First of all, this was supposed to be in honor of Chrono Trigger rereleasing (in the US) in November. Obviously I'm quite a bit late, but circumstances were against me and I haven't mastered time travel like Lucca or Crono.
Second of all, let me be very clear that there are spoilers all over the place here.
IF YOU HAVE NOT COMPLETED THE STORY OF CHRONO TRIGGER AND DO NOT WANT SPOILERS, HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW.
Okay? All right? Are we good? Good. So, with that out of the way, here's the gist of this story:
Short Version:
What does the rest of the world experience while you're fighting the Lavos Core and 'time warp'ing all over history?
Long Version:
When you fight the final form of Lavos, you do so in this lightspeed-vortex-like space, right? And Lavos keeps using Time Warp to travel to various settings in pretty much every era you've been to. Because of that, I've always chosen to believe that this final fight takes place throughout the entire timestream --but since you only ever catch a glimpse of those backgrounds and they never fully materialize, you're never actually in the world. (Kind of like a ship that brushes up close to shore but never actually touches land) Well, my thought was, wouldn't it work the other way around too? In other words, if you're close enough for the era of the world to influence your climactic battle, wouldn't your climactic battle influence the world in return?
Eh. Either way, the 'World Revolution' and 'Last Battle' tunes are just too cool --they inspired this whole thing. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
(To my regular readers: I know I haven't updated TbL in a while, and I don't mean to freak anyone out --I'm not quitting, and I'm not starting anything new. It's just, Chrono Trigger was one of my absolute favorite games growing up, so when I heard it was rereleasing for the Nintendo DS I just had to write something for it. Give this story a chance; if you like what you read, go pick up the game --it's originally for the SNES, and it's been rereleased on the PlayStation and now the DS, of course-- and I guarantee you won't be disappointed. In any case, I'll be back to work on TbL ch.11 as soon as I post this and get some sleep.)
Disclaimer: If I were a Chrono Trigger character, I could tell you I own the franchise and then go back in time and prevent myself from saying it, or prevent you from hearing it. But I'm not, so I can't, so I won't. So there.
Cries of agony and wails of terror rang out in a cacophony of hysteria in the streets of Arris Dome as its panic-stricken citizens trampled each other in search of shelter.
The fires of the Apocalypse descended again, like blazing needles of pure destruction raining down out of the clouds of ash and soil that blotted out the sun. The Beast's burning spines tore crimson furrows in the skyline, slicing through buildings unimpeded and showering the last pathetic fragments of the city's shattered protective dome upon the populace.
There was a peppering of brilliant explosions as several hovercabs blossomed into fireballs. The scream of wrenching metal sank into a deafening roar as a skyscraper collapsed in a mangled heap; the buildings around it groaned and shuddered, as if dreading the moments of their own demise. Echoing through the air on the citywide broadcast, a voice quavering at the edge of composure issued reports of similar destruction all over the world: Trann Dome hit hard; all contact lost with Bangor Dome; machinery going haywire in Proto Dome. Another shriek of shearing metal and distant impact, and the broadcast cut off.
A small boy stumbled through the mob of frantic strangers. Everywhere he looked he saw wild, unfocused eyes and flecks of foam gathering on faces twisted in a primal state of fear. He tripped and fell to his knees. He felt sudden heat at his back, but then something roughly shoved him to the side. There was a flash and a loud noise as he rolled along the pavement; when he stopped he looked up to see a pink R-series robot wearing a ribbon standing over him, between him and a pillar of flame. The robot rattled and shook violently as it turned toward him; the boy gasped to see one entire arm and half its CPU had been melted away. Its remaining visual sensor beheld him a moment, and then it spoke in a tinny, halting female voice, "H-h-hu-hu-hu--man-man s-sa--fe…" Seeming relieved, she collapsed, sparks flying from her broken frame. "…P-- --P-p-pro-pro-m--ME-me-the-e-u-us…"
The boy stared in horror at her unmoving form, but then the din of the crowd grew suddenly louder --the rains came again! His mother broke free of the throng of bodies, dashed to him and seized him up in her arms. She moved to run, but saw in the sky they were too late. She knelt and hugged her boy close, shielding him with her body and bracing herself for--
…Nothing. No blast of heat, no searing pain. Still clutching her son, the woman cautiously turned her head and looked:
Guttering flames still burned along the city streets and buildings, the dome overhead was still shattered, and the citizens of Arris Dome were still running for cover. Yet no more destruction arrived. The needles that had been falling toward them had disappeared. Even the spines already embedded in the ground and walls had vanished from the midst of their craters.
