Fanfiction:Zipp Dementia Chrono Break 9

Chrono Break
By Zipp Dementia

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Crono watched the man fall through the shaft of moonlight. He caught a glimpse of grey clothing and a clashing green scarf underneath a face that would’ve looked effeminate if not for the scowl it wore and the untidy mop of reddish blonde hair that hung over one eye. Steel flashed in the moonlight. The man had drawn his sword and was bringing it to bear on Crono’s head, with all the weight of his fall behind it. Crono could’ve dodged. As he drew Rainbow he knew he should’ve dodged. As it was, he was lucky. His opponent’s sword caught on Rainbow’s edge during the draw and shattered just low enough on the blade so that Crono wasn’t sliced in the following downswing.

Pieces of metallic shard exploded into his upper body and face, causing Crono to stumble back, his eyes closed for fear of being blinded by one of the shards. Again, he was lucky. As he stumbled back, his opponent thrust forward with the broken sword and missed stabbing him by mere inches. Then the man leapt back, apparently expecting Crono to counter-attack. Crono obliged, but he could tell the movement was slow, too slow. His attacker was well out of harm’s way by the time his swing came, and Rainbow cut only moonlight and open air.

For a brief moment they stopped to regard each other, and Crono caught sight of the man’s right arm. It was muscular and shaped like a real arm, but too long. It was some kind of implant or armour... Crono couldn’t tell which. Despite seeming to made of some kind of metal, light didn’t seem capable of reflecting off its black surface. It seemed to be pulsing in the darkness. At it’s end Crono saw four fingers, curled into an approximation of a fist.

Crono had no more time to regard the strange device, for the man moved his left arm and a knife shot towards Crono’s face. This time, he dodged. He heard a distant clink behind him as the knife struck some distant wall, then the stranger was on him, clutching a long curved dagger. Though Crono wielded a longer blade, the man had ducked under his defenses and was stabbing at him with the deadly dagger. Crono tried to back away, but found himself pinned against an old pillar. With only a moment left till the blade struck his chest, Crono dropped his left hand from his sword and grabbed the dagger’s blade. He winced as the metal cut into his palm, but he didn’t release his grip. Now it had become a battle of strength, with the favour going towards the stranger. Crono was strong, but his attacker had him pinned against the pillar, and with the man’s body in the way, Crono couldn’t use the sword in his right hand for anything. It was only a matter of time before Crono’s left hand gave out against the cruel metal that bit into it. Then all would be lost. It had been stupid of him to come here. He was out of practice, and this was no Trucian brat. This man had experience or training... maybe both.

All at once, Crono thought of Nadia. Though his body was locked in a bitter struggle with the stranger, his mind took him back to the afternoon he’d ridden into Gaurdia castle with Captain Sariah at his side, a triumphant return from Truce. He hadn’t publicized his departure, so he didn’t expect much grandiosity awaiting him on his return. He felt inclined to be satisfied when a single servant came running across the inner courtyard of the castle to take his horse, though the servant seemed more timid than usual, and only stammered something about a good morning before practically running off to the stables. Crono thought it odd until he and Sariah walked into the main reception hall of the castle.

There, he found Nadia waiting for him, sitting stiffly in her throne behind the banquet table, still set from the morning’s repast. Her blue eyes gazed icily at Crono, still mud splattered and dusty from the road. Crono made her a mocking half how. Sariah said nothing, merely looked appropriately embarrassed.

“We missed you at the council this morning,” Nadia said.

“I was busy with other matters of State.” Crono rose from his bow with a lopsided smile.

“And pray tell, what matters were those, that involved a contingency of the guard?”

“Rebellion, my love. Truce shouldn’t be a problem any more.”

“What?” Nadia’s voice was an enraged whisper.

Crono ignored her venom and instead sat at the other end of the table, reaching for a platter of smoked chicken, which he tore at with his fingers, wiping the grease on the table cloth. Nadia turned to Sariah.

