"Rest in Peace, Sinners!"

But when you join that side of the ‘Supernatrual’ and get to grow as a person, you begin to enjoy the things you didn’t get to before. 

“Well it is now, the legend of Halloween has changed around with each century and some people still celebrate some of those traditions to this day. I would say that it is a common one indeed.” 

The changing of traditions between centuries is an interesting thing that Kratos has had many, many opportunities to observe. Curious how so much of the context changes, and yet the core of the idea often survives—even when twisted until it’s hardly recognizable. 

In fact . . . Mithos had certainly taken some practices and warped them to fit his purpose. And Kratos had had a hand in that as well.

This tradition, at least, appears to have steered away from the more sinister path it could easily have taken, and still can (though Kratos hopes it continues to resist that).

“In any case, it’s settled then! Once you get those old bones of yours back in shape, let’s hit the nearest place and eat so much our bellies will explode! …Not literally, of course.” He remembers to remark.

Meanwhile, it looks like the sky has started to darken outside, with heavy looking clouds covering the sun. “Hmmmm… You like the rain, Kratos?”

“I’m not sure I’d recommend living for so long.” As many times as he’s wanted to just be done with it, he can’t waste the life he still has. Especially after having taken or indirectly caused the early cut off of so many others’ lives. It’d be more selfish than he’s already been. 

He doesn’t understand what Battler means, but the gravity he hears in the other’s tone he can. The things he’s seen and done in just the first 1000 years. . . . It is harrowing. 

“Heh, I didn’t think so.” 

Though the more he’s seen throughout the years, the less likely he is to write off such a ridiculous sounding occurrence.

     You can’t say you expected anything different, but the fact that you’re relieved to hear that he doesn’t hate you is ridiculous enough to make you snort quietly.      

     You meet his eyes for a moment. You at least owe him that.      

    “Enough of it. The details are mercifully foggy, but I know what I’ve done.”

     You feel your throat tighten before you speak again. “I haven’t seen Mithos since.”

Kratos has learned to appreciate small mercies, and this for all its simplicity is a great one. He has wished several times that his memory be worse than it is. Just like with Martel, with Anna, with Mithos, Kratos will remember each and every detail in excruciating fullness and clarity.

     Beneath you, you can feel the mana within Kratos fading. It isn’t working. He’s not responding. You clench your fists in the fabric of his shirt, shuddering, and let out a shaky breath as you force the flow of energy back into him.

     And then the connection is broken. The light around your hands dies.

     “Kratos?”

     Your voice cracks. He keeps sliding in and out of focus. You grip his wrist, half to reassure yourself of his presence and half to keep yourself from falling backward. Blackness begins eating away at the edges of your vision – have you doomed yourself?

     You look from him to the body on the floor.

     You open your mouth again.

     Your eyes roll back, and you slump over.

“You idiot.”

Kratos is able to catch Yuan before he hits the ground.

It seems Kratos interfered in time. Yuan has lost more mana than is ever wise, but an amount that Kratos believes he’ll pull through from. If not, it’s an amount that gives him some time to observe and see what happens, if Yuan worsens or not.

Already, the negatives of people creep back into his vision, stark against their background.

Kratos tries to ignore them. He has Yuan to deal with now. He hoists the other man up in a fireman’s carry and starts the trek toward somewhere Yuan can recover. 

The people follow, voices pleading and condemning, begging and blaming. 

     “… Thank you.”

     For taking care of her. For killing you. For not leaving again.

     Your stomach knots. What if he walks away and doesn’t remember the next time you meet?

     That can’t happen. You don’t know what you need to say, but you can’t lose this chance. Your teeth clench and your eyes squeeze shut.

    “Say something. About what happened. Anything.”

Kratos doesn’t know what to say. With Yuan it seems anything he ever says is the wrong thing. He did say anything though. Kratos skips the part about finding his singed cape and Shinx and cuts straight to the primary artery.

“I . . . don’t want to have to do that ever again.” A pause. 

“I’m sorry for it,” he looks straight at Yuan, “but I figured you’d never forgive me if I didn’t stop you.”

The fact that Yuan asked about “what happened” implies he remembers something. 

Man, now he’s really feeling hungry. But he won’t just leave Kratos alone. Visiting time is just an hour a day and it doesn’t look like anyone else is coming to check on him today. Battler might as well try chatting some to get to know the other a bit better.

“Not needing to stop for food and sleep, though… That’s pretty convenient. I was the same back in my world, but I guess I didn’t live long enough to get rid of the psychological need for those. Habits are a thing hard to get rid of, you know?”

Well. Hearing someone refer to food as “sexy” is new. It seems he still has much to learn.

“Hm . . . I think I would like that.”  Probably just being with someone new is a good idea. Especially as Mithos is  . . . lost to him. Yet again. Just him and Yuan left now.

Quite frankly though, Kratos isn’t going to wait longer than a day before he leaves, whether he meets the hospital’s requirements or not. He still recovers quicker than normal, it seems. And if Yuan finds out he’s in the hospital . . . better to go home and take care of himself. He’s been doing it for thousands of years anyway.

“Indeed. . . . It took me a few hundred years to lose the psychological need for food, actually.” Well, give or take a hundred.

      Limbs shaking, nails bloody, you follow the feeling of magic being cast down the dark alleys of Sector oo4. When you recognize the voices calling out incantations, the world crumbles beneath you.

      Kratos can hold his own, but not against Yggdrasill. Not in a one-on-one fight.

      You extend a trembling, ink-coated hand and try to summon your blade. Yggdrasill has to be an illusion. He would never attack Kratos. But the wounds Kratos is receiving are very real – you can tell by the blood spattering the pavement as he sinks to one knee.

