This is the monster breaker.
You know, when you're a freak, a death-breed, a creature of the night, you don't feel equal.
You always feel either superior or inferior. There is a tale of a man who shouted for superiority in cringing fear of the alternative, a tale of a brother who believed superiority laid in the family and inferiority laid in dishonesty, and a tale of a sister who only ever wanted to be equal.
There is also a tale of a wolf who never cared.
She was admirably and entirely her, seeing no need to hide under comparisons or tremble over references, she was superior because she didn't want to be, and she was an equal because she understood inferiority. She captured the love of kings, all because she loved herself.
And from both loves, life was conceived.
Upon contemplating that life, even the king of the monsters, with the eyes of a bat and the fangs of a wolf, found himself broken inside. Broken enough to cry, broken enough to smile.
Hope. This is the monster breaker.
This is her name.
All Karma's Heir
Chapter 1 – Don't fear the reaper.
O, child of immortals
Reapers daren't touch thy skin
Inner demons chant thine chorals
Gates o'Hell break from within.
Immortality is not the bargain
Nor is it the price;
Alone crawl those who live
Long past those who die.
Silence proclaims untold:
It's time her foes beware.
Now her allies behold:
She is all Karmas' heir.
- Sabine Laurent.
It was another night on New Orleans. The moon shone through the sky, its beauty matched only by its eeriness. Over the roof of a local bar, turned into dark silhouettes by the glaring silver light, stood two creatures to whom one would not do justice by calling "people". Two young, reckless victims and predators at the same time, rejected sons and daughters of nature, working in the shadows, through the shadows and for the shadows. The stuff of legends, blood-preying beasts, bat-like sinners, regretless monsters, those and many other terms and denominations wrapped up in a single word, whether it is seen as a shock or a joke in the eyes of a crowd convinced it has seen everything.
They were vampires.
One of the silhouettes finally speaks, with a male, young voice, bored and eager to be challenged.
"Huh. Sabine, she was..."
"Celeste, yes. In one of her bodies." speaks the other shadow – a girl, wiser, and more careful than her companion. Some people would even say afraid.
Some people would have a hard time maintaining their vocal chords afterwards.
"How many bodies did this woman have, anyway?"
"Not enough to achieve the immortality she so desired. Witch or not, she was only human."
"And the girl?"
"Oh..." She smiles. "She's something entirely new."
And for a moment, the silhouettes stood there, contemplating, until they weren't.
Somewhere, many cities away, there was fire.
A big, beautiful, prominent school - certainly the learning lair of the wealthy, nearly resembling a castle in both size and appearance, a gothic postcard when under the moon - was lit by a different kind of light that night.
A conflagration, throughout the entire establishment, fire screaming through the windows, raging amongst corridors and crawling under stairways. A layer of golden under a layer of grey - smoke, covering everything like an eclipse's shadow, a nightmare trying to take form, rising, challenging the skies. Or maybe it was just trying to escape the flames.
A 16 year-old girl stood outside, observing the spectacle, disappointed, and a little angry.
"You know, I had friends here." She comments, knowing she is no longer alone, or maybe she never were.
Little less than 20 meters behind her stood an older woman, with a murderous gaze and a nuclear anger. Behind her, 33 flesh-craving beasts.
"Friends? Don't play with me, girl!" The woman screams in disgust, hiding and, at the same time, highlighting it with a grim of despise - "An aberration such as yourself will never have such things!"
"Well, not with that attitude."
The girl was still staring at the school.
"Turn your back and face me, Erika Marshall." - the increasingly annoyed woman demands, with a hint of confidence in the end - "Or should I say Hope Mikaelson?"
"Am I supposed to be surprised? You burnt down my school, of course you know my name." - She finally turns to face her enemy, smiling. - "...Then again, you're still here, so you must not fully grasp what it means."
"I am not afraid of you, deathbreed!" The woman shouts, subconsciously taking a step back. The girl, on the other hand, just looks bored.
"Oh, it's like a virus! How does this nickname spreads so quickly when I keep killing everyone who uses it?"
"Because it's the title you deserve, monster!"
"...Monster? You're a witch with a werewolf army. Sticks, stones and black kettles."
"Oh, these are not just simple werewolves, my tribe has dedicated its talents to magically enhance their strength, agility, reflexes and hunger. They are ultimate hunting machines, and you are the prey."
"Oh, honey, won't your kind ever learn?" The girl's stunning blue eyes suddenly became bloodshot, penetrating and golden, like the fire behind her. Her teeth turned into fangs, though her smile remained untouched - "I am never the prey."
The angry woman had had enough. "KILL HER!" She commands her beasts with a bitter scream.
"I'm starting to get why they used to burn your kind", she answers, as a simple movement of her hand makes the flames in the school leave their lair and advance against the wolves like a tidal wave, as if it was alive, burning most of the beasts.
"Hypocrite. You mock the witches, yet resort to magic to attack your foes?"
"Oh, this is not an attack. It's a trial. If they're not even tough enough to survive a little fire, how would they be worthy of dying by my hands?"
Most of the burnt creatures end up falling and howling in desperation while consumed by the flames, but some did get through it, ignoring the pain and the smell of scorching flesh.
They met a different fate.
