Hmm... 200+ hits and only five reviews. I feel so loved. -crawls into corner- Anyway. Yay! It's chapter three! ... Yeah, I'm thinking about two or three more chapters with the epilogue to finish this one. Chapter four will be my favorite chapter; I can tell already. You'll see when you read it. Bwhaha.

And after you read this, go check out Project H.E.A.T., a collaboration by Spiritua Masquerade and Dragonwings144. Why? Because it rocks and I said so.

Oh yeah. Did I mention I'll be leaving this Thursday for college? So, if I don't reply to private messages and stuff, that's why. Don't freak out.

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, the Flanoir Renegade Base would have been turned into an amusement park after the World Regeneration. Dibs on the Rhearids.

Derris Kharlan. Population: Two That Remain.

In trying to save the world, he destroyed himself in the process and sought to create Paradise by corrupting everyone else's minds so none would rise and question his morals. Still, before he was finally put to rest, he proclaimed that if given the chance, he'd do it all over again, with even more determination than the last time. His two closest friends turned on him for his own good, while smiling in his face every day for four thousand years, but he didn't see it as such. It was more of an unfair betrayal. So in return, he betrayed the world.

Not much was said after the ring incident; silence was in abundance, but the look on the half elf's face never went away. Yuan didn't want to talk about it and Kratos, being the man that he is, chose not to push the subject. Hostility slowly decreased between them; it was more of an soundless understanding brought on by the loneliness of existing on a planet with no future. But it was the path they both choose on their owns, therefore, they had no right to complain or request a change of fate. The decision was final.

Pieces by piece, Mithos was gaining his revenge from beyond the grave, probably smiling with a smirk that would scare the devil himself. Such a sad sight to see two of the once most powerful Seraphim of all time, the rulers of the worlds, in miserable states. Luckily, they were alone in their demise; if anyone saw their domineers now, he'd be highly disappointed, almost disgusted to think such "warriors" were responsible for history. They ended wars, ceased thousands of lives, and saved the world. Was this how all heros ended up? How could anyone do such a thing to himself?

It was Kratos who spoke first. The area where they rested was dark; most of the equipment had been disposed of and only a few rooms remained. Each sat on the floor, backs against the cold wall, eyes closed in deep meditation as if praying to a Goddess both knew never existed.

"Yuan." Kratos had his head on his knees, but his voice made it through to his companion's ears.

"Yes?" replied the half elf.

"What... will we do?"

Yuan opened his eyes and looked up with a confused squint in his gaze. "Wh-what? What are you talking about?"

"After this, after we clean up this equipment, what will we do?" He was truly interested in his answer, for he already had a plan for his own future.

"Well, that's a rather strange question."

"Does that mean you don't have an answer?"

Though Kratos was correct, Yuan wasn't about to let him know. "There's much more to do on Derris Kharlan. I have enough time to think about it."

Kratos sighed. "Yuan, almost every room is done. All that remains is Mithos' castle. Once that's complete, our lives will be meaningless. Even more than they are now."

"You damned fool!" Yuan shot back. "I thought Lloyd already got it through your thick skull that every life has meaning."

The auburn haired Seraph growled and stood to his feet, glaring at Yuan as if he had just said something unthinkable. How dare someone use the word of his own son against him? "I know that! The meaning of my life was to give birth to the true salvation of this world: the real hero, the one who made up for all my... stupid mistakes! And I did that, costing my wife's life!" He ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths. "What more do you want from me?!"

Yuan jumped in his seat, surprised at Kratos' ill will. Both had reasons to be irritated and there was the possibility that it would pass on to their words, but this speech was different from the others.

"..."

"I... know that." He hung his head down, closing his eyes as a burning sensation pierced the back of his eyelids. "But now that my destiny is complete, there is no meaning in my life anymore," Kratos added as he clenched his fist with no intention of striking anyone. "My purpose has been fulfilled."

Two and two came together. "Quit babbling and get to the point," Yuan replied, breaking eye contact with his companion. He pulled his knees up to his chest as if trying to suffocate himself. Something on the inside gripped his heart, telling him he wouldn't like what Kratos had to say, but eventually, he'd have to hear it anyway. "Then what do you want to do with your future?"

"I can not plan what I don't have."

"You have a future. On... Derris Kharlan..." Though the validity of his comment was nonexistent, he felt it was worth lying to keep a friend, for he wouldn't know what he'd do if he were to lose another soul that was dear to him... again.

"This planet's future ended with Mithos." Truthfully, the man did not belong on the planet. Derris Kharlan was the root of all elven blood; no place for a human. He was an outsider to begin with.

"Then what?"

