MY W.I.T.C.H. Episode 39:

The Final Battle.

Finality. The conclusiveness and certainty had always remained an attractive trait to Prince Phobos. Perhaps it was a longing that had caused him to entertain such a concoction: the fate of his own, estranged younger sister. He had, despite his sheer and loyal curiosity to these worlds, been trapped and lost simultaneously.

The Light had been forced upon him, and much alike the spotlight on a youth in theatrical; the Light had blinded.

There had been no time. For pain, for the youth of Prince Phobos; a Royal assassination had been assumed. Of course, it had never been seen to, and Prince Phobos had been desperately pressed power; a lust of destruction in sought of maternity. Every Lord; nobles crowding the court that now presumed his Throne room, had incessantly whispered a criticism, and yet Prince Phobos could not once recall a berating. It hadn't happened.

And Lords and nobles, Phobos had killed. He had once seen his father ordering a man beheaded. Prince Phobos had never heard him shout before that day. Prince Phobos never had the chance to hear it again.

Perhaps, yes, then Prince Phobos could relate to a longing. His sister would be lost and trapped in his roses. But at least she would have lived forever.

But at lease she would become something beautiful.

As though on que - and Elyon did not often have a timing - the large door had clicked to open, and Prince Phobos had let his mind and his features uncloud as he turned to face her. She looked very small, today, and she had become so very quiet - it was as though she knew.

As though she were weaning herself away; she did not speak, she did not smile. Elyon did not hardly eat, and it was a rarity if Prince Phobos ever knew how often, or silently the Escanor Princess slept. Therefore, it would seem, she had perhaps left a final courtesy of kindness; there would be fewer things that Prince Phobos would be left to revoke of her. He would forever carry her guilts, but at least all that he would be taking from her was breath.

And power.

And perhaps something darker, her young heart desired, though he was at no point going to bestow her anything further than privilege of his hands on her skin, because, quite frankly he would prefer seed real soil.

"Today is the day." Her face didn't bother changing for him then - he had last night come into her room with news of the Coronation moving up - as he played a smile on his lips. He had always assumed, that the Gods had beckoned him with allowances, because his destiny was to ascend. But he was merely a man and a means. Prince Phobos realized now, that he himself could kill the Metaworld, but this Princess Elyon would grind it to dust and start all over again. "Your destiny is awaiting you."

"I.." A man-made destiny, but the Prince Phobos could think of none better. The little Light of Meridian would be forever missed and longed for, and Prince Phobos would hide his mother's monster. Maybe she had ran, when her eyes had rested on her birthed, though Prince Phobos doubted that entirely. Maybe mon Elyon had eaten them, or maybe Elyon was her name-sake more than he knew. For Elyon was a powerful name to mean Highest. Elyon's name meant to go up, to climb; to ascend. Perhaps his father had purged the Escanor' evil; directly into his mother, and his Angel had created this. Phobos slid his hands on small shoulders, as her eyes rested, grey, on the Throne. Elyon was ascendance, because his mother might have free'd his father; perhaps they had both been taken o the Heavens in the night. And he was the final Escanor: it was for him to end this line. "Will there be a lot of people?"

To watch his sister's saving and murder at once?

"Everyone's eyes will be on you."