Disclaimer/Notes: I do not own Chrono Trigger, or any of the characters mentioned here. They belong to SquareEnix, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (duh) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. This story is unbeta'd, but otherwise needs no warnings. Enjoy.
Unknown Destiny
He does not know what forces urge him towards the Telepod. He does not know why he steps up onto that dreaded platform. The Telepod, when activated, hurts like hell. It is flashy and pretty to watch, but it makes his blood boil and skin burn, makes it peel back under the heat of twenty thousand bulbs. He is afraid of the Telepod. Stepping into that light is like stepping into the sun and being ripped to pieces only to be crudely shoved back together again. He is afraid of the feeling of his bones snapping into pieces, of his insides imploding within the fleshy prison of his torso. But there is nothing wrong with being afraid of pain. He reasons that it does not make him a coward, only normal.
But despite all that, he steps onto the Telepod anyway. He looks down, and between his feet, there is a light; a bright, pale blue light as if the sun had caught on some delicate metal there. Lucca and Taban have not noticed his movements yet, and are still engaged in their own heated debate. Why did the girl disappear? Was it the Telepod's fault, or was there something about her pendant that acted as the catalyst? The light is still there, and for some reason, Crono feels that maybe all the answers are right there with it. Perhaps he is supposed to do this. Maybe he already has. He reaches down, takes the light in his hand, and when the Gateway opens behind him, he knows with an uncanny certainty that he is right.
The Gate pulls him into its cold embrace, such a shocking change from the warm festival atmosphere and the fiery glow of the Telepod. Swirls of contrasting colors fill his vision and sweep past him, through him. Time moves strangely within the Gate, and his journey drags him through the millennium in the blink of an eye. He feels every second that passes, and wonders why he does not age.
When the Gate closes, there is nothing. There are no mountains, no rivers or seas. People do not exist. Nothing has ever really existed here; here, in this place outside of time and reality, there is only him and the monster. He opens his eyes even though he does not remember closing them, and it is all that he can see, stretching out into eternity. Its blood red shell extends for miles in every direction, the ragged and uneven spikes impaling the heavens. It has no eyes. There is nothing to stare into except for its darkly pitted mouth. The three prongs that act as lips, or perhaps simply walls to keep out unwanted debris, clack together in agitation.
The beast screams at him, and the force of the expulsion knocks Crono off his feet. He lands heavily on his backside, shaken to his core. There is some connection here, between of the two of them. Crono feels its anger in every aspect of his being, and he knows that—somehow—he is supposed to defeat this unholy creature. He does not know why, or even how. He only knows that this is his destiny. Crono puts his hands on the ground to push himself back up to his feet, and his fingers curl around a sword he has never seen before. It occurs to him that he has never used a weapon, or even held a sword like this, but he stands tall and brandishes his new blade fearlessly. It feels comfortable in his hands, almost like it belongs there.
He feels like a hero. The monster only laughs.