Several months after Daphne's first end at the hands of Demetri Ravenholm...

The slayer loomed over the last of the group that he'd ambushed, light gray eyes lowering as that icy, calm expression faded. The vampire was trying to drag himself back with his remaining arm, staring up at Maxim with an expression that could only be concievably interpreted as pure, unadulterated fear. The undead creature waved the stump of his left limb at Maxim in protest. "Stop! Please, mercy -- I'm begging you!" The Lord Redmont's eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward -- the blade in his hand was wielded with a lazy sort of disinterest, and his attention wasn't as focused as he'd once been. Dark tendrils of hair clashed with the complexion of lightly bronzed skin, and the slayer suddenly lifted one foot -- grinding the heel of his military-fashioned boot against the stake that jutted obscenely from the vampire's stomach. A blood-curdling shriek filled the alley, and then there was simply silence. The Redmont stood there for a moment longer, ashes swirling around him as the winds picked up and howled through the alley in a sudden display of nature's seeming approval -- and he turned away. It had been no less than two months since the apparent St. Valentine's Day funeral of Lady Daphne Redmont, and Maxim was... simply numb.

In the weeks that had passed, he had become a veritable machine -- going through all the motions of what he did without the luster, or the purpose that he was normally driven by. He exited the alley once more, the blade he carried sheathed -- the blood that stained his clothing and skin was ultimately ignored, as he resumed his watchful vigil. Briefly, his mind turned to Isabella and Danika -- they had shown concern following the funeral, and even asked him to abandon his work for a time. He sighed lightly, a sound filled with exasperation -- he needed to heed their advice, to give himself the opportunity to mourn -- but he found he couldn't. "As strong as I am, I can't face this..." His words were empty and hollow, barely above a hushed whisper and meant for somebody that couldn't hear them, any longer.

Or so the wayward slayer thought, anyway.

He froze in mid-step, and the scent that drifted across the midnight breeze was something that brought tears to his eyes -- the barest hint of something that resembled the soft touch of vanilla -- the perfume that she wore. Eyes closed, and his posture straightened, and the slayer began to move again. Every instinct was on edge, driven into a frenzy by that sudden moment of deja vu -- and with every step he took, he found himself wanting it to be true. Even Maxim, as committed to his morals as he was, wanted more time with the blonde-haired McKennah girl that he adored -- and with every minute that he was denied, that he still smelled that soft perfume -- he found his resolve weakening.

Eventually, he came to an abrupt halt -- ahead, the bridge that they'd passed over so many times together loomed within his sight, and he lowered his head -- a gesture that might have indicated defeat, or perhaps simply the desire to lose himself in the myriad of thoughts and memories that plagued his mind. The winds were just a bit stronger as he stepped onto the bridge -- the murky waters of the slowly-moving river below reflecting the image of the slayer perfectly. "It isn't fair. I fight, and sacrifice so much -- and this is what I'm supposed to strive for?" He laughed bitterly, and turned away, to lean against the stone railing of the structure -- and his eyes widened in sudden shock.

"Why, Maxim Redmont -- you look like you've seen a ghost..."

She leaned upon the railing opposite of the slayer, and the appearance of the Lady Redmont was simply flawless. Wings stretched, ivory feathers seeming ghostly in the illumination of the moonlight, and the slayer simply stared at his wife for a moment longer. She lifted one hand, brushing blonde locks back away from the familiar, lovely features of her face -- soft gray eyes rested upon his own visage. Daphne smiled, and though it was a fleeting expression, her husband knew it well enough not to doubt her presence. He took a step forward, and his gaze hardened for a moment -- likely, why her smile hadn't remained. "How? How are you... how, Daphne?" His question, though poorly formed due to his fatigue and shock from the situation, was emphasized by the fact that he made no attempt to draw weaponry against her. Inwardly, he knew she could tell that even if she had been one of the undead -- one of the abominations that they had fought against together...

He wouldn't have been able to slay her, just as she had told him years earlier that she wouldn't be able to do the same to him.

She finally pushed away from the railing and took a step forward, though her eyes lingered upon him for a second more and then lowered as she began to look over herself. He waited, as she finally looked back towards him with a solemn expression passing over her angelic features. "I couldn't explain it if I tried, Maxim. I... I could see you, and feel you -- even now, knowing what you felt, seeing you just," she paused, and closed the distance between them finally to wrap slender, toned limbs around the muscular shoulders of the slayer, "consumed by misery... I didn't want to stay. I couldn't bear to lose you, just as much as you... I wanted to come back, to be with you." His own arms tightly encircled her in a lover's embrace, and the Redmont closed his eyes -- the scent of her perfume far stronger due to her proximity -- and he finally accepted that it was reality. For a moment, the pair of lovers merely stood there -- a point in each of their lives that they'd remember for eternity, "I missed you so much, Daphne..."

She pulled back, pressing one finger to his lips and shaking her head with a soft smile. "No, none of that. We're beyond that, Maxim -- we're here, and alive," she spoke, her voice barely above a hushed whisper as he fell silent. He almost froze as she leaned forward, pressing her warm lips to his in a heated kiss -- and then he was returning the gesture of intimacy as needfully as she offered it. In the moonlight, the husband and wife pair of Maxim and Daphne merely languished, content in their reunion and the brief reprieve from reality that it offered. "I love you, Daphne." She smiled at him, and merely winked, "I think you know I love you, Maxim Redmont -- I came back from the dead for you, after all."

Four hours later...

Sunlight filtered through the canopy formed by the branches of the trees that lined either side of the path, and already -- the slayer could see guards taking positions at the gates. The angelic traits of the Lady Redmont -- the elegant wings of ivory -- had vanished at will, and they approached the estate together, hand-in-hand. Overall, it was quite a sight -- Maxim idly speculated at how exhausted he must have looked, with blood spattered across his form. Light, gray-colored eyes swept across his wife for a moment as he spared a sidelong glance at her, long enough for her to offer him a brief smile. Ahead, Isabella and Danika stood in front of the guards, "This is one of those rare moments where we get to see a happy ending, I think," Danika suggested, as the other woman nodded and opened the gate for the pair to enter.

Whitney Blaise stared, and then glanced at Richter -- the former priest merely shrugged, with a rather bemused grin. "Don't look at me -- I skipped the class on miracles happening. I was present for the one where they said not to question the how, or the why of one, though," Richter stated, closing the gates and falling into place alongside the Lord and Lady Redmont, and with Isabella going so far as to show a rare display of emotion and actually embrace the pair.

"Welcome home, Lord Maxim and Lady Daphne. It's a pleasure to see you both back here, and alive."

Shortly after the downfall of Daphne Redmont at the hands of Demetri Ravenholm...

If there was ever a woman that Maxim Redmont would've died for, it was Daphne McKennah.

It had been a full month since he had returned, and he remained in the room they had shared. Gray-hued eyes were clouded and tinted with flecks of scarlet as he checked over his appearance in the mirror, meticulously. He was garbed in the appropriate attire for certain; a blackened suit had been tailored to fit his muscled frame, made especially for the day's occasion. Cuff-links were visible upon either sleeve, and a tie of ebony silk complimented the outfit. Dark, unruly tendrils of hair slightly obscured pale, handsome features; on that day, there'd be no charming smile. For the first time in his life, Maxim was suffering, and it was a type of pain that he couldn't utilize to any extent. He would've been content to believe she was alive and well somewhere, in a locale where the undead were extinct and she could be happy, even if he never saw her again.

But rumors of her death had circulated, and were confirmed after investigations, though her corpse was never found. Even when he had learned it was a bitter truth, the slayer hadn't showed any sign of emotions. He had thanked the hunters who had gone out of their way to unravel the mystery of Daphne's disappearance, and paid them accordingly. Losing her was quite possibly the worst thing that could've ever happened, and the self-styled Nightmare that was Maxim only became more ruthless and cruel. It was a bitter loss for him, and a triumph for those who considered him an enemy.

But on Valentine's Day, he had to face an event that he wouldn't ever forget.

He straightened the tie, and cast one glance back at the mirror in thought. "Supposed to be 'til death do us part. How am I supposed to let her go, when just the thought of her being gone..." He trailed off, not wanting to say what'd come next. The words echoed in the empty room, and for a moment he stared at the bed where they had slept. Fingers reached for his wedding ring, twisting it absently as he recalled their first morning together; he had awakened to find her with one arm draped over his bared chest, sound asleep. And for nearly an hour, the Lord Redmont had simply admired his new bride. And when she had finally opened her eyes and seen him, her smile was something he'd always remember. She'd asked him how long he had been looking at her, and naturally he had lied, telling her it was only for a few minutes. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to wake up with her next to him, just so he could tell her how long he admired her for. There wasn't a single thing that he wouldn't have given up, if it meant one last morning to hold her and make sure she knew he loved her with every fiber of his being.

