is to link us all and kill us, Mother, then you are one short," Klaus rasped, "Your math is as flawed as your mercy."
Esther-in-Kol let out a short, sharp laugh, never breaking the rhythm of the spell. "A minor discrepancy, Niklaus. Nature is on my side tonight. She craves the balance I am about to restore. I will finally rectify the mistake of bringing such abominations into this world, and she will provide the strength where your siblings' blood fails."
As she spoke, the blood on the parchment began to move with a life of its own. It didn't soak into the paper; it crawled, forming dark, pulsating veins that stretched from one name to the next. One after another, the runes began to glow with a sickly, crimson light.
"You're a parasite, Mother!" Rebekah spat, her voice thick with tears, "You're using the very things you hate to feel powerful one last time. Nature isn't on your side, you're just a ghost who can't let go!"
"Nature is the hand that guides me, Rebekah," Esther countered, her voice rising in power. "And with her at my back, I cannot fail. I will succeed where a thousand years of hunters have—"
'Hehehe'
She stopped. Her gaze flickered to Elijah.
Elijah was no longer grimacing in pain. A slow, thin smile had bloomed across his face, and a soft, dry chuckle escaped his lips. Esther tilted Kol's head, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"What is so amusing, Elijah?" she demanded. "You are seconds away from non-existence."
"Do you know what else is beside you apart from nature, Mother?" Elijah whispered, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, triumphant light.
Esther-in-Kol frowned, her senses flaring. "What are you—"
"Our brother," Elijah said firmly.
Esther-in-Kol didn't even have time to turn.
A heavy, agonizingly hot mass smashed into Kol's chest with the force of a trailer. The impact was so immense it released a localized shockwave of superheated air that stripped the silk from Kol's sleeves and shattered the remaining glass in the foyer.
Esther saw the air beside her shimmer and warp, the heat distortion blurring the world until she locked eyes with a very unamused Michael. He stood in the center of the ruin, his skin webbed with cooling lava and his eyes were burning a terrifying, absolute red.
He said something through the pain that invaded Kol's body, his voice came out as a low, vibrating hum that seemed to bypass the ears, "You speak of nature as if you are its architect," Michael whispered.
With a sudden, explosive pivot, Michael drove a heel into Kol's midsection.
"I know nature more than you ever could, Witch," Michael growled, his voice echoing like a rumbling shift, "Nature does not demand a cleansing. It demands a balance. This response and this fire is my rejection of your claim."
The kick was a physical manifestation of his will. It didn't just blast Kol's body across the mansion, through a set of double doors and out the dining wing; it acted as a mystical grounding wire. The surge of Hellhound energy slammed into the magical current Esther was weaving, acting as a violent cancelation.
The "liquid lead" in the siblings' veins instantly vanished. The linking spell on the parchment hissed, the blood turning to black ash before the connection could reach Klaus's name.
Elijah, Klaus, and Rebekah gasped as the paralysis broke, their bodies sagging with the sudden return of their own strength.
In a span of less than three seconds, the power dynamic of the room was dismantled. As Kol's body was still skipping across the marble floor toward the exit of the dining wing, Michael's hand snapped upward. The sound of heavy, spectral iron and the ringing of Chains of Hellfire echoed through the hall.
White-hot links materialized in the air, lashing out like striking cobras toward the Banshee. Michael's intent was singular and that was a clean, absolute decapitation to silence the herald of the pit once and for all.
But the Banshee was a creature of ancient, borrowed debt. Even as the chains whistled toward her, her hand blurred, snatching the blood-soaked parchment from the floor, the link Esther had desperately tried to forge. As the hellfire closed around her throat, she didn't scream and Michael frowned as a pale, sickly aura erupted from her skin, a roiling cloud of translucent, shrieking souls. Thousands of tormented faces swirled in a microscopic hurricane around her, forming a spectral barrier. The room was suddenly filled with the cacophony of the damned, a wall of sound so thick it felt physical.
Michael's eyes narrowed, the red furnace of his pupils tracking the flow of the spirits. He saw his chains halt inches from her throat, the metal glowing white as it began to melt the very essence of the souls shielding her.
"Using the dead as a shield?" Michael's voice dropped into a low, terrifying resonance. He didn't pull back and Instead, he unleashed a quick, violent torrent of flame from his free hand, a concentrated stream of hell wind that hammered into the spectral barrier.
The souls were immediately incinerated, their agonizing wails turning into a hissing silence as Michael's fire reached into the metaphysical.