“Explain the situation, captain.”

Sariah cleared his throat and kneeled. “Truce has been made a military state, by order of his majesty, my queen.”

Nadia’s face turned whiter than usual. She seemed about to say more, but then closed her eyes and simply sat. When she spoke again, her voice was calm.

“Then I must adhere to the will of my husband, and trust that he knows best.” She smiled at Sariah. “You are dismissed, captain.”

With an audible sigh, the captain retreated from the chamber. When the doors were closed and Nadia was sure the two of them were alone, she looked back at Crono. She hadn’t been about to press the matter in front of the captain; to openly show a dissent between the queen and the king would be to show a weakness the changing kingdom couldn’t afford to be aware of.

Crono was smirking over a tall goblet of wine. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to slap the smile from his face or hold him so close to her that she didn’t have to see it.

“My love, what have you done?” she said.

Now it was Crono’s turn to scowl. “Stop with the dramatics, Nadia. It’s nothing so grand. No-one was injured and now Truce will pay their taxes. I see no problem with the situation.”

“There hasn’t been a military state declared in over 700 years in the kingdom of Gaurdia. Our enemies have always come from outside, not from within. You’re spreading dissent.”

“I’m halting dissent. By the gods, Nadia, what would you have me do? Sit back while people plan rebellion under my very nose? There is a time for action.”

“Yes, but there were other options, parties to be consulted.”

“Like who?”

“Like me, for one, dammit!”

Nadia’s voice was more hurt than angry. The sound of it tore at Crono’s heart.

“Crono... what’s happened? Is there something wrong? Why would you run off like that, without even telling me?”

The wound in Crono’s heart turned from sorrow to anger.

“Without telling you? Who do you think you are? My mother? My master?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it, though? What do I do in this kingdom except listen to the complaints of farmers and taxpayers and take your advice on how to fix it all.”

“Crono, love...”

“Nadia... am I not king?”

“You are.”

“Then I need no-one to second guess my decisions. Truce is under military control, and it is good that it is, because I have decried it is necessary. You may be better equipped to handle the squabbling of peasants in council, but when it comes to military matters, I am the authority. You are dismissed.”

The words hung in the air, while the couple, King and Queen, regarded each other as if trying to see into one another’s hearts. Then, slowly, Nadia rose from her chair and left the room. Crono didn’t watch her go, continuing to eat. When he heard the door to the chamber close, though, his appetite left him, and an extreme weariness set in. Though he owned an entire kingdom, for the first time in his life, he felt completely homeless.

With a sudden surge of pain, Crono was back in the ruins, feeling the warmth of his life’s blood as it flowed freely through his fingers out of the wound the man’s dagger had made. Even so, the blade did not advance, and despite his precarious position, he smiled. He might be out of practice, but he was still strong. Strong enough to resist death, no matter how badly it wanted him.

He had forgotten about the black arm, however. Like a snake it seemed to flow, rather than lift, towards his head. At the last minute, and purely by instinct, Crono ducked. Above him the four fingers, which he now noticed ended in sharp claws, tore a chunk out of the pillar where his head had been. The attack had missed, but Crono had sacrificed what little footing he had. His grip loosened on the dagger and his opponent drove it forward, slicing his palm open in a spray of blood.

At that moment, something deep inside Crono awoke. Power surged through him, power he hadn’t felt in ages. His skin crackled with energy, and his animal fear and despair at facing death turned to frustration and anger. The blood coming from his wounded palm began to boil. A sudden bolt of electricity ran down his arm and traveled through the metal dagger to its wielder. The man arched his back and screamed as his flesh began to melt to the simplistic copper hilt of the knife. The surge didn’t last long enough to incapacitate the man, however. Crono didn’t have the same control over his powers as he used to... indeed, he hadn’t used them in five years. Even so, the man had been nearly maimed, and the tables had turned. While the cut on his palm ran deep, Crono’s sword work wouldn’t be affected by the wound. His opponent, on the other hand, now had a nearly useless left arm. While it might heal given a few days care, it would no longer help him in this battle.