Kratos released his fist and took in a deep breath, folding his arms to give the illusion that he was calm and collected. In reality, his mind and spirit were in complete chaos, rioting like opposing forces when they should have been working together. "I need you to perform the Reverse Ritual."

Suddenly, Yuan's head shot up and he inhaled so hard it nearly collapsed his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, almost falling back down and stood in front of Kratos. "You've got to be kidding me! You're not talking about the Aionis Reverse Ritual!"

Returning Yuan's fiery gaze with one of his own, he nodded. "I do," was all he replied. "The process can only be done by someone with elven blood. Besides, only you, Martel, and Mithos know how to do it."

"But that'll remove all the Aionis from your body and..." His eyes were wide with shock, as if he had just seen and heard the most horrible thing known to man. And in a way, he had.

"After that, I need you to remove my Cruxis Crystal and destroy it. My body will commence growing."

"But, you'll die from that! You call that a future?!"

"One much better than yours."

Yuan scoffed. "How can anyone have a future in death?"

"I can."

"But... you have to live..." He shook his head with a confused look taking over his face. Messy cerulean hair waged back and forth like a Weeping Willow in the breeze, while beads of sweat ran down his forehead, glistening against the small amount of light coming from a piece of equipment in a far corner.

"Yuan," Kratos pleaded. "This is not living. This is... existing far beyond the time I was originally allotted."

The half elf grew angry; Kratos was reverting back to his old ways of thinking and he couldn't stand it. "If you want to die so badly," he grunted, reaching behind his back to reveal his double-edged blade, "why not let me do it? It'll be much quicker."

"Because," the Seraph retorted with an un-flinched stance, "number one, you don't have the strength to do it. Number two, I'd like to die with dignity."

Yuan backed up, closing his eyes to hide the pain in his gaze and pushed a button on the hilt, collapsing his sword and replacing it in a location only he knew about. "Hmph. Dignity."

Dignity. Honor. Respect. Three words Cruxis seemed to manipulate so much that they lost meaning and purpose; words more distorted than anything the Seraphim had seen over their life spans, ones that birthed confusion in the minds of hundreds, thousands, millions, one too many.

"Please..."

Something in Kratos' voice made the half elf gasp. He returned his gaze to his companion, anticipating the next words to come from his mouth as if the blasphemy he had already spoken hadn't been enough. The man was pleading; it had been a long time since he heard such a word escape Kratos' lips or even his own, a word that usually denoted one was asking for help, as if he had lost all hope. Finally he came to realize: Yuan was his last hope.

"Let me die with my humanity. My morality."

Both were deprived of their morality: Kratos of his humanity, and Yuan was cursed to share the blood of two races. Even only sharing half of his companion's heritage, he could sympathize. All around them, for all those years, they watched others live, grow, love, lose, and then die; the slow progression of life in the way it was originally to be intended to be spent. While most would give anything for eternal life, they knew better. They were fully aware of how it felt and hated every moment of it for they had to suffer through watching the world go into demise, but not only watch, play Puppet Master in so many deaths and fueled the flames of hatred brought on by the past.

He bit down on his bottom lip, muttering Angelic curses under his breath. Saying nothing, he turned on his heels and sashayed out of the room, slamming his fist into the wall on the way out and left a large dent.

Kratos lowered his head, placing his hand on where his Flamberge's hilt would be. Closing his eyes, his mind filled with memories of the past and he nodded idly to himself.

"Thank you."

- - - - - -

Welgaia's library remained untouched for more reasons than one. Mainly because reading was a way to pass the time and for the fact that knowledge was a terrible thing to waste, even if it were lies. Millions of book lined the shelves; more books than stars in the sky, more pages than every dream ever dreamt, and some more informative than others.

The room was dusty and a bit ransacked, as if a series of fights broke out in strategic locations all around. Furniture lay in a disheveled manner; chairs were on the floor, upside down, tables broken in half with their legs separated, windows cracked, and even its entrance suffered some damage.

As did the other sections, the atmosphere dripped with an eerie lack of light just like the exsphere storage room, where the blood of the last remaining angel still adorned the walls for neither had the courage nor the decency to clean it off. It made Yuan feel as if the walls were closing in and the sky was ready to crumble, crushing him to death; the air was too thick to breath, causing him to cough. Silent whispers played tricks on his angelic ears and he spoke to himself for the sole purpose of draining out the sounds. Occasionally, he'd halt to inspect the room, arm extended around his back and sweaty hands gripping his weapon, the only thing he could trust. Even that could possibly betray him. Everyone else did.

