The shadow's head went flying. This was no easy feat, considering that the training shadows strength was calibrated according to their opponent. Unfortunately for the ethereal figures, this was no night to be crossing Lexaeus. He would not suffer fools gladly, because frankly, he was having trouble even 'suffering' himself.
With a low grunt, skysplitter crushed another trainee into the stone floor and partially wish that his opponents had managed to land a hit by now. He needed the numbness of pain right now, because the numbness of realization was eating away at him with a ferocity that the goliath found he could not block away. The truth was a horrifying prospect. The truth had struck him not just silent, but absolutely dumb in it's wake. When he arrived back from his last mission, all but bathed in the blood of the innocents, and with so many ghosts to handle, he wondered if his soul even existed any longer, the cold, honest truth had been there to greet him. The realization had dawned just as solidly as though someone had struck him, deftly, cunningly.
He didn't deserve Ienzo. No, he didn't. He was a beast, a blind, angry, monster, and he had already sacrificed his humanity to a system of beliefs which would only lead to his demise. He was a fool. The list tumbled onward until Lexaeus felt himself mentally running in circles. A shadow attacked from the left, but he crushed it with a staggering blow, recalling exactly how easily he had done the same exact thing to innocent beings in the world he had just vacated and left entirely demolished in his wake. It was still there now, as he had gone straight to training after his mission, warding off madness with violence. How quaint.
There was blood under his fingernails. Gods, he wanted to vomit.
If only one world had one highly skilled vigilante, ready and waiting, shining sword in hand to defend his world, to slay him deftly. Zexion would finally get a partner who was worthy of him, one untainted by innocent blood spilled by good intentions which were all creating a river pathway to hell for the warrior. Zexion deserved someone more innocent and kind, like Namine. Or someone who could actually skillfully use words to comfort him, like Luxord. Or someone who would really know when and how often to be by his side, like Xaldin. Or someone who was simply well suited as his foil, like Demyx.
And now he wanted to scream. Instead, he crushed the semi-corporal torso of another shadow with his bare hands, ripping it apart as easily as tissue paper.
"You alright there, big guy?" Lexaeus almost rounded to attack the voice on instinct, but the owner, having apparently expected this, skillfully blocked his oncoming fist. With a crooked grin that looked just a hint strained, Xaldin nodded at the shadowy carnage surrounding the Silent 'Hero'. Lexaeus withdrew himself, grunting an apology under his breath, the madness of battle ebbing from his eyes slowly as blood oozes from an open wound.
"You feel like taking a break?" Xaldin continued, peering up at his rather mute companion, noticing the wounds of his former mission still lingering bloodily on Lexaeus. The other man seemed to wear them proudly, as though to say 'at least someone tried to do what was right.' Right now, above all else, the other man seemed absolutely lost.
"Lexaeus...?" Xaldin murmured, his smile having faded. The man in question seemed to finally wake up now, panting still from the effort of his training. He looked directly at the lancer and seemed to be about to speak, his breath held in suspension for a lingering moment.
Then Lexaeus collapsed.