Once again, he stood a the foot of it, sorely disappointed with himself and the way things turned out. As he knelt to pay silent respects, he noticed something was missing.

'The rose!' the revelation hit Macbeth, 'Where did it -'

'Lennox...' he heard someone softly call as a chilling wind blew through the darkened forest. He couldn't believe his ears as he recognized who had beckoned his name.

"Jasmine...?!"

"Come, Lennox..." again, the woman asked for him, her voice soft & whispered. He stood, looking around himself, finding a strange neon blue glow in the distance, deeper within the forest. Wary of such strange things, he approached it slowly and calmly, figuring if the "entity" was in a hurry, "she" would definitely let him know.

A few minutes later he reached a wide forest clearing where a single hill stood in the center. Atop it was the glowing figure of a young woman, dressed in an elegant ball gown of some fashion, he back turned to him. He scaled the hill in awe, yet composed as ever, walking no quicker than the pace of his walk to the clearing and ever patient on reaching the enigmatic female.

"Welcome, Lennox..." spoke the woman at his arrival.

"Jasmine...is it you?" he was overwhelmed. Although, she had chosen not to face him, Macbeth knew it was her, "how did you survive?"

"My body did not, but my soul remains earthbound," she said, finally turning around. The blue aura that surrounded her discolored every feature of her; from her alluring face, to her dress, and finally down to her high heeled shoes. The only thing that remained the same was the indomitable onyx of her Indian like hair, "I cannot finally rest until the one who killed me meets his end. Until then, I am a restless soul, denied of the peace death bestows."

"I failed you my dear," Lennox regretted, telling her the obvious, "I had the opportunity, but the situation...took an unexpected turn."

"I understand..." she sighed, saddened and her eyes to the ground. Her gaze lifted as did her head as the phantom softly took his hand, a smile across her lips. Macbeth was amazed that she still had the ability to touch a living being, "existing as a ghost does have it's advantages, though. I can provide a service to those who still live."

"You mean, you wish to perform this 'service' for me?" Macbeth was intrigued as well as secretly anxious.

"Yes. Clear your mind, and when you're ready, think of any time in your past. Whatever comes to your mind first...well, I'll let it be a surprise," she explained enigmatically, "and it's important you close your eyes and open them when I say. Very important. Now go ahead..."

With slight hesitation, he did as told, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he readied himself for what laid ahead and wiping his mind free of thought. Then, suddenly it hit him.

The castle. His castle.

Scotland. His Scotland.

Gruoch. His love.

Macbeth couldn't believe his ears. Even though it had been ages since he had heard her lovely voice, he recognized it instantly. She was singing a lyric which had dated to their youth; one she would share with him and him alone.

"Gruoch?" he didn't care to wait for Jasmine's instruction to open his eyes, and when they immediately widened, he found that he was no longer atop the hill, but indoors. The view from the glass-less was stunning if not familiar. The courtyard. The valley. The emerald forests. The mountains beyond. He could be nowhere else but the Scotland Highlands, at a time when it was all his.

When he was king.

"You called, husband?" her voice was soft and comforting as she slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. Lennox was in total awe.

His wedding day. He realized the memory was first to his mind, after clearing it for the specter. Did she take him back in time, or was he reliving a treasured memory. Macbeth could only hope it was the former; if it was, he knew it was his chance to set things right. Most importantly, he would prevent the loss of his kingdom and family to the so of his treacherous cousin and the current king, Duncan.

Slowly, Macbeth had swiveled around to face his long lost newlywed, and tears came to his eyes for the first time in who knew how long. In the eyes of his wife was an enigmatic, caring stare as she looked into his youthful, smiling face, trails of tears running down his cheeks. Even his beard and his hair were rejuvenated to it's original auburn; the way it was before he and Demona accepted immortality.

"M'lord? Why do you cry?" she innocently asked, having no idea how long it had been since he had laid eyes on her.

"I....I am only overjoyed that we are married, m'dear..." his hands reached for her shoulders since she was a bit shorter than he, but not by much, "and how fortunate a man you've made me."

"You still continue to flatter me, husband," her warm smile melted his heart, a feat he figured to be an impossibility after a millenium of hardening it, "I've longed for this moment since our childhood. Finally, we're married...and alone..." tilting her head upward and closing her eyes, she gave him his Que. He eased forward, and shut his eyes as well, kissing her passionately.

"Married, huh?" asked someone, his voice emanating from across the regal bedroom, "Well, better late than never."

