Einar's Diary – Episode 5-2

Words Count: 4219

A/N: And so their story has ended before it even has the chance to bloom... Or is it?! Find out next time on Dragon Ball Zee!

Hope and I stride together towards the Werewolves' territory in New Orleans, the only place where she can possibly find safety. Using my Compulsion, I have managed to secure a house for her here, ensuring that its payment is fully taken care of. While I am pragmatic and can be ruthless at times, I am not completely devoid of empathy. "There you go..." I flip on the light switch, gesturing inward.

Admittedly, the place may not be the ideal fit for a 21st-Century girl.

However, compared to what the Mikaelsons and I had in the past- literal wooden huts with no accessible toilet besides the structures we built to limit the smell- despite our positions in the village, it's like comparing a two-decade old building in the City's slump and a luxurious 5-Stars hotel.

Nonetheless, this is for her own good. If a Supernatural entered New Orleans and started flaunting money (Compulsion), the Powers-That-Be would take notice swiftly.

Besides, if I could adapt to the subpar living conditions of the 1000s, she can surely do the same. "This place is... Umm... Nice?"

Suddenly, a floorboard plunges down from the ceiling. It nearly impales my head, but Heaven's Quintessence instinctively moves to block it. However, I halt him. I don't know where Hope's allegiance lies, and revealing my true nature all at once doesn't seem wise.

It's best to keep her in the dark about my true identity.

The broken wood bounces off harmlessly, incapable of piercing my skull. But the sharp edge manages to draw blood, making it trickle down my Stone Mask.

Hope rushes towards me, concern visible in her eyes, but I simply dismiss it the injury as insignificant, partly because it really is.

Compared to the wounds I have sustained during training, battles, or even occassional Magicals encounters, ‘tis but a scratch- one Vampirism can easily fix. “See?” I pat the back of my head confidently, “All healed!” I pull her inside like a sleazy, disgusting dirt-bag Real Estate agent, “C’mon, let’s check out the house I’ve bought you! Sure, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s not that bad, I swear!” As if to laugh at my efforts, a second floorboard drops on my head.

Hope and I stand frozen, our eyes locked in a fierce struggle of conflicting emotions. I clear my throat roughly, my voice determined as I try to defend my choice.

“Look, I get how this looks like… But it’s functional, and it’s strategically located in a densely populated area. You could even open a small shop here to keep yourself occupied; get a stable stream of income. Trust me, it’s a valuable plot.” Vampires may not need to worry about wealth, but Werewolves and Witches do, and last I check, Miss Marshall belongs in the latter two categories. “Why’d I want to open a shop?”

I rub my chin, the cool sensation of stone on my fingertips replacing the usual feeling of skin. “Well, because you need sustenance, why else? Did you really expect me to provide for you indefinitely?”

Hope looks a bit stumped, then smiles shyly. “No?”

I blink,

She does too,

Then, I say with a slow drawl, “Glad we’ve reached a consensus, then. Well?”

Inviting the Werewolf indoors with a gesture, my eyes scan the floor covered in dust before settling upon an old desk and a few abandoned wooden chairs in the corner. “Come on in, let’s have a little chat,” I say. The Werewolf follows cautiously, asking, “What’s this about?”

“Oh, you know, life in general,”

I reply, pulling out a chair for myself and another for her.

“I also wanted to talk about the future of the Supernatural Community. As you may have guessed, I was not always a Vampire before arriving here,” I say, technically being truthful. “And it seems like you’ve been one for quite some time?”

Hope nods, taking a seat across from me.

“You helped me because you wanted something in return,” It’s less of a question, and more a statement. “There’s no such thing as a free meal in this world, Little Wolf.”

The title catches her off-guard, causing her to tense slightly.

“You know how it goes… I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

From my pocket, I retrieve a piece of paper- the building’s proof of ownership, dangling it in front of her.

“Once you’ve answered all of my questions, I’ll give this to you immediately. Deal?”

She seems a tad disappointed, but I don’t do charity for full-grown adults, let alone Magicals with clear advantages. “Well, what do you want to ask?”

Regrettably, since I am uncertain of her loyalties, I cannot simply ask her directly, willy-nilly. No, I will have to resort to old-fashioned methods and subtly gather information without revealing my true intentions. “Well… For starter can you tell me who the future Leaders of New Orleans?” If it’s the Mikaelsons, then I’ve failed.

“Why do you want to know?”

