Review responses:

Inguz: Thanks for the praise, and I've been reading your fic and find it to be filled with very well developed character... I'm just so lazy about updating my FF account since I have an archive of all my fav writers stories in a file on my home comp. When I have time I'll put something in depth on your review section.

GameGubeGirl1: Umm well this chap will dis-illusion you on where he goes I think... Think of his destination and actions as a surprise I guess.

ArkNavy: Know and hate Yggdrasil? Well in my case it's love to hate.

Memumbo: Well you have the ability to kick Mithos' tail if you have a save point right before the final battle.

As always enjoy the new chapter

Chapter 4

Recalling an oath

A wave of motion propelled it forward, it dragged it's huge leaf shrouded bulk on a multitude of stubby vine shaped limbs. He couldn't see the beast's true head, but recognized the mess of gelatinous substance wiggling comicly between the lumps that looked like shoulder blades as being the false head. After eating a meal the monster would withdraw it's true head, and the blob on top was in truth part of the beasts bulging throat. It's charged him, head with drawn, little legs throwing it forward. It was too large to sidestep, too large to turn aside, yet it was no true challenge. He threw his borrowed shield to the leaf strewn earth, and met the charge with one of his own. He leapt, landed on those writhing vines, kicked off of them and with his free hand grabbed a fist fold of the foliage that armored the damn thing. He'd have cast a fire spell, incinerate the beast, but it had just eaten, or rather was trying to, so that the being trapped inside that gullet would go up in flames along with the beast, he dared not let that happen. Growling he ripped out leaf and gripped ridges in the exoskeleton, slowly pulling himself up, ignoring the sap hued blood that was pouring over him. At last he was by the mound, he found his feet and lifted his blade. Grimly he turned it over in his hands, till the point was parallel to the earth, and he set it's tip till it lined up with the center of the blob head, he lifted the blade as high as he could and with all the power of a seraphim behind the blow thrust down.

X

"Are you goin' to explain that bark and sap all over you?" Issia growled, waving a spoon in front of his nose. Kratos stared at her his lips nether curling nor opening. Disturbed by the silent intent stare of the man before her Issa turned onto her husband. Given much of the same she grumbled, growled, and bandaged them both up rather roughly. She left, muttering something about chicken soup for them both till the wounds healed. A truly terrorfying threat from Syt's stance, since Kratos couldn't eat Issia would just make the man take in a mouthful, and Syt would be eating two bowls of his beloved wife's not so excellent cooking. She stomped off to the kitchen grumbling about the stupidity of men, and Syt for once agreed with her. Going on Kratos on a monster hunt had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but he'd do it again, and again, so that the man wasn't left alone for too long.

"Never thought I'd be sain' this... But I be guessin' that wolves are the minnows of the monster sea."

"Indeed..." Kratos was giving him a pained look, blaming himself for his old friend nearly getting eaten perhaps, though it might have been phantom pains from getting throw through that maple tree when the monster's head re-emerged. The source of half the sap, lucky for them both Issia had yet to figure that the orange sap was not sap at all, but the tree-bug monster's blood.

"My bet is yon vine legs has a damn nasty case of food poisonin' now!" Syt smiled. "Damn thing ate my old tarrin' tunic."

The old Kratos would have laughed, cracked a smile, this one only looked even more guilty. It was horrible, seeing someone dead when they weren't, seeing empty eye better suited to a dead person look back at you. The most horrible thing right next to that Mithos bastard, at least that's how it was in Syt's book. Kratos had, much to the Syt's family shock, come to them a month ago, he had booked rooms like a normal client and it was after hours when Syt had been able to free himself form his duties and check in on the man. Kratos had been lying down, wings drawn, fanned out behind him, staring at the ceiling ,it was then Syt had first really seen those dead eyes. He'd not let his horror show, never would he do that to one of his closest friends, but after when he'd gone to Issa he'd really spoken his mind. They'd killed him, that Yggdrasil Mithos bastard might as well had driven his blade into Kratos' heart, done the seraphim a favor. It was a horrible man who thought those things of his oldest friend, but it was in Syt's mind the honest truth. And if nothing else, horrible or not, Syt was an honest man. The fisherman now innkeeper groaned and protested when he saw Kratos rip off his bandages, Issa was going to kill him, Syt knew that was certain when the seraphim set a glowing hand over his wounds and made them knit themselves close.

