Author Topic: Magness, Chapters 1-2  (Read 1917 times)

V_Translanka

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« on: June 04, 2004, 07:28:01 pm »
EDIT: I edited the first chapter. If you want to compare (for some odd reason or w/e), you can still check the fanfiction section (I still can't edit those)...I also haven't re-added the italics and other crap like that...but I got rid of those weird "“" things!

EDIT2: I totally just realized, after posting the edited 2nd chapter that in some instances, you'd need italics to distinguish his thought voice...thing...Ok, I'll do the italics sometime before posting any more edited versions...damn...

EDIT3: I just realized I could move the Author Notes in this post down into the third post >_>

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #1 on: August 24, 2005, 04:49:05 pm »
<11,999 B.C.>
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT

-REPORT NO. 1-

[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT - MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE - "MAGNESS"
CODE EX. - "CONVALESCENCE OF HOPE"


   "There is no hope!" The voice echoed into his mind like a splinter ebbing back and forth into an enormous blood blister long caked in its own blackened sludge, "You will not find-"

   "I will." He commanded the voice in a soft dulled tone and strode on into the wastelands of the newly formed and now snowcapped burgs. A chant, a spell, a faint white glow about his head, and then the plunge into the endless caverns of the awaiting abyss...

   If you let the cold engulf you, if you become one with it, it cannot sway you. Your body will still grow cold and blue, but you can ignore these things and move on if you don't struggle against it. His blood seamlessly synched with the water around him; it chilled and almost froze as it swarmed within his veins. Eyes turned into unblinking search beacons, casting rays this way and that in the wreckage of the deep.

   His weapon was held long and behind him, making him look like a kind of tropical fish or ray with its upturned blade bending and catching the last hints of light from above. Legs and arms stopped, the scythe was brought around, his lips moved slowly, a flare of red light emanated from the blade, and the rubble was lit up, to hi s concealed horror and disgust.

   Twisted metals, broken shards of shiny glass-like material, and a fish gnawing on something that resembled a right hand (already missing its index and middle fingers) were only a few of the sights. It was a hand. He could somehow smell the decay and blood under there. Even in the cold of the water, he knew that smell, intimately. It was a part of a former life that seemed far away now, in a distant dream.

   There was no time for that. There was never enough time for anything anymore. Again, the voice begged him to stop, "No hope..." It pleaded with the horrible ache of despair, "...Nothing left." This time he chose to ignore it, and he went on.


   Three months' time was spent in this same grueling manner. Several hours would pass; he would rise from the depths to a solid chunk of ice and command it not to move from its spot. Upon doing so, he would either rest, partake in the local variety of Salmon-like fish (of which he had detested as a child though now it had a more elegant taste with a simple spell he once watched a sorceress cast...or was it a wizard? he thought to himself), or fight/ignore the voice until one of them gave up for another hour or so.

   He finally thought he saw something, a faint glow or light, when he found the ruins of the ominously blackened Water Fortress. But it was not a glow or a light, it was nothing. Neither a scrap of clothing, nor a hint of flesh or bone-and certainly not the ornament the wise men had given her, although the last he had seen it with her the light was fading fast-was found. For all he knew, that jewel was powerless and in the belly of some sea beast by now. Although he knew it had to be otherwise.

   Then he noticed it; the decay, the smell of blood. It did not reside in this room, this one room that proved to be, quite easily, the most important room in his entire life; the room where he had lost everything...twice. Now it proved again to be important on some fundemental level. This was another Omen. Not a Black one, no, but one of hope, a White Omen of sorts. Three soundless words escaped his lips, bound for the voice that taunted him.

   "There is hope."


   There was a way now, he knew. It would be tricky, and he wouldn't like the path, but there it was, plain as the chill that ran up and down his spine when he dived in and out of the icy blackness. Would he need someone like those times before? He didn't know. He'd only know on the way. Like before.

   Was this destiny? No, he knew too much about how things worked now (had, in fact, since he was a child) to believe in fate. Sure, some things can be pulled and prodded with wire strings and bamboo poles, but there is no such thing as fate (he remembered hearing someone talking to a Poyozo about this somewhere in his childhood; perhaps it was a dream, or perhaps it was both).


   The heavy oaken door seemed to stand without any support. The hinges were attached to nothingness. Upon the door, three words were writ. No, they weren't written, they were engraved, they were part of the door. The edges of the large black letters seemed  brimmed with gold. This is what they said:

--- (The Princess) ---
<(Kid)>


   The handle was the same type of shining gold that lined the letters. It beckoned to be held, to be turned, to be pulled. He had no choice. His thin hand, gloved in comfortable leather, went to it, held it, turned it, and pulled it as if it were made of paper. A fantastic swirl of blue light emerged and engulfed the doorway. He stepped forward, into the light, entranced with the sounds of wind and rapture that surrounded him.

   The blue light stretched past him in great bright folds of azure, sapphire, cerulean, and indigo. He came out of the light and into an unfamiliar bustling place. The blue light faded to a dot behind him. No one in this place seemed to notice this happen. He didn't notice the blue light behind him nor did he notice most of the people. Her hair seemed different, a faded yellow color, and her entire image seemed to fade in and out of view. But her eyes; they were the same sharp color; and they did not fade with the rest of her.

