12. Crime
((Author's Note: also known as the Persona 5 fusion AU.))
Chrom winces, as his father slams his hand down on the table. The impact resounds like a slap across the face, but still Chrom forces himself to stand his ground. Because of that, he can see the slight shift in his father's fingers. And see what is placed beneath them; a card, done up in red and a violet so deep it could be black. Six eyes, looking almost like a strange mask, are emblazoned on the paper and stare back at him.
He's never seen one of these in person before… But still knows what this is.
A calling card.
It's been delivered to those like his father, and he already knows the warning written on the other side. 'To the lord of sin, the Phantom Thieves will soon come to take your heart.'
His father balls his hands into fists, glaring at the card.
"They had the audacity to deliver it to me, in the middle of the meeting." Chrom doesn't dare broach the other side of that; there might not be many more meetings his father will attend, if and when the Phantom Thieves follow through on their threat. His father seems to realize that, when he looks up at Chrom.
"We won't sit idly by." Chrom isn't certain he cares for the steel in his father's gaze. Especially when directed at him.
"What… Do you mean exactly?"
"You recall when they broke Walhart, and his company. I had my own researchers look into it." His father measures Chrom, and Chrom can see the plan slowly unfolding in his eyes. "You're familiar with the concept of the Metaverse?"
He's never thought his father would so readily take leave of his senses. Chrom doesn't dare say that out loud, instead swallowing and shaking his head.
"It's… It's only a theory. You can't really think that-"
"Don't be stupid." His father cuts him off. "You've seen the evidence first hand; a man is changed overnight, his previous convictions overwritten, his very heart changed. What other means would there be, but the supernatural?"
Chrom doesn't dare disagree. And he also doesn't wish to voice something else; the strange dreams that have been plaguing him lately, of a murky, blue drenched room. And a voice, urging him to step over the threshold, into whatever waited beyond. Those dreams have only increased, with each calling card delivered.
'Perhaps it's not all so impossible after all.' Chrom thinks to himself.
"I'd originally told my researchers there wasn't anyone with the potential… But I've noticed how you seem to have a foot half in this world, and half in another." Chrom winces; he'd thought he'd been doing a decent job concealing that. But his father quickly proves him wrong. "And pressing circumstances call for desperate measures."
"Father…?" He must be imagining, having weird dreams give him a sense of paranoia… Yet that explanation feels weak, compared to the haunted look on his father's face.
"There's a way to stop these thieves. Even if it requires some sacrifice… On all our parts."
Chrom stares at him, wanting to argue… Until he feels a collection of hands clapping over his shoulders, keeping him from fighting or bolting. And the decisive look in his father's eyes further freeze him in place.
-o-o-o-
He doesn't remember much of the procedure, beyond brief images and sensations. The feeling of needles and pipes biting into his skin, a rapier pressed into his hands with instructions to use it on the intruder, the taste of bleached out rooms so white they hurt the eyes… And the sensation of falling, fading, shifting between one world and the next…
…Until he opens his eyes. The lab equipment and eye blinding tiles are gone, and even the rest of the Ylisstol skyscraper has been scrubbed away. What replaces it is nothing short of a grand castle, all far reaching spires that touch the skies, golden roofs and ever shifting stained glass patterns adorning regal walls and gates. It would be beautiful, were it not for the ribbons of blood seeping down the towers, and the strange pointed barbed wires wreathing the ramparts.
Bits of information float back to Chrom; that in this world, desires manifest… And at times, distort.
And there's something about this place, regal and brutal, that feels like his father. And this is the place he's supposed to safeguard; a place that feels like it could easily crush him, under its weight and grandeur.
Chrom hesitates at the threshold of the castle doors, wondering if he should even consider walking in-
Only to have his mind made up for him, as he spots a shadow flitting along the walls. He's fixed to the spot, watching the flare of fabric that wreathes the figure and catches in the night winds; something that looks half like a coat, half like a pair of black feathered wings.
