A/N: Anna needs to come back to life or something. Really. It's so dang depressing.
M is for Murder
Kratos has killed before. He's murdered in cold blood. He should be able to move, should be able to do the same now. And he knows it's different, and that it can't be anywhere near as easy as the other times, but his body's reluctance to move frightens him almost as much as the idea of the act itself. He's always been the merciless soldier, the one who does anything he's told, but now he loves Anna—loves her so much it hurts to think—and he can't do this.
He has to.
The thing that used to be Anna is screeching and moving toward him so fast and he isn't sure where Lloyd is anymore. The rain is pulsing down around them in torrents. He thinks he hears Anna's voice, thinks he hears his name being called in desperation, but then it's gone and there's just a monster charging at him.
He has to do this.
He pulls out his sword, and moves to strike.
End