GAH! Apologies to my readers for this LONG awaited update. Lots of stuff has been happening, some real deep drama and I've been sick to the point of not being about to get out of bed for any longer than a bathroom break. Trust me, there's a reason, a few actually, as to why I haven't updated in over three months. Wish I could say things are getting better, but they're not. Expect a vent in the form of a story (oneshot) to come soon.

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Martel would have been a ninja. Because ninjas own all.

Chapter Eight:

Discipline

Botta took in a deep breath after closing out his communicator's signal, shaking his head from side to side and chewing on his bottom lip mercilessly. Needless to say, he was worried, not to mention a bit upset with the outcome he predicted well before his nephew's departure. They had been gone for a little over three hours. Three long, pain-staking hours, though it felt like so much longer. Yuan's last desperate transmission was at least ten minutes ago. That's how long Genis had been in the cold, probably half frozen by this point in time and frightened out of his fragile, adolescent mind. Poor Genis... Botta just had to find him.

He dropped everything occupying his attention, leaving papers on his desk in no particular order and disregarding deadlines, gaining a few quizzical glares from the Renegades in the room. They said nothing, and prepared themselves for a command of any sort, most likely fueled by Lord Botta's discontent. Sliding his chair back, he stood to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Lord Botta, is there a problem?" one asked, becoming brave enough to speak. At that, the others stopped or slowed down with their work, anxiously waiting for a reply.

Sighing, the subordinate reluctantly nodded his head. "Something's come up and I need to leave for a moment. Continue with the blueprints and have the calculations ready by the time I get back." With a single finger, he pointed to acknowledge the new leader until his return. "Make sure it happens, understand?"

The appointed replied with a nod of his own, saluting with respect. "Yes, Sir!"

"I'll be off now," he said before rushing to the door.

Botta made his way down the halls, and he couldn't help but think of the toddler as he passed each bump and scratch decorating the once flawless wallpaper. Sure, Genis was the Puppeteer of endless annoyance, the source of Yuan's mood swings, and occasionally a thorn in the side, but everyone would shed a tear upon the announcement of his death. It hurt him to see the child in pain; it pained him even more to see the boy disciplined by his father, but such things couldn't be helped. What things didn't kill him would only make Genis stronger, but what if it did... what if he– no! It wasn't the time for doubts.

Verifying his identity on the door's scanner, he entered the hanger. His footsteps were loud and determined as he passed a number of workers without so much as a glance to acknowledge their presence. When he gave commands, his tone was low, using as few words as possible, and his gaze shifted, unable to concentrate on any one object.

The Renegades stayed out of his way for the most part, avoiding the half elf like deadly disease; some escaped from the room as if to avoid confrontations. Botta proceeded to the rhearid controls and pushed a few buttons in the same manner as Yuan, ultimately going in to the same destination, even if for a different reason. He made a promise to Yuan, one he planned to keep.

After a few final commands, the sirens went off, bringing the half elf back to his senses. He took another deep breath after nodded and closing his eyes to visually review his mission; maybe it would be smart to bring along some help, but no. They'd only get in the way, and it wouldn't be best to have the Renegades involved in such a trivial matter; so trivial a matter, it was driving him insane with worry.

Stretching, Botta loaded himself onto the rhearid, pulling leavers and twisting handles. His inspections came up dry for errors. Everything was in order. The hanger's flight door creaked open as a gust of chilly wind blew in, howling against his ears, along with a mirage of icy white snowflakes. After what felt like an eternity, a deep toned beep sounded, giving him the final confirmation for take off.

"Genis, hold on. Just a little longer and I'll find you."

- - - - - -

Raine remained in the dark, both consciously and visually. Her mind was spinning in countless directions from the throbbing headache caused by her tightly-bound blindfold; no matter how many times she pleaded, no attempts were made to correct the problem. Her feet moved in a steady pace, similar to marching on a battlefront, though she was in no condition to fight any wars. She stayed in the complete control of her guardians; perhaps the destination would be worth all she'd been put through. The idea was farfetched.

