The fiery blade wrenched its way through the silvery metal, producing ungodly sounds as the alloys protested in vain against the blade's fatal edge. The sword burrowed deeper in deeper until finally emerging, having fully penetrated the mass of circuitry. The tip of the blade peeked out of the other end before retreating out. When the sword returned to its master's side, the former robot collapsed, having met its purpose of virtual death. Now it was simply scrap metal that could be salvageable for any number of purposes. Other weaponry, basic armor, smaller machines, there was no end to the possibilities.

There was more robotic slaughter to be done, however. Four more still remained, having apathetically watched their comrade be destroyed. Their programs realized that the challenger in the center of the arena needed an opponent, and all four rushed in, failing to confer and decide which should go first. Their challenger didn't particularly mind though. It was only a matter of seconds before each was lying in slightly less clean kills than the first, slashed into strips of the alloy created for magitechnology.

As he sheathed the Flamberge, Kratos could not truly let himself enjoy the victory. It had been so long since any of his robotic challengers had proved any threat. Even at their most lethal programs they couldn't last more than ten seconds. Kratos didn't really use this for practice though. His practice regimen required much more creative, organic opponents. The robots were instead a stress relief of sorts. It somehow felt satisfying to break Cruxis's toys.

Yet Kratos had not procured the relief he had sought in his sparring. His violent outburst had not distracted him from the recent events. Yggdrasill was still grinning from the spectacle the Chosen of Tethe'alla had been so unfortunate to create. Once more perspective replaced passion, and an act of petty revenge against humans was no longer a symbolic act. Kratos realized that he had basically descended into a temper tantrum, not able to accept what had happened.

As he continued to rationalize his actions Kratos cradled his head in his hands before sighing in exasperation. He had become so emotional as of late, so prone to an instability that frightened him. He had been the calm and collected warrior who never lost his cool and always used his common sense. Emotions and personal feelings had always been secondary to what mattered. Maybe there had been something wrong with that too, but his current state of being bordered on mental illness. It all stemmed back to Anna, much like almost everything else nowadays. Like it or not, Kratos was still buried deep in his past.

"Lord Kratos…" the prim voice made the inquiry without showing any emotion, "would you like for us to…"

"No. I'm done for today." Kratos dismissed the angel without any hesitation. He already knew what it was going to ask, it was programmed singularly for the task of supplying high-ranking members of Cruxis with things to train against.

The angel turned away from Kratos and began to float off towards its next destination. It was disturbing, how mechanical and precise the angel's actions were. There wasn't even thought behind them. The angel probably didn't know why it was even doing what is was doing; it simply understood the how. The angel never even bothered to question its actions. It simply did them because it was told to. This was the glorious Age of Lifeless Beings.

"Wait." Kratos called out to the angel, who promptly stopped and turned around to face the Seraphim of Cruxis. Kratos approached the angel and peered through the golden visor that covered its face and into its eyes. The eyes were simply blank, without any feeling but instead a constant apathy. In fact, they seemed to be in a state beyond apathy. The angel did not flinch, was not remotely uncomfortable as Kratos invaded its personal space and stared at it. Kratos shook his head and unsheathed his sword, holding the tip of the blade gently at the angel's ribs. The angel did not make the slightest movement to try and preserve its life. "You may go." Kratos bowed his head and waited for the angel to turn his back. As he once more saw the soulless movement, a sudden impulse came over him. Such robotic movement, guided by program and not the mind…

Maybe he would scrap a few more robots after all.

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"Kratos…" Yggdrasill adopted a disciplinary tone, "why have you done this?" Yggdrasill's green eyes conveyed not hatred or anger, but simple curiosity. However, if Kratos could not find a valid reason for his actions, or at the least valid to Yggdrasill, the chances of this ambiance continuing were infinitesimal.

