Chapter 22: The Bastard's Fall
The air was still, as if burdened by death.
No movement. No whisper. Not even a breath.
Klaus didn't move. Nor did Damon, Stefan, or Elijah.
Everyone stood frozen in place, while Alexander cast one final glance at the empty space.
His body was shattered—burned by Kai's curse, torn by Kol's blades, poisoned with vervain and wolfbane. And yet, his back remained straight, his steps steady and unyielding.
His eyes searched first for Stefan.
That Stefan who once appeared to him like a ghostly wraith.
That Stefan who once called him brother.
But now, that same brother knelt on the ground, tears shimmering in his eyes, his lips parted in a shocked and defiant silence.
Alexander's gaze softened.
And for the first time in centuries—he smiled.
A sincere, warm smile. Not the cold smirk he used as a blade, nor the empty stare he wore to hide his pain.
A brotherly smile, meant only for Stefan.
Then his eyes turned to Damon.
Damon didn't cry.
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his hands clenched so hard his nails nearly pierced his skin. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his jaw tight with grief and rage and something deeper, indescribable.
Regret.
Alexander offered him the same warm smile—a smile filled with acceptance, forgiveness, and maybe a flicker of pride.
Alexander had always seen Damon's darkness.
But he had also seen his fire.
And now, for a moment, that fire flickered in Damon's eyes.
Alexander slowly turned his head and looked at Klaus.
The hybrid stood like stone, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. Anger radiated off him, the threat of fury trembling through the trees.
But beneath it... there was pain.
Alexander smiled again, but not like he had for his brothers. This smile was different.
Quiet, filled with silent camaraderie. The kind of smile shared between warriors who had bled on the same battlefield.
A monster's smile to another monster.
Klaus turned his face away.
Then Alexander faced Elijah.
Elijah's coat was torn, blood on his sleeves, yet he stood with perfect posture. His hands were behind his back, though they trembled.
Alexander gave him a brief nod.
Elijah returned it, his jaw tight, his gaze saying what words could not.
And finally—
Alexander turned to Kol.
Kol was still smiling, triumphant, holding the sword that would end it all.
Alexander took another step forward.
Then knelt.
The bastard son of Giuseppe Salvatore, the cursed remnant of the past, the monster who defied death—now knelt before a Mikaelson.
He spoke calmly, his voice steady: "I'm ready."
But before Kol could raise his blade, Alexander's eyes flicked one last time to the shadows where Damon and Stefan held someone—
Elena Gilbert.
She was unharmed, confused, her eyes scanning the scene.
And Alexander... exhaled.
Not a breath of peace. Not of relief.
Something colder.
He didn't look at her with emotion.
Not even pity.
But with a sharp, bitter glare.
Disgust.
Hatred.
All this time, she reminded him far too much of her. Of Katherine. That manipulative rebel who destroyed everything.
He hated Elena's kindness. Her arrogant nobility. Her blind devotion.
She was everything he could never be—and worse—everything that had always haunted his brothers.
To him, she was a living ghost.
He whispered, barely audible: "I never loved you. You always reminded me of her."
Kol raised his sword.
Klaus shifted slightly.
"Kol," he said in a low, terrifying voice.
But Kol ignored him.
Stefan finally whispered, "Don't do this."
Alexander was no longer looking at them.
He stared forward.
Head held high.
Eyes wide open.
He whispered, "See you on the other side."
Then Kol's sword gleamed under the moonlight, ready to fall.
And suddenly—
A breeze stirred the trees.
It wasn't a spell.
Or a sign.
The world was simply holding its breath.
Waiting for the bastard to fall.
Waiting for silence.
Waiting for the end.
And so it came. The sword fell.
And with it—everything collapsed.
There was no scream.
No roar.
Not even a final groan of defiance.
Only the heavy sound as Alexander's body slumped forward, the sword buried deep in his chest.
It didn't matter how many monsters he fought.
Or how many curses he bore.
Or how much pain he endured.
In the end, he bled.
And in the end, he died.
Klaus stumbled forward.
"No…" he breathed, voice broken—something that hadn't happened in over a thousand years.
His brother, Kol, stood over the body, panting, a smile on his face… but it was faltering. Hollow. Cracking at the edges.
Klaus muttered in anger, more grief than threat: "You didn't have to do it like this."
Kol met his gaze with smug defiance. "He was a threat."
Klaus's voice trembled with sorrow: "He was mine."
Damon dropped to his knees.
Stefan didn't move. He stood still, hands shaking, eyes locked on the shattered body lying in the dirt.
He whispered quietly, "I didn't even say goodbye."
Elijah lowered his head, letting out a single breath like a quiet prayer.
And Rebekah—who arrived a little too late—stood silently behind the tree line, tears welling in her eyes. She hadn't known him well, but she understood what he meant to Klaus, to Stefan, to Damon.
He was a monster.
But he was their monster.
Damon moved slowly, crawling toward the body. He reached out—hesitated—then grabbed Alexander's shoulder.
"Come on…" he whispered, "get up."
Silence answered him.
He spoke louder now, voice cracking, "Come on, man, you always get up. You don't stay down."
But Alexander didn't move.
Blood seeped from beneath him, soaking the ground. Dark. Thick. Endless.
Klaus clenched his jaw and turned his face away. His fists were tight, nails digging into his palms until they pierced the skin. He trembled.
Not from rage.
But guilt.
He should have stopped Kol.
He should have stepped in.
But he hadn't.
Had he done so, Elena would've been killed.
Elijah gently placed a hand on Klaus's shoulder.
Klaus whispered, "Not now."
Stefan finally moved.
He stepped forward, knelt beside his fallen brother, and reached out to touch the dark strands of his hair.
Stefan said softly, "He hated me… for so long… he hated me."
Damon sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the cold face.
Damon replied, "No… he just never knew how to say he loved us."
Behind them, Elena looked terrified. She held her chest—not in sorrow, but in confusion. She hadn't known him like they had. She hadn't understood him.
She didn't mourn him.
And that made Damon's blood boil.
Klaus turned to face Kol and remained silent for a long moment.
Then—
He punched Kol hard across the face, sending him flying through two trees.
Kol didn't fight back.
Not this time.
He just lay there, panting, his jaw bleeding.
Because he felt it now too.
The weight of what he had done.
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