Chapter 8: Ashes and Crowns
The courtyard was still burning.
Smoke rose from between the cracked stones, and the broken lanterns whispered in pain as they exhaled the tongues of fire embracing the shadows. The air pulsed with raw energy, as if the gods had torn the sky open and left behind a battlefield of ruin and destruction.
Alexander stood amidst the ashes, blood dripping from his mouth, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Around him, the Originals and the Salvatore brothers stared silently, their faces frozen in shock, as if waiting for what would happen after this madness.
Klaus emerged from the rubble.
His shirt was torn, blood dripping from a wound above his eyebrow. On his lips rested a crooked smile, a mix of admiration and anger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then let out a quiet laugh.
In a hoarse voice he said: "You're not bad... there's more fight in you than all your brothers combined."
Alexander did not answer him. His eyes—still glowing with the intertwined darkness of Ash—were fixed on Klaus like a predator locking its gaze on bleeding prey.
Klaus continued with a tone full of sarcasm: "You're not only cursed, but blessed... with rage, with madness. Just like me."
Then he lunged toward him.
Their bodies collided again with an explosion like thunder. The stones cracked, and the ground shook beneath their feet. It was not a balanced fight, but a brutal, primal one. Klaus fought with the force of a thousand years of violence, but Alexander fought with something older: pure vengeance.
Klaus tore Alexander's side with his claws—flesh scattered. But Alexander grabbed his wrist and broke it without hesitation.
Klaus retaliated with a punch that sent Alexander flying against a stone pillar, but Alexander rose roaring, spitting blood, and lunged again like a wounded beast.
The Salvatore brothers stood within the circle, among the onlookers, their hearts pounding out of their chests.
Stefan whispered, barely audible: "Should we stop them?"
Damon shook his head slowly, eyes wide: "Can you stop a hurricane?"
Rebecca stepped forward cautiously, whispering: "Klaus... has never fought like this before. Not even against Mikael."
Elijah said in a dark tone: "They will kill each other."
Yet no one moved.
Alexander and Klaus collided again. Klaus snarled, smashing Alexander's head into the ground. But Alexander twisted his body, grabbed his neck, and threw him across the square.
Glass shattered, wood splintered. Vampires hid away, witches whispered protective spells from the rooftops.
Still, the fight continued.
Klaus now bled from his mouth. His arm hung at an unnatural angle. But his smile widened as if enjoying the massacre.
He said mockingly: "Let's see how deep that rage goes, little Salvatore."
Alexander answered with silence... and punches.
He struck again, then again, then a third time. Blood splattered on the stones. Klaus laughed despite the pain, then grabbed Alexander's neck and lifted him high.
He growled through his teeth: "You'll die here, just like the bastard your father thought you were."
Alexander's expression changed.
Then he shattered the arm holding him.
With a roar that shook the French Quarter, Alexander slammed Klaus to the ground. Again, and again, and a third time.
The Originals approached.
Elijah shouted sharply: "Enough, Klaus!"
But Klaus only laughed, blood filling his mouth.
Alexander stood over him, panting. His hand raised, claws blackened with blood, his veins glowing with Ash's influence.
Klaus challenged him: "Finish it. Prove you're not just a mistake. Prove you're a monster."
Alexander hesitated.
Inside his head, Ash's voice rose:
"Finish him. He would have finished you. Show them what they made."
Everyone tensed. Damon stepped forward:
"Alex..."
Alexander's hand trembled.
Stefan whispered, voice breaking: "Don't."
For the first time, he looked at them.
His brothers. His blood. Those he thought he had lost, and now were before him.
The anger faded... if only slightly.
Alexander lowered his hand.
Klaus blinked, stunned.
Alexander said with a voice like shattered stone: "You're not worthy. Never were."
Then he turned.
He walked toward Stefan and Damon—slowly, limping, bleeding.
And in that moment, no one saw him as born of a curse... but as a true brother.
Klaus remained in the rubble, laughing quietly.
He said sarcastically: "Welcome to New Orleans."
The fire died down. The echoes faded.
But the war inside Alexander... had only just begun.
And the city... would not forget this night, when two beasts clashed as if rulers of an ancient lineage of fire.