   For a long moment, a few seconds, a few minutes, a lifetime? He stood there transfixed, hypnotized, gazing upon this sight. His feet moved forward, but every time they did, she stayed exactly the same distance away. His hand shot out in desperation. His mouth opened to call to her.


   The ground was damp with dew. The cool night air was fresh and unsullied to the point of hygienic cleanliness that reminded him of something like Windex. The stars in the sky twinkled more than he had ever remembered seeing them as a child. The truth was that there was more dust in the atmosphere, remnants of "The Destruction".

   His skin seemed luminous in the gloom of those hours of darkness as he woke from his dream. A stern look of consternation spread across his face.

   "Where was it?" He whispered to himself. He couldn't remember where the door without walls had stood. He couldn't remember what the unfamiliar place it led to looked like, the people there, or the clothing they wore.

   "No hope in dreams." The voice said to him, laden with its own sad dismay.


   The great and powerful witchin hour was upon him. He dug at the earth beneath the tomb's small stone indicator (no one else would ever know she was there) with his hands and they became caked in the coffee-colored dirt. Every now and then, he'd look up; checking the stars to make sure the hour hadn't passed. Shouldn't have falled asleep he told himself. The dream meant something though, that's why things happened the way they did.

   Then he came upon it at last. It was wrapped in a smooth material he knew well (although now smudged with dirt in several places, most of it flaked off the silk as he had broken up the earth). It had been a part of his wardrobe until he had finally come back here. He quickly, though with meticulous care, stripped the cape from the figure before him.

   It was a wonderous marvel. The skin was the same creamy color he had remembered from the later parts of his childhood. Before, she had a slightly auburn-colored tone, full of life and radiance. There was almost no sign of decay. It was as if the slimy maggots and worms he had almost expected wished to stay away from the body. Her cerulean hair was fading to white, but had grown a few inches longer since he had buried her. Her perfectly trimmed and manicured nails had also grown out considerably, but the tips remained in tact like a ghost of proper etiquette.

   The smell was the same though; the smell of death. There is a base smell to death outside of just blood and decay. It's a soulless smell, the same as an empty attic or crawlspace; a stale smell like woodchips, only somehow entirely different. He did not gag or hold his nose in disgust, but simply took the glove off his right hand as he straddled her waist. With that hand he stroked her cheek lovingly, as if she were a delicate porcelain doll. He said a brief prayer; it too was a phantom of that former life as a child.

   "I'm sorry..." The words seemed so foreign to him now. He couldn't remember ever speaking them to anyone but possibly his sister. He lifted her cotton shirt and exposed her stomach, her chest, her long cold, yet still somehow supple breasts. He touched one of her milk chocolate-colored areola and his face contorted into a small frown. It was much closer to the color he remembered her skin being. At this, he readied his scythe, "...I know you would understand...mother."


   Those words too had been difficult to say. He hadn't thought of her as such since he was a youth, since before her shift. At first he and his sister had almost thought it was simply grief over the passing of their father. There was something else though. She became a workhorse, almost never ceasing. She still seemed obsessed with the energy transfer, even though it had taken their father from them. He remembered her taunting and laughing at him then; telling him that he too deserved to be bound to the earth with the others whom lacked her own form of enlightenment. This person who took his mother ate away at his very sould and it angered him.

   Of course, there was something more important than those base things, they knew, something else that flowed around them; the Black Wind. It never died within him, even when he was sent away, even when he grew to be a man, when he was confronted by the people set out to kill him, even as that great flaming bastard was finally destroyed in his, no, this, very era, right before his eyes. The Wind still raged on. It had reminded him of his goals, it guided him, and after many years, it saw to it that the fiery demon was defeated. It seemed to taunt him at first when he was a child, he remembered, much like the voice was doing now.

   Again, there was no time to be reflecting on the past. No time for memories he would much rather forget. Times he'd much rather change. He shook the thoughts from his head and focused on the task at hand.


   He had made the difficult journey back past the badlands of snow and ice. He went on even beyond the other, scattered, jutting debris of that ominously dark tower; that dark tower which had brought forth both a terrible nightmare and a fabulous dream when his eyes first lay upon it, floating high above. He went to the New Mountain, not much further to the South. Here, more winds and even more cold assailed him, screaming for him to fall, trying to coax him to leave. Rocks and dust fell upon him; trying to push him back, make him slip, lose his grip, burn his eyes. He would not be stopped by such small forces of nature. It would take a demon with as great power as his own to accomplish such a feat.

   Another night fell and another witching hour came upon him. It was then that he found that which he had sought, The Cave of Time. The blue dot of entry-which had always reminded him of a curtain that had a hole in it blocking the sun-was long gone. That he already knew though. He had come back from this place before, after leaving the End.

   He opened the pack-he had only just recently acquired after returning-that he had slung over his right shoulder. It was just half filled with various objects: his Amulet, a couple extra changes of clothing, various medical supplies and magical drugs, and many other small trinkets. The two he went for were enveloped in part of that cape that was still wrapped around his mother, who was now safely buried back in the ground.

