(A/N: One of several crossovers written from random prompts. Features Yazoo (Advent Children) and Kratos Aurion (Tales of Symphonia); the prompt was 'I tried to murder the lonely, contemplate our mortality. Into infinity, frozen memory; wipe the tears from yesterday, a time for change, take the pain away. Angel, my destiny – can you feel me?')

The being had appeared, quite literally, out of no where; it had been a shock. Yazoo stood stock still, his gun pointed unwaveringly at it. “Don’t move.”

The being didn’t, though his back was to Yazoo and that would undoubtedly make anyone uncomfortable. He pronounced his words clearly, “I have no intention of harming you.”

Yazoo’s gun clicked into readiness. “Who are you?”

“My name is Kratos.”

That response did not meet with Yazoo’s satisfaction. “What are you?”

“A mercenary.”

Yazoo had been stalking forward and now stood directly in front of Kratos, his eyes glittering; his words were accusing, “You appeared.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Very far away.”

Yazoo snapped, impatient, “Where?”

“A place called Derris-Kharlan.” Kratos’s words remained calm, quiet, deep and clear. He answered only exactly what Yazoo asked for a reason; offering any more detail may press him to lie in excess and he had no desire to do so.

The answer seemed to mollify Yazoo somewhat, or at least suit him well enough that he moved on; he looked Kratos over once again and then commanded, “Remove the sword.”

“I do not intend to harm you.” Kratos repeated steadily, making no move to comply.

“Take it off.” Yazoo repeated severely, “Only my brothers may wear swords around me.”

Kratos gave him a very serious look and slowly undid his sword belt, allowing it to fall to the damp ground with a muffled thump. Yazoo stepped forward and kicked it away from him, then closed a pale hand around his shoulder and squeezed it – hard. Kratos’s expression flickered slightly, indicating pain, but to his credit he resisted wincing outright and did not pull backwards.

Yazoo smirked. “So you do exist.”

“… Yes.”

“And you do not come from a greater mind. You simply are, as you are, this.” Yazoo’s hand trailed down his side, barely grazing it but encompassing his entire body in the way it moved.

Kratos was nonplussed, but responded evenly, “Yes.”

“Do you know what I am?”

“I do not.” Though, Kratos realised with a start, he did look rather like Lord Yggdrasill. The long hair, mostly, and the eyes. This man’s eyes were unnerving.

“I am a shard. A piece. I am less.” Yazoo stepped in closer to him, very nearly pressing their bodies together; there was no heat to it, only intensity and deliberate intimidation. “I am incomplete.”

“Will you die?” Kratos asked faintly, his gaze only composed and intentional; Yazoo’s met it but had an entirely different feel (underlying rage-annoyance-nothingness; something indescribable).

In fact, the question shocked him. It took a moment before Yazoo could formulate a response he felt was appropriate, “I will cease.”

Kratos smiled dimly, some scorn in the look but all of it directed at himself, “Then, one day, you will be whole.”