Crono didn’t waste any time. Despite the man’s injury, he still had that abominable black arm (Crono could only assume it was made of hardened steel, though the logistics of its attachment and use escaped him), and the man was fast. Crono wanted to press his advantage while he could, and win the battle before fate saw fit to give victory to the younger man. Taking Rainbow in both his hands he sprinted the distance between them and cut sideways towards the man’s chest, putting his whole body into the blow.

Crono’s muscles were braced for the impact the sword would make against armour (or possibly bone). Instead he felt the uncomfortable sensation of preparing to strike something hard, but instead hitting nothing; a shock of nerves traveled up his arm as the muscles relaxed suddenly. The man had moved away from the blow quickly, and had retreated into the shadows. Before Crono could locate him, he heard a sound behind him and, a second latter, a searing pain behind his shoulders. He whipped around just in time to see the man’s shape retreating again. Crono didn’t have to feel his back to know he was bleeding, and heavily. Rather than distract him, the pain gave him focus. He realized he was an easy target in the moonlight and darted into the shadows himself to buy some time, hoping that blind sight wasn’t among the stranger’s impressive array of abilities.

Apparently it wasn’t, because there was a reprieve in the other’s attack. Crono listened and looked hard in the gloom for his adversary, but nothing gave him away. It was as if he’d been fighting a ghost. Meanwhile, Crono’s own heavy breathing sounded like thunder to his ears, and though he fought to control it, the more he struggled, the louder the gasps seemed to get until he was sure that his opponent was following the sound in the darkness, and would spring upon him any moment.

The stranger fought with the techniques of an assassin. He had no care for his weapons, destroying his sword on his first attack. If he could sacrifice a weapon in order to gain better position, he would do it. Which probably meant he had a lot of them. He liked to get in close, where he could fight with quick strikes, and he always darted away before retaliation. Then there was his arm, which was a weapon in itself with its sharpened claws and long reach. More dangerous, however, than all his weapons and techniques was his speed. He might’ve as well been a child with a table knife: if Crono couldn’t land a hit on him, he had no chance of winning.

At the same time, he was sure that if he could just get that one hit, he would win. Strength had been one of the abilities he had retained in his five years since saving the future. Five years. The sheer length of time was overwhelming to him. He had done nothing but sit in a chair and enjoy being prince for most of those years. Now king, he realized just how hard that chair was, and was shocked at how hard it had become to rise from it. His body had suffered. He had no longer the spryness of youth. Even his magical powers had diminished. He wished he could unleash another bolt to light the darkness and roast his opponent, but whatever emotion had awakened his powers had retreated back into his heart, beyond his reach. Even the thought that he might die here, in this lonely ruin, could not summon them.

It was true, though. Here in the ruins was someone who wanted him dead with a surprising fervor. Crono couldn’t best him in a match of physical prowess. Crono couldn’t even find him. Outside of the single beam of moonlight, the ruins were utterly, oppressively, dark. Crono held up a hand in front of his face. He couldn’t see it. Suddenly the sweat on his body turned cold. He was bleeding, wounded in the dark, and his opponent was looking for him. He had to get out! He had to get back to the light! If he did that, though, he would be found immediately, and before he could strike back, his opponent would have retreated. Crono felt sick with frustration. His opponent would keep darting in like that until the final blow. Meanwhile, Crono was bleeding heavily, and becoming colder by the second.

Crono had never been one to give up. But then, he’d never been alone, either. He’d always had a friend at his side. Until now, he’d never thought he’d needed them. And yet, now more than ever, he didn’t want them. He wanted to prove he could succeed without help.