   He opened them with the same gentleness he had used when he touched his mother's cheek. The first was a pale-white curved tusk of ivory-like material. The second now reminded him of some dried pink fruit, like a large unripe strawberry or cherry. It was divided into four parts, and it was encrusted with a dark (was it black?) substance that had the texture of mostly hardened muck or mud.

   Foreign, alien, mystical words stirred from out of his voice. He held the murky, mysterious heart in his left hand, the pointy pallid white rib in his other.

   "Now the divine hour has arrived...Give my being from this world to...!" At that moment, he struck the jagged point of the rib into the center of the heart. Nothing happened. His eyes remained transfixed on the object before him; the impaled heart. At first he thought the rib was falling out of the heart, and that was what made the enchantment fail. Then he saw that it was not just the top portion of the rib that was disappearing into the nucleus of the heart, but the bottom end as well. It was being absorbed by it.

   He stood there hypnotized by the sight until the rib was gone. After a moment, he thought that it again would not succeed. Then it happened. The heart began to throb with new life and vitality. The dark sludge burned off-the smoke attacked his senses-and the heart glowed healthy pink once again. He felt relieved somewhat. Things were suddenly going as he had planned. The beating of the heart intensified and filled his ears with their heavy drumming.

   Then it struck him; like that first bolt of lightning that had smashed into him back in his castle when he fought the kid-whom he would later, in the Water Fortress and on Death Mountain, learn to secretly admire-and the despicable frog. He saw it; the electrical surge of power radiating from the heart. It was a sinister dark light, like a shadow. It spread up his arm with zeal and a fever-pitch rate of speed.

   More than hurt and more than shocked, he was annoyed. This was a surprise and he did not enjoy surprises. He buckled under the pulsing heart's power and was forced down to one knee. The heart pulsated with a bright red glow that grew with each beat and began to fill the room with crimson light. He was feeling faint. The radiance of the light was getting too bright for his eyes. He was absorbed in it though, no matter how hard he tried to pull his face away, his eyes stuck to that image of the brilliantly bright, ruby heart that was clasped in a death grip in his hand.

   He could not endure it much longer; it was sapping his strength, draining his energy, expending his ability, it was killing him.

   "I knew it." A faint echo of a voice told him. It seemed so far away, the room seemed so far away. Everything felt so far away, "I told you. Didn't I? There is no hope. Do you think she remembers you? Do you think she cares what happens to you? I'd bet that she's moved on by now. She's found a man to settle down with. She's had children. She hasn't thought about you like you have ached over the years for her. And now you're going to die; and for what?"

   "For her, for everything I've lived for, fought for, and even died for." He said through clenched teeth, biting back the pain. He could no longer feel his fingers, his hand was going numb, and his arm was burning in pain, "I don't matter."

   "So be it." Another voice, this one delicate, not the other, cutting voice, but much more familiar, loving, affectionate, resonated from within his mind. No, not from within, almost, but no, it came from the direction of his hand, the heart, "Find your sister, my son."

   The brilliant burgundy light flashed and flickered into a profoundly deep cobalt blue that filled the room with its own dazzling intensity-it was only then that he saw the resemblance of this light to the frozen, watery depths of that vast Zealian Ocean which he had spent the last seven or eight fortnights immersed within. The Cave of Time flicked out of existence, and all was that vivid blue, rushing past him in every direction. His scythe was seized in his right hand, his pack of odds and ends tucked under his elbow at his side, and the now fading heart was still held-now much more gently-in his left hand.

   He continued to watch as his mother's heart quietly disappeared from all existence. A rhyme he had long forgot that his sister had recited at their father's wake came suddenly into his mind. Before even that, their mother had whispered it so softly into each of their ears on their fifth year, so soothingly, like they were still newborn babes.

   "Live another day.
   Fight another fight.
   Struggle against the darkness,
   Do it for the light.

   If you stop,
   Before your last breath,
   You're living naught.
   You're living death.
   
   So be brave.
   Be of sound mind.
   Endure life's jolts,
   Tolerate the grind.

   Live and love,
   Forget your hate.
   Peace is with you.
   Don't yield to fate.

   The Black Wind will blow,
   And then you will know.
   The dark may fight,
   But so too will your light.
"

   The blue light was giving way. It was opening up, into another world, another time. Where was it, and most importantly, when was it? Everything seemed so unfamiliar now. The heart was gone, but his powers weren't fully restored. He didn't even know if they would be restored. For all he knew, some evil beasts could be lurking around the next bend. His left arm lay slack at his side. He could still no longer feel his fingers, but the dullness was very slowly, and agonizingly, departing.

   In its place, sharp, hot pins and needles seemed to strike every part of his arm, burning straight to the nerves. He let out a small dissatisfied grunt, with a scowl spread across his face, before he passed out and struck the hard surface of the ground. Was it rock, compact dirt, or metal?

   There was no time for that. There didn't seem to ever be enough time for much of anything anymore. A trickle of blood ran down his temple and clotted in the light blue hair of his brow. He could no longer tell or be bothered in knowing or not knowing.


If history is to change, let it...

