Years passed since Klaus died.
Hope wandered the hollow world alone.
Her body was falling apart outwardly.
Skin pale and cracked, eyes sunken deep into a gaunt face.
Worse than a corpse.
But she couldn't die.
The sliver of divinity she inherited from Tiamat — small, stubborn — kept her alive.
It clung to her like a curse.
Even when she begged the silence to take her, it refused.
And the silence — it wore her down.
With no voices to answer her, her thoughts turned inward and frayed.
She forgot the sound of her own voice sometimes.
Sometimes she cried without knowing why.
Other times, she felt nothing at all.
Then one day, she saw him.
A faint glow cutting across the dead horizon — a god.
He was dim.
Weak.
Barely holding on.
One of the few who had escaped whatever realm they lived.
She didn't think.
Her body moved before her mind caught up.
A flash.
A blur of desperation.
She tore into his throat .
She drank every drop of his divine blood.
Not a single drop spilled.
And in that moment —
Color returned to her skin.
Her breath evened.
The cracks in her flesh began to mend.
Her senses sharpened like a blade being pulled from ash.
She felt alive again.
Stronger.
More.
But it was too late.
The girl who once dreamed of multiverse adventures and rebellious joy —
She'd died long ago.
Hope Mikaelson, the sweet, awkward girl with her father's eyes , was buried beneath centuries of screams and silence.
She once laughed at the idea of being powerful.
She wanted to learn, to love, to find her place in the world not defined by others.
But the world only saw one thing:
Tribrid...Monster. .
A cursed union of three blood lines.
A thing meant to end everything.
And in time — she became what they feared.
The hopeful girl faded into myth.
What remained was a hunter of gods.
A devourer of divinity.
Time passed.
Decades became centuries.
Earth broke down to its final fragments —
Hundreds of meters floating in the void like a graveyard.
Hope walked on.
Because what else was left?
No gods. No people. No monsters.
She had outlived them all.
And her divinity — cursed gift that it was — only grew stronger.
She didn't sleep.
She didn't eat.
She simply endured.
The world had stopped spinning long ago.
But she hadn't.
There was no one left to tell her she was wrong.
No one to forgive her.
No one to hate her.
And somehow, that silence felt heavier than all the screams she used to run from.
She had become a godkiller.
But standing in a world made of dust and echoes —
Hope had never felt smaller.
Just then the void shifted.
A soundless pulse ran through what remained of existence — a tremor, not of land but of existence itself.
And then — he appeared.
Reality bent and folded to let him through.
A thing. A presence.
Felt Much like that Weltfresser.
He wore no true form. Just an outline of something tall, lean, regal — shaped like a man, cloaked in a garment that writhed like living silk.
Two burning eyes stared out of the abyss where his face should be.
His voice came not through the air, but directly into her mind — smooth, ancient, almost amused.
"Ah, there you are… Hope Mikaelson."
He gave a short, exaggerated bow.
"Congratulations. You've outlived your world....Quite the feat. Most crumble long before they can rot properly — but No, you lingered....Stubborn little thing."
Hope said nothing.
She merely stared, eyes hollow, limbs still.
It was not fear that kept her silent — just exhaustion.
The being tilted its head.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
"I am Diablo — a witness, an architect, a scavenger of endings persay."
"And you, dear girl… have become something fascinating....You see, when a being becomes the final living soul of their reality, the laws of conservation apply...All that was, all the essence, strength, power — it flows into the last. The peak of that world."
"A crown by default, you might say."
He stepped closer.
"But…"
He made a tutting sound.
"You did not break your world...You didn't burn it, didn't carve a throne from its bones.... No, you simply… watched. Survived. Starved when you could've done so much more."
He clicked his tongue, disappointed.
"And so, you're not a candidate for the Seed of Executioner."
A pause.
A smile appeared in the void.
"Shame. You would have made a beautiful Herald."
Hope remained silent.
No rage.
No sorrow. Not even confusion.
She simply lay there — a creature more corpse than god, more divine than mortal.
Whatever spark had once filled her had long since bled out.
Diablo studied her stillness, then chuckled softly.
"Ah, but no matter. We can always try again....Another world, another candidate … another tragedy."
He turned slightly, as though speaking to something unseen beyond the veil.
"Reset the parameters. This one… is spent."
Diablo lifted his hand and pointed at Hope, as if claiming her.
But in the next second, his hand disappeared—erased from existence.
A calm, cold voice broke through the silence.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Before Diablo could react, a hand punched clean through his chest from behind.
It reached in and pulled out something dark and pulsing—his heart.
Diablo froze, his body shaking, then crumbled away.
Hope's eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Leo..." she whispered.
She scrambled to her feet, limbs weak, body barely holding together, trying to get to him. But before she could reach, two hands gently stopped her from behind.
She turned, startled.
A woman stood there—someone she'd never seen before—but there was no threat in her face.
Just sadness.
Then the air shifted, like a ripple spreading across still water.
Another figure appeared.
Tiamat.
She walked toward Hope, eyes full of quiet pain.
"We're so sorry," Tiamat said softly.
"We were so late."
Leo stared down at the heart in his hand—black, pulsing with faint energy, then fading into nothing. His expression darkened.
"It was just a projection," he muttered, voice low.
High above, Lucifer floated lazily in the air, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"You were right," Lucifer said, eyes scanning the broken land below.
"Time was of the essence."
Leo didn't look up. He just asked quietly, "How long?"
Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment, sensing, calculating. Then he opened them and looked around at the dying remains of the world.
"Well," he said with a shrug, "this body isn't quite up to my usual standard, but from what I can analyze…"
A pause.
"Roughly fourteen centuries."
Leo's hand clenched slightly.
Meanwhile Hope got up slowly—legs shaking, breath uneven—then ran forward.
Hope didn't say anything.
She just ran.
When she reached Tiamat, she threw herself into her arms.
There was no hesitation just the need to feel someone again.
Someone real.
She clung to her like a child, fists tightening in her clothes.
She wanted to scream, to ask where she had been, why they were so late, what happened—but the words wouldn't come.
Tiamat didn't say anything either.
She just held her.
The moment Hope felt that warmth, that steady heartbeat against her ear, everything inside her broke.
Centuries of pain she had buried deep.
All the loss, all the silence, all the guilt.
Her mother's last smile.
Klaus's final words.
Freya, Kol, Rebekah—gone.
The crushing weight of being the last one left.
It all came back anew in her mind
She broke down.
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed into Tiamat's arms like her bones had turned to dust.
She cried so hard she couldn't breathe.
Tiamat held her tighter.
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Power Stones and Reviews please