Einar's – Episode 2-2 (Free)

Words Count: 4695

A/N: KP tomorrow, then Ars Goetia. A day break and repeat.

Though absent physically, I can clearly hear the women conversing, their heartbeats racing erratically in their chests, and sense the flow of Magic emanating from the Witch’s presence alone.

 She possesses great strength, not quite on Ayana’s level, but given a decade or two to refine her abilities, she may stand alongside my adoptive mother as an equal.

My fangs instinctively elongate once more,

My face invoking a vampiric transformation as a different type of thirst overwhelms me.

Unlike the craving for crimson blood, this desire feels more ethereal, like the sweetened whispers of the Devil himself urging me to tear out the Witch’s throat and drain her Magic. I hastily suppress the unsettling urge, angry at myself for even entertaining such thoughts. As a Siphoner, I am acquainted with temptation, but this level of intensity is unprecedented.

To distract myself, I draw upon my Life-Force, manipulating the newly-transformed Mana to disperse the smoke and clear dust, ensuring no trace of my failure remains.

All the while, my ears remain attentive in the unlikely case the Witch attempts any unsavory actions towards my surprisingly friendly host.

Despite the spaciousness of the Forbes Manor, I can cover the distance from the kitchen to the living room in mere seconds.

Should she try anything, she’ll find herself without the benefits of a heart. Vikings have a certain Code of Honor we follow, one that was quite literally beaten into me by Mikael during our numerous sparing sessions, unless they’re raiding, of course. There’s little honor in killing unarmed women, but Witches unfortunately do not count, for even without steels, no Witch is truly defenseless ever.

To better eavesdrop on their conversation, I command Heaven’s Quintessence to monitor their interaction, and am instantly shaken by the uncanny resemblances the Witch bears to Ayana. “It can’t be…” I exclaim. “Can it?”

After all these centuries, could a member of the Bennett lineage still reside in these lands?

My mind initially dismisses the thought, dismissing it as mere coincidence. And yet, the suspicion lingers persistently at the back of my mind.

“No! I’m by myself, why do you ask?” Gotta credit to Margaret, she’s fiercely loyal, even if she’s terrible at deception.

Just by listening to her tone of voice, I can almost envision the shock and fear etched on her face. It’s not surprising, considering the town’s history with Vampires, as I gleaned from the books in the Manor’s primary office. If it’s revealed that she is harboring one in her home, the likelihood of her facing an enraged mob is quite high. “Are you certain, Ms. Forbes? Don’t fret, you can confide in me. Or has he coerced you into silence?”

The accusation hits me hard, and I find no pleasure in it. However, considering my new… Bloodthirsty nature, it’s only fair to consider such suspicions.

While I won’t indulge in the discussion of Humanity’s alleged superiority, considering its falsehood, I cannot ignore the fact that if I were in their place, I would be gearing up for conflict as well. “What are you insinuating?!”

Noticing the mounting panic in Margaret, I ponder whether it’s prudent to step in before things can escalate.

Considering the Witch's apparent interest in me, there’s no reason to involve the innocent young woman in my matters.

“Do you not know the dark history our town has endured with those bloodsuckers? It would be unwise to make unfounded accusations without proper knowledge. Such actions could put both of us at risk!”

Ms. Forbes hisses, and I must admit, anger doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. “Besides, it is no secret to the Council who- what murdered my brothers…! Do you really, honestly believe I’d ever grant asylum to one of them?!” That… I hadn’t been made aware of that. I had thought her brothers passed away to a disease, or the Great War, given the time-period, not goddamn Vampires.

Margaret’s ability to endure my presence within these halls makes her infinitely superior to me morally.

I know for a fact I could’ve never done the same. Hel, I was ready to eliminate an entire Clan of Werewolves for a younger brother who wasn’t aware of our connection, albeit through no fault of his.

Admittedly, my motivation stemmed mostly from my desire to fulfill the promise I made to Mikael, but even so… “What a fool.” No. I’m not smiling. Nobody will believe you. Heaven’s Quintessence seems to vibrate, as he shares his amusement through our Bond. ‘Screw off, or I will have you test out my dishes next time.’

The Stand instantly shuts up at the threat.

