cinematic, emotional, brutal flashback sequence revealing Victoria's tragic descent — why she became what she is:
The battlefield burns crimson—mountains of corpses, rivers of black-tainted blood.
Screams echo. Souls wail. The Underworld shakes.
A much younger Victoria, barely resembling the monster she is now, crawls through ash.
Her skin is pale, eyes still soft, glowing faintly silver—beautiful, innocent, terrified.
She reaches out toward a collapsing obsidian shrine.
Victoria (crying, trembling): Mother…? Father…?
A massive winged demon—her father—lies bisected, body melting into infernal sludge.
Her mother's head rests cradled in Victoria's arms, eyes dim, smile soft even in death.
Mother (weak whisper): My little star… please live…
Victoria shakes, clutching her mother tightly, choking on tears.
Victoria: I—I'll save you… I'll bring you all back… I promise…
Her mother's eyes fade.
Silence.
Then—an explosion of divine light.
Angels descend.
Their halos sharp like guillotines.
Led by Law's Seraph Execution Unit.
A seraph speaks coldly, wings dripping heavenly radiance:
Seraph: This realm is condemned.
Kill every last filthy demon.
Victoria tries to stand, trembling, shielding her mother's body.
Victoria: Please… stop… we just wanted… to live in peace…
The seraph raises a sword of holy annihilation.
Seraph: Demons do not deserve peace.
The blade swings—
A burst of blood.
Victoria screams—rage and agony merging into a demonic roar.
Her silver eyes burn red-black for the first time.
Horns tear through her skull. Wings rip open her back.
The world around her freezes—her life shatter.
Reborn of trauma, grief, and hatred.
And in that silence—
He appeared.
Zadkiel, younger, emotionless, stepping over corpses like they were dust.
The only being who didn't look away from her horror… and didn't deny her pain.
For the first time since losing everything, she felt seen.
Her voice softens, twisted devotion dripping like blood:
Victoria (overlapping present & past): I loved you…because you were broken too.
Her demonic grin widens, eyes glowing with madness and longing, voice trembling with twisted affection.
Victoria: Let's finish what we started, Zadkiel.
Let's paint the world red again… like we did before.
Zadkiel staggers back, his breaths ragged, his body shaking under the toll of battle.
Holy feathers, burned and blood-stained, drift around him.
Victoria grins, eyes wild, movements unhinged — both graceful and monstrous.
Victoria (voice echoing with mania and heartbreak): This is where it stops.
This is where it ends.
Zadkiel raises his blade again, muscles trembling, voice low but firm.
Zadkiel: You're not alone… You never were.
Take my hand.
Victoria's laugh is soft, broken — like a lullaby drowned in screams.
Victoria: You keep saying those words…
and I want to understand…
Her smile softens for a moment — painfully human — before cracking again.
Victoria: But even if I hear you…I will never understand. Can you still not see the truth?
Her pupils shake — fury, grief, longing, all eating her alive.
Victoria: Can you not see what all this meant?
What we were?
She rushes him again — her movements a blur, each step leaving scorch marks and frost in equal measure.
Zadkiel finally stops holding back — wings flaring, divine runes blazing across his sword.
With a roar, he unleashes devastating long-range strikes — crescent beams slicing corridors, detonating walls.
Victoria dances through them — laughing, twirling, sliding across broken marble like she's waltzing in a ballroom.
Victoria (sing-song, taunting, loving and cruel all at once): You think I'll stop if you just stay patient? That mercy will fix me? That "love" is enough?
She flips through another slash, landing lightly atop a broken pillar, eyes glowing with devotion twisted into obsession.
Victoria: But I'm done waiting.
I'm done dreaming.
I'm done pretending salvation exists.
(Her voice rises)
Victoria: COME ON AND KILL ME IF YOU'RE ABLE!
Zadkiel's sword trembles.
Not from weakness — but from the weight of what he knows he might have to do.
Zadkiel: …Victoria…
For a flicker — the madness in her eyes falters.
Her expression softens into hurt so raw it's terrifying.
Then it snaps back — teeth bared like a wolf starving for meaning.
