Constantinople — 1452
Laughter rang through the forest, low, amused and almost lazy. "Is that truly the best you can do," a voice mocked, smooth with ancient contempt, "you insignificant wretch?"
Steel screamed an instant later.
Sparks burst into the night as blades collided hard, deliberate and lethal. Two figures moved through the trees faster than mortal sight could follow, their clash carving scars into bark and earth alike. It was a battle that history would never record.
And yet, it mattered.
Michael or Kánen'to spun, his cloak snapping as he deflected an upward strike with effortless precision. He dropped low in the same breath, twisting his hips, and drove a brutal punch straight into Mikael's sternum.
The impact cracked like thunder and Mikael gasped, air ripped violently from his lungs as his boots tore furrows through the dirt. He blurred backward, barely keeping his footing as distance snapped open between them.
Michael straightened, rolling his shoulder once. A smirk tugged at his lips. His eyes glowed a deep, hellish red."How pitiful," Kan said lightly. "The great Viking retreats."
He tilted his head. "Tell me Mikael, what would Niklaus say if he saw this, hmm?"
That did it as Mikael snarled, rage detonating across his features. "Do not speak his name, abomination."
He surged forward and Michael was already there. Kan brought his sword down with one hand, the force of it driving Mikael's blade toward the earth, the steel rang out as Michael twisted, pivoting on his heel, his sword spinning in a tight arc once, twice each strike were merciless and diabolically clean.
Michael's boot slammed into Mikael's knee, buckling it sideways. Mikael barely recovered before Kan was on him again, grinning like this was a game he'd waited centuries to play.
Michael raised his blade overhead and brought it down savagely. Mikael blocked it, barely forcing the blade aside with a guttural growl. He countered instantly, stabbing for Kan's chest.
Michael twisted at the last possible second.
Steel kissed leather, missing his heart by inches. Mikael seized Michael's free hand, gripping hard enough to crack bone.
"Got you," Mikael hissed.
Michael laughed in amusement "Are you so sure about that?"
His fingers shifted and his claws erupted out. Looking blackened, ember-lit and wicked and Kan twisted his wrist sharply. The claws dug deep into Mikael's forearm.
And his bone creaked.
Mikael roared in pain but Michael didn't give him time.
He swung down again, forcing Mikael to raise his sword awkwardly to block, their bodies colliding as Michael yanked him closer.
Still smiling.
"Still not giving up this foolish crusade, Mikael?" Kan murmured. "Centuries later and you're still swinging at shadows."
"I will kill you," Mikael spat. "You are an abomination. A stain that should never have existed."
Michael scoffed. "You say that like it's original."
Mikael's eyes burned with something darker now. "This is all her fault. That witch. Ayana. She—"
Michael frowned just slightly and the world burned. Hellfire exploded outward, engulfing them both in roaring orange-blue flame. The forest recoiled as the air screamed with heat.
Mikael screamed louder.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHH"
Agony tore from him as hellflame bathed his body, burning not flesh alone but existence, searing into something far older than his skin.
"You smell bad," Michael said calmly through the inferno, eyes glowing red like furnaces,
"even when cooked."
The flames snapped off and Mikael collapsed backward, smoking, choking, clawing at the ground. One side of his face was ruined completely with the skin charred black, one eye boiled away entirely, steam still curling from the hollow socket.
He dragged in ragged breaths that barely came. But Michael didn't care and he descended on Mikael like a storm strike after strike, blade flashing, claws raking, fire-laced blows tearing through flesh faster than the Original could heal. Each of the wound was deliberate and denied a quick regeneration. Every step Mikael took backward was forced.
A whispered incantation slipped from Michael's lips and Mikael's sword flew from his hand, clattering uselessly into the dirt.
Before Mikael could react, Michael blurred forward to meet him.
The impact shook stone as Mikael's back slammed into the wall of a nearby structure hard enough to crack it, Michael's hand closing around his throat, lifting him clear off the ground with casual strength.
"You are nothing but a stripling, Mikael," Michael said coldly.
"A child swinging at what he doesn't understand."
