Steel rang on steel in an endless symphony, the reverberations of poleax against sword made her arm ache, but the grim determination in her eyes showed nothing of weakness. She shrieked another war cry, her throat raw from so many, as she pushed hard; the haft of the poleax snapped, sending a shocked expression across the Harmonian soldier's face as his last defense disappeared. He swung the impotent stick at her, but she ducked and spun, her sword coming back red as it cleanly bisected the soldier's waist. Her steel gray eyes glared down at the broken man as he died, his blood soaking into the scorched earth, his regal Harmonian army ruined. Somewhere, beneath the shell shock and weariness, the beauty of the artisan crafted plate mail was impressive; Harmonian armor was artfully done in chaste white and regal blues, something tasteful made from oppression and hate, but now it was ruined. The silver plates were dented and splashed with mud, the whites stained with sweat and gore, but it had to be done; the hundred Harmonian soldiers who lay dead at her feet were testament to the fury of The Silver Maiden, who shined like the promise of hope amidst the death, her flawless silver armor aglow like the sun itself. The windspun armor she wore was immaculate and imposing, retaining the slightest touch of femininity, right down to the regal crimson and gold skirting that fluttered gracefully beneath her gleaming breastplate. She was as the Zexen goddess made flesh, with her heavenly face set in determination.

She wiped her trusty sword, Ervich, across a dead general's blue coat. She brought it up again, pointing it at the next legion of soldiers. "I am Chris Lightfellow, Captain of the Mighty Six Zexen Knights. I promise all of Harmonia two things; leave now and live, or raise your weapon and die like those before you." Her eyes were steadfast and strong, her sword gleaming and sharp. Her ivory face was beautiful, free of even the slightest drop of sweat, and her silver hair remained braided and drawn up in the regal style of all noble women, save a few strands that hung down on her face. She was beautiful, she was fierce, and she would not back down.

The front row of soldiers stepped back, the faintest tremor running through their rigid stance. They had just watched one woman cut down two battalions of armored men, receiving not a scrape or bruise to show. The first thirty had been shredded by the awesome power of the True Water Rune, whose power had eviscerated them with diamond-like blades of ice, freezing them into a most beautiful mock-up of death. The remaining fifty had surged forth, trampling their own dead, only to be laid to rest by the lightning swift sword of The Silver-Haired Demon. Each thrust, she parried, each swing she repelled; each warrior bore down upon her with his own terrible fury, only to be dispatched, unsatisfied.

The general, however, held no such merit of bravery. He raised a hand, "Fall back! This devil woman has drunk enough Harmonian blood for a day!" The words gave Chris a great sense of relief; after watching the Karayan forces fall back to conserve their losses, the battle had become one of running. She had stayed back to make sure that the Zexen marshals could get free, ending up pinned between forces; the rune's power gave her an edge, but she was swiftly tiring, as every warrior does.

As the soldiers retreated, Chris became aware of a figure approaching from within the receding Harmonian forces; a soldier was approaching her, a proud smirk on his face. "You fought well; I see how you earned your nickname as the Goddess of Death." He grinned, a tooth-filled smile, lacking any true humor, "I don't suppose you'd consider dueling me?"

Tired of fighting, but too aware of what a sign of weakness her refusal would be, she readied her sword. "I would hope you find more value in your life than that; the illusion of glory at the end of a sword should be dispelled well into your youth."

"I have no illusions of glory," the soldier smiled and drew a pair of narrow blades from his hips, "I've been waiting for this opportunity since I first started this stupid war!" The soldier lunged in and swung his swords down, "I lust for blood and battle!"

Chris brought her sword up to parry the easy strike; the strength behind it caught her off guard, however, and the flat of her own blade clashed against the pauldron of her armor. The force made her drop to one knee, allowing his blades to slide off of her guard. "You're strong," Chris rose from her crouch and lashed her blade out, snapping a button off of his collar, "But strength without technique is useless."

The soldier grinned, "Oh, I have much technique, Lady Chris." He lashed out with his swords, "I just wanted to see how you'd hold up against a fraction of my strength. You are a woman, after all."

Chris parried the blades with relative ease, lunging a counter attack that slashed the man's armor open. "Trying to make me angry is as useless as your lack of technique; only a novice lets anger cloud his judgment in battle, and only a coward relies on psychological warfare in a duel." As the soldier's armored coat fell open, she caught a glimpse of jet black leather, trimmed in white. She stepped back, gritting her teeth. "I know that dress . . . you're no Harmonian soldier!"

The white armor began to ripple and dissolve, revealing a coat as dark as murderous intent, with white at the base. The narrow swords were held in black gloved hands, and the man's face was hidden by the brim of a black fedora hat. He tipped it up, exposing a handsome face, twisted with a sadistic grin. Chris narrowed her eyes as she glared into the differently colored orbs, "Yuber!"

The demon swordsman bowed, "So honored you remember me, Lady Chris." He struck with the swords in tandem, toying with her. "I had hoped to get you all to myself at some point during this war, to see how much of the Silver Maiden was true, and how much was wartime glorification."

