Means to an End

Author's Note v1.3: Still very much a work in progress. As in, my plot is still flexible and growing. It is not about the pairings. OHNOES. It'll have a plot. It may have more plot than pairings. DOUBLE OHNOES. But hopefully it'll come off halfway decent and I won't butcher the characters too badly.
Author's Note v2.0: I don't know what I was thinking writing this in present tense. If it gets too painful I may wind up swapping mid-story. But I'll try to persevere. For practice. Yeah.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Chrono Trigger.


I’ve been killing people long enough to know what kind of damage my body has sustained and how many seconds I have left to live. The answer is not many. It’s not because of the damage – it’s incapacitating but not immediately lethal – it’s because of who inflicted it. I can hear him walking towards me and I struggle to my knees, watching in mild disbelief at the blood pooling beneath my hands. I can taste copper in my mouth and it’s hard to breath. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. And the many, many shallow wounds from whatever it was he did that tore me apart.

An hour or so and I’ll die from blood loss. I wouldn’t put it past him to let that happen – maybe if fate is merciful I’ll pass out and not wake up. If I have to die, it’d be nice for it to be painless. Not like this.

“You were betrayed, assassin,” he says, and I turn to look at him.

There’s a blur of motion, his boot smashes into my temple, and it all goes away.





To be honest, I didn’t expect to succeed. Word had gotten around among the underground community I traffic in that he was a devil incarnate and that anyone trying to infiltrate his castle usually met a horrible demise. I must admit though, I didn’t expect to die either. Ancient blood ran in my family that granted us immunity from certain things, one of those being a resistance to magic and its associated powers. It was a source of pride for us and in years past we had been an influential noble family in Guardia. That was all gone now. My eldest brother had refused the title and left, my second eldest brother died from fever when we were still young, and I, the youngest daughter, left under the command of a man who would be my mentor for the next five years.

Assassin. He never said that was what he was training me for. I found out soon enough, when the soldiers from the castle came to our remote abode to arrest him. It was the first time I killed and after that he gave me some master-crafted knives and started introducing me to contacts I would find useful.

I’m not sure why I never disagreed with the path he set me on. I suppose I thought it was as good as any other, and it had a certain flair of excitement to it. Or perhaps my brother’s early death had inured me to the thought of dying and killing. I honestly don’t know.

But whatever my reasons, I was a good assassin. A small woman, appearing much younger than I actually was, fair of form, slender and lithe, but strong and agile. I could twist and slide through the tightest of spaces, climb like a monkey, and hide in the smallest of nooks. I didn’t expect to succeed when I was hired to kill Magus. I didn’t expect to fail like this either, though.




I wake, and feel manacles on my wrists. They are pulled up over my head and I crane my neck to see a beam above me. My toes barely touch the ground and I exhale slowly, trying to still my mind and put all thoughts of pain away. It is hard though, even with training. The rib aches and although I am no longer breathing blood, I can still feel the half-closed wounds along my back, stomach, legs and arms opening and trickling blood with every small movement I make.

No one taught me magic. Just how to recognize a spell being cast and how to avoid it. So I had no idea what it was he had done.

I try to lift myself, to see if I could swing myself up over the beam and get enough slack to work on freeing myself from the manacles. It takes a couple tries, but I finally manage to hook one leg over and pull myself up. Panting, I lay on top of the beam; legs wrapped around it and bound wrists hanging off one side.




It’d been a couple hours after dark when I started my approach. I’d been scouting this place out for several days now and had found what I could from my various resources in the underground world. One had even managed to sneak me into the Guardia castle and present me to a noble, who gladly supplied what information he could from the Guardia army’s intelligence. I suppose he was willing to give an assassin a long-shot chance at ending this war. I must admit, even I was hoping that this would succeed, despite the odds. Mercenary I may be, but I do live in Guardia, and I do have a streak of patriotism in me.

I scaled the castle from the outside. It seemed to me that the biggest mistake anyone else who had tried this was to go inside and navigate from there. The place had to be crawling with monsters or his servants or whatever. So I attacked the problem from without. Being small, it would be easy to not see me. I covered myself in black, darkened my face and hands with soot, and began my climb. Around my waist was a grappling hook, on my thigh was my small crossbow and bolts. Upper arms held my darts, forearms and shins my knives. Around my neck was an amulet that provided some resistance to magical effects, which combined with my bloodline, would keep me immune long enough to either escape or kill my target. I suspected the former would be the end result, and so I made sure to note an escape route.