The door was closed to that room forever; there was no way Maxim would ever set foot in there again. The lock was set, and the key was broken off. It was a tradition in the family; when a Redmont died, their room was locked forever. He took a moment to brush fingers against the crest on the door, and remained silent. After a moment, he turned away and began to move down the corridor in silence. The guards that he passed all wore black in honor of the fallen Lady Redmont, armed with polished weaponry that seemed more ceremonial rather than functional. It was the first time since his return, and the reconstruction of Northcross Manor that he'd taken that route throughout the structure. And it was the only time he'd ever make that walk without Daphne by his side. On nights before the Ravenholm plot that had decimated the family, the Lord and Lady of the Redmonts left together, and returned together. There had been nights where Daphne had been carried back in her husband's arms, and other mornings where she had returned, supporting a barely conscious Maxim. Their partnership was only strengthened by their marriage, in the end.

The guards stood at attention, as their leader walked by; he paid them no attention. At the stairs ahead, Isabella Redmont waited. Family, especially as close as the Redmonts, never abandoned each other. "This is the hardest day of my life, Isabella," he confessed, as he looked down at the descending steps that led to the first floor of the mansion. "It's a difficult day for all of us, Maxim. But if I believe anything, it's that she'd be so proud of you right now," she responded, waiting for him to begin heading down towards the ground level of the estate. Again, he felt for the wedding ring upon his left hand, simply out of the fact that it comforted him, slightly. If there was a Heaven...

He took the first step of that descent, and Isabella fell in line behind him. Ahead, Aubrey Redmont waited as well. She was likewise garbed in black, and held a bouquet of twelve whitened roses, freshly cut from the estate's gardens. Her gray-colored eyes met his own, and she looked away; it hurt her to see her brother suffering like that. He was silent, and didn't say a word to the witch; she walked alongside him, as he entered the grand hall/ballroom of the manor. And another memory came back to him; he recalled their first dance as husband and wife. Eyes slipped closed for a moment, and he remembered the feel of Daphne's lithe frame nestled against his, one hand resting upon her hip and the other clasped to her slim fingers. The scent of her perfume, the way her voice had sounded when she had leaned up to tell him how happy she was to be his wife at last; the memory made him smile, in spite of the pain. He began walking through the grand hall, and at last he reached the end of the chamber, where the doors had been opened to the adjoining room.

Guards lined either side of the chamber, which was once the south entry of the mansion. Now, a single coffin was set upon a pedestal in the center, while Richter gave a glance of empathy towards his cousin. The casket was empty; no body had been recovered following confirmation of Daphne's death, though her bloodied cross that she'd worn around her neck had been found. It laid upon the pillow of the coffin, where Maxim could easily see it as he passed by; if his heart could've sank any lower, it did. He finally seated himself, and both Aubrey and Isabella took seats next to him. Danika had made it to the room ahead of them, and the whip-wielding slayer exchanged sympathetic glances with first the other two Redmont women, and then Maxim himself. "My dear family, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Lady Daphne Redmont," Richter began, settling hands onto the podium where the written rites were laid out so he could read them. "If there's anything to be said about her, it's that she was the epitome of a heroine. She showed compassion, sympathy, and love - and when it was time to fight for what each and every one of us believed in, she stood alongside with us and fought until the bitter end. She was more than just a slayer, and more than simply the woman that my cousin, Maxim, loved dearly. She was the Lady of this family, and I'm proud to have been there to witness both her marriage to Maxim, and her reign. My only regret, is that we witnessed her untimely demise, and we couldn't be there for her as she was there for so many of us," Richter stated, gazing over each Redmont and guard assembled there.

Dawn was breaking, and the first rays of sunlight filtered through the glass panes of the windows. The session continued as Richter explained to them what he felt the family had meant to her, "As I stated, she wasn't merely a slayer. She was a Redmont, and one of us through and through. She will be missed, and there will never be another like her. In the end, if there is a heavenly place where our weary souls venture to after this life to rest and wait for loved ones, I know that Daphne is there. And I know that she is waiting on each of us, and waiting on her husband. And I know that she watches over us from wherever she is now, my family. Never forget that she's always with us, even if only in our hearts." By the time the ceremony had concluded, more than a few of the guards had been reduced to tears. Daphne had been charismatic and her love for the family was only exceeded by her passion for her husband. And the Redmonts there were familiar with her; she had fought with them as Maxim's partner long before he was crowned Lord of the family. They had watched the pair fall in love, and fought alongside one another.

And by the time noon arrived, Maxim was exhausted. They had spent the last hour in the gardens, talking and remembering various events and circumstances before they'd all been separated; simply himself, Richter, Aubrey, and Isabella. Another lasting tradition in the family was that the relative closest to the deceased spent the last half of the day at their grave, from noon, to dusk. "If you need us-" Aubrey was cut off, when her sibling shook his head. "I know, Aubrey... but no," Maxim refused, taking the bouquet of snow-colored roses from the witch. Richter said nothing during this period; he knew what Maxim was about to endure, and he felt bad that there was nothing more that any of them could do. "Just remember she loves you, wherever she is. That alone would make her happy, brother," Isabella finally spoke up, after a brief amount of time. "I know, Isabella. It's just.. difficult to think that I'll go through the rest of this life without her by my side." Maxim offered each of them a final glance, before turning on one heel and walking away from the direction, towards the cemetery. He passed through the gates without hesitation, though when he saw that fresh grave and the grave-stone he lowered his head. The message engraved was something he'd carved himself...

In Loving Memory of Lady Daphne McKennah Redmont
Slayer - Wife - Heroine

Born In 1382 - Died In 1407

She died fighting for what she believed in, and that is something not everyone can say when it's all over. Wherever you are now, I miss you, my love.

He sank to his knees besides the dirt, the roses set lightly in front of that marker. "I miss you, Daphne... I don't want this. I wouldn't trade places... I don't want to be somewhere you're not," he admitted, bracing his hands upon his knees. Settling down next to the grave, he turned his attention towards the bright, sunlit skies above; it was a beautiful day. The minutes passed, and for the first and last time in his life, Maxim Redmont wouldn't do anything but sit there next to the grave of his wife and shed tears over his loss. He felt selfish, because he longed to have just one more chance to tell her he loved her; he wanted an opportunity to feel her next to him, to feel her lips press against his own in her familiar, adoring kiss. "I want so much right now; I want to hold you, and I want to have one last day with you. I want you with me, even if I can't have it forever. I just... I wish I could've told you one last time that I loved you," he confessed, though he was alone in that cemetery. His words were meant for her, if there was indeed a Heaven...

And he remembered a day that he had been sitting next to her, watching the sun drift below the horizon; one muscled arm draped around her shoulder, and her hand resting upon his. For seemingly no reason at all, the blonde-haired Huntress had leaned up and pressed her lips against his in a kiss that, to that day, still was one of the most passionate he'd ever experienced. And she had eventually broken that gesture of intimacy to rest her other hand upon his cheek, and offer him that brilliant smile, "If I die... do you promise you won't stop loving me?" The question was morbid at best, but given their line of work, it was valid. And Maxim remembered just how he'd answered her...

"I'll love you, Daphne -- forever, and always." he had answered, without a fraction of hesitation. And the memory, as painful as it was, made him smile in spite of the tears. She knew he loved her with all of his heart, as much as two slayers could've ever fallen for each other. He leaned against that stone, the cold surface pressed against the pale flesh of his cheek as moisture ran down over it in a few small, but noticeable rivulets.

A faded picture was taken from the interior of his suit's jacket, as the afternoon sun shined down on that clearing in the cemetery where the Lord Redmont sat next to the grave of the woman he adored. It was taken on their honeymoon, and was of him sitting on the steps of the mansion at the estate. She was behind him, with one arm loosely draped around him and her chin resting upon his right shoulder; their wedding rings were visible next to each other, since they were holding hands. And the smiles on their faces weren't the expressions of the Lord and Lady of the Redmont slayers. They were the smiles of a pair of newlyweds in love, and in the end, that was what he knew would stay with him. Maxim wouldn't ever forget what it had felt like to have her next to him on that day after their wedding, to have been the one who made her smile.

When dusk at last arrived, the slayer had composed himself. His last moments with her had come to an end, and it was the most difficult thing he had ever come across. Daphne's silver sais laid next to him; a trio of the bladed weapons. One of which, was a back-up. It was this one that he pressed his lips to the hilt of, and left it next to the roses, "..I'll always have you with me, Daphne. I love you, from now until the end of my days," he spoke, before at last pushing himself to his feet. The other sais were retrieved; those he would keep, to remember his beloved Huntress by.

