"The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself."

-Sun Tsu-

The gentle hum of power rippled off the rusted and worn rod iron gates of the cemetery.

Like lightning striking the sand, the ancestral power bounced from conduit tombs to the witches that gathered in the very epicenter of the ancient graveyard. This was the reason they had the ancestral well, to draw from the strength, knowledge and power of those passed when it was needed. It gave them an advantage over other supernaturals that they needed, especially now.

A witch was always at their strongest when within their coven.

Agitated, by the circumstances surrounding the meeting, some paced back and forth while others called upon the ancestors for calm energy and swift resolve.

Patiently, they waited for their new Queen to arrive, as Vincent tried his best to assuage the rapidly anxious witches. Some wore the scars of their agitation, they oozed in thin crimson lines down the sides of their necks or anywhere their skin had been exposed to the invading vampire's ire.

They had been the few who had tried to keep the locals safe as the sire-lings swarmed the streets of the French Quarter hungerly—and, for some, it nearly cost them their life.

Led by none other than the wrath fueled Marcel, the vampires trapeze through the city striking down any who stood in their way as they march though the French Quarter with one destination in mind.

Slowly, Arsetti and Fe' made their way through the graveyard and witches until they stood side by side with Vincent. Immediately all murmuring ceased as sets upon sets of concerned eyes turned to look up at her for guidance.

Clearing her throat, she leaned in to her regent. Voice laced in concern as she took in the appearances of the witches that had been wounded, Arsetti politely queried, "could you please tell me what is going on and why there are so many injured people?"

Sighing, Vincent explained concisely. "Klaus' sire-lings are on a rampage throughout the city. Marcel took charge of them and, if I know him, he's taking them to the Mikaelson manor—for a little revenge."

Looking around at the gathered witches, he shook his head remorsefully. "I had no idea he would allow any of this to happen. I thought that if he just focused, he could bring back the peace in the city. I guess I didn't count on his rage getting the better of him. You don't even want to know what St. Anne's looks like right now," he added shaking his head.

Detective Kinney had met him at the cemetery earlier and informed him of just what laid at the old church—turned gym. He had been shocked and even a little surprised to see what was left of the Stryx scattered across once holy grounds. Some, had been ripped apart and drained dry. Their body parts littering the once pristine hardwood floors—not enough pieces of them left to be identifiable but enough to know of the atrocities that had befallen them, before Marcel had delivered them an agonizing final death. While others, he had left to suffer slow deaths through impaling.

Their bodies hung lifelessly from the metal poles that lined the fighting cage in St. Anne's center. The metal had pierced their hearts and, for some, pieces of the organ hung at the very top of the rod. A reminder of the point of entry to their excruciating end. If that didn't kill them, then the ensuing starvation would or Marcel's poisonous bite. He had made sure to riddle the impaled vampire's bodies with them and on some taken a chunk or two of flesh.

It was in that moment, Vincent realized that he may have created a monster worse than any Mikaelson. Sighing, he tore his mind from the hauntingly gruesome images of earlier and brought it back to their present situation. He carefully examined Arsetti's face to gage her reaction to his words and found himself confused.

Instead of looking angry or distraught, she looked contemplative and calculated. He watched as her eyes scanned over the French Quarter coven—the steely resolve that over took those otherwise bright hazels sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

In this moment, she looked every bit like a Queen. A fierce lioness ready to defend her pride against those who thought they could ravage her subjects and get away with it. With her held high and her aristocratic nose lifted regally—she looked down right dangerous.

Quietly, she stepped down from the mantle and begin to make her way through the crowd of witches. In silence, they watched her—parting like the Red Sea to allow their Queen to pass through without hindrance.

After a few paces she stopped. With her back still to them all, she addressed their unasked concerns.

"So, which of you knows where the Mikaelson's reside?" She asked calmly, with just a hint of edge to her voice that betrayed her obvious anger. "I think it's time Marcel and I had a talk. I would also like to have a word with those vampires who have caused our coven members injuries. Any of you who'd like to join me are more than welcome."