He's still finding his feet in this place, figuring out how it works… But he's certain that whoever this is, they don't belong here. Chrom tries to chart their path, and dashes in after the phantasm. His office suit feels garish and out of place among the stone walls and medieval finery… And compared to the strange, dark forms shambling along the passages. He falters the first time he sees one; something that barely looks like it could be human, and with glowing red eyes… And yet, whatever that thing is, it doesn't treat him as a threat, letting him pass without notice.
The same isn't true for the other intruder. That much is clear from a clash further down the hallways; the sound of metal crashing together, and the sudden taste of electricity filling the air. Chrom throws himself into a dash, even while a part of him screams caution; that the smartest idea would be to run away from the chaos-
But another part of him is tired of listening to cold rationality, or bowing to the whims and wills of those around him. This is his chance to confront whatever is going on… And perhaps to win some respect, if he can somehow dispatch the intruder, and safeguard this castle. He feels almost like a knight, charging into battle.
Some of that bravado falters, when he bursts through the doorways to an audience chamber. The décor itself is unnerving; statues of conquerors that resemble his father, all wielding swords and standing over broken forms. A testament to all the competition he's bested, Chrom thinks… And then his thoughts freeze, when he sees the carpets and who dances across the floor.
The phantom thief dresses all in black, with splashes of violet, and wear a strange, feathered mask over her face, with the impression of extra eyes along her cheeks and forehead. Wisps of long silver hair seem to glow in the chandelier candlelight… And in the sparks surrounding her fingers.
Chrom stares at the last; people CAN'T call lightning, much less command it. And yet, this young woman does just that, calling down flashes of what Chrom can only call magic. The black shapes from before try to rush her, showing fangs, claws, impossible limbs and features sprouting from them… But she still cuts them down, either with lightning, or with a strange, jagged sword dancing in her hands.
He's never imagined that a thief would act like this, or be able to fight in such a way; his own fencing lessons for sport feel woefully short compared to how she cuts and dodges. She tears apart the last creature with little more than a glance, scanning the room for anymore enemies. And that's when her eyes fall on him.
A part of Chrom wonders if she'll try to run him through. He feels oddly vulnerable, even with the rapier at his side; even his own suit feels pale and weak, compared to the strange clothes whirling around her.
"…You don't belong here." She says at last, taking him in.
"I could say the same about you." Chrom counters, the gravity of the situation dropping back over him like a mantle. He tries to cloak himself in it, and stand up taller. He HAS to act the part of a defender, Chrom reminds himself. "I presume you're the one who sent the calling card to my father? He won't permit you to run rampant through his heart or mind… And neither will I."
"You… Wait, are you his son? Chr-?" She stills on his name, and there's a strange pressure around Chrom's head at that. Something that suggests names have power in this place.
"…So you're the Prince of this domain." The stranger says instead, and Chrom can hear the title behind her words. Something about that name makes him shiver, and feel that odd humming start in his head again.
'Stop dwelling on it!' He tells himself, shaking his head and glaring at the intruder.
"Do you have a name, thief?" He tries to keep his voice cold, measured… And hates how much he sounds like his father.
"…You can call me 'Grim.'" Says the thief. "And you can also stand aside. Your father needs to pay for his crimes."
"And YOU'RE the one to do it, from the shadows, behind a mask and a fake name? That doesn't instill me with any trust… Or any will to let you do as you please." He draws the rapier as he speaks, even as he wonders how he'll stand against someone with magic, and superb reflexes.
For her part, Grim narrows her eyes behind the mask, and shows her teeth for an instant.
"I'm not exactly swayed either, Prince. Your father sent you in here, either as a pawn… Or a sacrifice." A chill churls in his stomach at that, and Chrom opens his mouth to argue… But the words don't come. All he can think of is the cold look from his father.
"Regardless," says Grim. "I can't exactly cut down a human like I can a Shadow, without feeling like a murderer." That might put them at an impasse… Though a part of him is also surprised to know she has such a code of honor.