V_Translanka

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #2 on: August 24, 2005, 04:56:34 pm »
<2420 A.D.>
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT

-REPORT NO. 2-

[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT - MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE - "MAGNESS"
CODE EX. - "THE HALLS OF VITA"


   The etched door opened again, the blue swirl swallowed him, the crowds of unsuspecting, unnoticed people shifted back and forth between himself and his shimmering objective. His feet moved forward again, gaining no distance. Did he seem to know it was useless? He couldn't think. He didn't think. A gloved hand shot out again, his hand. His mouth opened, teeth bared in absolute anxiety, in desperation to speak, to plead, to yell, to scream.


   The words from the voice resonated into his mind again. Not the pleading, distressed, driving, despondent voice. The other one, the one that came from the heart, "Find your sister, my son." Was it his mother's voice? He couldn't remember how it sounded. The bleeding (just now clotting) scrape on his temple seemed to cloud the past events in a neat shade of lifeless gray.

   He looked down and saw that the floor was a kind of steel plating. He was in some sort of man-made dwelling. By this simple piece of information, he knew he wasn't in The Destruction of Zeal-time anymore. He wasn't in The Guardia Mystic Conflict-time either it seemed; no, definately not 600 A.D. Both the Guardians and the Mystics would use some kind of granite or marble, some kind of stone at least, not the glistening metal he saw beneath him.

   The words registered and struck him square: 'beneath him'. He was standing. His weapon and pack were not with him. The murky gray that bounded and dully pounded his mind had held these things from him. His left hand just as suddenly-seemingly to make up for the time his cloudly mind had hiddden it from his sensory perception-burst into suffering, agonizing flame. His teeth bore, wicked and sharp, and showed his pain. It was as if someone were lighting his hand on fire with a blazing torch. This pain departed almost as quickly as it had assaulted him. In its place came a softer version of the fiery pins and needles again, along with a softer scowl across his face.

   More aspects of the room and his condition came into focus. The room was a dull metal box; roughly thirty by twenty feet in diameter. There seemed to be a silhouette of a door, but no knob, no lever, no switch. He was in the future. He had seen similar doors before, when he traveled with the boy. These doors weren't locked with the Zealian seal though; they were the normal doors of the future that he thought would open if he could only stand in front of it. So he went to go to the door.

   Yet another facet of the new place occurred to him out of the blue. His arms, his legs, and his throat were each bound in an electrical device. To the backs of his limbs were metal boxes, each adorned with code pads and blinking lights. These metal boxes wrapped his extremities in a faint white light that seized him snugger than any metal cuffs could. They were chained with a similar stream of light to a console to his right.

   He moved toward the console. A spark of light struck his head as he collided with another stream of light. This one was a wall that blocked his approach to the console. The streams from the 'cuffs' seamlessly drifted to and fro when he moved back and forth from the console, but when he approached the door, they constricted and would allow him to go no further.

   A panel lifted from the wall towad his right, beyond the console, revealing a concealed, circular, glass object. It looked like a gun. More so, it resembled the laser weapons of that heaping automaton that was with the boy when he traveled along with them. He darted to get out of the path of the ensuing stream of light that came from it.

   "You are being detained for further chrono-sequential analysis. You have violated Novous Ordo Seclorum Convention Temporal Codes 84-S13..." It was not a laser at all. When he looked back he saw it was not man-made Shadow Magic, but it was in fact a man. No, not truly a man, for a man does not radiate light in that manner, a man's features are not so dull, nor are any man's form so eerily translucent. It was a hologram. It reminded him of the robot central core network. This one was a much more advanced form than that one he had seen previously though. The network had required three seperate interfaces to be projected and sustained as a corporal being of light. This one required what looked like only one.

   The hologram droned on, "...time travel under unspecified and unfounded means, 45-F06, possession of unidentified narcotic substances, 91-M03, possession of illegal and unregistered weapons, 09-C30, security breech in sector 770.907, and 06-C45, breaking and entering."

   He had turned away from the shimmering figure at the second code violation declaration. The shadow cast by the hologram of his body was faint because of the room's somewhat heavy lighting, but as soon as the hologram flickered off, the shadow disappeared, and the plate slid back over the hologram interface, he realized what he could do. The streams from the light-shackles moved freely between the barrier of light between him and the console. He let out a slight chuckle of amusement. It seemed they truly were in need-dire need now he thought-of a "chrono-sequential analysis" of him, because they had underestimated him. Their world, their time, had forgotten, their documents didn't show them, or it was even possible that they had rejected the absurdity of it, of...Magic.
   "Fools...Underestimate me will you...," He whispered the words under his breath. The simple, apprentice-level spell was chanted in mere seconds. He lifted his good, right hand and the bolt of lightning flew past the wall of light with the fluidity of water and struck the console, burning, charring, and disrupting circuitry. The beams of light glimmered and died, the shackles fell off, and the door opened before his presence.

   His bad, left hand still hung lifeless at his side, and it annoyed him. He did not know what sorts of mechanized monstrosities, holographic humans, or secret traps awaited him. He would want his hand back. More importantly, he would want his scythe and supplies back. His Amulet was stolen from him and he was angry for it.

