First, let me start by saying: YES! OH MARTEL, YES! I've finally moved into my dorm (really long story involved in that) and got my internet hooked up. It's been four days since I've been on, and I'll admit, I was going insane from boredom. You've no idea. Yes. I'm a computer junkie. Damn proud of it. ♥ And I'm sure my inbox is full with emails. But, anyway, onward, men!
Wheee! Chapter four! Like I said, this is one of my favorite chapters. Chapter five should be the last (assuming I don't get a random writing hook that spans over seven pages: the usual length of each chapter), which is currently being revised and edited to my liking, followed by an epilogue. After this is over, I'm gonna start typing up chapter two of When Students Become Teachers. I wasn't planning on it being so popular xD
Oh yeah. A lot of people have mentioned how easy it would be to make this into a yaoi. And I gotta admit: they're right o.o I already said this version would be yaoi/shonen-ai free, but I also promised a few friends I'd make a separate yaoi version. Wouldn't even start typing it until this is finished. Dunno if I'll post it on here or not. -shrug-
I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, there would be a Tales of Symphonia 2 (besides Tales of Phantasia).
In every strength, there is a weakness. In every person, there is a weakness that another wishes he could acquire: the ability to turn a blind eye to suffering, the power to chastise others for one's mistakes and feel no guilt over it, the will to do as one pleases, no matter the cost. Every light has a darkness that covers up a pitfall laying in the road that one does not realize until he has fallen in and finds himself trapped, waiting to be rescued by something even stronger than himself. But not all can be rescued; not all can be saved.
Things started out slowly. As expected, Kratos went into a fever with temperatures far beyond any human could withstand. The Aionis had to be separated from the blood. Lacking the resources for a much less painful procedure, the fever was induced to boil the man's body, like a roast over a roaring fire. His flesh became hot to the touch and his sweat evaporated before it even stroked his skin. When he spoke, his dry throat caused his words to sound as if his wry tongue were a rusty nail scrapping against a chalkboard. Despite this, Yuan sat and listened attentively, fearing which sounds would be Kratos' last.
"Wh-...why.." Kratos lay on a makeshift bed: three layers of the thickest blankets Yuan could find and a pillow made from a piece of an angel's robe stuffed with some stray feathers. He tried to sit up, but his head began to feel dizzy. He moaned and laid back down.
"Why what, Kratos?" Yuan threw his cerulean hair back behind his shoulders and wrapped the shorter strands around his ear. The band that had once held his locks in an infamous ponytail had finally given way, breaking into four pieces in his hands. Still, he found himself unable to throw it away as if it were some sort of sacred trash which deserved a more formal way of discarding. Each of the dry, torn pieces sat in his pocket.
"...m-my..." He coughed twice violently, then moaned and brought his shaken hands to his head, attempting to rub out the headache that decided to wreck havoc.
Yuan fixed his cape over Kratos. "Don't speak if it'll cause you more pain." Even more painful than words spoken are the ones unspoken; the things that are kept secret from everyone else, the shadows blocking out Truth's light. So much could have been avoided if only they were brave enough to speak, daring enough to speak against corruption.
He shook his head, his fingers still rubbing against his temples. "No," he replied with a gruff voice. "...cru-Cruxis... crys-tal..."
"Your Cruxis Crystal?"
Kratos nodded and grunted. "Y-yes."
"If you're asking whether or not I took it off, the answer is no. I haven't touched it." Closing his eyes, Yuan folded his arms and sighed to himself. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously, anticipating his companion's next horrifying request.
The Seraph moaned in disappointment and turned his head to face Yuan whose eyes were still shut. Feeling a brown gaze on himself, he opened a single eye. "Why?"
"Because," the half elf retorted, shutting his eye again, "you told me to do it after the Ritual. And the Ritual is not over until all of the Aionis is removed from your body."
"Do it."
"What?" said Yuan, pretending not to comprehend.
"Do it," Kratos repeated as slowly rose a hand to his stomach, slid his palm against his chest, and rubbed the Cruxis Crystal adorned on the flat on his neck.