Grinning, Fe' immediately came to stand next to Arsetti. "Queen's Gambit?" He whispered conspiratorially.

Meeting his eyes with a smirk of her own, she nodded. "Plus, I think it's time to show that MeMaw ain't raise no punk bitches," she sneered softly.

"I know that's right, Setti," agreed Fe', happily patting his cousin on the back. "Aura said she got some dead vamps at St. Anne's to cover up but that she'd meet up with us later. You know she ain't gonna want to miss this here showdown in the Big Easy."

Together, the cousins, closely followed by both the regent and the French Quarter witches made their way out of the cemetery and onto Bourbon Street.

Power began surging between coven members like bolts of lightning as they marched—due to their growing ire at the vampires or the immense power of the new Voodoo Queen, they were unsure.

The lights from the taverns and other buildings that lined the French Quarter flickered as they passed.

Lending their electrical currents to the witches like fuel to a kindling fire, before going out completely as they slowly made their way to the Mikaelson manor.

Quickly, they set out their inventory onto the table. Freya had just informed them that swarms of angry sire-lings have begun flooding New Orleans, intent on killing Klaus'. Elijah hurriedly descended from the top of the stairs to meet Kol and Klaus at the table that set below.

Nodding his head in satisfaction, Kol grabbed Papa Tsunde''s knife of perpetual torment. Turning to Klaus, he informed, "Freya is currently tracking down all your sire-lings as we speak. So, it won't be long now. Which, works for me."

Taking the knife by its hilt, he gave a forceful practice swing before tucking it safely into his belt. "I could use a good fight," he declared, as Elijah reached for a weapon of his own.

"Well, we do have an advantage," assessed the older brother. "As long as the deed remains in Freya's name no vampire may enter the strong hold."

Scoffing, Kol derided, "so, what? We hide in here while our enemies' mass at the front gate?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Klaus smirked. "Well, if they're so determined to die at our hands than let them come."

However, a series of hard thuds coming from upstairs halted whatever else he had been about to say. Alertly, the brothers made their way from the bottom of the stairway into the mansions receiving area, as footsteps began to sound all around them.

Vampires began to fill the area around them, entering the home from every open space. Calmly, the brothers watched as they were practically herded into the center of the room. Leaning over railings, crowding in halls and standing side by side in the foyer, Klaus' sire-lings made no move to attack them.

It was as if they were waiting for something, or rather someone.

Strolling in right through the front door, flanked by more vampires, Marcel shrugged. "I didn't want it to come to this but like always the Mikaelson's made my choice for me."

Slowly, he approached them until he was face to face with his former family.

Shocked and more than a little relived, Klaus softly uttered. "Marcel, how?"

Cockily, he eyed his former father figure. Watching as the other looked upon him with guilt ridden eyes and an apologetic small smirk.

Looking away, Marcel scoffed, "how am I in your house? Well, I still have people in places who like me and would do anything for me. It was nothing to get someone to nullify a deed."

Walking forward until he was almost nose to nose with Klaus, he angrily spat, "or, did you mean how am I not a rotten corpse at the bottom of the river?"

"I thought my friend was dead and yet here you are," Klaus began to explain. "So, send these fools away and let's talk, you and me." With thinning patience, he waited for Marcel's reply to his proposal.

Haughtily, the younger vampire sneered, "is that relief I hear? Really? If I hadn't been one step ahead of you I would still be at the bottom of that damn river."

Stepping in, Elijah placed a hand on Klaus. It was his non-verbal way of asking that he let him take over and try and reason with the angry former family member. Keeping his eyes locked of the man he thought of as a son, Klaus took a step back and allowed Elijah to step forward.

Carefully, the older Mikaelson confessed, "Marcel, your anger is with me. I am the one who is responsible for this crime against you."

Snidely, Marcel retorted, "if it's one thing I learned sticking around this family, Elijah. Is if you take on one of you, you take on all of you. And these guys, Klaus' sire-lings, are here to bear witness today."

Interrupting, Kol walked up to also enter the fray. "Are you planning on putting on a little show, Marcellas?" He jeered condescendingly.

