Lifting his stone swallow from where he'd lowered it to his side while raising the other fist to summon Forever Zero, Serge stared fixedly at his opponent through the golden feline eyes that had once belonged to the enemy before him...the enemy who now resided in his own human body. Yet as if to further heighten the mind-bending nature of their adversarial relationship, Lynx had dressed the Arni youth's body in clothing of a similar cut and hue as the rich robes his former demi-human self still wore—more form-fitting, without the cumbersome skirts and a much shorter mantle, nor was the hat perched atop his blue hair the same long cap of the Porre nobility, but there were enough echoes in shape and colors to make the resemblance unmistakable. He even still carried his sinister scythe...and the way Serge's own features had been twisted into something dark, cruel, and duskily demonic was the most unsettling of all. Although Serge himself was the one in Lynx's body, his former human self had been rendered enough of a mirror image that he felt his stomach doing flip-flops; it was as if the wicked man across from him was showing him how little difference there lay between them now, that nothing separated them any more, and the world would always see him the same way even if he did manage to change back...
Serge gritted his feline fangs, growling. No; he couldn't allow himself to think that way. His friends may have abandoned him after the body switch—he couldn't completely blame them, Lynx was a master manipulator and so he wouldn't have put it past the demi-human to pretend there had been a switch so as to earn their trust, then get close and betray them, and the only witnesses to the event had been knocked out by an energy ball before the truth was revealed and hypnotized into obedience, respectively...but still, the abandonment hurt! Yet Pip had believed in him when no one else did, and he knew once the truth was out they would be filled with remorse and do all in their power to make it up to him.
Besides...it wouldn't be much longer before he was himself again.
As if his thoughts had made it happen, the boy facing him looked up with fury, hatred, and yes, pain twisting his features as he staggered back against the steps leading up to the pedestal where the white obelisk crystal shimmered and hummed. For a few moments more he struggled to stay upright, his body twitching and spasming from the gravitic energy of the Black Element skittering and rippling over and through his muscles, his expression one of utter betrayal. "You...you would dare use my own powers against me...!"
Before Serge could make a biting comment about it only being karmic justice after turning his friends against him, or finish bringing his swallow fully to bear, the form he could only call Dark Serge staggered again, his scythe falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to land with a clatter on the cobbled stones of the chamber floor. Another spasm passed through his face. "I may have...underestimated you..." Something odd gleamed within his hellishly dark orbs, a shimmer of eerie green light rippling across them which Serge swore was the same hue as that produced by the Records of Fate...and then as his features went slack, he toppled slowly to his knees before finally falling forward, unconscious, on the steps.
Slowly...very slowly...Serge let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his swallow completely, his body shivering with the aftershocks of fear and adrenaline loss despite the sweat which still soaked the grayish-brown fur beneath his robes. It was over. After the months of being hounded across El Nido, deceived, misled, tricked and beguiled, trapped in the hellish prison of this monstrous form, his name sullied and denigrated by this man's odious smear campaign, never able to return home, return to his old self and regain everyone's trust...the nightmare was finally over. He'd defeated his enemy and could now safely ascend the fort, use the Dragon Tear, and begin the long work of fixing all that had been done wrong using his face and identity.
Why, then, did it not feel over? Why did he, in fact, feel a strange sense of inner pain, of anguish, of imminent loss? It couldn't be that he would miss the magical powers and abilities he had learned in this form, as useful as they had been; he'd much rather have his own skills and techniques back. Nor could it be because he would miss this terrifying body he resided in, as useful as it had been in earning trust from other demi-humans or how it had automatically drawn the loyalty of people like Harle and Norris. After all, even aside from the specific hatred and anger which Lynx's actions had earned from Kid, General Viper, and the Dragoon Devas, how could he ever forget the distrust and resentment on Glenn's face when the man he'd seen stab his commander and father-figure in the back had dared claim to be his friend and ally? Or the sheer terror and unquiet dread in Lady Riddel's eyes whenever she chanced to glance his way and met his gaze, before shuddering and averting it?
That look was in those wine-dark orbs now, in fact, when he turned at the sound of her dress rustling on the stones to peer into her down-turned face. "What a ghastly mess," she said softly, regretfully; unable to look long into Dark Serge's rictus of hate, she simply fixed her eyes on the floor before finally forcing herself to look up at Serge again. "I knew when you came to my rescue that you were not the beastly creature you seemed to be, the things you said to me were nothing like...what passed through Lynx's lips." She shuddered visibly, and suddenly Serge found he did not want to know what had transpired between them, in the days before he and Kid infiltrated the manor and she was forced to live under the same roof with the disturbingly seductive cat-man.
"I knew when I heard the reports from Sir Karsh, and then Sir Norris when Porre invaded, of a rebellion being led by Serge, one filled with countless harsh atrocities, that this could not be the same kind young man who, even though his ally took me hostage to escape his enemies, had only treated me with gentleness and concern. I knew your tale of having been robbed of your own body, as unbelievable as it seemed on the surface, had the ring of truth. But to see it in person...he looks so like you, and yet, not." She shook her head, her serpent headdress gleaming in the flickering torchlight.
That seemed to sum it up rather nicely. Nerving himself, he reached over and placed a heavy, clawed paw on her slender shoulder...waited for her to overcome her instinctive flinch and stand tall and proud once more, before he spoke. He was rather proud of how he had, with practice, managed to alter the sound of Lynx's voice—not to match his old one, that simply wasn't possible with its depth and the ever-present purr within it, but to lose the menace and silky, dangerous edge within it, replacing them with warmth, compassion, and a certain regal air he'd adopted from the leonine demi-humans in Marbule. "It's like my mother said, ma'am. Some people will judge you by appearances, but others will judge you by your actions and know who you truly are inside." He was rewarded by a smile from Riddel, for the first time since she had met him as Lynx, one that began small but became increasingly radiant and warm.
