ADVERSARY
Nibelheim, 05 N.C.E.
The ferry ride lasted for six days. Six long days and nights of panic attacks, depression, terrible cravings, and bouts of weakness. Almost an entire week stuck in a small, stale-aired room on a fishing boat, with no way to satisfy the intense burning within him that drove him this far. Now the waiting was finally over.
He shook his thoughts clear and walked himself up the docks to the captain and his small crew. Upon noticing his presence, the captain greeted him with a jolly smile.
"Hey, well look who's up and about! I was beginnin' to think yah fell through a porthole or somethin' of the like. How was the ride there, son?"
"It was alright.thanks. Here." He said, with a strained voice as he paid the small stowaway fee. Without another word he stepped past the fishermen and onto the grass. The captain called after him.
"You have a safe journey now, son! Hope you find what yer lookin' for."
"Yeah.me too." He mused over his shoulder. Behind him the captain shook his head.
"That boy doesn't look too healthy.wonder what he's up to."
"Did'ja see his tattoos captain? He's one of those street fighters from the Far West."
"He can't be up to any good then.what could he want?"
He heard their words as he moved on. People were always talking, always gossiping behind his back. If they had something to say to him, why the hell couldn't they say it to his face? Isn't it enough that he paid them for something that cost them nothing? Why in heaven's name couldn't they mind their own business?
He felt sick, very sick. Like he'd come down with a terrible case of influenza and hadn't eaten in days. He knew if he didn't get another treatment soon, he'd collapse.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
He didn't know his exact way around town, as he'd never been independently conscious and walking around freely during his treatments. It wasn't terribly hard to find the old mansion though. It was the biggest, shabbiest building in the quaint little city.
Looks like no one's home.
He cautiously walked through the opening in the gate, watching the windows as best he could for possible observation. It was clear. Stepping lightly up onto the creaky steps, he maneuvered his way to the front door, and slowly opened it, peering inside.
The interior of the mansion was familiar to his eyes. It was the only place he was permitted to walk around in during the time he was undergoing the tests and injections. The loose, warped floorboards, the dust-covered chairs, the layers upon layers of spider webs hanging from every possible surface, it all came back to him in a flash. He looked down the floor, to the other end of the room by the stairs, the light shining through onto the dusty floor.
Footprints.people still come in and out of here after all.
He had to work quickly then, for someone might return at any minute. He locked all the deadbolts and chains on the front door to buy him some extra time and warning. After pausing once more to assure himself that he was alone in the house, he crept down the stairs, across the floor, and into the lit stairwell.
He shuddered. Some of the footprints were huge. There was only one person they could have belonged to. The one person he hated more than anyone alive. The man who's very name filled him with rage.
Damn you.
Fists shaking, he stared down at the print. He'd run so far, and still, traces of the one who'd wrecked his life managed to find him. With a festering malice he planted his own foot down, and smeared the prints into the dust. It was a little relieving.
In the room at the top of the stairs to the left was what he was looking for. He twisted the dial, recalling the numbers from memory.
36.10.59.97.
He wasn't supposed to know that number, but he was able to figure it out, catching looks over a careless Elianor's shoulder several times. The door swung open, with a metallic chunk, and a little dust sprayed into his face. Covering his nose and mouth with his shirt, he reached in, sorting through the metal containers on the inside. One red "Zeta", another "Chi", another "Xi", and another.
Jackpot.
He grabbed the canister labeled "Epsilon", and pulled it out from under the others. Tucking it under his arm, he gently shut the safe door, and rose up on his feet. He found what he'd come for.
Setting the container down on the countertop, he began to unscrew the lid, holding his breath as the streams of green light came pouring out of the opening. The soft wavelengths soothed his tired eyes, and he craned his neck over the paint-can sized canister, gazing down into the warm light.
Still here.all of it.