“Ms. Forbes, I implore you to be honest with me. I know he is present here. If the Original has done anything, you must inform me now. He’s dangerous, much more than the Vampires the Councilmen know.”

“’Original?’”

Margaret echoes my thoughts. I hear the Witch’s feet shuffling, hands to her sides- clenched to display her turbulent emotions. “Perhaps we should talk elsewhere.” In a flash, I vanish from where I’m standing, appearing behind the Witch with knitted brows. “Original?”

Taken aback, the woman jerks in surprise and unleashes a wave of raw, unaltered magic towards me.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve anticipated this, effortlessly evading the attack, my composure unchanged as I lift my eyebrow questioningly. “I’m afraid I’ll require you to elaborate on the term.” I calmly demand.

While I can make an educated guess, it is better to have my suspicions confirmed rather than rely on misguided assumptions. “Einar!” Margaret calls, tone thick with fear as I silently approach. “Einar Mikaelson…”

The Witch whispers, and I have to physically hold back a snarl. “Einar Bennett. Don’t ever associate me with those… Treacherous curs again, or I’ll put your head on a plate to deliver you to your Ancestors!” I practically tower over her, my eyes burning with a rage I don’t think can ever be extinguished. At least, one of my assumptions is all but confirmed.

My traitorous family still lives, and it seems they’ve made a name for themselves in the Supernatural Community. “I’m Alaya Bennett!” The Witch screams, just as my hand nears her throat. I halt, irises dilating. “It was Ayana who sent me here!!! I felt your presence last night, when you awoke from the slumber and- and–”

Hyperventilating, the Witch- the Bennett Witch stutters, a stumble away from collapsing on her rear-end.

“How? Ayana had no other child according to my knowledge.” I’ve never heard her mention a child asides from me. I’d not say I’m hurt, but it is close. “She told me you were raised by her… That you’d protect her lineage, no matter what it costs… That you are honorable. Did she lie?”

Sensing my hesitation, Alaya Bennett’s courage suddenly experiences an increase. Hands plopped on her waist, she purses her lips. I love Ayana, but this obnoxious, cocky little girl needs to be taken down a notch.

While I am willing to protect her, if what she’s saying holds even a modicum of truth to it, I’m not going to be disrespected or beholden to her every whim. With narrowed eyes, I reach forth and, before she can react, already have one of her ears pinched between my fingers… “Is that any way to speak to your elder, young lady?”

The Witch tearfully glares at me, lips trembling, clearly holding back choked sobs- too stubborn to even allow a peep to reach my ears. “Le- Let go, or I’ll tell Ancestor!”

With a dismissive roll of my eyes, I retort.

“Go ahead, tell her. I’m sure she’ll concur that you’re in need of some discipline.”

It was Ayana who initially employed this approach. As a Reincarnator, I didn’t pose as much of a hassle as most children, thanks to my prior life experiences and memories.

Nevertheless, having a fully-developed personality and recollections of my past presented their own unique set of challenges for Ayana. In a way, one could consider me quite the unruly child. “Ouch, ouch! I’ve learnt my lesson! Please, let go already!” Realizing she won’t be able to talk her way out of this, Alaya pleads. “Have you really?” My hand moves, and she moves with it.

“I have! I have! Please…” Although I was finding joy in her suffering, never let it be said Einar Bennettson is a child-abuser. Thus, after making sure her OS (Brain) has registered the new program, I release my grip, smirking as the young Witch rubs her reddened ear. “You didn’t have to be so forceful.” She complains through sobs, swallowing bitter tears.

Why does every woman I meet needs to say such easily misunderstood thing? “Ms. Forbes, I know I’m abusing your… Trust a bit, but can you invite her into your house? It’ll be quick, I promise.” I gesture at the unreliable, adoptive descendant still rolling around in pain behind me.

“S- Sure?”

Despite her word, Margaret doesn’t sound at all sure. “But can any of you explain what just happened first?”

— Twenty Minutes Later —


“So you’re a Vampire… And a Witch? And Ms. Bennett’s ancestor adopted you after you were abandoned by your birth-mother moments after being born?”

“That is the gist of it, yes.”