Somehow, she managed to loosen the cloth's grip, if only a bit, allowing her sense of sound to pick up the slack of her eyes. It had been years since her ears had been blessed with anything besides a revolting symphony of metals bars, chains, and noises of her own screams from those experiments. Corrine was no where to be found; the sound of his voice was becoming something of a memory. Slowly but surely, he just faded away, and the distance between his sightings became greater and greater. His short returns to the Academy were pertained to testing, in which case Raine didn't get a chance to see him. Even when she did, her body was in so much turmoil and her head cluttered with sickening thoughts, she had no choice but to suppress. When he spoke, his loyalty was to Sheena. Raine would smile, trying to imagine what friendship really felt like.

The sounds of Meltokio would have frightened her had she not been fearful of other things, and much more amazed for that matter. Heat, fatigue, and hunger wrecked havoc in the worse possible ways; thick shackles weighed down her wrist while cutting through her delicate, filthy flesh, and blood dripped down her arms. The urge to faint grew greater with each passing moment, but she knew it'd be hell if she did.

Suddenly, Raine yelled after her foot collided with something that felt like stone; why would they run her into a wall? Stumbling backwards, she tried to catch her breath while waiting for the pain to subside, and hopped on the opposite. The group came to a halt, but not without complaints.

"What is your problem now?!" Janet's irritated voice caused the half elf's head to shoot up in her direction.

"Raine, did you hurt yourself?" Jeremy's concerned voice rang in her ear from the left. He moved in closer to her side, taking her shackle-bound hands in his.

"Ow!" was her only reply as she squinted behind the blindfold. The hopping stopped, but the pain was just getting started. She tried to nod, compensating for the less than mediocre verbal reply.

Jeremy sighed, shaking his head in sympathy. "She can't see anything because of the blindfold. You have to do a better job of guiding her up the stairs." He pushed his laboratory coat behind him, pulling it to the back, and knelt down beside Raine, checking her bare feet for any detrimental damage. "I don't see any bleeding."

"For Martel's sake, stand up! People are looking at you. We're representing the Imperial Research Academy."

Jeremy stood to his feet as commanded. "Of course. Nothing's more precious than our reputation," replied the scientist. No sooner than the rebellious words escaped his lips, he gasped, turning his gaze away from his superior as he realized the true burn of his words. Even Raine felt a quake in the earth, as the group waited in the eye of the storm, and she feared for someone's life other than her own for the first time in a long while. His rant had been brave, true, yet idiotic at the same time.

Janet, who had been ahead of the group waiting impatiently on the fourth step, straightened her posture, snapping her back. Her face was to the destination, currently twitching with a cross between irritation and outrage while the last sane bits of sanity in her mind contemplated on the next move. Something big was about to happen; everyone could feel it.

"The king is waiting. Hurry. Up." The mistress' fingers curled into a fist; deep creases formed on the edges and her taunt flesh flushed plush red.

"Miss..." Against every conscious voice in his head, Jeremy spoke. He reached out his hand, extending his arm as if to touch her. "I-I, Miss Janet, I didn-"

"SILENCE," she screamed. The stone once solid beneath their feet rumbled, vibrating with unnatural force, and the sun's light seemed to die down. People traveling within earshot jumped; a few nearly tripped on their way down. The outburst gained the attention of residents and tourist alike, making note of the Academy's signature lab coats and insignias. "We have an appointment to keep." Her voice had a strange undertone, almost frightening. Disregarding the few feet of distance between them, it sounded, and felt, cold. Freezing cold, as if the last bit of warmth in her soul, assuming any remained, washed out like a candle in the winds of a storm.

Jeremy swallowed twice, trying to drown the sour taste of developing fear in the back of throat. "Yes... Mistress." He inhaled as his lips quivered for a moment; if she did anything, it wouldn't be until they returned to the Academy, right? Surely she wouldn't embarrass herself in front of His Majesty or anywhere near the castle for that matter. His mind subconsciously ran through the various torture method she used as punishment, squinting as mental paintbrushes drew a canvas of dark memories retelling the truth nature of things better left to die; the number was almost as horrific as the methods themselves.

Both of them had known Janet for years; each was accustomed to her mood swings, unjust accusations, and outburst that could only be described as temper tantrums. Being around her was easy, almost natural, but now something was different.

He grabbed Raine's arm, pulling it up to guide her up each step, making the trip a lot easier. He dared not to look towards the sky, fearful his eyes would meet hers and melt under the fury of her anger. The half elf tried her best to cooperate, biting her lip each time her now swollen feet hit a step. For the most part they traveled in silence, fearful of what was to come.

