First Person POV
I found myself walking through the lively and colourful street of New Orleans with an elegant blonde lady at my side. I breathed in the air, thick with the scent of beignets, joy, leftover sorrows, and some old magic.
The French Quarter. No doubt, a familiar scent to anyone who had walked these streets.
My arrival here had been... impactful. The air around me had crackled as if struck by lightning, leaving the alley tainted by foggy residue.
So yeah, me and my associate had to book it and leave there quickly. Hence, leading us to our current explorative walk.
A deep sigh, radiating disappointment and disbelief, came from the blonde lady fuming at me. 'You know,' she said, 'I still can't believe you couldn't teleport. That's what you said before we left, right? If you couldn't teleport properly, why didn't we just ask Mother Nature for help back then?'"
"Woah, slow your roll there, Beautiful.'' I cautioned as we stopped in front of an old mansion. ''I was ninety percent sure of how to do it, and most importantly, didn't we still get here in one piece?'' I wondered, 'How old is this place exactly?'"
'Haaa,' I heard her complain as she gave a deep bow. ''Let's just go inside and get this over with, shall we, your highness?'' She groaned before walking into the house. ''Also, remember to ready the communication link with Marilyn, informing her that we've arrived, understood?''
''Your will is my command, my Lord,' she complied before I decided I'd walk around. You know that saying, 'when in Rome, visit the pyramids'... yeah, no one said that, I'm just really excited to check New Orleans out."
My inner fanboy began pulling me in the same direction she was going, leading us to a grand courtyard, veiled by serious wrought-iron gates."
It just beckoned towards me, towards that little boy that always stayed up late watching the show.
This was the place, I knew, the place where all the chaos of the Originals show ensued. This was also where the Mikaelson had their last supper before.
A guttural growl tore through the humid quiet. I turned, no longer the starry-eyed fanboy, but the entity now standing in this historic courtyard.
Before me stood Marcel Gerard: dark leather jacket, stylish dress, eyes blazing with predatory intensity. The King of the Quarter, the Beast himself. I knew his legend, knew all he'd done.
His fangs were bared in a warning. His aura was intimidating, certainly, but it barely registered with me. True fear required power on my level.
"You know," he snarled, his gaze flicking to Esther beside me, "I didn't want to believe it when I got a call this morning. Reports of a supposedly dead Mikaelson moving with some young man in a leather capris jacket." His jaw clenched. "Now I've got to rush all the way here to confirm it."
"Correction," I interjected, a slight smile playing on my lips. "It's Italian, my boy, and this jacket was a real pain to acquire."
"And who the hell are you?" Marcel snarled, a low challenge rumbling in his chest. "And what exactly do you think you're doing in my city?" He looked like he was finding some kind of patience, to avoid violence "Plus, why are you with Esther Mikaelson of all people?"
"Well, that sounds a bit racist, don't you think so?" I stepped out to lecture this clearly racist guy. "Just because she's white-haired and has a bad rep doesn't mean you can talk badly about her"
He lunged, a blur of vampire speed, aiming for my throat - clearly tired of my anticts.
I didn't move, I didn't have to move. My new powers didn't need conscious thought. They simply defended.
His fist, fueled by extreme vampiric might, connected with my chest, but it was as if he'd struck a mountain.
The impact reverberated, but not through me. It bounced back, amplified, slamming into him with bone-jarring force.
Marcel recoiled, stumbling back several feet, his eyes widening in shock, then disbelief. "What… what are you?"
My voice deepened, not just sounding, but vibrating through every stone in the courtyard, resonant with the weight of my new status. "I am called the Morningstar. And this city, this world, is in need of order."
"Marcel Gerard! Stop there, don't do anything to anger him!' We heard Esther shout, but clearly neither of us cared, it would seem. We both continued onwards with our play..
He recovered quickly, a flicker of fear replaced by stubborn defiance. "Order? You think you can waltz in here and demand order? I am the order here!" He launched himself again, faster this time, using his fangs as his weapon.
This time, I finally moved. Not with my fist, oh no - that would be too barbaric for me, Instead I retaliated with my unique ability. As the air around me crackled, not with magic, but with an unseen force that pressed down hard on him, forcefully denying him motion
Marcel froze mid-air, a marionette with severed strings, his fangs inches from my neck. His eyes, that were once defiant, now held a glimmer of terror as he struggled against an unseen and terrifying force.
I allowed the terror to build up in him, just before letting that same force pull Marcel to his knees. Yeah he's pissed, but I did just force him to kneel before a stranger.
Marcel looked confused. One of the strongest and most powerful creatures in the world, someone higher than an Original vampire, had just been put down easily.
It was confusing experience but this power, my power was beyond his understanding.
"Your reign is… conditional," I stated, my voice calm, unwavering. "If you know... you know."