All the mako he needed to complete his treatment was here. All seven dosage tubes, and the ten vials that refilled the tubes once they were empty. They must have expected to catch him and continue the slow, agonizing therapy, but he was too smart for them.
They wanted to give him tiny doses at a time, partly because an over- concentration was potentially harmful, and partly to turn him into a helpless slave to the chemical, receiving it in tiny, tantalizing portions, each only containing enough to make him want more of the ultra-powerful high they produced.
In the meantime, after several months of the treatment, his skills had been enhanced. He'd noticed an improvement in his vision (mainly the fact that he could see perfectly clear in dim light), his endurance, and his knowledge of combat arts. Whatever losses of memory he'd endured earlier in the year were replaced by new knowledge, directly fed into his brain through the injections. He'd learned all about the Ancients, and the horrible humans that stole their planet, and the goddess Jenova and the savior Sephiroth, sent to build an army to liberate the earth and put the humans back into their place.
Oh, and how he'd hear a hundred times that Sephiroth overcame death and worse trials to return to reclaim his planet, and how he was building a small band of allies to wage war against the humans once again. He'd been nearly brainwashed into being honored as a soldier of salvation, one of the few destined to rule over the many. He'd nearly been eager to call himself a New Ancient, eager to accept Jenova's cells into his body, eager to follow the master, the savior into battle against the human demons.
Bullshit.all of it.
He'd been able to break away from it enough to get a hold on himself. If Sephiroth wanted to come marching through the city, destroying everything in his path, than he damn well could do as he pleased, but Crono wanted nothing to do with it.
That, apparently, was unacceptable.
So Sephiroth turned him into his little toy assassin. He'd taken a supposed man of honor from another world and made him into a hostage- taking, terrorist assassin, all to break him of his will. He'd played off his emotions and thoughts, and created a living hell, just to show Crono who was boss.
And Crono hated him for it.
True the ability to finally execute the exotic battle techniques he'd always dreamed of executing was a pleasant one, but he'd renounce that in a heartbeat if it meant going back to his old life. But now his old life has been destroyed. Crono the Kensai was now Epsilon the Assassin. The boy who'd cared enough to risk his life to save the lives of those around him, was now a bitter man who cared about no one but himself. His honor was gone. His pride was gone. His very identity was no more.
But now he had the mako. And now he was a trained fighter, no longer working off instinct and whim. They could take his old friends, his blades, anything they wanted, and he didn't care anymore. It just didn't matter.
Extending his arm to reveal the small metal socket in the inside of his elbow, he picked up one of the dosage tubes and twisted it into place in the hole. His thumb pressed down on the syringe as he closed his eyes, the cool feeling of the energy flowing up through his arm. He was an utter fool to think he could run away from this. He needed this.
He smiled as the syringe gave it's warning click that he'd hit the two- thirds mark on the tube. This was where he was supposed to stop the injection, rest for three hours, and then take another third, and repeat the process every day for three days.
Fuck that.
He continued pushing, the liquid flowing through his chest and down the rest of his body. Once he it the bottom of the tube he really started to felt it. And it felt good. He removed the tube, putting it back into the container, and reached for another one, but paused.
Why not?
The ten refill canisters were very large compared to the tubes. Each was about the size of a drinking glass, each dosage tube was around the size of a thermometer, a miniscule amount to say the least. Shakily, he grabbed one of the refills, and opened it up. It had a similar nozzle that could connect to his arm, but was obviously meant for the tubes. He changed the meaning to suit his needs.
Fully knowing it might be the last thing he would ever do, and without a trace of hesitation, he pushed down on the release, slowly squeezing the start of an unearthly amount of mako into his body. If he was going to die, he might was well die happy.
It numbed his mind. He felt it in his whole body now, coursing up and down through every limb.
"Oh man.holy shit." He said through his teeth, yet he kept injecting. His eyes were filled with a horribly bright light, his head pounding with pressure. He knew he should stop. He knew he never should have started. He also knew it was too late regardless. He finished the entire glass vial, and could not feel a thing. He wasn't sure if he was still even standing. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he'd been dying this whole time.