His last words before echoing the cemetery would've made her smile; he was certain of it. "Rest in peace, Lady Daphne Redmont... and know that you are my wife even though you're no longer here. I won't forget, my love." And with that final promise to the woman that he had wed three years ago to the day, Maxim left. He had endured a fate much worse than anything he could've imagined on that day; on their anniversary, he had accepted the fact that she was gone from his life.

Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

In this world you tried, not leaving me alone behind.
There's no other way; I'll pray to the Gods: let her stay.
The memories ease the pain inside...
Now, I know why.

All of my memories, keep you near.
In silent moments, imagine you'd be here.
All of my memories, keep you near.
The silent whispers, silent tears...

Made me promise I'd try, to find my way back in this life.
I hope there is a way, to give me a sign you're okay.
Reminds me again it's worth it all, so I can go home.

Together in all these memories, I see your smile.
All the memories, I hold dear...
Darling, you know I'll love you 'til the end of time.

Atop the Black Tower during the last battle against Xezvimhi, the Wanderer...

As the King Redmont stepped onto the apex of the Aquilis Molior and into the moonlight, he briefly glanced behind him towards the spiralling stairs that led back down -- the Huntress was ascending the steps purposefully, with a stride that matched his own. He looked away, scarlet-colored eyes narrowed faintly before he moved forward and towards the edge -- for a better view of the battle that raged below. Navidium's shock troopers and the Absolutioneers were working as one seamless machine, defending against the enraged Almeddans flawlessly -- the scheme was ultimately successful, and now... he turned away, and waited upon his wife -- the one critical flaw that he hadn't expected. The wind at the top of the dark tower caught the edges of that war-torn cloak, the fabric fluttering around the Kinslayer's muscled frame -- as well as sending those dark tendrils of hair around his alabaster features into minor disarray. And the expression on his on his face? Grim determination, fused with the hopeless reality of the situation.

The former Lady Redmont... her feet clad in military grade boots, akin to her husband's, exhibited a deliberate and threatening ascent, turning each sequential step toward the Tower's zenith into an admission of fate. Cool, gray eyes pressed from a countenance of wind beaten beauty, as the Huntress, dressed in a bloodied uniform, kept a careful fix on her intended: the Kinslayer. Below, the clash of bone and steel played like some deranged symphony; a musical score for such a bitter, though destined undoing. Wild blonde tresses scattered in the higher altitudes as she reached the apex; a defining silence gripping the fallen angel like cold fingers.

His scarlet-colored eyes met with her own stunning gray glare, and the King Redmont tilted his head towards her in a brief gesture of acknowledgment -- before glancing back towards the battle that raged below -- even within the tower itself. "If you've come looking for some grand clash until one of us falls -- you won't find it here," he at last spoke, his tone laced with a bitter, almost regretful edge. He brought his attention back towards her, and shook his head vehemently before taking a step forward, "I will not lose you again -- I won't make the mistake I made in my uncontrolled rage, Daphne." The words were soft, muted -- and it made his stance abundantly clear.

And for her, t'was hard to imagine that beneath the frozen resolve and hard-edged exterior of the McKennah woman, now a committed killer, was the abated remnants of a warm and passionate spirit torn asunder. Here, in the majestic thralls of the Aquilis Molior, the strange company of lovers was oddly celebrated. Her eyes narrowed from a mask of cruel, almost vacant disposition as she surveyed the Kinslayer. A smile seemed almost inappropriate; admittedly cruel. But a dangerous curiosity surfaced in this form, and the words that followed. "So after all this; all you've become..." Her arms gestured to an undisclosed expanse, "Suddenly, the infamous King of Kings places his fate at the mercy of another? Why, Maxim? Why do you insist on making this easy for me?"

The former slayer levelled his gaze upon his wife, before muscled shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. "In my... rage, after my change -- I did something that has haunted me to this day. The one thing in my life that I've done that I regretted, Daphne McKennah Redmont, was what happened that night, on the bridge. I've learned much since then -- and if there is one thing that my Goddess has taught me in her wisdom, it's that there is honor in knowing when to fight," he paused, the blade he wielded suddenly drawn forth... and subsequently thrown over the edge, "and when not to." The belt he wore, complete with those stakes, was unstrapped and dropped over the edge as well, and the Kinslayer lifted his arms, as though beckoning her. "I've longed to see you again for nearly a year now, Daphne -- I'd say, all things considered... I was granted that wish."

She looked on through grey eyes that brimmed with a sharpened suspicion, as her husband deployed his weapon of choice only to cast it from the tower summit. Unorthodox behavior for a paradigm of such notorious brutality and merciless will; it was alarming at first, and unsuspected. The Huntress grew restless, however, with irritation as an unspeakable fury swelled in the dark reaches of her thoughts. Pleasantries were not what she came here for and nimble fingers swept her sides to confirm the cold, metal comfort of her chambered weapon. "I must admit, Maxim; even I wasn't expecting this. Not from the Kinslayer. It's almost a shame, really." Again, lips were arrested in a taunting grin - anything to coax the "beast" into sensible form before his undoing. It was better this way. "But you can spare me your remorse. I told you, my love; fate has already been written for you and I. And tonight, I've come to collect in full."

"Then finish it, Daphne," he murmured quietly, those piercing, scarlet-colored eyes narrowing faintly as he watched her fingers clasp the weapon she carried. He took a step forward, lifting muscled limbs in a gesture that beckoned her to attack, as he bared those whitened fangs, "Do it, then -- and learn what I have. Suffer, like I have without you -- and when you come to your senses, after the feline and Miriam help heal the damage done..." He trailed off, his arms falling to his sides, as he turned away from her slightly. "I still have my honor," he murmured, his posture straightening as he looked back at her -- ever defiant, and more like the man she married than ever before.

She stepped forward, slow and effortless. Her mound of wild, blonde tresses continued to toss in the desolate winds, whipping ravenously against the bevel of ashen cheeks and the flash of fiery eyes. Her words were imbued with their usual frost as hands repositioned for a quick employment of an itchy trigger finger. "You think I won't?! You think I'll hesitate?" Anger was imminent, though a distant indication of an emotional entanglement; a suggestion that should have been silence long before this dance with destiny. Vengeance loomed - like ripe fruit, ready for picking. So why did she refuse? Perhaps it was the fact that the Kinslayer was quickly deteriorating along with his offenses - in his wake, Maxim Redmont was manifesting in ghostly detail. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than his swift departure; and the return of the beast she knew all too well.

He turned to face her as she stepped forward, and he shook his head slightly -- for a moment, the King Redmont's hand lifted and brushed against the Huntress' cheek, his chilled fingers grazing against her tender flesh in a lover's caress. "No, Daphne. I don't think you'll hesitate at all," he murmured quietly, before turning away from her -- as much as he tried to mask it, there was nothing but absolute regret and sorrow etched in those fiery eyes before he averted his gaze. "Every night that I've returned, and ascended those stairs in the manor -- I see that painting, that you wanted. The one of you and I, on the day we were married -- and I wonder, had I controlled myself that night, and seen just how much you loved me..." He trailed off, and a bitter smile formed -- one that she'd barely see. "I wonder if it could've been different, if you and I could've remained that way even after my change."

For her, an inkling of surreptitious confession was revealed in the manner in which he stroked the curves of her face, and that long-awaited comfort could not be derailed rather easily. But she was not obliged to surrender to his affections - a distorted essence at the hands of the Ravenholm prevented this. And where those shadowed intimations of a nearing lover beckoned, the fires of gratuitous wrath tried to chase him away fearfully. "Why are you doing this, Maxim...?" The fallen angel finally managed through tense lips. She spoke in a desensitized regard, though her eyes betrayed that projection of unaffected temperament she wore, if for only a few seconds - and the slightest traces of sadness were quickly swallowed by the Huntress' cold resolve. "No matter how many trips down memory lane we take; it will always end in the conditions of this reality. No amount of penance will change that." It was a struggle, but the words had employed her continued hostility.

Those scarlet-colored eyes darkened a shade, and the vampiric Redmont glanced back at her as though the answer to her question were obvious without him having to state it. "Because, Daphne -- I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't. You can hide behind the hatred that the Bluefield whelp and his accomplice instilled in you, but that doesn't change the fact that you're still the woman that I married -- and I have a debt that must be repaid to you." And with those words, he acknowledged that he had accepted the possibility of meeting his end due to his choice. Likely, she had already come to that conclusion when he had thrown his weaponry away -- but now it was a clear, an irrefutable fact that she couldn't deny. He had slain her once, when she wouldn't fight back -- now, he was doing the same.

