Einar's Diary – Ep 4-1

Words Count: 4612

A/N: Some of you may wonder why Einar doesn’t just compel Marcel, but I think I’ve it clear his view on Compulsion.

It's reserved for consensual bedroom funs, as a last resort or for the reprehensible.

As for why, firstly I think trapping someone’s mind is the worst crime that can be inflicted on a person. Einar has morals, although these morals may waver when it comes to the Mikaelsons, Compulsion isn’t something he’d abuse. Secondly, from a story perspective, Compulsion is way too OP.

(Margaret, by the time you awaken, I shall have departed, embarking on a quest to seek retribution that I may not come back from.

I apologize for the anguish I’ve caused you, yet I can’t portray how grateful I am for the moments shared by your side. Although three months may seem brief, you have bestowed upon me more than I could have ever desired. Please convey to Alaya my request to continue her studies diligently. If I were to return, I anticipate her mastery of [Strengthening], [Thought Partition], and [Alteration] at the least.

I’m truly sorry, and please know that this is in no way your fault… If circumstances had been different, I’d have cherished the opportunity to be your husband.

With affection, Einar Bennettson.)

Despite her knowledge and understanding of the situation, the last Forbes couldn’t help but cling to a glimmer of hope.

Even as she grappled with the realization, a part of her was convinced that it was her own doing, that her relentless pursuit of him caused him to push back. However, she knew deep down that neither of them were at fault. Their relationship was simply not meant to be.

Margaret weeps, her tears marking the letter with streaks, blurring the elegance of his handwriting as the Bennett Witch envelops her in a consoling embrace. “Oh, my dear.”

“He left, Alaya… He left… Why does everyone keep abandoning me?”

With eyes filled with anguish and unhinged, the blonde woman implores with desperation.

“Is it my fault? Have I done wrong? Am I the source of the problem? I have to be!” She cries until she no longer makes sense, just eager to have someone to blame, even if that someone happens to be herself. “No, Margaret. It’s not your fault…”

“Then WHOSE?!”

Nails bunching the Witch’s dress, she begs, almost pleading for her to say Einar’s, but… “I- No one’s, Margaret.” If anything is to blame, it is Life. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

— Einar’s Diary —

Hands in my pockets, I slowly tread through the street of New Orleans. It’s not nearly as… Bustling as I had expected. If anything, it is a deserted place where Monsters stalk in every corner and hide in the Dark. It is a place where none dares to get outside when the Sun is not hanging high above- none except for the Night Creatures who kill as easy as they breath…

The Werewolves and Vampires hunt for entertainment, to satiate their bloodlust, while Witches practice Magic so Dark it manifests in the form of mental anguish. There’re no laws, no order, just utter chaos as the three Factions of the Supernatural war for supremacy. “Well… What a tantalizing piece of meat you are.” My Stand and I watch as the Vampire clutches the Witch’s mouth.

She was throwing copious amount of Dark Magic around just moments ago, you know, the type that can only be used after sacrificing a few virgins on a Full Moon? But, with her son’s life hanging by a thread, and seven Vampires around holding them hostage, the Witch has no choice but to comply. “Hurt him, and you’ll find no support from the Coven, I swear it.”

She threatens, though it falls completely flat. Powerful she may be, there is only so many Witches, while Vampirism, as I have been told, can easily be passed on to create a Newborn. “Relax.” The African-descend Vampire claps, his voice silky smooth. “I don’t wish to war with the Covens, merely enlist your help against the Werewolves.”

“You have a funny way to request help, Marcellus.” The Witch mocks. “Growing drunk on that meager amount of power already?” Not a wise move, given the situation she and her son seem to have found themselves in… The Vampire, however, doesn’t appear angry at the woman’s words, even revealing a fanged smile, as though finding her words amusing.

“I, drunk? No.”

He predates around her, his joy apparently infectious as the other Vampires join his laughter. “I merely find the presences of the mutts Klaus tolerated… Irritating, and now that the Originals are gone, I thought the Covens may share the sentiment.”

