Her Majesty // Mikaelson

39 Samhain

"Onoskelis." I say when I'm walking down the sidewalk of New Orleans. The demon appears moments later, on demand. She herself was covered in blood. "Any news from the War Front?" I wonder aloud, figuring that's where she's come from.

"They follow the leader of Zetrov. Their loyalties are fake, so many are fleeing. But the ones who aren't, far outweigh the size of our armies, even when you turned the newbies from the gym." She sighed. "If you can't stop them, then The League will lose." Onoskelis's words were rough and old, like all her words but these sounded so much more tired than the others. "The Lafayette Cemetery has been warded against demons." She hisses, and I shiver. The coldness seemed to radiate off her in waves. "I'm guessing that's where the ritual will take place. I can't help you in there."

"It's fine. I don't need help. I've enough rage to kill though hundreds of people bubbling under my skin right now." I touch the metal medallion on my neck, and scratch my cheek absently. I start off fast towards the cemetery, realized the sun has gone down enough for me to walk freely. The demon grabs my arm before I can take off. I turn towards her, snapping angrily at her. "I'm fine, Skelly." My tone was harsh but the demon doesn't even blink, she just locks those deathly deep eyes on mine, the blackness of them boring into my icy ones emotionlessly.

"Cain lost the sword." She warns me, her voice unreadable. "If you don't stop this, the doors to hell will be opened. It is imperative that does not happen. The sword will open them, so destroying the sword will close them." Onoskelis says, and though her voice was hellish like shattering glass, she had no emotion in them at all. Perhaps she never did, and I had always just imagined it.

"Destroying the sword..."

"I will do it, if you fail." This time it was more urgent. I shake my head.

"Destroying the sword will kill me."

"I don't care." And her grip on my arm disappears, as her malleable form disseminates to nothing.

---

I take a deep breath. Simon said I should be able to wield magic. Sure, that's absolutely ludicrous. I'm not a witch. I've no connection to ancestor magic. But, I did massacre witches who did have access to magic. I look at the red mark on my arm. A scar that was inflamed. All the stars that had reached down to my chest, scattering across my upper body and neck. Resembling each and every life I take. Red streaks shot up my arm from the Mark Of Cain.

I should be able to wield magic. It was stupid when Simon was just Simon. But now, he was the supposed leader of Zetrov. That changes things. Zetrov was, by definition, a Russian Intelligence network. It stretched across the world. If he says I should be able to tap into the power of those I kill, then I believe him.

I take another deep breath, trying to clear my mind and tap into whatever magic I may have sucked up from those witches. "Incendia." I say out loud. After a moment of nothing, I roll my eyes. I felt stupid. I can't be a witch and a vampire. I look into the Cemetery of stone. The tombs creating columns and narrow rows to walk through. As soon as I step onto the hard cement, a chill passes over me.

There was a sense of dread that hung in the air. Death, perhaps.

I shrug it off, and walk deeper into the cemetery, not knowing what I was about to be faced with, but nonetheless, ready for anything. It doesn't take long to find the center of the kingdom of cement. All I had to do was follow the chanting.

Finally, I come face to face with alit torches. How kind, they lit the way for me by firelight. I didn't know if I should be flattered or worried. Witches were clearly working with Zetrov, and had made their way here. To the home of New Orleans magic.