The Huntress stepped away, moving to the edge of the great Aquilis Molior apex to grant the nightly world her silent, evocative praises. Stories below, the melee of brawny steel and blood screams resonated in what was the climactic struggle to overthrow the Almeddan throne and preserve their beloved Elysium. Yet again, the world and its imminent tragedies fell into the enfolding darkness, and, with her eyes fixed and back turned, she established bravery within herself to divulge a critical undertaking - one which would quake the very soul of the Kinslayer himself, and likely sate Daphne's vengeful thirst with one lasting, bitter flavor. In her solitude, those gray pools for eyes softened as she spoke. "Fate has whispered our ending to me, Maxim. I've witnessed it in my dreams. It is inescapable." Her head bowed gently, eyes tempering to a close. "Yet; throughout all our joint offenses - beneath these burdens of anger and vengeance I am left to bear after securing your defeat; it's vital you know that," silence lingered in her hesitation, before eyes opened; searching for the comforts of frigid disposition and finding only naked honesty, "that I love you..."

I thought, you'd be out of my mind...
And I'd finally found a way to learn to live without you.
I thought it was just a matter of time...
'Til I had a hundred reasons, not to think about you..

But it's just not so, and after all this time...
I still can't let go...

I've still got your face, painted on my heart.
Burned upon my soul...
Etched upon my memory, baby.

And I've got your kiss still burning on my lips...

During the last moments of the battle against the Wanderer...

His attention diverted away from the battle that raged below and instead focused only upon Daphne after she'd issued those three words -- scarlet-colored eyes widened ever so slightly, and then he inclined his head in a brief nod. "And I love you, Daphne. Always, and forever," he murmured quietly in response, before the familiar expression of adoration faded as quickly as it had appeared. His gaze lowered, to the ring she still wore -- and the Kinslayer's posture straightened once more, as he glanced over the edge towards the mass of fighters below, each trying to survive the cataclysmic clash. "I still remember the night that you found me on the bridge, Daphne -- I never told you," he paused, glancing at her and meeting her gaze evenly, "...but I believe you saved me from myself, that night. Do as you will, my love." He stepped away from the edge, and faced the former Lady Redmont at last, that cloak of faded crimson hues fluttering as the breeze caught it perfectly. And with those last words, Maxim fell silent -- unarmed, and unable to fight her.

"I know you do, Maxim. My heart knows your love more than anything else in this cruel world. But I don’t know if I can endure that weight any longer, unfortunately." Daphne paused, losing herself for a moment in the Kinslayer’s icy stare. Traces of the real McKennah woman began to wane and buckle and the silent desperations of an entombed lover recoiled back under the guise of a frigid, surly exterior. Pale blonde tresses wrestled against the winds of war as the Huntress rested a hand to the hilt of an expertly fashioned weapon and she smiled coldly. "Most of me desires to be cleansed of you, Maxim Redmont. And tonight I am granted that mercy… I wouldn’t be here under any other pretenses. We both know this." And yet, traces of the wife he knew and loved would not easily abate. "But a small piece of me, well… it refuses to lay those memories to rest." She frowned with that admonition, allowing her gaze to fall irritably over the high rise. "You can imagine my predicament."

"I was once in that predicament, and I made the wrong choice," Maxim replied, without a fraction of hesitation. The seconds passed, turning into minutes as she looked away and the King Redmont likewise averted his gaze -- though his sudden desire for distraction stemmed from guilt. Even she, in her condition -- was reluctant to do what he, in his rage, had done so callously. "I see pieces of the woman I know, and love -- with every minute you waste. I see in you, that same woman that I've seen the sun rise with -- the woman that I fell in love with as I grew up -- the one I married," Maxim suddenly spoke, his tone turning almost angry as he took a step forward. "If you must do this, Daphne -- and I believe that you feel you must -- then do it. Spare me the misery of lamenting over the woman that I killed, and finish this. Because I assure you, Daphne McKennah Redmont -- what I feel right now is a miserable shame the likes of which I don't think you're capable of understanding." He stood there, and if only for a moment -- his gaze was pleading, almost needful -- a remnant of the man she married, not the rage that consumed him.

What remained of Maxim was damaging to the Lady Redmont, her vengeful half anyway - stripped to the core, he revealed himself to be a broken man starved for the affection - and salvation - of his destined lover. There were no charades or false hopes - it was obvious he was now compliant of whatever fate the Huntress may exact with swift, definitive purpose - a feat no other would exhibit from the King of Kings. He would not resist. Slowly, those deep, grey eyes of Daphne’s began to well with a passionate and emotional shimmer, as fingers worked the snap off her gun belt. Pale moonlight filtered over head and highlighted a strange disturbance of sinewy movements twisting under the folds of her backside and uniform. And, from their fleshy prison, the ominous, blackened wings of the fallen angel unfolded and stretched… coated in eerie lunar flourescence. When she spoke, her voice sounded fragile… resistant, but to no avail. "Very well, my love. Allow me to put an end to all this suffering. For the both of us…"

Scarlet-colored eyes narrowed slightly, and the Redmont took a step back -- and with those last words, he forced every inkling of emotion towards the Huntress away. It was the Kinslayer that faced her then, and yet still her husband -- for he lacked the hatred and aggression that any other enemy would've been faced with. "They'll save you, Daphne -- and when they do... don't mourn. Don't grieve, don't you dare shed a single tear -- because I know the woman I love wouldn't do this." The words were reminiscent of what a certain McKennah girl had said to her sixteen year old boyfriend, when he'd asked her to promise him that she'd destroy him if he ever fell to the ways of darkness. He stopped, fangs barely exposed as a familiar smile formed upon ashen features -- in the moonlight, the stand-off between vampire, and fallen angel was simply mesmerizing. "When I'm gone, do you promise me you won't stop loving me?" The words were nearly the same ones she'd asked of him years earlier, after she'd surprised him with one of the most heated, impassioned kisses that either had ever experienced -- and that they both still remembered. He leveled his gaze upon her -- cruelty was absent, but the pride, and honor of the Redmont was there in full form.

"This heart is committed to love you forever, Maxim. I’d cut it out like some visceral sickness if I thought it’d help, but it wouldn’t." She remembered the picture in that moment that Maxim favored, the one which those powerful hooks for hands had clung to with such rebelliousness against the embittered loneliness he was commissioned to suffer – the night he committed his undying devotion fully and completely at her headstone, his voice had pierced the outer wall of heaven where the Huntress had watched in sweet repose. She immersed herself in the recollection of that photograph; fingers delicately intertwined as they sat on the steps of the Redmont Estate with such effortless luxury. Indeed, there was no other security the world had offered her than the robust swell of muscled arms that belonged to the Kinslayer. It had not been forgotten, only misplaced; tucked neatly away to prevent these unnecessary hesitations. Wild blonde tresses fell casually as she shook her head, trying to free herself from emotional restraint. "It doesn’t change what…" Daphne’s words were halted and shifty eyes fell over the Aquilis Molior precipice as if a strange and familiar company drew closer… and with it, the memories of the McKennah bride flickered like a freshly lit candle with very little wick…

He sensed it too -- the feline, and Danika drew near -- but he wasn't sure if they'd make it to the apex of the Aquilis Molior in time to save the former Lady Redmont. "But it does change everything, and we both know that. We've both seen the misery of the other when driven apart -- I dare say, we were meant to be, Daphne." He took a step forward, shadows barely flickering across youthful, handsome features that wouldn't ever be touched by time -- and Maxim lifted his arms, as though making himself out to be an easy target. Secretly, he was harboring a doubt -- more or less, wondering why the Huntress hesitated and let him stall her from a welcomed execution. "Do your worst -- for I've made my amends with the woman I love, and I've nothing left to regret." The words were issued with proud defiance, and yet held a bit of truth that might spark some fragmented memories, in the way that he so valiantly spoke of his wife. It showed one thing, and one thing alone -- Maxim Redmont was still absolutely in love with Daphne Redmont, and that wasn't going to change. "I've cast aside my weaponry, and made my decision not to fight you. I've told you I loved you, and that I have no fear of the outcome -- what more do you need to hear, Daphne? What must I do, so that you can satisfy your need for revenge?"