She killed with grace, as her aunt had taught her - and with her uncle's focus, her mother's freedom, and her father's rage; but the power- that was all hers. She snapped the neck of some, ripped out the heart of others, and cut off the head of the more insistent ones.
To finish the show, she held her final hunter by the fangs, opening his mouth with both hands, like a little girl opens a gift, until his jaw gave in, with his skin ripped up to the neck.
She let go of the final corpse, which fell right in front of her. Covered in blood, not one drop being hers, she finally acknowledged the witch's presence again, looking at her with a mix of sovereignty and did-you-really-think-this-would-go-any-differently-ness.
"You were right!" She says, "they really were a lot stronger than normal werewolves. That was fun! Regardless, I still can't let you leave. I really did like that school. The food was great, and so pretty."
The witch was blatantly surprised and, for a moment, almost let herself show fear, but quickly recovered her confident expression. A sign of either bravery or naivety, or perhaps both. "Sanguis agitat animam!", she proclaimed, as her voice echoed and her pupils contracted. The air suddenly turned colder and thinner, and one could swear their battlefield began to lose color. The blood all over Hope's body began to burn, in an intensity which made even her scream and howl in pain and anger, her murderous eyes and fangs letting themselves show from mere instinct. The blood began to dissolve, apparently disappearing but, in truth, getting under her skin. The witch could not hold her laughter, as she explained the situation:
"I knew that even if you were to win, the fight would not be without bloodshed, and it was through their cursed blood I could control the wolves. My tribe has been doing this for generations - using blood to enslave monsters. Right now, it's penetrating you, invading your veins, taking control of your mind and soul. This is the power of the Domitor family, of our ancestors who sacrificed themselves so their blood could become the ultimate leash!" She ominously proclaimed in a speech worthy of either a proud witch or a Bond villain. Meanwhile, hope shouted, growled and howled, clenching her fists to hold the pain, or to hold onto it.
Then, just like that, she stopped.
At that point, her golden eyes were looking down; in a blink, they were once again staring at the Domitor witch. She smiled.
She opened her right hand, showing a dark scarlet stone on its palm, resembling a jewel.
"What is this?!" The witch asked, realizing the girl was still not under her control.
"A bloodstone. Not the mineral, literally a stone made of blood. It started to hurt when my blood was rejecting yours, so I had to extract it, and why not make something pretty in the process?"
The witch stood astonished. In theory, yes, it was possible to reject and extract her family's cursed blood, through a really long and exhausting ritual executed by at least half a dozen powerful witches and warlocks, but this girl had done it right there, instantly, and even transmuted it into an ornament just for fun, just because she wanted to.
In that moment, the witch began to understand - she should've heard the warnings with more attention, the legends about the girl with the blood of the Mikaelsons, the original vampires, sons and daughters of the original witch, and the Labonairs, one of the two original werewolf families,.she should've considered the ramifications of fighting the ultimate original, she should've been more careful, should've, would've, could've, her mind was melting in regret when, in truth, nothing she could've done would've prevented this result. That girl, Hope, wasn't powerful - she was power. The Apex predator, the soon-to-be queen of all monsters and all those who fear them, the future of Earth and its countless races stood before her, and she was trying to hunt it with dogs? That was downright disrespectful! It's a miracle she had survived this long - and it wasn't because she was strong, or her techniques were clever, or she had a couple of tricks up her sleeve; it was because she was entertaining. Her bold confidence, loud words, her seemingly infinite naivety was amusing. But now that she was no longer of value, for she had finally realized the truth, and Hope saw that in her eyes, as clear as day.
"What were you expecting? It was the blood of your family against the blood of mine - I barely had to do anything, but you understand that now. Still, don't be so hard on yourself, darling, this blood isn't completely worthless. I can feel it, the confusion and pretentiousness of all the scared spell-players who gave their lives to what they honestly thought was an awesome cause. They all immediately regretted that decision, you know? Throwing your life away like that is just dumb, and in the face of death, all your pride is just not enough. Here, listen!"
She closes her hand for a moment, and opens it again: just like a magic trick, the bloodstone was no longer there. The witch suddenly felt cold and warm at the same time, as if the grim reaper itself was involving her in his embrace. She looked at her palms - now she was covered in blood, exactly how Hope was before! And she heard a scream. Many screams. Desperate, excruciating shouts of pain and regret, cries for help. Tears fell down her eyes - that was the supposed "power" in her blood. Trapped souls enslaved by black magic because of one momentary, influenced and nearly forced decision disguised as eternal consent. She was taking pride in a curse while trying to kill a girl for being born. She fell on her knees, speechless for the first time. The girl just left. The witch, Mikaele Domitor, laughed at herself. "That's right", she thought, "she only said the wolves were worthy of dying by her hands. She never said anything about me."
Mikaele got up, and slowly walked towards the fire.
The moonlit road was peaceful, and the roar of the Harley Davidson galloping over it was the only sound in miles. The light brown hair of the girl riding it was more gorgeous than ever, mimicking the wind in its flow, until she finally reached her destination. Home.
That word felt good, and warmer than the fire she had just experienced.
A beautiful, big, classic-looking house with a white fence. She opens the door, entering and throwing her backpack in the couch. A gorgeous blonde woman notices her arrival.
"Hey, aunt Bex! I bring good news and bad news. Good news is- I had fun today!
...The bad news is I might have to find another school."