With a slight shift of my hand, a ripple of energy emanated from me, and Marcel was slammed against a stone wall, hard enough to crack the ancient masonry.
He groaned, slumping to the ground, momentarily stunned.
I walked towards him, as the light on my skin added a soft, layered beauty to my vibe. "The Mikaelsons were mostly fools, but they had an allure, each in their own chaotic way. Their departure left a vacuum, a lingering stench of unaddressed feelings. That ends now."
Marcel pushed himself up, still reeling, but his vampire healing was already at work. That was effective! I felt that if he wasn't up against me, he might have already healed.
He looked at me with a mix of suspicion and a dawning, terrifying comprehension. After all, he had never truly encountered anything quite like me.
"Klaus and Elijah are gone," he gasped, spitting blood. "There's nothing you can do about that."
"On the contrary," I countered, a faint smile touching my lips. "Their passing was… mourned. A glorious end. But as a being of my new status, I can't help but wonder." The smile on my face turning into a full blown grin, "What the story would be like if they were still alive in this world."
Marcel stared, his jaw slack. He knew what I was implying. He didn't believe it. Couldn't.
"You… you can't," he whispered, a tremor in his voice. "No one can bring them back."
"You would be surprised at the amount of things that I can accomplish," I replied, then turned, walking away from the stunned Marcel, leaving him to ponder the impossible.
He tried to rush after me, but something held him in place once more. 'So what? Are we just puppets to amuse you? Playthings that you can't get enough of?'"
"I am not even going to dignify that with an answer," I snarkily responded to the bounded man.
"Is this really necessary?" Esther began walking towards us, clearly fed up with our childish behaviour." Do you really have to rile him up? What will you gain from doing this?"
I just smiled at her, she posed a very good question but there was no actual reason for what I just did. There also won't be any reason to make out.
Because my path was already clear. The first step toward re-establishing order was to bring back those whose characters aligned with me and give them an opportunity.
I would also choose other people who could be trusted to join my cause in retrieving that which causes chaos.
But I really loved meeting Marcel. He was actually one of my favourite characters in the show, hmmn let's do this.
"You really did entertain me, Marcel Gerald. How about this, I propose a little brawl between us." I began as the faces of both Esther and Marcel changed. "Listen carefully! If you can touch me during our little brawl, even if you just happen to scratch me, I will bring any three people you want back to life, no strings attached! Do we have a deal?"
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Marcel's Pov
I gazed upon the young man who was discussing with Esther. It was scary to imagine someone looking so calm and peaceful could be so powerful. This kid might even be crazier in power than Hope, if I'm not mistaken.
But that wasn't all, as the young faced me and proposed the most shocking offer, I have ever heard from someone.
Marcel stared, his jaw slack, the words echoing in the humid air: "Marcel, if you can touch me—even scratch me—I will bring back any three people you want to life, no strings attached. Deal?"
The offer hung heavy, impossible and intoxicating. Marcel had faced down Originals, ancient witches, and even the Hollow itself, but this… this was an entirely different league of impossible.
His mind reeled. Josh. Hayley. And many others. Names he mourned daily, losses that had carved permanent voids in his existence. The sheer audacity of the stranger's claim was as terrifying as it was alluring.
"You're mad," Marcel finally managed, his voice barely a whisper, though a flicker of desperate hope sparked in his eyes. He still felt the lingering, incomprehensible force from the invisible force that had slammed him against the wall.
This guy wasn't just strong; he was fundamentally different.
"Perhaps," I conceded, a faint smile playing on my lips. "But madmen rarely make good on such promises, do they? And I am no mere madman."
"Any three people of my choice,?" Marcel pushed, testing the limits, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Anyone at all?"
"Anyone," I affirmed. "The rules of your death, the confines of your world… they are merely suggestions to one of my level." As if on cue, a glowing glyph flared on my other hand, like a stylized, ancient key. "A scratch, Marcel. A single touch—that is the price for the impossible."
Marcel's mind raced. This wasn't about strength anymore. It was about raw, conceptual power.
He'd lived for centuries, seen countless feats of magic, but never anything that defied death with such casual certainty.
He was a creature of calculated risks, and the potential reward here was immeasurable.
"And if I can't?" he challenged, his fangs still subtly bared.
"Then you would have missed the opportunity of a lifetime," I replied, my gaze unwavering. "And you will have no choice but to simply stand aside, to live with nothing but the regrets of your failure here."
Marcel took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he scented the unique magical signature emanating from me – ancient, alien, yet profoundly distinct.
He lunged again, but this time, it wasn't a reckless attack. It was a feint, a blur of movement designed to test my reaction, from what I saw, he searched for a weakness, a blind spot.