"That may be true," came a stern but paternal voice from behind him, and then the stooped, white-clad form of Chief Radius hobbled forward on his cane. Stepping rather disdainfully over Dark Serge's collapsed body, he reached the pedestal where the white crystal thrummed, and after bending over to search among the Dragonian script for a few moments, he let out a satisfied exclamation and depressed a raised pattern in the stone. The obelisk flared brightly, then shimmered and vanished with a whining drone that faded away into silence. "But it won't be much longer before your body will match your soul again, my boy." Now he glanced down at last at their adversary, contempt and disgust in the set of his mouth and bushy white eyebrows. "What do we do with this one, then? He has much to answer for, after all."
A cough came from the silo doorway, where only the sullen sooty glow of his cigar and the smoke it wafted upward marked his presence at all, and then the silhouette of the swarthy pirate captain, Fargo, pushed off from the wall and stepped into the light. "If ya ask me—and I'll notice ya weren't—I'd say we should do away with the bastard right this second, before he has a chance ta wake up and carry out any more deviltry." Knocking some of the ash free, he spat at the base of the steps, as if his opinion weren't clear enough already.
"No," Serge said, softly but forcefully. Everyone looked at him in surprise, though Radius and Fargo seemed the most frustrated and disbelieving. "No matter what he's done, I'm not going to be his executioner. If he's going to answer for his crimes at all, it should be under General Viper's justice."
Distinct approval radiated from Riddel, and even the Arni chief looked rather pleased, but the pirate stared at him in growing fury. "If? What do ya mean, 'if'? Don't tell me I have ta read off his list of crimes, do I? I may be a pirate, but even I've never done most of the wicked, heartless things he's done." Fingering the hilt of his sword, his mustache bristling, Fargo clamped his teeth fiercely on his cigar; from the way his boots twitched, he seemed extremely tempted to kick Dark Serge rather solidly in the side. "And what about what he's done ta you, matey? Ta yer friend Kid?"
"I didn't say he was getting away with any of it," Serge said, still quiet but more insistently. "You're right, he has to be held accountable, one way or another. But for one thing, we can't do anything to him until after I've used the Tear. I need his—my body safe until then."
Fargo scoffed. "Didn't that Shrine Maiden say the Tear doesn't work that way? That it could help restore ya even if we didn't have a body fer ya ta go back to? We didn't know he was gonna be here, me lad. Or that we'd win against him if he was."
"Maybe. But there's no reason to take that chance when we've got him right here." And somehow, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, it felt wrong to simply kill their enemy and use the Tear without him.
"But—"
"No!" It came out as a snarl, almost a roar, one that almost made him jump and cringe as much as it did Radius and Riddel. Forcing himself to calm down, to unclench his fists and retract his claws, he went on in a more mollified tone—but he didn't let an ounce of his determination bleed from it. "Look, I know why you think we should, Captain, but even if I didn't think we need him, I wouldn't do what you're suggesting. I'm not you, and more importantly, I'm not him." He dropped his gaze to the unconscious boy whose expression was still utterly blank, his eyes still flickering and shining with that green light as if a machine were glitching behind them. "Killing him in battle would have been one thing. But when he's down, helpless, no threat to us...just because we can? That's what Lynx would do."
That finally seemed to silence the pirate; after shooting one last dirty look at Dark Serge, he shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth and then stalked back to the doorway, calling out to the others that the coast was clear for them to ascend farther into the deserted fortress. As he did so, and Riddel was unobtrusively applying her healing Elements to himself and Radius, Serge turned back and knelt down on the steps. Gathering the fallen boy into his arms and scooping him up to sling him rather unceremoniously over one shoulder—with the incredible strength in the demi-human's muscles, he could carry him as easily as if he weighed nothing at all and still have one hand free for fighting—he led the way toward the elevator that had descended when Radius deactivated the crystal.
As everyone gathered in the round chamber, waiting their turns to ride up so they would be on hand if their skills were needed in battle, Serge took his place first in the middle of the stone platform, avoiding looking at anyone's curious or stunned glances. What he didn't say, to Fargo or to any of the rest of them, was the other, compelling reason he had for not doing away with Lynx while they had the chance: that ever since being placed in this feline body, he'd had inexplicable flashes of memory, ones he knew had to have belonged to its former occupant rather than himself...and if they were true, if they meant what he thought they did, then he had to have answers, he had to know the truth—and he had to make whoever was truly responsible pay for what had been taken from him.
The whole way up through the fort—along the passages, ramps, and balconies which comprised the next level, hanging back and fighting one-handed against the monsters they encountered while letting his companions handle the brunt of the conflicts, and as they deactivated the black crystal to bring down the last barrier so they could approach the strange teleportation pad that would fling them to the vertigo-inducing platform floating high above the ancient Dragonian ruins—Serge could not stop thinking about what he had glimpsed in the recesses of his feline mind. Images, words, inexplicable bits of disconnected dialogue...and when put together with odd, unexplained statements Lynx had made, as well as curious omissions in Miguel's story as related at the Dead Sea...
