A/N: Uhhh... I haven't updated this story in God knows how long. I must admit to you, reader, that I had already written this around the same time the first chapter was written but never submitted it. I don't see a point in hogging it to myself, so to your (hopeful) pleasure here's the second chapter to this fanfiction that really isn't all that bad.

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Chapter 2 - Changes and Blood

Like every soldier, Sync started off with humble beginnings.

Taken in as Van's personal assistant, he was brought to Daath to train both physically and mentally in preparation for his debut as a member of the Oracle Knights.

As opposed to most Oracle Knights training which was done in large groups as a drill exercise, for the most part he trained alone, learning the basic techniques of martial arts under the instruction of a teacher assigned to him by Van. The Commandant had tried personally teaching Sync swordplay, but the young boy seemed to lack the talent for it and was far more efficient in fighting with his body.

Sync had little time for personal indulgences besides teaching himself the instincts of life he was born without. He trained to an extreme degree day in and day out, mastering his technique and artes with brilliant progression. This training was what he lived for, having nothing else to attach himself to, as he owned next to nothing and was devoid of any friends of relationships of any kind.

When he was not training or doing tasks for Van, during the nights where he would lie in his bed unable to sleep, Sync would think about himself and who he was. For a long time he had been referred to as 'replica' and had not understood what it meant, but things were different now. He knew just what he was - a carbon copy of Fon Master Ion, the supreme leader of the Order of Lorelei.

He had seen the Fon Master around Daath, usually in the library whenever Sync went to pick up a volume about the nature of martial arts. The first time Sync had seen Ion, he'd only just stopped himself from walking over and asking him a thousand and one questions about why they looked alike, and what exactly had been the purpose of the night Mohs and Van tested them and the other five replicas.

Later on he burned with embarrassment at how foolish he was. He understood all these things now, and he knew that Ion had not been condemned to the same fate as himself - or worse, the other replicas - because they were all inferior to him. That night in the library was intended to be a measure of their power, and every one of them besides the Fon Master had failed miserably, even laughably.

Sighing in the darkness, he turned over the mask he usually wore in his hands, examining the patterns and shape. It was a rather funny looking mask, a golden beak-like thing decorated with swirls of red. He remembered the day he got it, and how much he disliked it at first.

It had been close to five months since then, hadn't it? That day he left Mt. Zaleho with Van.

They had been walking the path towards the secret entrance to Daath, when suddenly Van halted and stared at him with an unreadable expression for a good minute or so. As he was, Sync thought nothing of it, and just stood there waiting until they started walking again, but then Van did something unexpected.

Sticking his hand into one of his pockets, he withdrew the mask from his pocket, then threw it at the green-haired boy's feet. Sync had picked it up and looked it over curiously, wondering what it was for.

"It's called a mask." Van explained, "You put it over your face, like this..." He retook the mask from Sync and fit it onto his face where it obsecured his eyes and nose with it's swooping design. It was hard for him to see out of, and the feeling of something protruding from his face was annoying. He went to remove it, but Van stopped him.

"Leave it on at all times." said Van sternly, "It's important no one sees your face."

Sync simply did as he was told without any further questioning. He didn't understand why this was nessesary at the time, but now he knew that Van had done the logical thing. After all, how would it look if some random stranger appeared out of no where, looking every bit like their beloved Fon Master?

He'd been forced to change his hair as well, but the extents of that was simply a haircut where Van quickly shortened his hair with a pair of scissors, so his hair was exactly like before only much shorter. He didn't care too much for that hairstyle but that didn't matter. Eventually it had regrown anyways, but instead of cutting it like it was before, he wanted to something a little different.

He had stood, examining himself in the mirror with distaste. He despised looking like someone else, looking as he did. His green hair had been a little untidy from bed head, but in the same basic way it still looked exactly like Ion's, and it drove him absoloutely mad. Growling, he tried to rearrange his hair in every possible way, but still it persisted in looking the same.