Macbeth quickly realized who the interloper was and immediately broke the embrace to scan the room. Leaning against the darkened bedroom was his newest adversary, Maximillian- "Ramnarine!" he seethed instantly, putting himself Lady Macbeth and the "dreadlocked one", "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Please, the 'devil' doesn't compare to me," Max gave a brief shot of humor before getting down to business, "besides, he isn't a 'time-traveler' like myself. Anyway, I've come to your land to collect on a trade. Since you've taken Jasmine from me, I shall accept Gruoch just to make things even. Sounds fair? Good, I'd thought you'd agree," he asked - and responded - before giving Macbeth a chance to answer, "now hand her over."

"Who is this dark fellow, husband?" Gruoch asked, yet received no answer from her husband, "Who is Jasmine? And what is this trade he speaks about?" Lady Macbeth was brimming with questions he didn't have time to answer.

"Run, m'lady! You must go now!" Macbeth urgently demanded, reaching for the hilt of the Masamune. But no sheath was attached to the belt of the regal robes he now wore; and therefore, no previously enchanted sword.

"It seems you've lost the Masamune, Len," Max observed, "don't worry, a good ol' fashioned brawl is fine with me!" he said before pouncing backwards against the heavy wooden door, launching like a missile at the former/future king.

Grouch leapt clear from behind her husband as he stood his ground. As soon as Max was in range, Lennox caught his fists and rolled on his back, throwing his foot into Ramnarine's stomach and releasing him. His opponent flew upward and towards another perpendicular wall, uncontrollably for a moment, but Max managed to land upon it, crouching as he touched down on hands and feet. He turned upright and came thundering down from the wall with his left boot first, catching aflame with chi-energy. Macbeth dove out of the way as he impacted with the stone floor, leaving the spot cracked severely. Ramnarine had the common sense to remove himself from the area before it fell in; the shattered pieces fell to the lower floor, 15 ft. below.

"Shall we try again?...SOUNDWAVE!!" he exclaimed throwing another "arc of chi" at Macbeth. The Scotsman threw himself from it's path of trajectory, nearly hitting him as he rolled upon the floor. The projectile, instead, splashed upon the wall behind him, leaving behind a streaking burn mark where it hit. But the "bearded one" hadn't the opportunity to gaze where the "Soundwave" went as he rose to his feet. His eyes were deadlocked on Ramnarine as he found him holding the lifeless form of his wife in his arms.

"Don't worry, Mac, I only knocked her unconscious," Ramnarine smirked, standing on the other side of the massive hole in the floor, "now if you'll excuse us, our 'chariot' awaits!" with a devilish grin, he sprinted for the window. Unfortunately for Macbeth, Max was much closer than he was.

The Scotsman had no other choice but to try; with a running start, he barely managed to clear the pit with a daring leap. Ramnarine was crouching upon the sill of the window when Macbeth was only an arms snag away. He missed, much to his dismay, but wasted no time poking half his body outside the opening to see where the kidnapper had fled. That was another shocker.

He stood atop a hovering vehicle of the likes, he had never seen before. The base of the arc shaped transport was an almost a rounded isosceles triangle, with the front being a broad curve while the back was the peak, also rounded. It was a mostly aerodynamic bubble, curved also on top, but relatively flat enough to stand on comfortably. Polished onyx was the color it's hull was painted, while it's intake, exhaust, and frontal and rear laser cannons, and framing for it's arced wings and fin atop the glass cockpit dome were crafted in a golden-like metal. The wings and fin however were made with a transparent metal tinted ivory white.

The cockpit of the alien machine was a dome of glass, and beneath of it, it contained two seats; one in front center for the pilot, and a twin-seater directly behind for strictly two passengers or less. Before his eyes, he watched the dome ripple like water and melt away downward, towards it's frame base like a ring around the cockpit opening. Ramnarine dropped his capture into the back seat of the dark machine while taking the helm, not hesitating to re-seal the oval-shaped control pod. As the liquid glass began to rise and take shape again as the cockpit canopy, Macbeth knew his last shot at saving his wife was drawing to a close.

Being that the hovering UFO was no more than 10 feet below, the drop for him was nothing to worry about, but the impact was enough to gain Max's attention when as landed. Macbeth threw his arm into the top of the canopy's dome before it could fully seal, closing tightly around his arm before he could either reach his wife or his abductor.

"You will pay for this, Nightrunner!" Macbeth threatened, pounding on the-now solid and unimpressionable-glass, "This madness ends now!!"

"Not today, your 'highness'," Max sarcastically remarked as he put his fingers upon the touch-pad controls of the panel before him. The airship began to move upward and the Scotsman was helpless to stop it, "you know, I could sever your arm with a push of a button, or crush you by throwing us into a ridiculously hig altitude. But those would be cruel and unfair punishments. being that you can't truly die and all. So I've thought of an ingenious way to rid myself of you; this machine is built to travel at the speed of light.

"Actually, faster...

