Joy-Killer
PROMPT 9: Death
SUBJECT: KRATOS. KRATOS CAN YOU HEAR ME. KRATOS. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU SO MUCH, KRATOS. AAAAAAA! So, I muscled my way past my terrible rage in order to write a nice angst-shot 'bout Kratos. And it was so hard. I think I might die.
WC: 665
What was the least he could say? Part of him refused to understand why everything was suddenly different and unclear; the part of him that forgot how it was to be human. He had thought that the years had slowly poisoned that part, as it was unnecessary in his line of work, but to his horror, it was still breathing.
Only so much was there that a man could take, only so much strain, even after taking on the world. So much time had passed, and so many faces all blurring together into an indistinct fog. Years have become meaningless, and unrelenting. His time with Anna had shattered the norm, but it was only so brief, only temporary, like all things. His son would succumb to time in the same unkind manner, he knew. It would be better to stop the suffering now and save the world the trouble.
He still couldn't bring the sword down.
Betraying the group had not been difficult; he'd been preparing for it for the last months. The events with Kvar had shaken him, he admitted it, but eventually the rage subsided. He had let the boy get too close afterwards; he recognized it now as a mistake, and it was going to cost him. He would pay the price now by bringing that sword down and ending Lloyd's life.
He could not do it.
Kratos had told him not to die and, as punishment for not listening, he would kill him. He had to. There was no other way.
"W-wh-a-wha—" Lloyd coughed, spluttered, and Kratos broke, though none could see it on the outside. The sword wouldn't budge one way or the other. He was paralyzed with an emotion he'd forgotten how to feel. "Why … are you doing this?" Lloyd – my son! – rasped out.
Kratos had no answer. There was nothing he could say that would make sense. His mind refused to work, his body refused to move. Why?
The silence was too much. Lloyd looked up with eyes filled with rage, sending a shock through Kratos' entire body. He had denied that boy resembled Anna in any way, as the resemblance was painful to remember, but he couldn't deny it now. He saw her in the eyes of his son, or what he imagined of her, what she would be like now, what she would think of his decisions. The sheer fury in Lloyd's dark eyes stayed Kratos' hand; it was what had frozen him in place. It was what made him afraid to answer.
Still, he could not bring himself to move that sword.
"Well?" Lloyd demanded, defeated, but still defiant. My son. "SAY SOMETHING!"
And what could he say? With Yggdrasill over his shoulder, with the fate of the world in his hands. What could he say? I would've taken you with me, if I'd known. I would've loved you, if I'd known. We would've traveled the world together, just like you wanted. I would've done anything, if I could've, if I'd known. I would have killed the world for you, but instead, I must kill you for the world.
The moments passed and flitted away – his mind was in another place, his eyes never leaving his son. He said nothing, did nothing while the Renegades spirited his son and his friends away. There was nothing to be said or done. He did not react when his ex-student ordered him away, to fulfill his divine work. He could only think of what could've been done or said, and what was left unsaid – and what his son must never know.
If Lloyd were to ever find out his parentage, the shame might kill him. And if Lloyd were to accept him for who he was, the joy would end him. Either way led to a death – of shame that murders, of love that kills, and neither would be.
Therefore, since it was the least that could be said and the most he could ask, Kratos said only, "Don't die."