Chapter III: The Rooftop
I want to say we make a valiant stand against the Risen horde. I want to say I come into my true purpose of Kicking Ass™. But we don't. I don't. We run. And I scream like a little bitch doing it. Surviving the mass of rotting warriors on our heels takes precedent. Even accomplished fighters like Chrom and Freya stand no chance battling that many foes. The games lead you to believe one unit, properly leveled and equipped, can solo an entire map in some cases. Here, that's not so. No way. The Shepherds are flesh and bone and blood, ordinary squishy humans. What sets them apart here isn't how many times they can get slashed and get back up again; it's how many times they're willing to risk being killed. Sure, we're running, but the Shepherds take every opportunity to save a life. Pushing a villager out of harm's way, stabbing a wayward Risen, blocking a lethal blow—it's a compassionate retreat.
Me, I'm sticking as close to Chrom as possible, relying entirely on her skill to keep me alive. We're faster than the Risen but only barely. Every few seconds, one catches up and must be dealt with. If it was just me, I'd be a visceral mess on the pavement right now. Agatha too. Freya's saved her life at least a dozen times in the past few minutes.
"We can't keep this up!" Robin says, urgency coloring their tone. "There! That building ahead. There's a roof access from the outside. We can hole up there and create a plan." The building in question is one of the few left completely intact, and given the earthquake has largely subsided, Robin is right to think we can hold out on the roof.
Our party beelines for the ladder hanging from the building's side. Mercifully, it's wide enough for two at a time. I'm paired off with Chrom, Liston with Freya, and Agatha with Robin, ensuring those of us unarmed stand a fighting chance if the Risen get too close. We slash and parry our way up the ladder, Robin zinging thunder down to cover us. Once the last of us is over the roof's threshold, Robin zaps the ladder, rendering it useless. We don't have a safe way down, but at least the Risen can't follow.
Up top the roof is entirely flat with the only point of interest being a padlocked trapdoor in the middle. We have a significant height advantage to survey the carnage below. There are no villagers in sight. I can only pray they escaped rather than met untimely ends, but my reservoir of hope runs low. Risen pack the streets, prowling about for any sign of the living. Those that take notice of us attempt to climb the walls, but slide down after scaling only a short distance. We're safe. At least until we're forced to move again.
The trapdoor both concerns and intrigues me. "What is the building? What's this door here for?" I ask no one in particular.
"This is the granary," Agatha explains. "There's a door on the roof because otherwise the grain would all spill out."
"Ah," I say simply. "Can the Ris—those things get up here through there?" Saved it. Whew.
Agatha frowns. "Probably not. I can't be sure, but it's unlikely considering this building has no other doors. Grain goes in and comes out through the top."
"Excellent," Robin says firmly. "That's very tactically advantageous. I think it's safe to take a breather."
The whole group almost simultaneously plops down and sprawls out. My muscles throb; I can already feel knots building up in my calves and thighs. This is bad. A cramp on the run could be fatal. I begin massaging my legs, kneading and trying to relieve some of the tensed-up tissue.
Liston scoots over to me, staff lifted. "You seem a little worse for wear there. Let me heal you." He doesn't wait for an answer, leveling the staff at my legs. The illuminated orb hums and vibrates as I lose sensation in my lower limbs, followed by sweet relief.
"Thanks again. I owe you."
"Nah. I'm a healer. It's what we do," he says in a chipper manner.
Chrom crawls over as well, her mailed skirt clinking together as she does. "But have you paid any attention to yourself, Liston? You seem a little worse for wear. Relax a bit, I know you're a tad delicate…"
"I am NOT delicate!" Liston protests. "It's just… A man can be sensitive too, you know? Hmph." He plants his hands on his hips, and for a moment I see Lissa. You may want to be the manliest of men, Liston, but the femme is strong in you, my friend.
"With all due respect, milady and milord," Freya cuts in, "This is hardly the time for banter. We may be secure on this roof at present, but it leaves us few options for escape. We are marooned, I'm afraid."
Killjoy. But she's right; Robin's quick thinking saved us, yet also left us without much recourse. Naturally, I turn to Robin. If someone can make lemons into lemonade here, it's Robin. "Please tell me you have something in mind," I say, almost pleading.
