The iron gate to the cemetery shrieked in protest, torn from its stone hinges by a single, furious pull. Klaus stepped through the wreckage, his presence a shockwave that made the very moss on the tombs seem to recoil. He didn't walk; he stalked, a predator finally entering the den.
Behind him, the rest of the family fanned out, a wall of ancient power and grim faces. Kol followed at his shoulder, a live wire of chaotic energy, while Elijah, Freya, and the others sealed off any escape. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and old graves.
The coven of witches, huddled near the central crypt, froze. Their defiance, which had felt so strong against Elijah alone, crumbled to dust. Seeing the full force of the Mikaelsons was like staring into a coming hurricane. This wasn't a negotiation. It was a reckoning.
"Enough of this farce!" Klaus's voice echoed off the mausoleums, sharp and absolute. "Bring out the mother of my child. And bring that foolish witch who linked her life. Now."
He didn't raise his voice, but the command in it was paralyzing. "Marcel and his rules are the least of your worries tonight. You are now dealing with the family that walked this earth when your ancestors were still praying to rocks. Do not test our patience."
A moment of terrified silence stretched, and then the crypt door creaked open. Sophie emerged first, her face pale but set, a fragile shield of bravery. Hayley followed, her jaw tight, one hand resting instinctively on her stomach. Her eyes scanned the gathered Originals, a flicker of fear quickly masked by stubborn resolve.
Klaus's gaze locked onto Hayley. The raging tyrant vanished, replaced by a look of stark, bewildered assessment. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face, more genuine than any he'd worn in decades.
"Well, well," he mused, his voice dropping to a conversational tone that was somehow more threatening than his shout. "Look at that. My one-night stand was fertile." He took a step closer, his eyes alight with a terrifying, possessive wonder. "Who would have thought you'd be the one to bless me with an heir?"
He then turned the full force of his attention to Sophie. The warmth vanished, leaving only Arctic cold. "So. This is why your sister was foolish enough to summon me. To use my own blood as a bargaining chip." He shook his head, a teacher disappointed by a particularly slow student. "You should know, I do not like to be forced. I do not work for anyone. Consider this your first, last, and only warning."
He glanced over his shoulder at Kol. "Now, if you would, brother. Unlink them."
Kol let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders. "Oh, come on. I was hoping for a little fight. A dramatic incantation, maybe some lightning." He pouted, looking at the terrified witches. "You lot are no fun at all."
He didn't need a circle. He didn't need herbs or chants. He simply lifted a hand, his fingers curling as if pulling on an invisible thread. His eyes, glowing with stolen power, fixed on Hayley.
Hayley gasped, stumbling back a step. A visible, shimmering cord of golden light erupted from her chest, connecting her to Sophie. It pulsed with a sickly energy. Sophie cried out, clutching her own chest as if feeling a phantom pain.
Kol made a gentle tearing motion with his hand.
The golden cord didn't snap; it unraveled. It came apart like a poorly knit sweater, the strands of magic dissolving into shimmering dust that faded into the night air. There was no explosion, no drama. Just silence. The profound, ancient magic that had bound two lives together was simply… undone.
The connection severed, Hayley took a deep, shaky breath, the color returning to her face. Sophie slumped against the crypt wall, not dead, but utterly defeated. Her insurance policy was null and void.
Klaus looked from Hayley back to the coven, his smile returning, wider and more predatory than ever.
"Excellent," he purred. He offered his arm to Hayley, his gesture courtly and horrifying all at once. "Now that the tedious formalities are over… my dear. Shall we go home?"
The Mikaelsons departed as they had arrived—like a storm moving on. Klaus led the way, Hayley at his side, his posture radiating a possessiveness that was both protective and terrifying. Kol trailed behind, shooting a last, disappointed glance at the witches as if they'd robbed him of a good time. The others melted back into the shadows of the cemetery, leaving only silence and the wreckage of the gate in their wake.
Only Elijah remained. He stood patiently, waiting for the last of his family's presence to fade. The witches huddled together, their fear a sharp scent in the air. Sophie still leaned against the crypt, looking hollow.
Elijah approached them, his steps quiet on the overgrown path. He didn't loom or threaten. He simply stood before them, a figure of impossible calm.
"The display was… unnecessary," he said, his voice low and even. "But the point is made. Your leverage is gone."
Agnes, the eldest witch, found her voice, though it trembled. "And what happens to us now? He will kill us all."
"My brother has what he came for," Elijah replied. "His anger is a focused thing. It will now be directed at Marcel." He let his gaze sweep over their faces, ensuring they understood. "Marcel's reign over this city will end. It is not a question of if, but when. And when it does, the tyranny you've lived under will end with it. You have no reason to fear us, so long as you do not stand in our way."
His words were not a comfort, but a statement of fact. It was the grim promise of a change in management.
"Elijah."
Freya's voice cut through the cemetery's heavy air. She stood near the broken entrance, her expression unreadable. "you coming or what...?"
He gave the witches a final, brief nod—a dismissal and an assurance all at once—then turned and walked to his sister. They moved a few paces away, under the skeletal branches of a live oak.