I gingerly sip on the expensive tea brought to us by the blonde, completely ignoring Alaya as she stares daggers at me. Ms. Forbes pinches the bridge of her nose, before going straight for the unopened, dusty bottles of wine nearest to us. “I’m going to need a drink. Probably more.” Margaret looks at me hesitantly, as if asking for permission.

What an odd girl. “Knock yourself out, Ms. Forbes. It is your home, and such… Revelation can certainly be overwhelming.”

After downing three cups, just enough for her to pass the cusp of being tipsy, Margaret licks her lips. “Witches exist?”

““Yes.””

Alaya and I echo in unison.

“Do you sacrifice virgins?”

I reply, “Some do…”

“Most don’t.” And my adoptive descendant finishes.

“Wow… Okay, this is a lot to take in. I mean, Vampires? Sure. But Witches? What next? Dragons? Demons?”

Margaret exclaims sarcastically, visibly drunk. “Those–”

“Don’t exist.” The Bennett Witch says confidently, eliciting a confused look from me. “They do, though?” It has been 900 years, but memories of the occasional cattle-raids one of the local Dragons would go on was clear in my mind. The fire-breathing lizards are in no way indestructible, but usually capturing or slaying one requires an immense amount of effort and teamwork to accomplish. Ours managed to kill a hatchling, one that hadn’t passed the mature period and gained human form.

“No, they don’t.”

The young Witch stubbornly claims.

“I can assure you, they do, or did. Participated in killing one myself. Even the Mikaelson were present that day. We celebrated the entire night afterwards.” A small note: Dragon is not tasty at all. I was expecting something akin to crocodile meat, and got spicy charcoals instead.

At least the local smiths managed to make weapons out of the bones. In fact, the handles of my axes were carved and heat-treated from its tailbone. Magicals’ remains are far more… Receptive to Magic, thus when one’s captured or killed, we never allowed anything to go to waste. Obviously, Enchantments were not a huge thing back then, what with the Witches’ reverence of Nature and lack of creativity, but enchanted weapons made from magicals were definitely a thing.

How else does she think legends of Excalibur, Balmung, Gáe Bolg…Etc. Originated from?

We even tried hunting one of the worshipped Thunderbirds to turn its feathers into throwing knives.

Never did so successfully though. For a creature which causes storms wherever it goes, the bloody thing was damn elusive. “Don’t even get me started on the Trolls, or the fucking Wendigos.” The first were plenty at the time, idiotic certainly, but extremely durable. The latter’s basically impossible to kill without fire. “No, those are just myths.”

I blink once again, feeling genuine confusion seep in. Grimoires have existed for ages, far longer than my own existence, and many of them contain extensive sections dedicated to magical Bestiaries. Can it truly be possible for all that knowledge to have been lost in just a few centuries? “That’s impossible…”

I may not be sound of mind back then, still aren’t probably, but there’s no way I could’ve had such vivid imaginations, especially since Vampirism seems to come hand-in-hand with the Perfect Recall.

“Did the entire Supernatural Community have a bout of collective amnesia?”

I was the one who laid the killing blow to the hatchling, which elevated my status within the village overnight.

It’s why the villages and tribes rarely warred with one another, instead opted to promote cooperation; and also the reason so very few approved or supported the Tolkan Chief’s little conquest, especially when it’s so close to the beginning of Winter.

When everything under the Sun and the Moon seems intent on killing, eating or fucking you to death, you either learn to help one another and discard your idiotic ambitions, or die miserable deaths- picked off one by one. My body tenses.

Either I’ve gone batshit crazy due to the agonizing torture and prolonged isolation I underwent, which is… Implausible,

Or something went terribly wrong during the nine centuries I was put out of commission.

Even if people had hunted all those other magicals to extinction, some are bound to be alive, or at least documented.

“A Ritual… It could’ve only been a Ritual.”

I mumble, hair standing.

No one Coven possessed the ability to wipe out whole species, unless they all banded together, which raised the question of why. Witches are self-proclaimed Servants of Nature and they’d not have done something which’d wipe out entire ecosystems. “Do Werewolves still exist?”

“They do, but only in the edges of civilizations. Vampires hunted them all to near extinction.” Both women throw me concerned looks, but I can’t be bothered with them at the moment.