Hope grows even tenser.

“So I can curry favors with them, duh!”

I roll my eyes, impressed with my own acting skills. ‘I should have pursued a career in acting, right? But who am I kidding... I was too ugly back then.’ I think, holding back a chuckle.

While I can't boast a perfect 10/10 like those (Delusional) modern women, I can confidently say I'm at least a 7 or 8 based on pure physical appearance alone. "It's always advantageous to have influential friends, Little Wolf," I remark. Hope's eyebrows furrow in irritation. "Can you please stop calling me that?" She asks, clearly annoyed.

“Hmmm? Little Wolf?”

“Yes, that.” She appears genuinely… Uncomfortable with the words, as if it hurts her physically. ‘A pet name from a previous lover, or her parents, perhaps?’

“Stop looking like you’re trying to dissect me, too.” The Werewolf growls, eyes briefly flashing golden. “Interesting…” I lean forth, curious. The Werewolves are beholden to the Moon; just as Vampires are allergic to the Sun…

Even partial-transformation shouldn’t be possible for her, yet Hope has just done this. “Did future Werewolves figure out a way to transform without the Full Moon?” This… It spells bad news for the Vampire population. Although older Vampires are generally stronger and faster, with a nigh limitless well of stamina as Undead, all it takes is a bite, and it’s ‘Game Over’ for them, unless they’re Originals.

As though burnt by my intense gaze, Hope backs away, irises returning to her usual crystal blue that kind of reminds me of… ‘Rebekah?’ And my own, actually, but she can’t be related to them, right? Vampires cannot have children. Plus she is a Werewolf. “No…” Hope shakes at my question, while I listen intently to the beats of her heart. “I’m just… Special.”

If it were anyone else, I’d have disagreed, but, “You sure are, Ms. Marshall.”

Just like the Originals, who’re the Progenitors of the Vampire species; Hope is special.

For the Werewolves, she represents… Well, Hope.

For us Vampires?

She’s the biggest threat, one a Vampire crueler- more ruthless than I would have long nipped in the fucking bud. “My question, Ms. Marshall–” She can’t see it, but underneath my Mask lies a shit-eating grin…

I align myself with the Vampires, but I’m not idiotic enough to not realize some may hold… Unsavory ideas. If I can figure out how Hope’s doing this, I’m almost sure I can put it in rings, similar to the Daylight rings and build an army of Werewolves, beholden only to my Will and no one else’s. If one ever becomes an issue to me, I can simply throw the other at them and vice versa…

‘Lookie here, Ms. Marshall’s importance just jumps up a notch.’

“New Orleans is… Will be run by the Originals in the future.”

Her words nearly make me crush the edge of the table I'm gripping,

But I quickly compose myself, taking deep breaths to regain my composure, an act that Hope, thankfully, misses. "The Originals?"

“The Mikaelsons... They were some of the most ruthless beings to have ever set foot on this Earth," She declares.

Despite her harsh words, the Werewolf's demeanor does not betray anger but rather a sense of nostalgia. ‘Is she connected to those traitorous curs?’ For a moment, I contemplate ending her life, but hold myself back.

There is more information to be gleaned, afterwards… Well, we’ll see. “I’ve heard about them, but can you tell me more?” Acting the fool, I question.

“They’re the first Vampires: Niklaus the Hybrid; Elijah the Noble–”

I implore you, there is no trace of nobility in that wretched bastard.

He shows more readiness to betray his allies than even his own flesh and blood. Perhaps I can grant him some leniency, considering none of the Mikaelson were aware of our kinship, but even so... “Rebekah the Youngest; and Kol the Wild.” Youngest? “According to my information, the youngest should be Henrik… His nickname is literally the Eternal Child.”

Hope’s eyes widen, “Henrik? But he’s dead- murdered by the local Werewolves before the Mikaelson became Vampires? Is this a prank?” My mind whirls with various possibilities, and then, “The Butterfly Effect.”

“You mean–”

“Our presences here seem to have caused a ripple effect on the Timestream, meaning–”

Hope concludes.

“Our knowledge can’t be trusted… Are you certain Henrik’s alive?”

“Quite.”

I nod affirmatively. “He’s practically the most feared Mikaelson, according to what I have gathered from the local Magicals, due to his unpredictability.”

Being turned into a vampire at a young age has bestowed upon Henrik the emotional stability of a child.

The presence of chemical imbalances renders him highly volatile.