"There is one thing, Maxim… and perhaps it is the deliverance we both require…" The giant expanse of angelic wings was an awesome sight to behold against the fair haired beauty’s limber frame, their endless silken quills rustling like divinity in motion as they relaxed and folded. Daphne offered her back to her husband, a painfully palpable effort to quell the tumult of rising sentiments harbored under those languid lashes. Her features hardened with a familiar resolve, while deep, penetrating eyes cut through the veil of night – to the memory of their wedding day. Drawing in a deep, centered breath she lamented quietly into the surrounding darkness, trusting that each fated word would find an ear of the appropriate suitor. "What would you have me know? If it had to end here and now, Maxim, what would you require from me? What would you want me to know?" Eyes under their lashes filtered to a close once more, as she awaited his answer… her features untraceable… her body, motionless…

He watched as she turned away from him, the vampire's fiery gaze remained focused upon her -- and against every ounce of determination, a multitude of emotions were apparent. None moreso than sorrow, as he listened to her words -- and deep down, in the core of his very soul, he knew what was coming. Nevertheless, he blinked once, and then twice -- as though the memory of tears was still palpable, even though the function was eliminated by his undeath -- and then lifted his head. "I think... I want to be forgiven," he answered, his voice loud enough for her, and whomever was close to hear it. Admission of guilt, followed by a request that not even Daphne herself could've expected -- and it was clear, painfully obvious, that he wanted her forgiveness. And with those final words, he glanced behind him at the edge of the tower -- and the ground that was so far below -- before looking back to her. And thus, the Kinslayer waited to see how the Huntress would react...

The tears that burned the bevels of her cheeks were first witnessed by an unforgiving moon. Maxim’s words succeeded in exacting a profound effect on the fallen angel, far deeper than anything she had prepared for. Immediately, in the dark recesses of a ravaged spirit laid to ruin, she clung to the distant memory of her beloved’s image for safekeeping - and for a necessary comfort to guide her anonymously. She resisted as long as possible, perpetuating her attachments otherwise rooted in the tragedy that was whispered by the fates themselves, until finally she could endure no more. The Huntress turned slowly, exposing her distress to the Kinslayer positioned at the Black Tower’s edge. Wild, blonde tresses darted against that steely gray gaze of hers immersed, this time, in a glaze of hysterical reverie. Her emotional struggle was more than obvious - evident in the way that her lips trembled, and the silent prayer of tortured eyes. Somewhere amid those timeless seconds, riddled with images of her eternal prince, proficiently trained fingers had retrieved the bladed gun, already chambered. Her hand steadied, level with his chest… taking aim of where an unnamed heart still beat for her in the afterlife. Her words were hardly rushed, and nearly muted. "…I forgive you, my love…" And with every ounce of strength left in her form, she closed her eyes, kissed the memory of him deeply, and squeezed back on the trigger...

When she turned, the sight of the tears that were sliding down across her cheeks from her ebony-hued eyes were a signal that in the end, she couldn't fight what she had been made into. He stood there, those vibrant eyes of fiery scarlet locked upon her as she began to take aim -- her distress, the apparent sorrow, and the way she trembled -- all of those factors were noted, and he knew he had made the right decision. As she spoke those fated words, only the barest hint of a grim smile threatened to form -- and even then, it was gone before she pulled the trigger. The ensuing explosion was loud enough to be heard upon the battlefield below -- the silver slug slammed into the Absolutioneer armor that the Redmont had chosen for the specifics of battle. The force of the round sent him spiraling over the edge of the Aquilis Molior, and plummeting towards the ground so very, very far below...

Immediately following the thunderous explosion of smoke and gun powder, the overwhelming impression of a cold, merciless regret began to writhe in the pit of her stomach. Onto hands and knees that begged for penance, Daphne collapsed under the surmounting pressure that only grief and dismay could offer her. Vengeful ties worn thin by time broke free and scattered into the sable abstract, and a veil began to lift in the coming moments as she watched the King of Kings fall from the Aquilis Molior apex by her own divine hand… exposing that part of a detached humanity that had been cleverly hidden. And the brighter it burned, the harder she cried, burying her countenance in the crux of her palms and allowing her despair to pour freely. Wings now clothed her, as sunshine clothes the summer world as it was revealed to her in gradual pacing, the weight of what had transpired. The Bluefield had succeeded at his own dastardly devices, and the Huntress, blinded by a guise of merciless fury, had become powerless to stop him. Maxim Redmont - the Kinslayer, was no more. "Maxim. Dear Goddess, no… what… have I done?"

In this world you tried, not leaving me alone behind.
There's no other way - I'll pray to the Gods: let him stay.
The memories ease the pain inside...
Now, I know why.

All of my memories, keep you near.
In silent moments, imagine you'd be here.
All of my memories, keep you near.
The silent whispers, silent tears...

Made me promise I'd try, to find my way back in this life.
I hope there is a way, to give me a sign you're okay.
Reminds me again it's worth it all, so I can go home.

Together in all these memories, I see your smile.
All the memories I hold dear...
Darling, you know I'll love you 'til the end of time.

Six months after Daphne's demise on the bridge...

By the time Danika McKennah reached the southern temple of the Goddess of War, dawn was approaching. She was hardly a combatant, for her own reasons; her sister had always been the warrior amongst them. Yet because of who she had come to visit, the red-haired beauty wore weapons for the first time. A silver sai had been strapped to either hip in plain view; she doubted she could utilize either of Daphne's signature blades if she was attacked, though. Ascending the stairs to the doors, she did her best to compose herself as her lithe frame slipped into the solitude of the temple. A single figure, garbed in battle gear and shrouded in a blackened cloak stood near the altar, with his back to her. And yet, she wasn't unnoticed.

"Who are you, and what is your business with the Goddess of War?" Maxim Redmont's tone was full of vengeful hatred, and she cringed; he was nothing like the man that she remembered. She hesitated for a moment, and thought about simply leaving without getting the answers that she felt she rightfully deserved. After a moment of deliberation, she took a step forward, "My business is with you, Kinslayer. Isn't that what they call you now, Maxim?" Her tone was seemingly apathetic, and yet clearly forced. She braced herself for anything, and yet what happened next was entirely unexpected. The Redmont turned to face her, scarlet-colored eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized her.

"So, you've come at last."

"You were expecting me?"

He shrugged lightly, as he stepped away from the altar where he'd been positioned, to near the woman. Her eyes lowered to his hands as he moved them away from his blades, and she could faintly see the outline of something upon his ring finger. Sucking in a breath, she drew her attention back towards the vampire's features, and broke her vow to be civilized with her next comment. "I thought silver burned vampires," her statement was punctuated by a dismissive gesture towards his left hand, and for a moment she was certain he was going to attack her. Instead, his posture straightened and the vampire tugged at that glove with something of a sinister smile daring to form. Blood trickled from the ring finger of his left hand; her suspicion had been correct. He still wore his wedding ring, the symbol of his union with her sister: Daphne McKennah Redmont.

He had slaughtered her in cold blood months earlier, and through her efforts, Danika had learned that her sister hadn't even fought back. She had made every attempt to block the vampire's relentless frenzy, and yet he had still been too quick and ultimately, too violent for her to control. "Why, Maxim? You murdered her, and yet you wear that ring like that marriage still means something to you!" Danika screamed, going so far as to draw one of those silver sais and take a step forward. She caught herself right as she was lifting the weapon, and looked at the man who had married, and ultimately murdered her older sister. He stood there, his scarlet-hued eyes meeting her own cerulean-colored gaze without a hint of emotion. And there was a part of her that was only more enraged by that; she wanted to see him angry, to know that she had hit a nerve.

"It does still mean something to me, Danika. What, did you come here thinking that you were going to avenge her? Say the word, and I'll even disarm myself to give you a chance. Otherwise... state your business here, so that we might get this over with before dusk," the vampire answered, hiding every bit of carefully controlled rage as she finally reined in her own temper. She stared at the cracked tiles beneath her feet for a moment, before at last glancing up to face the Kinslayer, to answer his inquiry.

"I want to know why, Maxim. She couldn't even bring herself to fight back, and you still felt the need to break her heart! This isn't even about her death... it's about the man I knew as a hero, destroying something that wasn't even a threat to his precious regime! She was so in love with you that even as corrupt as you are, she would've still stood by your side!" Danika accused, her voice raised to where she was more or less shouting at the priest of War.

"I have no answer for you, Danika. Isn't that simply maddening for you? To have come all this way, expecting some kind of grand scheme. I did what I did in a moment of insanity, and Daphne was simply there. I was recovering from the shock of my rebirth, and even now, that madness lingers. Perhaps it's some intricate trait of my breed of vampire, that I can't seem to reconcile. Whatever the case may be, there's your answer," the Redmont admitted quietly, merely gazing at the woman. She was a pacifist, and hadn't even the ability to wield a blade properly. And on top of that, there was simply no reason to goad her into fighting. With River, he had wanted to see her become strong enough to fight when the situation called for it. She was the last of a dying breed, and secretly, Maxim wanted her prepared for those that she had made the choice to stand against. People like Mayhem Gaston, Alastair Bluefield, and the Wayfarer, Daevaorn.