"So what then? If neither of us can fight-?"
"Well, you can always TRY to catch me first." She trades her snarl for a smirk, and points upwards. A sudden spark of lightning shoots from her fingers and severs one of the chandeliers, dropping it between them with a crash of metal and flash of golden lights.
Over the chaos, he glimpses Grim retreating, running for the tables of the hall and leaping onto them. She springs from them to a balcony, hauling herself up. Chrom gives chase, grunting and growling under his breath as he hooks his fingers into the railings, and pulls himself up.
"…Well, you're strong. I'll give you that!" Grim calls over her shoulder, still running. Chrom needs only a moment to catch his breath, before giving chase. There's an odd fire that seems to stick in his lungs, gathering along his skin as he pushes himself… And he even catches a flash of blue, trying to flicker to life along his clothing.
What this place is doing to him, he doesn't know. But he doesn't dare stop. He doesn't know what Grim might do to his father… Or how his father might react to that, and what the ripples of all this will mean for his sisters. The fire in him grows as he pursues. Grim leads him along twists and turns, and no matter how Chrom pushes himself, he can't seem to close with her-
Until Grim comes to a halt in a narrow, vaulted room. Chrom steels himself, tries to tackle her, only for the sight of the room to steal his breath.
This place is a blending of cathedral and throne room, elegant glass works displaying the prowess of his father, the rise of the Ylisstol family company… And yet the floor is a mixture of black pitch and strange, faded red carpets, that cling to his ankles. A splashing sound reaches his ears, as strange crimson and black ripples distort the floor.
That's when he realizes that he and Grim are wading through blood. The smell hits him all at once, drowning him in a metallic, half rotten stench. It drops him to his knees, which only brings him closer to the blood soaked floor, and makes him all the more nauseated.
Chrom struggles in the sudden morass, and he finds himself straining and staring upwards. He stares up at the windows, strangely bright compared to the gloom coating the floor… And his eyes catch on the images. His father is resplendent, brilliant, but there's also images of Chrom and his sisters… And compared to his father, they look oddly diminished. And always kneeling before his father, always subservient.
'Is that how he sees us? How he sees the world?' Chrom thinks, still sinking deeper-
"Easy, Prince." And yet, Grim doesn't leave him behind, choking in the contents of the chapel. She could easily let him sink, the red sticking to him like tar and pulling down at him… But instead, Grim reaches out, clapping her hands around his shoulders, and pulling him up.
Chrom is wrenched upright, and crashes into her, breath shuddering in and out. Splotches of red stain his clothing now, yet the red easily slides off of Grim's costumes.
"Do you still defend your father, seeing this?" Grim doesn't offer him a reprieve, and Chrom peels his lips back in distaste. He can't bring himself to answer her; not yet… And yet, Grim doesn't press him.
"Well enough. We've reached the room with the treasure." He risks a look around, and notices a strange, gleaming mass rising from the mire; an ornate throne. And resting on the arms of the chairs is a strange, unsheathed blade.
Chrom forgets his disgust for a moment, and finds himself walking towards it. Something about the blade draws him, the way it gleams in the multicolored light, almost glowing so that none of the pitch or shadows can sully it.
"That's not quite what I thought the treasure would be…" Grim murmurs at his side. "Walhart's was an emerald, and Gangrel opted for a sapphire. But this is…"
"Wait. There's something else." Chrom blurts out before he can really think. A part of him KNOWS how much of a bad idea it is, to point out unusual things to a thief. The rest of him remembers how she helped him out, and can't help but be curious about this place in turn.
And he's curious for good reason; nestled in the velvet cushions of the stone is a strange, diamond like gem. He goes to pick it up-
And all around them, the glass windows shatter, pelting them with a rain of glass shards. Grim throws her robe over Chrom, shielding him from the razor sharp pieces. She still gasps a little, as some score cuts along her cheek. Droplets of red fall down her face and sink into the mire coating the floor.
