The Road of Irresponsibility….

See, even nightmares come true

To my readers,

Got this idea in my first playthrough. I wanted to tell this story during the first... but you know how hard Chrono games are to track. They're filled with twists, turns, and open endedness, so I played through to the end, listened to the theroys, and took notes. Now, I'm going to be working on this CC piece. Hopefully you'll all enjoy.

Kasan Soulblade

It was… there are no words. Nothing in his vocabulary can capture the strangeness, the wrongness, that greets him every time he opens his eyes. Looking down at his fingers he is confronted with claws, from claw to knuckle his gaze travels and is treated to a viewing of tan fur.

Impossible is such a pale word, drained of vital meaning from overuse and flippant treatment. Yet it hovers on his lipless mouth only to fall short. His mouth isn't his own, its motions are alien, and so the familiar word gargles in his throat. He'd allowed only one sound, and that is the failed word that morphs into a purr before it dies.

Tears brimming her eyes, knife drawn, Kid approaches, her tears made bright with hate.

"You… you bastard, ya think this is funny do ya!"

No

He opens his mouth in one final plea; a harsh cough escapes his throat. The distance between them is narrowed as Kid takes one step, then another, her grim intent marking her face with lines of hate and heat. Language, it seems, has betrayed him. Snapping his mouth shut –ignoring the odd grit of fang hitting fang- he shakes his head back and forth. Surely such a desperate move wasn't Lynx like.

Please, He begs mutely. Hands lifted, fingers spread wide, he looks past the screen of his own raised claws and meets the summer sky of her eyes. Please, I'm not him… Look at me, see!

She sees her foe retreating, eyes wide, jaw clenched tight in grim determination. However, like all language, seeing and comprehension have become different concepts. One can see without comprehension, and in this case the former occurs without the latter.

Wincing back from the surreal light that catches the daggers edge -and it burns, how the light burns!- he takes another step back, shaking his head violently.

She charges, with that thin beam of burning light, and he winces as he feels the blade sink into his gut.

Serge...

Monsieur...

Both voices are familiar, distant. He folds over the blade, staggering back, taking the weapon with him as he falls. Comprehension, or something like it, lights Kid's eyes. It's a slow realization, not yet taken root, even as he soundlessly hits the stone floor.

"Give me your knife, I'll finish him off..."

Hesitance, a step back taken one moment too late...

"I never told you about Lucca."

Light slashes through flesh. Steel pierces sun kissed flesh and draws blood. Vitals and blood made dark by solid form and shadows glint with macabre moisture. Lifting his head he screams, and all that parts through his mouth is a choked roar.

You want the nightmares to end? Meet me at the sea of Eden...

Groggily his eyes open, he lifts his head and sees again tan fur that ends in a black point. Closing his eyes he soundlessly begs slumber to come and he curls upon himself. A stream of quiet whimpers escape him, breaking the quiet murmur of water over stone. Throtling sensation he scrunches his eyes until they hurt, his hands move with a will of thier own. They grip, relax, and grip again. Something with the texture of grain and the oiliness of fish flesh crumbles under his fingers.

And... he tastes water on the air. The omnipresent rumble of water over stone alludes to size and falling, of earth meeting the softest purest blue... The luquid pounding had always been a lulliby...

And despite knowing these things. Of lullaby's and water's soothing song he shivers. He quakes at... yet longs for the black behind his lids. Nightmares never were real, they never came true. Only good dreams come true, never nightmares. Nightmares were there to be laughed at, ridiculed, then forgotten under the bright light of the day...

Yet hard on belief came taunting realiaztion. Under this rosy sky and oil-salt sand it seemed as if all the nightmares of his world were coming true.