Mikael snarled and fumbled at his burned chainmail, fingers closing around something hidden beneath it.
The White Oak Stake.
He drove it forward with everything he had but Michael caught his wrist mid-thrust.
The stake stopped inches from his chest.
Michael stared at it… then laughed.
A low, genuine sound. "What do you think that toothpick is going to do?" he asked. "Hmm? Save the world? Fulfill your little Viking fantasy?"
Mikael growled, struggling uselessly.
Michael twisted and Mikaels bone snapped.
Mikael screamed and the sound echoed through the alley as Michael let the stake fall and leaned closer, eyes glowing faintly beneath his skin.
"That won't work on me," Michael said flatly. "It never would." Then his expression shifted and became more focused. He placed two fingers against Mikael's temple and spoke softly:
"Cede."
The magic hit like a hammer making Mikael go still. His body relaxed against his will, eyes widening as shock slammed into him followed by fury, raw and desperate.
"What, what did you do?" Mikael demanded, voice shaking with rage he tried to mask.
"I am an Original. You cannot compel me."
Michael chuckled.
"Oh, I didn't," he said. "I rewrote the mechanism, it is a spell that makes the victim surrender their authority to me."
He straightened up and adopted a more business tone.
"Nothing is impossible for magic, Mikael. Some people just stop trying."
Michael's gaze hardened.
"Now then. Let's get to business shall we."
Mikael's jaw clenched as his body continued to regenerate most of his body.
"You will stop hunting the witches descended from Ayana," Michael commanded.
"You will protect them when necessary."
Mikael's body twitched then stilled again.
"And," Michael continued, almost casually,
"you will help me reduce the vampire population on this earth." Mikael's eyes burned at that part.
"Oh—and one more thing."
Michael leaned in, voice quiet and lethal.
"That little club your progeny formed. The Strix."
Mikael lifted an eyebrow.
"I want them erased," Michael said. "Every last one and start with Tristan. And his deranged sister."
"Why?" Mikael snarled, fear barely hidden beneath anger.
Michael shrugged.
"For the betterment of the plot."
Mikael frowned, confused as he was about to ask another question.
"Do not ask me questions," Michael added calmly. "Go."
The compulsion locked in.
Mikael turned, glaring once at the city beyond then blurred away, fury and obedience warring in his wake.
Michael looked up at the night sky with a thoughtful expression.
"That should buy you some time," he murmured.
"Rebekah."
⸻
FLASHBACK
Years Earlier(1001AD)
Michael had stayed in the village under a simple lie that he is a very distant relative of Ayana.
Close enough to explain his presence. Vague enough to avoid questions.
He warded the perimeter quietly. Redirected danger when it crept too close. When werewolves prowled too near Ayana, he intervened.
Otherwise, He merely watched as the villagers suffered losses and did nothing as long as it didnt affect him.
Some would call that evil.
Michael didn't bother arguing with ghosts.
"I don't owe the world anything," he thought once, watching villagers laugh around a fire.
"Existence isn't a contract."
A thousand years had dulled him to most things.
Except Rebekah.
She had been bright, curious, exceptional and Sharp in a way that cut clean rather than cruel.
He'd fallen for her without even meaning to.
And she for him. It was quiet and private thing between the two of them and they kept it hidden from everyone until Mikael found out.
Then Henrik died.
It was a few days later that Michael learned the truth that Tatia was dead as well. Esther had pestered Ayana to help create the immortality spell which she had refused and told Esther it was a taboo but Esther being too desperate went on ahead anyways just like in the show.
The doppelgänger he'd avoided deliberately despite her attempts to speak with him. He'd known better than to get involved more than a few times.
'I'll admit,' he thought grimly,
'she was beautiful.'
Her blood was used to forge immortality.
What Esther never knew was that Michael had already taken a vial of it for later.
He cloaked himself and watched the ritual from the shadows. Esther and Mikael killing their own children, binding them to eternity in a spell built on fear, love and a taboo.
Michael shook his head slowly as the Mikaelsons were reborn as immortals.
"Well," he muttered,
"this is going to be a mess."
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