New Orleans had never been a place where you could truly feel safe. Especially when your opponent was Marcel Gerard. You knew the way he operated. You knew he would never attack openly if he could win through strategy instead. And yet this time, he managed to catch both of you off guard.

You mostly remembered the pain. Sudden. Sharp. The vervain arrows pierced into both of you before you had the chance to react. The substance immediately began taking away your strength. Klaus tried to fight longer. Of course he did. Even when his body was beginning to fail him, he was still Klaus Mikaelson — furious, proud, and convinced that no one had the right to stop him. But Marcel knew that a normal dose would not be enough. He had prepared for him.

You woke up several hours later in a cold, dark room.

The first thing you felt was the burning of vervain coursing through your body. Every movement reminded you that this was not a normal situation. Only after a moment did you realize that you were lying strapped to a wooden table. Leather restraints held your wrists, arms, legs, and hips in place. Beside you was another table.

Klaus.

You were positioned vertically, facing each other.

So that you could see each other's faces.

For a moment, there was silence. Klaus was breathing heavier than usual, but when he noticed that you were awake, his expression changed immediately. He was still weakened, but the same fire remained in his eyes.

"Marcel has always had trouble telling the difference between courage and stupidity."

His voice was quiet, yet filled with contempt.

"He thinks a few restraints, a little vervain, and a locked room will suddenly make me stop being who I am."

For a moment, he looked toward the door.

"Let him believe he has won. People like him need that illusion. It gives them a sense of control."

He exhaled softly, trying to remain calm despite the effects of the vervain.

"But when this little display of power is over... I will remind him exactly why he spent so many years fearing my name."

You didn't have time to say anything else.

The doors opened.

Marcel walked inside calmly, like a man who had planned every single detail. His eyes moved first to you, then to Klaus.

"We'll start with him."

Klaus's table was lowered, placing him horizontally. This time, it was no longer just about keeping him restrained. Marcel wanted answers. He wanted to see if he could break someone who had spent centuries breaking others.

First, he used wolf venom, watching Klaus's reaction. Then he returned to the vervain, increasing the weakness spreading through his body. When that was not enough, he moved on to other methods, trying to strip away the confidence that was so uniquely Klaus.

For most of the time, Klaus remained silent.

But even he was not indestructible.

His breathing grew heavier. His hair stuck to his forehead. Every attempt to maintain his usual indifference required more effort. Even so, he continued looking Marcel directly in the eyes.

Marcel leaned over him and grabbed his jaw.

"Look at you. For so long, everyone feared the monster. And now all it took was one room and the right preparation."

Klaus let out a quiet laugh, though there was no amusement in his voice.

"You still don't understand."

He took a slow breath.

"Your entire problem, Marcel, is that you always think strength means having the ability to inflict pain."

His gaze turned colder.

"But true strength is knowing you can lose everything... and still stand back up."

He fell silent for a moment.

"You can try to weaken me. You can try to prove to yourself that you're better than me."

He lifted his head slightly, looking at him with nothing but contempt.

"But somewhere deep down, you know that if our positions were reversed, you would never have been given the same chance."

Marcel only smiled.

And Klaus, despite everything, still looked like someone who believed the final word would belong to him.