The doctrine of his own self confidence continued to deteriorate with every step he took, just as Derris Kharlan drifted away from Kyoushin's gravitational pull. The half elf had little more to hold on to; nothing else remained. While everyone was back in the new world hopefully enjoying their new lives, he and another fool just as senile as himself thought it best to occupy the empty halls of the world's first Angelic Hell. He was unable to share in their smiling faces, actually, he couldn't remember the last time he had grinned or gave any visual sign that he was unworried. Had to be years ago... before the Church of Martel, before exspheres, before everything became a matter of sacrificing one for the "greater good." But one turned into two, and two into four, and four into many more, until it was too late and murder became an afterthought: a justifiable afterthought.

It took years to raise those children: those Chosens. Their marriages were controlled and demanded, they were unable to pick the place of their own residence, taught years of lies, ridiculed, shaped in predetermined images, and sent on a Journey to die. So many times he had seen them slaughtered right before his eyes; their screams embedded in his head like a song of torment. He even slashed the throats of a few himself. But that was different... they were going to die anyway upon reaching the Tower of Salvation until the perfect vessel was created. Yes, his hands were blood stained, but he was not ultimately responsible for filling yet another lonely coffin. In another light, he was a strong person; it takes a massive amount of courage to murder a child and feel no regret for it. Deep down, he was everything he didn't want to be: a traitor, for betraying his friends, a murderer, for destroying families to prevent the Chosens from fulfilling their destinies, killing all those seeds, and a friend, for the wrong people. But there are some that still call him a hero.

He made his way to the back of the library, though it felt more like a dungeon. Only thing missing was the dragon waiting to devour him, but maybe even it would find his soul unworthy of consuming. Death was the last thing he wanted to worry about and he proceeded to a forgotten section. His destination seemed to glow in his eyes, a sort of incandescence drawing him closer. In silence, he pulled the book of interest from its location on the shelf. His fingers failed to grip tightly enough at first; it fell to the ground like a rock, landing on its spine. Yuan stepped back just in time to avoid having his toes soften its landing. The pages spread open like a sudden burst of flame. By the old, dead smell it released, one could conclude the book's age surpassed time itself, as if it was never created for it merely existed alongside Origin.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He bent down to retrieve it as he put his hand against his pounding heart. The book was indeed heavy, almost as heavy as his sword and he struggled to maneuver his fingers under to pick it up. When he did, he moved it over to a table and dropped it, letting gravity guide the fall. A dust cloud shot from under the landing area. Yuan waved it away from his breathing space, coughing a few times in the process. He pulled a chair from the floor, checked the stability, and sat down to begin reading.

Realizing he lacked the ability to see in the dark, he reached into his pocket to reveal a candle. A quick lightning spell and the wick flickered before igniting. Soft orange light illuminated his reading area, giving a mysterious glow in the room. He felt as if he were in hiding; a criminal doing things he shouldn't have been doing and afraid of being discovered. Sometimes, he caught himself looking up and checked his surroundings upon hearing what he suspected to be noises coming from inside the book shelves. The horror of finding another angel was unbearable for he had enough to deal with. Maybe what he was doing really was wrong.

Nimble fingers flipped through the pages while angelic eyes scanned each line until he finally found what he was looking for: the list of ingredients for Ritual. He marked the page and looked around the table.

"... Probably should have brought some paper with me."

With a shrug, he proceeded to rip out a few pages from the book and folded them, stuffing the wad into his pocket somewhere in the dark abyss of his cape. Not like anyone else would need the book.

He stood up, pushing the chair back and exited the room. Now he was on another mission... hunting for the death of his only comrade. Many doubts filled his head, but he shook them off. Somehow, he convinced himself that he had no right to deny Kratos' final wish; there was no future on Derris Kharlan, and his destiny had been indeed fulfilled. But why did Yuan still feel regretful? If what he was doing was right, why was he in such pain?

- - - - -

This process would not be without pain, even though it would be the easiest part. Losing one's immorality, just like gaining it, was dangerous. But in losing, Kratos was gaining a part of himself that he'd missed for over four thousand years. Finally, he'd feel that gentle caress of fatigue at the end of the day, the soft darkness of slumber, and the taste of hunger; free to do as the rest of his race enjoyed. If only for a moment.

Yuan began his preparations in a large room, better known as the remnants of the Great Seed Chamber. Much consideration went into choosing the location. If he had his way, he'd be in another area, anywhere but here. During this process, Kratos would be unable to move, partially from pain, mainly for his own safety. First his fiancé, now his fellow Seraph would die in this room. Damn you, Fate. You who continue to torment me.