"No. I already told you: I'll do it after the Ritual. Stop trying to make things more problematic for yourself. You're already in enough pain to begin with." Yuan reached over and smacked Kratos' hand away from the Cruxis Crystal, placing it to his side. "I'll do as you ask. Don't worry."
He wasn't completely satisfied with the response, but he was in no position to oppose. The fever clouded his senses, making it impossible to think straight, and even if he were able to get hold of a weapon, his flesh would surely burn through the metal. Right now, Kratos was in the complete care of Yuan, having no choice but to pray for mercy. Not even his Crystal could save him.
"Bu-" Suddenly, he shot up and clutched his waist as if he had just been punched. He forced himself to stand, fighting the excruciating heat wave that flushed his face. Yuan looked on in horror and stood himself, preparing to tend to Kratos any way he could. When Kratos brought his hand to his mouth, Yuan finally realized the process had begone and sat back down with his knees to his chest, placing his forehead on top. It only blocked his vision, but the sounds were far worse. Kratos desperately ran into another room and forced the door closed, half expecting to be followed. The half elf embraced his body, wincing whenever he heard Kratos cough. There was only one way the Aionis could be extracted from the human body.
A few moments later, the door opened and Kratos returned from the room. He leaned against the sill, clinging on to support his body as if for dear life. His hair was even more disheveled than usual; some auburn strands pushed against his cheek, only making him feel warmer than he was comfortable feeling. The once flawlessly white robe was soiled, some stains from rubbing against equipment, but most from himself. He took deep breaths in, exhaling with a rheumatic tempo through his nose.
Yuan scrambled to his feet and ran over to him before the mercenary could fall to his knees. He caught him, placing one of his arms under Kratos' for support, and wrapped it around the man's waist. Then, both slowly walked back to the bed. He helped Kratos on the bed, fixing the pillow to the best of his ability and replaced the cape.
The ordeal exhausted Kratos, but he had much more to endure. He bit on his bottom lip and coughed. "...how... much... more?" His eyes were closed, yet Yuan could see the pain flowing through them.
"I don't know. It depends on how much Aionis you ingested. Could take anywhere from a few days to a year." Yuan returned to chewing his inner cheek, suppressing the guilt of even honoring Kratos with a reply. It was amazing that he could even use such words because, being denied slumber for so long, he had forgotten how to measure time. He had forgotten how a full day felt like; time just seemed to be bunched together, a never ending saga of existence with no end in sight. Until now.
Kratos groaned and turned on his opposite side. "N-no... matter how long... it wouldn't be soon... enough."
Yuan growled. "And be quiet. If you're talking while you throw up, you run the risk of choking and possibly dy-..." The last word hit him like a brick wall; a winded smack to the face and his eyes twitched as if he physically felt the damage.
The other said nothing, for no words needed to be spoken, and even if they were, they would only make the situation far more unbearable than it already was. Something inside of Kratos lost hold of hope and shattered on the lifeless remnants of his destiny. Refusing to turn around, he shifted around on his side and closed his eyes.
"I'll be back." The half elf stood to his feet and brushed off the dust soiling the bottom of his pants. A reflex reached for the cape covering Kratos, but he denied it. He turned on his heels, heading out the room without another word.
- - - - - - -
Yuan roamed the empty halls of Derris Kharlan as if he were a tourist of the most unfortunate sort. There was nothing to see, other than the twitching and tantalizing twinkle of stars as the planet floated further into space. There was nothing to hear, besides the sounds of his own rhythmic footsteps, pounding against the ground like a steady drum. Despite this, he ventured on into the familiar corridors and looked around as if expecting to see something new, turning random corners in no particular order. Every so often, he'd enter a room, only to find it completely empty or dusty beyond belief and close it with a scoff of disappointment. He even kicked equipment laying on the ground in his way.
Then he stopped when he entered a room that was different. With a curious and confused look on his face, Yuan stepped inside and looked around. He ran his palm over the wall and found the light switch, which, surprisingly, still functioned. On the walls were rows of shelves, lined with books; no space was left to waste as each book was pressed in. A table sat in the middle, surrounded by six or seven wooden chairs and a desk in the far right corner.
"Must have missed this room," he mumbled to himself while making a mental note to clear it out later.
