Fan Fiction ❯ The Doreen Sword ❯ Chapter 1

The Doreen Sword

By Evil Jason

DISCLAIMER: I do not have any rights whatsoever to Chrono Trigger or anything connected to it. I wish I did, but all such rights belong to Squaresoft. As you may have noticed, I've overlooked a couple of paradoxes, but let's face it - so did Chrono Trigger itself.

Zeal was falling. That information had spread throughout all of the floating island, including Enhasa. Some of the populace managed to get to the beams that provided transit between Zeal and the Earthbound Ones, but the beams cut out as the island started to fall. The rest of the people, having no other reasonable alternative, started to panic. In Enhasa, most of the people were asleep and having some of history's worst nightmares.

The spirit named Doreen happened to be in Enhasa at the time. Having spent some time in a dream, she popped into existence again just as the panic set in. Seeing everyone rushing around in a blind panic, she grabbed the closest man (who, for some reason, was carrying a large stack of Lode Shields) and asked, "What in the name of the Queen is going on?"

The man stared at her from under his shields and replied, "Haven't you heard? The Kingdom of Zeal is falling into the ocean! We're all about to die!"

Doreen blinked once. The information settled into place, and she shouted, "How did this happen?"

The man struggled out of Doreen's grip. "Apparently, a bunch of punks got into the Ocean Palace and attacked the Mammon Machine. Lavos got mad, shot off some energy at the kingdom, and, well, just look around! I'm outta here… Best of luck to you!" Rearranging the Lode Shields, the man shot off towards an exit, only to fall through a crack in the ground.

Doreen looked around. Enhasa was about to break about and fall into the ocean, just like the rest of the kingdom. Zeal was doomed. There was only one thing for her to do if she wanted to survive…

Like her brothers, Masa and Mune, Doreen was a spirit. Also like them, she had a material form - a sword. Unlike her brothers, however, who merely existed in synch with their blade, Doreen was the sword, and was able to turn into it…

As the floor gave way and the island fell into the waters below, Doreen suddenly disappeared in a flash of light; when the light faded, a sword was in her place.

Seeing as the ground below the sword was now non-existent, the sword was immediately seized by the force of gravity and plunged downward, finally coming to a stop in the ocean below.

*****

Time passed, in its normal one-day-per-day-and-that's-all-you-get manner. The Enlightened Ones, who were now no different than the Earthbound Ones, managed to survive… some of them, anyway. None of the survivors from Enhasa recalled seeing Doreen on their way out, but they all assumed that she had gotten out somehow.

The Black Omen appeared in the skies, bringing back memories of the Ocean Palace, but was eventually destroyed by the same people who had destroyed the Ocean Palace earlier. People soon forgot about it and kept living.

The years began to add up, one at a time but quickly reaching large amounts. The people who remembered Doreen eventually got so old that they couldn't walk without having other people move their legs and then finally died. They had told their children about the Enhasa spirit, but as the memories of Zeal faded, the people stopped bringing up the past or the spirits that lived in it. Decades and centuries rolled by…

And throughout all this time, Doreen drifted through the ocean, still as a sword - the fall of Zeal had ruined magic, and she was unable to turn back without some degree of magic in the world. (Her brothers, Masa and Mune, were powerless without each other, but seeing as they didn't actually become the sword, they had the advantage on this front.)

Over time, Doreen weakened as the sword rusted and was otherwise aged in the salt-filled waters of the deep. Soon, there was barely a glimmer of life in the blade…

*****

The calendar eventually tiptoed its way to the year 598 A.D. The people had changed somewhat, and the world now saw the beginnings of a modern era still off about 400 years in the distance. Still, it was better than 12,000 B.C. had ever seemed. The only bad thing, really, was the fact that the Mystics seemed to be up to something…

One such Mystic wandered along the edge of an island, trying to find a useful object among the items that the tide had no use for. He was certain that there were no human fishing crews out there, just waiting to spot one of the Mystics and thus being able to report the location of the so-called demihumans to the King. It would definitely go down on a list of this Mystic's least favorite things.

The Mystic could be mistaken for a human, from a good distance and assuming the person looking at him was color-blind. He was yellow-skinned, with pointed ears and a shaved head (hair interfered with his helmet). The Mystic's name was Slash.

As he wandered the island's edge, Slash brooded over the fact that there was seemingly nothing worth taking among the flotsam that was washed ashore. There were pieces of driftwood, ruined clothing articles tossed from boats, the occasional message in a bottle (they were always love notes or something like that), an old, rusty sword…

Slash came to a stop and backed up several steps until he was standing beside the rusty sword. How could such a thing fall into the seas? Nobody ever just discarded a sword, and if one fell overboard it generally just lodged in the ocean floor. Not wanting to let opportunity pass him without at least asking it to stick around and have some biscuits, Slash bent over and picked up the sword.

