Memories
Mr.Who2123: Hey all you dudes out there! I'm so tired I could just fall asleep, but my "other side" got to me and I must write this chappie! Most of this is what Kratos remembered, and will be very slow! Next chapter is full of suspense, so keep a look out! D
Kratos: Mr.Who2123 is too dumb to own TOS, and would practically destroy the whole plot if she did own it…
(Mr.Who2123 is singing Naïve Orleans by Anberlin as loud as she can) I love this band!
Kratos: The noise! It hurts! (faints)
Mr.Who2123: let us beeeeeeeeeegiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnn!
Seven years ago, Kratos had apprenticed himself to Garro, and became a fierce warrior. He was now on his way to visit his village which he had missed greatly. It was in between the Western Temple and Meltokio, so it wasn't out of the way.
Kratos was on Lucky, his eyes scanning ahead of him. Kratos felt for his new sword, the flamberge, at his side. The sword was a magical weapon said to have been forged by fire itself. His mind traveled back two days ago.
Kratos was at the gate of Meltokio, and his horse was already packed. Garro had just come to see him off, and ran next to Kratos.
"Don't die, Kratos," he laughed as he panted. Kratos nodded, and turned his heel to leave.
"Wait!" Garro called after him, and gave Kratos a sword in its sheath. Kratos bowed his head in thanks and took the sword. He drew the blade, and he gasped. The sword was glowing and shaped like a wild flame. He sliced at the air a few times, and then sheathed his blade.
"Thank you so much, Garro," he said as he ran out of the city with Lucky right behind. "Bye!" Kratos yelled in the distance, waving his arm. Garro waved back and smiled broadly.
Kratos felt the exquisite detail on the sword sheath, and began tracing it all around the handle. Kratos was almost at Arciona, and he hurried the horse. He couldn't wait to see his family again after seven years of tough sword training. Kratos squinted his eyes to look for the village, but instead saw smoke.
What happened? He thought, as he brought his horse to a gallop. He saw a house burnt down, and black all over. All the buildings were the same, and small fires were still lingering to their prey.
Kratos' eyes filled with tears. Arciona was burnt, and he saw no signs of mercy from the attackers. Kratos jumped off Lucky and ran into the village. Desperately, he looked for any survivors, but no matter where he looked all the people were burned or tortured.
Kratos then ran to his own house, hoping that his mother somehow survived, even though Kratos knew it wasn't possible. He brought his run to a walk and went through where the door would be. He ran down the stone steps of the basement to still see the busted wall and stains of blood. Kratos walked to the busted wall, his tears now unrestrained and falling freely down his face. Kratos yelled and kicked the side of the wall. It had to be the druids, who else?
"Master, what are druids, anyways?" a thirteen year old Kratos asked, now sitting at Garro's feet. Garro looked grim, and then coughed.
"Druids are said to be the souls of dead demons and make themselves look slightly human. They possess the greatest dark arts anyone has ever seen, and you experienced their arts first hand," he said, stroking his graying beard. Kratos nodded solemnly. He never forgot the pain that the druid brought upon him. A new question entered his mind.
"Master! Do druids attack people?" Kratos asked.
"Well, only if they sense a threat," he answered. "Now, let's get back to our lesson, young one."
"Sense a threat," Kratos muttered. The blood had to of been a threat to them. Maybe because I survived the attack, he thought. How could he be a threat? The only thing Kratos learned to master was the Shadow Blast, the dark beam that comes out of his hand whenever it is covered in the dark mana flames. He understood nothing else of his power, but intended to learn of everything about it from the druids.
Kratos left his basement and found Lucky standing there, its smart black eyes fixed on Kratos. He smiled and wiped his nearly dried tears.
"Let's go," he murmured, and got on his horse again. Kratos was riding west towards the temple. It stood tall, and high in the sky, almost reaching the clouds. The sky was always black near the accursed temple, and caused people fear when they saw it.