He stepped forward, the floor melting beneath his feet, his gaze fixed on the woman. His voice took on the weight of an inevitable decree.
"Do not think your wall of ghosts can withstand the heat of my judgment," Michael intoned, his words carrying the crushing gravity of a death sentence. "Your subordinates are already nothing but ash drifting on the wind. To me, your existence is merely a smudge upon the canvas of this world. I shall reduce you, and the thousands you hide behind, to a state where even the concept of your memory is burned from the fabric of time."
The Banshee's jaw began to unhinge, her chest expanding as she prepared a sonic counter-attack that would likely level the mansion and liquefy the brains of every human in the room.
"Oh no, you don't," Michael growled.
He didn't wait for the sound to leave her mouth as he closed his fist, and the hellfire chains imploded.
In the next heartbeat, a massive portion of the mansion's eastern wing exploded outward. The force of Michael's compressed energy met the Banshee's rising scream in a violent, chemical-like reaction. Stone, wood, and spectral energy erupted in a Pillar of Fire that punched through the roof and scattered the manor's foundation like autumn leaves.
—————-
In the high-walled sanctuary of a private estate in Massachusetts, Brandon sat behind a desk of carved obsidian, his eyes scanning a series of pictures with the shifting stock prices of global conglomerates.
Cara stood opposite him, she adjusted a cufflink as she spoke to him, "The infiltration of Triad Industries is proceeding, albeit with significant friction. We've successfully diverted 15% of their R&D budget through several shell corporations in the Caymans. However, their internal security, specifically their 'occult forensics' division is proving more resilient than anticipated. We are pushing for a majority share through the board of directors, but several key members are... resistant to our 'charms.'"
Brandon nodded slowly, his fingers steepled. "Triad was built on the blood of the three species. Their foundations are ancient and paranoid. If the direct approach is failing, pivot to the secondary market. Destabilize their supply chains for the 'materials' they use for their containment cells. If they can't build, they can't profit."
Just then, a sharp knock echoed through the room.
"Come in," Brandon said, not looking up.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and a woman stepped into the room with her hands in her coat. She moved with a seductive feline grace and a confidence that would make most men hesitate in approaching her. Her hair was a vibrant, untamed red, and her eyes held the weary wisdom of an immortal who had seen empires rise and crumble into dust.
Brandon finally looked up, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "It's been a while, Red."
The woman scoffed, "Is that what we're calling it? It's only been four centuries, Brandon. Hardly a weekend in the life of our kind."
"Four and a half," Brandon corrected mildly. "But who's counting?"
The redhead moved closer with her gaze sharpening, "Why am I here? What does he want this time? Last I checked, my contract with the 'Great Protector' was strictly on a consultant basis."
"He wants you in Mystic Falls as soon as possible," Cara interjected, her tone clipped and professional.
The woman arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Mystic Falls? That backwater pit? Why?"
"The family is facing a crisis," Brandon said, his voice dropping an octave. "They are on the verge of absolute destruction."
The woman let out a short, melodic laugh, her eyes shining with dark amusement. "Well, good riddance to them. Honestly, the Mikaelsons have been a stain on the carpet for a millennium. If they've finally found a way to expire, I'll send a wreath."
Cara looked at Brandon, her expression dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, she didn't get that, did she? She's still playing the 'I don't care' card. It's almost adorable."
The woman's eyes flashed with a hint of violence. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"When I said the family," Brandon said, standing up and leaning over the desk to look her in the eye, "I meant all of them. Every single one."
The woman stilled, the amusement vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. "Even if I were to believe that... Michael is there, isn't he? He wouldn't allow anything to happen to them. He's the shield, the fire and the final word after all."
"True," Cara said, her professional mask slipping just enough to show genuine concern, "The boss is already there, trying to divert the calamity that comes with even one of them falling. He is doing the heavy lifting."
"But," Brandon added, his gaze becoming intensely serious, "there is still the fact that your beloved might actually run straight toward that so-called calamity. Finn was always a martyr looking for a cause. And if he falls... if the line is broken through that calamity..."
He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from her. "Not only will there be chaos, but you and every vampire who ever came from his line will perish as well. It's a scorched-earth policy, and Finn is standing in the center of the brushfire."
Brandon placed a hand on her shoulder, "Is that what you want, Sage? For your beloved to die? For your life to end because of a mother's madness and a son's misplaced guilt?"
Sage didn't respond immediately, her jaw tightened, and the ancient, fierce love she had tried to bury for hundreds of years flared in her eyes. "Where in Mystic Falls?"