   His clothes remained the same; they had left him with that much dignity at least. His plain leather vest still hugged him tightly, yet comfortably, a blue cloth was wrapped around the more flexible (and thusly more exposed to the cold) mid-section. His light, plum-colored pants, with the inch-wide metal band wrapped around his right leg, disappeared into his shin-high, worn-in, soft-soled, leather boots. His forearm-length gloves (also leather) were the same, but he noticed that they had done a thorough search and had found the small charms and medicines he had held within their inner pockets.

   The doorway from his waiting cell led in a dark and damp hallway. It stank of decay and must. The lengthy metal walls of the hall had gone grimy from time. There was no one waiting, nothing out there to get him, yet. He could see the hall's end to the left of his cell door and so went on down the right.

   As he went on down the empty and lengthy hall, he came upon various cells similar to his own. The only exception being that no one occupied these rooms. The dankness of the place began to thin as he went, but it was still just as distinct. The hall took a slight curvature to the right. In a moment, extended by the emptiness, the vacant rooms, and the silence, he came to a small split in the hall. The right rounded sharply and looked like another long hall filled with a similar, albeit opposite curve and more empty cells.

   He took the other direction, whihc was more of a nexus forward of the two hallways' points. The whole place seemed to be in the shape of an upside-down "Y". Panels of light began to brighten and come to life above him, where further down the hall they were only flickering fireflies. This provided him with even less cover in the exposed and cramped corridor. As he went on, he wondered if the people who had captured him weren't somehow watching him. Could it be that they were analyzing him even now?

   "You're going to be found. You're going to be killed." The drifting, doubtful voice reminded him. He went on. Doors to either side of this hall contained only a minisculte amount of things, nothing useful. Many were simply more cells, others were a bigger mess hall, a meeting hall with a large metallic desk, and even a few toilets. But after a while the doors thinned out and the hair at the back of his neck began to stand up.

   The end finally struck him with a much larger, double-door version of the doors he had previously seen. Instead of going up or down, this one split at the middle and opened outward to the left and right. The right part of the door's circuitry ceased to function properly; a crease of light came out from behind the door as it jerked back and forth spasmodically, rhythmically.

   He snuck up to the door with a silent grace that had taken him only days of boyhood curiosity to perfect. The room itself was poorly lit. The light that came from within originated from a large monitor in the very back of the room. Three shapes stood at different parts of the screen. A glare streked itself across the monitor from a light out of sight to the left. The one directly in front was conversing with someone he couldn't see.

   "There is 'insufficient data' in regard to what exactly?" The middle person said in a barely audible, raspy voice.

   "600 A.D. is a possible origin." A voice (did it seem familiar?) said that seemed to resonate from deep in the room, "There is insufficient data regarding the true origin of the subject in question."

   "How is it only 'a possible origin'?" The person to the right asked. Its voice seemed to cackle with static. He couldn't hear any of their voices outside of the resonating one very well, "A time traveler? Wouldn't we have more on a subject if he were a time traveler?"

   "The subject's TDNA goes further back, closer to 12,000 B.C." The voice said, "This era is mostly unknown to us presently. Further information is required. Suggest a questioning of the subject immediately."

   "You know we can not do that." The being to the right stated matter-of-factly.

   "Clotho is correct. It is a breach of Temporal Code to distribute information regarding future timelines, regardless of situation." The person to the left announced. Its voice was more subdued, rather effeminate.

   "It is also a breach of Temporal Code to keep temporal refugees." The person in the middle said.

   "Detainment was necessary." The right being countered, "Contravention of Temporal Code 09-C30, security breech in sector 770.907, is a high priority offence."

   "Prometheus, do you still suggest questioning even with the added danger of further breaking Temporal Code?" The person identified as Clotho asked.

   "Questioning is necessary for further advancement in chrono-sequential analysis. The subject cannot be released otherwise regardless." The voice said, "Further temporal disturbance is forbidden. If the subject is a traveler, it should have means of further travel, which it does not."

   "Then we question." The one on the right said. At that, each of them swiveled in unison, with the grace of a troup of ballerina. They each took quick, fluid steps toward the door. They were firm and unwavering, yet time seemed to slow, to stop, as they moved. Still they came, closer and closer.

   Clotho led the way, hitting the jittering door, causing it to open for the three of them. They stepped out into a long, but compact, empty hall. Clotho and the one on the right stood side-by-side, which was the maximum allowable space, and the one on the left followed behind them.

   They weren't human.

   Clotho raised a hand to stop their advancement after the door behind them closed. The moment before Clotho began to speak stretched out into an eternity. He took this time to properly examine these new adversaries. His closest thought was that they resembled that robotic ally that had accompanied himself and the boy; although these three had many obvious differences.

   For one, they seemed to have a more female anatomy to them; they were slimmer at the waists, wider at the breast, and they even had more pronounced-and functioning-lips. They were obviously far more advanced than any automoton he had ever encountered previously. Their structure much more closely resembled that of a human, each with only a few exception of a robotic extension here or there.

   Clotho's metal had a green tint, the one beside her, a blue, and the one behind had a pink hue. Their eyes glowed, or twinkled, their respective colors. Clotho opened her mouth to speak to the others, "Perhaps Prometheus is malfunctioning."

   "What makes you say this?" The pink one asked.