Serge bit his lip and let out a low, keening yowl in the back of his throat. Miguel...by the Dragon Gods, how could he ever break the news to Leena, assuming she would speak to him again once he had his body back? Even if he understood why she had rejected him, part of him was tempted to blurt out her father's fate as payback...but the rest of him knew how cruel and unfair that would be. He didn't know if he ever would tell her, but if he did it would have to be much more circumspectly and gently... In any event, what Miguel had told him, as eye-opening, troubling, and deeply, morally upsetting as it was boggling to the mind, had in the end been most important in what it didn't tell him. Namely, the fate of his father.
After Marge had related the tale of how both fishermen had sailed off with his poisoned body to seek medical aid, only for one to return and "never be the same", Serge had begun to question what he knew, what had been hidden from him. Somehow, in some way or another, the flashes of memory he'd experienced at the fort in Another World, at Viper Manor, on Opassa Beach when he crossed through the gate between dimensions had all seemed to tie the panther demon that nearly killed him with Lynx; the demi-human seemed to know all about it, at least. But now he knew the panther attack was also connected to this journey to Marbule, a storm, and the vanishing of Wazuki and Miguel. The latter had turned up fourteen years later, trapped in a frozen future being obliterated from the timestream by choices made and not made. But what had happened to his father? Leena's father had noted that General Viper and the Dragoon Devas of Home World had "become salt for the Dead Sea" but he said not a word about the fate of his friend.
Then there were the comments Lynx had made atop the fort, just before that wrenching, horrific transference of souls had occurred courtesy of the Dragon Tear. First, that ten years ago, a part of him had died...at first, Serge had thought he'd meant the panther demon since the idea of it being a minion or creature of Lynx's, or even an earlier form of him, made a great deal of sense...a scary kind of sense. But since that event had happened much longer ago, and it was his drowning which had occurred ten years ago, that didn't seem to add up. And then there was what Lynx had said next: that denying him "would be erasing your very existence". How could that be? Was it mere villainous rhetoric designed to belittle, demean, and intimidate him? Or could he actually have been telling the truth?
If so, what could those words mean? There was only one interpretation he could think of that would explain them...that would also explain how "part of him had died", and Miguel's strange silence...that would explain why, ever since awaking in the Dimensional Vortex, Serge had been seeing things which made no sense in his mind's eye. Himself caressing his own mother's cheek, leaning in to kiss her tenderly the way no son kissed his mother before departing on a fishing trip. Shouting hurried commands and desperate pleas alike into the roaring winds and pounding sheets of rain that fell upon him from cloud-churned skies over a tempestuous sea, that blasted him in the face until his words were lost amid the gales, nearly ripping the sails from the masthead and tossing Miguel's clinging form over the gunwale. Standing in the cold, quiet halls of some mysterious, uninhabited city, thanking Miguel for coming with him, standing by him, even as he swore he would not rest until he answered that strange voice calling to them from within the citadel, found the means by which he could save his son's life, no matter the cost...
All of this could only mean one thing, and if it was correct, it was something so painful, so infuriating, and so heartbreaking that he didn't know if he could face it...or what he would do about it.
There was no further time for thought on the matter, though, as the moment of truth had arrived, the moment to choose. With that familiar, sickening surge of energy, rather like how it felt to pass through the dimensional distortion at Opassa Beach, Serge found himself hurtling miles through the air only to phase through the floating platform high over Fort Dragonia, solidifying with a crunch of his weight upon the strange glowing stone. Getting his bearings and looking around warily, he discovered he still held his unconscious enemy—his own body—safely over his shoulder, while those who had chosen to accompany him were the snarky but endlessly loyal Van and the stately, impressive figure of the Shrine Maiden, Steena.
Her white-clad, statuesque body stood poised and still, its crimson-lined cape flaring in the rising wind that whistled high over the slopes of Mount Pyre, and both its high collar and her Dragonian headdress framed her beautiful but distant face as she gazed at him with solemn, unwavering dignity; save for when he had queried her about the Frozen Flame and when he had shown her the Tear of Hate, he had never once seen her calm aplomb disturbed or broken by anything they had encountered. He envied that self-control. "Serge...you must proceed alone from here."
He nodded slowly, once, conscious as he hadn't been since the initial body-switch of the weight of his heavy feline head. This announcement only made sense; an event of this magnitude and of such a personal nature would certainly be something private, and in any event the Dragon Tear was a magical artifact. Magic had its own rules.
Steena reached out and up to gently lay a hand on his upper arm. "You must see and confirm for yourself who you really are...truth shall manifest itself, once you believe in your heart." For the briefest of moments her eyes flickered to the body draped over his shoulder, and he had the feeling her words had more than one meaning, were of even deeper import than they seemed on the surface.
"That's right, mate," Van chirped. "You know I believe in you, I always have. You'll get through this. You'll survive whatever magic that thing throws at you, and get your own body back if you have to batter Lynx again until he mews like a kitten, or even roar at that silly old Tear to make it comply!" The poor artist's son from Termina smirked lopsidedly at him.
Serge couldn't hold back the chuckle at those words, or the rather amusing images they summoned up, and somehow the sound's rumbling, dark, feline nature didn't bother him as it once had, perhaps because he knew if all went well this would be the last time he'd hear it coming from his own mouth. "Thank you, my friend. That means a lot to me." He swung his gaze to include Steena. "It means a lot from both of you. I just hope your faith isn't misplaced." Squaring his shoulders and shifting Dark Serge's limp body to a better position, he nodded and turned back to the doors. "Here goes nothing..."