Essentially, the Eternal Child is in a constant state of extreme loyalty or recklessness, and even if you happen to be his friend, the general consensus suggests that you will need to tread on eggshells around him at all times.

“Everyone’s utterly terrified of him, more so than any of his siblings, in fact.” I muse. “I also hear there is another, forgotten brother of their family. One Original Heretic… Are you aware of him?”

“I know of Freya and Henrik.”

“Freya?”

Mikael has recounted stories to me about our eldest sister, his Firstborn, who tragically succumbed to a plague while he was absent. I can still vividly recall his appearance during that time, as it was the first and only instance I witnessed him in such a state of emotional vulnerability- the sole occasion where the usually tough ol’ man ever allowed tears to well up in his eyes.

“The eldest of the Mikaelson…”

The way she says it… It almost feels as though she’s talking about someone alive. “Do you know her?” I cannot stop myself from asking.

“I… Well, I guess you can say I know them all.”

“Intimately?” I inquire, body language betraying none of the spike of rage I feel towards my wretched siblings. “I… Do you have a vendetta against them?”

I let out a seemingly casual laugh and respond, “How’s that possible? I haven’t even had the chance to meet them.”

I stop myself from coming up with more excuses, realizing that it might only raise her suspicions further, so I make to deflect and inquire, “Besides the Mikaelson family, who holds the position of Leader?”

“Well… My– Marcel Gerard reigned as the King of Vampires before them.”

Making a show of noting down the name, I secretly smile. ‘My gamble’s correct… Marcel does have the makings of a King.’ I was right to support him, after all. “Hmmm… I assume you are talking about the Newborn currently staying in the old Plantation?”

Many Vampires who are younger than a hundred years old are typically referred to as ‘Newborns’, although this term is often used as an insult; I am using it for simplicity’s sake. “Do you happen to be familiar with Marcel?”

“I’m his business partner.” I lie smoothly, as easy as I breath.

I have already instructed Marcel and the Covens to maintain confidentiality regarding my true identity. However, if Ms. Marshall desires to reestablish connections with her past, it may pose a dilemma… The logical approach would be to swiftly eliminate her, but… I must not allow my anger to cloud my judgment. It would be unjust to blame Freya for a transgression she wasn’t even present for, and the same goes for Hope.

The question is, how far am I willing to go for my vengeance?

Not that far, turns out.

Even at his most furious, Mikael never targeted children for his Cause, otherwise, a Lineage of Werewolves would have been wiped out.

This is because one of the fundamental principles of our Viking heritage is to refrain from harming the weak unless provoked.

While every culture has its undesirable aspects, our overall agreement was that lacking honor would lead to swift exclusion from the community… It ultimately varies depending on the specific village you belong to. Mikael’s like this, and his Code of Honor forbids him from killing women (Discounting the Shield-Maidens), those who’re pregnant and children.

Everyone else, should they wield a blade / powers, is fair game.

It's him who drives this same Code in our brains from a young age.

Hope falls into neither of this category.

In fact, as a Triggered Werewolf, she can be considered a Shield-Maiden. It won’t break Mikael’s Codes, but it’ll break mine… Now that survival’s no longer an issue, I don’t want to kill unprovoked. Rising, I blitz towards her, leaving the Werewolf confused, blinking in surprise.

Kudos to her, Hope reacts quickly, barely avoiding my attack. As her lips smacked together, she mumbled a Latin spell, and suddenly, a ball of fire erupted from her palm. "Huh? You are even more intriguing than I initially anticipated, Ms. Marshall!" A Werewolf and a Witch? “I’m impressed!”

Unfortunately, this isn’t enough.

Her Spells possess lethal power, and an ordinary Vampire, caught between fight-or-flight instincts, would have been incinerated. However, I am far from inexperienced, having sharpened my instincts through numerous battles.

Before she even realizes it, I am already behind her, my hands gripping her neck. “Why…?”

Hope’s voice carries a tone of almost… Shattered disappointment.

“I have a plan, and a fellow Time Traveler will muddy the water. That, and you seem to have a decent relationship with the Mikaelson.”

She almost shivers with fright, whirling to face me as an onset of Aneurysm assaults my mind. Heaven’s Quintessence immediately moves to punch her in the face, but I stop my Stand with a glare. “Oh, Little Wolf, I have been around for a long, long time.” Our gazes lock- two pairs of crystal blue shooting up sparks. “You’re gonna have to do better than that. In fact,”

Palms emanating a vivid neon red glow, I proceed to siphon her of every ounce of Magic, purposefully disregarding her Werewolf Curse and Vampirism. "What the actual fuc–?!"