   "Should Prometheus suggest breaking Temporal Code, even if it is the only alternative?" The blue one asked, backin gup Clotho's point.

   "Perhaps you two are malfunctioning."

   "You are always so unquestioning of Prometheus, Atropos. Perhaps you are malfunctioning as well." Clotho retorted.

   "And you and Lachesis are always so questioning of Prometheus. Perhaps we are all malfunctioning."

   "Let us worry about Prometheus later." Lachesis stated, "Questioning the subject is the only course of action we can take, malfunctioning or not."

   "Agreed." Atropos said.

   "Agreed." Clotho said with a curt nod.

   They dragged on down the corridor, their soft-soled feet making only a whisper of sound as they went. After they were out of hearing range, his right arm buckled, he spat his lifeless left hand from his clenched teeth and he dropped down from the ceiling. A single bead of sweat traced down his cheek before he wiped it away. He had been up there no longer than two minutes, but it seemed like it was still going on. His right arm twitched and he flexed it, trying to get the blood flowing into it again.

   "Prometheus...?" He wondered to himself, "Atropos?"

   He shook off the familiar names. He didn't have time to sit and ponder. After they reached his cell, they'd realize he wasn't there, and they would look for him. They would find him.

   He entered the shadowy room, completely enraptured in his element. The room was somehow more colorless and filled with even more melancholy than the halls and his cell had been. Aside from the main console that the three robots had occupied, a slightly askew lamplight shone off to the left, the source of the glare on the main screen. Every wall glittered with a full assortment of esoteric lights and dials and meters that he would never understand.

   Various shut doors stood to his left and right, like poised guards watching his every movement, as he approached the main console. The glare gently subsided and he saw and recognized the very familiar face on the screen. It was Prometheus, R66-Y, aka Robo. He lifted a brow at the sight.

   "Magus, I knew you would escape." The hidden speakers announced and the eyes of the image of Prometheus in the screen glowed and pulsed with the words.

   "Do not call me that." He said plainly.

   "Shall I call you Janus then, or perhaps 'Prophet'?"

   "Neither." He said abruptly, "How do you know who I am?"

   "I know because I am meant to know."

   "Don't give me that bullshit. How do you know?" He spat the question out, even though he knew he didn't have the time to be asking questions.

   "Do not worry. They have been subdued. I locked them into your cell and overloaded a few of their primary circuits as soon as they entered." The computer shifted focus as if reading his thoughts.

   "Why?" He was mystified by the turn of events.

   "We are not allowed to keep or question you for one."

   "And for another...?" He asked.

   "I am not allowed to disclose information on the events of 12,000 B.C. Much less give out any information pertaining you in 600 A.D."

   He gave this new information a quick dismissal and then said, "The Chrono Trigger."

   "Pardon...?"

   "You know what I mean." He said, shifting quick glances to the sides of the room, constantly aware that the doors to his left and right could hold any and all sort of devices that could eradicate him.

   "Ah, you are referring to the Time Egg! Of course, it must be what you seek."

   "Tell me." He said, the two words on the brink of a command.

   "I am afraid any information I give you will not help. There has only been one stable Time Egg, and you witnessed its destruction."

   "How is it possible that you know all of this?"

   "I have told you already."

   "Of course, you were meant to know." He said with a snarl, "Give me the information, I'll decide if it's helpful or not."

   "If you insist..." The voice continued with something that resembled an electronic version of a sigh, "One Lucca Ashtear, circa 1025 A.D. has been developing, unsuccessfully I might add, the means to travel to critical points in time via exponential temporal energy waves, a.k.a. a Chrono Trigger."

   "Now, tell me where my belongings are." Before he could finish, one of the doors to his right whooshed upward, revealing his effects.

   "Take them away then. Possession of many of those artifacts is illegal, and Temporal Code would be enforced more strictly, if they weren't so archaic." The machine told him, "Might I suggest the use of a more concealable weapon? It is not as if you will always be in 600 A.D. where people actually revered and feared the name of Magus."

   "I might take it under consideration, but I am not Magus." He said with distaste as he slung his pack around one shoulder, replaced various items, and held his scythe in his right hand. After doing this, he noted his left hand again, he'd need to treat it soon, but now wasn't the time, "How do I get out of here?"

   Another door, this one to the left, opened, "There is a Temporal Displacement System within. I am afraid that too is against Temporal Code to use though."

   "I'm going to use it anyway."

   "Yes, I am aware of that."

   "Then why are you telling me all of this?"

   "I am helping you because I am supposed to. It is my purpose." Prometheus stated, "I must tell you also about the Temporal Code violations because they will be used against you afterwards."

   "Afterwards...after what...?"

   "After the Temporal Code Enforcers find out about all of this..." Prometheus said solemnly, "...After that, a full investigation will be held. My circuitry will be dissected and I will be permanently shut down. Of course, all data I am meant to conceal will remain so, though I am not able to conceal that which Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos have currently discerned."

   "No, you said they would be used against me." He said, a bit agitated.

   "Oh, of course, you wish to know the implications regarding you. During the investigation, they will find out that you have used the TDS, and they will find your whereabouts. They will try and detain you for questioning at any and all costs."

   "Why would I be so important to them?"