Just as in Another World, the towering panels of intricately carved stone swung open with barely a touch, as if they were so perfectly and delicately balanced it took no strength at all to move them—or was it more of the Dragonian magic of this strange place? His feline night-vision adjusted quickly to the relative gloom of the chamber beyond, but it wasn't strictly necessary...as before, each of the six draconic statues of elemental hue was shimmering, radiating constant beacons of multicolored light, and the floor itself similarly gave off a cold, blue glow from the indecipherable runes and other markings incised into it. The whole place was so eerily familiar, so terrifyingly true to his memories, that he half-expected to see Lynx stepping out of the shadows on the far side...to see Kid's prone form sprawled nearby, surrounded by the crimson essence of her life as it welled out to add to the ever-spreading pool beneath and around her. But the place was quite silent once the doors had shut behind him, and he was utterly alone.
After a few agonizingly long moments of standing there with his eyes closed, forcing his breathing to slow and his heartbeat to calm, he looked around and considered his options. After discarding most of them, he crossed over to the nearest dragon statue, his boots echoing hollowly on the stone, then bent over and set Dark Serge down so he was sitting propped up in the carving's sooty crimson halo. It somehow seemed appropriate. Sighing, he got down on one knee; when waving his paw, then snapping his clawed fingers, did no good, he reached out and shook the boy...gently at first, then more forcefully. "Wake up. You have a lot to answer for, and I can't do this without you."
Whether the journey up had slowly been jostling him back into consciousness, or the combination of being shaken and that dark, sinister voice jump-started the process, his enemy seemed to shiver, jerked his head as if he'd just emerged from the cold, icy waters of Divine Dragon Falls, and the rippling green light in his eyes vanished. His mouth worked...he lifted a hand to his temple and groaned...and then as he saw who, or what, was in front of him, he jerked back with a yell and nearly knocked himself out again on the statue. "Get away from me! Wh-what are you, you monster?!"
Serge blinked; not only were these words the last he'd expected to hear from his enemy (right ahead of "I'm sorry for all the pain and misery I put you through"), but his voice sounded...different. Not the odd, high tone he'd adopted after his identity switch had been revealed, the cold and cruelly mocking voice that had taunted and sneered at him at Hermit's Hideaway and again in the silo down below, but...much closer to Serge's normal voice. It also sounded confused, and definitely frightened.
It had to be a trick. "You know very well who I am, Lynx! Don't think you can pretend, I won't be fooled by you and your silver tongue any more. Now tell me, how do I use the Dragon Tear? Is there some special ritual I have to perform, words I have to say, an Element to cast into it?" He fought the urge to shake the answers out of him, as well as the desire to growl fearsomely at him; he only succeeded at the former.
"What?" the boy whimpered. "I don't know anything about a Dragon Tear. And wh-who's Lynx? That isn't my name, I'm—" He broke off, staring off into space, and if anything his dazed eyes became even more terrified. "I don't know who I am! Or you, or anything! What's happened to me?!" He cringed back from the demi-human in front of him, holding up his hands to futilely ward him away.
Again he stared; could it be that the fight below, the usage of Forever Zero, one of the violent blows he'd received in combat, had truly damaged his mind, wiped his memories? If so, that was good news as far as any renewed hostilities were concerned, nor would Dark Serge be interfering in the soul transfer. But it also meant no help with the Tear would be forthcoming...and what if what he surmised about Lynx was true? Would this mean he would never remember...who he really was?
He shook himself, and this time he couldn't hold himself back as he lunged quickly and caught the boy by his robed shoulders, snarling anew. "Don't...don't lie to me! You're Lynx! You were an ambassador from Porre. You allied with General Viper, only to stab him in the back when you couldn't use him anymore. You're Kid's enemy...you hunted me all across El Nido...you took my body and left me stuck in yours, all so you could get your hands on the Frozen Flame. Admit it!" He shook the boy violently.
"No! No, I—" He nearly bit his tongue thanks to the convulsions, but managed to spit out more disjointed, vibrating words. "I don't...kn-know...w-w-w-what...you're talking about! Never h-heard...of any of that! P-p-pl-lease! You're hurting me, let me g-g-g-go!" He began to cry.
Serge stared in horror before finally managing to loosen his grip and jerk back, letting the boy fall back against the statue, weeping, shuddering, and hiccuping. He gazed down at his clawed paws and had to fight back his own surge of tears. What had he almost done? What was he becoming? It was as if they truly had changed places, fully and irrevocably, now. He, the monstrous, wicked, dangerous beast-man, and Serge, innocent, ignorant, and victimized. No. No, I won't let that happen. I won't...be...him! Not this close to finally getting myself back.
Forcing his temper to cool, he waited until the growls had left his throat and the sobbing from behind the boy's hands had quieted before he spoke again, softer and more gentle, unthreatening. "All right. I believe you. I...I don't know what happened to you, exactly, other than you seem to have amnesia. But...I think I can help you. If you can trust me." He knew after what he'd just done, after forgetting everything about who and what he was, finding himself here in this eerie place in the company of an even more disturbing cat-man, the human would have no reason to trust him, would likely reject him and cower in abject fear if he didn't try to run for safety (only to be caught by Steena and Van outside). But he had no choice, there was no other way to make things right.
And if those memories truly were gone, he had to hope that switching back would return them...or at least that his own memories would travel with him back to his original body. Or else... Stop it. Don't borrow trouble when there's already so much available.
The boy stared at him as if he'd turned into a Hydra. "I don't know who I am or why I'm here. I don't know how I ended up like this—it could very well be because of you. And you just tried to accuse me of doing all kinds of horrible things, while you were assaulting me. And you expect me to believe you, or trust you?" As he spoke, his voice was becoming more and more brash, confident, and determined; the boy had no weapons, no way of fighting back save for his fists and feet, so surely his words had to be mere bravado, and they did indeed quaver noticeably. But he sounded so much like the old Serge, standing up for himself even when he had nothing but his words and defiance to do it, that Serge in Lynx's body felt oddly heartened.