      Your blade doesn’t appear.

      Stammering, you begin an incantation of your own. You just need to stun the illusion of Yggdrasill long enough to give Kratos time to rally. 

      Your magic never comes. 

      Yggdrasill looks at you out of the corner of his eye and smirks.

      “Judgment.”

      The holy light misses you by inches, close enough that you can feel its searing heat against your bare arms. You lower the hand you’d raised defensively, eyes wide as you search the scorched battlefield.

      Yggdrasill is gone. 

      But Kratos lies on the ground, unmoving. 

      You take a step closer – then another, then another until you’re running, leaving behind a trail of dark sludge as it drips off of you. You crash to the ground beside him, shaking hands hovering over his body. What if you touch him and the darkness spreads to him as well? You need to see if he’s breathing. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Does he have a pulse? 

      What if he doesn’t? 

      Mana begins gathering at your fingertips, but your vision blurs. You can’t do this. Not again. 

It’s hard to concentrate on a goal when surrounded by voices. (He can’t turn off his hearing, not for this. This, at the very least, he deserves.)

“It’s your fault. You stood by while Mithos became twisted. he looked up to you, you could have helped him—could have stopped my brother.” “Why did you kill me? Why didn’t you save me? You killed me in front of our son. . . .” “Murderer.” “You let him slaughter us.” “Kratos, you—”

Yuan doesn’t get the chance to say whatever he began, not when Kratos comes into sight of a corporeal Yuan. A corporeal Yuan that is sending his mana into the ground. Mana that he certainly can’t afford to lose when he doesn’t even have all of what he should. 

As he gets closer, he sees his own body and realizes what, exactly, Yuan’s seeing. There’s no time to think about it though.

Kratos breaks into a run—

grabs him by the shoulder.

“Yuan! Yuan what are you doing?”

“Ah, w-well, its supposed to be fun for both sides you see. They ask for a trick and sometimes people come up with clever pranks!” At least, that’s how the apartment building back home in Manhattan did it. 

“Of course it depends really, some people don’t do it and certain churches just give out candy and games for the safety of the children.” 

“Hmph.” Kratos crosses his arms and eyes his surrounds skeptically. “It still sounds unwise.”

The church approach sounds a better idea. 

Then again . . . churches make Kratos wary. They’re still holy in a way, but it’s hard to look at them in a holy light when you’ve been part of a manipulation. A utilization and implementation of a religion to serve an ulterior motive. A scam. And a dangerous one with far-reaching consequences.

He doesn’t belong in churches anymore, if he ever did. What he’s done makes him unfit for a holy place for earnest worshippers.

“So is this a common practice?”

He laughs at his joke, then places the book on Kratos’ lap. Sayonara Kami-sama, by Yutaka Maya. Avery entertaining mystery novel that he read recently. Hopefully Kratos is also a fan of those.

“Toblerone is a chocolate brand, known for its honey taste and mountain shape. Pretty delicious, if you ask me. Look for it once you can go home!”

It wasn’t always . . . convenient to have to stop for food or sleep. It wasn’t necessary, therefore I didn’t waste my time on it.”

Kratos has no idea if he’ll like it or not. The only reading he’s ever been prone to is reading for specific knowledge. On monsters, edible plants, a cure for Angel Toxicosis. . . . Reading for pleasure is not very familiar, though Anna partook of what when she could.

“I will do so.” It sounds . . . interesting. Perhaps Yuan will like it.

 “Thank you, for this.” He tilts his head to the book, though he means for more than that.

“I’m Kachina! Nice to meet you Kratos.”

“Hmph, I suppose.” Those scientists remind him too much of Derris Kharlan. Or Mithos’ regime.

In a way, he’s not sure he wants them back. Well, he does miss the wings. But all that mana and power. He’d misused it. Didn’t use it when he should’ve. 

Perhaps it’s better this way.

“You’re quick as well.” Very quick, actually.

“This is a costume. Ah, a friend acquired them.” Or made them. He’s not sure. “I do not have the ability to manifest wings currently, and they are . . . quite different.” It’s embarrassing, and slightly emotionally painful, to wear them but one look at Mithos’ face and well. . . .

“Kratos Aurion,” he adds.

Talk about an emergency. 2 days ago, Battler was minding his own business when he spots this poor fella fallen on the floor. He was thankfully alive (as a quick vitals checking showed), but he didn’t scream healthiness. Not having that much medical knowledge anyway, he did the sensible thing and brought him to a nearby hospital.

“You sure gave the folks here a scare, you knew that? Food is important to sustain yourself!”

Even Kratos has the ability to look somewhat embarrassed. It’s rare, but it exists.

“I’m . . . not used to needing to consume food. Something I must relearn it seems. Forgive me for worrying you.”

Martel forbid Mithos finds out about this. . . .Or, worse yet, Yuan.

He eyes the book curiously. He honestly can’t remember the last time someone brought him a book.

“Trick or Tre-” A strange shiver went down his spine as if someone was watching made him tilt his head- looking over his shoulder to almost sputter in shock. Was that Kratos?! In an…..Angel costume?

“M-Mr. Kratos?!” Not to be rude, but his intimidating statute was clearly making the adults uncomfortable while the kids continued on unaware.

“Joey,” Kratos returned. “Please drop the ‘Mr,’ surely it is unnecessary by this point.”

Somehow, despite Joey’s bemusement, Kratos stays serious. Despite the large fluffy wings on his back.

“What, exactly, is the point of asking to be tricked? That seems to be a tactical error.”