"And what of Vita's priestess? Did she not tell you and make you aware of what you were doing, Kinslayer? Even she couldn't fathom the disgrace of your actions," Danika screamed again, taking a step forward once more. Absently, she realized she was well within his range by this point, and thought to take a step back. It did her no good, for this time Maxim took a step forward in tandem with her, keeping her within striking distance if he chose to take that route. "River knows of what I felt, and what I still feel for Daphne," the vampire spoke, and something about the way he worded that last statement caught the red-haired woman's attention. "And what else does she know, Maxim? If you think I haven't bothered to investigate, you're sorely mistaken. What's your connection to her, anyway? Was she-"

"Are you certain you want to finish that? My patience extends so far before I start to become violent, Danika," he threatened, suddenly taking another step forward and leaning down. The urge to smile was too difficult for her to resist; she knew that she had hit a nerve, finally.

Scarlet-hued eyes were torn away from the woman, as Maxim lifted muscled shoulders in a casual shrug of indifference before stepping back from her. "I suppose you could call what I feel for the pacifist love, Danika. But make no mistake about it, you arrogant concubine - it's far different from what I feel for Daphne. For River, I admire her and love her because of what she is; it would be more akin to a sibling's feelings, than anything resembling what I feel for my wife." Danika laughed scornfully, and turned away from the Redmont as well.

"She's dead, Maxim - by your hand, no less. Stop professing your love for the woman you murdered," she spoke, before she heard those boots thudding against the ground.

When she turned, she was met by the brutal impact of his fist smashing into the left side of her jaw; she spun, and landed face-down against the floor with a soft cry. Blood trickled from broken skin, and Danika waited for his next assault with her eyes closed. And somehow, mercifully, it never came. Seconds turned to minutes, and she cast her gaze back towards the former slayer, who stared back without a hint of remorse. "I did warn you, to be fair. Test me again, and I won't hesitate to tear you limb from limb," Maxim intoned quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. She scowled, wiping the blood away with one hand so that it splattered across his boots. "Is that what you want, Maxim? To prove just how ruthless and hateful you can be? I feel only sorrow for you, for I remember the man you once were, rather than the monster you are."

She at last rose to her feet, and looked back at him. Both of her sister's blades were drawn, and the blonde-haired woman brushed past the Kinslayer to gently lay the silver sais upon the altar. An act of respect for the Goddess of War, even after the disrespect shown towards Maxim. "I feel that your mighty Goddess knew Daphne was every bit the warrior you were, and perhaps more - because she knew when to fight, and when to walk away. She had something you lack now, Kinslayer." Danika turned away, and once more brushed past him.

"In the end, Maxim, you have no honor."

Just after dusk, a month after Maxim's funeral following his abduction by Alaina and her council...

"I'm so sorry, Maxim... I tried. I wanted to save you," Jass Strata explained mournfully as she stared at the estate -- or more specifically, the cemetary. Her eyes, colored a brilliant shade of emerald green, were wiped clean of tears and she turned away with a wistful sigh, shoulders slumping as she lowered her head. Dark tresses fell around the porcelain flesh of her lovely face, and obscured all but her pouty lips from view... and from where he stood, a malevolently charming smile crept across his own handsome, though decidedly ashen features. Others had paid their respects during the daylight hours, but she had chosen to venture to the estate while they were recovering from an earlier attack -- the former slayer could only guess that it had been orchestrated by either Camille Lexus or Demetri Ravenholm. The mere thought of those two enemies left fingers clenched into tight fists, until he focused once more upon the reason that he'd dared to come so close to the place where he had once lived, in a life that seemed as though it wasn't his, any longer. And without further hesitation, the Redmont stepped forth from the shadows.

"Grief hardly suits you, Jass Strata."

He watched as she lifted her head, and that vibrant, emerald-shaded gaze met fiery eyes of brilliant scarlet hues -- and he could literally hear her heart skip a beat. He could smell the blood rushing through her veins, and for the first time, the former slayer realized fear was something that the Strata succubus still understood, and was plagued by. "What... what have they done?" Her voice was cracked, her faith shaken by the feral warrior of undeath that loomed before her, that tattered cloak fluttering as the breeze whipped through the clearing that the pair stood in. He offered her a smile that would've been charming -- even familiar -- had it not been for the whitened surfaces of elongated, lethal fangs that marked the former Lord Redmont for precisely what he had become: a vampire. "I would've never imagined I could love this, Jass -- it's glorious. I've learned the truth about humanity -- about my own blinded faith in them. I was wrong-" "No, Maxim -- not like this. Please," she pleaded, already reaching for the stakes she kept hidden beneath her skirt, strapped to one thigh.

He was faster than anything she might've imagined.

His own weapons were cast aside, and as she lifted that stake, he brought up one military-grade boot so that the heel smashed against her wrist. That weapon was dropped, and she immediately went on the defensive against the undead Redmont. Each move that he made was subsequently matched by the Strata beauty, but inevitably she began to falter against the tireless advances of a more ruthless, efficient Maxim. One fist finally smashed into her stomach, and while she was doubled over and clutching her stomach, his other hand pushed that skirt up in a rather risque gesture. The strap that held those stakes in place was torn away, and yet his hand lingered -- chilled fingers barely brushing against the tender, soft flesh and causing Jass to draw in a sharp breath.

"Why, Jass -- you're trembling," the former slayer whispered -- the very tone of his voice cold, and taunting. She brought the palm of one hand up, and across the cold flesh of his cheek in a rough slap, even as he drew close. "Stop it, Maxim -- this isn't you, you can't be one of them," she protested, even as she felt his hands tearing at her dress. The glow of those emerald-colored eyes had brightened as she settled them upon the undead Redmont, and her affliction was at last subduing her natural urges to fight him. And Maxim knew it, which only encouraged him to intensify those efforts. He lowered his head, the musculature of his built frame fitting nicely against the soft curves of her shapely form as she wrapped slender arms around his shoulders. His fangs briefly raked across the vulnerable area of her throat, leaving thin red trails in their wake and eliciting a surprised gasp from the demoness. "There'll be no going back, Maxim..."

"I wouldn't turn back now, even if I could..."

Some time later, after midnight...

As the Redmont turned away from her, he could still feel the sting of the scratches her nails had left in the skin of his muscled back. His eyes lingered upon her for a moment as she leaned against the surface of that ancient, withered oak tree -- the sight of those soft curves, marked with bruises from where he'd held just a bit too tightly coaxed a devious, faint smile to twist across his lips. Her own skin was flushed, and her legs still trembled even as she pulled dark, silken tresses back away from her face, which he admired for a moment longer. Eventually, he restrapped his own armor -- which had been stripped of any Redmont insignias, and retrieved the weaponry that had been dropped during his blissful reverie with the demoness. And when he turned to face her, she had the tip of one stake jammed against his neck, and her hand against the side of his face. Tears were streaming down the gentle bevels of her cheeks, and defiantly, Maxim leaned forward -- an action which placed more pressure upon the tip of that specialized weapon.

"Then finish it, Strata. Show me what truly lies in that blackened heart of yours, succubus."

"Maxim, please. Come with me, your family can still save-"

"This is not a disease to be cured, arrogant woman. I love what I've become."

"Then why did you come back? Why did you come to me?"

He finally reached up and wrenched her hand away with one ruthless pull of his arm, toned muscles flexing as he tore the stake from her grasp and tossed it aside, with a bit of disgust crossing his youthful features. "I came to offer you a place at my side. I had believed that you, with all you've seen, would understand what I've learned of humanity. That they are treacherous, without honor -- meaningless. They don't deserve to live," he murmured, his voice ever smooth, and eerily calm. Her wrist was released, and he turned away from her -- as she pulled up the straps to her dress and slid her hands over the velvet fabric to smooth the wrinkles from it, she took a deep breath -- and inwardly, Maxim already knew what her decision would be.

He heard her footsteps and instinctively turned to face her once more -- but this time, there was no veiled attack waiting. The heat of her soft, plush lips pressed to his own in an impassioned kiss that he welcomed, muscled limbs slipping around her in a lover's embrace. When she finally broke that kiss, she stared up at him for a moment before granting him a single, solemn nod. "I shall follow you, as I always have, Lord Redmont." A moment passed, and he eventually released her to lift one muscled limb and gesture towards the landscape that surrounded them. "We will return here, after I've settled my debt with the council -- and when I return, it shall be as King of the Brood."

"When I return, those here who do not join me, shall die."

On the bridge above the Navirie River, after Maxim's descent into undeath...