"I don't expect you to do anything," he said, still keeping his voice as smooth and soothing as he could manage—not the coercive, manipulative tone Lynx had once used, but one filled with encouragement, friendliness, and a confidence of his own. "I hope you will listen, and help me. And let me help you as well. I thought you were...someone else. I'm sorry. But...if you trust me this once, then I think I can find a way for you to remember who you are. For both of us to get the help we need." Even though he cringed inside to do it, even though it was far too like the demi-human's deceitful, faux affability with which he'd twisted and persuaded the Arni boy to do his bidding and fall into his trap, Serge reached out a paw again, just as Lynx had upon the balcony of Viper Manor. "Please?"
For a very long time, the boy across from him stared at that massive, extended paw as if it were a serpent coiled and ready to strike, very much the way Serge himself had once looked at it. Again the sense of deja vu, of doubling, of history repeating itself—but perhaps this was necessary? Perhaps everything that happened before had to happen again, only backwards, for different reasons, with completely different emotions behind them, before the switch could be undone too? The Prophet of Time did say everything which happened in one world happened in or affected the other...
Then at last, just as he was certain he'd have to grab hold of the boy and forcibly carry him to the pedestal, something seemed to pass through his lithe frame, a shiver that was as much of resignation and despair as fear. He nodded, even as a look of uncertainty and distress twisted his features, one quite unsuited to the villain who had resided in him but absolutely fitting for how Serge had felt ever since his life was turned upside down and he somehow became the key to space, time, the cosmos, and all of existence. "All...all right. I...really don't have a choice, do I? You won't let me go unless I do...and even if I could get out of...wherever we are, I have no one to go to, nowhere I could go to to fix what's wrong with me." Actually that wasn't true, but Serge wasn't about to tell him about Marge and Leena, or Arni, or any of it until he had his own body back. "Tell me what I have to do."
"That's the spirit!" Hoping he sounded as jovial and supportive as he intended, Serge took the boy's hand and, carefully but without hesitation, rose to his feet, levering the confused human up as well. Once he was certain the other had regained his balance and strength, he turned and gestured toward the center of the room, ushering him toward the pedestal. "I'm not certain, but based on what I've been told, I think all I have to do is place the Tear on this, and it should do the rest."
Hoping against hope there wasn't some secret mystic charm or other special way to make the magic work which the Shrine Maiden had neglected to mention, or worse didn't even know due to it being lost to legend, he reached into the folds of his robes, finding the pocket of his cloak where the jewel lay...and as his other hand maintained its hold on...his own human hand, as much to make sure the terrified amnesiac didn't change his mind and run away as to keep him close for what happened next, Serge reached out with his feline paw and carefully, deliberately, set the tear-shaped sphere with its flame-like outer shell into the niche that was clearly designed for it. A long, pregnant pause...and then with a shimmering, bell-like sound, the artifact began to pulse and blaze with an unearthly azure glow he knew all too well...
But just as he had braced himself for another siege of agony splitting his head in two, for the awful and nauseating sensation of clawed fingers scraping and grasping and seizing at his spirit until he went mad from it, there was—nothing. Only a small, almost friendly bluish-white ball of light that rose from the Tear to hover before him, illuminating the chamber more brightly than even the dragon statues. As he blinked warily at this, the will-o'-the-wisp spiraled about in the air, then flew toward the wall of the room, leaving behind a glittering trail of stardust. It stopped right before the curving wall, just about at eye level, its light picking out something he hadn't noticed before—an ancient, faded mural had been painted on the stone surface, or perhaps it was a dusty, woven tapestry that hung there? He could just make out the first image, what looked like a vast body of water where strange, primordial sea life swum about in the depths...
And then a voice spoke—deep, harsh, strangely accented, pronounced as if the human language were not its native tongue. A whisper that susurrated from floor to ceiling and back again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if the very stone itself had been brought to life...and in this place, he wouldn't be surprised if that were the literal truth.
"All life on this planet was born in the sea."
He dared to glance over at his human body, and to his startled relief saw that his former enemy, although still uncertain and deeply afraid, was looking around with the same consternation as he was, trying to find the source of the voice. Good, he can hear it too...it's real, not all in my head. Unless of course they'd both gone mad...
"The life-forms softly slumbered within the womb of our mother sea...until eventually they developed free will and were able to swim about the ocean freely."
Looking back to the mural hurriedly—Steena had mentioned something about a test of some sort, so he didn't want to miss a thing—Serge narrowed his golden eyes. The floating light had shifted, upward and to the right, now illuminating a different portion of the mural. What had once been simple organisms had changed, now looking much more recognizable to him—fish, crustaceans, algae and seaweed, even soft and sleek-furred mammals, all swimming about aimlessly, hunting, eating, or enjoying their peaceful, idyllic surroundings. He had no idea what this had to do with him or his quest, but in spite of himself he was utterly fascinated.
"Then there came those that, not satisfied with life in the water, looked up from the ocean floor towards the blue skies and dreamt of the feel of the land. Aeons passed before their preposterous dream became a reality, and they rose up from the seas onto the earth."
Again the ball of light shifted, continuing to rise along the wall even as it circled around the chamber, now illuminating images of animals emerging from the sea to walk on the dry shores, changing with each step into the various animal species he was familiar with. Serge already knew of the theory of evolution, Radius had been a good teacher, but this presentation seemed particularly compelling, since he had no idea where it was leading or why.