Gradually the sounds of pandemonium melted into a general murmur of confusion as more and more people became aware that the world was not ending --for the moment, at least. Several pairs of eyes turned with unease toward the horizon, where mere minutes before the Beast had ripped the earth asunder not twenty miles away and tore at the sky with all its fury; all they saw now was an enormous gaping hole seeping with lava like an open wound.
Where had it gone? Was it truly over?
Three centuries later, the ragged humans dwelling in the ruins of Arris Dome noticed a strange sound --or rather, a strange lack of sound.
"Director!" The watchman, a tall man as gaunt and pallid as the rest of them, came running into the commons waving his thin arms excitedly. "Director! It's stopped! The storm has stopped!"
Those who could muster the energy perked up at these words. A haggard old man raised himself up on his makeshift staff; Doan, whose ancestor had been the last director of the research institute, furrowed his unkempt bushy brows. "What? Stopped? What do you mean?"
"Come! Come look!"
Doan hobbled after him. Several other people struggled onto their feet and followed, murmuring their disbelief and skepticism. The storm clouds had been created on the Day of Lavos from the ash and soot of his emergence, and for some reason no one cared to discover they had remained ever since. Direct sunshine was a myth. The ash clouds trapped enough heat to warm the planet --barely. There was no denying that the planet was an empty husk, its heart cored out, dying in despair; acidic rain fell like tears of anguish, a piercing wind howled a persistent echo of the world's pain, and thunder roared out in protest against it all. So it had been for longer than anyone could remember.
The Arris Survivors crowded behind Director Doan as he peered out through a makeshift window. The glasteel panel was badly scratched and scarred, but still clear enough to see that the world outside had, in fact, entered a state of calm. Sounds of exclamation spread through the group; the women began to chitter eagerly and the younger men spoke of signs and good fortune.
Doan, however, remained silent. His eyes were old but experienced, and even through the dingy window he noticed something odd about the clouds. "Changing…" he muttered. Then his eyebrows rose. "…No… not stopping… It's--!"
"What in blazes?!" In the relative present era, King Guardia XXXIII shot to his feet as the light streaming in through the castle windows vanished and his throne room was plunged into shadows. As the guards hurriedly lit candles, the king spotted an advisor at the window. "Chancellor! What's going on out there?"
Sounding in equal parts concerned and baffled, the Chancellor half-turned and replied, "Storm clouds, Your Highness! As far as the eye can see! But…"
"…I know not from whence they came, Sire," puzzled the Chancellor in the Middle Ages. "'Tis though they were roused from the ether!"
King Guardia the XXI exchanged a troubled look with his queen and then his knight captain. "Is it possible Magus hath returned?"
The knight was slow to answer. He glanced out the window; the swiftness of the clouds' appearance was one thing, but the unnatural pall that seemed cast upon the world… "…I pray not, Sire, but ne'ertheless I cannot but suspect sorcery of some sort, if not his."
Billions of years earlier in the prehistoric past the tribes of man eyed the darkened sky suspiciously. The Laruba villagers, always wary of omens and bad juju, grew more and more unsettled; the women clutched at their hides and moaned lightly; the men shrank toward the ground and shook like cornered rock-mice. The proud Ioka people thumped their chests and grunted bravely for their weaker kin, but even they found themselves looking upward and fingering their clubs restlessly.
One massive ape of a Laruba suddenly burst out in tears and wild chattering, falling facedown into the dirt and covering his head with his arms. He flinched at someone's touch and looked to see a blond Ioka-man half his size crouched next to him.
"Not worry!" said Kino. He tugged firmly at the saber-dog fur he wore. "Ioka strong. Ayla-chief beat reptites good --all gone now! So not worry. We--"
Suddenly a monstrous, inhuman roar rippled through the timestream, echoing through history for every individual to hear. It was a weird, warbling, piercing, chilling scream that seemed to pour forth from nowhere and yet everywhere all at once, and it rattled all that heard it to their very core.