Tension enveloped the room almost stiflingly as the room got quiet.

It so thickly littered the room that it left them all feeling as if they had been caught in a constrictors hungry embrace and they waited on choked breath to be swallowed whole by it.

This was finally the moment that Klaus' sire-lings had waited for, the moment when Marcel would strike, and chaos would erupt. Initially they had sought only the demise of their sire but now it seemed their impromptu leader planned on taking down the entire family.

Lifting his hands out, palms up, Marcel mockingly acted as if he were giving a Shakespearean monologue. As he turned to face the horde of vampires who egged him on, he announced arrogantly. "You're damn right I am, the fall of the Mikaelsons and guess what? The show has already started."

Exasperated by Marcel's show of arrogance, Kol tried another tactic. "Look, I know your upset about Davina's death. I loved her too, but she wouldn't want this," he reasoned, but it fell upon deaf ears.

"Don't you even mention her name," yelled a furious Marcel, pointing an accusatory finger at Kol. "If it weren't for you she'd still be alive."

Slapping his hand away, the youngest Mikaelson snapped. "But she's not and this is an insult to her memory."

Fed up and done talking Marcel's temper erupted and, in a move, almost as fast as lightning he punched Kol in the stomach. Rearing back the youngest Mikaelson pulled out Papa Tsunde's knife of torment and launched himself at Marcel, intent to drive the knife into his cold heart.

There would be no more trying to reason with him, he was beyond it. He wanted a fight and that's what he would get.

However, before either of them could make contact an explosion at the front door stopped all their movement.

Wooden debris was strewn about the mansion as dust clung to the air like thick brown smoke. And through the rubble, over what had once been the threshold of the front doors, her sandaled feet lightly padded into the residence.

Flanked by Vincent and Fe', Arsetti approached the now shocked immobilized warring vampires.

Outside the other French Quarter witches surrounded the house and arms linked they began to chant, as their power surged around them before infiltrating the houses thick walls.

"I thought I asked you to try not to piss anyone off?" Asked the young Queen, brow quirked, as she eyed a now smirking Klaus.

Raising her hand, she soundlessly erected a barrier around them. Effectively sealing Marcel, the Mikaelson men, Fe', Vincent and herself away from the outside vampires. She didn't need any of them getting in the way, until she was ready to deal with them.

However, since she couldn't very well allow them to leave she had the witches surround the house outside and place a barrier so that they too would be unable to leave.

Turning away from Klaus' curious gaze, she causally stepped between Kol and Marcel. Giving the younger Mikaelson a light push, she watched as he blinked in confusion before moving to stand at Elijah's side.

Both men were curious as to who she was and what her intentions were but seeing that Klaus seemed pleased with her arrival, relaxed them enough to assume that she was not an enemy.

"Marcel Gerard," tsked the Queen in mock admiration. "I think it's time we talk and get a few things straight." Tilting her head bit to the side, she was about to begin her interrogation only to find herself cut off by Marcel's brash words.

"Look, I don't know who you are but if you—" he began angrily, only to be cut off by the Queen's condescending laugh.

Raising her hand up, she admonished, "that's not how this works sweetheart. I talk, you listen and if I ask you a question you had damn well better answer it."

Taking, a deep breath she tried to calm her raging anger at his audacity. Fe' was right. People immediately saw her and thought she was some weak woman that would cower away from her own shadow, but that was all going to change.

She would use today to get out of debt with Klaus and make a point to anyone who thought to take what was hers, starting with Marcel Gerard.

Coldly, she looked him in the eye daring him to try anything and seeing that he wouldn't, she began. "Tell me Marcel, what are your intentions here today?"

Grinning callously, she folded her arms and spared a glanced to Klaus. Only to find that he was no longer smirking. Instead, he focused his attention on Marcel also curious to see how he would answer the question and if any of his questions about the unique young woman would be answered.

'Good,' she thought, then focused back on her means to a splendid end.

Calmly and with all the grace of her station, she waited as Marcel dug his own grave.