No, not quite.not yet.
He could still feel with his hands a bit. In fact, his sense of touch had become so hypersensitive that it was hard for his mind to receive it. He desperately tried to unwind the vial from his arm, and began loosely turning it to the left, unaware when he'd finally loosened it enough. He knocked it clear off his arm. It hit the floor with a crash that rang out against the mansion walls.
"Shit." he whispered, unsure of what to do. He was reeling back and forth on his feet, thoughts in a jumble. He thought of Chi, popping the drugs he was addicted to into his mouth, bouncing around like an idiot. Then he began to laugh. He was just like Chi, just as pathetic. Just as hilariously sad.
He pounded his hands down on the counter, still laughing his head off. It was all so funny. So damn stupid, so damn ironic. Crono, the great hero of his day, breaking into a mansion and overdosing on a chemical harvested from the planet.
He stopped laughing.
There were footsteps coming up from the basement. Someone was home, and they had heard his racket. The noises got louder as the people got closer to the basement door. Crono panicked.
He ran, avoiding the light by the stairs, wobbling on his shaky legs, though the mansion, dodging furniture and leaping up the front steps to the door, grabbing for the handle, and.
The door was locked. Seven deadbolts and a chain were set up tight on the door. All his own doing.
Irony, again.
He thought, reaching up pointlessly to undo the securities before whoever it was coming up could reach him. As he went to open the second lock, he heard the basement door slide open. What happened next he couldn't explain.
Lunatic Calm - Leave You Far Behind
He turned around, normal speed, and saw a man standing in the hidden doorway to the underground chamber. He was holding a heavy submachine gun at his waist, and he stared at Crono in disbelief. It was Chi. His old squad mate. Crono tried to call out to him, but no words came out of his mouth. He couldn't speak. His full attention became fixed upon the slow raising of the weapon toward him.
Crono's eyes widened and he dove forward, down out of the foyer, under bullets that whizzed by his head. Curving his neck under, he hit the ground with his shoulders, and rolled up onto his feet. His arms whipped around threateningly as he took a fighting stance, glaring at Chi, feeling the biggest adrenaline rush he'd ever felt in his entire life hit him. His vision cleared, his mind instantly snapped into focus, and he felt as if every technique in the world lay at his fingertips.mainly because it was true.
Chi seemed to be moving like a slug, his facial expressions changing slowly, his movements dragging and predictable. He reaimed the gun at Crono, and pulled the trigger. The redheaded fighter could see every movement coming. His legs flung him to the side, as he heard the weapon blazing at him.
Pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.
That's all each bullet was now, an insignificant pop. He saw the projectiles slide past him as he touched down on the floor with his hands. They slammed into the floor and splintered the wood in various directions. When Crono had landed on his feet, he still saw Chi shooting at where he had been what seemed like seconds ago.
The hell is he moving so slow for.is he trying to kill me..?
The thoughts faded as Chi's shots neared him. Tightening his stomach, Crono jumped up, soaring through the air. Chi was oblivious. Then it hit him.
Maybe he's not moving slow.
He started to descend, Chi only starting to look up at him.
Maybe I'm just really fucking fast.
Almost smiling, Crono kicked down with deadly precision, the firearm leaving Chi's grip. His forearm slammed into the side of the Wutaiese man's head, throwing him down in a spiral that ended face up on the floor. He breathed in and out, putting a hand to his head, moaning from the strength and accuracy of the blow. Everything seemed normal again. There was no danger at the moment.
Until Chi threw a kick at him from the floor, when everything went back into a rush. Crono's knee then jerked up and his shin caught the top of Chi's foot, cutting it off before it built up any serious power. The downed fighter hit out at him with his legs again and again, trying to knock Crono down, but each one was almost effortlessly blocked, his limbs reacting at just the right time. Discouraged, Chi's face showed ragged signs of frustration and panic.
