Dark Chronicle

Chapter 3: The Sage who became a star

Part 8: Broken Steel

A great mouth tore open in the side of the flying battleship. The roar from within was the voice of a vast explosion, and fire vomited out in great spurts. Even the Dark Assassin's unnatural ability to resist the tilting of the ship couldn't anticipate the sudden quaking. He slipped and rolled away across the deck, his frozen grip around Monica's neck forced open.

Monica stumbled but managed to grab hold of her sword that was still stuck in the deck rail. The razor blade that Gaspard had dropped into her mouth jolted free as she fell and tumbled towards Monica's throat. The girl fell to her knees instantly, hoping and praying the blade would fall out; she didn't dare try and choke it up, imagining the damage caused by her gullet contracting around the metal sliver.

There was a tense second as Monica hung her head, mouth wide open, and nothing happened. For a moment Monica was sure she'd swallowed it, expected the pain to strike suddenly and to die in agony. But she forced herself to wait, even as she saw the assassin advancing on her again.

Then she felt it.

The blade unstuck from the back of her mouth and dropped out onto the deck. Monica let it a shuddering sigh of relief. That had been too close by far.

The brief pause she needed to gather her wits proved to be too long as Gaspard's metal boot struck her in the stomach and slammed her against the railing again.

"Enough of this! Now you die, girl!"

He reached for his sword and as soon as he touched the hilt his gauntlet lit up with flames. With a flick of the wrist, Gaspard pulled Infidel free of the melting ice that had attached his sword to Monica's. The girl's own sword was jerked loose by the movement. Monica spotted her chance and wrenched her long sword from the rail, just in time to block an attack that would have cleaved her head in two. She sprung to her feet but the Dark Assassin went after her, his blows getting faster and stronger, yet not once did he lose control. Monica quickly abandoned all hope of waiting for an opening and did what she could to stay out of Gaspard's reach.

Spying a rope dangling from the overhanging blimp, Monica dived onto it and scurried up, only stopping to cut the rope behind her. A very put out Dark Assassin was dropped roughly back onto the deck.

Monica was just congratulating herself on so abruptly aborting the Dark Assassin's pursuit, when she heard the man speaking into some manner of transmitter.

"Jamming, I don't care what condition the ship's in- complete our mission and it won't matter. Deploy the secret weapon, now!"

He ended the transmission without waiting for a reply, and Monica cursed herself. She'd been so focussed on fighting Gaspard she hadn't so much as given a thought to the overall purpose of this confrontation; to change the past by preventing Crest's death. Now, depending on what this 'secret weapon' was, it could be too late.

Before Monica could make another move, she found herself jerked about as something heavy put its full weight onto the end of the rope.

The Dark Assassin had jumped the distance and was now climbing after her.

Monica leapt from the rope onto a nearby piece of rigging, and the chase began anew.

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The swivelling turret that had sat silent since its volley at the start of the battle became active again.

"That cannon! Master Crest might not be able to withstand that sort of attack," Lin began panicking. "The Moon Crystal can only be used for so much."

"Don't worry Lin; it doesn't look like they're aiming at us."

From where they stood on top of the lighthouse where the last of the dark flames had been purged, the huge Death Ark cannon was pointing straight at them. An ominous sight, but it was clear to Max that the arc of the cannons fire would take the shots far below their position. Unless the cannon was about to fire a round that weighed absolutely nothing at all, the shot was going nowhere near them.

Then the turret belched, and instead of a high explosive a swollen, stormy cloud choked from the vast barrel and headed on an unerring course- despite the wind- towards Max and Lin.

"Gas attack!" Max screamed, and both he and the purple haired witch lunged aside of the oncoming cloud, Max one way, Lin the other.

The ball of gas streaked into the centre of the arena and stopped, not billowing out in all directions but staying together, containing itself.

Max was looking for any sign of another attack, when the cloud suddenly seemed to gain a mind of its own and advanced on Lin. The girl didn't even have time to get to her feet before she was engulfed.

"What is this stuff?" she choked, and pointed her broomstick as if to cast a spell.

And then she was screaming, clutching at her head with a look of absolute horror.

"Lin, what's wrong! ?" Crest cried from his perch, stopping just before he was about to expunge the last of the flames eating away at the lighthouse.

Before Max's eyes, a part of the fog intensified in mass, became solid of its own accord, and then a face he recognised appeared above Lin.