“Our Deal was with your Sires, not you, you upstart bastard.” The Witch hisses angrily, her features twisting as one of the Newborns starts a bloody line on her son’s neck. The blood-loss won’t kill him immediately, but if left untreated, I have no doubt his life will be in peril. “And now, you are going to go back and tell the leaders of the Covens a new Deal must be struck…”

He circles around her, pacing as he takes in her scent. “The Mikaelsons are gone, never to return. I shall rule the Vampire Faction in their place–”

“And New Orleans as well, I presume?” The Witch interjects with a scoff, while Marcellus- Niklaus’ progeny, from what I have been told, merely chuckles, responding to her accusation with a cryptic, “Maybe. You and I both know the Guerrera Crime Family’s been a thorn up our backsides since forever, the Werewolves with their unpredictability even more so. When the Full Moon reaches the peak, it matters not who it is- Witches, Vampires, Humans… They hunt and kill them all for sport… It’s time the beasts are put in their rightful places.”

“And how do you plan on doing that? With a handful of Vampires?”

She taunts.

“And Witches, of course.”

The exchange continues back and forth, until a mutual agreement is ultimately reached.

The Witch agrees to relay the information to the leaders of the Covens, but doesn’t forget to mention she can't provide the Vampires with anything concrete, primarily due to the fact despite her powers, she is just one of many Witches within the bustling and tumultuous city of New Orleans, and while she holds a position of significance, she is not at the very top of the hierarchy.

To ensure the Witch won’t violate the agreement, the Vampires decide to take her son hostage, under Marcel's assurance that he will not harm the child.

Though visibly displeased, the Witch reluctantly concedes, trusting Marcel's word, departing shortly after. Meanwhile, I keep a vigilant watch over the Vampires from above, noting with surprise that none of them make any attempt to harm or disturb the child.

I suppose that earns them a point in their favor.

I continue to observe until the group arrives at a Mansion adorned with prominent 'M' insignias. If I had to guess, it must be the former dwelling of the Mikaelsons. Once they have all settled into their respective rooms, I stealthily approach the building and press my hands against the door. As expected, the protective barrier that keeps Vampires out of personal residences is absent. It seems they have made the Mansion accessible to the public, and I can imagine why; it would have been quite troublesome to constantly invite new individuals in,

Especially when the need to build up their dwindling number is the top priority. Silently casting [Muffling] and [Concealment] on myself, I skip through the various halls, trying to locate Klaus’ progeny via scent. It does not take me long to find him in the Master Bedroom, fitting for someone with an ego as big as his.

Retrieving the Stone Mask fastened to my belt, I put the piece of accessories on, channeling Magic which causes it to fuse seamlessly into my skin.

The Mask’s not anything special, asides from [Voice Distortion] and a [Memetic Effect], both of which will help me hide my true identity. I do not know if the Mikaelsons remember me, but I don’t want to take the risk. Only after they have suffered half as much as I have, will I reveal my identity to the treacherous curs; only then will it be most painful for them.

Dispelling irrelevant ponderings, I swiftly snap my fingers, causing the door to dramatically swing open as I make my entrance.

With a sudden surge of energy, Marcellus, the progeny of the Original Hybrid, springs to his feet, swiftly spinning around, his eyes darting across the room in a state of distress. “Who’s there?!” He yells, but I don’t respond, the room has been spelled with Sage moments prior, so as to ensure the coming conversation won’t be interrupted or heard by a third-party. Veins start to grow more prominent around his eyes, fangs jutting out from his lips.

“Show yourself, Witch!”

In a forceful motion, he forcefully jerks the table, propelling it in my direction.

It’s remarkable how swiftly he locates me, though not entirely surprising. I would have been let down if he couldn’t, especially since I haven’t made any effort to conceal my scent at all. The furniture freezes in place, just… Inches from colliding with me. Without any delay, the Vampire sprints towards me, his face twisted into a furious snarl, reaching to seize where he believes my throat to be, only to find nothing but air.

