The figure on the table let out one ear splitting scream before loosing consciousness, for what Kratos was sure would be the last time. The angels wings, once white as snow, had dulled to a sickly grey, mana deterioration was causing them to look almost skeletal. The angels body had also fallen into disrepair, not only did the angel look as though it had died day ago, but all over its body tiny blood red pox pulsated.
Kratos sighed, "It won't be very long before they burst, there is nothing we can do." His voice made it very clear that his normally cool, in control, demeanor has starting to fall apart.
The expressions of the angels surrounding Kratos remained fixed, there ex-spheres robbed them of the fear that should have long since engulfed them. A fear Kratos was starting to feel in the pit of his soul. The fear of inevitability, the fear of a swiftly coming death.
"Leave," the Seraphim ordered, he had no use for there empty stares anymore. As the angels drifted out of the room, Kratos turned to look at the figure whose body was in such immense pain that it continued to wither even as the angels mind had already destroyed itself.
Soon the pox will break, Kratos thought, the pain of ones blood explosively bursting from every pore in the body was unbearable, and then others would become sick. The sickness had spread so swiftly, accompanied by legions of fiends, devils or, if Kratos' latest theory was correct.
"No!," Kratos broke the silence as he refused to think about that… death was better then considering those implications.
Looking down at the dying angel, Kratos muttered a few syllables, allowed the mana to flow through his body then released it. "First Aid."
The light surrounded the body, the figure seemed to look healthier. However as the lights faded, so did the illusion; the angel was as ill as before. Kratos had expected this, the disease attacking the angels of Derris-Kharlan had been immune to the most technologically, and magically advanced treatments that Kratos knew of, nothing worked, many spells made it worse. The outbreak had already taken over about a third of Welgia, only Vinheim remained uncontaminated. The absolute disaster that had occurred when he had attempted to use a unicorn horn which he found in one of Mithos's collection had been devestating.
Defeated Kratos sighed, this disease destroyed everything it touched. Allowing it to survive was only opening the door to more death. Kratos began muttering words again, and yet again magical energy surrounded him. This is for the best, this angel will die horrifically If I do nothing, and then the infection will consume this part of Derris Kharlan as well, I have no choice. "Judgment," screamed the Seraphim, allowing his built up frustration to be released by the devastating attack. Surveying the remains and praying that nothing remained of the angel Kratos turned and left the room, cape still quivering from the violent release of mana seconds before.
Kratos turned to several angels waiting outside the room. "Burn it," he muttered, "nothing left, nothing." His voice was weak, the stress was near unbearable. Obediently, two of the three drifted into the room Kratos had just emerged from. The third angel waited patiently, the colour of his uniform, and the pointless winged boots which he wore indicating that he was a messenger. "Lord Kratos," the angel began, "there are reports of another outbreak in Welgia, the original outbreaks have continued to spread, and we believe that the unknown organisms that you sealed in Sector 3 have a ninety eight percent chance of escaping within the next hour." The angel monotone voice revealing how completely oblivious he was to the damning nature of the news he had just given his master. The angel turned and quickly disappeared to gather more information.
In his room, Kratos collapsed. Unlike the angels, he knew that the messengers' words meant death to him and every other being on Derris Kharlan. Now he could only pray that the plague killed him, better then what those creatures would do. He had tried to contain them, contain the plague, but it was hopeless, every time he tried to fight, the disease it had came back…It was only when it was to late that he realized that annihilating victims of the disease would contain it and stop the beasts from reproducing.
I'm such a fool, I should have seen the connection. But of course, Kratos knew that if he did it all again, if he tried to fight the plague one hundred times over, he would still fail to see the truth before it was to late. It was just to horrible to comprehend.
Now, because he was unable to stop it, the disease would go on killing until it had stripped Derris Kharlan to the bone, then it would drift until it came to another world, another dish on a silver platter.
There was only one option…, calling an angel Kratos gave what he hoped would be the one order that would stop this plague and the beasts that accompanied it. "Use Derris Kharlans remaining power to activate the self destruct." This was his fate, to die like a warrior, using the last of his strength to slay a dragon. Sighing Kratos lay on his bed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a single photograph, one of his wife, Anna, and son, Lloyd. Live a happy life Lloyd, I wish I could be with you.
If Kratos was correct, it had been about four years since he departed, Lloyd was probably happily married, or at least in a serious relationship. Kratos wished he could be there to watch his son grow up, to be there as his grandchildren are born. More then anything, he wanted to he there as the grew up, not off on a rock in the sky fighting pointless battles he'd never win. Looking at the photograph one more time, Kratos prepared himself for death.
"So the great Kratos is going to die here?" came a cruel voice, echoing across his room.
Kratos looked up, only darkness swirled around him, the mana powered lights long since completely drained, but he was almost certainly alone.
"After the life you've lived your going to be consumed by a little disease, your going to let a disease do what I could not." The voice continued, a hint of offence gathering, "but I guess I shouldn't pity you, you've wanted to die for so long, since you went and killed your wife."
"No" Kratos shouted, he didn't want to die here, he wanted to be living down on Lloyds new world. "I want to live."
"Well then," strangely enough the voice took on an almost friendly tone, "Why not live, why not go live with your son, I know how important family is, I wouldn't think you a coward."
"I promised him I would destroy the ex-sphere…" Kratos began.
"Since when have promises ment anything to you, you promised that you would help me save the world, you promised that you would help me resurrect Martel!"
"Mithos" Kratos whispered to the darkness.
"Bingo," replied the young blond haired angel as he stepped out of the darkness.