Robin rubs their forehead, adopting a meditative expression. "I'm sorry. I'll need time to think. The space between buildings is too far to leap, not to mention hardly any are still standing. But there is a way out of this. I know it. I just have to find it." Robin sounds both determined and frustrated, their fists curling and uncurling.
"Then we'll leave you to it," Chrom says, taking me by the arm and standing us both up. "Robin is a tactician. And a good one, as you've seen. I have faith that we're in competent hands." She smiles, a small curve of belief that seems to mean as much to her as it does to me.
Freya blows a long stream of air, an audible note of displeasure. "Need I remind you, milady, that this Robin character is not to be trusted? No memories? But the first word out of their mouth is your name? Can we really entrust our lives—"
"Enough!" Chrom yells, a raised tone of finality. "Freya, how can you still be saying that after all this? We would all be dead if not for Robin. They fought to save our lives. I understand some skepticism, but this is too much."
"Milady. You must consider that it all may be an elaborate ruse. What better way to ingratiate oneself to the enemy than to save them? I do not and will not trust Robin," Freya practically spits the words as poison before turning to me. "Or you. Don't think I've forgotten about your little slipup."
"FREYA!" Chrom is right up in her companion's face. "This is madness! Either you accept both of them or stop speaking. I don't want to hear your voice again unless it's in agreement with me."
The loyal knight looks as if Chrom stabbed her with Falchion rather than words. I suspect if other company were not present, Freya would break into tears. I'd feel sorry for her if she wasn't such an asshole about all this. Silently, Freya stalks away to sulk, taking a seat at the farthest corner and glaring down at the Risen.
Chrom roughly runs a hand through her hair. "Gods. That woman." She looks between Robin and me. "I apologize about Freya… She really does mean well. I suppose she's just overprotective."
Waving a hand, Robin dismisses the outburst. "Don't worry. I understand. There are far worse things to be."
"Like a giant asshole?" I say sardonically.
Chrom chuckles a little. "I promise she'll come around. It may take some time, but she will."
I nod, not convinced. In the games, Frederick took ages to warm up to Robin, and that's with Robin constantly saving their lives, devising fantastic plans, and generally being a superstar. Me? I'm a scrub. Freya has no reason to accept me. Apparently, almost dying for the cause doesn't help my case.
For the first time, a very troublesome thought enters my mind, brought on by Freya's distrust. What if I can't join the Shepherds? Up until now, I'd almost assumed it would happen simply because it's supposed to happen. The self-insert hero joins forces with the other heroes and saves the world. That's how it works. He doesn't have to do anything for it. He doesn't have to beg. He doesn't have to prove anything. Hell, most of the time he gets special powers and "sees" people's levels and shit. Even the lame ass self-inserts get to tag along for no explainable reason at all. Bottom line, if you're thrown into a video game, you get to be a top tier hero.
Except none of this applies to me.
I landed in cow shit. I have no combat skill. The timeline is fucked. The Shepherds aren't even the proper genders. I'm not even Robin. Nothing is the way these things should go. I'm only alive because of sheer luck (well, maybe I have a little Plot Armor). But my point is reality and stories are not the same. No matter how real the story or how fantastic the reality, they aren't the same. I've been calling this reality. But is it? It feels real. Intuitively, I know it's real. I'm in a fantasy, though. So, does it even matter? No. Shit is just going to happen. And that's that.
The clash of steel on steel rings across the wasteland that was once Southtown. In unison, the six of us turn our heads to see a slender figure dueling with several Risen in the alleyway below. A butterfly-shaped mask obscures their face, but I'm already aware of who this is. Lucina. Or whatever he's called if she's male. Long blue hair whips around as Lucina trades blows with the Risen, giving me hope that at least she's normal. Or normal in the only way this fucked up world can be.
Immediately, Chrom's sense of duty and honor kicks in. "We have to help her. She won't last must longer down there alone," she says, already palming Falchion (why does no one realize until the arena fight that Lucina HAS THE SAME SWORD).