Or rather he did so with the large slash across his chest, he left the small number of cuts and bruises on his arms untended.

"Aren't you going to patch the rest of ya up?" Syt asked meekly, he tried not to cringe when those black pits for eyes regarded him.

"No." Kratos whispered, utterly still and dead, he was the perfect picture of the age of lifeless beings.

"You should, Issa's gunna just patch you up again when she sees you all bloody armed you know."

"She may do what she pleases." Came the response from those dead eyes, now empty of guilt and pain they were truly dead. "I will be in my room." Kratos bowed stiffly then turned on his heel and began to go out Syt's private room to his own.

"Ru- er Kratos," The human coughed over his mistake, he'd not meant to call the man by his false name. "Ya best be rememberin' somthin' my friend, and best be rememberin' it good. This here ain't yon feather head's place, we don't be bowin' and all that crap under my roof, understand? You see any yon feather heads, yourself included, doin' any such formal Tethe'alla crap under my roof and you give them a sharp kick for me."

Kratos turned, looked at him, and for just a second the man Syt admired, who Anna had loved, seemed to peak out and smile at him. Then the dead look was back, the expressionless mask to hide more tears then any man could weep was back. The seraphim left an aching Syt by himself, and with the pain keeping him up until Issa came back with that soup and a gel Syt had plenty of time to think, so think he did.

Xxxx xxx xxx

A laugh, high pitched and sweet to the ears, genuine and true to his experienced ears rang out through the air. He sat, a cat had been dropped off in his lap to keep him company by the Syt's second eldest child, and they ran about in the square playing with all the other children. Under the gaze of the guardian creature's incased in stone they played, the guardian's blessings falling from there marble lips in form of a never ending stream of water. The water and laughter made a gentle song for him to silently absorb, the cat's purrs under his gloved hands served as a sometimes claw fulled painful counterpart. A handful of parents watched there children for they were uncomfortable with the black clad somber man and his unearthly stillness and never ending scrutiny of their children. He would never had hurt any of those children, had in fact saved one from drowning during one of his previous watches. None of the children came up to him, perhaps warned off by there parents, well except the Syt's daughter. Seeing him looking lonely she'd dropped Miss Purrs into his lap and was now involved in a game of hide and go seek. His mind numb in it's pain he watched the game play on, bleed into another, and another, until parents swept in and picked up there tired children. Cheerful voices rang out telling stories, one harried father with three daughters was being very firmly dragged off in the direction of the market place. The sight could not bring a smile to his lips, none of the children's play ever did, but it brought a semi-balance of peace to his mind. He closed his eyes, lolled his head back indifferent that his untamed locks of auburn were draped over the inner edge of the ever flowing fountain.

Stupid place to put a bench, he mused as the wet tips of his hair stuck to his skin sending small rivulets of water down his back. Thin slender fingers neither hot nor cold, with no pulse behind them they were as lifeless as he felt. Feeling the scrutiny of others he sighed, forced himself to not drift in the thoughtless abyss that every angel harbored in his soul. Cracking an eye open he stared at Syt's daughter, she was a pretty thing with cat green eyes and chocolate brown locks. She was favoring him with a look he was unfamiliar with. She was looking at him as if he wasn't quite right in the head. How astute, he didn't feel all quite right in the head.

"Watcha doing with your head in the water Uncle Ruian?"

Uncle, God's he was the worst one in history no doubt of that. He wasn't even a good father. He had blotched that role so bad that his child and wife, his soul, were dead. His heart constricted, but he managed to keep it from his face.

"I took a nap I guess."

She winced at the sound of his voice, it was harsh, scratched, and that was for a very good reason. After she had died he had not taken a bite of food or drop of water, and because he was the most reliant upon... mortal means of sustience out of the seraphim not drinking or eating did hell to his voice. Luckily it effected nothing else, or perhaps that was the greatest shame, he would not starve to death and so another means of meeting his love yet again were cut off from him.

"That's a silly place to take a nap Uncle."

She seemed unfazed by his unblinking scrutiny, though the few other remaining parents were starting to look amongst themselves in askance on who was going to save the little girl before he snapped and ripped her limb from limb. She hopped up on the bench or tried, he gently wheeled her up, set her besides him, though she looked rather like she wanted to be in his lap. Perhaps she recalled when he'd set Lloyd on his knee, and while the woman -or rather she had cooked- were making dinner he'd spend an hour or so telling them all tales of days long gone. He had no stories, only an empty pit inside that gnawed upon his mind, his heart. Bits of that danced in his eyes, glimpses of that abyss, and the little girl did not see it.

