Okay, so you may be wondering, "What on earth is this? This isn't the next chapter!" Well, this is the author being lazy, but in a slightly productive way. Essentially, yours truly is currently devoting most of her time and brain power to exams right now and therefore has absolutely no time to edit/write/brainstorm. Seeing as I'm currently finished with "Part I", I thought it therefore alright to put in something "extra"- an appendix of sorts- before I move on. (You can expect more of these "extras" in the future, just warning you now.)

Basically, what you're about to read is a series of blurbs from various character viewpoints on what I call "The Incident of Fourteen Years Ago". This might be overdone, but whatever. I'm sure no one has ever bothered to really write Rodyle.

Also, because I am like that, these are in chronological order.

EXTRA LOAD: The Incident of Fourteen Years Ago

-In the Cold-

Cold there is something cold in my stomach oh my god it's his oh my god Kratos what did I oh no your face no I'm so sorry I didn't mean to no let me tell you let me tell you no don't look like that I want you to be happy you need to be happy no

damn it

I can't move there is a burning in my chest and oh god blood is everywhere this is me this is me dying oh god oh god no Lloyd I can't see you where are you my vision is blurring light is fading wet rain rain why am I looking at rain Kratos hurry up find him oh god I'm so sorry oh god Kratos please don't be angry I had to you had to there was nothing we could do

Footsteps oh my god it's him Kratos is that you I'm so sorry...

-A Continuation of That Funny Dream Sequence Several Chapters Ago-

"Leave him to me," Forcystus says. It is an order. His men know it. "I want to speak to him alone.

His men retreat into the distance. He hears their footsteps as they plod slowly backwards in the muddy earth, melting into the underbrush. He waits until they are all gone before speaking again.

"Why?"

The man in front of him remains silent, right hand still held unwavering in the air. The side of Aurion's face is to him, and the rain has caused his hair to stick to his cheek, blocking sight of his eyes.

The other hand is curled around a boy, whose brown hair Forcystus can just barely see poking out from Aurion's shoulder. The boy is sleeping.

"Lord Aurion."

"We are alone?" It is a long time before Aurion speaks. His voice is hoarse.

"We are."

Aurion's hand falls to the hilt of his sword. Forcystus raises his gun arm. The machine opens its maw wide. Energy crackles threateningly. "Don't try anything funny."

"You find this funny?"

Forcystus does not reply directly, but he props up his gun arm, preparing to fire.

"Leave, Forcystus. You can try, but you will not win."

"I have men."

"They can try as well."

He understands in a flash that Aurion is in the throes of desperation. The man did something awful to Kvar; Forcystus knows that if he pushes his luck, he might end in a similar fashion.

"You would risk your son," he observes.

Aurion's left hand tightens around the boy on his shoulder, and Forcystus knows that he has struck something.

"My men and I may die, but do not expect either one of you to come out of this affair unscathed."

There is no response from Aurion. He continues to stand there in the rain like a statue, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword, the other wrapped around his son.

"Do not throw his life away for freedom."

"It is for him that I fight. My life means nothing at all."

"But then what sort of life do you submit him to? A boy will not survive in this reality by himself." I am getting soft. Humans are trash, and yet he pities this man, who dares to stand in the rain as still as death. That is why he talks with his mouth instead of his gun this time.

The clouds pass and sunlight barely begins to shine into the clearing. Forcystus can hear his men shifting in the brush, getting impatient. He sends a quick glare in their general direction as he moves his hand to find a better grip: his arm is growing heavy.

"Time has run out," Aurion says with a soft, slow smile. "Do as you wish."

Forcystus takes initiative and signals his men.

It is a long trudge back to the ranch. Aurion walks as if a machine. His grip on his son is unfailing even though about five troopers have (gently) tried to pry his fingers off.

I must meet this man again, Forcystus thinks to himself.

-In Which a Yes-(Wo)man Attempts to Articulate Herself-

Pronyma has no words; she agrees with everything her lord says, from the vehement condemnations to the bitter tirades on betrayal. In the end there can only be one conclusion:

Lord Aurion was a fool.

Lord Yggdrasil will judge him accordingly.

And Pronyma will laugh, for too rarely does a fool truly pay for his idiocy.

When she hears that Lord Aurion's son has been allowed to live in Derris Kharlan- sacred land- she screams in outrage.

Heresy!

She vows then and there to ensure that Lord Aurion receives his due; she will never forgive him for paining her god.

-GRAGH! (In a Patrician and Pompous Way)-

There is one moment of pure peace as I wake before everything is shattered, and I return to a living hell. The machines- how they irritate me so! - dart about me; cold metal brushes against my skin in feeble attempts to revive it. My hackles are raised, and yet this wolf can do nothing more than sit and suffer.

