Two long hard weeks had passed since that fateful day.
Artorias wished he could say that he had handled his cousin's death with the decorum and etiquette expected from someone of his standing.
But he hadn't, and as such, he couldn't.
After that day, after Seirios'…death, something within him had shifted, changed for neither better nor worse.
His body felt numb, his mind often drifted, his emotions were distant.
It was only in battle, when his very life, his survival, was on the line, did he begin feeling like himself.
In the two weeks that passed since that fateful day, it had become a problem. Because he no longer avoided battles, he sought them out, he delighted in the opportunity to feel like himself again.
It was an addiction.
An addiction he was losing against but also benefitting from.
His body, once a skeletal husk, had changed. Through the influx of fights, he had also gained vast amounts of food, food which had given his body the nutrients necessary to begin growing again.
No longer was he limited by a weak body that couldn't take hits, leaving him physically and mentally exhausted as he took days to heal from any wounds. No, his skin grew firmer, his bones sturdier and his muscles blossomed.
He hadn't felt so physically strong or fast in far too long.
But that wasn't the only thing about his body that had changed. Through countless fights against Fallen Spawn with varied and unique bodies, his experience began to grow.
Before his addiction had taken root, he had only gained real experience from two, at most three fights in his entire Ascended career. But now, after entire days of nonstop fighting, his body and mind moved and thought far differently in a battle.
'Although, technically, I am not completely distant from all of my emotions.'
The wound inflicted on his heart by Solthia's death had been a large one, an ache in his chest which time had failed to heal. That wound, unhealed and raw, had only grown larger with Seirios' passing.
It also grew to become filled by something else.
In his last moments on this world, Seirios' had made a request, asking Artorias to fulfil it.
He wanted revenge he would never be able to get himself; he wanted the chimera dead.
Artorias had, of course, agreed.
The wound in his chest would probably never heal, only grow. But for now, it didn't ache as much, because a blistering heat had begun to burn within his chest.
A heat that he knew was no longer just anger, but hatred, so vile, that at times it felt like pure loathing. For both the chimera and any Fallen Spawn he came across.
It was truly the only other thing he could feel besides the intoxicating need to fight.
Sighing to himself, he stood up from a ruined radio tower in the city of Tokyo. He had arrived in the city at dusk, and before he could find anywhere to relax, night had swiftly fallen.
Whilst he felt little to nothing, his promise to Solthia to live and survive was as present in his mind as Seirios' last wishes.
He knew, deep within his bones, that the chimera would find him before he entered the Eastern Garrison.
They both had a debt to each other that demanded pay after all.
Moving from where he had been resting, he took measured steps on the radio tower, allowing the cold winter winds to buffet his face with their icy chill. It was surprisingly soothing.
Up above the infested streets and over the ruined high-rise buildings, his figure was hidden from anything too strong that might find him an appealing prey.
The only thing other than his abilities, body and mind that had changed was his wardrobe.
Covered in a long black tattered cloak, it looked more like a combination of rags than any real article of clothing, but it was comfortable and warm. His hair had grown longer again, now falling below his shoulders and danced in the winter winds.
On either side of his hips, sat two leather sheaths, with two differently shaped pommels sticking out of them. He wore a pair of comfortable black combat boots and some more cargo trousers with too many pockets he had been able to find.
His upper body had a long sleeve black top hidden under another large black jumper, which itself was barely visible under his tattered cloak, and on his chest, over every article of clothing he had, sat a black string, three broken, chipped and burnt emerald scales threaded through it.
With his body back to its former shape, it no longer looked like he was too small for his clothes. It would have felt nice, if the fire inside of his chest didn't turn those emotions to ash.
Humming to himself, his enhanced eyes pierced the penumbral veil of the city, clearing within an instant to reveal the various abominations skulking through the streets beneath him.
'Ah I guess I forgot that too…'
His mind was beginning to drift again, struggling to focus on a singular thought. Which meant finding another abomination to hunt was paramount…
What was he thinking about again?
Oh, yes, his soul.
More specifically, his Impetus Talent.
Besides all of the changes that had happened to his body and mind in the past two weeks, the most drastic of them all, had been the understanding with which he viewed his talent.
Artorias had always believed that his singular talent was the limited ability to step through any shadows he could see. As it turned out, the mad theory he had created about Solthia and what she had done to him, out of a guilt-ridden and loss filled consciousness, had come to be true all along.
Because he no longer had just one Impetus Talent.
But three.
His own ability to step through any shadow he could see. Solthia's inner lightning, which allowed him to think faster and become physically quicker, and now Seirios' enhanced senses, which came with its own varied alterations to his body.
It should have been impossible, but somehow, it wasn't.
He still wasn't entirely sure of how it had happened, and what the specific requirements were to even activate it. But he wasn't going to waste the opportunity their sacrifices had given him.
Maybe he should have felt guilty for thinking in such a way, for using their talents for his own selfish needs. But he didn't, because he knew that Solthia would have wanted him to use all the tools he had available to escape.
And Seirios? He would probably puff his chest out like a peacock and be proud that Artorias relied as much on his talent as he did.
If he could laugh, he probably would.
Instead, he could only think of the memories he had of them, letting the shadows take him away into their comforting embrace.