The Quarter burned.
Magic crackled in the air, scorching the sky with bursts of fire and lightning. Vampires clashed with witches, steel meeting spellwork, screams echoing off the ancient brick walls of the city.
Lyja had never seen anything like this.
She had fought before, had bled before—but this was war. And war didn't care who was strong or who was clever. It swallowed everyone whole.
She moved fast, throwing up barriers as spells rained down on them. Her fingers burned from the raw magic surging through her veins, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
Not with so much at stake.
The Witch Queen Stands
Klaus and Marcel fought side by side, a whirlwind of power and blood. They had been enemies for so long, but now, in the face of a greater threat, they moved as if they had never fought at all.
And yet, the witches kept coming.
The leader—Sylvaine, the woman who had barely flinched when Klaus tried to kill her—stood in the center of it all, her silver eyes glowing with something ancient.
Lyja could feel her magic like a living thing, wrapping around the battlefield, choking it.
"This isn't working!" Davina's voice rang through Lyja's mind.
She turned to see her sister struggling to hold her own, her spells barely pushing back against the sheer force of the witches.
Then she saw the worst of it.
The ley lines.
They were cracking.
The witches were forcing their magic through them, using them like conduits, breaking the very fabric of power that held the city together.
If they succeeded, the Quarter wouldn't just fall. New Orleans would never recover.
Lyja's breath hitched.
"We have to stop them!" she shouted.
Klaus's head snapped toward her. "Then we take out their heart!"
His eyes flickered to Sylvaine.
Lyja nodded. "I'll cover you!"
Klaus and Marcel didn't hesitate.
They charged.
The Final Blow
It happened too fast.
Klaus was first—slashing through the witches blocking their path. Marcel followed, moving like a shadow, his blade cutting down anyone who tried to stop them.
Lyja pushed forward, magic crackling at her fingertips as she threw spell after spell.
Then, they reached her.
Sylvaine turned, her glowing silver eyes locking onto them.
"Pathetic," she whispered, lifting her hands.
A shockwave of magic exploded outward, throwing them all back.
Lyja hit the ground hard, her vision spinning.
Klaus staggered but didn't fall.
Marcel, however—
He didn't get back up.
Marcel's Last Stand
"No—"
Lyja scrambled toward him, her heart pounding.
Marcel lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. A gaping wound—magical, deadly—spread across his chest, the kind that even a vampire couldn't heal.
His breaths were shallow, his usually sharp eyes dimming.
Klaus was at his side in an instant, his expression unreadable.
Marcel coughed, his fingers twitching as he reached for Lyja.
She grabbed his hand, her throat tight.
"You're not dying," she whispered, shaking her head. "You can't."
Marcel let out a weak chuckle. "Guess I don't get a say in that."
Lyja clenched her jaw. "Shut up."
He squeezed her fingers. "You're… a hell of a woman, Lyja." His eyes flickered toward Klaus, then back to her. "I see why he's so obsessed with you."
Lyja choked out a laugh, even as her heart shattered.
Marcel's gaze softened. "Stay standing."
She nodded, her vision blurring with tears.
Marcel turned to Klaus, his grip on Lyja weakening.
"This is… your city now," he rasped. "Don't—" He coughed. "Don't ruin it."
Then, with one last breath—
Marcel Gerard, King of the Quarter, was gone.
The City Holds
Lyja felt something inside her break.
But there was no time to mourn.
Sylvaine was still standing.
Klaus, jaw clenched, turned to her, his eyes glowing with rage.
Lyja felt her magic surge inside her.
Davina, barely holding on, looked at her with silent understanding.
They had one chance.
One moment.
Lyja turned to Klaus.
"End this."
Klaus vanished, moving faster than sight, his claws ripping through Sylvaine's throat before she could even react.
The moment she fell, the witches' power shattered.
The city held.
But the cost was too high.
The Aftermath
The battle ended. The witches were gone.
New Orleans still stood.
But Marcel didn't.
Lyja sat in the ruins of the battlefield, her hands covered in his blood, her heart feeling hollow.
She felt Klaus sit beside her, silent.
She didn't push him away.
Hope's small, innocent voice echoed in her mind.
"I wish you were dating my daddy so you could be my mom."
Lyja let out a breath, closing her eyes.
New Orleans was safe.
But she had lost something she could never get back.
And the war, in many ways, was far from over.