In the Dark Ages, the former Enlightened Ones quailed and covered their ears at the call of Lavos. Some groaned laments for their lost glorious land of Zeal. Most merely trembled with dread and revile at the sound of their horrible master and destroyer.
The disembodied cry ended.
All fury was loosed.
It was an unnatural maelstrom that strained the limits of comprehension and left the laws of reality far behind.
Sleet and hail fell in torrents even in the tropics. The ground trembled sporadically, as if struck by hundreds of hammers. Dazzling beams of light danced across the plains, like auroras given life and free range. Lightning crackled everywhere, and roaring thunder traveled on the tempestuous winds. Amidst it all, spires of poison-yellow hellfire poured forth. Like spears of judgment they smote the land, blasting apart trees and hills and incinerating whole fields and plains.
Yet the storm fought itself; the ice seemed directed by the wind to intercept the infernal darts and douse them; something within froze solid, and the lightning homed in and obliterated the shards. The hail that struck the ground evaporated, and stray bolts that brushed the turf left no trace. Even the flames that slipped through to blight the earth were eradicated; fire of an altogether different sort --radiant tongues of a healthy red shade-- descended to smother them. The rays of aurora light probed the ruined terrain, restoring any damage they found.
People remembered the sight of the sun. They remembered they had seen blue skies and experienced warm afternoons, yet the storm existed in all eras, raging across the eons; it had always been, without pause. Memories contradicted each other, and the truth remained elusive as though in flux.
Such was the nature of the Eternal Storm.
An old man in strange garb stepped out of his home near Medina and studied the chaos with sagely eyes.
With a colossal noise, the mountains to the north exploded into titanic pieces; the next moment they lay buried and worn as though they'd been shattered for centuries; a pillar of light flashed through the area and with a boom of thunder the mountains stood erect once more.
The man reacted to none of this but remained intent on the sky. A frozen gale rushed past and he felt the aura of compassion radiating from it. He reached a hand up, caught the tip of a lightning bolt and brushed the determination of the young man who'd thrown it. Satisfied with his observation, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Belthasar, Gaspar, do you see them?" he whispered. His words were lost instantly in the squall but he continued. "They are fighting. We powerless old fools who called ourselves gurus could do nothing but thrust the weight of our folly on these kids, and now we can do nothing but watch as they struggle for the fate of the world and its future." He opened his eyes and lifted them to the sky again. "Watch… and pray."
Forceful voices rose over a Jurassic plain; men of all ages threw up their arms and bellowed at the raging sky, while women whirled and lashed their hair in the wind, chanting Ioka words of might to the beat of the hide-strung drums.
"Dance!" shouted Kino. "Sing! Ayla-chief fight for all tribes! Fight for world! All sing strong-song for Ayla and strong friend Crono!" A roar went up at these words and the drums grew more frenzied yet.
Not far away, the Laruba tribe watched their cousins from the trading huts, longing to join them but paralyzed by their own timidity. Soon a young Ioka child came running up from the clearing and seized the hand of another boy about his own age; when the Laruba resisted being pulled from the doorway, the Ioka fixed him with a serious look and repeated, "Ayla-chief fight for all tribes." The taller boy hesitated only a moment longer before following his friend. His mother took a step after him on reflex and stopped; something hardened in her expression and she dashed after them, already adding her voice to the chant.
The rest of the Laruba followed.
The old Ioka elder remaining in the hut watched them go with satisfaction before peering up at the stormy sky. He grunted to himself. "Thunder stun all dino. Good hunt tomorrow."
Throughout the timestream, flashes of blue light sparked into existence, like constellations against the blackened clouds. The iridescent globes lasted only a moment before vanishing, but like portals to another dimension something always issued forth or vanished within them. Some belched hellfire; some left blasts of the natural red flames. One charred wall of a ruined Laruba hut fell into a light and disappeared from the ancient past; it plummeted through the air in the Dark Ages, only to be shredded by tumbling fragments of dome glasteel. The rain and ice fell in such chaos it was impossible to tell from whence it all came, but at least once a woman watching through her window in the Middle Ages saw lightning flash from one blue orb immediately into the depths of another.
