Chapter 33 — "Blood Made for gods"
The chase began swiftly — any delay in catching Katherine was a fatal mistake.
Everyone rushed to the location Bonnie's witch friend had mentioned.
There, right before their eyes, stood a dome.
The red dome pulsed like the heartbeat of a sick man — slow, ominous, ancient. The earth inside it was scorched, and the soil itself blackened by the cursed weather Katherine had completed. Kol stood at its center, but what wore his face… was no longer Kol.
His body had been deformed by dark magic, his veins glowing crimson beneath his skin, and his eyes turned into twin infernos of red flame. Power radiated from him like a storm wave — thick, suffocating. He didn't blink even once as the others approached the edge of the circle and halted at the invisible barrier, which crackled and hissed whenever someone tried to touch it.
Rebekah stepped back, her face pale:
"What the hell is this?"
Klaus growled, his eyes blazing with anger and suspicion:
"A trick of Katherine's... She summoned something ancient. Something even I don't know."
Elijah was staring at Kol, his eyes grim, his features tight as if he'd seen a ghost:
"That's no longer Kol. That's… something else hiding under his skin."
Bonnie stood at the edge of the trees, reaching out toward the barrier. The moment her fingers touched it, she was thrown back with a scream of pain.
"It's not just magical energy… It's alive. That circle… it's a blood pact. A battlefield that allows only two."
Damon stepped forward, eyes fixed on Kol:
"Let me guess... it's only going to let one person in with him, right?"
Alexander stepped silently toward the circle. The air around him shifted, as if the world itself whispered to him. The magic that rejected the others... accepted him.
Because it wasn't just a ritual — it was a design… laid out long ago, a forgotten curse, a lost hunger, born from the first drop of blood spilled in defiance of nature.
Klaus spoke in a low voice, all trace of his usual mockery gone:
"It's choosing its final opponent."
Alexander nodded, eyes narrowing:
"It wants me. Only me."
Stefan stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother's chest to hold him back:
"Are you sure about this?"
Alexander smiled — not arrogantly, but with something deeper… acceptance.
"It was never about saving the world. Not for me. This is personal. He killed me once. Almost killed all of you... I owe him something."
Damon looked around at the others, then said with a grim smile:
"Just don't die again... once was enough to mess us up."
Alexander took a deep breath and stepped into the circle.
There was no resistance. The barrier parted like mist, then sealed shut behind him.
Inside the dome, a strange silence reigned. No wind. No sound from the outside. Only Kol — or what was left of him — standing there, smiling with cracked lips, his eyes still glowing with that primitive crimson flame.
The creature inhabiting Kol's body spoke in a hollow voice, layered with multiple tones:
"You've come."
Alexander replied, slowly removing his jacket and throwing it to the ground:
"I always do. Let's see what kind of bastard you think you are."
Kol tilted his head and said:
"I'm not... I'm the memory of a king. Forgotten. Buried. But not dead."
Alexander roared, mercilessly:
"Then I'll bury you again."
And charged.
Their clash shook the air within the dome. Fists thundered like storms, magic blazed like wildfire, fangs collided like beasts. They were no longer human. Not even vampires. They had become monsters… giants of pain, blood, and vengeance.
Outside, the Originals and the Salvatores watched helplessly, their reflections distorted in the glow of the red dome.
Elijah whispered, as if witnessing a myth:
"We are witnessing a battle of legends."
Bonnie slowly shook her head, clutching her book to her chest:
"No... we're witnessing the end of a story that began long ago."
Inside the dome soaked in blood, Alexander landed a blow that split the earth beneath them — but the creature didn't scream. It laughed, blood dripping from its teeth, arms spread wide, as if welcoming the torment.
Because to the blood of the forgotten…
This was pleasure.
The sky inside the dome turned black — not from clouds, but from the sheer pressure radiating from the two titans beneath it.
Kol's body, consumed by the curse of the "Blood of the Forgotten," pulsed with a sick crimson glow. Every move he made sent ripples of corrupted energy across the dome like living poison. His smile was carved onto his face, wide and unnatural, as if pain nourished him.
On the other side, Alexander stood in absolute silence. His eyes held no glow, no savagery, no magic — just cold human clarity, sharpened into a lethal weapon. He was no longer the lost soul drowning in his own misery. He had become something beyond human. Something terrifying in its calm.
Then came the strike.
Kol moved first — a shadow of darkness, too fast to follow. His hand slammed into Alexander's ribs, sending his body flying across the bloodstained earth. His fall carved a deep crater in the ground.
But Alexander did not stay down.
He twisted, slid to a stop, coughed once, and smiled.
"Faster than last time," he said through bloody lips. "Good. That'll make it more fun."
He sprinted forward.
They collided in the center with a force that rattled the barrier. Fists, claws, blows drenched in magic — all became a blur. Alexander's strikes were brutal, fueled by vengeance and deadly focus. Kol's attacks were explosive, unpredictable, driven by a chaotic thirst for blood.
Kol screamed as he raked his claws across Alexander's chest, tearing flesh into bloody ribbons. But Alexander didn't retreat. He endured the pain, grabbed Kol's neck, and slammed him into the ground with a thunderous crash that sent dust flying like crashing waves.
Kol laughed beneath him, blood pouring from his nose.
"You think that's enough to stop a king?"
Alexander didn't respond. He grabbed a sharp bone from the shattered earth and drove it into Kol's shoulder, pinning him down. Kol screamed, and this time it wasn't pain — it was pure rage, as he unleashed a wave of blood magic that hurled Alexander violently against the dome's wall.
His body hit hard. Bones shattered. And still… he stood.
Outside, the Salvatore brothers stood frozen in awe.
Damon whispered:
"By the creator... he's not even using a weapon."
Stefan muttered in astonishment:
"He is the weapon."
Rebekah's eyes filled with tears, torn between awe and horror:
"He's going to die in there..."
Bonnie said from the side, never taking her eyes off the scene:
"No... this version of Alexander doesn't know defeat."
Inside, Kol rose to his feet. His left arm dangled, broken and useless, but the blood magic covering his skin glowed even brighter.
"You're strong, Alexander. But still weak. I… have become something else. You were and still are the same fragile, pathetic boy."
He raised his hand, and black tendrils burst from the ground, grabbing Alexander's limbs and dragging him down. Kol walked toward him slowly, lips curling into a wicked smile.
"Let me show you what the blood of the forgotten remembers."
And with a beastly roar, he drove his hand into Alexander's chest.
Outside the dome, Damon screamed:
"Nooooo!"
Blood poured down Alexander's side as Kol's claws tore toward his heart — but they stopped. Stopped before they could touch it. His hand was stuck.
Kol looked down in shock — and saw Alexander smiling, blood bubbling from his mouth.
"You shouldn't have come that close."
Alexander's hand shot up, grabbing Kol's face, and white fire burst from his skin — vampire fire, born of rage, magic, and the curse that had burned his soul for years. Kol screamed, stumbling backward, his skin burning and peeling as he staggered away.
Alexander rose, clutching his chest wound, breathing heavily.
"You're no king..." he said through clenched teeth. "You're a mistake."
Kol stumbled, half his face burned, snarling with madness:
"Then... let's finish this!"
And they charged once more.
The final battle had begun — brutal, merciless, drenched in blood and fury. The earth cracked beneath their feet, the air itself trembled with every scream, every strike, every impact.
And at the heart of it all, Alexander laughed — a loud, wild, free laugh — its echo thundered through the dome like a storm.
He was no longer cursed.
No longer haunted by ghosts.
He was alive — and this was his wrath.
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