Blood on his hands

[Eban]

How many days had lead to this? This one moment, where a lapse in Honor leads to something the law may see as unforgivable. Instead of sleep this night, the Imperator lay's atop his sheets trying to put together the pieces of the night. A mix of rage and adrenalin lead to a focus on the end result, with a blur of the moments passing before it. The talk he had with Va'lis the night before had been far from comforting, he turned himself in on the actual good faith that nothing would happen to him, with reason's being above a fear of even death itself. No wonder why this feud had lasted so long, even now... when all the condition's were in Eban's favor; the cell, the lack of witnesses, the hard smell of smoke filling the air, Va'lis seemed at peace. Had he ever instilled fear into the man that he had looked at as one of his longest enemies? Doubtful, given the action of his willing submission to captivity. It all seeme to anti-climactic if anything, they chatted as uneasy acquaintances for some time that night, sharing the joy of a smoke together. Was he planning on this? In his mind Eban would like to think that he approached this meeting with an open mind, with the belief that Va'lis facing justice would relieve the weight that the vampires actions had put on his own shoulders; though it's hard to imagine as truth. For a month, his thought's were clouded with the planning, plotting of revenge. Did he truly think that bars would stay his hand of retribution? Hardly an obstacle given he was the master of their key. They talked of battles past, the Imperator even explaining his shortcomings to Va'lis, for in truth they were obvious to them both. Eban had been spending his life looking for one that was better than him, to bring him the Honor and Glory of death, yet here he stood face to face with a man that he could not best, holding his life in his hands. It was only a matter of time before the wrong words slipped through Va'lis tongue, he just never thought it would have came with careful consideration. "Wha'ya did.. was ih worf' all dis?" after a moment to chose his words, he signed his own death warrant. "When you've seen as many things as I have in my years. Yes, I'd say it was." Even now... faced with the unknown there was no remorse for his actions against the preatorian, his fiancée. It had to end. "Ah tell ya dis cause o' yer wor's las' nigh', yer willin'ess ta embrace yer death wifouh fear, will you embrace me now, with my blade? ah cin gran'ya passin', ah warriors death." In a moment seeming foreign to Eban, he grasped forearms with the man that had cost him so much, whom he intended soon to end. "Leh us continue dis, in da aftalife." "I look forward to it" The next few minutes passed in a flurry of anticipation, granting room for the fight that Va'lis would not be known too have fallen without. It was there in an instant, the bars removed... the chance to strike held open before his very eyes. Patience. Enjoy it... "Ah neva did bes' you... take dat ta 'Adehs alon' wif wha' was lef' o meh 'Onor." And so it ended. A mighty thrust of his kryss, found home in Va'lis' chest; finding its way clean through. Eban's eyes could do nothing but focus on that of his advisories, he watched the life slowly leave his eyes. Holding no greater surprise than it did to the Imperator, it was almost as if looking into a gruesome mirror. Va'lis killed to survive, he now kills because it is what he was bread to do. Were they really so different? He watched himself fade with the life of his oldest enemy, and waited until his weight slumped against his shoulder, and fell limply to the floor. He stepped back in awe. It was really over. A noble foe has fallen this night, one who knew Eban's true hate, perhaps even his fear. Though even now in death, Va'lis still hold's chance to ruin the existence the Imperator claims to be life, with the reaction to the killing of a prisoner -even one so hated is yet unknown. It's like standing on the shore, watching the hurricane form. Will it pass, or again ruin everything in life that you once knew? For tonight, it did not matter. He had his head as gory trophy, with his apron purposely given a new dark hue from the mess on the floor, a reminder in blood of a respect needed to be paid.