Then he had spotted a bottle of gel sitting on the counter next to him. Normally gels were used as healing supplies, but he figured the sticky substance would work nicely in holding hair together. Scooping out a glob of the gelatinous stuff, he swept his hair forwards and parted it into thick spikes, then grabbing a pair of scissors had modified it to his satisfaction.

The end result was completely unlike his previous hairstyle, and left him quite pleased as it wasn't that bad looking either. Since then he'd kept up that hairstyle with a minimal amount of effort, as strangely enough it eventually sort of trained itself to stay that way.

He recalled such events in his life on those restless nights, and if he was lucky, eventually he fell into a dreamless sleep.

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The next morning, Van greeted his assistant enthusastically and thrusted a list into his hands. "My apologies for bothering you with such trivial work, but things have been rather hectic lately and I'm afraid I simply don't have the time to do this myself."

Sync chose not to respond. He listened to the instructions on his latest task then set out. He was supposed to go buy some food and ingredients from the marketplace.

The Daath marketplace was as it always was - slightly busy but nothing unordinary. He was used to doing everything himself and therefore had come to the marketplace many times to pick up his own supplies with the allowance Van granted him for his work. He navigated the crowds with ease and stopped before the foods booth.

"Hello there!" The lady behind the booth called out cheerfully, "And what can I do for you today?"

Sync handed her the list of food and ingredients, and she nodded briskly then set to work collecting all the items then putting them in a large basket. "That'd be three thousand gald, please!"

He paid up quickly, then grabbed the basket and left without a single word. He wasn't in the mood for talking at all today, he just wanted to get back to the cathedral and spend the rest of the day training.

Looking to save some time, he spotted an alleyway which looked as though it could be used as a shortcut, and progressed down it. It was a little dark and kind of smelly, but he'd be out of it soon anyways.

He was just about there when suddenly he felt something grab him from behind. Whipping around, he faced off against an extremely dirty old man who was staring at him in a menacing way. "Ya boy!" He yelled out in a hoarse, crackly voice, "Gimme all yer foods and gald, or I'll hafta cut'chyer!"

"I don't think so." Sync responded smoothly, turning to keep going down the path and ignore who ever this crazy dirty person was.

"I dun think ya heard me!" the old man's voice sounded angry, "I sez gimme all yer things!" He pulled a dagger out from his belt and lunged forwards to stab Sync in the back, but the green-haired boy was quicker and just barely side-stepped the attack.

"A-are you crazy?!" Sync sputtered, knowing he just avoided being stabbed. He looked about frantically, unsure of how to handle this - he'd never faced off against anyone in a serious battle! What was he supposed to do against that dagger?

"Do as I sez and ya won't die, boy!" the man lunged again to show he meant business, and Sync tried to dodge but panicked and was grazed in the shoulder. He felt hot blood trickle down his arm, and suddenly his whole body went numb. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to--

His train of thoughts was interrupted by another assault. "Stay back!" he cried, and instinctively shot out his fist in a powerful punch that smashed the old man across the face and sent him flying backwards. Bent on survival, Sync leaped onto the man and without thinking started pummeling him over and over with the hands he'd hardened over months of training.

So consumed in the fears of the moment, the instincts to destroy this threat, that before he realized what he was doing a dark pool of blood had spread beneath the body of the old man, his face battered into something so unrecognizable that when he regained his senses the green-haired boy cried out in terror and backed into the wall, staring at the disfigured mess before him.

He had done this to another living being. This crushed corpse upon the ground was his own fault. He felt pity licking at his insides, but besides the horror of his own brutality he couldn't even summon the emotions to feel sorrow about what exactly he'd done. He laughed weakly and slumped over, clutching at his head and wondering the extent of his own strength... if he could do this, then just what was he capable of? He hadn't even used any of his artes on this one.

"So... he's dead." he whispered to himself.

