[ FIC - all your cities I will burn ]
Written for SC's drabble meme. In the bad version of the game's TYL event, this is what happens to Crona.
all your cities I will burn.
948 words drabble.
year one.
Spirit Albarn was dead.
Crona was there when the funeral happened, and the kid watched Maka over the grave, Maka trying not to cry when tears were already rolling down her cheeks and falling onto the ground. The tombstone was new, freshly cut and just engraved the day before the burial.
SPIRIT ALBARN, the tombstone read - and in smaller text: Deathscythe and beloved father.
Maka was still crying/not-crying, and Crona could only watch and do nothing else.
The kid would wonder later how would it be like having a father who loved you.
year two.
The Madness was getting stronger and stronger, and Crona could feel it. Being so tuned to it due to the Black Blood that flowed in his/her veins, Crona watched as the world started to shudder and break as Insanity slowly enveloped every corner of the world.
Maka was fighting harder than ever with Soul, the two having achieved Deathscythe status a few months after Spirit's demise. They were the only ones Shibusen could depend on now as the war raged harder and ever and the battles more and more difficult. Crona fought too - fighting alongside Maka and giving her the support the scythe technician needed as Crona pushed him/herself to make Raganrok a Deathscythe too. The guests were already starting to push themselves, and the first few guests were already going to reach Deathscythe status.
Shibusen needed all the help they could get, as the guests brought in by BREW became more sparse. Rumours were abound that BREW would soon stop working entirely, but Crona didn't care.
They had to win this war. They had to.
year three.
Asura's wavelength had all but enveloped the entire world now, everything sinking into madness as Crona slowly watched the world burn and destroy itself. The battle still pushed on, but the world was turning more and more dangerous the now talks of moving underground were under-way, construction already being planned. Crona, of course, didn't care as always; what was most important was that Maka was alright.
And she was, at least to a degree. She was the city's best line of defence now, and the one everybody depended on. Ragnarok still wasn't a deathscythe yet, but they were close to doing it; all they needed was a soul of a Witch and they would be done. Maka promised that she'd accompany Crona on the day they hunted down a Witch for the event, and Crona looked forward to it.
Once Ragnarok was a deathscythe, s/he would be able to help Maka even more.
year four.
Crona watched in fear as Maka landed onto the ground, unconscious along with Soul who lay at her side bleeding his guts out. Crona could smell the Black Blood flowing out of him, the stench of insanity that the kid knew so well because the kid had spent his/her life living with it. Blood covered his/her skin, dripping from his/her chin - it had been an ambush, a trap, and because of this now Maka was going to die and it was all for nothing.
"If you had just stuck with me, Crona, this wouldn't have happened," Medusa noted dispassionately as the snake Witch glanced over at Maka, distaste clear on her features. Crona tried to move, but the vectors holding him/her down wouldn't even so much as budge.
Ragnarok was gone for the moment, shattered into pieces under Medusa's magic, leaving Crona to growl and struggle as the kid cried out. "Let Maka go!"
Medusa turned to Crona at that, raising her head to look at her own child with an expression that was clearly unamused. "And let Shibusen's strongest pair leave here alive? Why should I do that, Crona?"
"You--" Crona started, wincing at the vector that tightened around his/her wrist. "You don't want her."
"You're right," Medusa returned, a cruel smile flashing across her face as she hissed. "I want her dead."
"You can't!"
Medusa inclined her head. "And what makes you say that, Crona?"
Crona clenched his/her jaw and looked at Medusa, looking at the Witch straight in the eye for the second and last time in the kid's life. "If you let Maka go, I'll go with you."
The Witch paused for a moment after that, but eventually she smiled like the snake that she was. "Sounds fair enough," she went, raising one hand that crackled with magic.
Crona closed his/her eyes and bowed his/her head, waiting. Forgive me, Maka.
year five.
It hurt.
It hurt so much, and Medusa wouldn't stop.
Crona tried to remember how many times s/he called out for Maka, but even by now s/he's lost count.
year six.
Crona sees a rabbit at his/her feet.
Medusa passes a knife and tells Crona to kill it in three ways.
Crush. Stab. Cut.
There's blood everywhere, and Medusa smiles.
year seven.
There are faces before Crona, faces that Crona thinks should be recognizable, once upon a time.
But they're faces now, faces of people who Medusa-sama doesn't like.
Crona raises the thin, black sword that appears in hand.
Ragnarok's hungry.
year eight.
Determined green eyes. Pigtails, now streaked with blood.
A boy with bloodied white hair, turning into a scythe.
Crona thinks they should be remembered, but can't care.
Ragnarok hungers for blood, and Crona will sate it.
year nine.
Blood. Hunger. Ragnarok.
Crona feeds.
year ten.
She smiles, and gives Crona food and love and everything Crona asked for, once upon a time.
This woman is not-
Crona screams and snarls, and slicks Ragnarok with the blood of the fake.
endgame.
Ragnarok's hungry, but there's nobody to kill.
Nobody-
Crona turns around to see the remnants of Michigan, raising Ragnarok in hand.