The disembodied voice became stentorian, stirring, filled with pride and glory. "The land became full of all kinds of creatures. Among these, the dragon lizards and the more evolved Reptites thought they would reign over the earth forever. And for a long while it seemed that they would..." The images now were of various dinosaur species roaming the world, with each progression becoming more civilized, walking upright, wearing clothing, building cities and weapons. These, he realized, must have been the ancestors of the Dragonians. In spite of himself, in spite of the frisson of fear such beasts engendered in him and the fact one of their relics was responsible for his current state, he found himself admiring them.
"However, the unforeseen coming of the mighty one from the heavens suddenly smashed their kingdom to pieces." The voice turned mournful, as well as underlain with a towering rage, and he couldn't blame it—the mural now showed, almost directly across from him, the great castles and towns of the Reptites being thrown into ruin, a catastrophe of fire and destruction raining down from on high that had to be the source for a lot of the legends and myths of divine wrath and lost civilizations he'd heard from all over El Nido. He frowned, however...there was something familiar about that fiery object hurting through the primitive skies. A vast, shell-like object with hundreds of spikes proliferating over its outer surface, like a demented and horrific porcupine...one whose image he recalled from a derelict computer screen made to operate for a tantalizingly short few minutes by Commander Norris...
At the same time he recalled its name, the voice identified the fiery stellar abomination with mingled revulsion and awe. "That one was known as 'Lavos!' The great crimson flame... Wielding absolute power, Lavos buried the dinosaurs—the kings of the land—in the space of a night."
Beside him, the human stirred at last. "I...I remember. This seems familiar..." He put a hand to his head, rubbing at his temple. "Lavos...something about the spawn of Lavos...entering the planet, devouring it..." He shuddered. "...until it was stopped by...the Chrono Trigger?" He frowned in puzzlement. "And something about...the Frozen Flame...?"
Serge stared at him in shock. The Flame has a connection to Lavos?! That...would explain so much... And make it even more imperative the thing be kept away from this goddess of Fate Miguel had mentioned...and anyone else...
Out of the corner of his eye he spied the light shifting farther around the circumference, now hovering along the right-hand side of the room, and his feline ears twitched and folded back as the voice spoke once more—this time sounding accusatory, injected with venomous hate, and he instinctively bristled, paws clenching, claws unsheathing, fangs gritted in a subsonic growl.
"However, the timid 'apes' who had lived hidden in the forests..." The wisp shone its silvery-blue rays onto an image of primitive men huddled around a campfire, dressed in animal skins and bearing crude wooden clubs and spears with stone heads, their brutish, unintelligent faces peering up in wonder and worship at the starry sky above them. "...came into contact with the crimson flame that fell from the sky, and evolved into 'humans.' Or perhaps it was not 'evolution' but 'transformation.' In this way humans increased in number and filled the earth..."
Serge's growl grew louder and more menacing. He had a sinking and infuriated suspicion which way this was heading. And he was right, for even as the light bathed the last panel of the mural on the far right, showing humans in their progress of building great cities and technology, cutting down forests, devastating wildlife and seas, hunting animals to extinction, the voice pronounced a final sentence like the crack of doom, as if casting judgment upon humanity. "The fearsome 'progeny of Lavos' who, like their progenitor, began to devour our mother planet."
No! He could not even form the word, his voice turned once more into the inarticulate cries and roars he had made upon first being placed in Lynx's body. It can't be true! I refuse to believe it! It was just more of the same damned lies and vicious taunts as those of the dwarves of the marshes...he had tried to listen to them, tried to be sympathetic, for even though saving Kid's life mattered more to him than he could say, he knew that destroying an ecosystem, wiping out a species, forcing a race to lose its homeland, was wrong. But when they had in turn destroyed the poor fairies of Water Dragon Isle, had done so with the same sort of destructive machines and technology as the humans they lectured with such superiority, and then tried to justify it by claiming they learned it from the humans... Such hypocrisy had infuriated him into the same wordless rage as now.
As the Dragon Tear blazed brighter than ever, he drew himself up to his full height, the Black Element imbued in his body making his fur ripple, his cloak billow behind him, and the stones of the floor rattle beneath his boots. With every ounce of will in him, he threw back the Dragonians' unfair verdict in their absent faces. The Reptites and their 'great' civilization—they built, they killed and slaughtered, they ruled over this planet, and they did it with just as much tyranny and arrogance as they accuse humans of! If Lavos hadn't wiped them out, I bet they'd be no better today...maybe even worse. And even if we really were touched by that thing's flame, that doesn't doom us to be monsters. If demi-humans don't deserve the hate and prejudice they get, neither do we. We have a chance to save the planet, not destroy it. And if I get my body back, I will—no matter what Fate, the Dragon Gods, or anyone else says! We all deserve the chance to live and grow, to be what we wish...to choose, and do good. I won't stop fighting for that, ever!
Something seemed to radiate an odd sense of approval through the chamber, the menace and violence and shadowy death that had been looming over him fading now into benevolence and sympathy. The light, which had remained hovering near the wall while blazing brighter and brighter, as if ready to explode in stellar fire to incinerate him, now dimmed back to a gentle twinkle...then floated unerringly back to the pedestal to sink into the Tear. The artifact glowed incandescently, quivering and vibrating as if it had been struck by a hammer—and then it cracked, splitting open with a familiar crunching sound, allowing...water to begin spurting out. First a trickle, then a stream, then a gushing geyser that poured off the altar. He stared in confusion.
