Kratos had entered the clearing, following a ringing phone, prepared to yell at Yuan (and maybe punch him). . .
and instead encounters fate once more.
Yuan’s goddamn cloak is lying spread by a pile of ashes.
And that goddamn phone is still ringing.
Kratos stomps on it viciously, breaking it into pieces.
“Yuan, yod goddamn idiot.”
He shouldn’t have walked away that time. Why did he walk away? He should have tried harder, instead, he ran away like a coward. Again.
. . .it seems all he can do is add to his regrets.
But now he thinks he might understand why Yuan was so angry with him. Because Kratos is pissed off that Yuan went and died and left. When Kratos was the one who was leaving, it was hard—one of the hardest things he’s ever done, up there with fighting Mithos—but it’s nothing compared to this. A complete feeling of powerlessness and regret like when—
. . .what is he going to tell Mithos?
Those scientists. . .
they’re like Kvar and the Desians. Acting like people’s lives mean nothing, like others are inferior to them—only creatures fit to be experimented on for their own sick amusement and gain.
He needs to find Mithos, now.
Still, Kratos takes the time to sink to one knee and drape Yuan’s cape over his ashes and mark the spot—the only act of respect Kratos can think of as there’s no body left to bury and no possibility of a more permanent grave-marker.
“Rest in peace, Yuan. You, at least, have earned it.”