"So the thieves show themselves…" Comes a low rumble of a voice; it sounds almost like thunder is spilling into the throne room. There's a strange echo and distortion behind it, like someone has taken the sneer that always lurks behind his father's words and brought it right to up to the force of a shout.
Chrom turns, and his arms seem to move on their own accord, stretching out to shield Grim. Fair is fair, he tells himself; protecting her when she did the same for him… And then, the sight of his father banishes all those thoughts.
Or at least, the figure is something like his father. Only now dressed head to toe in gold armor, marred by streaks and splashes of red. There's also a fissure in the breast place, right where the heart should be… And in its place, there's nothing. Just a gaping void of shadow. There's a similar shadowed quality to his face, and someone has replaced his eyes with flecks of gold… And marred his face with a mixture of scorn and pride.
"And I find not just a thief," his father continues, "but also a son who looked too far above himself. This is no place for you, boy."
The contempt in his voice makes Chrom stand bolt upright, glaring at the man. A few hours ago, his father was ready for Chrom to lay down his life, or his mind, in the name of stopping these thieves. And now, he seems to have discarded all of that. And gone back to treating Chrom with his usual mixture of disappointed contempt.
"What are you talking about!?" Chrom snaps. He can't keep the words from exploding out of him. "You brought me here, told me to defend you-!"
A metal wreathed hand snaps across his throat, wrenches him away from Grim and slams him into the wall for good measure. Little grains of shattered glass cling to the bricks, and cut at Chrom's skin. Chrom's breath gets driven from his lungs at the impact, and then wheezes in his throat thanks to the iron grip.
"I don't recall giving you permission to speak." His father continues, staring down his nose at Chrom. "You always were too proud. Not obedient, like your sisters-"
"DON'T BRING THEM INTO THIS!" Chrom screams at him, even as the fingers tighten around his throat in retaliation. Anger and panic all flare across him, and remind him of similar threats; to always carry out his instructions, lest he wants his father's attentions to land on his sisters.
"They're mine to use as I please… And not as expendable as you."
His father, as it turns out, still finds new ways to cut at Chrom. He can only stare up at the man in disbelief, writhing and struggling against the grip and the words.
"…Does that shock you to hear such things? You should've known; should've understood your place, as a tool of mine."
As his father speaks, Chrom glimpses the cracked windows reshaping. In the new images, Emmeryn and Lissa are forced under the grip of his father's hands. His vision starts to dim around the edges, and his head pounds from a mixture of pain and lack of oxygen. "You threw your lot in with this thief. I could see that clear enough… More proof that you were never the obedient… Son I needed."
The way his father spits that word out, it isn't the preferred term; Chrom can easily imagine him saying 'servant' in its place.
'Is that really how he thinks of me-?'
"You're a disappointment." His father continues, tightening his fingers and ready to crush Chrom's windpipe. His other hand unsheathes the sword at his side, bringing up a strange, night-black blade to level on Chrom's throat. "You can do one thing well, however; you can die easily-"
His father doesn't get to finish, when Robin brings her sword crashing down on his arm.
"PRINCE!" She shouts; the attack drops Chrom to the floor, where the mire eagerly latches onto him. He doesn't have the strength to stand, to fight-
'Is that true?' Whispers an odd voice in his head. Before him, Grim desperately fights his father, trying to drive him away from Chrom. His father simply looks at her in contempt, ready to swat her away next. 'Is this how you give up? You accept the judgement of your father, with no more fighting?'
He finds himself glaring up, even as miasma cloaks his vision.
"I refuse." He growls out. "You're my father; not my lord, and not my master. And I won't stand by, and let you treat people like this!"
He screams the last… And wonders at the echo that reverberates through his voice. Like his body doesn't entirely belong to him any longer.