The storm lulled for a moment. One large blue star twinkled into life directly over the bell in Leene Square in the present age. A triangular pillar of light blasted out toward the ground; the last people to evacuate the area felt a burst of heat ripple over them; a few turned just in time to see the red beacon fade to a cerulean blue accompanied by a wash of frigid air; one shining, crackling flash later and the light had vanished.
The bell rang; the Millenial Fair decorations were completely untouched.
As if in response, a hideous bestial shriek pierced all times, setting every hair on end and even the planet itself shaking. Waves of an eerie force echoed through the ages like a terrible thought creeping inward from the fringes of consciousness, and even the Eternal Storm seemed to waver before it.
Thunder roared in defiance. The onslaught resumed.
The knights crowding before the thrones in the Middle Ages struggled to calm their shaking limbs and quiet their rattling armor. From amidst their ranks murmurs of despair and inescapable doom arose, and the entire assembly edged toward the fringes of composure. The captain barked orders to stay their ground and words of encouragement, trying valiantly to inspire fortitude he did not entirely grasp himself. His thoughts drifted in desperation toward his mentor, and…
"Glenn," whispered the queen. Only the captain and the king, who was being fitted for battle and weary-eyed, heard her voice. Both men paused and regarded her.
"Eh? Sir Glenn?" prompted King Guardia.
Leene paused in thought before answering her husband. "I know not what make it so, my love, but I feel that whate'er this unnamed fiend be and where'er it may reside, Sir Glenn and Sir Crono oppose it now."
The captain thought of the unwavering knight, true to his duty even under curse and unnatural disfigurement, and felt his own resolve bolstered somewhat. "If that be true, Your Highness --and I pray 'tis-- I may rest easy in assurance of victory."
"Indeed," supplied the king, whose face had regained its steel. He raised his voice for all to hear. "Godspeed to Sir Glenn the Fiend-slayer! May his arm swing true and his blade stay sharp with the valor of the Knights of Guardia!"
The cry went up: "Huzzah!"
Not far away, but four centuries later, a blue light appeared and a figure shot out, tumbling along the ground. It plunged a massive sword into the ground, dragging it through the soil to arrest its momentum. Upon success, the figure --a large frog in man's clothing-- pulled himself back onto his feet. Glancing up at the battlements of Castle Guardia, unchanged from when he knew them, he waved his holy sword in a salute. Then, hefting it for battle, he gave an explosive leap into another blue globe and vanished again.
The spot where the frog had departed grew suddenly chilled. A ghostly frost flew forward across the field, the tips of grasses and weeds rapidly thawing in its wake. The wind howled; the frost exploded outward, freezing a thick, wide gash of turf.
As if in synchrony, at that spot in the ruined future a long, thin line of ice slid down the walls of a ruined laboratory, bisecting the building; the ice shattered inexplicably, cleaving the lab in two.
Air pressure popped. Enertron machines in all the domes flickered; a man resting within one jerked awake and trembling, the echoes of billions of gasps and screams --the inexorable march of death-- flooding into the void that had consumed his dream.
The Storm grew more agitated.
Not far away, Johnny the Roadster swerved past a manifesting blue light and rocketed down the broken highway without looking back.
The azure orb spat out a woman with wild blonde hair and fine-toned muscles wearing a feline pelt. As agile as the cat she'd taken it from, she twisted about in midair, caught the tip of a jagged cement crag, planted her feet and vaulted off, diving with clawed fingers and hissing snarl back into the portal.
Kino glanced out toward the distant lava fields, where a strange glimmer had attracted his attention. A massive crag on the far side began to fall apart, a neat cross-wise pattern carving it into pieces, but almost immediately the entire area was smashed into bits, sending a tumult of dust skyward to join the clouds. The sound of a titanic impact finally reached the village, making the rest of the tribe members pause and look up.
Illuminated by the backdrop of lightning, the hulking specter of the mountain appeared hanging within the dusty haze, looming over the horizon. The strange beast's scream sounded again and the floating mountain also shattered.
The startled villagers began to hoot and howl in alarm; some of the stone fragments fell quite close, but though each was the size of several huts they passed right through the trees and hills and faded away. Everyone thought they heard the crashing sound of rock, but only in their heads, as if it were only a memory.
Kino felt new worry for his chief, but he turned and shouted to their people.
The Jurassic rhythm resumed.