"Perhaps it is."

Miss Purrs yawned a cat's yawn with needle teeth clicking and did a painful stretch in his lap that involved claws digging into his legs. She then flopped over, deciding that she liked the very still and quiet seraphim. It was probably a break from having little one's tug on her tail and stroke her fur the wrong way with good intentioned but rough hands. He traced that silken head with a digit, the animal was little more then a tingle and heartbeat covered in silken white fur under his hands, and massaged the cat's shoulders, and it made a mewing noise. Realizing he was being too rough in his anxiety of having to talk to someone he set his hands to stroking the animals side, and as with most animals it forgot the hurt and went back to purring in a few heartbeats.

"You and Miss Purrs look like close friends."

"Perhaps we are." Kratos said cooly, wishing as horrible as it was, that Lissa would get bored and leave him alone.

"You say perhaps a lot don't cha?"

"A vice."

"What's a vice?"

Kratos swallowed, in his mind he heard Lloyd's voice ask him that question a thousand and one different endings a thousand and one different times. He gave the animal a shove and with an offended 'murr' it hopped from his lap and into the little girls. He gripped his knees with a hand, his knuckles where white, a paleness that was emphasized by contrast of hues offered by his black gloves. Still the girl looked at him, drummed her feet into the leg of the bench and waited for him to finish whatever silly 'adult things' he liked to do so often. Composed, aware of the gauntlet of parents staring at him in hostility and fear he stood, towered over the small child. She looked up at him, still wearing that 'are you OK?' look.

"Lissa, where is your father?"

"Daddy's at home."

"Your mother?"

"Mommy's at home." She gave him a long look and frowned. "Daddy said your supposed to take me home."

Syt, Kratos mentally snarled, needs his brains checked if he thinks I'm even capable of escorting his daughter home. He felt a thin spark of anger at the fisherman's thoughtlessness, Syt dared not trust Kratos, not when Kratos did not even trust himself to hold a conversation with a little girl for more then a minuet. He almost considered asking one of the other adults to see the girl home, but that would mean talking, explanations, and he wasn't up to that yet. He wondered if he'd ever be up to that ever again.

"Can we go home now Uncle Ruian?"

Go home... he'd never had a home. Oh he'd had that place in Welgaia, provided Mithos hadn't ripped it apart yet looking for him, yet it had never been home. His home had a canvas roof or glittered with the pulsing lights of the sky, the walls had been no walls, the roads the floors, and Her arms his solace. Kratos swallowed, mentally gripped himself, he would not break down and cry in front a child. But the sooner he got her home, the sooner he could go to that oh so empty room and weep. He nodded, his voice forsaking him, and she shyly slipped her small hand in his. He then allowed that child to lead him to her home, the emptiness of his own echoing in his soul.

Xxx xxx xxx

'Beloved, you aren't taking care of yourself...' Her voice was a whisper in his ear, her fingers a breath against his drawn wings. He drew them every night now, and in the darkest hours he could feel her touch sometimes hear her voice, but only when they were drawn. 'You're hurting yourself, you need to stop.'

"It doesn't matter, nothing matters." Kratos closed his eyes, his wings trembled with the phantom fingers that stroked his wings only in memory. "He killed you then Lloyd... Nothing matters without either of you in my life."

'You promised.' Anna's voice became angry, she'd never been that angry with him before. 'You promised me that you'd stop this, you'd stop him!'

"I can't kill him, I can't break the seal for Origin will not allow it, and until that Seal is broken he is all but immortal. There is nothing I can do." Kratos closed his eyes. "He is beyond me, a God amongst self made Gods."

'He's hurting other people... and you don't care...'

"I can't!" It came out as a tortured scream. "How can I care with you dead?" Her hand's stopped, stilled, and withdrew. "Anna, please don't leave me, not again, please! I'm sorry, please don't abandon me!"

'Never that beloved...' Her voice was a caress in his tortured mind, her scent filled his nostrils. Her hand slipped something in his pant pocket. 'I never left, you are leaving me by dying. There is something you must do my love, then we can see each other again, but not until it's done.'

"What?" He looked in the dark of the room. "Tell me, I'll do anything!"