"So you break from one lord, and decide to serve a new cause." The echo grows louder, forming its own voice. And his skin trembles under the force of the voice, shivering as a strange spark seems to light in his heart and boil to the surface. That spark turns real as blue flame suddenly ignites along his skin and clothes… And yet he feels no pain. Only a strange rush of exhilaration. Chrom breathes out, and feels his lips quirk up in an odd, almost feral grin.
"And I'll swear my sword to you in turn, offer my spirit and strength in your service. IF you accept." The power seems to freeze in place, even the flames flickering and halting for a split second, burning the sight into his eyes.
The specter of his father turns towards him, throwing back Robin, trying to bring a wicked blade down on Chrom.
"I accept." His voice is little more than a whisper… And yet, it's enough for the presence in his head. He glimpses a strange form rising from his shoulders, looming over him. Its features are obscured behind a strange butterfly mask, with a long cloak trailing off the shoulders, flickering oddly at the edges and giving an impression of wings. Sometimes looking insectoid one moment, other times draconic.
It makes Chrom shiver, and he feels an odd clinking of metal along his arms. When he chances a look down, it's to see his outfit has changed; his business suit traded out for regal looking armor and robes, deep navy, violet, and gold trimmed. It makes him a match for Grim, and makes his father snarl… And ripple and distort. If a change has gripped Chrom, a bloody, body wracking transformation tears at his father.
"So that's what the Shadow turns into." Grim says, narrowing her eyes. Chrom is simply glad the new change he went through keeps his stomach stable, even as his father's face splits apart, showing fangs and a long crown of horns growing from his head. The Shadow, Grim called it, bristles and almost fills the room, looking more like some sort of monstrous combination of human and dragon… And still full of fight.
His father's black blade has merged into his arm, turning into a strange claw. It cuts down, and Chrom struggles to bring his rapier up to block the blow… But the thin blade is feeble, against the great sword. It holds only for a moment, then shatters with a painful shrill cry. Chrom has to dodge back, a sharp pain opening along his shoulder. Chrom grits his teeth, casting around for another weapon… And finds just such a thing, resting on the throne.
He grips the blade, striking out with the sword and meeting the black blade again. This time, it's the shadowy edge that gives way to Falchion-
Chrom can only stare, wondering how he's figured out the name of the sword. But it feels right, the same way it fits into his hand. Even as the monstrous version of his father spits curses.
The battle turns into a flurry of sword swipes, angry roars, and the hiss and crackle of lightning. Until at last, his father collapses to the floor, shrinking back in on himself.
"H-how… How could you betray me…?" He snarls, still glaring up at Chrom. Grim kneels nearby, spent from all her magic. His father gives a shudder, then tries to claw and crawl his way towards the gemstone, focused on it beyond anything else… And as Chrom watches, he's gripped with the memory of his father's cold nature, the way he forced Chrom into this experiment and dungeon, and then tried to KILL him-
It all clouds his mind again, turning to rage. Chrom turns his back on his father, stalking towards the diamond still resting on the throne.
"Because you're blinded by your own interests." Chrom snaps. "And if this is the only way to bring you to your senses-"
Grim realizes what he's doing a second too late. She screams out a warning, but Chrom still brings his sword down on the gem. There's a maddened strength to his arms, a supernatural crackle of energy moving through his limbs… And against that, even a gemstone can't stand against him or the blade. The stone shatters with a strange scream, echoed by his father giving a long, berserk howl.
And the violence rocks through Chrom, like the broken treasure is taking its own anger out on him. The backlash opens wounds and cuts along his arms, staining his new clothes with dark red and purple splotches.
"Prince!" Grim yells, and even as he collapses. His father is dissolving before his eyes, becoming a black mass of shadows, and all of them are reaching out hungrily for him… But Grim yanks him upright, throws his arm around her shoulders, and half drags him out of the room. Somehow, through it all, Chrom keeps a hold of Falchion.