- - - - - -

Almost all nightmares have the same recurring theme, the same connection: fear of something out of one's control, whether it be death, loss, defeat, or failure; to be denied of a privilege one cannot regain, come tears or blood. Repenting is just a confession of errors, but very rarely does it compensation for the total sum of sins; compensation comes in many forms, often greater than the sin itself, like interest on a loan. And sometimes one is too blind to realize the true blessing he has in the land of the living, concentrating on those sacrifices far from his reach. Every tactic he considers necessary, everyone else considers insane. So what can be done when caught between a rock and a hard place, the ground below has turned to water, and the wings of hope have been severed from the back?

It's amazing how one small event in the past can poison the sands of time for generations to come, like a curse sent through something as precious as blood; how one small event in history could mean the end of so many people. Yes, the Seraph felt the same pain as his superior, but never in his life would he be so cruel, so selfish, or capable of conjuring a scheme as heartless as Mithos.

The winds blew through his hair, whistling past his angelic ears, and kissed his flesh like a cool breeze in the depths of summer. His black cloak floated as if weightless and ruffled like a flag presented on the battlefront. Yuan made no attempt to slow down; his feet hit the ground below with a thud as he ran to make up for the intense speeds his wings were capable of reaching. He left indents in the ground the same shape as his boots; blades of grass, torn from the force of impact glued themselves on the bottoms and on the sides of his pants. The half elf grunted, wiping them off. The same scowl he left Pronyma with was still on his face, and he had no intentions of changing it, not even for Yggdrasill. There was no word from Botta and nothing from the Base. If the boy died, he'd never forgive himself; he'd never forgive Mithos.

Yuan reached Welgaia, fast-walking his way through the lifeless crowd, paying no attention to their faces or their greetings, when an guard angel called to him.

"Lord Yuan," called a monotone voice.

The Seraph stopped and turned around after sighing with annoyance. "What?"

"Lord Yggdrasill has reque-"

"He's requested my presence. I already know," replied the half elf with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, my Lord. I was told to inform you he's waiting in the throne room."

"The throne room?..." he repeated to himself, narrowing his eyes. "Why is he in there?"

Normally in the past when Mithos calls his Seraphim for meetings, they've been held in the meeting room. The throne room wasn't as glorious as its name would designate, being anything but. What was he planning?

The angel stood a few feet away, listening to Yuan's mindless mumbling. "My Lord? Is something wrong?"

Yuan shook his head, knocking his senses back into place. "I'll be off then." With that, he turned on his heels and sped off before the angel could get in another word.

Vinheim used to be holy ground, rivaled only by the Holy Ground of Kharlan. When Mithos took over Derris Kharlan with the help of Origin and Kratos, he tore down everything unpleasant to his eyes and built a "glorious" castle which he proclaimed would be home to his family, a residence "fit for the gods" where there would be no lack for him and his sister. Even back before wars and exiles, the house Martel and Mithos lived in was nothing more than a storage barn someone allowed them to use for a few gald monthly: one bedroom, a bathroom not fit for slaves, broken roof, creaking windows, shattered glass. The slightest winds rattled the loose boards, winter was a nightmare and it felt like Martel caught a cold every week, sacrificing the warmest blankets for her brother. Summers were no better; when the clock hit noon, the sun beamed down like fire, melting the skin off their bones. Money was tighter than the bond between them; jobs were scarce due to the young goddess' age, and the care of her brother didn't make the situation less stressful. Still, somehow, she always kept a smile just like her mother did before her death. Martel tried her best to make it into a place called home, but her efforts were rendered useless; no matter what she did, it was never good enough. Hard times were only made harder during the Kharlan Wars; no inn would accept half elves, and humans were only fooled for so long. Sometimes they'd escape certain death by the skin of their teeth. Maybe Mithos felt guilty after Martel's death, a sense of selfishness unlocked a bit of remorse in his heart as he reminisced about the past.

Within a matter of minutes, Yuan stood in front solid double doors made from an extinct wood native to the area near Lake Umacy. Known for reliable durability and strength, it was used as the basic material for design until Cruxis' technology matured, which eventually lead to its disappearance. Somewhere in the Martel Scriptures there's a story about a holy tree with a spiritual connection to the Unicorn. Mithos thought up that lie overnight; he himself held the last seed, and despite numerous request to replant, refused. His reason for doing so was as selfish as always. Just another seed stolen from the world.