A crimson light shone up from the depths of the ocean in the Dark Ages. Miles of surf began to boil and hiss, but the steam floating away revealed a sculpted island of crystal-clear ice.
Blazing red halos pulsed through the clouds over the ruins of Arris Dome, painting the interior a ruby hue. Doan's people huddled, trembling, around a little seedling --their hope, given to them by their strange young visitors.
A small boy in the Middle Ages sat watching at his window in Porre in his garish, pretentious set of armor. He sat up straighter and gasped; a ray of blackness stabbed down through the clouds to the north. Like the foul offering of some evil star, it swallowed lightning and auroras, suffocated all light nearby.
Within their villa north of Porre, Fiona and Marco were overcome with the unmistakable groaning of wood. They rushed outside and cried out in disbelief; in the wake of some unnatural darkness half their beloved trees had withered and rotted, as if sucked dry of life itself. Fiona burst into tears, and Marco shouted a curse upon the waning blackness.
As if to punctuate his words, shafts of brilliant green light flashed into life, streaming down on the two from the heavens and washing across their ruined land. The otherworldly radiance climbed in intensity until it shone like the sun they thought they remembered.
Without warning the green light faded. The young couple opened their eyes and looked round in amazement: their blighted groves had been completely renewed with young, healthy saplings.
Gradually people began to realize the Storm was losing strength. Tremors grew less frequent. The aurora lights began to vanish. The lightning remained constant, but the wind lost ferocity and the rain and sleet grew thinner.
People in every era began to hope the fury of the elements would end soon and the chaos of their memories would be settled.
But the old man near Medina redoubled his prayers.
In the Dark Ages, a pair of young girls --one formerly Enlightened, one Earthbound-- were hurrying back to their hut when a blue star appeared overhead and the snowfield exploded. When the girls could see again, they saw two long furrows torn in the snow, the strangest figures at the ends; one was an armor-clad frog the size of a short man, the other a hulking machine that resembled man's shape.
The children watched in stunned silence as the frog-man struggled to his feet. They thought they heard a pair of familiar voices whispering encouragements from the blade he gripped in one hand. His other hand probed at numerous wounds in his torso, but he made no sound as he turned and limped over to his companion.
The metal man too looked damaged; his eyes flickered and he clattered and clanked as he sat up. The frog laid his free hand on the biggest gash in the machine's armor and lowered his head. A glowing aura rose around the frog and spread over the metal, closing the wounds in both of them as it went. The girl who had been an Enlightened One gasped in recognition of the display. A look of strain passed over the frog's face. He stabbed his sword into the ground beside him. The snow melted and flowed up the blade and over his body, and this seemed to bolster his efforts; his aura grew brighter --joined by a warm light projected by the machine-- and their injuries vanished completely.
The metal man rose and tipped forward in an imitation of a nod. The frog returned it. Then he leapt; the machine caught his feet, spun once and released, flinging him at blinding speed with his sword held out in front.
The girls grabbed each other and shrieked in alarm, but a blue light swallowed the frog before he reached them. Before they could move, the hulking machine jumped, swinging one titanic arm as if to hammer the earth where they stood.
He too disappeared in a flash of blue.
In the Middle Ages, the men in Dorino's inn brave enough to stand watch heard a loud crash outside in the square. They shared a nervous look before venturing to investigate.
When they arrived, they were aghast to find a crater the size of the town elder's home. Creeping up to its edge, they saw an unkempt woman dressed in some sort of furry skin picking herself out of the rubble at its center. Nursing one arm and growling, she wedged a foot under a boulder three times her size --and launched it into the air! The men watched with slack jaws as it fell back down and she punched it with her good hand, shattering it into pieces flying forty feet up in the air. Like some sort of animal, she leapt up after the debris, bounding higher and higher off each chunk midair. When she reached the top she twisted upside down and kicked once, then again, shooting head-size cobblestones toward the ground. A blue orb appeared and swallowed the rocks; with a primal battle-roar, the woman pointed her legs straight down and plummeted in after them.
Another portal deposited two more figures on a mountainside west of the Ioka village. One was a girl with a red-gold ponytail in sandals and loose-fitting white silk; the other girl had short purple hair, and she wore a strange helmet, thick glasses, and copper-colored travel clothes. Both collapsed to the turf in exhaustion. The blond's sides heaved and her breath was visible, as it would be on a cold winter day. Sweat poured down the other girl's face like she suffered severe fever, but her skin tone was normal. The two tugged weakly at their weapons, trying to muster the strength to stand. Failing that, the blond reached with a hand and found her friend's. Light shone from within her and covered them both. They sat up.
