6 Marcel POV

Marcel Geroux, an honorary Mikaelson, stood on the balcony of the Mikaelson compound, the weight of leadership pressing upon him in the absence of the Mikaelsons. The city, once under the watchful eye of the Original family, now awaited the proclamation of his authority. Marcel knew that to maintain control, he had to assert his dominance with an iron fist, especially among the vampires who dared challenge his rule.

In the beginning of his rule, Marcel Geroux naively believed in the possibility of a gentler approach, a stark departure from the iron-fisted reign of Klaus Mikaelson. He perceived his father as a paranoid despot, ruling through fear and tyranny. However, the supernatural intricacies of New Orleans soon shattered his illusions, revealing the necessity of Klaus's ruthless tactics.

Recently, ominous whispers of disloyalty echoed among the vampire ranks, growing louder like a gathering storm. The once-promising harmony Marcel had envisioned seemed to crumble under the weight of dissent. It was time for the ruler of the Crescent City to unveil the shadowed side of his authority.

Under the flickering streetlights of the French Quarter, Marcel summoned all vampires, both loyal and rebellious, to the courtyard of the Mikaelson compound. The air buzzed with tension, the collective unease palpable as the supernatural residents sensed the impending storm.

Marcel, flanked by his most trusted lieutenants, stepped into the spotlight, the gravity of the situation etched on his face. His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Once, I believed in ruling differently from my father, in fostering a city where loyalty wasn't earned through fear. But it seems some of you misunderstand strength for weakness. Tonight, I'll speak the language you seem to comprehend."

Marcel's gaze swept over the assembly, his eyes reflecting a steely resolve. "Those who challenge the foundation we're building will be treated not as friends but as enemies. I'll show you the consequences of disturbing our delicate equilibrium."

Without a moment's hesitation, Marcel pointed to the leaders of the dissenting factions. "Bring them forward."

Vampires, once defiant, now found themselves forcibly dragged before Marcel, their expressions a volatile mix of fear and regret. In the harsh glow of the courtyard lights, Marcel's stern visage addressed the crowd. "You sought to disrupt what we've built. Understand this – I'll treat you with the same severity I would any external threat."

As the night unfolded, the courtyard transformed into a tribunal of blood. The desperate struggles of the defiant vampires echoed the harsh reality Marcel was determined to establish. Loyalty, he knew, was not a gift freely given; it had to be earned through the unmistakable language of power.

In the aftermath, as the last echoes of rebellion faded into the night, Marcel reflected on the harsh lesson he had imparted. The gentler approach he had initially envisioned was a naive fantasy. The supernatural denizens of New Orleans understood strength, and strength, in their world, was synonymous with dominance.

Alone in the quiet aftermath, Marcel wrestled with the shadows that clung to his rule. His contemplation revealed a newfound appreciation for the necessity of Klaus's tyrannical methods. The city he sought to govern was a delicate tapestry of alliances and rivalries, and only through unyielding force could he prevent it from unraveling.

As the ruler of the Crescent City, Marcel acknowledged the inherent darkness that came with power. He had embraced the shadows, realizing that benevolence could be mistaken for weakness. The whispers of dissent had been silenced, but the echoes of that night lingered, a reminder that the language of the supernatural was written in blood, and Marcel Geroux had become fluent in its chilling verses.

While the vampires were brought to heel, Marcel turned his attention to the werewolves. The truce he had brokered was fragile, and he couldn't afford to trust the wolves completely. Beneath the moonlit sky, Marcel convened a clandestine meeting with his inner circle, plotting to undermine the werewolves' foundation.

In the heart of the Bayou, surrounded by the ancient trees that bore witness to countless supernatural conflicts, Marcel spoke to his lieutenants. "We can't afford to trust the wolves. They see our vulnerability, and if we don't act, they'll exploit it."

His most trusted advisor, a vampire with a strategic mind, spoke up. "What's your plan, Marcel?"

A wicked smile played on Marcel's lips. "We'll weaken their alliances, sow discord among their packs. If they can't unite, they can't challenge us."

Over the following months to come, Marcel's vampires infiltrated the werewolf territories, exploiting existing tensions and igniting new rivalries. Pack turned against pack, and the fragile truce Marcel had brokered began to crumble. The werewolves, blinded by internal conflicts, were oblivious to the puppet master pulling the strings from the shadows.

As Marcel observed the chaos he had orchestrated, he knew that the werewolves would struggle to maintain their foundation. The Crescent City, already under his control, would become an impenetrable fortress against any threat.

The witches, with their ancient traditions and mystical powers, were a wildcard in Marcel's strategy. Aware that direct confrontation could lead to disastrous consequences, he decided to employ a different tactic – charm and manipulation. Among the witch covens, there was one particularly powerful witch, Seraphina, known for her wisdom and influence.

Marcel, charismatic as ever, attended a gathering of witches in the heart of the Ninth Ward. The air was charged with magic as Marcel approached Seraphina, his eyes locking onto hers with a calculated intensity.

"Seraphina, the balance in this city is delicate, I'm sure you and I both want our respective species to thrive and that can't happen without some truce in place," Marcel began, his words a carefully crafted dance.

The witch, though wary, listened as Marcel wove a tale of cooperation and mutual benefit. He acknowledged the importance of the witches' independence and offered them a seat at the table, promising that their powers would not be stifled under his rule.

As the night progressed, Marcel's charm worked its magic. Seraphina, once skeptical, found herself drawn to the allure of power and stability that Marcel promised. In a moment of vulnerability, Marcel whispered words of persuasion that echoed in the depths of Seraphina's consciousness.

By the end of the night, Seraphina had seemingly acquiesced to Marcel's proposition, and the witches, while cautious, began to lean toward neutrality. Marcel, satisfied with his diplomatic victory, knew that having the witches on his side would solidify his control over the supernatural factions in New Orleans.

Alone in the Mikaelson compound, Marcel reflected on the web of power he had woven. The unruly vampires had been brought in line, the werewolves were entangled in their own conflicts, and the witches, though not fully committed, were swayed by the charm he had employed.

As he looked out over the city, Marcel understood that maintaining control required a delicate balance of force, cunning, and diplomacy. The absence of the Mikaelsons had allowed him to mold New Orleans in his image, a city where his rule was unchallenged, and his enemies, both within and beyond the supernatural world, were kept at bay.

The Crescent City once shrouded in the shadow of the Original family, now danced to Marcel's tune. The night was his to command, and as he embraced the newfound power, Marcel vowed to navigate the treacherous waters of supernatural politics with finesse and ruthlessness. The empire he had built would not crumble – it would rise, unyielding, under the reign of Marcel Geroux, until the inevitable fallout with the Mikaelsons but until then he will continue to run this place like the king he now was.