The palace crumbles around them; ornate paintings and tapestries seem to rot, all the masonry gives up on holding the stonework together, and Chrom is certain they'll be buried in a rough hewn, ruined tomb.
"Y-you should-"
"I am NOT leaving you behind." She growls at him, leaving no room for argument. She pulls at him… And because he doesn't want to see her die, Chrom forces himself to walk, even as his vision blurs. Grim's voice keeps him going, even as she pants for breath.
"I've never seen that happen before, with a treasure; never knew you could destroy those things… Or have one person's treasure bond to another. Gods, I don't even know what that's going to mean for your father…" Her words fade in and out around him, sometimes giving way to blood pumping through his head… Until at last, they come to a stop.
His vision is still flickering around him, doing weird things to the scenery. At one moment there's a castle overhead, crumbling to ruin and dust. The next, the Ylisse skyscraper standing tall and gleaming in the setting sun. But no matter how the world shifts, the hands on his shoulders stay solid. He's pulled into one of the side streets, deposited on the sidewalk.
"Prince…?" Comes Grim's voice, trying to hold him to the world. "Come on, Prince… Stay with me. I came to steal treasures, NOT have deaths on my hands! Least of all… Y-you."
"I-I have a name, you know." He finds himself wheezing. "I-it's-"
"Chrom. Sorry; I just didn't want to give up your true name in there. It can be dangerous… About as dangerous as destroying someone's treasure." The strange, shadowed quality to his thoughts prove that. It feels like he's back in the mire, about to sink under. The world feels oddly… Fragile, or even misty around him; like that strange world has a stronger hold on him, and wants to pull him back.
Grim's hand is the only thing that keeps him anchored, keeps him awake… And makes his eyes widen, as she bends down and whispers something in his ear.
Something that sounds like her own true name.
-o-o-o-
His father hasn't awoken from the coma. It's the only thing he sees in the news, the first thing he hears from the company staff when he wakes up in the mornings. Chrom has to bite down on bile and sickness whenever he thinks about why that might be.
'How could you do that? To your own father?' His thoughts hiss at him, always wondering what sort of madness seized him. And the new presence in his head offers no answers, instead opting to lay dormant. It's like the thing can't manifest in the normal world.
Thankfully, he isn't left alone to stew in his guilt. Because Robin has stuck with him. When he was flickering in and out, trying to shrug off the hold of the metaverse, she'd pulled him to a safe spot; his own home. She kept talking with him the entire time, trying to explain the rules of the world, and the gravity of what he accomplished; summoning an entity called a Persona, destroying a palace treasure… And somehow reshaping another treasure to fit his own will.
The blade, Falchion, somehow followed them out of the metaverse. And it seems to act as an anchor, keeping the hold of the metaverse at bay.
Robin voices that theory, and keeps meeting with him and explaining the rules of that strange world they found themselves in. And… He discovers he isn't the only one in the family who knows about it, when Robin brings his younger sister forward, and introduces her as a friend and ally. And that she goes by the name "Mend" in the other world.
Small wonder she knew where to take him, in that case.
Lissa hesitates to meet his eyes, while Chrom stares at her. Suddenly, those threats his father made, make a lot more sense. And a burst of anger rouses him from his guilt and lethargy.
"We could use someone with your passion, you know." Robin tells him. "I… Don't know if or when your father might wake up, or what he's like. But… There are others out there. Whose hearts we need to change, and this is the best way we have to do so."
"And… Maybe that will make up, for what I've done?" Chrom asks her.
"I… I can't say for sure on that either. But I'd…" She seems loathe to leave him. And he feels oddly brighter in her presence.
He also can't turn his back on what he's seen, or the power that's awakened in him. And… There's still a desire in him to do something, instead of sitting back and being the passive son his father wished of him. It makes him swallow any regret, as he looks to Robin and nods.
"Well, I'm ready to try. Both to atone for mistakes, and…" And because this might be the beginning of something better. Regardless, it's something he's ready to fight for.