Swiftly evading his lunge, I slide out from underneath his grasp, maintaining a safe distance. A taunting smile dances upon my lips as I remark, "Impressive... I'll give you that."

“You…” His intense glare bore into the space where I stood, as if he can truly see me, yet I know his perception falls short. Only a select few Witches have the ability to pierce through my [Concealment], let alone a Vampire. “Is this the Covens’ answer?”

A chuckle escapes me as I deactivate the spell, allowing myself to be seen. Dressed in a long coat, a crisp dress shirt, and pants, my identity remains obscured by the Stone Mask.

“I get why you might assume that, but no… I wasn’t sent by the New Orleans’ Covens.”

Marcel's brows furrow in a slight pinch as he questions, "Then, who exactly are you?"

“You may call me Nameless,”

I respond with a faint smile, noting as Marcel recoils upon seeing the eerie mask fused to my skin. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gerard. I have heard tales of the Beast’s progeny, who once followed him like a puppy. I assume this is no longer the case?”

“What does it matter to you?”

The Vampire’s question elicits a genuine laugh from me. “More than you think, Little Warrior.”

His hand tightens around my neck, his nails pressing into my skin as he tries to silence me, his voice filled with fury. “Do not address me with that ever, do you hear me?!” Unbeknownst to him in his wrathful tantrum, I remain unfazed by his assault. Age equals Power for Vampires, and as one of the first and oldest on Earth, the Newborn’s little more than a child to me.

I take hold of his hands, gently bending them backwards until an audible crack sounds, causing him to wince and fall to his knee. "Now, did the Beast forget to teach you any manners?" I remark softly, mock curiosity in my voice. “ARGH! WHA– What are you?!”

A flicker of fear emerges in the depths of his eyes, as façade cracks for the first time in our encounter.

I gesture towards the intricately-carved fangs etched onto the Stone Mask, my piercing blue eyes locking onto his. Then, in a taunting tone, I ask, “Surely it isn’t that challenging to surmise the answer?”

“Va- Vampires can’t be Witches!”

I bow my head slightly, positioning myself so our eyes meet. “And yet, I am both,” I state smugly.

Releasing my grip, the Vampire stumbles backward, cradling his injured hand. “I’ve heard of your desire to put the Werewolves in their place… and I must say, I am in favor of such a course of action.” I wholeheartedly approve, in fact. “I’ll help you reign in the mutts, establish an alliance with the Witches, but–”

“I’ll work for you.”

“Smart.” I compliment. “I like smart people. Makes things so much easier.”

"Why should I?" Marcel growls. "Because how you govern New Orleans matters little to me, as long as you supply me with the necessary resources and funds? Because you will hold power above thousands, potentially millions in the future? Or maybe, because if you dare to oppose, I will simply select another candidate. Killing you for this simple disagreement is not my style, but I cannot guarantee that whoever I choose won't. After all, two lions cannot coexist in the same territory."

“What does that make you then?”

People buy into confidence, it’s a lesson beaten in my head by the 21st Century. As long as you’re confident, someone somewhere will buy into your message no matter how ludicrous or inane it is. Just ask all the ‘Prophets’ littering the long river of history.

“I’m God.”

— Einar’s Diary —

I listen intently as Marcel describes the complex political dynamics of New Orleans. The situation can be summarized in one word: ‘Messy’, and without the Mikaelsons to keep all the elements in check, the fragile balance it rested upon came crumbling to pieces.

The Witches are arrogance and refuse to cooperate with anyone they consider abomination, which’s about everyone with the human being the exception. The Werewolves are murderously thieves that run a Crime Syndicate with an iron-fist; Beasts who kill at the slightest disagreement and have an entire plot called the Bayou where they kidnap people to hunt for sport on the day of the Full Moon.