She sighed his name, her hands wound around his shoulders. For a heartbeat he felt a pulse, her heartbeat caress him through her skin. He moved to hold her, and held nothing but a pillow. He growled, woke up and threw the pillow across the room, it hit the door with a loud thump, nearly fell apart under the force of his throw. Groaning the seraphim rolled over, into the sunlight that streamed from his rooms one window, his heart cursed the sun, the light, the very heartbeat he endured. Better to let the dark take hold, let it rush into the crimson halls and bring a blessed stillness that would end in her arms. He closed his eyes, his wings crumpled beneath him in discomfort as he rolled from the light, they squirmed half heatedly, did not like being pinned. He hardly cared, as a matter of fact he welcomed the pain that ran across his back. He played the dream over and over in his mind, she had just been about to tell him and...

"Damn it!"

He threw another pillow, the door opened before it could connect and the seraphim winced as Syt lost his feet under the attack. Spotting movement in the hall, more then Syt would make, he swiftly drew in his wings and prayed to Origin that none of those who had come to gawk had seen. There were no prayers to Martel , not bowing nor light of reverence or terror in their eyes, so his secret was safe for now.

"Kratos, if ye'd be so kind as t' not try to kill me every time I open a door I'd be greatly appreciatin' it!" Syt growled, giving his friend a look that was grateful -probably because the wings weren't out-, worried, and angry. It was an interesting mix, and Kratos was a little surprised he could feel interest in it. "Damn it man, I thought you was dead. Ye were screamin' like a man in Desian camp gettin' his manhood cooked off!"

"I... was?" He stared at Syt, the man and everyone in that hall -which consisted of all of the over nighters and no few of the help- were returning the favor. A few of them some in little more then there undergarments, one even sporting a comical fizz tasseled hat. "I..." He flushed, drew the covers about his bare chest and gave the inns customers a half hearted glare. They left, slowly, and when it was only him and Syt the fisherman gave him a long look.

"I am sorry Syt." He said, once the fisherman had closed the door and taken the chair -the rooms only other piece of furniture- as his own. "I had a nightmare..."

"Ye should be drinkin' yon tea the Mrs. Made for you Kratos iffin' ye be havin' nightmares that bad."

"I... Have been ill already with your wife's cooking, and I am not ready to court death just of yet by taking any concoction she errantly calls medicine."

"Good." Syt stood, a thin smile on his lips. "Iffin' you be leavin' tell one of my younglin' and I'll come along. Or you can stay here of course. I'm gunna get me some breakfast, you be eatin' any or drinkin' any today?"

Kratos shook his head, food and drink would only result in his body's violent rejection.. If Syt and Issia panicked when they saw him bloody they'd probably faint when they saw his wings spasoming behind him, sides heaving, black sludge and half digested food falling from his lips.

It was only when Syt left, and he lay back on the bed, yet again drawing his wings and laying upon them, that he realized what he'd said.

"I can not die yet, there is something I must do." He tasted those horrid words, her words, and absently let his hand go to his pocket. If she loved him she would just... understand his pain and take him with her. Yet she had not, she had gone away leaving him alone. It had to be false, the vision his delusional mind made for him for the sake of self comfort. His hand went into the shadowed fold of fabric, even as his mind resolved that it was only a dream. His fingers closed around something sharp, jagged, he absently pulled it out, even as he resolved that the only pleasure that dream had garnered was a moment's false hope and the sound of her voice. Nothing more nothing...

In his hand, clenched around his fingers lay something that glittered. He spread his fingers, and balanced on his palm lay a gem, the color of purest silver, it's facets and planes gently stroked with thin lines of darkest blue. Those lines blurred in his vision, as did the world.

"Forgive me, my love." He whispered words of endearment, apology in angelic. " Pheras mer, Anna. Pheras mer, asu merth sahd." He kissed the stone, the cold and utterly lifeless stone, and it sent a tingling jolt through him, a small but pleasant electrical shock. "I wish you could have told me what I need to do." He murmured to the rock conversationally, caressed it with a thumb. "But whatever it is you will tell me in time... and I swear I'll be ready."

Closing his eyes, knowing sleep would not come no matter how hard he willed it for at least another month the seraphim sighed. What was thirty days to one who lived for eternity? Nothing. And an eternity without her, without his son, what was that? Worth nothing, he would keep his promise as best he could, and hope, pray it would be the death of him. Death was all he had to look forward to now, and he did so with a slight bitter curling of his lips.