Daphne Redmont, the Huntress... A slight breeze scattered discarded particles of trash that people had been too lazy to throw away properly. The air was thick, even warm, but not overly so. Boots thudded quietly against the dust-covered streets of a desolate part of the city -- few bothered to venture this far, for only those who sought to find their demise walked this path. Pale wisps of blonde framed a delicate face -- the Lady Redmont held a certain angelic quality about her. Black military-styled pants along with a cropped tank fit her lovely frame, and slung on the curve of her hips was a belt to which the slayer proudly displayed her choice of weaponry. Various stakes, blades and such, the very weapons once brandished by her husband. Strapped at her back, the Chitsujo, and tucked securely away were twin sais -- Rapture and Penance. Though, it was the stormy depths of her gray eyes that spoke of the heavy heart, which the Huntress carried. The word had spread far and wide, for the Lord Redmont -- her husband -- Maxim Redmont had been turned.

Maxim Redmont, the Kinslayer... Booted feet thudded against the ground as the Redmont stretched muscled limbs in a languid fashion; tonight was where it all came to a convoluted climax. The twin blades of Wrath and Ruin were resting upon either side of his waist, and across his back, the Daikonran was strapped. Stakes carved from some kind of dark wood and tipped in obsidian lined a brace buckled to one toned thigh, on top of military-grade, blackened pants. Gloves were pulled a bit tighter, and he absently thought to wipe at the blood that dripped from his chin. Ultimately, he didn't; it would confirm the slayer's worst fears, and ignite the battle that awaited between them. For now? He was silent.

Rounding a particular corner, the Lady Redmont drew in a slow breath. Oddly enough, her nerves were calm, as though Daphne had accepted what was and had but one last act to play before the curtains would close: the confrontation with her husband. The word that had been spread -- it could've been a lie, but Daphne had learned long ago that Maxim often didn't allow for stories to be spread about him, especially such as that. The last few steps were taken, and she stood squarely in the midst of that deserted bridge before him. That blonde head had been lowered for a moment, though it lifted until that delicate chin came to a proud notch, and thick lashes raised to allow storm-clouded irises to fix upon what her heart dreaded the most. For there he was -- relaxed, confident, poised... and above all else? A vampire. The blood staining the man's chin was obvious enough. She was at a loss for words, and she merely stood, staring.

Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes...
Come on and come to me now, don't be ashamed to cry.
Let me see you through, 'cause I've seen the dark side too.
When the night falls on you... you don't know what to do.
Nothing you confess, could make me love you less.

He rolled muscled shoulders back as she came into view, and for perhaps the last time, he smiled just a bit at the sight of the woman. And then, scarlet-hued eyes narrowed as he observed her weaponry; silver blades, white oak stakes, silver-edged sais, and the Chitsujo. He grinned, then; a cruel and damning expression, since those whitened fangs were visible to Daphne for the first time. And then, the hilt of both Wrath, and its twin blade, Ruin, were gripped. "...Isn't this ironic..." He shook his head, and then drew the blades, "Let's see what you've got, slayer," he spoke up, before beginning that steady stride towards her. She wouldn't have the option of simply remaining where she was...

"I didn't come to fight you, Maxim," she stated evenly, whilst looking upon her husband. Lashes fluttered as the grip upon his twin blades was captured, and the soft scrape of metal being drawn from leather was heard. From somewhere deep inside the slayer, a sigh was inspired and it spoke to the very marrow of her bones as it was released. Slender fingers came up, wrists bound with a black sheer material to which bound her palms, providing ample grip as twin sais were unsheathed and held a slight distance from her voluptuous frame, the tips of those silver-edged blades glinting as moonlight struck them. "I refuse to execute you," she confessed to the Lord Redmont. That statement alone, would testify as to her purpose for being there, before him. She wouldn't kill him -- it was that simple.

Her words brought cruel, disparaging laughter from the vampire as he drew near, the blades of Wrath and Ruin lifted in tandem with her. "...My, my. You hold yourself in high regards, don't you? Little slayer, Miss McKennah... I'm unlike any vampire you've ever faced," he hissed, that familiar, yet corrupted grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilted his head, as he began to circle his prey, the weapons spun around so that he had more of an optimal position with them. "Daphne... you should've run, far away from here. There's no place for a creature like you in my fold. Not with the vampires, or the demons, or the others that I walk with these days," he murmured, before pausing, "...and not with Jass around."

His last words struck deep, and more fatal than any blade could've ever hoped to reach. For a brief moment, eyes closed and the Huntress realized she had become the outcast from the family she loved -- she'd been replaced. And whilst Maxim perhaps meant to make it a crushing blow, it somehow wasn't quite, for Daphne had already pondered the concept upon her initial hearing of her husband being turned. A hush fell around the two, as if life had ceased to exist and it would simply be man vs. woman -- husband vs. wife. Yet without the Redmonts, and without Maxim especially --- what purpose would she have? Maxim couldn't be saved. At a standstill, the angelic huntress pivoted slowly upon booted feet, not feeding into Maxim's taunts. Hands raised, blades curving in stance as she gazed upon the very fabric of her existence. "So be it."

Maxim had changed irrevocably; some believed that being betrayed by humanity itself had destroyed his naive compassion for them, and in turn... he had become a nightmare, alright. The blades of Wrath and Ruin were swung about as Maxim closed in, fangs bared in a crazed hiss; he had fed recently, and was at what most would've considered a hellish full strength. There were no more words left for the vampire to say; now it was all about business, and slaughtering the woman that once, he'd shed tears over. Muscles flexed with each movement, and every time he swung those dual blades, they were directed at whatever she left vulnerable during her defense.

And so it began. The whisper of blades slicing through the air, the clash and spark of metal clashing against metal. Harsh breaths, muffled growls -- the crunch of steps, the twist of bodies, and the slitting of flesh. It was mingled with the scent of blood, of determination, of damnation and salt of warmed skin -- the duo moved as though they were dancing a very, volatile dance of death. She'd trained with Maxim, she'd hunted with him and she'd fought beside him. His steps were her own for the most part, and vice versa. The stormy gray depths of her eyes held a certain tone defeat, whilst the first incision was inflicted just beneath her ribs, and the next cut through to her collarbone. The ground began to take on a crimson hue beneath her boots -- she'd defend for as long as she could, but she'd never strike him.

The blades were wielded with a certain efficiency and grace that Daphne had likely never seen from her husband; he was mimicking her own style, and their clash had become an elegant, though lethal dance. For every step, she matched him; for every time his blades were lifted, her own blocked him. Even with the first incision, Maxim held back that need to lose control at the sight of her perfectly sweet blood dripping over her flesh, scarlet-hued eyes brightening. They were husband and wife, Lord Redmont and Lady Redmont... but they were also vampire, and slayer. And unfortunately for her, he was blind to her love for him at that point.

River Larson, the Priestess of Love... Lo and behold, the Priestess stumbled upon the former slayer, and from the looks of things he was taking down another victim. The woman was unrecognizable to the Priestess, but she knew Maxim well enough. “Redmont!” She called towards him with a narrowed gaze, “’ave ye nay done enough killing to sate ye for a week?” He was like a vicious machine, and she felt it was nearly hopeless to bring him back to reason. Vivid eyes danced to the woman as noticed her wounds, creating a frown to mar her features.

The next strike to cut flesh, caught along the line of muscle along her left upper arm, and with a deafening whisper, the blade fell from fingertips and landed against the ground, stirring up a slight cloud of dust. Beads of crimson trickled down along that arm, that had been rendered useless in wielding a weapon finally. Her jaw clenched, and her gaze locked upon the man she loved -- the Lady Redmont struggled to maintain her composure as threads of pain coursed through her petite frame in torrents of violent force. Sucking in a sharp breath, she only winced as the flesh along her ribcage split, furthering the damage inflicted by his onslaught. Lashes fell only briefly, right hand spinning her single sai now, it met his own strike for strike, mirroring his actions whilst that blonde head dipped for a moment. A soft light began to emanate from around Daphne whilst the skin against her back became mangled, as if something were trying to push through... for it was. Wings ripped forth, and spread to an impressive span, feathers nearly glowing in their purity as the angelic being revealed herself before the vampiric lord. A flutter of beauty, and that pale head lifted once more whilst those now silver-hued orbs looked upon her husband sorrowfully. The blade struck again, piercing lower abdomen and Daphne merely bit down on the pain. A stumble followed, her head becoming dizzy-- her vision blurred, then cleared. Crimson now stained her petite frame, spreading onto those soft, white feathers and giving it the grotesque taint of malice..