Where's your gun now..?
He grabbed the last feeble kick his opponent threw and pulled his leg upward, forcing Chi to his feet. He made sure the gold-and-black-haired Yakuza saw the mocking grin on his face, and waited for him to attack.
"You fuckin'.ugh!!" Chi shouted, winding back and throwing a hard swinging hook at Crono. It barely passed in front of his nose as he slipped his torso back, and stepped. His attacker followed through with a low uppercut, which passed through the air to the side of him as he sharply dodged.
The Kensai counterattacked with a vicious combination of jabs and crosses, some cracking bones in his enemy's face, others pounding deep into the flesh of his abdomen. He saw the man's legs begin to give way, and jerked back, sweeping his left leg up high, kicking the Wutaise fighter under his chin and lifting him up into the air, into the middle of the floor where he landed in a heap.
"Trying to kill me?" Crono asked him as he slowly moved around on the floor, wiping blood off his face. The redhead swaggered toward him. "Try a little harder then. Come on. Kill me." He said, poking him in the back with his foot. With a hating shout, Chi rolled over to face Crono. The submachine gun was pointed right at him.
The bullets were much more than insignificant pops as they ripped through his side and thigh, coming closer to his midsection as he threw himself backward. He wasn't ready. He'd forgotten where the weapon had landed. He skidded across the panels on the floor, having been shot for the first time, completely prone, completely shocked.
He heard Chi get up. He heard him curse as he walked slowly over toward him, flat on his back. Chi raised the gun, pointed it at Crono's stomach, and pulled the trigger. It was like a cannon going off.
He felt it like a hard punch, only with hot screaming metal instead of a fist. His eyes widened. He felt warm, sticky blood pouring out into his shirt, all over him. His vision began to fade, more gunshots ringing out, glass breaking, Chi's angry shouts.he couldn't feel it anymore.he felt himself slipping.
It was finally over.
THE END Part Twenty-One
Nibelheim, 05 N.C.E.
The ferry ride lasted for six days. Six long days and nights of panic attacks, depression, terrible cravings, and bouts of weakness. Almost an entire week stuck in a small, stale-aired room on a fishing boat, with no way to satisfy the intense burning within him that drove him this far. Now the waiting was finally over.
He shook his thoughts clear and walked himself up the docks to the captain and his small crew. Upon noticing his presence, the captain greeted him with a jolly smile.
"Hey, well look who's up and about! I was beginnin' to think yah fell through a porthole or somethin' of the like. How was the ride there, son?"
"It was alright.thanks. Here." He said, with a strained voice as he paid the small stowaway fee. Without another word he stepped past the fishermen and onto the grass. The captain called after him.
"You have a safe journey now, son! Hope you find what yer lookin' for."
"Yeah.me too." He mused over his shoulder. Behind him the captain shook his head.
"That boy doesn't look too healthy.wonder what he's up to."
"Did'ja see his tattoos captain? He's one of those street fighters from the Far West."
"He can't be up to any good then.what could he want?"
He heard their words as he moved on. People were always talking, always gossiping behind his back. If they had something to say to him, why the hell couldn't they say it to his face? Isn't it enough that he paid them for something that cost them nothing? Why in heaven's name couldn't they mind their own business?
He felt sick, very sick. Like he'd come down with a terrible case of influenza and hadn't eaten in days. He knew if he didn't get another treatment soon, he'd collapse.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
He didn't know his exact way around town, as he'd never been independently conscious and walking around freely during his treatments. It wasn't terribly hard to find the old mansion though. It was the biggest, shabbiest building in the quaint little city.
Looks like no one's home.
He cautiously walked through the opening in the gate, watching the windows as best he could for possible observation. It was clear. Stepping lightly up onto the creaky steps, he maneuvered his way to the front door, and slowly opened it, peering inside.