"Unless the human body is sufficiently protected, it cannot withstand the stress of light-speed. But, I've always wondered how long someone could survive moving at ungodly high speeds. Let's see!!" and with that, the "aircraft" jolted forward, moving at- "50 kilometers per hour...we can start at that," Max gazed up to find Macbeth leaning upon the canopy, his free arm wrapped tightly as possible around it, "60 kph...70 kph...80...90..."

It was at that point that Lady Macbeth had come to her senses, her eyes fluttering open and gazing upon her tortured husband, the outside wind whipping him to death.

"Macbeth!" she gasped, sitting up instantly and finding Max, "Release us now! I demand it!!"

"You've got spirit, just like Jasmine. Too bad she's just a 'spirit' now," he said snidely, gazing up, "100 kph, and he's still kicking. Amazing...well, get a good last look at him, m'lady. He won't be around much longer.

"What?" she lunged at him in hopes to stopping him, but was thrown back by an invisible force protecting him from her. Macbeth's hand luckily had fell inches short of the field and was on his beloved's side. Gruoch mournfully took hold of it, knowing it was all she could do to comfort him in his moments of hell. And she did, greatly.

"Hold strong, m'love," Macbeth managed to say to her, despite the whipping winds around him.

"I love you, Lennox...I always will," she was the one crying now, but the reason was far from joyful.

"The connection ends NOW!" Ramnarine exclaimed, increasing the speed dramatically. Racing at them at ludicrous velocity were streaks of bright light, so violently that is blinded them all. Macbeth, in his final moments, could feel his body ripping apart, his eyes squeezed shut in pain & anguish.

When they opened, he found himself on his knees atop the hill, and looking into the inviting face of a concerned Jasmine. She still was holding his tense hand.

"Are you alright?" she obviously asked.

"Wha..? What happened?" he was clearly disoriented, "Gruoch? Where is she?"

"You were reliving one of you memories, but incidentally, it was interrupted by a flashback of mine. The way your wife had been taken was the same way Max had captured me."

"Max?" he asked, unfamiliar with the name.

"Maximillian Ramnarine; he didn't introduce himself when you met him?"

"He called himself 'Nightrunner', but what relevance it holds is a mystery to me. But it doesn't matter; you've made it clear to me how much a danger 'Ramnarine' is. To everyone.

"The machine I was trapped upon, in the 'vision'...does it really exist?"

"Yes..." the specter sighed, "it's called the 'Epoch' and by far it is his greatest possession. It's a vehicle of destructive proportions....

"Lennox...it's a time machine..."

During his absence, she took the opportunity to rummage through the contents of his bedroom, not to mention most of the mansion. But she had hit his closet first, finding a massive wardrobe; being that it was a walkthrough closet, that was to be expected. She had run into all kinds of outfits; uniforms, casuals, robes, jumpsuits, formal attire, regional clothing, and most shocking of all, women's clothing. Why would a man living by himself on an alien world need useless things like dresses, undergarments, and other things females were know to wear. He had a spread that most wealthy women couldn't come close to acquiring back on her home- world. There were clothing that represented almost every period of time she was familiar with, not to mention some dating before her millenium of life and beyond.

Despite the huge selection of the clothing she could have pilfered, she chose only to take several casual articles and two karate uniforms used for training (called a "gi"), one dared and sleeveless, the other with sleeves and white. She also found a few other articles worth keeping; a gold analog watch, and karate hand guards (a.k.a.: "gauntlets") much like the ones her (possible) teacher had worn. The latter, she slipped over her feminine, yet malicious, hands, while she placed the watch upon her right wrist, synchronizing it to the wall clock in the young man's bedroom.

To her chagrin, most of the rooms had been closed and locked, including the armory, where her soul-tied nemesis had found his enchanted sword. She, however, knew nothing of the Masamune, being dead to the world when Macbeth debuted it.

Whatever world this was.

As sunset was a t hand, she returned to the balcony of Ramnarine's room, where she and he had stood earlier that morning and where she and he stood earlier that morning, and where she had watched him walk off alone, disappearing into the western edge of the forest. Then it happened.

Her body went through it's painful metamorphosis once more, as she gripped balcony rail; her back sprouting wings through the jumpsuit she wore, her hands and booted feet changing to clawed extensions, her soft pink skin becoming a scailish bluish gray, still resembling skin somewhat. Her outfit recovered quickly from the ordeal, much faster than she had.

Demona was now in her true form, a ravishing gargoyle, and could not be happier despite the agony she was healing from.

She gazed to the distance another time, hoping she would spot him with her "superior" vision, now that she was no longer a human with the "limitations" of the human eyesight. Still nothing. She began to wonder if he was ever going to return.

Demona tried not to let it bother her, climbing upon the guard railing of the balcony, she stood and spread her wings, waiting for an updraft of wind before taking to the air. A few seconds later, she was airborne, flying high above the land and surveying the lay of it. She wasn't necessarily searching for Ramnarine, but if her eyes ran across him, it would make feels a bit better.

