Chapter 10: Blood and Fire
The night air was heavy with tension... thick, as if anticipating an explosion.
Rebekah Mikaelson and Stefan Salvatore stood in the shadow of an old Creole house on the edge of the French Market. The lights inside flickered in an unnatural pattern, and the candles burned with a strange blue hue, while incense drifted out of the open window like whispering spirits.
Rebekah said in a steady voice,
"She's in there."
Stefan nodded, his eyes fixed on the windows.
"Let's be quick. All we need is her blood."
Rebekah scoffed lightly and said,
"You say that as if she'll give it to us willingly."
They stepped silently onto the wooden porch, their movements careful, as if walking over hidden traps. But before they could knock or speak a word, the front door creaked open on its own, emitting a strange, eerie sound.
"Come in... vampires," came a soft, ancient voice, saturated with power.
The witch was waiting for them.
Inside, the air was thick with unseen magic. Symbols were carved into the walls, jars filled with bones and herbs lined the shelves. At the center of the room stood a tall woman wrapped in a gray cloak, her eyes glowing with hidden power.
Stefan watched her warily and said,
"You're of Nadia's bloodline."
The witch nodded slowly.
"And you're here for the cursed one."
Rebekah stepped forward.
"Then you know what we want."
The witch raised her hand and said in a cold tone,
"What you need... isn't always what you deserve."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them shook, the wooden boards bending as if something moved underneath, while the candles flared into wild blue flames.
Stefan growled, his fangs appearing quickly.
"We don't want to hurt you."
The witch growled back,
"Then... you shouldn't have come."
She raised both hands, and a wave of energy burst from her, slamming Rebekah into a wooden cabinet, shattering bottles and herbs behind her.
Stefan rushed forward to close the distance, but the witch's spells coiled around him like invisible chains. His body stiffened, barely able to move, straining against immense power.
Rebekah quickly stood up, grabbed a broken chair leg, and hurled it like a spear toward the witch. But the witch flicked her fingers, and the wood veered off midair before it could hit.
She said, her voice laced with generations of hatred:
"You... your kind stole everything from my family. Your father, and that vampire, Katherine, they cursed that boy... and destroyed my bloodline."
Rebekah snapped angrily,
"And now he's dying because of it."
Stefan, his eyes glinting with restrained emotion, said:
"We just need your blood. That's all. You can hate us. Curse us again. But if you don't help us... Alexander will burn."
For a moment, something different flashed in the witch's eyes. It wasn't mercy, nor pity—something closer to... realization.
She whispered,
"The curse wasn't meant to last this long. It was meant to consume him... not change him."
Rebekah stood fully, her eyes filled with a faint plea.
"Then help us break it."
The witch hesitated, then moved decisively, slicing her palm with a ritual blade. Rebekah rushed forward, catching the blood in a small vial using a fine silver needle.
But just as she turned to leave, the witch began chanting again, her voice rising with fury. A wave of red light blasted into Rebekah's chest, lifting her into the air before slamming her into the opposite wall.
Rebekah screamed in pain.
In desperation, she threw the vial toward Stefan.
"Take it—go!" she cried.
But Stefan didn't move. His eyes were locked on hers, holding memories—of battles, of love, of betrayal. He couldn't leave her.
He growled,
"I won't leave you again."
The witch turned to him, fury erupting in her gaze, her hand igniting with crimson fire. Stefan stood in front of Rebekah, fangs bared, ready to fight.
But she was stronger. Her spells lashed out like whips, slashing across his chest and throwing him back.
Rebekah tried to rise, but her limbs were paralyzed by the magic.
The witch raised both hands, beginning the final words of a binding spell—
Until... the front door suddenly exploded into wooden shards.
Through the thick smoke, two figures stood amid the wreckage.
Elijah Mikaelson, composed as always, walked with steady steps through the chaos. Beside him, Damon Salvatore cracked his knuckles, his eyes black as midnight, glowing with a familiar madness.
Damon smirked,
"Someone call for backup?"
Elijah's voice was cold and sharp as a blade:
"Step away from them."