After I regain my breath, I sit up and inspect my bonds. Non-magical, thankfully. I reach up and pluck a small piece of metal from my hair, a lockpick that masquerades as a hairclip. I am honestly surprised they had not taken that – either Magus was not used to dealing with assassins or he had incompetent lackeys search and bind me.

I tune out my surroundings as I work. The lock is more difficult than I expected, compounded by the fact that my wrists are imprisoned in the very lock I am trying to break. Finally, as sweat streaks my face and the back of my neck, it comes undone with a clack. I replace the lockpick in my hair and stretch my aching fingers. Then I inspect my injuries.

The internal bleeding must be gone, as I am still alive. Similarly, the slashes all across my body have been healed up enough to keep the blood loss to manageable levels. Did a mystic or some other magic-user do this? I finger the torn fabric of my shirt and frown. All my weapons are gone. I hurt, I was still injured, but I was alive and now free from my restraints. Now, to wait until Magus or someone took a notice in me.



It’s always easiest to kill a target while they’re sleeping. That was why I found myself crouching on the ledge outside Magus’s room, working my stiletto into the frame to pry it open. It slid slowly up and I ducked inside, landing silently on the floor below. The bare stone was covered with thick rugs all across the vast expanse. I felt a brief warmth across my chest and dismissed it – of course a powerful mage like Magus would have wards. Thankfully, the amulet I wore and my bloodline would help me avoid triggering any sort of alarm.

I kept my knife out and drew another, the one I kept on my right leg. This one was poisoned. I held it away from my body as I stole across the room. Rich carpet. Tapestries. Elegant furniture. And the large bed surrounded by draping cloth, like liquid silver in the moonlight. I could see a shape asleep among the fabric, pale blue hair spread out along the pillow and chest moving rhythmically. For a wild moment, I almost believed I would pull it off.

Part the curtains. Slide one knee onto the edge. Lean over, raise dagger and…

Movement, so fast. Hand snapped around my wrist, twisting it close to the breaking point. I did not cry out, but my knife fell from my hand and with one fluid movement, Magus twisted and threw me. I flipped, hit the ground on my feet, and skidded as he stood to face me, bare-chested in the moonlight with his hair spreading out behind him like wings.

Between me and the window. I could see the door to his bedroom out of my peripheral vision. I lunged for it, faking, and he raised his hand and the amulet went red-hot against my chest, then cracked in two and went cold. Line one of magical defenses gone. I had seconds left. Drew crossbow, fired, he rolled aside and I ran for the window, back-flipping as I did so and throwing darts to keep him occupied. I knew I wouldn’t succeed in killing him, so now it was time to at least escape alive and happy with the half up front my employer had given me.

And it all went wrong at that point. It was like the moon, the stars, all light went out. I stumbled, listened for my bearings, and then something ripped through my bloodline immunity and tore me apart. Fell to one knee. Vision returned, and he was standing nearby. Cracked a foot into my chest, shattering a rib, which punctured an organ. Before he kicked me into unconsciousness, after he said I’d been betrayed, it all clicked into startling clarity. He’d been waiting. I got into the castle; I got past the wards, all because he was waiting to deal with me himself.




There’s noise outside my cell. I ready myself like a cat on the beam above. A squat reptilian creature with an oversized helm and spear appears in the doorway.

“Wha..?” it stammers and I dive.

Hands close around its head, knees lock around shoulders, and I twist and snap its neck. Continue the roll, snatch up his spear, and impale his friend. I jerk the weapon free, and then my bloodline immunity fails me once again. An invisible hand closes around me and I’m hurled against the wall, breaking another rib. I cough and fall limp.

“Really, you think we’d just let underlings deal with you?”

The voice is light, gentle and mocking, and I turn my head to regard the speaker. An effeminate person, pointed ears, bright pink hair drawn back into a braid that brushes the floor, and his hand is raised in a claw, holding me in place with invisible bonds. I must assume this is Flea, the mystic of quasi-indeterminate gender.