Hope immediately takes advantage of my surprise, fist launching towards my face at a blinding speed, which I effortlessly deflect, hastily retreating. “Heretic…” She mutters, her irises shining a stunning golden. “Hybrid?” But that’s… ‘Not that impossible, now that I think about it.’ If it can be done once; it can be done twice. The Witches can scream, ‘Unnatural’, all they want, but Nature’s whole motto is survival of the fittest.

I also can’t ignore the possibility the Witches, hypocrites as they are, made her for the explicit purpose to take down the Originals, believing they could force the newly-made Hybrid into compliance, only to realize they couldn’t and decided to make her someone else’s problem. It’s the most sound theory I have at the moment, “Tribrid, actually.” Hope says cockily, as though expecting me to fall over near her feet in worship.

“Oh, fancy name!” I instantly lash out, about to grab her by the throat when a wave of pure Magic is unleashed by the Tribrid.

I would have been carried by the wave, if not for Heaven’s Quintessence taking actions quickly. His punch causes Space-Time to ripple, dispersing the attack in an instant. “But unrealized potential is just that, Little Wolf, potential!” My fist lands squarely on her solar plexus, driving the air out of her lungs as she crumbles, curling into a ball. Again, kudos to her, she recovers quickly, but– “Ah… Argh!” Her scream grows louder, hands clutching her head.

“You thought you’re the only one who can use an Aneurysm Spell, Little Wolf?”

With a flick of wrist, the Tribrid finally drops, her consciousness fading at last.

“Well, that’s–”

Another floorboard drops on my head, “The third time today…” I glare at the now destroyed interior, pursing my lips. “Now, what to do with you?”

— Einar’s Story —

(The cliff… That’s where we met. The Lone King and his Consort, the latter of whom was attempting to throw herself off to follow her late husband. Gods only knew what I was trying to do when I saved her life- why I grabbed Tatia’s hand when her death would’ve accomplished the same thing I set out to do: Ruin Klaus and Elijah’s day. It’s why I couldn’t stay with Forbes, because that place’s sacred to us, and I, in my infinite wisdom and eagerness to lose myself in the carnal of the flesh; to forget what was done to us both, ruined.

I was weak, and I hurt myself, Tatia and Margaret in the process.

The nights I spent in the Forbes Mansion were amazing, but every dream’s tainted with the visions of Tatia scorning me for doing what I did. I couldn’t handle it, so I fled…

Perhaps not the most noble action to take, or the most courageous, but I do not mind admitting I’m not equipped to deal with that. Monsters, I can handle. Death’s a close friend most Vikings and people that Era had to face on a daily basis, but emotions? Those’re better left for the dogs. My determination to resurrect my deceased wife remains, yet now it’s tainted with a sense of unworthiness I simply cannot shrug off, despite my best efforts.

I knew I couldn’t accept Margaret’s advances, yet I did, and I must face the consequences…

A shame that consequences were a little too much to handle.)

After I’ve chained Hope up with bronze cuffs spelled to siphon her Magic, and put a Barrier that’ll keep her bound to the building, I go out to find her some servants. Since I have already captured her, the least I can do is keep the girl comfortable. I can’t involve the Witches in this; the girl’s an Affront to Nature the same way us Originals are, the Covens will undoubtedly call for her execution;

I can’t involve the Vampires either, Hope is a living threat and if they knew about her existence… Well, do I need to say more? Then there are the Werewolves, who’ll probably dissect her to see how she ticks. “Human, it is.” Preferably ones who’re already aware of the Supernatural, whose morals are little loose so they won’t question my methods.

Regardless, a pinch of Compulsion will probably be a necessity.

Turns out? A lot of people are aware of the Supernatural in New Orleans.

Given that a significant portion of the City’s population consists of Werewolves, Vampires, and Witches, not to mention the lasting impact of the Witch Hunt instigated by Elijah less than a decade ago, the ease in finding individuals willing to work for Magicals isn’t surprising, but an oddity nevertheless.

While I find it difficult to condemn them, as many are merely trying to provide for their families, I do draw the line with those whose minds display a tinge of malevolence. Once again, my grievance lies with the Originals, not with Hope, and I know full-well the darkness that dwells in the hearts of sentient beings… The mere fact the Tribrid is different than them will be enough for some to hurt and abuse her, if only to be able to vent on someone they all believe is superior than them in some ways.

