Chapter 8

Her hair gleamed in the light. It served as a false halo of silver, given to her by the star light. The light bleached her, made her pale, her face was masked in shadows, her eyes and lips tinted with silver high lights. She looked dead, and if it weren't for the fall or rise of her breast he'd had thought her dead. It was disturbing; this woman once so filled with life looked like a corpse. She was a perfect mate for death, this dead woman. Her silence was also fitting; it made her blend in this city that fed off of silence. The crystal walls around them would have shattered at anything above a human's whisper, or at least that's how it seemed. She lay, her face expressionless, her brown hair fanned out behind her. Woven through each lock were beads of moon and star light. For all her stillness she was magnificent. The wear of her journey had been washed away by gentle hands, her clothes made of the best quality. In her own stillness she was beautiful, but compared to what she had been this beauty was a sham. Once the eyes had been open and while they were a plain brown hue they had gleamed with life.

That fiery life that fate had done it's damned best to quench. Yet despite fate's hand her eyes mocked death, had mocked it in all its form and had come out of it all the stronger. Not so recently they had gazed at Death's champion and chosen him for her own. Now it seemed as if she would spend eternity caught between the void that separated the living from the dead.

Derris Fa Sith...

The angel of Death...

That was what he was, he who sat by her side. Tending to her needs, feeding her what he could, and forcing water down her throat when he must. He held her limp form in his arms for hours, maybe even days, whispering words that he hoped would bring her back. Time was nothing to him now, once he thought himself above time and its petty whims.

Now he knew that was not the case.

One could not achieve that ultimate distance between ones self and the real world willingly. Time meant caring about the effects that it brought on your self and those around you, only despair could bring such apathy onto someone. For the longest time he had held his sword over her, ready to deal the killing strike. He imagined her essence trapped in a cold, lifeless void, her voice crying out for release. He would place his sword over her heart, and look down at her. That was his mistake, his error, and his once sure sword arm would waver. He came to realize that he could never make himself do it, on the dawn of such realization he sheathed his weapon and sank to his knees besides her bed. He had already spent his prayers on her, all of them a human could waste in one life, yet none of them were answered. He wanted her alive, he wanted the bastard who did this to her dead, he wanted the bastard alive so that he may wreck more damage on his miserable hide.

Yet he only had to look in the mirror to see the person at fault.

For all the fault lay on him.

"If I hadn't been so rash, so angry, I could have done more, or better yet I could have avoided the fight that lead to this."

When he fell into that mood Noishe would leave the room. His own pet it seemed was worn out with Kratos' endless regrets. Noishe was the only thing that kept him sane. Noishe was also the only thing that kept his sword away from him. When he fell into the darkest of moods, when he contemplated initiating his own end the protozoan would leap into action. Somewhere in his endless life span his "dog" had learned how to steal. Kratos would find himself bowled over, sword ripped from its sheath, and all his other swords would disappear from the walls of the room. By the time he'd gotten over his shock Noishe would be laying on a nest of sheathed swords. Any attempt to take those swords back would lead to a bite.

Noishe had bit him at least six times since they had made it to Derris Kharlan. No amount of threatening, begging, or groveling, would make the protozoan get up. Angry, disgusted, Kratos had considered going to Mithos, if the boy got wind of this he'd kill Kratos and Anna, doing what the seraphim could not get himself to do. Noishe unfortunately got wind of the mad scheme first, and kept Kratos from leaving his quarters the only way he could.

He had threatened to rip Anna's throat out with his own fangs.

That had froze Kratos in his tracks, he stared at the protozoan for a long time, just taking in the sight of Anna's throat being oh-so gently wrapped in that maw full of fangs. Tears, human tears, had been pouring down that canine face. When the seraphim released the door knob Noishe left Anna alone, hopped off of the bed and went to the small kitchen. There Noishe went to his bowl, and with a paw scooted it over in Kratos' direction.

He just threatened my wife, and now he wants dinner...

Well why shouldn't I, Anna would have disapproved of me treating Noishe like this anyways...

The last thought froze him in mid step. If he centered his life on that thought he was admitting that Anna was dead. He was giving up, and letting her sleep for eternity. Just like Martel and Yuan. He'd have no life, he'd just linger in this lair of his, tending to someone who he knew could never get better. For a moment he considered it, and he considered Yuan in a new light. He now knew what it felt like to be separated from someone he loved, someone who his soul was one with. He knew the emptiness, he lived it. And he could just go on living it, letting it build, coil inside of him, and consume him till death at last came. Or he could fight it.