I howl my rage: a flailing arm knocks instruments from their tray; a well-placed fist sends a worthless lackey flying. Lightning strikes from the heavens those who would stay to receive it. Pain, pain, pain! Pain is coursing through my veins with every move I make as bandages trap me in this coffin of recovery and rest. I want to be free; I want to make the human bleed! Yet he has his seraph's mercy, while I, the loyal one, pay handsomely for my sacrifice.

The cloth wound tightly around my face suffocates; hands reach and rip bandages from their resting places. The things are stained a dull crimson, a dismal proof of my valiance. I reach for the shining, silver tray (now empty) beside me and hold it up, daring myself, unwavering, to gaze upon a hero's visage.

Burns score my flesh, leaving a tragic tale of rage and fury across my face. Dried blood cracks and crumbles as my mouth curves into a snarl. This! This is the reward of loyalty! I toss the tray away, sending it skittering across the floor. Madness.

My hands shake; they want his neck!

-This is Purely a Celebration of My Genius-

Before I say anything further, it should first be made clear that I care absolutely nothing for the entire affair involving Lord Aurion. The Angelus Project did not involve me; in fact, I consider it only a trivial, experimental matter that was more a lark than science. Therefore, ergo, et cetera, et cetera, I have no reason to care.

Before I say anything further again, however, it should be made clear that I care greatly for the results of this entire brouhaha, although, to be honest, there is only one result that concerns me. It is the fate of my colleague.

Kvar is a bloody fool, quite literally. He might consider himself an intellectual, but out of the two of us, only one is truly wise. Clearly the events which have transpired have proven that I am that wise one.

His officers speak with hushed tones when I inquire about the Cardinal's well-being. "He has been refusing treatment," they say, or "With all due respect, sir, I think it would be best to leave him alone." I wave them off, for they are neither medical experts nor Kvar experts.

It is safe to say that I am the only one who is both.

I walk into his room, and there he lies, tired from his tantrums. The room itself is a mess: machinery lies sparking pathetically around him; monitors hum; bloody bandages litter his bed and vicinity. The Cardinal, though, is perfection: he is exhausted, both mentally and physically. This is my chance. This is my moment. Everything has been leading to this time, this opportunity. Here is my partner in crime, finally in a position to listen to the voice of reason.

"Kvar," I call. He stirs and opens one eye, glaring as usual.

"Your presence offends me." He attempts to ignore me, but no, I must persist.

"Lord Kvar," I say cajolingly, walking to the side of his bed, "surely old friends should greet each other more amiably."

"I am not in the mood."

"I understand how you feel."

And in this moment, he is mine. "You lie," he says, laughing and then coughing as the motion tears at wounds yet unhealed. Still, I can tell from his voice that he is uncertain and off-balance.

"Lord Kvar, I understand everything. You sit here, feeling betrayed. Your lord and master offered amnesty to the one who wronged you, and yet you remain here unvisited and uncared for. To Lord Yggdrasil, you are thinking, the Desians must be worse than trash, lower than humans. How can that be? You are crushed."

I see in his eyes that I am right. "You think too much of your abilities," he says, a subconscious attempt to subvert my influence.

I sink my claws in further. "Shall I make it simple, for you?" When he does not answer I continue. "It is an easy matter: you wish for justice."

This catches his attention. "And you would know how to acquire this?"

I smile, as if in sympathy. "There is something which will give you what you want- an ancient power that could bring anyone you wish to their knees, begging your forgiveness- even Yggdrasil."

His eyes shine. Kvar is won. "Tell me more," he orders.

"It is known colloquially as 'Thor's Hammer'…" I can do naught but oblige him.

-Pragmatism at Its Best-

Yuan was not above playing dirty. Oh no, ethics were sometimes the farthest thing from his mind. Still, even he frowned when he heard the kinds of tactics Cardinal Kvar had used to bring Kratos down. Forcing people to kill their loved ones? Threatening women and children? Honestly, what was the world coming to?

But he did not continue to lie to himself as he sat down in his office in Triet to adjust plans accordingly. In the end, Kvar had used the girl first and had sufficiently "exhausted" her, to euphemize her death. It was a shame, for although Yuan had never planned to kill her directly or indirectly, he had counted on her as leverage for Origin. (He and Kvar thought alike concerning Anna; the truth disgusted him.)

There was a son, however, so not all was lost. There was a son who would now take his mother's place in Yuan's blueprints for world salvation. Yuan had one last chance, and now he had to be doubly vigilant to ensure that this time things would go correctly. Yes, this time things would go correctly.

On the sheet of parchment he crossed out the word "Anna" with care and replaced it with "Lloyd". He stared at the name shining in black ink. For one brief moment he thought of that pitiable family, a family of pawns created only to fulfill a predestined purpose. It was a shame, but this was for something far greater than any of the Aurions could ever hope to achieve. In death they would be immortalized as martyrs.

Fact 1: Pronyma's blurb is exactly 100 words long.

Fact 2: Can you believe it? I enjoyed writing Kvar's the most.

I promise next week will be a real update, so put those pitchforks away.