"Well…" Kratos struggled to find the reason before gesturing at the mauled angels, "they were…"

"Kratos, if you kill a half dozen angels, I expect a reason. This carnage of my people is not allowable." Yggdrasill's eyes narrowed in affirmation of Kratos's previous thought, yet Kratos simply chuckled at the blatant hypocrisy. Once more Yggdrasill assumed his questioning face.

"They were disrespectful." Kratos blurted out.

"Disrespectful?"

"They failed to address me properly." Kratos informed Yggdrasill nonchalantly. It didn't take too long for Yggdrasill to realize that Kratos meant they failed to refer to Kratos as 'Lord' Kratos. To Yggdrasill, that made the transgression excusable. He could understand where Kratos was coming from. It still infuriated him when people outside the ranks of the Four Seraphim called him Mithos.

"Defects." Yggdrasill cast a final glance the angels' way before beginning to walk out of the room, motioning for Kratos to follow. It took a moment for Kratos to compose himself after such a casual attitude towards a slaughter, and the realization that he himself was so casual about it also unnerved him. Deciding it best not to give into emotions again though, he simply shrugged and walked briskly to catch up to Yggdrasill.

"Now, Kratos, you know I try very hard not to work you too much." Kratos braced himself for the oncoming assignment. "But it seems that something urgent has come up, and it is of vital importance." Kratos snorted lightly at the notion that he was the only person Yggdrasill trusted enough.

"Leave it to Yuan, I'm sure he'd happily do it."

"That's one of the problems. Yuan is busy with a different assignment. If he could though, I'm sure he would, seeing as he was the one who brought the matter to my attention." Kratos swore under his breath, realizing Yuan had simply dropped an assignment on Kratos as part of their ongoing feud.

"And what could be so important?"

"It would seem that a group of individuals was inspired by our… 'assassination attempt' on the Chosen." Kratos came to a sudden halt. An attempt on the Chosen's life? The matter suddenly became quite serious. "I see I have your attention now.

"The plot is of Renegade design. They sent one of their members over to Tethe'alla, and Yuan stumbled onto the plot while investigating the theft of some of our Rheairds. He could not successfully track down the assassin, so I'm leaving the matter to you. I'm putting a great deal of faith in you, and I'm asking you not to let me down. Can I trust you, Kratos?" There was not a moment's hesitation in between Yggdrasill's question and Kratos's reply.

"Indeed, Lord Yggdrasill."

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Kratos pulled the purple glove over his hand, letting the elastic band snap onto his wrist after the article was fully mounted on his hand. His ensemble as a commoner was now complete. He had traded his stark white, jewel-encrusted Cruxis uniform for the outfit he had worn so very long ago, even before he had met Mithos. The purple outfit was simple in design, made not to protect but instead to maximize flexibility. To Kratos, allowing a sword to pass his own blade was an unforgivable mistake, and death was called for. Even in his own time most people hadn't bought into this philosophy, preferring the more idealistic belief that no one had to die in battle. Nonsensical ideology, really.

Kratos checked the sword at his hip. There was something to be desired from this sword, as it simply was not of the same quality as the Flamberge. Yet Kratos was to be an unassuming mercenary, and carrying such a fine blade would draw unnecessary attention. Instead he would have to wield the simple steel blade, though it was at least good steel.

As he prepared to leave, Kratos commenced in his pre-mission ritual. One brief glance at the locket he hid under his clothes, untying and retying his bootlaces, and then a quick look at the corner Noishe once occupied before remembering he was no longer there. Finally there was a slight shaking of his head, and the angel of Cruxis headed out to immerse himself in a world he'd rather forget.

End Chapter

Author's Note- Public service announcement time, folks. First of all, for anyone reading this, I figure I'll thank you right now for taking the time to do so. Next up, if you're a Red Sox fan, I'm currently laughing at the game 7 heartbreaker you'll all likely face. I've got two words for those keeping the faith: Johnny Pesky (who, by the way, was not at fault). On a more important note, I'll be setting up a blurb in my bio which outlines when my updates to this should come. If you want to continue reading this, I suggest moseying on over…