Chapter 28: The Field of Ashes
A pale mist had begun to descend over the abandoned field stretching at the outskirts of Mystic Falls—a forgotten piece of land nestled between two silent forests, like mourning sisters standing guard. Above them, the sky remained still, with the moon watching silently from above, casting its silver light on the cracked soil—earth soaked in the blood of generations past, yet untouched by what was still to come.
They had arrived early.
Stefan stood at the edge of the field, his coat fluttering with the cold wind, his eyes scanning the lurking darkness ahead. Beside him, Damon lit a cigarette with trembling fingers—the only sign that tension had begun to seep into his core.
Damon was never truly fond of smoking, but he did it from time to time.
He asked in a dry tone:
"You think he'll actually show?"
Stefan replied with unwavering confidence:
"He will. Kol wants a war… and he'll make sure we bleed for it."
On the far side of the field, Klaus stood like a battle-worn warrior preparing for his final assault. Behind him, his forces were lined up—loyal vampires, poised werewolves, and even a few witches summoned in a rare moment of desperation uncharacteristic of him. Elijah stood beside him, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as a blade. Rebekah paced nearby, tension in her steps, her dagger gleaming in the moonlight.
But they weren't just waiting for Kol.
They were waiting for vengeance. Justice. The reclamation of a name lost with them… a brother no longer among them.
Alexander.
His absence weighed heavier than any presence. His name unspoken, yet felt by all—especially the Salvatore brothers.
Damon muttered, slowly exhaling smoke:
"He'd love this… an empty field, a full moon, and a war fought in his name."
Stefan gave a single nod.
"He'd be the first to charge into battle."
Klaus turned to them, his voice calm, as if the storm still lay dormant behind his eyes.
He said:
"This won't end with words… Kol is coming with everything he has."
Elijah added firmly:
"And we'll give him everything we are."
Rebekah tightened her grip on her dagger, her voice low and dripping with fury:
"He took the first person I ever dared call a friend… he won't walk away from this."
Then, without warning, a gust of cold wind swept across the field.
Moments later, the sound of footsteps began to rise… hundreds of them.
From the edge of the forest, Kol Mikaelson emerged.
He wore a dark coat dusted with ash, that familiar insolent grin painted across his face. Behind him marched his legion—vampires sworn to him, witches with eyes as dark as black magic, and werewolves growling beneath the curse of the full moon.
Klaus stepped forward:
"Brother."
Kol chuckled mockingly:
"You took the one I loved… now I take what you protect."
Stefan moved to stand beside Klaus and said:
"You're outnumbered… we have more than you."
But even as he said it, Stefan could see the truth.
Kol's numbers were greater.
Kol let out a deep, unhinged laugh:
"No… it's you who are in trouble."
Then—chaos erupted.
The first scream split the sky like lightning. Spells surged across the field, flashes of light, sound, and blood exploding in every direction. Vampires collided in blinding speed and burning rage. Werewolves howled and tore into each other. Witches fell one by one as their ancient spells backfired mercilessly upon them.
Rebekah drew first blood, her silver dagger plunging into a witch's heart without hesitation. Elijah followed, smooth but deadly, like a silent waltz of death. Klaus was pure fury—tearing Kol's men apart like fire devouring autumn leaves.
Stefan and Damon stood shoulder to shoulder, guarding each other's backs, blood coating their faces—anger masking their features with a merciless expression. For a moment, they believed they could hold their ground… maybe even endure.
Until Kol entered the fight.
He moved like a deadly shadow, striking with ruthless precision. A witch screamed as he drank her blood mid-spell, turning her magic against her own allies. Then he grabbed Damon by the neck and hurled him across the field like a ragdoll. Stefan rushed to help, but Kol's blade was faster, slicing a deep, bleeding line into his side.
Klaus stepped in just in time, pounding his brother with a storm of punches, bone cracking and the earth trembling beneath their feet.
Klaus roared through the battle:
"You think this makes you powerful, Kol? You're just a coward hiding behind death!"
Kol smiled, blood on his teeth:
"And you're a king with no kingdom… let's see who bleeds more."
Around them, the fight blazed. Friends fell side by side. Monsters screamed. Spells shattered the night.
---
The battlefield was soaked in blood.
Night stretched on in its savagery, merciless. What began as a war for revenge had become a massacre devoid of mercy.
Kol Mikaelson—once seen as the reckless brother among the Originals—had become something else entirely.
He roamed the chaos as if death itself had taken form in him.
His siblings, who once mocked his impulse, now had only one goal: survival.
Klaus snarled and hurled Kol into a heap of crumbling stones, as Damon lunged forward with a dagger coated in vervain. But Kol spun midair with terrifying agility, grabbed Damon's wrist, and flung him into a pack of werewolves. They scattered on impact, bones cracking under the force.
Kol growled, his voice laced with venom and might:
"Is this all you have? You brought a pack of dying dogs to a war of kings!"
Rebekah tried to flank him with grace and speed, but Kol turned with a dark grin, muttering Latin words. A cloud of black magic burst from his hand, sending her flying, her body skidding across the ground like a broken doll.
Elijah entered next, his sword slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. Their duel was a dance of elegance and chaos. But Kol possessed something his siblings did not: Kai's magic flowing in his veins.
Somehow, the Original vampire now wielded magic.
And it was all thanks to Kai.
Every strike from Kol carried the force of ten Originals. He was no longer bound by the same limits.
Even Stefan—with his resilience and focus—was beginning to falter. Kol seized him by the throat and tossed him like a toy, the breath knocked from his lungs. Damon, face bloodied and gasping, charged again with a blade aimed at Kol's heart. He missed by an inch. Kol caught him and slammed him into the ground, laughing maniacally.
Kol whispered, eyes blazing like fire:
"You think I fear you? Your brother is already dead… and now, you'll join him, one by one."
Klaus was bleeding from the mouth, leaning against a cracked stone, his eyes burning with furious madness.
He said defiantly:
"You think you've won just because you're stronger?"
Kol spat:
"I know I've won. This power… it's made me more than all of you ever were… and more than you'll ever be!"
Klaus surged forward again, unleashing every ounce of his fury and violence. But Kol was faster. Stronger. Smarter.
With a flick of his hand, fire erupted beneath Klaus's feet. The hybrid screamed in agony as the flames consumed his skin. Elijah rushed to pull him back at the last second, but both were burning, Kol's dark magic slowing their healing.
Rebekah crawled through the ash, blood trailing from her lips, whispering faintly:
"We can't stop him…"
Above them all, Kol stood—untouched, unbroken, his laughter echoing through the silence.
He spoke to the darkness:
"Didn't I tell you? This world is mine now. And that bastard—Alexander? He died for nothing."
A sudden stillness swept the battlefield.
Even the air seemed to surrender.
Kol stepped forward, the wind bowing around him as if in fear. He looked upon the shattered Originals, the wounded Salvatores, the fallen werewolves and witches—then smiled.
He tilted his head and asked in a faint voice, as if already knowing the answer:
"Tell me… who will stop me now?"
No one answered.
No one could.
Kol Mikaelson had won that night.
And the darkness… had only just begun.