Yuan grasped the gold handle and pushed with a grunt as the twenty-foot-high doors swung open, making his way into the throne room, wondering how something so "holy" could be so dark and unbecoming; orange shadows danced along the walls as decorative stone pillars held jars of freshly lit fires placed on either side of two windows on each side of the room. His boots tapped softly against the solid marble floors that glistened and sparkled, flawless. When he looked down, his aquamarine eyes caught sight of an exact replica in the form of a reflection. The Seraph quickly turned away as it reminded him he hadn't aged in four thousand years.

"Next time you enter this room, knock first." Some distance away, a figure grumbled in an innocently dark voice. His body was curled into a ball, back arched and weight supported on a lone shoulder against the throne's upholstered back. His arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked from side to side, not worried about falling over, and his gaze was towards the empty wall directly in front. The throne itself was taller than him in his current form, and just as ancient; topaz, aquamarine, diamond, and many other jewels decorated the sides, solid gold trimmed the edges. Runes spelled out Mithos' name in every language known to humans and elves, with the top of the throne having it spelt with Angelic characters.

"Hmph."

"Just as rude as ever." Mithos unwrapped himself and swung his legs over the edge, letting them dangle over the throne.

"What is it, Mithos?"

Mithos stroked the arm rest with his fingers, tracing his name in ancient languages. "Martel's gonna be back soon and I want everything perfect."

Yuan growled and folded his arms. "I was hoping you called me here for a real reason," replied with Seraph with irritation.

He looked up, slotting his eyes and jumped to his feet. He walked down the steps leading to the precious throne, halting when his shoes hit the carpet. "Even to this day, I still don't understand what Martel saw in you." High ceilings caused his words to echo throughout the room; every sound's intensity multiplied. "If it wasn't for her wishes, you'd probably be dead. Just like the rest of those other failures."

Only Yggdrasill would be so rude as to stand in his face while spewing insults, but somehow every conversation about Martel between them ended this way. Their views on the situation always seemed to be polar opposites. "I didn't come here to have you insult me."

"I'm just telling the truth. Why can't you just be grateful I'm even considering your opinion when it comes to my sister?!"

"Enough of this!" Yuan exclaimed as he felt his anger grow. He spun on his heels and began to back track with the intention of leaving the room. "I'll excuse myself if you have nothing else relevant to say."

"Don't you DARE walk away when I'm talking to you!" Mithos screamed. Yuan hesitated for a second, but decided to keep walking.

A terrible mistake.

Mithos summoned his wings and began to glow as white balls of light surrounded his body. Moments later, he transformed from innocent hero Mithos to the mass murder Lord Yggdrasill. He lunged towards Yuan with angelic speeds, gritting his teeth, and grabbed the Seraph by his collar, moving his grip to the neck and began to slowly tighten the grip, growling through gritted teeth like a caged animal. Crystalline blue eyes narrowed into slots. He lifted Yuan in the air as if he were weightless, tossing him to the nearest wall like a rag doll, and sending a ball of mana after him after the impact.

Yuan exclaimed and tumbled to the ground, rolling around for a few second as he tried to caught his breath. Yggdrasill gave him no time for recovery; he flew over the injured half elf and landed inches away from his body. He kicked Yuan's chest with full force, sending the Renegade's back into the wall. Yuan gasped, rolling on his front and pushing his body up with his arms while coughing up blood. Before Mithos could get in another blow, he jumped in the air, knocking into the door and began to steady himself.

Yggdrasill huffed and pointed to the disobedient Seraph with a single finger. "I gave you EVERYTHING you have! EVERYTHING! Your immorality, your skills, your strength, your life. Without me, you'd be nothing. Don't forget who you owe your loyalty."

"...-" Despite being impervious to fatigue, he felt worn out, injured, and as much as it hurt to admit, beaten. Kratos had taught the boy well in the area of swordsmanship as well as combat.

"You're dismissed. Get out of my sight." Mithos flicked his hand and opened the door to exit. "The next time I summon you to Derris Kharlan, be on time." With that, he left Yuan to suffer alone.

A dog disciplined by his master.

A page shorter than my requirement, but hey, that's okay. For some strange reason, I LOVE that ending. Poor Yuan, but bat friggin insane Mithos is awesome XD And, zomg, where's Genis? Why are they taking Raine to the King? I'll try to get an update soon. Tell me if you spot typos. I'm out of things to say. For now, tootles