The last of the werewolves fell.
Silence slowly settled over the battlefield.
Fires still burned in the distance.
Smoke drifted toward the sky.
And Rebekah Mikaelson walked through the destruction as if she had just finished an afternoon stroll.
Not a scratch on her.
Not a drop of sweat.
She didn't even look like she'd been in a fight.
Marcel watched her for several seconds before finally approaching.
He needed answers.
Because the more he thought about what he'd just witnessed, the less sense it made.
"Rebekah."
She turned toward him.
"Marcel."
"How?"
One eyebrow rose.
"How what?"
Marcel gestured toward the streets.
The bodies.
The destruction.
"The hell do you mean, how what?"
"How did you do that?"
"How did you massacre hundreds of werewolves like they were nothing?"
For a moment, Rebekah looked genuinely confused.
Then she laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Marcel..."
She looked around.
"They were werewolves."
"Yes."
"They were trying to kill you."
"Yes."
"There were hundreds of them."
"Yes."
"And?"
Marcel stared.
The answer had been so casual that it physically hurt.
"Rebekah..."
"I'm serious."
She folded her arms.
"Any vampire over eight hundred years old could've done that."
Silence.
Joshua froze.
Thierry blinked.
Marcel just stared at her.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Marcel."
She pointed toward a pile of corpses.
"They're werewolves."
"There were hundreds of them."
"And?"
Marcel looked like he wanted to scream.
Rebekah looked like she was trying not to laugh.
"You're comparing ordinary werewolves to eight-hundred-year-old monsters."
She shrugged.
"Of course this was the result."
Marcel felt something unpleasant sink into his stomach.
"I've killed vampires that old."
"Then they were idiots."
The answer came instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without even a second of thought.
"What?"
"Arrogant."
"Distracted."
"Bored."
"Showing off."
"Probably talking while fighting."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Ancient vampires die from stupidity all the time."
Thierry let out a short laugh.
"So our theory was right."
Rebekah looked at him.
"What theory?"
"That they never took Marcel seriously."
Rebekah snorted.
"Of course they didn't."
Marcel felt a chill run down his spine.
"How can you be so sure?"
Rebekah looked at him for a moment.
Then answered with complete honesty.
"Because if those vampires were actually over six hundred years old..."
She paused.
"You wouldn't have seen them move."
Silence.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"That's impossible."
"No, Marcel."
Her tone was calm.
Almost amused.
Which somehow made it worse.
"If an ancient vampire genuinely decided to kill you..."
She tapped her chin.
"You wouldn't see a fight."
"You wouldn't see an exchange of blows."
"You wouldn't see a dramatic duel."
She pointed at him.
"You'd see the vampire."
Then she pointed toward the sky.
"And then you'd find out what comes after death."
Nobody spoke.
"Heaven."
"Hell."
"Purgatory."
"Valhalla."
She shrugged.
"Whatever's available."
Joshua looked horrified.
Thierry looked uncomfortable.
Marcel looked like his soul had just left his body.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The traps.
The mistakes.
The overconfidence.
The ridiculous openings.
Every ancient vampire he'd killed had made the same mistake.
They never considered him dangerous.
Not once.
And maybe that was the only reason he was still alive.
"Oh, and there's something else."
Marcel slowly looked up.
"What now?"
"The blonde vampire."
Immediately, he remembered.
The bar.
Klaus apologizing.
That strange feeling.
"Caroline?"
"Good."
Rebekah nodded.
"At least you remember her name."
Marcel frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she's one of Nik's wives."
Marcel blinked.
Joshua blinked.
Thierry blinked.
The entire universe seemed to blink.
"What?"
"Yes."
"The blonde."
"Caroline."
"The woman you somehow decided was a good person to disrespect."
Joshua looked between them.
"Wait."
"That woman?"
"That woman."
Marcel felt another chill.
"And you're telling me she's powerful?"
Rebekah burst out laughing.
Actually laughing this time.
"Oh, Marcel."
The way she said it made him immediately regret asking.
"Caroline once got into a fistfight with Elijah."
Silence.
"What?"
"And won."
Silence.
"WHAT?"
"Not alone."
Rebekah waved a hand.
"She had help."
"Two six-hundred-year-old vampires."
"But still."
She grinned.
"They won."
Marcel simply stared.
Because Elijah Mikaelson was Elijah Mikaelson.
That sentence wasn't supposed to exist.
"And that's not even the worst part."
Marcel's stomach dropped.
"There's worse?"
"Oh, much worse."
Rebekah sighed dramatically.
"Amara."
She became thoughtful.
"Dark hair."
"Quiet."
"Polite."
"Shy."
"Sweet."
"Looks like a princess who apologizes when someone steps on her foot."
Marcel already hated where this was going.
"And?"
"And she's the scary one."
"More dangerous than Caroline?"
Rebekah immediately answered.
"By far."
"How dangerous?"
For the first time, her smile faded slightly.
"She nearly defeated Klaus."
The world stopped.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"That's impossible."
"No."
"Klaus is—"
"I know exactly who Klaus is."
Her voice cut him off.
"I've known him for a thousand years."
"I've fought beside him for a thousand years."
"And I'm telling you that Amara nearly beat him."
Marcel looked ready to have a breakdown.
Rebekah continued.
"Actually..."
She paused.
"Not just Klaus."
Her expression darkened slightly as she remembered the Mikaelson Ball.
The night they discovered Esther's betrayal.
The night everything went wrong.
"She immobilized Klaus."
Then she looked at Marcel.
"She immobilized all of us."
Nobody spoke.
Nobody even breathed.
Because the idea was absurd.
Completely absurd.
The Mikaelsons were forces of nature.
The thought of someone stopping all of them at once sounded impossible.
Yet Rebekah wasn't joking.
And that was somehow worse.
Finally, she sighed.
"Marcel."
He slowly looked up.
"What?"
"The world is much bigger than New Orleans."
"Much bigger than the Originals."
"Much bigger than whatever you've convinced yourself it is."
She gestured toward the battlefield.
"You look at this and see something impossible."
"I look at it and see a chore."
"You look at eight-hundred-year-old vampires and see legends."
"I see contemporaries."
"You look at Nik and see a monster."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"I see someone I take very seriously."
Every sentence shattered another piece of Marcel's worldview.
Until almost nothing remained.
For the first time in years, he realized something terrifying.
Maybe he had never been a king.
Maybe New Orleans had never been important.
Maybe he had spent his entire life swimming in a pond.
Completely convinced he was a shark.
Without realizing there was an ocean beyond it.
An ocean filled with creatures large enough to swallow his city whole...
And never even notice it was gone.