Besides its age and the deep rust, the sword was in good condition. It was still repairable, and it had all the signs of having come from the forge of a master. And there was another thing: when Slash picked it up, he could sense something deep within the sword, almost as if there were a spirit within the blade.

Turning towards home (a massive mansion recently acquired by Slash's master), the Mystic traveled off.

*****

Once back in the mansion, Slash nodded a hello to his other boss, Ozzie, and then headed off toward the forge room. Not even Slash's masters knew about the forge room, but it was there, and was responsible for a sporadic burst of flame from time to time that had scared off the seagulls some time before.

Upon his entrance into the forge room, Slash quickly donned a leather apron and a protective facemask he had created, and then heated up the forge before placing the sword on a table. Sealing the door to muffle the noises, he proceeded to assess the situation. Before he could try to restore the sword, he would have to remove the rust.

Donning a glove, Slash reached into a barrel of sand and pulled some out. He poured the sand onto the sword's blade and started to rub at it with his gloved hand, letting the sand grind off the rust. As the grains of sand slipped off of the blade, Slash poured on more sand. As he worked, day passed into night and dinner passed into second dinner, which passed into post-meal feeding (Ozzie being a hideous glutton). It was deep into the night when Slash finally eliminated the last piece of rust.

Nearly exhausted, his arms aching, Slash admired his work. The blade was now clean of the rust, but the sword had taken various beatings over its time and had gone dull. Picking up the sword, Slash laid it on the heated forge and picked up the hammer; he was going to beat an edge onto the sword, one that would never again need sharpening.

The hammer's work continued not only throughout the night but also into the next morning, as Slash proceeded to return the sword's edge to it. As he worked, the sword seemed to glow with some inner light, eventually outshining the forge's glow. Finally, the hammer's work was done. Using an insulated glove, Slash removed the heated sword from the forge and dipped it into a barrel full of water, cooling the newly sharpened blade. His work finished, he placed the sword on the table again and then fell onto a cot he kept in the forge room, where he passed out asleep.

*****

Within the sword, Doreen stirred for the first time in years. She had fallen into a deep sleep, almost a coma, during the time that the sword had drifted through the waters. Now, whoever had found the sword had repaired it, and returned it to a state of near-perfection. Doreen couldn't complain about that, but there was something wrong with his soul…

Doreen had always had the ability to sense what was within the hearts of those who picked up the sword. This one seemed to have a dark cloud over his soul, as if he had blocked out any trace of a good side. It was clear that he wasn't about to defend the helpless anytime soon.

But Doreen couldn't help it. There was magic in the world, all right, so she could've turned back into her normal spirit form, but… this man, however dark his spirit was, had taken the time to repair the sword. She owned him one.

"All right, then," Doreen muttered to herself. "I'll go along… but the next time someone with a better soul turns up, I hope he cuts you in half, dark boy!"

*****

The sun set again, and it was between dinner and second dinner when Slash woke up. His arms were still sore from his work on the sword, but they felt better. He got up, stretched out, and admired the sword again. Picking it up, he gave it a few test swings. It was superbly balanced and oddly light; it was so light, in fact, that he accidentally cut his forge hammer's handle into three parts while adjusting to the sword's weight. This had to be his best find ever… he had to show it to the others.

Making sure that nobody saw him, Slash made his way out of the forge room and headed to the banquet room. As he thought, Ozzie and Flea (whose gender was a subject of many bets among the Hench guards) were at the table; Slash's master, Magus, was apparently out.

Ozzie looked up as Slash came into the room and called out, "Where were you gone to, Slash? We missed you at breakfast - and breakfast two, and midmorning snacks, and…"

Slash nodded. "I know, I know. I was busy with this." He presented the sword to the other Mystics, awaiting their comments.

Flea looked the sword over and snorted, "Is that really all you were busy with? I doubt it was worth your time."

Now a bit annoyed, Slash raised the sword and announced, "Let me demonstrate what I can do with this!" Quickly, he flipped a chair into the air and, with a few nearly invisible swipes, separated the chair into back, seat, and legs.

Ozzie spat out a chicken he was attempting to swallow in shock. "By Magus, that sword is a hell of a thing! I think you've outdone yourself."

Slash smiled and jauntily thrust the sword point-downwards into the ground, allowing himself to strike a neat pose. "Thanks. It took me long enough to repair it."

Flea laughed a bit, and then asked, "Does it have a name yet?"

Pulling the sword back up, Slash cut the air for dramatic effect and announced, "I have named it… the Slasher!"

Ozzie and Flea just stared at him.

Slash glared in response and yelled, "Well, it's not like either of YOU worked on the bloody thing!"

*****

Doreen sighed and curled into a small ball. What sort of git named his sword after himself? She definitely needed a new owner…

And about two years later, she got one.