Upon further inspection, he concluded the room must have belonged to Mithos. The upkeep was superb, compared to the rest of the planet, and the walls were lined with gold. It was more like a shrine: a statue of Spiritua sat on top of the table, along with a Seal Book, and a picture of Martel; candles and flowers that seemed to be alive lined the perimeter. Yuan walked over to the table, moving in closer to examine the plants. A touch and smell confirmed his suspicions. He sighed, removing the exsphere shard that had been placed in the soil. Immediately, the flower wilted; petals turned to ashes, raining over the table top. He didn't bother to wipe it off. No, it wasn't worth it.
The shrine left a bitter taste in his mouth. He moved his attention to the book cases. Yuan ran his fingers across the bindings, stopping when his flesh or eyes hit something of interest. Randomly, he pulled out a few books and threw them on the table to review later. This process continued for a while until he had two, ten book high stacks of literature.
"That should be enough." Yuan stretched out his arms, but stopped when he heard something hit the ground. He looked down to view another book he must have knocked over. Bending over to pick it up, he inspected the surface for a title, finding none. The coat was completely bare; not even labeled with a name or anything that would indicate the owner.
It was pretty basic: covered with leather, artificially dyed blue, solid binding, and in mint condition. Flipping through the pages revealed the mysterious book to in fact be a journal. About a hundred lined pages filled the inside; though, none of them were used. With a small smile, he added the journal to his pile, ransacked the desk for a quill with ink pot, and headed back to Kratos, feeling he had neglected the man for far too long.
Little did he know, he had been gone for a week.
- - - - - - -
"Here." Yuan entered the room and walked over to Kratos, placing the pile of books within his reach.
Kratos opened his eyes, flipping over to view the half elf. Moving his auburn hair from his field of vision, his gaze scanned the stack of literature with curiosity. Some of the book he recognized, while others were a complete mystery. He propped his body up using his elbow as support.
"Books. I'm sure you've heard of them," said the half elf sarcastically, sitting down.
"Heh. I know," he replied. Kratos felt a bit of relief from the fever, if only for a moment. "Interesting time to pick up reading." The pressure on his bones became too intense and he fell back down on his side, grunting in discomfort.
"They aren't for me. They're for you." Reaching for the top, Yuan retrieved the journal and opened up one of the ink pots with nimble fingers, careful not to spill any on himself. He tested a quill on a sheet of paper and dusted it off the feathers before scooting closer to Kratos' bed, placing the inked quill inside as a page marker. "Along with this."
"What is it?"
"A journal." He handed the book over, helping Kratos open to the first clean page.
"And what purpose will a journal serve me?"
"Write in it. Writing helps clear the mind."
Kratos grunted. "If that's the case, where's your journal?"
Reaching over for a random book, Yuan replied with an aquamarine glare, "I don't need one." He opened it and began reading about Elven Fairytales: of how the Goddess Martel grew angry with the people of Sylvarant, and a great famine took over the land, of how a single drop of oil caused a fire, of dreams coming true, of animals joining together to present the Goddess with a sacrifice of their own. These were the stories Martel put Mithos to bed with, and, occasionally, Yuan himself, but in their new twisted form. He found himself correcting mistakes in his head as he read line after line. There was no doubt that this book had been edited by Yggdrasill as a part of the literature taught to the Chosen and the children who attended Mass at the Martel Chapel. Becoming disgusted, he slammed the book shut and threw it half way across the room, rather reluctant to pick up another.
The sound of Kratos sighing caught Yuan's attention. He caught glimpse of the journal: at least two pages had been written on. Some was in his native tongue, while, somewhere in the middle, it drifted into the Angelic language. Kratos didn't give Yuan long to read much before closing the journal and sticking it under his pillow.
"Done already?" Yuan asked.
"For now." He rubbed his temples, running his fingers through his hair which was insulating the already insane heat of his body. "I believe the Ritual is over."
Yuan's face grimaced. "I'm sure you do."
"Yuan... please. Just check. Please."
"You don't make anything easy, do you?" The half elf stood to his feet, moving closer to Kratos. He reached over and took one of his arms with no resistance from the mercenary. Then, he revealed his sword and proceeded to run the edge against Kratos' arm, who winched from the pain, but made no complaints. Within seconds, blood puddled before running down his flesh. Yuan retrieved a small sample, extracting it into a cup.