The bulbous head of the dreaded Memo-Eater reared up above the stricken girl, as fish eyed and filth ridden as it had been when Max and Monica first fought it. The wide maw closed sharply around Lin's head as though biting her, and although its teeth passed through the flesh with ghostly quality, the witch screamed even harder, buckling as if mortally wounded.

"Hold on Lin! I'm coming!" Crest yelled out as he swung down to another platform.

Max watched the scene, frozen as realisation hit him.

Of course, this was the moment when Crest died; when the enemy from the future unleashed the Memo-Eater to destroy Lin's memories of the man who would become the great sage. This attack from the Memo-Eater was the catalyst for defeat.

'I've got to stop this!'

"Crest, stay where you are!" Max called out, waving his arms frantically. Crest paused momentarily, and the inventor pressed his point.

"Without your power nothing's going to stop the ship's attack! You've got to hold them off! I'll help Lin!"

Max charged, with no idea how he was going to stop this memory eating monster. Lin's screaming was already fading out, her face gaunt and her eyes reflecting the Memo-Eater's blank gaze. Max lunged towards the apparition with his wrench held high. The Memo-Eater was just rearing back for another bite when Max landed in front of Lin. He swung his wrench into the hideous face, but the weapon ghosted right through. The Memo-Eater bit down again, and this time it was coming for Max.

Max fell to his knees as the spectral teeth vanished into his head and a blinding pain ran through him like lava. Except it wasn't actually pain, more like a memory of pain. But a pain so deep and agonising that it swamped his mind.

Max could feel the Memo-Eater sifting through his thoughts as memories and sensations came unbidden. He tried to resist the intrusion by force of will and focus on the sights and sounds in front of him, but his attempts were drowned out by the mind pain as the Memo-Eater bit again. Blood trickled out of his nose and sleep filled his eyes.

Max groaned in agony. He reached out blindly. He needed help. There was someone nearby who could help him, but trying to form words was torturous. He strained against the building pressure in his head, because he knew that there was one person he could rely on to drive off the monster that was burning out his mind, and she wasn't too far away.

"Mmm…" he mumbled "m…Monica…"

But he couldn't remember her face. It had vanished from his mind. Max's life was running in reverse, and as each memory came to mind it became lost in an instant. One by one Max's thoughts were plucked from his head and cast away callously. With Lin still incapacitated and Crest having returned to his post, nothing could stop the slow destruction of Max's mind as the years he spent in Palm Brinks vanished in a flash.

From among the thoughts coming to the forefront of his mind, something caught his attention. It was gone before he could focus on it, but he searched for that aspect again as he sensed it in another memory, and then another. By now the mechanic's only remaining memories were from his early childhood, a time so long ago he'd never clearly remembered it until now. He was fast approaching the point where there'd be nothing left, but he fought on, trying to find that one thing that stood out in his mind while all else was being destroyed.

And then something miraculous happened- Max remembered the point of his birth.

The moment was staggering; the trauma, the shock, but also the joy and glory of being alive. Max had never recalled this memory in his life, and yet somehow he'd never forgotten it either. He had been so weak and helpless, so confused by the very audacity of his existence.

And then she was holding him in her arms, and everything felt right.

The face of Max's mother was soft and kind, and so beautiful, framed by glossy brown curls, perfect diamond blue eyes shining with love. How could he have forgotten that face, the face that had melted the ice heart of Gerald Zelmite and brought comfort to the infant Max all his early life?

The Memo-Eater dug its teeth into the memory, but this time Max fought back.

'This-memory-is-MINE!'

Howling in his mind, Max threw his will against that of the Memo-Eater's. The terrible monster faltered at the riposte and its form faded a little, but it bit down on Max's head again. The boy nearly fainted as the power of the Memo-Eater crushed his thoughts.

He looked up at his mother, her almond shaped face sparkling through the hazy blur of the world. Another face accompanied hers as his father pulled his mother into an embrace, tears of joy streaming from both their eyes.

"It's a boy, Elaine," said Gerald Zelmite, choked with emotion, granite hard countenance nowhere to be seen.

Together the couple radiated such love and hope and compassion that the first moments of his life was a wave of emotion flowing over him, washing away the chaos of his birth.

"Yes Gerald," Elaine Zelmite wheezed, fighting exhaustion so that she could devote all due attention to her baby. "It's out little Max."

