𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 ⚜️ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

[ The Cage ]

CHAPTER 44
[ New Orleans, 2013 ]

The fire in the courtyard burned high, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the compound. The night crackled with a tension so thick it felt alive, curling around the gathered mob like a serpent ready to strike.

Klaus stood on the box, hands bound, yet he carried himself with the same unwavering arrogance that had defined him for centuries. The crowd roared at his presence, their cries a mixture of hatred and anticipation.

From the far edge of the gathering, Georgia watched, her arms crossed over her chest, her face unreadable. She had no interest in punishing Klaus. Marcel wanted vengeance; she wanted an end to this cycle of destruction. Beside her, Marcel spoke, his voice clear and commanding. "The great Klaus Mikaelson has decided to grace us with his presence."

Klaus tilted his head, smirking. "I have nothing to hide, Marcel. You wish to put me on trial for my many grievous sins? Well, go on. Have at it."

The crowd cheered again, their bloodlust thick in the air.

Marcel took a slow step forward, his voice dripping with the weight of centuries. "Klaus Mikaelson. Sire to a thousand years' worth of angry faces. How does it feel to be this hated? Go on. Look at them. I said, I'm look at them!"

Klaus barely flicked his gaze over the sea of faces before him.

Marcel gestured to a vampire in the crowd. "Do you remember him? 1694. His wife accused Rebekah of witchcraft. So you turned him and then compelled him to drain his wife dry."

Another. "Or this man. A simple farmer in 1745 who made the mistake of owning land you wanted. You turned him and made him burn his entire village to the ground."

And another. "This woman. 1891. Her mother had pneumonia. Coughing all through the night. It annoyed you. So you turned them both, and made her watch as you burned her mother alive."

The crowd wanted a broken man. Instead, they were met with defiance. Klaus remained impassive, then sighed as if the night bored him. "Yes, yes, yes, my sins were terrible indeed," he drawled. "But they taught the world to fear me, and that fear protected my family."

Georgia flinched at the words, at how easily he dismissed the centuries of death in his wake.

But Marcel—Marcel burned.

"Don't preach to me about family!" Marcel spat, stepping forward, his voice thick with something volatile, something that had been festering for a long time. "I was your family once. Or so you said. And where did that get me?"

Klaus exhaled, tilting his head in a way that made it seem like none of this truly mattered. "I could've left you nameless and alone, but I didn't. I took you and I made you all that you are."

Marcel's expression darkened. Georgia saw his fingers twitch at his sides, his posture taut with barely-contained rage.

"I guess you made everyone here," Marcel said, gesturing to the sea of faces surrounding them. "Made us all in your image. Angry. Paranoid. Merciless. Why? Were you afraid to be alone? Did you want to create something as vile and disgusting as you?"

Georgia watched Klaus closely. He didn't react, not at first. But then, for just a second, his jaw twitched, a flicker of something behind his eyes. It wasn't guilt— It was recognition.

But Marcel didn't stop.

"In the end, the reason doesn't matter," he continued, voice sharper now, each word laced with a lifetime of betrayal. "You made us. You abandoned us. And anyone who dared stand up for themselves, you took away everything they loved. Because that is what you do."