Yuan didn't even have to say anything. The way his face darkened told the story. After bandaging the wound, he forced the man on his back violently. The half elf moved like a robot; his eyes stayed distant from Kratos', but his nimble fingers proceeded, while his heart questioned his motives. Why the hell am I doing this?...
- - - - - - -
To say he was in pain would be an understatement. With no Aionis in his blood, he was unable to use any form of healing arts nor could he wield magic. First Aid would have come in handy just as Grave would have been rather appropriate for the situation. He began to question his own decision: contemplating whether or not he should wait for Death to visit him naturally or if it would be best for him to meet Him halfway.
With the Cruxis Crystal removed, aging started from the inside out, but the outside was the most visual. His skin wrinkled and his once luxurious auburn hair died down to a gruff shade of gray before turning as white as virgin Flanoir snow. Things like standing became a challenge; so many times the mercenary would stumble to his knees, waiting on assistance from the half elf. Yuan felt more like he was caring for a sickly child, and in a way, he was, but nonetheless, he took his care taking responsibilities to heart, devoting all of his time and attention to the ailing Seraph.
Sooner after, Kratos started to crave something he had not in an eternity and he found his lips parched, as dry as the sun. There was no food on the planet for none was needed, as well as no means of growing any. Even if they could, the growing process would take far too long. By the time the plants matured, it would be too late. Far too late. Hunger only made the situation worse; his stomach complained, but there was something he or Yuan could do.
Light seemed to flee from the once Great Seed Chamber. Not even the stars provided an adequate amount of it and Yuan found himself relying on his other four senses to guide his body in the room. At that point, he felt there was no use in finding more candles to combat the darkness; the less he could see, the less he would remember. The less memories, the less nightmare that could haunt his dreams, for he too considered abandoning his immorality for a more formal departure from life.
Kratos shook convulsively on the ground and his breathing ranged from audible to unsteady; he grasped the sheets as if trying to rip them apart, moaning in agony at random times. The sweat decreased to a minimum; it took too much energy and his lost of hope affected him on a physical level: even his body had lost all hope for survival.
"... how... long...has...it...been...?" the Seraph whispered from his bed, taking in a deep breath before each word. He didn't want an answer, but the silence was too heavy. Maybe the sound of his companion's voice would bring life to the inevitable death in the room.
Yuan perked up and straightened his back. "How long has what been, Kratos?"
The man sighed, shifting his weight on the blankets. "Heh. Ma-maybe... I should... have... let... y-you... kill me."
He was taken aback by such a comment; half disappointed and half disgusted. Could death really bring out such a sense of doubt in a person; even the greatest warriors of all time? Balling his fist and shaking it into the darkness, he replied, "You're not worth killing, Kratos. Not like this."
"You... wanted to... before," said Kratos, closing his eyes.
"That was a long time ago. Plus, you fought back." Yuan released his fist and folded his arms, straightening his back against the wall directly behind him. Legs stretched out, he looked to the side. "If I wanted to kill you, I could. We both know that. But that would take away your dignity. That's what you told me: 'I'd like to die with dignity'. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm letting you die with your dignity. Your Martel-forsaken Dignity."
The room was quiet for a while. Yuan refused to move and Kratos was unable to, no matter how much he desired. Both found a brand new appreciation in freedom: the ability to move at one's will and having nothing, not sickness, not restraints, hindering one's way. The half elf, still in possession of his Cruxis Crystal, had retained his wings; he could fly anywhere, but everything on the planet, he had seen. And for what purpose would he want to wander around the biggest mistake to ever hit Symphonia? Whenever he released his transparent wings, Kratos would grimace, and Yuan could swear that the mercenary's eyes glistened with tears. Was he crying?
"Yuan." Kratos decided to break the silence.
"What?" replied the half elf, still a bit upset about their previous conversation, but had no intentions of resurrecting it.
"I'd... like to write... in my journal." With tremendous effort, he lifted his head and reached under his pillow, pulling out the book. He laid it in the area he predicted the quill and ink to be.