"NO! !" Max leapt at the monstrous apparition, wrench thrashing and free hand grabbing for its neck. The pressure of the mental attack reached such a pitch that blood was positively spurting from his nostrils and running down the back of the throat, but he ignored the pain and spat out a mouthful of red as he fought with everything he had.

This time the Memo-Eater didn't retaliate. Every blow and even the gobbet of blood that Max had spat went straight through the beast's translucent form, yet it fell to the lighthouse floor. Its mouth stretched wide in a silent scream and its snot dribbling proboscis flailed in panic. The monster's movements gradually slowed and it let out what sounded like a tired sigh, and then it simply vanished from sight.

As soon as the Memo-Eater disappeared the pain left Max's head, and all of his memories were suddenly back in place. The boy fell on all fours and gasped for air. His energy was totally spent. If any more dark flames appeared on the lighthouse he'd be done for. Beside him, Lin was also recovering.

"W-what... was that thing?"

"A memory eating monster. I think it's gone now, but this fight isn't over yet."

Together they climbed to their feet and looked out towards the Death Ark.

"What are we going to do about that ship?" asked Max.

"It looks like Master Crest is already dealing with that," Lin pointed up to where the mage stood in front of the Moon Crystal, chanting incantations now that the fire had been extinguished. "He's summoning some sort of fell magic to destroy it."

"Destroy it?" Max turned sharply to her.

"Yes; with the power of the Moon Crystal, my Master could probably obliterate that ship in one go. He's not really one for war, but if they attack again they might destroy the crystal. We can't let them do that."

"Wait! You can't destroy that ship either!" Max seized Lin's arm. "Monica's still on board!"

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The princess of Raybrandt leapt for a rope, but found herself falling as fire snaked up the length of it. The Dark Assassin was back on the deck where he'd grabbed the end of the rope with his fire emitting gauntlet. Now Monica was falling right towards him.

The girl tucked herself in and flipped upside down, falling like a dart towards the white haired killer with the tip of her blade leading. He in turn altered his tactics and raised his sword high to strike over Monica's own sword and at her stomach. Monica twisted at the last moment, knocking Infidel away and landing on her feet. She tried to cut the assassins throat, but with a simple move he stroke the blade away and his counter attack hurled Monica back several feet.

They had been fighting so long now that the sunset had turned to twilight. Monica was pushing her stamina to the limit. That she was still performing effectively was nothing short of amazing. The Dark Assassin, by contrast, hadn't even broken sweat- he wasn't even out of breath!

Monica stayed in a guard position as Gaspard approached. She could barely believe that a moment ago she was convinced that he was nothing but a coward who won his battles by stabbing his enemies in the back.

'How could I have thought he would be a pushover? This man's name is everywhere back home!'

The Dark Assassin was the very centre point of the dark armies of the future, the evil genius behind Emperor Griffin's tyranny. How could she have been so naïve to think that this apotheosis of terror and destruction could ever be overcome in single combat?

Monica shook herself. That was not the way to think. She was a Raybrandt. She would not fear her opponent. She would defeat him soundly and that would be that. There was no room for doubting herself.

The mountain of a warrior then rammed into Monica, forcing her onto one knee.

"This is the end for you, your majesty," Gaspard's face, only inches from Monica's, sneered a sneer that once again didn't make it to his eyes. They remained cold and hard- implacable, invincible.

Monica strained to hold him back, but the Dark Assassin pushed against her defence, pressing her own sword back towards her face. If she couldn't find a way to overturn their deadlock, her head would be cut in two by her own blade, or she'd simply be crushed where she knelt.

Monica released one hand from her sword hilt. The length of shining metal lurched closer. She accepted the risk as her free hand scrabbled for her ankle, where her concealed light-silver dagger lay waiting to be plunged into the hated Gaspard's flesh. Too late she remembered she had given the weapon to Max. Her ankle was bare, and the two locked swords were falling towards her, about to end the conflict.

"Rejoice, Princess," Gaspard laughed. "You'll die a warrior, and your body shall be returned to Raybrandt castle for your final rest."

Monica snarled grimly.

"Yes I will."

The girl closed her eyes in concentration as the slightest touch of her approaching sword cut away strands of hair.

"But not today!"

Then Gaspard was being catapulted across the deck, a blood red and silver stone skipping wood instead of water. Monica's sword shuddered in her hand as the electrical charge she'd fired into it from her armlet refused to dissipate. It required somewhere to be channelled to, and apparently the Dark Assassin was just the man for the job.