He closed his eyes, and wondered what death would be like. He wondered who would mourn him back in Gaurdia. Certainly there would be some kind of regal procession. He was, after all, king. Would Nadia shed tears? Would Lucca find the time between experiments and raising children to attend? Would his orders in Truce be carried out, or would they be forgotten? He thought of his mother. She would mourn. He’d talked to her before he left. In fact, she and Lucca were the only ones who knew he’d gone to Choras, though he hadn’t told his mother exactly why he was going. He’d mentioned an outing, nothing more. He’d only told her so that she would stop Nadia from becoming too worried, or sending a party after him.

His mother, who lived in luxury at the castle, had smiled at him when he declared his intentions. Then she started in on the questions. She’d been worried about him, had he been taking care of himself? Were he and Nadia being good to each other? Would he like some tea?

“Don’t worry about me, mother. I sometimes worry about you, though.”

He took a good look at his mother. At fifty four, he still thought of her as young. Her chestnut hair showed only the faintest signs of turning grey, and the sun in the many windowed room where she sat made her skin look smooth as a twenty year old’s. He liked to think of her as still in her twenties... she was the only family he’d ever had, not knowing his father, and the thought that one day she wouldn’t be in his life disturbed him.

”I should be the least of your worries,” his mother said, sipping her tea.

“Still, I can’t help but worry once in a while.”

“Well, I’m glad to know I’m worth a thought now and then.”

“You know I’d give you anything you desired. Are you happy here in the castle?”

”I’ve got everything I need.”

“But do you have everything you want?”

His mother put down her tea and laid a hand on Crono’s knee. He was surprised at how light it was. Looking at it, he noticed the many wrinkles lining the hand. This close, there was no denying his mother was reaching the twilight of her years.

“Now what’s really bothering you?” she asked.

Crono sighed. Getting in touch with his feelings was not a favourite past time of his.

“I suppose it’s these winter months,” he said, lamely. “I always did get a bit down at the year’s end.”

His mother took away her hand and regarded him slyly. “Your citizens love you,” she said. “The Crono Special is all the rage at the restaurants! And Crono is a very popular name for children this year.”

Crono laughed for the sheer joy of having someone else name his problem and tell him it was alright. “You know my heart, as usual.”

“I also know that an outing every once in a while does anyone good, whether they be boys or kings. Have fun, dear.”

That was the other reason he’d told her, because he knew she would encourage him.

He wasn’t sure why he’d told Lucca.

“Don’t you have business to attend to here, Crono?”

Crono sighed. He was sitting on a chair amid a pile of circuitry and blueprints in Lucca’s packed main room. His chair rose from the debris like some ancient perch. Occasionally he caught sight of a child running around in the room with the tenacity of sea gulls. They would occasionally spot something of interest in the junk and swoop down to pick it up, either running it off to some back room or carrying it excitedly over to Lucca, who always seemed to find a use for it.

He’d come there on his way to the ferry. He was already dressed in the black hooded robe he would wear to Choras. Under the robes, Rainbow and Swallow rested against his side, comforting him and adding to his resolve.

“I didn’t come to be berated for my decision, Lucca.”

“Then why did you come?”

Crono paused and thought about it, but he couldn’t come up with a good answer. Talking to Lucca was always tiring. She had a knack for asking tough questions.

“I suppose I thought someone should know where I’m going,” he said finally.

“Didn’t you say you told your mother?”

“Dammit, Lucca, I didn’t tell her everything. And don’t you go mentioning it to her... or to Nadia either. They’d just worry.”

“I don’t usually have occasion to go to the castle.”

“Ah, but Nadia might call on you, see if I’ve come this way.”

“And you want me to lie in that case?”

“I don’t know Lucca, you’re the genius, figure it out.”

“Well, let’s look at the facts, then. You receive a message from someone you’ve never heard of, which is understandable since he gives you no name, and he challenged you to a duel. Rather than throw it away and forget about it, as most people would be wont to do, you set up an elaborate foil to fool your wife... who cares greatly about you, I might add... and your mother, and plan on going in secret.”