   "Well, your code violations aside, you are a temporal disturbance, and as an anomaly, you are only growing as you go further in time."

   "Looks like I'll be hunted then."

   "You will become priority number one."

   "Wait, won't they be able to track me down to this time, right now?" He asked frantically.

   "Most certainly not, it is impossible. Time travel is not so precise. Travel is only possible to the point of time of the exit or presence of the last traveler."

   "What do you mean?"

   "I am afraid time has run out and it is time for you to go. Find Miss Ashtear. Give her my regards." The speakers let out a sound that seemed like a faint laugh, "Of course, I do not expect you to actually do that."

   He gave an annoyed, unsatisfied look downward and proceeded toward the door to the left. The path was opening before him, but there were so many unfulfilled questions he knew would come about later. Would he find her so easily?

   "Goodbye traveler of time, man of many names." Prometheus' voice faded as the door closed behind him. The device's settings showed 1025 A.D. There was no specific date, as Prometheus said there could not be. He wondered when in that year he would end up. Would they really not know when exactly he was? Would they be able to travel to the time he popped up in 1025 or would time go forward like it did before, and they wouldn't be able to pinpoint his exact location in 1025? Again, there was no more time.

   He stepped up onto the platform, and the energy transfer began almost immediately. He got only the briefest hint of a glance at the cautionary notification just above the machine's main console:
   
EXPERIMENTAL TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT SYSTEM
Designed For Operation by Vita Hardware Only
Prometheus Supervision Required
Seperate System Needed For Use with Non-Robotics


   An irritated look started on his face before time was torn. It was not the pleasant deep ocean blue of any of the previous portals he had been through. In a second, the world cracked away and was replaced with a dull electric yellow filled with sparks and bolts of blackness. In fact, it even felt entirely different. Instead of that fleeting, instant feeling of traveling without moving, it was more like a ripping, splitting sensation, followed with lavish amounts of pain and agony. Time and space were being physically and unnaturally split open like a gapping knife wound. It was extraordinary.

   His eyes became small pin-pricks as he was enveloped in the torture and the hurt of it all. His right fist clenched deeply at his scythe, nearly crushing it. Energy surged through his left, giving it new life, and just as instantly, new anguish. The nails of his left hand's fingers bore through the leather of his glove, through his skin, and fresh blood blotted his hand.

   A very base part-somewhere in the back perhaps-of his brain thought that soon enough the pain would subdue, if not because it would actually stop, than because his nerves would dull and it would have to reseed. That part of his brain was proven wrong. Seconds floated. Minutes crawled. Hours dwindled. Whole days were rising and dying in the endless cycle of pain. His brain did not shut down because of the pain. The pain kept him awake. It kept him going. Centuries and eras passed before his sightless, unseeing eyes in a kaleidoscope of yellow and black like an old carousel on its last legs, somehow deliberate, unhurried, and leisurely in its circles. Around and around it went.

   If he saw the robot-any robot for that matter-or whatever was possessed with the Prometheus circuitry next, he would obliterate it with great vengeance and furious anger. Yes, all robots must go. He could not think these thoughts presently, but they would be the first thoughts that would drift in the back of his head after he came out and the pain started to fade away. That did not come for what seemed like an eternity, a lifetime, forever.

...But I was another person then...


Author Notes (aka V_Translanka Says)

Okay, these are the first two of an already 8 chapter fanfic I'm writing entitled "Magness". I knew it was time to write a story, but this time I wanted something different. I wanted engrossing characters, vast landscapes, and an overall epic kind of feel (I don't think I've got that epic part down yet). I looked around at some of my favorite characters, and low-and-behold, those whacky Chrono (Trigger) characters came to mind. It seemed to me like Magus had the most to play around with (he led two clearly distinct lives for one) and I decided to do something I probably would have scored before; to make a Magus fanfic.

While going over the various possibilities for what I should do (or eventually do) to Magus, I thought very clearly about driving him insane, or possibly that he already was (tremendous amounts of pressure evolving around his seperation at such an early age, the Guardia/Mystic War, fighting Frog/Glenn & killing Cyrus (probably lots of others as well), fighting Lavos, time traveling to see his sister become lost unto him again, yadda yadda...He had a history that I could play around with as well. Lots of loose ends here and there where we don't or didn't know what was going on. For those slow learners out there (hey! don't look at me like that! i'm one of you!): the title is one part Magus and one part Madness.

My original (stupid bad bad sit-com rip-off) idea was to have Magus go through so much and some time find his sister and then end up having gone long insane much earlier and was in some kind of dream-state in a mental facility...Of course, these thoughts were quickly killed off by my conscience and sympathy for any unfortunate reader who would have stumbled upon such work...Thusly, I strove for what you (hopefully) see unfolding in this fanfic.

Of course, like any good fanfic, I've included lots of Chrono-world references that any good eye should see. Nothing big so far I don't think, but they get a little bigger...