'He was right�" she thought, 'no human in sight for miles around. This could be better than I thought,' a smirk crossed her lips as she angled herself down for a landing.

It was by a bed of multi-colored roses that she descended, their scent very strong. Then it came to her; where roses the only flora that grew here? When Macbeth needed on for Jasmine's burial, they didn't have to search long to find a sea of red ones. All the while, during her flight, it was the only kind of flower she could remember seeing.

Curiously, she plucked one of the roses, a dark blue one, being careful not to let her clawed fingers be stuck by the flower's thorns. She examined it off-handedly at first, but then noticed something peculiar, as well as obvious.

'There are no thorns!' she realized, "That's impossible�" she bent towards the bed and plucked another, not at all meticulous when removing it. The 'green" rose was thorn-less as well, 'how in the- what kind of place is this?'

Her investigation continued, already finding the ebony-colored deciduous trees, thorn-less roses, and a trio of moons in the sky. But beyond that, there was nothing else out of place or noticeably different from her planet of origin, except for the staggering absence of humans. That oddity, she reveled in.

Minutes before the witching hour arrived, she found the rendezvous point, being at the foot of the waterfall-gushing mountain and standing at the edge of the lake that ringed around it. The collective sound of all the rushing water was mind numbing, at best, but she managed. Patently, she leant against a tree by the edge of the lake, quietly wishing for him to show up already.

Midnight. She sighed, folding her arms across her chest. Demona contained her frustration, but only barely, knowing that he wasn't wearing a watch when departed. The possibility of him being a little late was a good one.

A half hour past, and still no sign of Ramnarine.

'He chose not to show�' she told herself in anger, growling through gritted teeth, 'I can't believe this!' she stepped closer to the edge of the lake, "Nightrunner!! You bastard" she roared, figuratively, "You've betrayed me, just like every human I've ever known! "To hell with you!"

"Now you don't mean that do you?" again she heard a voice from behind, and it came as a total surprise. She spun around, yet saw no one as she scanned the area. Suddenly, a figure fell from the tree she had stood under landing at the foot of its bark, "You surprised me. I never expected you to last a whole half-hour before exploding."

"You were watching me?" the gargoyle was astonished she hadn't noticed him in the tree the entire time.

"The entire day�" he smiled, her eyes widened, "from where you started to dig through my closet until you arrived here. From a distance, I've been observing you, the deciding factor in my decision to train you."

"I never saw you, or thought you to be around�" Demona was clearly shocked, "wait a minute�I watched you walk into the forest, which took you a good five minutes. I was in your closet nearly a minute later. How could you have been back in time to find me in it?"

"Time is exactly the thing; I manipulated it," he simply explained, "I won't get technical, but remember back to when we fought in the lobby? When I was on your back and you were falling?"

"You stopped time right before we hit. Even though I was frozen, I could still hear you and see you moving. You were the only one unaffected by whatever you done."

"What happened was that I froze you - and Macbeth - in time, but not time itself. As for this morning, I actually did stop time - and more than once. Nothing changed for you, but I was back in my room before you even reached my closet."

"Interesting..." remarked Demona, "is this a part of what's in store for my training?"

"I'd be sick bastard to put an ability like that in your hands, besides, I couldn't if I wanted to. It's a long explanation not worth going into�and it touches a part of my past I'd�rather forget.

"I'm certain you have many questions to answer but be aware that I want answer them all. If I'm going to teach to anything, you must sometimes figure out things for yourself. Such as the roses; why is it the only kind of flower around? And why do they have no thorns? I know your curious, but for now, some things are better left a mystery."

"Much like your true name, 'Nightrunner'. Now that you're my appointed teacher, shall I refer to you as that?" she asked.

"'Sensei' or 'Senpai' will do, and I think I'll call you 'Mona-Chan'-"

"Huh?"

"-translates as 'Little Demona' or more appropriately 'Demona, my student'. Since that's what you are, I figured-"

"Whatever�"Sensei". So, when do we begin tapping my 'chi'?" that malicious grin of her's hadn't failed to appear, bearing a little of her fangs. He only sighed and closed his eyes, puzzling her as he began to quote something in Japanese, "What does that mean?" she asked once he was finished.

"Japanese mantra, or 'kada'; what someone chants when their meditating, for those studying the martial arts that I'll be training you, it is a must - even for you. He positioned his feet, hands, and arms in a fighting stance, this one unfamiliar to her. He closed his eyes once more, "Excelling in the human way to lead to chi, creating an aura. Reaching extreme strength to reach resilience. Resilience creating strength in the end�"

"Demona!" his eyes flew open instantly, glaring in her direction, "What do you see in front of your fist?"