Chris smiled ferociously, "The glorified heroism and idolatry, I could do without." She parried his attacks with ease, "But the skill with the sword, and my willingness to fight for my cause," she slashed across his arm, making him hiss as his blood soaked the sleeve. "That is something I will lay claim to."

The black garbed swordsman snarled like a beast as he attacked her, the narrow swords clashing again and again against Ervich, but Chris was relentless; every attack she parried, every opening she exploited, until Yuber's coat was blood soaked from the many light wounds she had inflicted on him. "Enough horseplay!" The demon's voice darkened as he tapped into the rune on his left hand, conjuring up dark storm clouds, "Let's see how cocky you are when I'm through with you! Thunder Storm!"

"Heavenly Drops!" Chris threw her hand up, conjuring a massive surge of power from the True Water Rune, and as the two spells clashed a font of steam exploded outward, veiling the entire battlefield in a thick fog.

Yuber growled and scoured the haze, "Hiding in the mist? I'm starting to lose respect for you, Silver Maiden!"

"Says one who conjures monsters and illusions to fight for him." Yuber whirled about, trying to key in on her location, but she was nowhere to be seen. "I think you are a man who has no moral high ground to preach from." Chris appeared before Yuber, Ervich slashing downward and cleaving deeply into his arm, and just as quickly she disappeared into the mists again.

Cursing loudly as he clamped his wounded arm, Yuber scanned the haze for her again. "I take back what I said; using the mist to make you almost invisible, thanks to that silver armor and hair, you blend almost seamlessly into the fog. Your cunning almost matches my own; together, we could overthrow the Flame Champion and the Masked Bishop both, and claim the runes for ourselves."

Chris laughed haughtily, "Now I know you're desperate, appealing to a sense of vanity that isn't there." Yuber let another lightning spell fly, illuminating an empty bank of mist. Chris' voice was as soft as the whisper of grass in the wind as she drew her blade, "You missed me . . . Phoenix Rune!" Yuber swung his sword, but Chris was faster, her arm becoming a blur as she struck again and again, Ervich's blade running red as it repeatedly slashed into the demon swordsman's body. With a pained grunt, Yuber fell to his knees, and Chris laid the flat of her sword on his shoulder, "I should kill you right now, but I'm not so heartless as you. I give you one chance to yield."

"You're right . . . you're not me." Yuber smiled at Chris and grabbed her sword by the blade, "I would have expected this." He rose to his feet, smiling, and as Chris watched, the blood began to seep back into the numerous cuts on his body. The Silver Maiden struggled against his iron grip, but try as she could, the sword refused to move. Fully healed, he released her blade and stepped back, thrusting his palm toward her. "I also would have expected this . . . Eightfold Rune!"

"Dammit!" Chris cursed herself for falling into his trap, backing away as the multiple images began to appear. One lunged and attacked, his vicious strikes ringing against her sword as she struggled to keep up. She didn't see the second until he was upon her, his swords slamming into the back of her armor with enough force to stagger her, the blades failing to penetrate the durable armor she wore. She slashed at one, driving him back, as she struck at the second. Steel clashed on steel, but in the end, neither could score a counting blow.

Standing back and watching the display with a bemused grin, Yuber snickered at her. "What's wrong, Silver Maiden? You look tired!"

"Only tired of wasting my time with your parlor tricks," she scoffed. Chris feinted a blow and ducked in, avoiding the clone's strike as she buried the four foot blade in its chest. The false Yuber staggered backwards and fell to the ground, dissolving into smoke; this distracted the other clone for an instant, long enough for the knight to feed him a length of steel, cleanly severing his head. She turned and pointed the gore-stained blade at her foe, "Shall we make it a triple?"

In response, Yuber removed his gloves, allowing them to fall to the blood-stained earth. "You're undeniably good, I admit, and there is nothing more desirable than a powerful woman."

Chris eyed him cautiously, "You've been trying to kill me for weeks, don't tell me you've decided to try your hand at bedding me."

Yuber licked his eyeteeth, "The thought had crossed my mind, however, your indomitable will sours the mood." He exposed the runes he wore on each hand, "The Rune of Eight Demons, and the Eightfold Rune; one gives me the power to conjure clones, the other amplifies my powers. Neither of which gives me the power to crush your spirit."

"Make your point Yuber," Chris shouted, growing bold. "My sword thirsts for more blood."

"The one thing that whiner Luc has taught me is that power alone is great," he brought his hands together, "But power is greater when combined." A blinding light erupted from Yuber's hands, blinding Chris, the golden radiance making her armor gleam like the morning sun. The radiance died, and as she opened her eyes, her heart sank. Yuber was not alone; hundreds, thousands of him surrounded her, their swords drawn and mouths curled into hateful grins. "I have seen you fight three of me, now fight three thousand," the horde spoke in unison, the many voices erupting into maniacal laughter.