It should hurt when the blade slides in, but it doesn't.
Ragnarok's not hungry anymore.
all your cities I will burn.
948 words drabble.
year one.
Spirit Albarn was dead.
Crona was there when the funeral happened, and the kid watched Maka over the grave, Maka trying not to cry when tears were already rolling down her cheeks and falling onto the ground. The tombstone was new, freshly cut and just engraved the day before the burial.
SPIRIT ALBARN, the tombstone read - and in smaller text: Deathscythe and beloved father.
Maka was still crying/not-crying, and Crona could only watch and do nothing else.
The kid would wonder later how would it be like having a father who loved you.
year two.
The Madness was getting stronger and stronger, and Crona could feel it. Being so tuned to it due to the Black Blood that flowed in his/her veins, Crona watched as the world started to shudder and break as Insanity slowly enveloped every corner of the world.
Maka was fighting harder than ever with Soul, the two having achieved Deathscythe status a few months after Spirit's demise. They were the only ones Shibusen could depend on now as the war raged harder and ever and the battles more and more difficult. Crona fought too - fighting alongside Maka and giving her the support the scythe technician needed as Crona pushed him/herself to make Raganrok a Deathscythe too. The guests were already starting to push themselves, and the first few guests were already going to reach Deathscythe status.
Shibusen needed all the help they could get, as the guests brought in by BREW became more sparse. Rumours were abound that BREW would soon stop working entirely, but Crona didn't care.
They had to win this war. They had to.
year three.
Asura's wavelength had all but enveloped the entire world now, everything sinking into madness as Crona slowly watched the world burn and destroy itself. The battle still pushed on, but the world was turning more and more dangerous the now talks of moving underground were under-way, construction already being planned. Crona, of course, didn't care as always; what was most important was that Maka was alright.
And she was, at least to a degree. She was the city's best line of defence now, and the one everybody depended on. Ragnarok still wasn't a deathscythe yet, but they were close to doing it; all they needed was a soul of a Witch and they would be done. Maka promised that she'd accompany Crona on the day they hunted down a Witch for the event, and Crona looked forward to it.
Once Ragnarok was a deathscythe, s/he would be able to help Maka even more.
year four.
Crona watched in fear as Maka landed onto the ground, unconscious along with Soul who lay at her side bleeding his guts out. Crona could smell the Black Blood flowing out of him, the stench of insanity that the kid knew so well because the kid had spent his/her life living with it. Blood covered his/her skin, dripping from his/her chin - it had been an ambush, a trap, and because of this now Maka was going to die and it was all for nothing.
"If you had just stuck with me, Crona, this wouldn't have happened," Medusa noted dispassionately as the snake Witch glanced over at Maka, distaste clear on her features. Crona tried to move, but the vectors holding him/her down wouldn't even so much as budge.
Ragnarok was gone for the moment, shattered into pieces under Medusa's magic, leaving Crona to growl and struggle as the kid cried out. "Let Maka go!"
Medusa turned to Crona at that, raising her head to look at her own child with an expression that was clearly unamused. "And let Shibusen's strongest pair leave here alive? Why should I do that, Crona?"
"You--" Crona started, wincing at the vector that tightened around his/her wrist. "You don't want her."
"You're right," Medusa returned, a cruel smile flashing across her face as she hissed. "I want her dead."
"You can't!"
Medusa inclined her head. "And what makes you say that, Crona?"
Crona clenched his/her jaw and looked at Medusa, looking at the Witch straight in the eye for the second and last time in the kid's life. "If you let Maka go, I'll go with you."
The Witch paused for a moment after that, but eventually she smiled like the snake that she was. "Sounds fair enough," she went, raising one hand that crackled with magic.
Crona closed his/her eyes and bowed his/her head, waiting. Forgive me, Maka.
year five.
It hurt.
It hurt so much, and Medusa wouldn't stop.
Crona tried to remember how many times s/he called out for Maka, but even by now s/he's lost count.
year six.
Crona sees a rabbit at his/her feet.
Medusa passes a knife and tells Crona to kill it in three ways.
Crush. Stab. Cut.
There's blood everywhere, and Medusa smiles.
year seven.
There are faces before Crona, faces that Crona thinks should be recognizable, once upon a time.
But they're faces now, faces of people who Medusa-sama doesn't like.
Crona raises the thin, black sword that appears in hand.
Ragnarok's hungry.
year eight.
Determined green eyes. Pigtails, now streaked with blood.
A boy with bloodied white hair, turning into a scythe.
Crona thinks they should be remembered, but can't care.
Ragnarok hungers for blood, and Crona will sate it.
year nine.
Blood. Hunger. Ragnarok.
Crona feeds.
year ten.
She smiles, and gives Crona food and love and everything Crona asked for, once upon a time.
This woman is not-
Crona screams and snarls, and slicks Ragnarok with the blood of the fake.
endgame.
Ragnarok's hungry, but there's nobody to kill.
Nobody-
Crona turns around to see the remnants of Michigan, raising Ragnarok in hand.
It should hurt when the blade slides in, but it doesn't.
Ragnarok's not hungry anymore.