Victoria (whispering, shaking): If I can't have peace… then please come back to me and bury the rest of the world with me or kill me.
She charges again — faster, feral, tears hidden behind her smile.
Victoria's smile widened until it cut the light into razors. The ruined nave echoed with nothing but their breathing and the far-off thunder of the dying sky.
Victoria (soft, deadly): "Everyone we love has disappeared. Erase all that is left — this is why I am here."
She leaned so close his breath fogged against her lips. "I will keep fighting. You should dieing."
Before Zadkiel could answer, she flickered — speed like a feverish heartbeat — and was in his face, blade tip a whisper from his throat. Her smile was all teeth.
Victoria (whisper, venom):
"That is your destination… and I'm sure I'm stronger than you."
She struck.
The world exploded around them: steel and bone and divine light. Her blade lanced in a dozen impossible angles, a crimson blur that sought the soft places — throat, tendon, joint — as if she'd learned the anatomy of pain itself. Zadkiel met each strike with the weight of a ruined god, parrying, catching, turning momentum into counterblows that cracked marble and showered saints from their pedestals.
Memories stabbed between every collision. Flames devoured a village at dusk; a child's hand slipping from his grasp; a lullaby burned into ash. In one heartbeat he remembered holding his wife as the pyres rose; in the next he felt Victoria's blade bite his shoulder, hot and wet. Every memory was a wound, every wound a reason to stop — and every reason to stop became a reason to swing harder.
He tried to answer not with murder but with mercy; his blade moved to disarm, to subdue, to take her life without rage. But Victoria twisted joy into violence — she wanted theater; she wanted confession stained in blood. She laughed as he slashed across her ribs and the wound knit closed in a shimmer, flesh sealing in seconds like nothing had happened. Her laughter echoed in the vaulted hall, maddening and triumphant.
Zadkiel's arms trembled. For all his remade power, for all the sorrow that fueled him, the old, cold part of him — the part that once let the world burn without a sob — was fighting the new thing his son's dying plea and Finn's last words had lit inside him. He could end her. He could end this. He could raise the blade and finish the woman who had been his partner in ruin and the cancer in his chest.
Instead, he took a breath, bitter and long. He drew back his sword until the runes along its blade glowed like a mourning sun and stepped into her next attack — not to kill, but to force a choice. The air between them froze and boiled at once; frost in his wake met the smeared heat of her devotion. For a single terrible, glorious second, the two of them were nothing but the sum of every world they'd erased and every life they'd stolen, clashing in sound and fury and unbearable memory.
Victoria's grin never left her face as she met his gaze. "Then do it," she said, voice a knife. "Prove it.
Zadkiel lunged, every ounce of his forged wrath poured into the strike — a clean, desperate arc meant to end it. His blade sang with history and ruin.
Victoria blurred aside, a red streak too quick to follow. Her smile was a blade before her steel found his flesh: she slashed across his throat, a white-hot line of motion that opened like a confession.
He staggered, blood blossoming warm and dark along his front. For a breath he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time — not as ally, not as lover, but as the final thing between him and whatever the hollow future held.
Victoria stepped close, rim of her weapon glinting. Her voice was soft and deadly.
Victoria: "One step left now. It's almost time.
Show you what my determination still has left for you to get back to.
You should prepare to just die — because at the end of the day, we are both killers."
She drove the blade up through his neck with casual, terrible precision. The motion was clinical; the world seemed to hold its breath as he fell. Blood fountained, hot, gilding the cracked marble beneath him. Zadkiel's knees hit the floor. His hands tried to find something — a promise, a prayer — anything.
He stared at her one last time. No plea. No explanation. Only a slow, ancient resignation that something irretrievable had finally finished.
Victoria wiped the weapon on his ruined cloak, then flicked the blood away as if it were confetti. She laughed — a small sound that carried the weight of everything they'd done — delighted, unhinged, victorious. Then she turned and walked out of the chapel.
Victoria's laugh lingered as she vanished into the smoke, blood on her blade and madness in her eyes, leaving Zadkiel's body behind.