The interior of the mansion was familiar to his eyes. It was the only place he was permitted to walk around in during the time he was undergoing the tests and injections. The loose, warped floorboards, the dust-covered chairs, the layers upon layers of spider webs hanging from every possible surface, it all came back to him in a flash. He looked down the floor, to the other end of the room by the stairs, the light shining through onto the dusty floor.
Footprints.people still come in and out of here after all.
He had to work quickly then, for someone might return at any minute. He locked all the deadbolts and chains on the front door to buy him some extra time and warning. After pausing once more to assure himself that he was alone in the house, he crept down the stairs, across the floor, and into the lit stairwell.
He shuddered. Some of the footprints were huge. There was only one person they could have belonged to. The one person he hated more than anyone alive. The man who's very name filled him with rage.
Damn you.
Fists shaking, he stared down at the print. He'd run so far, and still, traces of the one who'd wrecked his life managed to find him. With a festering malice he planted his own foot down, and smeared the prints into the dust. It was a little relieving.
In the room at the top of the stairs to the left was what he was looking for. He twisted the dial, recalling the numbers from memory.
36.10.59.97.
He wasn't supposed to know that number, but he was able to figure it out, catching looks over a careless Elianor's shoulder several times. The door swung open, with a metallic chunk, and a little dust sprayed into his face. Covering his nose and mouth with his shirt, he reached in, sorting through the metal containers on the inside. One red "Zeta", another "Chi", another "Xi", and another.
Jackpot.
He grabbed the canister labeled "Epsilon", and pulled it out from under the others. Tucking it under his arm, he gently shut the safe door, and rose up on his feet. He found what he'd come for.
Setting the container down on the countertop, he began to unscrew the lid, holding his breath as the streams of green light came pouring out of the opening. The soft wavelengths soothed his tired eyes, and he craned his neck over the paint-can sized canister, gazing down into the warm light.
Still here.all of it.
All the mako he needed to complete his treatment was here. All seven dosage tubes, and the ten vials that refilled the tubes once they were empty. They must have expected to catch him and continue the slow, agonizing therapy, but he was too smart for them.
They wanted to give him tiny doses at a time, partly because an over- concentration was potentially harmful, and partly to turn him into a helpless slave to the chemical, receiving it in tiny, tantalizing portions, each only containing enough to make him want more of the ultra-powerful high they produced.
In the meantime, after several months of the treatment, his skills had been enhanced. He'd noticed an improvement in his vision (mainly the fact that he could see perfectly clear in dim light), his endurance, and his knowledge of combat arts. Whatever losses of memory he'd endured earlier in the year were replaced by new knowledge, directly fed into his brain through the injections. He'd learned all about the Ancients, and the horrible humans that stole their planet, and the goddess Jenova and the savior Sephiroth, sent to build an army to liberate the earth and put the humans back into their place.
Oh, and how he'd hear a hundred times that Sephiroth overcame death and worse trials to return to reclaim his planet, and how he was building a small band of allies to wage war against the humans once again. He'd been nearly brainwashed into being honored as a soldier of salvation, one of the few destined to rule over the many. He'd nearly been eager to call himself a New Ancient, eager to accept Jenova's cells into his body, eager to follow the master, the savior into battle against the human demons.
Bullshit.all of it.
He'd been able to break away from it enough to get a hold on himself. If Sephiroth wanted to come marching through the city, destroying everything in his path, than he damn well could do as he pleased, but Crono wanted nothing to do with it.
That, apparently, was unacceptable.
So Sephiroth turned him into his little toy assassin. He'd taken a supposed man of honor from another world and made him into a hostage- taking, terrorist assassin, all to break him of his will. He'd played off his emotions and thoughts, and created a living hell, just to show Crono who was boss.
And Crono hated him for it.