“Ah, c’mon, it sounds crazy when you say it that way.”

“I’m thinking that’s because it is crazy.”

“You just don’t want me to go anywhere.”

I’m wondering if maybe you don’t want to go. And I wonder if that’s why you came here.”

“Lucca, I could care less about what someone names their child, or having dinners titled after me. I miss adventure, Lucca. I miss the thrill of a good fight.”

“This isn’t a good fight, Crono. It’s a stranger offering to fight you at night. It doesn’t sound suspicious? It doesn’t sound like they want to kill you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to go. Maybe I’m afraid... a little bit. But that proves that I have to go! That proves that this is what I need!”

“Now that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m tired of sitting in a castle, Lucca! I’m tired of making orders I don’t understand, and controlling the lives of people I don’t know! I just want to control my own life, instead of having everyone else do it for me. Everyone else always tells me what to do... Nadia always tells me what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“If she knew, she’d just try to keep me at the castle. She wouldn’t let me go.”

“Have you ever thought that she just doesn’t want to see you hurt?”

In the ruins, Crono’s thoughts stopped with the voice of Lucca echoing in his head. He blacked out. It was a short reprieve. Though his breathing slowed momentarily, a few seconds later, his opponent heard him cough and heard a slight splatter as if of blood hitting the stone ground.

From the shadows of the ruins, the man stood motionless. Contrary to Crono’s fears, he couldn’t see in the dark either. He could hear Crono breathing (his sensitive ears placed the distance at thirty feet), but he didn’t dare to approach the king. He didn’t have to. The wound he’d struck Crono was deep, if not fatal. At this point, Crono couldn’t afford to play the waiting game. He’d have to come looking for his opponent, and that was when the stranger would strike. In the meantime he would wait.

He heard a grunt and shuffling as his prey moved in the darkness. There was a tearing sound that he wondered at. Then metal scraped against stone. Crono had his sword drawn. The man tensed, listening to hear if the king was moving closer to him. He wasn’t. He was headed for the middle of the room. This momentarily struck the man as odd, as this would bring Crono into the moonlight, where he would be vulnerable. As the king stumbled into view, he put the thought aside. Crono was barely standing. One hand limply held his beautifully crafted sword. The other was at his neck. Red blood seeped through the fingers and shone in the cold moonlight. The man relaxed. His attack had been more damaging than he’d thought. He debated what best to do with this turn of events.

Crono’s sudden release of electricity had not only been surprising, it had been debilitating. He doubted his left arm would ever function as it used to. His right arm, the device he’d christened the Strong Arm, only had four claws, and wasn’t really suited to gripping weapons. But the claws were sharp, sharp enough to tear through skin.

Crono fell to one knee suddenly and his head lolled back, the white skin of his neck exposed. Now was the chance to strike. The man rushed from the shadows, approaching from behind Crono’s left side, his right arm pulled back for the killing stab.

Just as the man reached him, Crono suddenly spun around and out of the way of the attack. The hand that had held his wound darted out and grabbed him, revealing a makeshift bandage made from a piece of his tunic (explaining the tearing sound). Crono rose swiftly, and in the same motion pulled the man off balance. As his opponent stumbled forwards, Crono raised Rainbow and aimed at his exposed back. Just as he prepared to drop the blade, the man looked behind him, and Crono saw his face. Up close he now saw he was fifteen or sixteen at the most. A thought struck him with the intensity of a light turned on suddenly in a dark room. He realized he had never killed a man before. His enemies had always been monsters. His blade hesitated for the slightest of moments, and in that pause his opponent spun around, the claws of his metallic hand slashing at Crono’s face. In a panic, Crono swung wildly.

There was a dull clang and Crono felt an impact run up his arm. He closed his eyes. At first he thought he’d struck a blow to the stranger’s shoulder and gotten caught in bone, as his blade’s progress had halted. Looking, though, he saw that instead his blade was caught in the grip of the stranger’s clawed hand. A second later he remembered that Rainbow could cut through all known metals.