"Hold, Chrom," Robin cautions. "If we go down there's no easy way back up. I agree we must help, but we have to go about this the right way. I'll shoot some thunder magic to give her space. The rest of you fashion a rope from whatever spare cloth you have. Hurry!"
As Robin fires thunderbolt after thunderbolt, Agatha and I collect scraps from Chrom, Freya, and Liston, the most useful of which being Chrom's cape. We end up with perhaps just enough for Lucina to jump and reach the rope once we've tied the pieces together. But there's no time to worry about "ifs." It's no surprise that Freya produces some exquisite knots, but Agatha rivals if not surpasses Freya in skill. The pair have a makeshift rope fastened in only a couple minutes. Chrom tosses the rope over the side of the wall, motioning for us to help pull.
"Grab on!" she cries down to Lucina, who hastily complies. We haul her up the side of the building, Risen narrowly missing as they swipe at Lucina's heels. Once among us, it is clear—to me at least—that Lucina is not "Lucina." The shoulders are a little too wide, the hips a bit too boyish. But when he speaks, I have no doubts remaining.
"You have my gratitude," Lucina says in a high falsetto, clearly meant to fool us. Incredibly, I seem to be the only one who isn't fooled.
"We weren't going to let you die down there, miss," says Chrom. "Though you seem to handle yourself quite well." Chrom extends a hand in greeting. "My name is Chrom. Might I ask yours?"
Lucina at least has the sense to angle himself so that Falchion is partially hidden. "You may call me Marth."
Chrom's eyes widen. "Marth? After the heroic queen of old? You certainly fight like a hero. Where did you learn your way with a sword?"
"I'm not here to talk about me. This world teeters on the brink of a horrible calamity. This is but a prelude. I am here to warn you and to make sure you escape. Though I did not anticipate needing to do the latter." I get the distinct feeling "Marth" is watching me behind that mask. The scripted dialogue derailed. Is that my doing? Is it my fault these changes are occurring? If he's surprised about the location of the Risen attack, Lucina hides it well. Perhaps something deeper than my mere presence is at play, though I can only guess at what.
"The way I see it, you needed us a little more than we needed you back there," Chrom counters, though good-naturedly. "But you speak as if you know what is to come. How is that possible?"
"Questions for another time," Lucina says bluntly. "For now, let us depart from this place."
Freya steps forward, scowling. "And how exactly do you propose we do that? These things surround us on all sides." Jesus, is her default tone "dickhead?" I want to see want it takes to leave a good first impression on Freya. Or maybe not.
Lucina ignores the hostility. "With this." He produces a small pouch, velvet, embroidered with a distinctive rune. "This is powder made from the orb of a healing staff. Given the right spellweaving, it becomes an invaluable teleportation dust."
I finally understand how Lucina always vanishes so quickly in the games. I'm thoroughly impressed, but Freya is thoroughly not.
"Pegasus dung!" she exclaims. "You speak cryptically about a coming disaster and now expect us to use your 'teleportation dust' to poof away from here? Are we to encounter only the most untrustworthy of individuals?" Freya looks to Chrom for support, surely hoping this time the princess will see the wisdom of reason.
It is Liston who speaks first. "Personally, I trust Marth. Why risk her life to warn us only to hurt us later? That's nuts, Freya."
"Liston is right," Chrom agrees. "And do you see another option?"
"I confess," pipes up Robin, "that I have been unable to think of a better way out."
Agatha hovers near me, her hands clutching her dress tightly. "This is all insane," she whispers to me. "I don't have any idea what's happening. I just want things to go back to normal." She begins to cry.
"You and me both. But look around. This is what's left. We have to move on," I tell her, probably needing to hear the words more myself.
"But…. Southtown…" She chokes on a sob.
"Look," I say, waving a hand at the ruined, burning town. When she doesn't, I shake her until she peeks up. "Look at it. This isn't Southtown. Southtown is gone. Everything is gone. Your home. Your friends…. Your… your family…" It's my turn to cry. Weep, more accurately. For the first time, I let my true feelings out. All the rage, the sorrow, the confusion, the bitterness—all my emotions erupt from the relative numbness I've felt since arriving. I admit it to myself. I clicked that button for a different life. I wanted something not so… mundane. But not this. Never this. Never standing on a roof encircled by zombie soldiers. Everything I ever loved I took for granted when I made the decision to choose the promise of a self-indulgent fantasy over real life. And now I'm suffering for it. If you think you want this, you don't.