True the ability to finally execute the exotic battle techniques he'd always dreamed of executing was a pleasant one, but he'd renounce that in a heartbeat if it meant going back to his old life. But now his old life has been destroyed. Crono the Kensai was now Epsilon the Assassin. The boy who'd cared enough to risk his life to save the lives of those around him, was now a bitter man who cared about no one but himself. His honor was gone. His pride was gone. His very identity was no more.
But now he had the mako. And now he was a trained fighter, no longer working off instinct and whim. They could take his old friends, his blades, anything they wanted, and he didn't care anymore. It just didn't matter.
Extending his arm to reveal the small metal socket in the inside of his elbow, he picked up one of the dosage tubes and twisted it into place in the hole. His thumb pressed down on the syringe as he closed his eyes, the cool feeling of the energy flowing up through his arm. He was an utter fool to think he could run away from this. He needed this.
He smiled as the syringe gave it's warning click that he'd hit the two- thirds mark on the tube. This was where he was supposed to stop the injection, rest for three hours, and then take another third, and repeat the process every day for three days.
Fuck that.
He continued pushing, the liquid flowing through his chest and down the rest of his body. Once he it the bottom of the tube he really started to felt it. And it felt good. He removed the tube, putting it back into the container, and reached for another one, but paused.
Why not?
The ten refill canisters were very large compared to the tubes. Each was about the size of a drinking glass, each dosage tube was around the size of a thermometer, a miniscule amount to say the least. Shakily, he grabbed one of the refills, and opened it up. It had a similar nozzle that could connect to his arm, but was obviously meant for the tubes. He changed the meaning to suit his needs.
Fully knowing it might be the last thing he would ever do, and without a trace of hesitation, he pushed down on the release, slowly squeezing the start of an unearthly amount of mako into his body. If he was going to die, he might was well die happy.
It numbed his mind. He felt it in his whole body now, coursing up and down through every limb.
"Oh man.holy shit." He said through his teeth, yet he kept injecting. His eyes were filled with a horribly bright light, his head pounding with pressure. He knew he should stop. He knew he never should have started. He also knew it was too late regardless. He finished the entire glass vial, and could not feel a thing. He wasn't sure if he was still even standing. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he'd been dying this whole time.
No, not quite.not yet.
He could still feel with his hands a bit. In fact, his sense of touch had become so hypersensitive that it was hard for his mind to receive it. He desperately tried to unwind the vial from his arm, and began loosely turning it to the left, unaware when he'd finally loosened it enough. He knocked it clear off his arm. It hit the floor with a crash that rang out against the mansion walls.
"Shit." he whispered, unsure of what to do. He was reeling back and forth on his feet, thoughts in a jumble. He thought of Chi, popping the drugs he was addicted to into his mouth, bouncing around like an idiot. Then he began to laugh. He was just like Chi, just as pathetic. Just as hilariously sad.
He pounded his hands down on the counter, still laughing his head off. It was all so funny. So damn stupid, so damn ironic. Crono, the great hero of his day, breaking into a mansion and overdosing on a chemical harvested from the planet.
He stopped laughing.
There were footsteps coming up from the basement. Someone was home, and they had heard his racket. The noises got louder as the people got closer to the basement door. Crono panicked.
He ran, avoiding the light by the stairs, wobbling on his shaky legs, though the mansion, dodging furniture and leaping up the front steps to the door, grabbing for the handle, and.
The door was locked. Seven deadbolts and a chain were set up tight on the door. All his own doing.
Irony, again.
He thought, reaching up pointlessly to undo the securities before whoever it was coming up could reach him. As he went to open the second lock, he heard the basement door slide open. What happened next he couldn't explain.
Lunatic Calm - Leave You Far Behind
He turned around, normal speed, and saw a man standing in the hidden doorway to the underground chamber. He was holding a heavy submachine gun at his waist, and he stared at Crono in disbelief. It was Chi. His old squad mate. Crono tried to call out to him, but no words came out of his mouth. He couldn't speak. His full attention became fixed upon the slow raising of the weapon toward him.