I feel like I have stumbled on something taboo here. Perhaps Ayana will know more than her unknowing descendant? “E- Einar, are- are you alright?” A hand- warm and kind, snaps me out of my contemplation. “You’re sweating.”

Vampires sweat?

“You alright, ol’ man?”

“Ye- Yeah.”

My voice’s about as convincing as Margaret’s attempts at lying, though if the girls noticed it, they’re wise to not comment on it.

To say I’m on edge would be a severe underestimation. I am fucking terrified. “I’m fine.”

If one or two species were wiped out, I could’ve chucked it to natural-selection, but all of them? “Hey, it’s alright. It is normal to have a… Active imagination after imprisonment, don’t–”

“I am not. Fucking. Crazy!” I hiss, fangs jutting out of my lips as I glare at the Bennett Witch, hand running through my hair as I slump in my seat. The young woman flinches at the sheer intensity of my stare, looking down at her lap out of fear. “I will talk to Ayana about this later–” Ignoring the pitying glances they’re constantly throwing me, I wrench the alcohols in Forbes’ hands, chugging them down to numb the fear, unsuccessfully… “For now, just tell me where the Mikaelson are.”

“We- Well, I’m not sure where the Destroyer is, but according to rumors, they were in New Orleans for some time- fancied themselves royalties, until your fat–” Noticing my burning stare, Bennett hurriedly and fearfully averts her gaze. “Mikael–”

That’s better.

“Destroyed the city. Burnt most of it to the ground, actually.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I breath a sigh of relief. “At least there are some good news.” Setting aside the matter of the other magicals’ disappearances for the time being, I redirect my attention towards my mortal enemies. No point worrying about what I can’t change, and should whatever caused the extinction of all those species decide to come after me… Heaven’s Quintessence cracks his knuckles expectantly. ‘We’ll beat it up.’

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, from what I’ve heard.”

While it may appear odd for a woman who has never ventured beyond the borders of her hometown to possess such knowledge, it is worth noting that Witches are renowned for their inclination towards gossip. This inclination is magnified when they happen to be deceased and have ample time on their hands and an almost endless supply of boredom. “Where’s Mikael then?”

“Not a clue…”

Alaya shrugs, then explain.

"The Mikaelsons, all of them, sought the aid of the Covens during their early years to shield themselves from scrying. Unless we possess powers comparable to entire Covens, it’ll prove challenging to break through the Spells.” Which means I will need to resort to more traditional methods of tracking- rumors and hearsay. Not exactly ideal, but I had not expected this to be easy either. “If my… Siblings have grown feral as you described, there will be traces.”

Even if they are clever enough to involve politicians in covering their tracks, rumors are bound to circulate when people start to go missing and lifeless bodies drained of blood are discovered. It is not a question of if I can track them down, but rather when. Killing them won’t satiate my thirst for vengeance, but I do have a plan. Things granted by Magic, can just as easily be taken away by Magic.

How utterly pitiful it would be for a group of Vampires as infamous as them to be stripped of all benefits commonly associated with their Curse- the Strength; the Speed; the seemingly endless well of Stamina, left only with the cons imposed by their cursed existences. I have not the Spell to accomplish this at the moment, but Spell-Making’s one of the many subjects Ayana taught me.

It may take a while- decades I reckon, in order to invent such a… Complex Spell, luckily, I now have all of eternity at my fingertips.

“A- Are you leaving, Einar?” Ms. Forbes’ question jolts me out of my contemplative state. Long before I direct my gaze towards her, I can sense the overpowering sense of fear radiating from every inch of her being… Lust, from what I can tell, smells sickeningly sweet; anger is like spices that keep tickling my nostrils; and fear… It’s like the Devil’s lettuce, unexpectedly enough, that and alcohol. “Do you want me to leave, Ms. Forbes?”

I raise an eyebrow in response to Margaret’s shyly fidgeting hands as I pose my question. “No.” She answers, a little too quick, her finger leaving a ghost on her lips before she retracts it in a haste, cheeks set aflame. Sensing the invisible tension between us, the Bennett Witch shifts uneasily in her seat, then moves to get up.

“Since you’re well, I guess I’ll take my leave–”

“Sit, Alaya.”

I instruct, causing the Witch to blanch hearing my authoritative tone, collapsing in a boneless heap on the seat.