Before it even struck the floor, the water was rising up again, twisting and curling in strange shapes until forming into a flowing carpet of bubbles. These quickly surrounded both himself and his human body, expanding and rising to form a gyrating sphere of liquid all around him, completely enclosing his robed form. A siege of pain stabbed him in the gut, making him double over—out of the corner of his eye he saw the same thing happening to Dark Serge—only to spread up into his chest. As his heart pounded frantically, another spasm wrenched through him, making him jerk the other way, back arched, muzzle pointing toward the ceiling but unable to make a sound even as the pain grew more and more intense, ripping and scraping and clawing unbearably inside him. He couldn't breathe. He could not—
Darkness swept over his vision, only to explode into light that gradually dimmed back to normal. Gasping for air, his eyes still dancing with spots and the last image he had of bubbles rising through the water before him...an image quite familiar to him from when he'd been sent into the Dimensional Vortex, an image he was certain now was a glimpse of his fate in Another World, the drowning that had taken his other self's life...Serge fell forward on his knees on the stone floor, coughing and spluttering. It took him several long minutes to get his breath back, his lungs in working order...several more to brush his soaked hair back out of his eyes...and several more to realize what had happened as his senses caught up with him.
Cold. He could feel the cold of the stones seeping into his hands, instead of being soaked up by the fur upon them...because they had bare flesh. Nails only, not claws, scraping and catching on a rune. He felt lighter, shorter, lither, no longer the bulky and massive figure he had been trapped in for what felt ages of traveling, of life. He actually had hair again, rather than the spiky crown of chestnut fur which had lain hidden beneath that Porrean hat, wonderful blue hair that hung dripping from his brow. And when he looked down before him at the puddles of water left from the Tear's magic, he could see his reflection once more. His reflection.
For a long time he only stared at that youthful face, one he'd been convinced he would never see again...grateful that the evil which had twisted it was now completely gone, leaving it innocent and wholesome once more, even as he memorized every feature anew. Even the fact he was inexplicably naked didn't faze him—he vaguely remembered, while within the sloshing waters of the bubble, shrinking within his robes, of becoming the size and mentality of a baby again before once more growing to his proper age. And he was quite happy to see that disturbing outfit, especially the skull-marked bandana, gone.
But at last he managed to lift his gaze, and after one last, secret smile to himself, rose to his feet. A few more moments of re-adjusting to his new (original) weight and frame, and then with a surge of stomach-churning worry but also a shard of hope, he turned to look over his shoulder—at the shattered remnants of the Tear on its pedestal, and then at the towering, furred form beyond it which was also rising to stand...
On the hovering platform which would teleport them all safely back down into the fort when their task here was concluded, Steena stood quiet and unmoving, arms crossed beneath her breasts as she gazed studiously toward the south. Past the rocky, fiery peaks of Mount Pyre, the verdant plant life and fungal stalks of the Hydra Marshes (which, worryingly enough, were already beginning to show signs of wilt and toxicity), and the empty shoreline, she could just see the rich foliage and gorgeous waterways of Water Dragon Isle hovering at the horizon. But much closer at hand she could easily identify the rushing cascade of Divine Dragon Falls, and she felt a shiver of anticipation run through her. Could it be? So many things are the same in the other world, Serge says, and others are so different. What if the cavern there...?
Shaking her head to cast off such thoughts—there was no use in idle speculation, and she did not want to get Serge's hopes up any more than her own—the Shrine Maiden turned away from the stunning vista and looked back with mingled aspersion and fondness at her companion. "Young Master Van...that will do you no good, you are well aware."
The boy in question was currently bent over at the waist, hands planted on the carved surface of the great doors, pressing and shoving with all his might, to the point that his shoes were skidding and scraping repeatedly on the stones while his face beneath the fringe of purple hair was shining with sweat. "What...puff...are you...puff...talking about? We just saw him go in...and they opened so easily! If I just...keep trying...find the secret..."
Steena chuckled as she approached. "Dragonian magic, young man. Of course it opened for him, and of course it will not do so for us. He is the one whom fate has chosen, we are but his boon companions, and what takes place within that sanctum is far too holy and unknowable for any others to witness it."
Finally giving up at forcing the doors open, Van clenched his fists, kicked up some dust at the portals for good measure, and glared at the offending architecture before stalking back to her side. "But what is going on in there? I couldn't hear anything through those things! What's taking so long?"
"You expected a sacred ceremony from the distant past, one which can restore our friend to his rightful form, to take only a few minutes?" She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice.
"Well, no, but..." The Terminan painter sighed heavily, removing his glasses to wipe them clean of sweat and fogged breath, but when he put them back on and looked at her again, there was a concern and fear in them that made her heart go out to him. "What if he doesn't pass this test of yours? What if he's lost in the magic? Or what if that blasted villain has stopped being catatonic and—"
She was about to gently correct him that the test was not of her doing or devising, but one set in place many centuries ago—although she had no answer for his other, troubling questions—when the doors suddenly, with a soft grinding sound and a settling of dust and dirt, swung open of their own accord. Even as she thought to herself how fortunate it was Van had stopped trying to force his way in, so that he didn't now fall ignominiously on his face, Steena drew herself up proudly, waiting to see what would emerge from the other side yet somehow knowing already.
And she was right. Slowly but confidently, a slender, young figure appeared out of the darkened room...human, blue of hair and eyes (though the latter were so dark as to be nearly purple), toned and muscular without being massive in build. She could see this because his clothing had vanished—she hadn't expected such a result from the Tear, but if the old writings which spoke of a "rebirth" had been literal, it made sense—and she made certain to keep her eyes fixed on his face so as not embarrass the poor lad any more than he must already be—his cheeks were quite red! And after all, she might be only seven years older than he, but her position required the utmost dignity and propriety.