He was fast, very fast, faster than anything I had ever known—a true apex predator
He was good. But my new self was better. My senses, honed by my newfound nature, easily tracked his every micro movement. I didn't need to consciously avoid him; my body simply flowed, bending the space around me.
Marcel became a desperate, darting shadow. He moved with a speed that would have disoriented any other opponent, a whirlwind of calculated strikes and feints.
His left hook blurred, aimed for my jaw, but my head subtly shifted, the punch passing through empty air where my face had been a millisecond before. He twisted, leading with a knee, then a rapid succession of chops and claws, a flurry of attacks designed to overwhelm.
Each strike, however, was met with the inexplicable. My form flickered like a heat haze, or I was suddenly a foot to the left, or my arm became a permeable field, allowing his punch to pass through, only to solidify the instant it cleared.
There was no physical dodging, no strenuous effort on my part. It was as if the very space around me warped to negate his attacks. Marcel roared in frustration, a guttural sound born of impotent rage.
He threw himself into a reckless tackle, aiming to pin me, but as his hands closed where I stood, they met only the humid air. I was suddenly behind him, a quiet breath on his neck.
"So close, yet so far," I murmured, my voice amused.
He spun, disoriented, a frustrated snarl on his lips. As I appeared behind him once more, my hand now resting gently on his shoulder.
His entire body stiffened. He hadn't touched me; he wasn't even close to accomplishing that. But I had touched him.
"So what now that I failed," The rage, the frustration, and the dawning realization flashed across his face as he felt the light pressure of my fingers, the power radiating from them. "I'm guessing that means I won't get those wish slots, right?"
"Indeed, you have failed to meet your part," He hadn't landed a single blow. "But I remembered saying that you will win, so long as you can touch me."
"Wait, but you were the one who managed to touch me," He began getting with a visibly relaxed shoulder." So, I find it hard. That you are still going to bring them back."
We heard footsteps as Esther began walking towards us in a calm manner. "You might want to say your picks now," she said, looking toward me, "yes, before he decides to change his mind."
"Let's do this then," he said as he straightened his back and fell into deep thought. He was likely thinking of who, he has decided to bring back.
"Deal," I murmured, my voice soft, yet absolute. "Who are the three people you have chosen?"
Marcel's chest heaved. He had tried to defy the impossible, and failed. Yet, the impossible was now being offered to him.
His pride warred with grief that had festered for weeks since those losses, painful losses. Then, the names, whispered with an almost cautious undertone.
"Josh Rosza. Hayley Marshall. And Klaus Mikaelson."
A profound silence descended, broken only by the distant sounds of the Quarter. The air seemed to thicken, crackling with raw, potent energy.
I closed my eyes, focusing not on a place, or a spell, but on their very existence. As I reached through the fractured layers of death, through the veil between the living and the dead, and pulled on them across the vast distance.
It was like tearing a thread from a tapestry and reweaving it into a new, vibrant design.
"My internal power surged, the unfamiliar limits of my endless will stretching and bending to my desires.
The ground around us began to tremble. Lights of various colours erupted from my body, swirling violently.
Marcel stumbled back, shielding his eyes as the very fabric of the world seemed to warp and distort in the courtyard. The old stone walls groaned, threatening to crumble.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it ceased.
The light receded. The tremors died down. The air was still, very still but yet, heavy with latent power.
And standing before us, disoriented, blinking in the bright New Orleans sun, were three figures. One, clad in a tattered, bloodied shirt, his eyes slowly focusing, a look of profound confusion mixed with burgeoning rage on his face
The other, a woman, equally disoriented, gave off a predatory vibe, her fierce gaze scanning her surroundings before landing on the man beside her.
Josh Rosza stood beside Klaus and Hayley, utterly bewildered, clutching at his chest as if checking for a heartbeat.
He looked at Marcel, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and joy, tears already welling. "Marcel? What in the…?" He seemed to be searching for an answer."
Klaus Mikaelson.
Hayley Marshall.
Josh Rosza.
I gestured to Klaus, Josh and Hayley as I turned my gaze to Marcel, who was still staring at Klaus as if he were a ghost. "You asked for three. I gave you three. I am a being of my word, Marcel. A bargain is a bargain."
Marcel gasped, a sound of choked disbelief and raw, overwhelming emotion. Hope. Fear. A recognition that the world had just been fully, and irrevocably altered.
Three impossible returns. The courtyard shook with the sheer weight of what had just transpired.
Klaus, however, was already recovering his wits. He wasn't one for emotional reunions. His focus was instead placed on the anomaly laid before him
Klaus, his vision clearing, saw Marcel, then me. His eyes narrowed, taking in the cracked ground, the lingering scent of immense power. "What in the bloody hell…?" he began, his voice a low growl, clearly ready for a fight.