Crono's eyes widened and he dove forward, down out of the foyer, under bullets that whizzed by his head. Curving his neck under, he hit the ground with his shoulders, and rolled up onto his feet. His arms whipped around threateningly as he took a fighting stance, glaring at Chi, feeling the biggest adrenaline rush he'd ever felt in his entire life hit him. His vision cleared, his mind instantly snapped into focus, and he felt as if every technique in the world lay at his fingertips.mainly because it was true.
Chi seemed to be moving like a slug, his facial expressions changing slowly, his movements dragging and predictable. He reaimed the gun at Crono, and pulled the trigger. The redheaded fighter could see every movement coming. His legs flung him to the side, as he heard the weapon blazing at him.
Pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.
That's all each bullet was now, an insignificant pop. He saw the projectiles slide past him as he touched down on the floor with his hands. They slammed into the floor and splintered the wood in various directions. When Crono had landed on his feet, he still saw Chi shooting at where he had been what seemed like seconds ago.
The hell is he moving so slow for.is he trying to kill me..?
The thoughts faded as Chi's shots neared him. Tightening his stomach, Crono jumped up, soaring through the air. Chi was oblivious. Then it hit him.
Maybe he's not moving slow.
He started to descend, Chi only starting to look up at him.
Maybe I'm just really fucking fast.
Almost smiling, Crono kicked down with deadly precision, the firearm leaving Chi's grip. His forearm slammed into the side of the Wutaiese man's head, throwing him down in a spiral that ended face up on the floor. He breathed in and out, putting a hand to his head, moaning from the strength and accuracy of the blow. Everything seemed normal again. There was no danger at the moment.
Until Chi threw a kick at him from the floor, when everything went back into a rush. Crono's knee then jerked up and his shin caught the top of Chi's foot, cutting it off before it built up any serious power. The downed fighter hit out at him with his legs again and again, trying to knock Crono down, but each one was almost effortlessly blocked, his limbs reacting at just the right time. Discouraged, Chi's face showed ragged signs of frustration and panic.
Where's your gun now..?
He grabbed the last feeble kick his opponent threw and pulled his leg upward, forcing Chi to his feet. He made sure the gold-and-black-haired Yakuza saw the mocking grin on his face, and waited for him to attack.
"You fuckin'.ugh!!" Chi shouted, winding back and throwing a hard swinging hook at Crono. It barely passed in front of his nose as he slipped his torso back, and stepped. His attacker followed through with a low uppercut, which passed through the air to the side of him as he sharply dodged.
The Kensai counterattacked with a vicious combination of jabs and crosses, some cracking bones in his enemy's face, others pounding deep into the flesh of his abdomen. He saw the man's legs begin to give way, and jerked back, sweeping his left leg up high, kicking the Wutaise fighter under his chin and lifting him up into the air, into the middle of the floor where he landed in a heap.
"Trying to kill me?" Crono asked him as he slowly moved around on the floor, wiping blood off his face. The redhead swaggered toward him. "Try a little harder then. Come on. Kill me." He said, poking him in the back with his foot. With a hating shout, Chi rolled over to face Crono. The submachine gun was pointed right at him.
The bullets were much more than insignificant pops as they ripped through his side and thigh, coming closer to his midsection as he threw himself backward. He wasn't ready. He'd forgotten where the weapon had landed. He skidded across the panels on the floor, having been shot for the first time, completely prone, completely shocked.
He heard Chi get up. He heard him curse as he walked slowly over toward him, flat on his back. Chi raised the gun, pointed it at Crono's stomach, and pulled the trigger. It was like a cannon going off.
He felt it like a hard punch, only with hot screaming metal instead of a fist. His eyes widened. He felt warm, sticky blood pouring out into his shirt, all over him. His vision began to fade, more gunshots ringing out, glass breaking, Chi's angry shouts.he couldn't feel it anymore.he felt himself slipping.
It was finally over.
THE END Part Twenty-One