"Anna would have done it; she'd have challenged Mithos had it been necessary. Hell, if she knew what Mithos was doing I'd have to tie her down to the bed to make her not go after him."

For the first time in weeks a chuckle came out of his throat. At that sound Noishe whined, it was a hopeful sound. It was as if the protozoan was praying that Kratos would not fall into another fit of hysterics.

"Noishe, guard Anna, no one is to enter but me." The dog whined, then looked to the bedroom which Anna lay. "No boy, I... I need to do some research. cruxis crystals... I don't know anything about them; it seems as if I need to find out."

Noishe's answering bark was a welcome sound in the stillness of the room, in the stillness which was the heartbeat of Derris Kharlan.

"I'll be back in an hour or two." He reached down, stroked the protozoan's fuzzy head. His bloody hands fouled the silver fur, but Noishe didn't seem to mind. He only looked up at Kratos with his liquid brown eyes, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, there was hope in them. A hope that was also in him, but it was only a sliver, a sliver compared to the absolute trust that was Noishe's eyes.

center /center

Kratos went to the outskirts of town, or what served as both town and capital in Derris Kharlan. Unlike human cities the buildings of learning were not exalted, were not put in the center of there world, but rather on the outskirts. He lived, as best as the word applied, on the most western side of the city. As far from Mithos' castle as he could, much to the half elf's disappointment. Yuan refused to live here, when it was nessicary that he be in Derris Kharlan for a number of years he would move in with Kratos. It was strange really, such gestures as sleeping, or eating, were followed by both men when they lived under the same roof. They acted as normal as they could when they were alone, and when they were living together. It was only when Mithos was about that they acted as the half elf lad wanted. They acted like cold automations, with no will, and little voice. At first it had been a joke by Yuan to act like that, now... Now it had become a diseased pleasure for Mithos, and so they continued the act. Neither of them dared to tick Mithos off, such a gesture would have lead to instant death. What Kratos had done went beyond merle ticking Mithos off. He could well imagine the hatred that the boy would level towards the Seraphim, could well imagine Mithos' actions. Kratos had a little slip up before; he had gone to his old hometown one too many times in a life span. He had been remembered.

Some random flower girl had recalled his face, perhaps he had lingered over some bloom too long. Regardless she had remembered him, and she had said something to him. It had been so innocent, her query about weather or not he had visited this place ten years ago. The scent of the sea, the tingle of the bloom under his hands, he had been distracted. He had let nostalgia take him in its grasp, and had been in the fog of his older simpler days. He had told her a sliver of truth. Yes he had been here a few years ago. It wasn't ten, he wasn't i that /i old, it had to have been three or perhaps four years since his last visit. She had said that he carried his coming age well, and he had laughed at her words. When he had walked through the village's square the woman had decided that she wanted an escort, humored he had walked her home.

She was married, she told him as they walked, she was in truth using him a little. Her husband always got free with his money when he was jealous, an attempt to "buy her back". There was a basket maker from Izoli and she wanted to get one of her works... Kratos had nodded his understanding, had even consented to allow her to give him a peck on the cheek before she slipped inside. The whole incident was so innocent, so human, that he had allowed himself to enjoy it. That had been a mistake. Silver blue eyes met his own when he stepped into the square for the second time that day. White robes had gleamed in the sunlight as the boy, who was not a boy, glared at him from across the city's heart. Kratos knew then that he should leave the city, it was a silent warning he was trying Mithos' patience. Kratos though had been enjoying himself, had decided to stay another night. Even went so far as to rent a room in the inn. Mithos had been waiting for him in his room, Kratos' meal sitting in his lap.

"I make you what you are and this is the thanks I receive? Or have you forgotten what you are?"

"Don't lecture me boy," Mithos' face had twisted in rage. "Don't ever think you have that right. So what if I enjoy an evening or two away from duty? Yuan also takes little breaks, as do your pet Desians. It keeps us in good humor, away from each other's throats, and that serves your ends."

"You mock what you have become. Food, new clothes, women, come now Kratos. You don't need those things."

"She is only an acquaintance Mithos, only someone who I talked to. As for the rest, yes I don't need them. But sometimes we do things that aren't needful. It is one of the things that keep us sane."

