The church had been abandoned for fifty years, but something still lived inside it.
Kol felt the corruption from a hundred yards away—a wrongness that made his void sense recoil. The building sat on New Orleans' outskirts, surrounded by dead vegetation that extended in a perfect circle from its walls. Birds flew around it, never over it. The air tasted like rot and old blood.
"Dahlia's been preparing this for decades," Freya whispered. "A foothold in New Orleans. She knew she'd need to come here eventually."
"How did no one notice?" Davina asked, her magic bristling with defensive instinct.
"She hid it well. Only visible to those actively looking—or those with senses like your void-walker here." Freya glanced at Kol. "Can you navigate her defenses?"
"I can try."
Vincent completed their group—four witches against an ancient's traps. Klaus waited at the perimeter, backup if things went catastrophically wrong. He'd wanted to come inside, but Freya had been firm: Dahlia's magic was designed to hurt vampires. An Original would be more liability than asset.
They approached the church doors. The wood was blackened, warped, covered in symbols that made Kol's eyes water when he looked directly at them.
"Those are binding marks," Vincent identified. "Anyone who enters is tracked. She'll know we're here."
"She probably already knows." Freya pushed the door open. "Let's not waste time."
Inside was worse than outside.
Religious iconography had been twisted—crosses inverted, saints' faces scratched away, altars stained with substances Kol didn't want to identify. The smell hit them like a physical force: decay, copper, something sulfurous underneath.
And the air was wrong. Heavy with magic that pressed against them from all directions, making every step feel like wading through syrup.
"Stay close," Kol ordered. "My void sense can detect most of the traps, but not all."
They moved in formation—Kol leading, Freya and Davina flanking, Vincent bringing up the rear with defensive spells ready. Progress was agonizingly slow.
The first trap triggered without warning.
The floor beneath Vincent opened into a binding circle hidden by illusion. Magical chains erupted, wrapping around his limbs, tightening around his throat. He couldn't speak, couldn't cast, could barely breathe.
"Vincent!" Davina lunged toward him.
"Wait—" Kol's warning came too late.
Her movement triggered a second trap. Pain curse, designed to incapacitate anyone who approached the binding circle. She screamed, collapsing, every nerve in her body firing agony simultaneously.
Freya acted while Kol was still processing. Her magic cut through the chain spell with surgical precision, freeing Vincent. Then she turned to Davina, absorbing the pain curse into herself with a technique Kol had never seen.
Her face went white. Her body shook. But she stayed standing.
"Move," she gasped. "Before more activate."
They moved.
---
The altar sat at the church's heart, beneath what had once been beautiful stained glass windows. Now the glass showed scenes of torture, suffering, Dahlia's face repeated in a dozen panels like a jealous god demanding worship.
"The consecrated ground is beneath the corruption," Freya reported, scanning with magical senses. "We need to dig through her magic to reach it."
"How deep?"
"Decades of preparation. Layers upon layers." Freya looked at Kol. "Your void energy might cut through faster than traditional dispelling. But it'll hurt."
"Everything worthwhile does."
Kol approached the altar, extending his void sense into its structure. The corruption was thick—magical sediment built up over fifty years of Dahlia's attention. Each layer was a trap, a curse, a warning designed to destroy anyone who tried to reach what lay beneath.
He began cutting.
Void energy tore through the first layer, dissolving it into nothing. The second layer fought back—defensive magic that tried to turn his power against him. He pushed through. Third layer, fourth, fifth. Each one harder than the last.
"She's aware," Freya warned. "I can feel her attention focusing."
"How long do we have?"
"Minutes. Maybe less."
Kol pushed harder. His reserves dropped—seventy percent, sixty, fifty. The corruption resisted, Dahlia's magic reinforcing itself as he attacked. But he was making progress. He could feel the consecrated ground beneath, pure and untouched despite everything layered on top.
The shade manifested without warning.
Not Dahlia herself—a projection, a magical recording designed to activate when intruders reached this deep. But it carried her voice, her presence, her power.
"Little niece." The shade's attention fixed on Freya. "I warned you what would happen if you defied me."
Freya's face went pale. A thousand years of trauma compressed into a single moment of contact.
"Keep working," she said to Kol, voice shaking. "I'll handle this."
"Freya—"
"I said keep working."
She stepped forward, placing herself between the shade and the altar. Her magic blazed—not defensive, but confrontational. Challenging.
"I'm not your prisoner anymore."
"You'll always be mine." The shade's smile was terrible. "Every piece of power you have, I gave you. Every spell you know, I taught you. You're my creation, Freya. My masterpiece."
"I'm my own person."
"Are you? Show me."
The shade attacked. Magic that Kol couldn't fully comprehend—ancient techniques refined over millennia—crashed against Freya's defenses. She staggered but didn't fall. Returned fire with spells that made the air itself scream.
Vincent and Davina joined the fight, their combined power augmenting Freya's defense. It wasn't enough to win, but it was enough to buy time.
Kol reached the consecrated ground.
The final layer of corruption shattered. Beneath it, untouched despite everything, lay soil that still held divine blessing from centuries ago. He gathered it quickly, filling the prepared container with precise efficiency.
"Got it! We're leaving!"
The shade screamed—frustrated rage at being denied. It lunged for Freya, spectral hands reaching for her throat.
Kol void-stepped between them, taking the blow himself. The impact sent him crashing through a pew, splinters embedding in his back. But the shade's attention had shifted, and Freya used the opening to strike a decisive blow.
The projection destabilized. Collapsed. Vanished.
"Out," Freya commanded. "Now. Before she sends something worse."
They ran.
---
Outside, the air tasted like freedom. Kol collapsed against a tree, vampire healing slowly extracting splinters from his spine. His reserves showed thirty-two percent—dangerous but manageable.
Freya's hands were shaking. She tried to hide them, tucking them under her arms, but the tremor was visible.
"You faced her," Kol observed.
"I faced a projection. When she comes in person—" Freya's voice broke. "She's in my head. Even now. Even free. I hear her voice telling me I'll never escape."
"You already escaped. That's what matters."
"Is it?" Freya looked at him with eyes that held centuries of doubt. "I've been her prisoner so long, I don't know who I am without her. What if I'm just trading one cage for another?"
"Then we help you find out." Kol pushed himself upright, wincing as the last splinter dissolved. "That's what family does. We're figuring it out together."
Freya studied him for a long moment. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For seeing me as something other than a weapon."
"You're not a weapon. You're a person who's been treated like one. There's a difference."
The compound waited ahead, safety and planning and the next step in their war. But for this moment, they stood in the Louisiana night, two broken people finding common ground.
Klaus appeared from the shadows, having maintained watch throughout. "The soil?"
Kol held up the container. "Secured."
"Good. One down." Klaus's eyes went to Freya. "Are you functional?"
"Functional enough." She straightened, composing herself. "We need Viking ash next. There's only one reliable source—a museum in Copenhagen. A ship blessed by the old gods before the Mikaelsons were born."
Klaus smiled. It wasn't a nice expression.
"I do love a heist."
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0