Suddenly the sound of voices reached him. People were headed this way! He couldn't be caught here with this... this thing! Grabbing the basket of food from where he'd left it, he fled the scene as fast he could, thoughts of what occurred going through his head as he ran to the extent of his speed.

His first murder, a game of survival, a cold heart to the pitying sight. Hate welled within him, hate for himself and what he'd done... for he believed he couldn't feel the sorrow he desperately wanted, even if he didn't realize that his anger was created from that sorrow.

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It is said that sometimes even in the worst of a situation, a bright light can emerge from the darkness.

But even then, it is up to the person themself to decide if that bright light is really pure and unwavering.

Such is the case of Sync, who after committing his first murder ran breathlessly from the scene to the cathedral, his bloody hands still shaking from the gravity of what he'd done.

The further away he got from the alleyway where it had happened, the more real it seemed to stand out in his mind. It was as though the idea of what he'd done was just hitting him now, despite the fact that he had stood before the mangled corpse of his handiwork not long ago.

Just moments ago he was cursing his lack of compassion, but now he was cursing his weakness. He was supposed to be a soldier, one who dealt with death every day ... such feelings were weakness.

Yet how could brush aside such a gruesome scene so casually?

Running up the steps and through the large doors, he retreated down the path to his chamber as quickly as possible. He just wanted a quiet place to himself to wash the blood from his hands and forget his troubles in the bliss of training.

However, it was not to be. So consumed in his thoughts, he hadn't been watching where he was going and rammed right into someone, where he was knocked heavily backwards and onto the floor. The basket of food skidded away from reach, and some of the food was scattered onto the floor.

"If anything's damaged, that's coming out of your allowance."

Sync looked up, saw Van hovering over him, and blanched. The last thing he wanted right now was to be caught by someone like him at a time like this.

"Sorry." mumbled Sync, picking up the food that was still good and putting it back into the basket. He stood up and held out the basket to Van, who stood there and looked at it with a serious expression.

Finally he said in a sharp voice, "What's on your hands?"

Sync tried to keep a straight face, and to indiscreetly shake his sleeves over his hands. "Nothing." He said a little too quickly, then swore at himself internally.

Wordlessly Van roughly grabbed onto the arm of Sync's that wasn't holding the basket, and pulled the sleeves back. The bloodstains on the green-haired boy's hands were still dark and slightly damp.

Both of Van's eyebrows raised noteably upon this discovery. "What exactly is the meaning of this?" His tone was strange and Sync couldn't understand if he was angry or not.

He didn't even know why, but at that moment he just suddenly felt particularly angry. "It's nothing, alright?" he snapped, yanking his arm out of Van's grasp, "Some stupid ass hobo attacked me, so I killed him, alright?!" His voice cracked with the last few words. "It doesn't even matter!" He yelled, even though he was more trying to convince himself then anyone else.

Van was silent for a few moments, then suddenly he started laughing.

"W-what's so damn funny?!" Sync yelled, bewildered at the amused expression on Van's face.

"You do well at hiding your true feelings, boy." Van mused, "In any case, I believe it's now time..."

Sync's pang of anger dispersed. "Time for what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Time for you to join the Oracle Knights." Van smiled and finally retrieved the basket of food from Sync's hand.

Sync couldn't believe what he just heard. He had been caught having murdered someone - confessed to it without a single ounce of regret - and he was being promoted?

"Wait," he said hurriedly, "Let me get straight. I killed someone, and you're letting me join the Oracle Knights?" This didn't add up. Why was he being rewarded for something so heinous?!

"Yes. You now have the experience of battle. You now know what it means to kill someone." Van's eyes flashed with something indescribable. "That is nessesary for a soldier." He turned around and began to walk off with the basket of food. "I expect you to still train every day with Master Denzlos, but now you will report for soldier duty. I will register you with the squad leader in the morning, so he will be expecting your presence in halls beneath the cathedral. Be there."

Then with that said, Van passed by him in continuation of his business, leaving Sync standing there with so many emotions and contemplations running through his mind he felt fit to explode.