Meeting Serge's eyes, which were steady, kind, yet filled with such strength of purpose and depth of character she was startled—but what else could she expect of one who had been through as much as he had, who had now been through the Tear's trials twice and thus surely gained much wisdom from it?—she smiled. "Serge...you have regained your identity without being led astray. Your eyes, which foresaw the truth, shall help you to regain your trust among your comrades..."
From her side, Van snorted. "Oh yeah, them. The ones who couldn't even see past the surface, see what was in your eyes, and wouldn't stand by you when you needed them most. Some friends." He shoved his hands fiercely in his pockets. "Remind me to kick them hard when we see them. Especially that Glenn, right in the—"
With a stern glare, Serge stepped close to the boy and smacked him, lightly, in the back of his head. The blow wasn't hard, but it did make his tri-cornered hat fall forward over his brow, covering his eyes.
After a few moments of spluttering and fixing his hat and glasses, during which she and Serge shared a private smile, Van glowered and stuck his tongue out in the general direction of Termina. "Oh, fine, if you're going to be that way about it! But I hope every one of them feels awful when they find out you were telling the truth. I bet they'll be sorry now that they weren't here for you! Not like me..." He lifted his chin. "I was all set to come in there, Serge. I was going to break those doors down with my piggy bank and everything." He took a few tentative steps closer, kicking his foot back and forth above the stone, and then he rushed into Serge's arms to embrace him.
Serge smiled down at him softly, patting his shoulder. "I know you were. Thank you, Van."
For a few more moments the painter squeezed him close, sniffling inaudibly. Then at last he pulled away and looked up, with a rather puzzled and diffident look on his face. "But...why in the devil's name are you naked?"
The teenager threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing loudly around the platform before being lost in the wind. He shook his head and shrugged. "Beats me, Van. But I'm sure we can find some clothes for me with our things. Or maybe on Lynx's ship..." He went quiet, distress and dread warring on his countenance, before finally seeming to rouse himself and holding out his hand to Steena—the one he'd had clenched at his side the whole time.
When his fingers opened to reveal the piece of blue gem in his palm, she let out a sigh of relief, then gazed up at him. At his look of apology, she smiled warmly. "Do not be troubled, Serge. This is as it was meant to be. There is nothing we can do about the Dragon Tear...its shattering result does not come as a surprise. However, you also carry the fate of the Dragon Tear from another world. The broken pieces of love and hate: although contradictory, they are two sides of the same coin..."
His expression, which had relaxed as soon as he'd found out he wasn't in grave trouble for what had happened to the relic he'd been entrusted with, became wary and unhappy once again. "Love and hate...he said the same thing, just before he..."
Steena gazed at him sympathetically. "His reasons for doing so were surely dark and sadistic, but he was more right than he knew. You see, a mysterious force may come to light when these two pieces are united... Perhaps this force will be the legendary Chrono Cross..." At his confused look, she sighed and turned away; even if she knew the full extent of its powers and what use it had been destined for, it would do no good unless her earlier hope was true. "The only problem is, the shrine which is said to give life to the Chrono Cross is nothing but a cavern inside Divine Dragon Falls."
The Arni youth frowned even more thoroughly, even as his shoulders began to slump. She placed her hand on one, lifting his chin with the other. "But...with what you have told me of this strange split in the timestream, of another world, that need not be the end of our quest. Serge...you may hold the key to bringing forth its powers. And if you do, there is no telling what it will enable you to do to save our worlds."
She began to turn away, to lead him back to the teleportation pad, when a thought occurred to her and she looked back. "Or perhaps more than that. Did you—what happened to...?" She peered past his shoulder, into the shadows of the ritual chamber.
After a few moments of shaking his head, eyes bright as he seemed to gain an inkling of what she was hinting at, Serge looked up—and for some odd reason smiled. "Everything's all right, there's no need to worry. Although...it seems I'm not the only one who needs a new set of clothes..." He gestured back behind him, holding out his hand to someone unseen.
The Shrine Maiden caught her breath; at her side, despite Serge's caution that there was nothing to fear, Van instinctively reached for the boomerang at his belt, and she had to admit her fingers itched to be around the hilt of her sword. For a tall, broad-shouldered figure was slowly, tentatively, stepping into the light...like Serge, naked as the day he was born, though he seemed even more embarrassed by this fact than the teenager had been, judging by where he had his paws clasped. But as his clawed feet came to a stop on the threshold and the mountain winds whipped through his grayish-brown fur, Steena found herself losing any fear or desire to fight...for the look in those golden eyes was one she had never expected to see...
A/N: This piece is obviously an AU what-if story. Also the title is not merely a reference to one of the tracks from the OST, and a wonderful remix from OCR (both actually relevant here!), but it also describes the story itself: a series of pieces, vignettes displaying various moments of the game from a different perspective, namely showing what certain scenes might have been like had a particular character been able to still be a party member at that point, and then following through on the ramifications and consequences of that character being part of the story, and finally ending with what his fate might be. Hence why it feels a bit disjointed; you can assume any scenes from the game not shown occurred exactly as they did originally, merely with this additional character there as a witness or participant. I wasn't particularly interested in rewriting the whole game, as that's a monumental task and one various other writers have attempted. Never finished, but at the same time the portions they did finish are better than anything I could come up with at the moment. So instead...you receive these character-driven fragments. I hope they will be as meaningful for you as they were for me as I wrote them. R/R!