The half elf though for a moment with a confused look before finally the request made sense. "You need a candle to see?"
"Yes. Please." Kratos nodded, throwing in the last word with only half the volume of his first.
Yuan stood and reached into his pocket, fumbling around for a candle. His fingers caressed the side; dried wax bubbled down indicating it had been used more than once. He felt the length, concluding that it was almost gone; the light would only last for a bit longer, maybe an hour, and he had no knowledge concerning the location of any more. He bit his bottom lip, deciding whether or not to inform Kratos of his discovery: what if he were merely moments before death and desired to document his last thoughts in his journal, only to find out that no light remained? The sounds of his companion broke his train of thought. He decided to proceed and kept it a secret. Maybe this secret wouldn't be as painful as the others he kept for four thousand years. Forgive me, Kratos.
He walked over to the mercenary who was all ready to begin filling the blank pages with his thoughts, feelings, concerns, discoveries, and confessions. Kratos moved into a more comfortable position: sitting up and employing the last of his strength to pull his body closer to the stairs, using the edge for support. Yuan stuffed the candle into a base and lit the wink after asking Kratos where to place it. Shaken fingers gripped the abscessed quill feathers as he dipped it into the opened ink pot.
"Is there something wrong?" Kratos asked, noticing Yuan was staring at him. Despite his rapid aging, the mercenary still maintained his strong, brown gaze and his eyes glistened with concern.
"Uh, nothing," Yuan lied. He stepped out of the field of orange candlelight and returned to his dark corner, waiting to be called on. "Just hurry up. If you waste wax, don't expect me to go running around looking for another candle."
With a nod, Kratos picked up the subtle hint and began writing his thoughts. He knew he was running out of time, and he doubted he would last longer than the candle that illuminated his space.
- - - - - - -
In the depths of my mind, I find that there is nothing strong enough to subdue my own conscious. Being my age, one would conclude that loneliness is but an afterthought, when in truth, I've only learned how to ignore it. And even having time to think, I can not determine whether or not, if given the option, I'd change the past. Since the answer is open ended, I will not dandle on it. I do not intend to spend the last of my human existence with a grim nature.
I don't know how long it has been, nor do I have the desire to find the amount. My time is running out and I am fully aware of it. My strength has abandoned me; where I am going, I will not need it. Dying has given me a sense of comfort; no longer will I be forced into anyone else's ideals. My eyes have seen things they should not have, my ears have played audience to the wrong words, and my existence is far too expatiated for my own good. Life is such a precious thing, something I've, no, we've taken for granted. For that, I've punished myself with loneliness and have dragged my only companion into this forsaken form of salvation. Yuan, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Death is not my sacrifice, it is my reward. Now, I can rest.
- Excerpt from Kratos' Journal.
Awww! Breaks my heart to see Kratos in such agony. Breaks my heart even more because I've typed up the last chapter and I know what's gonna happen XD I are teh evil. Yuan nursing Kratos is so smecky! -fangirl scream- Can you imagine him with his hair out of that ponytail, thrown behind his shoulder? Go ahead and think about it for a second...now stop drooling. 'Twas gonna give Kratos a diary, but that isn't very manly, so a journal will have to do. Dude. I'd give anything for Kratos' journal. Screw that; I'd give anything for Kratos.
Oh, yeah. Just a side note I reread this and thought it sounded a bit "weird." Kratos threw up the Aionis. ...Think that's everything. If not, send me a message and I'll clarify. But if something doesn't make sense, try reading it over again. I try to make everything as descriptive as possible
I leave little hints in my writing; not exactly spoilers, but subtle hints as what will happen next and allusions to scenes in the game. Is anyone picking them up? Cuz I don't want them to confuse you or have it sound retarded. Meh. Oh well.
Oh noes! What will happen next?! Will Yuan peep at Kratos' journal? Will Derris Kharlan asplode? Will Kratos and Yuan make out in the corner?! No, but let the yaoi fangirls dream. xD
...I've forgotten what else I wanted to say...Oh, well. Until next time, TOOTLES. It's almost 11 and I've eight hours of classes tomorrow, first starting at 1 PM.