By now, the rest of the group is staring at me. Even Agatha dries her tears enough to look sympathetic. Chrom walks toward me, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Which I suppose I am. "Sounds like you've lost a lot, Michael. I can't say I know what it feels like to lose so much, but I understand loss. Michael… This might sound contrived, but you will find more. As you said yourself, you have to move on. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow or even the day after. But you'll move on."
Knowing what Chrom has to go through, her words almost make me feel worse. But the intention is pure and kind, and I appreciate it greatly. "Thank you," I manage. "Before I…. came to Southtown, I lived a pretty normal life. It was a good life. Friends, family, two cats. But I did something stupid and lost it all. I guess it hadn't set in yet."
I feel Agatha's hand entwine with mine. She squeezes hard. "Mike. I know how you feel," she says plainly. "I know how you feel."
"As… touching as this is," Freya says, the normally hard edge of her voice dulled, "we still need to get off this roof."
"You have a way off," says Lucina, a touch of irritation tinting his fake pitch. "This powder is completely safe. And it's your only option."
The atmosphere changes to all business in moments. All traces of my emotional breakdown are replaced with the pressing concern of survival. You can't feel anything if you're dead, after all.
Robin stares at Freya. "I'm well aware you do not trust me, but unless you want to stay here and risk the hospitality of our fine hosts, I suggest you and the rest of us listen to Marth and take advantage of this blessing."
After a sharp nod from Chrom, Freya finally relents. "Fine. But I still do not trust any of you near milady or milord. I swear I will get to the bottom of all this."
Chrom lets out an exasperated sigh. "Always Freya the Wary. Liston and I will be fine, Freya. Michael and Robin mean us no harm, that much I know. I'm as curious as you about what's going on, but I know in my heart they're both good people."
My lips twitch downward. Am I a good person? As much as I admire Chrom for her positive qualities, she's naïve. I could be anyone, and yet she chooses to believe I'm a decent sort of person. I feel a pang of envy. I wish I could trust so easily and so entirely. Maybe it's not such a bad way to live your life, having faith that each person you meet is more likely to be inherently good than inherently evil.
Freya grumbles a bit, but we reach a consensus to use Lucina's powder to teleport into the forest, where the Risen have not yet reached or can easily see into. "Then it is settled," Lucina says in his falsetto. "Come close. The radius is not very large."
We crowd together around Lucina as he tosses a handful of dust into the air. It sprinkles down like a fine snow, and my skin tingles as each particle hits. The powder drifts down our bodies, causing us to slowly fade from view. My vision alternates between the rooftop and the heavily wooded forest, the smells of rotten flesh and fresh oak warring for dominance. Eventually, we are completely transported to the forest, leaving the Risen far behind. Unsurprisingly, Lucina vanishes the moment we realize we've made it.
"Wow… What a woman," Liston says airily.
"Got a crush there?" Chrom teases.
"No!"
I tune out their exchange. My mind is filled with tumultuous thoughts of the future. We lived. This time. I'm almost positive my presence is in part the cause for these radical changes. I can't predict anything. My foreknowledge is useless.
And that scares me.
Author's Note: Once again, I am blown away by the support and interest in this story. Thank you all so, so much. I write for you guys, and I hope you're enjoying this story. Since I seem to have established a small base of followers, I'd like to ask a question. Agatha. Should she remain a part of the story? I'm toying with the idea of making her a main character. But I don't want too many OCs. Anyways, let me know what you think in a review or PM! Again, thank you so much for reading!
Hammerschlag- I'm glad you're still enjoying the story! Yeah, I kind of never wanted to make my SI a Robin replacement. Also, I hope this story is actually self-aware. That's part of my plan.
TheUnknownUser2- It's great you think my story is funny! I'm trying very hard to balance humor and drama. I want to create a story that's worth reading.