AN: At the suggestion of littleking, I've decided to go ahead and do a chapter for all of the God Generals. I tried to write this the way Dist spoke, so sorry if it's a bit strange at times. I hope you like it anyway. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of the Abyss. Namco does.


Dist's first was when he was twenty.

Even at such an age and rank within the Order, when most had sullied themselves with the gore of battle, thru his many marvelous machines, he had managed against all odds to keep himself pure, clean, a perfect specimen of what real humanity was suppose to be. He was a marvel, something rare and beautiful that could only be found once, maybe twice, in a lifetime in this twisted world, a wonder that had been carefully preserved. He was the result of millenniums of careful genetic choice, a tedious process done by his ancestors with the very thought of him in mind, and because of it, he was perfection personified.

Of course, he had no illusions about himself. Dist was well aware that the only reason he had risen so quickly through the ranks of the Order was because of his mind, his best asset by far. The Order had needed him for his wondrous intellect, had practically come crawling to him in an attempt to make him join and fix their many fon machine-based problems, and while it had pained him to leave his dear friend Jade in the grasp of those brutes in the Malkuth military, the promise of his own lab and full permission to perform any side experiments he wanted had been far too tempting to resist. Now, with full reign over his realm and servants galor to do as he bid and remind him of just how superior he was, life couldn't possibly get any more perfect.

Though if his aides would just stop that infernal screaming, it might help some in reaching that next level.

Vile creases defiling his otherwise flawless skin, Dist slowly lowered the wrench he had been using to tune up his latest creation, a small artificial monster that could be used in training without permanently harming the newest of the recruits, allowing them to gain their feet before being thrown into a real battle. Sighing deeply, an even greater sign of the distress he currently found himself in, Dist gently patted his still sleeping child before rising from his plush work chair, his eyes already gleaming behind his glasses as he turned to follow the shrill and unpleasant sound down one of the many hidden passageways his lab had been created with, the entrance made to look like an innocent bookcase by a fonic glyph he had secretly inscribed onto the floor.

Although the walk was neither long nor strenuous, by the time Dist reached the source of the screams, a room well tucked into the back of his lab, kept secret by all precautions possible, he was both out of breath and slightly sweating, two states that were not becoming of someone of his importance. Swearing to himself that a chair that could move on its own would be his next greatest invention, he paused for a moment to collect himself before he announced his presence, careful that every hair was perfectly in place for his grand entrance.

"What, in the name of Lorelei, are you fools doing! I thought I told you to dispose of that thing hours ago!"

His mock rage well exaggerated, causing his people's faces to blanch as they saw him, it was still not enough to move them from their corner, their backs pressed hard against the wall as they tried to avoid any contact with the writhing creature that laid bound to the table before them.

Despite its deformed appearance, it was a replica that had the supposedly second greatest minds to grace this world cowering together, a malformed copy of one of their companions, though its original had died days ago, making the creature less than useless. It was the first replica of a living thing that had been made in over four years, ever since that infernal ban on the study of live organisms had been passed, and the results had been less than satisfying. Deciding to cut his losses before they became too great for him to handle, Dist had finally pulled the plug, leaving it to his servants to clean up their mess.

"I am surrounded by uncultured morons," Dist shouted in rage as he advanced towards them, his hands shaking in a quite convincing way, though inside he remained as calm, cool, and collected as ever. These fits he occasionally threw were nothing more then acts to keep his many minions in line, making those who were too dimwitted to love him fear him instead. Seeing that none of them were going to obey him, their fear of the still wailing monster overriding their fear of him, in a single, regrettable, moment of true emotion, Dist found this to be beyond unacceptable.

So, he acted.

Darting out his hand to grab one of the scalpels that laid on the table next to him, it was with a truly vicious gleam within his eyes that Dist turned to glare at the creature before him, his gaze severely displeased with the result his work had created. Where before there had only been perfection, now there were flaws, mistakes, imperfections that were taunting him, laughing at him with mismatched warped features that made up the pitiful excuse of a face. Without a single conscious decision as to how he was to dispose of the mocking thing, dist found himself at the monster's side, a deep, fatal, surgeon precise slit opening its neck into a macabre grin, causing a gasping gurgle to escape from the replica as it struggled to breathe.

Within a few minutes, the replica fell silent and still, prompting dist to finally turn towards his people, his formerly snow white skin and clothing now a gruesome scene of dried and stained blood that had splattered onto him. Although inwardly shaken by his actions, for it had been in that moment that his innocent name had finally been tainted by the blood of another beast, outwardly, he was calm, his eyes almost dead themselves as he slowly twirled the scalpel. Taking the few steps forwards that he needed, Dist slowly placed the small knife back on to its table, gently, almost lovingly, adjusting it so that it lined up perfectly with the others, before bending close to the still cowering aids that were supposed to be doing his dirty work for him. Staring deeply into each of their eyes, Dists's voice was deep when he finally spoke, just as deadly as his temper had turned out to be just moments ago.

"Clean it up. Now."

Watching with satisfaction as his servants finally fell tripping over themselves to fulfill his wishes, their fear of him now greater than it had ever been, Dist slowly made his way back towards the main room of his lab, his eyes locked onto the hand that had slit the replicas' throat. Surprisingly, it was steady, despite the series of tremors that were running down his back, threatening to send him curling into a ball in the corner, a sobbing mess until one of his superiors finally arrived to find him. Clenching it into a fist, his perfectly manicured nails digging through the glove into his palm, it was finally with a shrug that Dist went about his day.

Every rose needed thorns, and red roses were much more elegant than white ones anyway.