"So you then need humans..." The boy had paused, looked at the stew in his lap. Then he had smiled, had smiled a tooth only smile. "Yes, I understand, and I apologize, I stepped over my authority old friend." This had sounded so much like the old Mithos that Kratos had blinked. It was as if the ghost of his old ally had peaked out to say those words. "Here, you might as well enjoy your meal." Mithos then had handed him the stew bowl, save that instead of food it held solid ice. Startled Kratos dropped the bowl, and for one second the crystallized food fell to the earth. It then shattered into a thousand little pieces, and scattered around the room like frightened mice. When Kratos had turned to confront the half elf he found that Mithos was gone.

That morning the air was alive with angelic mana. Furious Kratos had followed the power to its source, and had found Mithos. With a gesture the half-elf had frozen Kratos' body, and turned him so that he could see the village. Then the head of Cruxis had cast another spell. Waters from the ocean had come surging forth, a tansumi born from mana and hate came into being, and it flattened the town. He was mercifully far enough away that he couldn't hear the screams, but then it had been before dawn after all. Not too many people had been awake long enough to scream.

"Never forget what you are Kratos. Never, or I'll do this again, and again, until you have the heart fit to be Death himself."

center /center

Derris Kharlan was much like that bowl of long ago food. It was so perfect, so realistic, but its heart was ice. Everything seemed steady, calm, perfect. Yet one flaw, one drop, and the rotted core would be revealed. He walked through the silver streets, passed walls of thinnest crystal without a glance. The soaring designs, which pulled the eye to heaven and its starry sky, meant nothing to him. With a slight grimace he called forth his wings, and walked along the hall of mirrors. He trailed blood behind him, but paid the droplets no heed. A few angels who just floated there took him in, than turned away. They hadn't been ordered to remember him, and after they thought of how disgusting it was that he bled, they would forget.

Age of lifeless beings, it was more like Age of Feathered Idiots.

A thin smile, more of a grimace, touched his face. And the king of the nation of feathered idiots was none other then Mithos himself. Anna would love the irony of that. He stepped off the edge of the walkway, and with a flick of his wings steered himself to the platform below the one he had stood on. The public information center's one computer was on, as it always was. With a sigh he considered his wings; considered sheathing them, then scratched that idea. Having his wings "in" in the City of Angels would draw more attention then him leaving them out.

It was time to get to work...

Blood and sand now covered his hands. In his left he held a cruxis crystal, and in his right he held the new Key Crest. Kratos stroked Anna's hair. The artificial sunlight which streamed into the room through a slot in the ceiling was Kratos' way of knowing that when Anna woke up she would at least be able to see. He would not allow his wife to wake up in the dark. He did not want her first reaction to him to be fear. The time had come, he knew it was as perfect as his skill would allow. With a sigh Kratos unbuttoned the front of Anna's tunic, and then placed the crest to her skin. There was a flash of silver light, it seemed as if he could see the skin grew around the symbol and neatly cover up most of the metal. After a few moments Kratos gave the metal a tug, one that if Anna was not asleep would have caused her agony. No response, no looseness, Noishe whined at his feet and Kratos paused a moment to give his "pet" a scritch.

Now came the dangerous part.

With the crest to her skin the loose crystal on Anna's throat would go wild. He would have to pull it out and place the new one in the crest simultaneously. If he didn't, she'd die.

It was the only way.

He moved as fast as he could. Pulled one crystal out and slid the other in its slot as fast as he could. For one long moment he looked at Anna, she had shuddered as the new crystal was put in. Then for one horrible moment her breathing stopped. Then, thank the higher powers, it started again. It was not the rythmatic breath of a comatose woman, but rather the breath of someone beginning to wake up. When she opened her eyes they were glazed, she yawned, and took him in. She stared with little comprehension of his black ringed eyes, his filthy tangled hair, his pale drawn face.

"You look like Hell." She whispered, then stretched and scooted over. "Come to bed, It'll... It'll be better in the morning."

Startled he sat on the corner of the bed, and she moaned. Wrapped her hand around his wrist and tugged. He allowed himself to be lead onto the bed. As he lay besides her she smiled at him, then wrapped her arms around him, tangled her fingers in his wings. Then she drew him to her, and snuggled in his open arms. He embraced her, and his wings, of there own accord wrapped around them both. A shield against all the world. In the silver-blue light of his mana signature he gazed at Anna, closed his eyes, and for the first time in a millennia fell asleep.