Chris' hand trembled, the sword almost slipping through her fingers. Facing Yuber had been trial enough, but now to face a legion of him seemed . . . impossible.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to lay down and surrender.

She wanted to quit.

She screamed like a howling demon and lashed out, her sword cleaving through the first one's skull. Even Yuber was struck by the raw fury of the attack, giving her license to go on. Her sword flashed again and again, blood spraying across her perfect face as she killed, and killed, and killed. The horde attacked, but her animosity had demoralized them, and their posture was hedged with fear.

Chris Lightfellow was beyond fear.

One of them managed a lucky strike, his narrow blade slipping between armor plates on her side. Blood rushed down the blade, staining her illustrious silver armor. She whirled with a cry and buried her sword in his eye, kicking him aside and pushing forward to kill again.

Chris Lightfellow was beyond pain.

The blows fell harder and harder, blood rained down on her armor; some was her own, most was theirs. She fought on until she could not walk, falling to her knees. One thought this meant she was done and approached to behead her. She split him from groin to sternum. The forces pulled back, their master emerging toward the kneeling woman. Her shining hair was unkempt and matted with blood, her armor tattered, her flesh marred with cuts. There, on the verge of death, he desired her more than ever. "Surrender to me," Yuber smiled, "Reign at my side as the world dies, and welcome the death of humanity.

Blackness swept over them all, so thick it seemed to muffle the soldier's cries of confusion. Next, the screams began; cry after cry of men ripped asunder, agony upon agony, from all around Yuber. He whirled and watched, desperate to see what horrors might be within the preternatural umbra, but nothing was seen.

The darkness began to slowly fade, and as it receded, Yuber stared with shock at the slaughtered legion around him; every clone lay broken and dead, some slit by sword, others crushed by staff. Everyone was dead but himself, the woman, and one other; standing before the kneeling form of The Silver Maiden, black hair rustling from beneath his green bandanna, his amber eyes flaring with icy amusement as he nodded toward the swordsman, "Hello, Yuber."

Yuber paled and stepped back, true fear in his face, "No, it can't be . . . not you!"

The man walked forward, his Toran-styled dress fluttering in the breeze, the dragon-headed fighting staff glinting in the light. "He is looking for you, Yuber. He seeks to resolve the complexities of your shared relationship."

The swordsman's eyes strayed to the ungloved right hand of his opponent, knowing to well what horrors lie there. "So what now, have you become his lackey? Does the mighty warrior now pander at the heels of 'he who chases death'?"

The man laughed, "No, Yuber, he follows me, as he has before. We've followed tales of you and your murdering sprees across Toran and Highland, through Harmonia and into the heart of The Grasslands."

"To what end?" Yuber tightened his grip on the swords, "Would you feed me to the rune, as you have so many before?"

"Of course not," he slipped the glove back on his hand, "He will deal with you, not I."

"You are but a shadow of me, Yuber," a voice echoed from around the swordsman, "A nightmare clinging to the fringes of a waking mind; a spec of gangrenous flesh on the world." A black armored figure appeared before Yuber, a large sword clutched in black gauntleted hands, "and I will cut you out of it."

Yuber screamed wordlessly as the blade descended, throwing his hands up to try and ward off the blow, but after a few tense seconds of nothing, he opened his eyes to discover that he was unharmed. He lowered his guard and found the other man watching him, smiling, "What will you do, Yuber?"

The swordsman vanished in a flash of light, leaving no trace of his presence. Smiling, the bandanna wearing man turned and helped Chris lay on her back, the woman's breath coming in ragged gasps. "Y . . . you . . . drove him . . . away?"

"Yes, Lady Chris, he's gone" he smiled as he began unclasping her armor, "Now relax and lie still; I'll tend your wounds, and we'll see about getting you back to your men."

"I d-" She winced as he shifted her body, "I don't . . . remember . . . your face . . . Are you . . . one of . . . the Tinto merc . . . mercenaries . . .?"

"No ma'am," he set about binding the cuts she had across her chest and ribs, "I'm just a passerby."

"No . . . passer . . . by . . . fights . . . like that." She grabbed his arm, "Who . . . are you?"

"My name is Tir, Lady Chris," he gently laid her head back on the ground, "Now rest, you need to regains trength."

Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes. 'You'll . . . be here w- . . . when I . . . wake up?"

"Of course, Miss Lightfellow, I swear I won't leave your side until you are returned to your friends." She sighed her last breath, dying in his arms, and he chuckled and laid his right hand over her heart, feeling it grow still. The small black dog that sat across from him cocked its head, questioning him. In response he channeled a fraction of magic into her, restarting her heart. "No, my friend, it's not her time yet, regardless of what the spirits tell you." He brushed a lock of silver hair from her beautiful face, "I don't care what the spirits tell you, I say she has more to do, and do she must."

NOTES: Special thanks to Silverone for beta-reading this little tidbit crossover. Depending on what sort of feedback and attention the story gets, I might expand it into a much longer chronicle. As anyone who has ever played a Suikoden game knows, the first loss is only an illusion, drawing up to an epic clash of titans.