“Whyyy~?”

With a drawn-out sigh, Margaret appears as if the Devil himself has cornered her. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

I chide, resting my chin on my wrist. “We will also need to discuss your tutelage.”

“Tutelage?”

Alaya Bennett repeats, as if not believing her ears, and I nod. “Yes, you did not hear wrong. I want to take you in as a trainee.”

The woman appears skeptical, murmuring complaints under her breath. “What could you possibly teach me? Your spells are nearly a millennium outdated.”

She remarks, causing my eyebrows to twitch, because truth be told, she isn’t wrong. Witches may not be the most liberal, nor experimental, but nine whole centuries is more than enough for the Magic System I’m familiar with to have experienced drastic changes.

In fact, I was hoping she could teach me new things as well…

Fortunately, I haven’t run out of cards yet.

I may have written the more mundane, every-day Spells into Ayana’s Grimoires, but the real stuffs- the meat of my innovation remains in my head, locked where they are safest- the mental vault of my Mindscape. ‘JK. Rowling, I owe you one.’

“Ms. Forbes, I require your aid for a demonstration…”

The blonde looks at me quizzically.

“How can I help?”

We both ignore Alaya’s muted, “Whipped.”

“Is there any tree around that you wouldn’t mind losing? Ideally, one that is already dead.” I inquire. Minutes later, we find ourselves in the Manor’s back, connecting to the forest behind. Plenty of trees here… Most are alive, though some are indeed dead. “Do you trust me, Ms. Forbes?”

Our eyes lock, and sparks of electricity seeming to ignite between us, as she nods and says breathily, “Yes.”

“Oh, get a room already.”

“I’m going to cast a Spell, and then I want you to strike that tree with all your might. It will not cause you any… Pinky swear.”

I explain, my tone filled with an air of assurance and confidence.

If I do this correctly; if the Spell takes, there will be visual confirmations.

The majority of the spells in my ‘Nuclear’ category possess visible effects.

There are a couple of reasons for this choice: First, I wanted to make a grand impression. Better to avoid a fight by grand-standing, than head into conflicts like a battle-hungry fool.

Secondly, the Immense amount of magic required in these spells makes it nearly impossible to remain unseen. Personally, I haven’t used them extensively because they demand an exorbitant amount of Mana, far beyond what Ayana was capable of providing.

However, with my plentiful Life-Force and the more manageable exchange rate by directly siphoning Vampirism, utilizing these Spells is no longer the huge concern it once was. Magic thrumming, I mumble a chant: "Fortitudo surge, in meo pectore. Potentia magna, te invoco ore. Da mihi virium, tam fortis, ut volo, fiat ita, per sortis. [Fortify]!"

Golden motes burst forth from my palms, swirling and enveloping the blonde woman. Her gaze becomes transfixed by the ethereal beauty of the display, as she exclaims. “So cool…” Her astonished smile mirroring the excitement of a child.

After a few fleeting moments, the golden motes disperse, leaving both women bewildered. “… What was that supposed to accomplish?” The Bennett Witch questions, her confusion visible. In response, I motion towards the tree situated before Margaret. “Give it a try and strike the tree.”

I suggest, and while clearly nervous, the blonde does as she’s told. With a mighty cute yell, her fist explodes through the bark, swiftly exiting through the other side.

““What?!””

I bow, an action that’s meant to display humility, yet shows only my arrogance as I smirk with upturned nose.

“[Strengthening], ladies. [Strengthening].”

— Einar’s Diary —


In the midst of Rome, the epicenter of Catholicism, lies a dwelling near the Vatican. Within its walls, echoes of tormented cries reverberate, hidden from the knowledge of onlookers. The building has been ensorcelled as a gesture of goodwill to the Originals.

Inside, corpses- all of which are bloodied and mangled- litter the floor.

Some are wide-eyed, terrified.

Some seem almost at peace.

Others, expressionless as they gaze in search of something distant- the Kingdom of Heaven, perhaps?

Lana Reinhardt suppresses the rising nausea as she kneels before the bloodsucking monstrosities sitting before her, akin to royalties. There’s a joke about the class-struggle here, but whatever snark she can think of is lost in the haze of fear. Despite the ghastly scene and the bloodstains on their attire, they possess an undeniable allure, radiating beauty and class in ways no mortal can hope to replicate.

