A Message DeliveredMalik stood in the shadow of the St. Charles cathedral, arms folded, watching the sun dip below the Mississippi. Marcel leaned against a pillar beside him, lazily spinning a dagger between his fingers.
"You ever notice," Marcel began, "how quiet it gets before something bad happens?"
"I've only been dead for a few months," Malik replied dryly. "But yeah… I'm starting to get that feeling."
They were waiting. Klaus had sent them to deliver a message to a group of rogue vampires camped in the abandoned mansions near the Garden District — squatters who had refused to pay respect, or blood, to the man who built the city.
Malik adjusted his coat. He still wasn't used to the clothes — or the heat. But the power in his blood… that he was beginning to understand.
Marcel glanced at him. "You ready?"
"No," Malik said, stepping off the steps, "but we're going anyway."
The ConfrontationThe rogue vampires weren't exactly subtle. Five of them sat drinking around a fire pit, laughing as if the city didn't belong to someone else.
Malik and Marcel approached with deliberate pace.
"Evenin'," Marcel said coolly.
A tall man with dark hair stood up, baring fangs. "Look who Klaus sent. His little lapdogs."
Malik smiled. "You got a big mouth for someone still breathing."
The man stepped forward, eyes locked on Malik. "And you—new blood. You don't speak for Klaus."
"Maybe not," Malik said, "but I bleed for him."
The rogue moved fast.
Malik moved faster.
Not because he was stronger, but because he pulled from the fire pit — the flickering embers of forgotten spells still clinging to the wood — and unleashed a burst of kinetic energy that launched the attacker backward into a tree.
The others rose to fight.
Marcel blurred into motion, staking one instantly and twisting to grab another by the throat. Malik ducked low, driving a boot into another's leg and snapping it clean — then spun with siphoned momentum and slammed a pulse of magic into the last one's chest.
Silence.
Dust settled.
Only one remained — the leader, now groaning, pinned against the wall by a glowing arcane sigil Malik had instinctively carved mid-fight with siphoned blood and power.
"I don't speak for Klaus," Malik said, stepping close. "But I am his weapon."
"Next time," Marcel added, "you show respect. Or we bury you in the river."
AftermathLater, as they cleaned blood from their clothes by the riverbank, Malik broke the silence.
"That wasn't justice. That was intimidation."
Marcel shrugged. "Sometimes they're the same thing."
"I wasn't raised to kill."
"You weren't raised in this city."
Malik looked out across the water. "Emily taught me restraint. Discipline."
"She's not here," Marcel said. "But I am. And if you're gonna survive this place — rule it one day, even — you need to learn when to show your teeth."
"Is that why you stay? Because Klaus lets you bite?"
"No," Marcel said with a bitter smile. "I stay because this city is mine. I earned that."
Malik didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said everything: One day, it might be mine too.
The Compound – LaterKlaus sipped from a crystal glass as the two entered.
"I take it the message was delivered," he said without turning.
"Loud and clear," Marcel answered.
Klaus glanced at Malik. "And you?"
Malik gave a tight nod. "Handled it."
"Not too squeamish, are we?"
"I do what needs to be done."
Klaus smiled. "Good."
He stepped forward. "This city is filled with ghosts. Power vacuums. Ambition. If you hesitate, someone else will act first."
Malik met his gaze. "I won't hesitate."
Klaus leaned close, voice lower. "Don't forget who taught you how to bite."
That Night – Malik's RoomMalik sat on the floor, breathing slow. A small candle burned in front of him. He reached out, siphoning the flame into his fingertips, letting it dance across his skin. It warmed him, but not like fire. Like memory.
Emily's voice.
"Power doesn't make you strong. What you do with it does."
He squeezed his hand, extinguishing the flame.
"I'm not a killer," he whispered.
"But I will become what I have to… if it means keeping my name."