"So you are going to the Western Temple?" Garro asked in slight shock. No one even ventured close to the city. Kratos nodded.
"I'll probably die, though," he muttered, taking a break from his exercises.
"You did survive the attack though, and you know how to use your dark mana to shoot a blast," Garro replied, wiping the sweat off his brow. Suddenly, Kratos broke down into tears.
"It's always the same!" he yelled. Garro, completely shocked, just watch his eleven year old student cry.
"Everyone treats me different just because I survived! I have to do so much just because I survived. Me surviving screwed up my whole life!" he sobbed. "I'm practically going to commit suicide because I survived!" Garro knelt down to his student and embraced him.
"I know. We ask a lot out of someone so little, but you have to understand; everyone is counting on you. You have to show your village that you can do it. You are strong, Kratos, and I know you won't die from the druids," Garro consoled as he let go of his student. Kratos wiped his tears, and made a sad smile.
"Let's keep training," he said softly as he picked his sword up again.
Kratos never forgot that day. His teacher's words echoed through his mind, reassuring him that he could do it, and prove his village that he would fulfill the prophecy.
Kratos was still headed for the temple, his confidence renewed and strengthened from Garro. He was like a father to Kratos in those seven years, and probably still is. Kratos had no one else to turn to now. Only one thought kept pestering Kratos' mind. How did he get these powers? The druid just attacked him that was all. It bothered Kratos ever since he started mastering shadow blast.
"Hey, Master! Watch this!" Kratos yelled as he lifted his right hand. It was seething hot with power. Kratos had saved up his dark mana for a couple of days to show Garro his strongest blast yet.
Garro walked into the training room and put a hand on Kratos' shoulder.
"Is this your dark mana?" Garro asked. Kratos nodded, and stretched his hand. Mana gathered all around Kratos' fist, swelling with strength. Kratos let it go and the beam shot through the wall and into the other house across the street. Garro sighed, and slapped Kratos on the shoulder.
"Please don't gather your mana up just to impress me, Kratos," he said as he walked off. Kratos looked down. He felt like an idiot. He began playing with something he didn't even understand. Kratos then made a vow to himself.
"I promise to find out all about my powers, and use them wisely," he said as he followed Garro out of the room.
Kratos looked at his hand that had shot many blasts. There were red marks all over it, and it was only slightly darker than the rest of him. No one would really notice unless they looked hard enough.
Kratos was at the Western Temple now, and his fear grew. Kratos felt he was walking to his death. He had said the very same thing to Garro.
It was the first day of Kratos' training, and Kratos sat on the floor.
"Alright, Kratos. By the request of your village, I will train you to be able to go to the Western Temple," he explained. Garro then noticed Kratos' scared expression.
"What's wrong?" he asked in his gruff voice.
"I'm walking to my death, aren't I?" he asked, looking at the floor. Kratos had a pained look on his face, as if he could feel what it would be like to go inside.
"No, you're not. You can do it. I sense great determination under that fear," he replied. Kratos smiled and stood up.
"Really?" Kratos asked eagerly. "Really," Garro replied as he handed a sword to Kratos.
The two had sparred hard that day, and master and apprentice were on the floor, covered in sweat, and breathing harshly.
"That…that was good…Kratos," Garro commented as he strained himself to stand. Kratos smiled.
"You really think so?" Kratos asked, his eyes were lit up.
"Yeah," Garro said as he put the wooden swords away. Kratos was definitely a better fighter than Garro at his age.
Kratos was at the temple doors. They were made of oak, and there was no handle. Kratos sighed, and looked back at his horse that was tied up to a dead tree nearby. With a deep breath, Kratos pushed open the doors and walked inside.
Mr.Who2123: Oh, yeah! Now I can sleep!
(Mr.Who2123 falls asleep standing and falls in Kratos' arms)
Kratos: ugh…she's drooling…
Mr.Who2123: Snore…Kratos hot…snore…
Kratos: o.O
Mr.Who2123: snore…review please…snore…