In fact, if I weren’t 90% certain that she would betray me to my siblings, I would never have bothered with this endeavor and would’ve sent her on her merry way by now.

After thoroughly vetting the servants and directing them to the designated premises where they will be tasked with maintaining cleanliness of the abode and attending to the Tribrid's needs, I swiftly return home under the veil of darkness.

As I step inside the building, concealed by the power of Magic, I feel a peculiar sense of exhaustion permeating my body. "Home, sweet home," I mutter, walking forth when I hear something rustling beneath my feet, “Letters?”

Scattered across the ground are numerous envelopes, each adorned with seals and insignias that appear to belong to the Bennett family. Carefully, I lift them up and brush off the footprints before removing the fanged Stone Mask. "How the Hel did Alaya find me?"

I whisper in disbelief, ordering Heaven’s Quintessence to fetch me a bottle of preserved blood- courtesy of the local prostitutes who were all too willing to sell something else other than sex for once. Luckily, Vampires can’t get human diseases.

Of course, a person’s medical history affects the quality of their blood a lot.

There is a rationale behind the preference of vampires in myths for virgins over those who are not. In fact, there are some truths to these legends.

Individuals with a history of numerous sexual encounters are more susceptible to sexually transmitted diseases, consequently rendering their blood less appetizing.

To put it in context, it's akin to comparing meals from prestigious five-star restaurants to the generic burgers found at every fast food chain. While Vampires who indulge in excessive feeding may not discern the disparity, with the Newborns even less likely to notice, those of us with a more… Refined palate will easily discern these distinctions.

Not that it holds much significance for me.

I had endured those tasteless jerkies for two decades straight, I will live consuming diseased blood. As long as it sustains me, who cares where I get it from?

Hurriedly, I pry open the envelops, greeted with the chicken scratch Alaya no doubt sees no issue with. Fun fact: Did you know it’s widely known in our witchy-circle many ancient Spells and Tomes have been lost because no one’s able to decipher the Ancestors’ writing? This is, obviously, no longer true ever since the Other Side is created, but it doesn’t change the fact ancient, forbidden knowledge are now forever out of Witches’ reach, simply because nobody bothered to improve their writing.

Sure, sure, I may be a little strict on the girl, but it’s for her and her Lineage’s own good.

“What is this about?”

My Stand returns, carrying with him a sealed bottle containing Life-Force made physical, “Thank you.” I say to Heaven’s Quintessence, yanking the wooden stopper out with my fangs. In one motion, I start chugging the liquid, only to spit it out when I read the first few lines in the Bennett Witch’s letter.

(Dear Einar,

I implore you to return to us immediately! Margaret's actions have left me bewildered. Perhaps she is attempting to mend the void created by your departure, but the truth remains that she is marrying someone she does not truly love. I don’t know why you’re so bloody stubborn when it’s blindly obvious, even to a blind person and to me that the two of you were destined to be together! I beseech you, please come back! Margaret is in need of your presence, and I, too, yearn for your return.

With utmost sincerity,

Alaya Bennett.

P/S: The marriage will be in a month. If I don’t see you here to stop this farce of a wedding, I’ll be very crossed with you!)

The letter crumples in my palm, as I chew on my lips and the insides of my cheeks. I… I’m not sure how to feel, truth be told. I should be happy for her; should be happy for myself that a decision has been made for me, and I won’t have to torment myself with the what-ifs, but at the same time, I desire her. I want to smell the scent of honey in her hair; want to listen to her slow heartbeats; I want to be lulled to sleep by her soft snores.

Those are all the things I’ve only done with Tatia prior to meeting her, and the thought she will be marrying someone else… It causes an ache in my heart, “I’m married…”

Ruthlessly, I stomp on the desire to remind myself of my initial purpose… Tatia is all that matters. Her pregnancy cannot be saved, but she can be, I know she can be, I just need to find the Doppelganger. I don’t have to torture myself going back to Mystic Falls, there is no point. Heaven’s Quintessence rests his hand on my shoulder, but I just shrug him off. “I’m… Fine. I’m happy for her.”

He shakes disapprovingly.

“This is what she deserves, you know this as well as I do.”

I tell him, and he, usually silent, sighs for the very first time.

“I can’t be hers, not wholly.”