The witch snarled, but the air around her began to change—Elijah's presence imposed order like an ancient law, and Damon... was fire untamed.
The balance began to shift.
The witch stood at the center of her altar, blood dripping down her arm, her eyes glowing with ancient, immense power. The air around her twisted and warped with invisible forces, as if the world itself moved with her. This wasn't just magic... it was a living manifestation of her will—to preserve the curse and destroy any who tried to break it.
Elijah Mikaelson stepped forward with calm precision, his voice quiet but sharp as steel:
"You spilled my family's blood... That was unwise."
Damon Salvatore smiled darkly, popping his joints.
"And you messed with my brother? That's unforgivable. Let's end this."
The witch raised both hands and whispered a curse older than the city itself. Shadows burst from the walls, forming long, spectral arms studded with sharp thorns.
Damon charged first, but one of the arms slammed into his chest, hurling him through a wooden bookcase that shattered under his weight.
Elijah moved swiftly, like an ancient assassin honed by centuries of battle. He punched her jaw hard, making her stagger back a step, but she didn't fall. Instead, she opened her mouth into a devilish grin and let out a scream of pure magical force. Windows shattered, and Elijah was thrown into the wall with a sickening thud.
The witch exhaled as she roared,
"Is that all you Originals have?"
Damon rose from the rubble, sparks flying from his eyes. He lunged again, fangs bared, and bit into her arm with a vicious, ripping bite. The witch screamed and retaliated with a fire spell that engulfed Damon's left side.
He screamed in pain and hit the floor hard, rolling to extinguish the flames consuming his body.
Elijah stood slowly, blood trickling from his forehead, his face calm despite the pain.
"We have to bind her... now."
Damon, writhing in agony, still found the strength to be sarcastic:
"Great idea... perfect timing. Thanks for the tip."
The witch raised her hands high, summoning a magical circle of red lightning that ignited around her. The floor cracked, the carved symbols glowing blindingly, as if bursting to life. The air buzzed with a choking electrical hum.
She chanted the binding spell again—but this time, it wasn't defensive. It speared forward like lightning javelins, piercing Elijah's chest and pinning him to the wall like a shattered statue.
Elijah coughed blood but didn't scream.
The witch approached, eyes ablaze with madness:
"Your age means nothing... your blood, your name... it will all burn in my fire."
Damon tried to rush again, but her spell caught him midair, choking him with an invisible grip. His veins blackened beneath his skin, magic tearing through him like living poison.
She whispered, watching him writhe:
"Can you feel it?... The end of your bloodline?"
With a violent motion, she slammed Damon to the ground with devastating force, the floor cracking beneath him.
In the corner, Rebekah barely regained consciousness, trying to rise.
"No... don't let her... win..."
But she couldn't reach them.
Elijah struggled to pull himself from the magical spears tearing through his chest. He tried to speak, to warn Damon, but his mouth filled with blood.
The witch approached, step by step, fire blazing in her eyes, fury steaming from her breath. She stood over Damon, raised her hand, and summoned a blade of pure energy, gleaming as if honed on the edges of hell.
She whispered lifelessly:
"I should end you now..."
But she didn't.
She turned slowly, eyes locking onto the ritual symbol Elijah had broken earlier. She waved her fingers—and the symbol reformed. And she smiled... a cold smile like death.
She said in a low, powerful voice:
"You thought breaking my focus would stop me? I am the focus... I am the curse."
Then she screamed, unleashing the final wave... a blast of devastating force.
Elijah was ripped from the wall and thrown across the room, smashing into a crumbling cabinet.
Damon barely rolled aside before the ground beneath him erupted in a frenzy of fire.
Both fell, motionless.
The witch stood above them, victorious, her breath ragged, blood streaming—but her gaze... was that of an undefeated conqueror.
Rebekah watched, horror washing over her face, as the smoke began to clear.
Elijah Mikaelson and Damon Salvatore... had fallen under the full wrath of her fury.
And she had only just begun.
The room still burned, and the curse pulsed with relentless power... with no salvation in sight.