“Tsk. I must admit, there’s potential here. Perhaps in another five years or so you’d be talented enough to give Magus a challenge – but now – not at all. I’m letting you down now. Do try to behave.”

He sets me down gently and I hunch up against the wall, running one hand lightly across my ribs. Two spots react with searing hot pain and I grimace.

“Follow me.”

I comply. We leave the two dead guards behind us and the mystic doesn’t even seem to care. By this point, the fear is starting to creep back in. While I still had a chance to escape… I wasn’t afraid then. Now, however, after being battered and tossed about like a rag doll by their magic, I realize that I’m gotten myself into something I might not get out of. That is when the fear sinks into my gut.

He stops outside two great oaken doors. Turns to regard me.

“Magus is not nearly as patient as I am. Do mind yourself. I can’t guarantee a quick death at his hands if you don’t, and believe me, that’s what you should be praying for now.”

The mystic smiles, I take a deep breath to steady myself, and enter the room.

It’s a vast hallway flanked by pillars and windows on either end. Sunlight crisscrosses the floor and I can see a shadow marring one of the rectangles of light. This is where I head, pausing a short distance away. He has his back turned to me, cloak hiding most of his form, long blue hair hiding his face.

“Sir,” I say softly, tentatively. Whatever this is about, I want it over with. Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to kill me just yet.

“Your name, if you will.”

He’s still not looking at me. I take a step forwards and he half-turns his face towards me.

“Stoat.”

“That is what you are known as. I want your real name.”

He’s either very perceptive or has done a bit of research into the underground world of thieves, murderers, and assassins. I wouldn’t doubt either and decided to be very, very careful about what I say.

“Leisele Madaras.”

“And do the rest of your family share this unique resistance towards magic?”

“We do. But… my family is much diminished. I haven’t heard from my kin in years.”

“Hnn.”

He turns and regards me, carefully looking me up and down. I realize at that moment just how tired and hurt I am, and try not to let it show under his scrutiny.

“You do realize by now, I imagine, that you were betrayed in your mission.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I have a bargain. My informant is no longer useful. He throws me tidbits and expects that shall be enough to keep him in my good graces. I will give you his name for you to kill at your leisure if you do the same for the person who hired you.”

He pauses.

“Unless, of course, you decided upon this endeavor yourself.”

I laugh.

“I thought not. A name, Leisele. Who hired you?”

“That is not information I disclose…”

Magus crosses the distance between us and digs one gloved hand into my hair and tilting my head up to meet his stare. I try to step back but his grasp is like stone.

“A name. Don’t pretend to be so loyal to your contractor – I know your kind. Give me the name.”

I squirm. Pull at the hand that holds me, he only catches my wrist and digs his thumb into the nerves of the wrist until I freeze with a gasp.

“I – I can’t…”

An assassin that discloses the name of their employer is an assassin that either doesn’t live long past that, or is never hired again. Besides, in all honesty, I didn’t know. The entire contract was handled by intermediaries.

“Then I’ll rip it from you. Flea!”

I turn and the pink-haired mystic is walking over. Had he been watching the entire time? Magus lets go and I quickly step back out of his reach.

“Shut her away again. I’ll deal with her later.”

“Of course.”

He bows, then gestures for me to follow.

“Flea,” I say softly as he walks me back along the dark hallways of the castle, down the countless stairs towards the dungeons once more, “doesn’t he know that assassins are almost never given the name of the person who hires them?”

“But a wise one would find out who it is that hired them.”

He stops outside the cell. I note that the bodies are gone.

“Or are you not wise?”

I turn my head away and he tsks, kicks the door open and nods for me to enter.

“I see. Well,” he chuckles, “I am thankful that I am not you then. I imagine Magus will grow bored enough to have another talk sometime this evening. Good luck with that.”

I hesitate, and he gestures, using his magic to once again throw me around. This time it’s gentle enough that I catch myself, but not before the door slams shut behind me and locks. I sink to the floor and crawl into a corner. Hopefully, despite my injuries and the cold stone, I can get some sleep. Strength is a luxury right now and I will need all if it I can get – as well as hopefully regain some of my bloodline resistance back. I’ll need every edge I can get.