Disclaimer: I do not own Cyberchase.
Summary: Will the returned Crimson Blade, altered but still as evil as ever, achieve his ultimate goal? Who will become tangled in his dark designs? And, most of all, who will survive his vicious onslaught? New allies, new threats, and old enemies combine to make the Cybersquad's desperate fight against Crimson harder than ever…
Rating: PG-13 (minimal gore, death, violence)
Author's Note/s: This is the third and final story of the "Crimson Blade" saga. First of all came "Raven Heart", by DarkHououmon, then "Crimson Kiss", by Mister Pie. I would suggest reading those stories first. Both of these people did an excellent job, and it is an honour to attempt to finish off the story nicely!
I hope you enjoy Final Destinations.
Re-edit: I would like to welcome all to the re-edit – it's much easier to understand, and updated so no one gets confused. (Such as the Scythe issue, and the end of Chapter 11.) You'll notice some changes have been made to some dialogue, among other things. Been working on this for a while (Heh, a "while") so… hope it's much better than last time.
Oh, and I'm sorry to people who have me on their Author Alert lists – you'll have to put up with fifteen submissions in your inbox (not all at once, of course).
Chapter 1: ResurrectionA storm was coming.
Like a sad ghost of something pure and beautiful, the abandoned church stood amongst the faded grass, the iron cross mounted on the highest point of its roof stark against the stormy sky.
As the door of the church swung back and forth in the strong breeze, creaking ominously, thunder rolled and a single fork of lightning streaked through the sky with a loud CRRACK!
Inside the church was no better than outside. The walls, once pristine, were marked and mildewed. The stained glass windows were shattered and fragmented, the paintings torn and ripped. The clean, sandy-orange carpet was stained with dirt and – could it be? – blood. All of the seats were splintered and broken, their remains scattered about the room.
The organ, whose pipes had once reached up as if to touch the sky, was cracked; a strange hole in the ground lay in front of it, surrounded by broken pipes and debris.
At the front, where the altar would normally stand but was no longer there, a battered coffin sat, its once gleaming wood glowing dully in the little light that shone down upon it.
And seated upon the closed lid was a figure out of the worst of nightmares, made of the very essence of fear. A figure who would make the most fearless tremble in their boots.
A mismatch of things good and evil, Crimson Blade was a creature that never should have existed. Once he/she had been without fear. Once he/she had been confident of himself. Once, he/she had had the chance to kill his/her enemy once and for all.
(Crimson Blade is actually male in gender, considering most of his counterparts are male.)
Now he was a broken spirit. Half-insane, driven that way by his brief but humiliating defeat by an eleven-year-old boy, and quick to anger, he murdered anyone who happened to wander into the church, whether for shelter or merely curiosity, tossing their gnawed bones outside to bleach – and to ward off anyone else who dared to enter.
His seemingly perfect revenge had been interrupted by that event which tortured him consistently. And now… now had come the time when he would once more unleash himself upon the world.
How he had survived that last defeat, he did not know. There had been pain, so terrible he just wanted it to end, right then. After that his world had faded to black, but before he knew it he could feel the weight to the pipes bearing down on his crushed body again, and there was no pain, only a weird dullness and a strange feeling of discomfort. He had shoved upwards through the rubble, seeing the pipes go flying with great satisfaction, and risen once more.
He had been given one more chance. The fates were with him now. Crimson knew his mission – to seek out and destroy the boy who had ruined his every instant of life. Every single day he imagined gruesome deaths to the one whom he loathed with the deepest of hate. Every day he plotted and planned in his shelter from the world. Now he was ready.
Heaving a sigh that seemed to come from deep within, the insane creature glanced around at the place where he had hidden for so long. Slowly standing up and moving forwards, he sauntered down the flight of stairs with a slight limp, the twitch in his face the only flaw in his expression.
Upon exiting the building, he plucked from his front pocket a box of matches, which he had discovered on one of the victims he had killed so recklessly; drawing a match out and flicking it alight, Crimson tossed it to the roof of the church, and watched the entire thing burn to the ground in a sea of golden-yellow flames, that same blank expression still smoothly set on his twisted face.
Then he turned his back to the blackened ruins and concentrated with all his will, his destination clearly pictured in his mind. And with a whisper, he disappeared like smoke in the wind.