One of them is an enchanting woman, her blonde hair cascading down her back and captivating Lana with her piercing blue eyes. The other is a refined man, his meticulously arranged ensemble attempting to conceal the underlying savagery that instead serves to further accentuate it, his fixed hair smeared with gels and black eyes filled with a cold fury.

He alone doesn’t spot blood around his mouth, though that doesn’t endear him to her in the slightest.

The third’s the Hybrid- a Beast who hides his evils with a practiced smile, whose curly blond hair Ms. Reinhardt can just imagine poking out of her crotch as he feasts on her in a more… Sensual way; his mischievous eyes meeting her with the trademark smile.

Her Ancestors have warned her of the Wolf, told her of his cruelty and insanity, yet something deep down, the woman desires the forbidden as much as anyone. She even thinks, ‘I won’t mind if he kills me afterwards.’ Before shaking the useless thoughts away. The last her eyes settle on is the Child… The youngest Mikaelson, whose cruelty outstrips all of his siblings’ combined; a man lashing out at everything and everyone after cursed to remain a child eternally,

Who kills as easily as he breathes.

“Shall we invite Father to our doorstep by morning? What is this abomination?” Elijah, the Noble, confronts his siblings, his voice dripping with anger as he gestures to the macabre surroundings.

“Ease your fury, brother.” Niklaus, the Hybrid, smiles devilishly, his teeth and fangs tainted crimson with blood.

Henrik, the youngest of the group, playfully echoes, “Indeed, relax.” His hand still holding the corpse of a girl… A girl who seems to be hid age when he was turned, her corpse lolling to the side- neck clearly broken.

Only Rebekah remains silent, rather uncharacteristic of her, considering what Lana knows of the female Original, lost in thoughts. “Pe- Perhaps I should return at a later date.” Although she has bad news to report, staying means being in the crossfire of three- possibly four Originals who may just murder her out of spite. She’ll not be the first, nor the last to lose her life to their infighting.

Keeping her volume as low as she can, Ms. Reinhardt slowly backs out to the exit. She nearly breathes a sigh of relief, when they ignore her, only to have her heart stopped as she turns to find a boy in the way of her escape. “Lord Henrik…”

“You had news for us, I heard?”

Lana backtracks, colliding with the Hybrid, whose amused eyes meet hers, his hand- nails resting on her throat. Her heart nearly leaps out of its confine, though whether out of fear or something else, she can’t tell. “… Seems she likes you better, brother.”

The Hybrid takes a sniff of her, groaning in pleasure. “What a wonderful scent.”

For a moment, Lana’s afraid her head will leave her neck, but she needs not to, as the two Originals return to their seats, leaving her stressed and… Frustrated. “Now, I believe you were saying something about a Prophecy?”

The Child nods happily. “Yes, before Elijah decides to bore us with his presence.”

The Noblest of the Mikaelson tenses, jaws clenched, holding down a rude remark most likely. Though, Ancestors-bless-her, he does not try to initiate a fight.

Head lowered, the young woman licks her dry lips. “Milords and Lady, one of our Coven had a vision last night–”

“Urgh, how many does this make? How many Prophecies have the Witches made about us? Here we still are—”

Klaus raises his hand, putting a stop to his sister’s tirade. “At ease, Rebekah. If it proves truer than the last few, it’ll be of use to us.” His eyes land on her, causing shivers to run along her spine. “Continue, love.”

“In the vision–”

Lana’s hands grab the hem of her dress, a futile attempt to ease the anxiousness filling her heart. “There were animals: A stag, a wolf, a lioness, a spider were battling a beast bathed in Sunlight. They were losing, Milords. They’re losing hard, until a Bear comes to their aid–”

“You waste our time with this?”

Elijah, clearly still upset with his siblings, narrows his eyes.

Fearing for her life, Lana stutters. “Th- There were more, Milord. She caught a Chant… A poem… Our elder repeats it until she breathes her last.”

“Well…” Blowing at his nails, Henrik Mikaelson glares. “Spit it out.”

And Lana obliges.

“Long thought lost, a brother betrayed returns from the grip of death with a burning desire for vengeance, vying to settle his debts.”