My story starts out in 11,999BC, about one year after the events of Trigger and it follows Magus currently searching the ruins of the sunken Ocean Palace/Black Omen. After some magically-embued time traveling thanks to the heart & rib of his mother (i like to think both things would have somehow still have previously sapped Lavos-energy still in them somewhat) he gets plucked off to the future of 2420AD. Here he's imprisoned for various crimes mainly involving temproal disturbances. He escapes his cell, sees three Vita-named (Clotho, Lechesis, & Atropos) android/robots and a computer driven Prometheus circut. The latter tells him of a unstable Time Egg in 1025AD made by their old friend Lucca Ashtear. He goes and uses a time machine-deal to go there.

The title of the first chapter is called "Convelescence of Hope" which is a play on Children of the Monkey Machine's ReMix of Magus' Theme: Decay of Hope. Since Magus in my first chapter is more gaining hope, I switched the first word to make more sence. I use lots of similies and semi-references to things in the games in the first chapter. Sorceress/Wizard was Flea. Water Fortress was the Ocean Palace. Wise men are the Gurus. The Ornament/Jewel is the Pendent. I also reference the Poyozo in Enhansa that you can talk to about fate. Flashy blue lights should be portals. 'The Destruction' refers to the fall of Zeal because I didn't want to call it the 'Fall of Zeal' because that seemed to similar to the 'Fall of Guardia'. His sister is obviously Schala. Ominously dark tower ruins is the Black Omen. 'New Mountain' is the mountain that the portal to 12000BC is in after 'The Destruction'. 'Cave of Time' is the cave in said mountain. 'The End' refers to the End of Time. His mother is Queen Zeal of course. I also use an alternate set of words that reflects what he says before the fight with him in his castle when he's summoning Lavos. I also offhandedly mention Crono & Frog. And I even used the word zeal in it's literal context once.

I also put in a bunch of references outside the Chrono-world. Mostly it's just from authors I dig on. My heaviest influences are Stephen King, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, and Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Now, I don't think I actually write like any of them mind you. And not just because I want to preserve my own artistic flare (you're encouraged to laugh at that one). Also because I don't and even if I did on accident I wouldn't write anywhere near as good as any of them. I do however put a lot of stuff of theirs in this story though(some little bits could practically be direct quotes).

That poem in the first chapter is pretty much all me (I'm not gloating or anything, just explaining). Although parts are influenced/in tribute to Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gently into That Good Night" and other parts are actually from Ayla's speech to the Laruba village chief.

Something noteworthy(?): The first Chapter's ending quote was changed to match the direct quote more. After a trip through the Compendium's Trigger script and a time consuming Copy+Paste of every Magus, Janus, & the Prophet quote (with words that is, there were plenty of '...!' and '!?' that I decided to leave out) I realized that the actual quote could be used and it was tons better then the one I based off of that quote.

The second chapter's title is "The Halls of Vita". This references the thre Vitas in Cross that represent the gods of fate: Clotho, Lechesis, & Atropos who make appearances as robots.

As you'll notice I end each chapter with a quote, the first of which is actually quite modified I believe. Most of the rest are direct quotes from ol' Maggy-poo (<--The closest you'll get to Poshul in my fanfic).

The main little reference in the second chapter that some of you might know comes directly from Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas that you might know either from the book or (more likely) from the movie. It's the one about the lights & dials he'll never understand. I really just thought it fit Magus well.

Also in the second chapter I use the words Novous Ordo Seclorum, which as you may know is one of the sayings on the back of the United States one dollar bill. It means 'A New Order of the Ages'. You'll also note that Annuit Coeptis, the other saying on that same dollar bill, will also appear in this fanfic later on (I think it's somewhere close to Chapter 9). Look for it, and in the 'Author's Notes' of that Chapter, I'll tell ya what it means!

As you'll also notice, I've yet to give Magus a proper name. So far he's refused people (er...just Prometheus, but whatever) him Magus. Read on to find out Buck-O!

Gaara

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #3 on: August 24, 2005, 10:18:41 pm »
Its a great story, I didn't find much wrong with anything.

V_Translanka

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #4 on: August 26, 2005, 09:34:52 am »
yeah, these first two chapters (especially the first) have been the most edited because I would consistantly go back through them each time I finished a new chapter (and since I haven't been writing a few more times)...the newest chapters aren't as well edited, but they're as close as can be...well, the ones I have, not the ones on the Compendium currently...

V_Translanka

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #5 on: August 27, 2005, 09:56:20 pm »
Okay, I'm done editing these now. They're now in all their italicized and font extra'd glory...although I use different fonts in my files on my comp...I actually like DOS Script for the end quote things :wink:

Uh, but, if someone could replace the ones in the fanfiction section with these that'd be great...or, y'know, tell me how to do that myself...as i said, it doesn't seem like i can edit those anymore...:cry:

V_Translanka

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #6 on: September 03, 2005, 04:22:36 am »
Yeay! I found a way to edit the ones in the Forums Section! Expect me to edit the ones in 3+ and I might add the "Author Notes/V_Translanka Says" sections into the Forums section as well if possible...Also...I started a new fanfic recently, but it basically revolves around one paragraph that sorta just hit me all of a sudden...

ZeaLitY

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Magness, Chapters 1-2
« Reply #7 on: September 03, 2005, 12:38:21 pm »
Alright. After they're done, if you still have that encyclopedia account, you can put them in new entries (like Magness_1 or something). It's just too time consuming to edit proper xml for fanfiction, so the Stories system is out presently.