The portal reopened above them and dancing thunderbolts emerged, flailing about like fingers of a searching hand. The two women shared a determined glance and quickly got to their feet. Reaching with arms encased in ice and engulfed in flames respectively, they seized the fingers of lightning and let themselves be pulled back into the abyss.
Without warning, the world grew silent. That horrible ululating scream sounded again.
One last clap of thunder cut it off. Forever.
In the relative present, daylight returned to the kingdom of Guardia as suddenly as it had departed. Citizens stood and scratched their heads; memory of the Storm was already growing dim and unclear.
In the castle, an odd sensation pervaded the king, as if something important had yet to happen.
"Your Highness, look!" Out the window in the middle of the nearby town of Truce, a large blue orb appeared for a handful of moments before shrinking into nothingness.
The king wasted no words or time summoning guards and setting out.
"We… we did it," Lucca said breathlessly, flat on her back staring up at the blue sky. Her mouth twisted into a fool's smile and she laughed in pure exhilaration, reaching up and peeling off her gadget-laden helm. People would be coming out of their homes soon, she knew, and what a sight they'd see! Let them come and look: they had won!
She lolled her head to the right. Ayla was already on her feet, pumping her fist and shouting in victory, the same elated grin on the cavewoman's face. Robo merely sat up and buzzed a contented sigh, an emotion his domed metal head somehow managed to display. Even sitting, he was tall enough to offer Frog a hand getting up, but of course the proud knight opted to stand on his own.
"Triumph is ours," he croaked calmly, eying each of them in turn. It was hard to read a knight's expression and harder yet to read a frog's, but Lucca had known him long enough to see the canny smirk as he sheathed the Masamune.
Ayla began to do handstands and flips and cartwheels, whooping all the time and prompting Lucca to laugh again. Then Robo caught her attention and gestured beyond her. "Crono," he intoned.
She looked to her left, where a young man with spiky red hair and a bandanna lay sprawled out unconscious, a fool's smile on his face even as he snored. She watched her long-time best friend and chuckled in admiration. "What a goof."
"And what a warrior," added Frog. "Th' whole battle, always in the thickest of the fray."
"Lavos never stood a chance," Lucca agreed. "He's pretty amazing, all right." And she knew she wasn't the only who thought so; her gaze shifted and her grin grew even wider. Curled up at Crono's side was Marle, face pressed against his neck, sweat-frayed ponytail draped across her cheek and his chest, sleeping with the same look of contentment.
A crowd was beginning to gather. People were beginning to gasp and murmur. From behind them--
"What in--?! Who--?! --P-princess!!"
Lucca craned her neck at the baffled voice of the Chancellor just in time to see King Guardia shoulder his way past the advisor and the guards. She saw his eyes dart between her companions, herself, and finally his sleeping daughter. "Nadia!" he exclaimed. "What--? What--?" Finally he settled his gaze on Lucca again. "What is going on here?" he demanded.
If Lucca thought her grin couldn't possibly grow any wider, she was proven wrong. She hopped to her feet. "Good morning, Your Highness." (And it truly was.) "My name is Lucca Ashtear, and have I got a story for you…"
(End)
Before anyone asks, let me answer the biggest questions I can think of:
1) I didn't include Magus partially because I couldn't find convenient places to include him. Primarily, however, it's because he's an optional character and I wanted to write something that would work whether he was there or not. Plus, he's aloof enough that I could see him not attracting much attention on his own, and splitting right when they've won. (They were dropped off in the middle of the town he was trying to destroy 400 years ago, after all. Might be kind of awkward.)
2) Yes, the entire party was involved in the final battle. I broke the 'no more than 3 people' rule because it was directly contrived for game mechanics. If the story was to play out like a book or movie, I have no doubt the party would move as a whole, even if they had to go through the Gates in shifts with the Key.
3) No, for the time being I will not be writing any more Chrono Trigger stuff, primarily because I've got too much on my plate already. Maybe someday. Not right now.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review and tell me what you thought!
~ArcTheJedi