Despite their ability to reproduce easily, the Vampires find themselves unexpectedly disadvantaged against the various Factions. It’s not their fault, few are suited for Vampirism, and even fewer can be trusted. This isn’t the Dark Age anymore, they can no longer act as they please with guns in abundance, plus with the Witches’ refusal, Daywalkers are a rare commodity. 

"Seems to me," I begin, my voice steady and calculated, "New Orleans needs a leader who can unite these Factions through means fair or foul. The biggest problem to your dominance is the lack of Daywalkers." Or Daylight rings that can be distributed to his underlings.

They are wasting a minimum of twelve hours every day, and the situation is even direr due to the significant decrease in their numbers after Mikael's visit months ago. Things aren’t looking promising in the slightest. “I can help you with the Daylight rings, hook you up to a Coven, but the rest you’ll have to do yourself. Capiche?”

Marcel appears eager to protest, but he quickly stops himself, likely remembering my true nature- Vampire-Witch Hybrid.

"Can it truly be accomplished?" Marcel asks with clear curiosity. "Yes," I assure him, "But there are four crucial things I must know first." The Vampire leans back, adopting a casual posture. "Go ahead," He says, "Ask away, I’m an open book."

"Firstly, what are your intentions regarding the Werewolves?"

Despite my strong disdain for the Beasts, primarily due to their barbaric nature and methods, I refuse to tolerate any harm coming to the children… It hits far too close to home… Reminds me too much of my own child with Tatia.

The children are not to blame; they simply lack proper guidance and positive role models in their lives. Their only source of learning how to be decent individuals comes from their elders, the majority of whom are nothing but monsters. “The elders must die…” Marcel grits his teeth. I sense a story here, and though I am curious, I do not force him. It’s not even difficult to guess, he’s a Vampire; they Werewolves.

According to Ayana, only us Originals can survive the latter’s lethal bites. Someone close to him must have been killed by a Werewolf, or maybe he’s just dude with superiority-complex. I can’t judge, but I won’t be able to support him if he demands the deaths of all Werewolves in New Orleans. Genocide, sadly, isn’t on my list. “I’ll exile them to the Bayou; keep those Beasts out of our City. They’re too volatile, dangerous.”

I can make a similar argument about Vampires, who possess a literal On/Off Switch for their emotions, including feelings such as guilt and sadness.

Both of which are crucial for the development of conscience.

As for the Witches, I have witnessed a disturbing trend during my limited time here, where they are willing to sacrifice their own kind in order to fuel their Dark Magic. It is a disheartening sight to behold.

Even the humans are not exempt from criticism. The recent Witch-Hunt that engulfed the city only proves how easily they can be swayed by fear and influence. Apparently, the Mikaelsons were becoming too much of a problem, and Elijah, always claiming the moral high ground, saw it fit to martyr someone… ‘What wonderful people, my siblings turn out to be.’ Klaus, Elijah and Kol- those three I’m not surprised.

The first is a Werewolf, which brings its own host of problems, particularly the struggle to control his emotions.

Furthermore, the addition of Vampirism only amplifies what was already present. However, I must admit, I am somewhat taken aback, as I had previously assumed the Hybrid to be yet another of Mikael’s brood… ‘Heh, the ol’ man must’ve been pissed. Karma’s a real bitch, ain’t she?’

Elijah, with his personality, is the type to be more than willing to sacrifice an entire town for the sake of his siblings. I don’t get it. Maybe he derives some sort of satisfaction from playing the martyr, compensating for Finn's failure to take charge.

He firmly believes that being the eldest (The Mama Boy excluded) makes him solely responsible for the well-being and happiness of his younger siblings. What a truly miserable way to live, I must say. In fact, I daresay it is even worse than those guys and gals who keep repeatedly throwing themselves into toxic relationships with clearly troubled people. ‘I can fix him/her.’ Ha, fat chance of that happening. Been there, done that during the 21st Century, it never works out.

