Chapter 12: Blood and Revelations
The compound's courtyard smelled like morning coffee and impending violence—an unfortunate combination that had become standard since joining the Mikaelson family. Sunlight streamed through the oak trees overhead, casting dancing shadows across the flagstones where Hope and I were attempting our daily Hollow rotation practice.
The rhythm was becoming natural: reach for the icy malevolence in my mind, guide it toward Hope's consciousness, maintain the transfer until the pain faded from her expression. Today felt different, though. Smoother. Like we'd found our groove.
"Better," Hope said, settling back against the oak tree with her sketchbook. "The transition is getting easier."
"Practice makes perfect," I replied, though the Hollow's weight in my mind felt heavier than usual. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I can actually think clearly for the first time in weeks." She opened her sketchbook, pencil already moving across the page. "It's remarkable how much mental energy the pain was consuming."
The peaceful morning was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps on gravel. Marcel appeared around the corner of the main building, his usual casual confidence replaced by the kind of urgency that suggested someone was about to have a very bad day.
"We've got a situation," he called out, already changing direction toward the compound's main entrance. "Coven witches, at least a dozen, armed with something that's making my supernatural senses scream."
[SYSTEM: Big hero vibes, huh? Don't trip this time.]
The temperature in the courtyard plummeted as the attack began in earnest. They came through the compound's main gate like an army of shadows—witches in dark robes carrying staffs that crackled with the kind of malevolent energy that made my borrowed vampire senses recoil in instinctive terror.
"Alex, get Hope inside," Klaus's voice carried from the main building, already tinged with the fury that preceded ultraviolence.
"Not happening," Hope replied before I could suggest retreat. Magic began crackling around her fingers—not the gentle practice energy from our training, but something fierce and primal that reminded me she was, in fact, the most powerful supernatural creature in the city.
The first witch reached the courtyard's center and raised her staff toward Hope. Whatever spell she was casting, it felt wrong—not the structured magic of Davina's rituals or even the chaotic energy of the Hollow, but something that tasted like decay and burnt metal.
I reached for Klaus's hybrid strength, feeling the familiar surge of borrowed power flood through my muscles. The first witch went down hard when my fist connected with her solar plexus, the impact launching her backward into the compound's stone wall with enough force to crack mortar.
"Nice shot," Hope called out, incinerating another witch with casual efficiency. "But there are more coming."
She was right. They kept pouring through the gate like supernatural reinforcements, their numbers far exceeding any random coven uprising. This was organized, planned, and probably funded by someone with significant resources.
Spells crackled through the air like deadly fireworks—bolts of dark energy that left smoking craters in the flagstones and turned sections of the oak trees to ash. The metallic tang of magical warfare mixed with the acrid scent of burning stone and vegetation.
That's when Hope's magic surged.
Not the controlled power she'd been displaying, but something primal and overwhelming that made the air itself feel thick and electric. Pain flashed across her face, and I realized the Hollow was responding to the magical chaos by asserting its own influence.
[SYSTEM: Power surge detected. Don't let her go nuclear.]
I moved without thinking, crossing the courtyard in a blur of borrowed speed to place my hand on Hope's shoulder. The transfer was immediate and jarring—her pain and the Hollow's chaotic energy flooding into my consciousness like a dark tide.
The world went white-hot for a moment, then settled into something manageable. Hope's breathing steadied, her magic returning to its controlled state, but the effort left me swaying on my feet.
"Thank you," she gasped, leaning against me for support. "I almost lost control."
"No problem," I managed, though the Hollow's increased presence in my mind was making it difficult to think clearly. "Just try not to accidentally level the city."
The battle was turning in our favor, but barely. Klaus had joined the fray with the kind of predatory efficiency that reminded me why he'd survived a thousand years of supernatural politics. Elijah moved through the chaos with lethal grace, while Kol's laughter echoed across the courtyard as he turned the witches' own spells against them.
One of the remaining witches, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair, caught my eye from across the courtyard. Instead of attacking, she was watching me with the kind of focused attention that suggested professional interest rather than homicidal intent.
"Interesting," she called out over the sounds of battle. "The boy who mimics power but remains human. Our employers will be most pleased to hear of your... development."
Before I could ask what she meant, Marcel's voice cut through the chaos from near the compound's entrance.
"Got something here," he shouted, holding up what looked like a scroll of aged parchment. "One of them dropped this."