He sat on the ground and started a fire in the center of the room, throwing a handful's ingredients into a large pot of boiling water. He worked idly and in silence; his gaze never met Kratos', and if it did, it would be a blank glare. His hands had a mind of their own. Throughout his preparations, his neck moved not once as if stuck in place. Then again, only strange criminals make small talk with their victim, even if the victim was willing, able, and anxiously awaiting Spiritua's Kiss of Death.

Somewhere, Yuan didn't question exactly where for he could care less, Kratos found a long, knee-length, linen white robe to change into. In another room, he stripped from his current attire, the white Judgment suit so many had seen, and many more learned to fear; the clothing that marked him as a Seraph of Cruxis when he first received it all those years ago. A gift from Yggdrasill, symbolizing their union. He took another look and smirked a sarcastic farewell, before throwing it to the side. He was one step closer to becoming his old self: a weak human, and he couldn't be more content.

"Tell me." The half elf dropped in the last bit and used a stray piece of pipe to stir the concoction. Its smell was horrible beyond belief, but it was the least of his worries and he found the strength to endure. The musical sounds of bubbling filled the atmosphere.

"What do you wish to know?" Kratos had just entered the room again, adorned in his new white robe, and took a seat on the steps of the Chamber.

"There's another reason you're doing this."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"Why, Kratos?"

He sighed. "I told you why. I've no future here."

Yuan dropped the utensil to the side and wiped excess white satay from his palms. "You knew that before you even stepped on that teleporter at the Tower of Salvation."

"Possibly."

"Don't play stupid with me. The least you could do is have the decency to give me a straight answer. You're about to die for Martel's sake!" His face winced as he growled under his breath, turning his face in the opposite direction of Kratos.

"Heh," muttered the auburn mercenary. "And I actually thought I could take it to my grave."

"There has to be another reason." Yuan made it clear by the tone of his voice that he wanted to know the reason; what kind of justification could Kratos have for leaving him with such a task? Why did Yuan have to help him die?

Kratos shifted his weight on the steps, turning his gaze to the wall. His eyes shot from mark to mark, examining all the disfigurations that decorated its surface. "I put him through enough already."

"Who?"

"... Lloyd. Ever since he was born, he's had to make up for my errors."

Crossing his legs and folding his arms, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped before the fresh air could reach his lungs. It was no use trying to convince the man otherwise. "What about Lloyd?"

"I did it once, but I cannot let that mistake happen again. He already watched me die once. Anna would never forgive me if I did it to him again."

A grunt and Yuan decided he had heard enough. The pot was boiling; smooth, white steam rose to the top and dissipated. He grabbed a small cup sitting next to his leg and proceeded to pour a small bit of the mixture inside. It was a deep brown in color, thick like a soup, smelling even more horrible than it had inside the pot. Small pieces of leaves floated on the top; some stems levitated in the middle as if too heavy to reach the top and too light to sink. Averting his eyes, he stood to his feet, walked over to Kratos, and handed it over.

Before Kratos could grab it, the half elf snatched it back. Kratos tilted his head in confusion for a moment before sighing and folding his arms, arm still extended to receive the cup. How could expect his companion to show no signs of discontent over the situation? Truly, the mercenary couldn't be so selfish to believe such a thing.

"... Kratos," whispered Yuan in a soft voice. Facing the opposite direction, he hid the pain from his face, but from his tone, everything was clear. He knew this process was irreversible and felt he was obligated to say something before this man met his demise. He thought deeply for a moment; out of all three languages he possessed a fluent comprehension of, none had words that could describe his melancholy veneer with the accuracy for which he hoped. The half elf was given only one chance by fate to give a speech before it was too late. It was more of an issue of what he wanted Kratos to remember him with: what last words before the pain of morality struck his friend like a storm. What could quiet his conscious? What could give him solace? What can I say?

"Yes, Yuan?"

"Good by-..." He hesitated as his tongue smashed the root of his mouth. No, not that. Not yet. "Go-good luck."

With that, he released the cup's handle and darted from the room before Kratos could even bring the confection to his lips.

Had I told you what request Kratos makes, I would have spoiled the surprise. Don't worry; there are more surprises in store. Am I the only who finds Yuan slamming his fist into the wall extremely hot? O.o I feel sorry for him though. He has to not only watch Kratos suffer, but help him. -snuggles Yuan plushie- But, yeah. Derris Kharlan has no future, and after the equipment is gone, what are they gonna do? Play Uno for the rest of their lives? I dun think so. And about the Spiritua reference for those of you who are completely confused: Spiritua is the Angel of Death, remember? So "Spiritua's Kiss" would ultimately mean the Kiss of Death. Clever. Yes, I know. Even if it's not, nod your head and pretend anyway.

Stay tuned for chapter 4, which will be my personal favorite chapter. Until then, TOOTLES.