Regarding my twin... I must say, he has always displayed immaturity, although I don't hold it against him. He was turned during a time in our lives when we were still quite young, and he has always appeared to be in desperate need of attention. It’s not surprising, given the Trinity Elijah, Niklaus and Rebekah seemed to have formed as humans. He must’ve felt excluded… He'd not have felt that way, had that bitch not thrown me out;

I could’ve been there for him. ‘Yet another ruined life to be placed at Esther’s feet.’

If there’s any consolation, it’s the fact the Witch-Bitch’s dead now- murdered by Mikael’s own hands according to the rumors. I don’t buy it though. The ol’ man can be a right cunt at the worst of times, but if there is one thing I have never doubted, it’s his love for us and Esther. Through that tough façade, lies a man who is desperate to protect what little he has… And as much as I hate the man, I adore him also.

I can’t help it;

He remains my father, the man who supported me in the only way he knew how. It was his way of ensuring I wouldn't have to endure living with a woman who despised me for what I was, while still allowing the rest of his children to experience their mother's affection.

If Esther had chosen to take a hike because of my existence, it would have had far more detrimental effects on the Mikaelsons’ mental well-being, which would’ve affected me as well, Reincarnate or not. ‘Not that it fucking matters now, does it?’ Bitterness filling my mouth, my mind moves to the only girl in the sausages-fest that is the Mikaelsons. ‘Rebekah…’ She was… The apple of my eyes.

My emotions towards my siblings range from neutral to negative, but Rebekah... I would have sacrificed my life for her, just like I would have for Tatia.

Our relationship was always strained due to the conflict among her male relatives and I, but whenever the blonde had the chance, she’d secretly meet me. Stupid as it sounds, I believe she feels a deep connection between us, one that is shared only between blood. It’s why her betrayal had stung the hardest… It still does to this day, if I had to admit.

My heart aches with every word of the atrocities she has committed, and I am left to wonder where that kind-hearted girl has disappeared to. The girl who would plead with me, her voice filled with genuine vulnerability, to help her conquer a tree, as her billowing dresses tangled her feet. The girl who sought solace in my tales of epic adventures, one I will admit I shamelessly plagiarized from the all the videogames, comics, and TV shows that once captivated me as a 21st-century youth.

In the days before Tatia entered my life, it’s her who’d lovingly prepare meals for me after I moved out of Ayana's dwelling.

It’s her care and compassion that reached beyond boundaries long before I had even set sight on Tatia.

The more I think, the more uncertain I become, ‘Can I truly bring myself to do it?’

Can I muster the strength to extinguish the life of the very person who once touched my heart with her gentle spirit?

The question should have emerged with a straightforward and resounding, ‘Yes’, and yet I find myself entangled in the web of confusion, torn between what I ought to do and I want… “– Nameless? Are you listening to me?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let loose a sigh. “Apologies, my mind was elsewhere. Do repeat to me your plans.” Marcel gives me a look, but he doesn’t push it. “I plan on exiling the violent Werewolves out of New Orleans. They like that swamp so much, they can live there. Only the Untriggered may live amongst us.”

“And if they disagree?”

“We kill them. Spare the children… Let a few peaceful Were live so there’s someone to care for them.”

That… That I can agree with.

Well, won’t you look at that!

Turns out Niklaus can do something right, after all.

How that bipolar Beast can raise young Marcellus to be this wise, I have not a clue, but I’m not complaining. His success still benefits me, in the end. “Secondly, I wish to know how you’ll treat the other two Factions.” Vampires can coexist with Humans, we just need to set up a system- blood for money, and it’ll reduce the senseless killings. It won’t solve the issue completely, but there’s no perfect solution. “I’ll set up a law to prevent Vampires from killing the Humans and Witches.”

“And how do you plan on reinforcing it?”

My finger swipes the cup’s edge.