The silver-haired witch's expression shifted from professional interest to genuine alarm. She gestured sharply, and the remaining coven members began melting back into the shadows between the oak trees with supernatural speed.
"This isn't over," she promised, her voice carrying clearly across the courtyard. "The old ways are returning, and your borrowed power won't save you when they do."
Then they were gone, leaving behind only scorch marks on the flagstones and the lingering scent of burnt ozone.
Klaus appeared at my shoulder, his expensive shirt singed and his expression promising creative violence for anyone who'd dared attack his home. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I said, though the Hollow's increased presence was making my vision swim slightly. "Hope took the worst of it."
"I'm okay," Hope added quickly. "Alex managed the transfer before anything... explosive happened."
Klaus studied both of us with the kind of clinical attention that suggested he was cataloging every detail for future strategic planning. "Marcel, what did you find?"
Marcel approached with the scroll, unrolling it carefully to reveal handwriting in what looked like a mixture of French and Latin. "It's a list," he said grimly. "Names, addresses, magical capabilities. They've been studying us."
"Let me see," Freya said, appearing from the main building with her hair slightly mussed but otherwise unharmed. She studied the parchment with the focused intensity of someone fluent in several dead languages.
"This is... concerning," she said finally. "It's not just intelligence gathering. These are targeting profiles. Someone's been preparing for a systematic campaign against supernatural families throughout the region."
"Any idea who?" Klaus asked.
Before Freya could answer, Marcel cleared his throat. "Actually, there's something else. I got a call this morning from Alaric Saltzman up at the Salvatore School. He's got a student who might be able to help with the Hollow situation."
"What kind of help?" Hope asked.
"Kid named Landon Kirby. Apparently he's connected to some kind of artifact that has containment properties. Alaric thinks it might be worth investigating."
Klaus's expression shifted from homicidal to calculating. "And you trust this Alaric?"
"He's solid. Runs a good school, keeps his students safe, doesn't get involved in local politics unless there's a genuine threat." Marcel pocketed the scroll. "Might be worth a conversation."
As the family began discussing logistics and security protocols, Hope moved closer to me. "How are you feeling? Really?"
"Like I'm hosting a very unhappy houseguest," I admitted. "The Hollow's more active after that surge. Louder."
She bit her lip, a gesture that I'd learned meant she was processing information she didn't like. "Maybe we should talk to Aunt Freya about reducing the transfer frequency."
"No," I said quickly. "The system works. You were in pain for weeks before we started this. I can handle a little extra darkness in my head."
Hope's smile was soft but worried. "You know, for someone who keeps insisting he's just winging it, you're remarkably stubborn about protecting people."
"Must be the company I keep."
As the compound slowly returned to its normal state of controlled chaos, I caught Klaus watching our exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not suspicion—that had faded weeks ago—but something more complex. Evaluation, maybe. Or the look of a father trying to decide whether he approved of his daughter's choice in supernatural boyfriends.
The scroll Marcel had found was still bothering me, though. Professional intelligence gathering suggested resources and planning that went beyond local coven politics. Someone with significant backing was taking an active interest in our activities.
The Triad insignia in my pocket had remained cold throughout the entire battle, which somehow felt more ominous than if it had been burning. Whatever forces were moving in the shadows, they were playing a longer game than simple supernatural terrorism.
"Landon Kirby," I said to Hope quietly. "That name mean anything to you?"
"No, but if Alaric vouches for him, he's probably legitimate." She glanced toward her family, still deep in strategic discussion. "Why?"
"Just trying to figure out if we're gathering allies or walking into another trap."
Hope's hand found mine, her fingers warm and steady. "Either way, we'll figure it out together."
The simple statement carried more weight than it should have. Somewhere between the vampire attacks and magical training and supernatural comedy of errors, "we" had become the most important word in my vocabulary.
Behind the oak trees, shadows that didn't quite match the angle of the sun flickered and moved. The Triad's watchers were growing bolder, their observation becoming less covert with each passing day.
Whatever they wanted, whatever they knew about my origins or abilities, one thing was becoming clear: the careful balance we'd established was about to shift dramatically.
The only question was whether we'd be ready when it did.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ The Mimic System: Rebirth of the Originals ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ The Mimic System: Rebirth of the Originals ] with exclusive access to 25+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse, Breaking Bad , The Walking dead ,The Hobbit,Wednesday].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!