More wounds were inflicted upon the Huntress, and her husband seemed intent upon murdering her. When she lost her left sai, he failed to relent; if anything, Maxim only intensified his efforts to finish the struggle. And yet with her transformation, and the sudden arrival of River, he took a step back. The blades of Wrath and Ruin were gripped and kept lifted, as he gazed upon the angelic woman in front of him. A brief thought flashed through his mind, for he'd never seen her look so entranced, so beautiful in her immortality. And then, the sight of crimson staining those wings brought him back to reality. He was a vampire, and she was a slayer. Fangs were bared, and the Redmont took a position to where he could watch River as he lashed out towards Daphne, "...My thirst for war will never be satisfied, River! After all... you see what's about to happen to Daphne," the vampire snarled. What Daphne didn't know, was that her husband had confided in River; the priestess had seen him during his worst moments during mourning over the blonde-haired Huntress. But that.. had been when he was still alive.



The Priestess wasn't noted on Daphne's behalf. No, she was far too gone, her attentions solely upon her husband. Some might come to ridicule the Lady Redmont, and how she allowed Maxim to slaughter her. But it was to her own conscience, that her actions truly mattered. Her heart, to which Daphne wanted to remain true -- that was what mattered. She'd vowed to love, honor and cherish Maxim Redmont through good and bad, through sickness and health... 'til death did them part. Whilst Maxim had died and descended into the ranks of undeath, he still thrived and to that, she'd never turn her back. Her love for him ran deeper than the boundaries of hunter and prey. So it was as such that when Maxim's actions towards her intensified, Daphne maintained her defense until yet another wound was inflicted, a clean swipe along the right side of her throat. She felt warmth spilling over, beading in rivulets down her skin-- her vision blurred again and fingers relinquished their grip of her remaining sai. It too, fell upon the dusted ground. A slow breath was drawn, and as the angel known as Daphne Redmont lifted silver-toned irises, a shudder coursed through her slight frame. It felt so cold all of a sudden, and she pulled in a second breath, though a cough escaped her -- crimson drops trickled from the corner of soft, mauve lips. Delicate features were simply a mask of torment. She stumbled, causing her legs to give in and she sank to bent knees, palms splayed to the ground. Her lashes fell, and blood dripped from her mouth as she struggled to breathe. Lifting that blonde head, stormy depths looked upon Maxim Redmont once again, lovingly. She never spoke a word, but forever the Redmont Lord would hear the words, 'I love you,' echoing within his mind, spoken in volumes by her gaze.

Daphne. The feline’s eyes widened as she looked to the woman again, who seemed to grow wings within that instant. The sight of those feathers sent a chill down her spine, and she found herself looking back to Maxim, “I beg of ye Maxim, leave ‘er be. Nay long ago ye were within my temple, those signs of mourning still evident within ye. Ye said ye would bring down the demon that caused ‘er ‘arm to begin with, yet look at ye now!” And it was then, that the angel fell. The Priestess of Love took a gasp for breath and she left the sidelines to enter the fray. It was her intention to come between the slayer and the vampire, hopefully to prevent the final blow from taking place.

He adjusted even as he saw River coming, and yet he still chose to stop. Wrath's edge was a mere inch from the priestess' throat, and Ruin's tip was barely pressing against the swell of Daphne's breasts, aimed for her heart. And the vampire stepped back, before that sudden, chilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The tips of fangs were visible, as the Redmont mouthed the words, 'I love you,' towards Daphne, before looking towards River. "She's as good as dead. There's nothing you can do to stop me, River. I love what I've become..." Words spoken not only to the priestess who stood there to block any attack upon the fallen angelic Huntress, but to his wife as well. Murderous and malicious, a personification of what blood-thirst could turn a man into. The slayer that had wanted nothing more than to protect humanity and live with the woman he loved was surely dead, and in his place... was a brooding, violent creature; the vampiric King Redmont.

Her gaze fell away, before the glistening of her tears could be witnessed. 'She's as good as dead,' he'd stated. Given the cut skin along her throat in correlation with her other wounds, the angel hadn't long to live anyways. The ground swam beneath her, and she felt so tired -- if she could only close her eyes, she would have to cease the painful rise and fall of her chest, to silence the scream of torture within her body. Breathtaking wings stretched, fluttering once, the tips of feathers dripping crimson before they began to curl around Daphne's frame. That was, until another raking wave of pain assaulted her existence, and she jolted back to reality. With the last bit of remaining strength she had, Daphne Redmont pushed herself from the ground, until she stood, that delicate chin lifting proudly. "If you held any love for me at all, you'd finish what you began. Either way, I'm dead," she whispered to the vampiric lord. It was true -- whether she'd live or die, he'd simply destroyed her.



She nearly held her breath as the blade was aimed for her throat, yet azure eyes looked to Maxim without fear. Once he stepped back she released a breath and looked down to Daphne, “Ye should nay doubt me so easily, Redmont,” the words offered to Maxim. “Ye will come off that high ‘orse within time, and when ye realize what ye ‘ave done,” she shook her head, “ye will ‘ave many regrets.” The Feline’s ears twitched as she heard Daphne’s last request, then her brows began to knit together. Perplexed with confusion, she shook her head gently. Those pleading eyes still held remorse and she looked towards the Kinslayer, still standing in her place.

He moved around River then, one muscled shoulder brushing against the priestess as he knelt and took the fallen angel into his arms, crimson staining his attire from her wounds. "Never doubt this, Daphne McKennah Redmont," he whispered, as his fingers twitched with the excitement of what he was about to do, "...I love you. Forever, and always." And then, the obsidian-tipped stake was thrust through Daphne's beating heart, a ghastly impersonation of what they'd done so many times to the undead... to the very type of creature that Maxim had become. Bloodied lips pressed to Daphne's own, betraying both passion and love, and every emotion in between. For now, River was ignored - though when she realized Maxim had killed again, he expected she'd intervene. "...You were... better than I," he murmured, even as she slumped against him. There were no tears; he was without remorse despite the fact that... he truly did love her.



Daphne's right hand lifted, cupping over the seeping wound at her throat, pressing firmly so that the sheer black material, absorbed crimson. The Lady Redmont stood opposite of her Lord Redmont, wavering and about to collapse -- yet by sheer strength of will and character, she remained for a few moments longer. Silver eyes remained steadfast upon Maxim, the man whom had promised to love her for eternity -- To protect her and care for her, to be loyal and faithful. And as she began to fall once more, and Maxim caught her within his embrace... for a moment, just before the stake was driven through her heart, Maxim Redmont would see hope. A hope that this man she so fiercely loved, had chosen her above his new-found insanity. Those soft lips, stained by her own blood had begun to curve into the beauty of one of the smiles she'd only bestowed upon him, her husband -- until the bitter sting of reality stole the final glistening of light from her eyes. The stake pierced her heart and Daphne drew in one last, final breath before choking upon her blood. Lashes fluttered, wings went limp with blood dripping down the purity of her feathers. Her blonde head fell back and her eyes were shut for the last time -- the curtains closed, and Lady Daphne Redmont ceased to exist.

You won't be on your own.

The feline turned to take a step back, her orbs gaining a glossy hue. Slender digits tightened into a ball fist as she witnessed him take her life. Granted, she witnessed this within the arena on occasion, but it still felt so different... so wrong. Daphne made her last wish however, and all he did was comply. With a shake of her head her gaze was cast heavenwards, while lids lowered to veil her orbs. The seal of her lips broke, and incoherently she said a soft prayer to her Goddess. Reopening her eyes she looked back towards the Kinslayer, “I ‘ate what ye ‘ave become.” She truly did.

He gently laid Daphne's still form upon the ground, the obsidian-tipped stake still impaled through the front of her ribcage. He smiled, in an fully cruel fashion towards River as he rose to his feet, "...Then we'll just have to agree to disagree, River. I wouldn't turn back from this path I'm on, even if I could," he murmured, before taking a step closer. "...Seeing her die.... my, my. That was the thrill, seeing that last bit of life ebb from her beautiful gray eyes, and feeling her heart stopping. Did you feel that, priestess? Her existence, ending? Truly, it is a thing of beauty."

He took a step closer, and she did nothing to retreat back. With a narrowed gaze she kept her sight on the Kinslayer, "Ye be a marauding poet, Redmont.” She looked past him to the angelic Huntress, then back again. There was a passion starting to grow inside her; one that even her strong ideal for peace couldn’t suppress. One hit, that’s all she wanted. Just deliver one successful blow so she could released her frustrations.

And it was as though the Redmont recognized what she felt. That sudden tension, the desire to stand up and fight for what was right and just, to defend those who were too weak to fend for themselves. "...You feel it. You feel what I once did, in that other life. The need to fight for what you think is right, to stand up when nobody else has the courage to! It is," he took a step closer, and purposely folded his hands behind his back, "...futile, at best." He glanced back at the angelic slayer's still form, blood pooling beneath her, "...She loved me, even when I took her precious life. 'Til death, right?" he murmured softly. And with that, he lingered only long enough to lift his beloved Huntress from the ground, so that he could depart....