“By force.” I chuckle at his naïve answer. Vampires drink blood to survive… Animal blood will suffice, but it would be chewing grass when another, far more delicious source of nutrients is right next to you. “I suppose it’s my fault for phrasing that wrong, I meant, how do you plan to keep the Balance between the Factions? The Humans and Witches are both afraid of us, and they’re right to be. For us, they’re food just as much as they are entertainment.

Assuming our Faction comes out on top, what’s to stop them from moving away? Or rebelling outright? What will you do then? You may quell their rebellion once, twice, thrice even, but can you do so forever?”

Kidnap the Humans from other settlements? The Witches in New Orleans are big on this whole, ‘Ancestral Magic’, but they simply can’t sustain a large number of Vampires on their own. Marcellus looks thoughtful for a moment, his brows furrowed.

Well, I suppose I was expecting too much…

He has the bearing of a fair and just King, not an Innovator.

Plus, my idea has never been implemented before. “Money… Witches and Humans need money.” For Vampires, building generational wealth is not a big deal, but for the other two species who’re short-lived, they require money to enjoy life. “Set up a front Company, buy out the politicians if you must, and allow them to… Willingly donate blood to us at a price. You can also let a selective few know and help us in this endeavor.”

What’s that Chinese idiom? ‘Birds die for food; humans die for wealth’, is it?

“Control the distribution of Daylight rings, and you’ll control the Vampire population. If someone dares to break your laws, put the unruly to death as examples. Most Vampires are cocky, but they aren’t stupid. They’ll learn… Eventually.” That’s two Factions handled, now for the last one. “The Witches are more tricky, but they’re just humans with something extra. Appeal to their greed; their abundant amount of pride, and you will have them dancing to your tune.”

Marcel looks practically liberated at my suggestion, as I raise the third question. “Thirdly, how do you plan on keeping your laws? From what I’ve heard, you’re a Newborn, less than a decade old. What’s to stop another, older Vampire from usurping your seat? Sure, you can claim number, but creating too many Vamps will upset the Balance of the City, plus how do you know they can even be trusted?”

For a Supernatural, personal prowess is of significant importance, and whoever fails to grasp this must be a fool of the highest order. “I’ll surround myself with loyalists…”

“Loyalty can be bought, Little Warrior.”

I mock, "No matter how tight-knit your circle may be, it is foolish to blindly trust that everyone harbors the same noble intentions. Each individual carries their own tapestry of thoughts, desires, and relationships. What if a Vampire, far mightier and more influential than you, descends upon your beloved city. Who's to say they won't bide their time, quietly plotting your demise? Who's to say they won't buy off your allies one by one or hold their loved ones as leverages?"

“They won’t betray me.”

Marcellus says stubbornly.

“I assume you’re referring to the Newborns currently in the building? Naivety’s the biggest crime a King can have, Marcel. Take it from someone who’s been betrayed once.” His lips tremble, then he looks at me. “In that case, I’ll let you take care of it.”

“Not possible.”

I immediately reject. “If I had the time to care for a City, what use are you then?”

He goes silent at my words, pursing his lips. Hah… Although he does possess the makings of a King, he’s too inexperienced. “I won’t serve the answer on a silver platter for you again, but I can give you a hint: The Witches. It all comes down to them.”

Magic’s versatile, and if he could convince the Witches to help, things aren’t going to be difficult. I can think of a few solutions off the top of my head, the first’s to ask the Covens to bolster and overcharge his Curse,

The second is to create a Barrier that will keep all Vamps older than him from stepping foot in New Orleans unless they have been invited… Hel, he can even do both. The real challenge is how to make the Witches think it’s their idea to begin with, else they would never do it. I know I wouldn’t. “Think about it, Marcellus. When you have an answer, come find me.”

Light twists and bends around me as I make for the exit.

“Wait! How do I contact you?!”

A ring drops from my pocket, “þessar vígi gúðfine bards… Remember the password, Little Warrior.”

“And the fourth question?”

I laugh at him. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Marcel.”

And with that, I’m gone.

‘Now… To rein in the Witches.’