He didn’t give the shock of this realization any time to set in. Rather than think that his blade was being held at bay by the strength of one man’s arm, he tried to think of the situation as any other where his blade had become useless. Dropping to one knee, he released the blade and drew Swallow instead, cutting straight for the man’s side. This time, he thought nothing about taking the man’s life. As far as he was concerned, after displaying such feats of strength and dexterity, the man was a monster. Crono was ahead of him this time. Swallow struck true... but instead of the soft bite of flesh, he heard a dull clang.

There was a pause. Then the man stepped away from his blade.

“I suppose we’re at a bit of an impasse,” he said.

He offered Crono the hilt of Rainbow and smiled coldly when Crono took the blade back. In a sudden dramatic movement that made Crono drop to a fighting position, the man stepped away and pulled off his grey robes. The body underneath was well built, with muscles corded and tight. But the whole right half was made of the same material as the arm.

“I haven’t really been playing fairly,” the man admitted. “An injury forced me to adopt this metal as part of my own body. It’s taken some getting used to, but they do say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“What’s your name?” Crono simply couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

“My name is Bill. It’s a base, common name, I know.”

“It was the name of the last ruler of Gaurdia.”

“So it was. Though I hear Crono is a more popular title these days.”

Bill reached for a ceramic bottle hung at his side in a kind of sling. He carefully lifted the bottle in his clawed hand, pulled the cork out with his teeth and spit it across the room. Using the same hand he clumsily spilled a thin liquid all over his hand and arm before tossing the bottle aside. Crono watched the ritual with curiosity.

“Poison,” Bill explained. “One scratch will send you to the Otherworld. I figure we should end this in one more pass, eh?”

Crono watched the liquid dripping from the claws. “Why do you want to kill me?” he asked.

Bill shook his head, briefly shaking the long hair out of his face. He turned and walked to the edge of the moonlight, then crouched, ready to spring forward in a sprint.

“The better question is, knowing I wanted to kill you, why did you come?”

In answer, Crono raised his blade. “Alright. One more pass, then.”

The ruins were still. Crono’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. Blood pulsed under his makeshift bandage. Bill’s claws dripped poison, tapping out a steady rhythm in tune to the beating of Crono’s heart.

Then they moved.

It took only seconds for the two to reach each other. Crono saw Bill’s face, emotionless. The claw raised to strike him. Crono gripped his sword and kept moving. The claws dropped towards his face. Crono didn’t flinch. He kept running. He ran faster than he ever had. He ran until the world blurred around him and he felt once again the presence of the bard from his dream. He felt at peace, even if this should be the end.

“Be the wind,” the bard said, and winked.

Then the peaceful spell was broken, and Crono’s speed mixed with his rage, that someone would deign to kill him, to break his unbreakable power. It mixed, too, with joy, that he could move with the purpose and will of the elements. The warring emotions filled his whole being as he struck at his opponent.

Bill couldn’t place from which direction came the attack. There seemed to be five Crono’s at least, striking him from all side simultaneously. His opponent seemed to be everywhere. Desperately he sought to drive his claws into flesh, but he only struck the stone pillars around them. Meanwhile, pain stabbed through his body, pain like he hadn’t felt in years.

And then it was over. Bill dropped to one knee. Just as he was thinking death wasn’t so bad, he realized he could still move. He raised his head. Crono stood before him, his blade at Bill’s throat. Realizing he was alive brought a terrible burning shame. He’d lost.

Crono couldn't understand the tears that came from Bill's eyes in two quick drops before stopping. So he misinterpreted them for pain. “You’ve felt what could’ve been,” he said. “You’ve seen what will be, if you do not submit.”

Bill may have wondered at the sound of pleasure in his voice, a pure pleasure of victory and of power. Crono didn’t wonder at it. He simply enjoyed it.

From: Fanfiction