The man was just getting to his feet when another blow came at him. He raised his sword and weathered the new surge of pain that travelled through him, holding himself to the floor this time by sheer force of will. He countered, but Monica dodged by stepping within his the arc of his sword slash and rammed the pommel of her sword into his ribs. The man stumbled; the electricity had finally stunted his zeal, but he was already picking up the pace again.

With a cry of rage, the Dark Assassin hurled a massive blow at Monica. She raised her blade to block, but as she did a wisp of light indicating some dark spell travelled the length of the Infidel, and as the two swords met the amazon's blade snapped in the middle.

A pang of sorrow befell Monica as she regarded the broken shaft of long sword. No time for remorse, she back flipped away from a second sweeping cut. She plunged the ruined blade into the planks and used it as a platform to leap high into the air and deliver a spinning kick to Gaspard's face. She might as well have spat at him for all the good it did, and before she could land on the deck again something seized her foot- the foot with a yawning wound created by a weekdayz dagger, which had become so painfully during her acrobatics that it had gone numb.

'Oh no,' Monica mentally groaned as she flopped in Gaspard's grip.

The Dark Assassin lashed the princess's entire body against the deck like a whip. His grip on her foot reignited scalding agony from the lingering wound, and as he slammed Monica down, splinters danced away from the impact site.

"You can't win against me, your majesty," the assassin gloated. He kept a tight hold of Monica's foot, and while he did she was completely unable to get up again and fight, not that she was in much condition too.

The girl lay helplessly aboard the Death Ark. Even the very slightest of movements caused pain. Each breath was like boiling water running through her. Every heartbeat was a pulse of agony across her body. She could neither reach the Dark Assassin nor muster the energy to use magic against him. She thought longingly of her priceless dagger, just perfect for throwing at Gaspard's exposed chest as he raised his sword for a final blow.

If only she hadn't have given it to Max. Without it she was now out of weapons. A spiteful thought blamed Max for her predicament, but she pushed it away. She didn't want to think badly of Max right now- not when her doom seemed to be so close at hand. Instead, she reminded herself of the good that had come from him, all the help he'd lent so selflessly to her mission, how he'd supported her in moments of despair (his replacing her with Lin notwithstanding), and that gift he'd given her, made by his own hand- the bell trigger.

Monica's hand dived to her belt in a frantic scrabble for the one weapon that she had left, a weapon that she'd completely forgotten about, not being used to having such a thing. The Dark Assassin was only a heartbeat away from bringing Infidel down on her when she pulled the gun from its holster and fired. The Dark Assassin fell back as a tirade of red hot bullets slammed into him.

Monica felt like she could lie there forever, gasping her fatigue and relief to the fiery sky in the blimp above. She'd won, and she was alive. But she only allowed herself three seconds to recover before getting up. When she did, her energy flooded back in a flurry of panic and she had her broken sword handle back in her hand instantly.

The Dark Assassin was still alive!

The terrifying man was crouched on the deck- impossibly, unbelievably- alive! He looked worn out, but there wasn't a single wound or drop of blood to be seen. Not a single dent or scratch marred his armour.

The assassin glared at the princess and tried to rise, but he fell back to his knees. He clutched a hand to his chest in pain. Despite whatever dark power he had, it had drained him to survive the mortal wounds Monica had dealt him. The girl's shock turned to smug pleasure- the Dark Assassin could be hurt, and that surely meant he could also be killed.

"Uh," Gaspard grunted. "Impressive. Yours skills outmatch even your father's."

Monica instantly dismissed the idea.

"Not so easy when you can't get a chance to backstab your opponent." she mocked. That was clearly how Gaspard had managed to defeat her father- trickery, deception, cowardice. That was all there was to it.

"Face it Gaspard. You've lost!" Monica advanced on the Dark Assassin and thrust the remainder of her shattered blade in his face. The man looked impassively into her eyes. The broken long sword was next to useless for combat, but what was left of it was still enough to cut off the Dark Assassin's head.

Monica paused to savour her victory. This was her chance to strike down Emperor Griffin's most feared commander and turn the tide of the battle for the future in one blow. The chance to pay back Gaspard in kind for what he did to King Ebenezer Raybrandt.

'This,' she thought as her grip tightened 'is for my father.'

…

And that's when she stopped.

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Sorry for giving you another filler chapter. I'm working to get round this slow period that this fic seems to have met. The next update will be the last part of this chapter, and with any luck my writing will become a bit more interesting again. Thank you all for your patience.