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Fate can never be resisted.
The words rang in his head endlessly, a neverending mantra in his decaying mind. Not that he needed anything else to keep him going; the dragon before him was all he needed.
Grima had been revived, and put humanity in its rightful place for what it did to them. Chrom, on the other hand, had taken a bolt of Thoron to the chest by someone who dared to call him a friend-no, who dared to fall in love.
Chrom had lost. In all his delusions of grandeur and friendship, he was the one who died in the end, who couldn’t even save-
A jolt of Grima’s necromantic magic stopped his train of thought. The Fell Dragon knew, after all, exactly how to keep the dead from speaking.
The dragon they were flying on landed near, of all places, a patch of orange trees. If he had the capacity to feel anything right now, he’d be surprised; not only at the fact that there was a perfectly good source of oranges when it was the end of the world, but also Grima’s evident joy at seeing the trees. The dragon’s vessel turned toward him, the loosest definition of a smile on his face.
Grima had taken control of a human that felt all too familiar, with red eyes that seemed to glow and claws in place of what once were someone else’s hands. The vessel’s presence both vexed and comforted him, as if he had known them before humanity’s demise. Perhaps he had taken their hand in life, or the two of them had been-
“Look over there,” the dragon said, pointing at the orange trees. “I’ve always wanted to try one. Dragons can’t eat fruit, after all.”
The Risen King hadn't even realized he was staring at the tree until Grima picked an orange and took a bite without even peeling the skin off.
“Robin… you’re not supposed… to eat it like that.”
Wait, what did he just say?
“Oh? You’re still in there?”
Chrom found himself face to face with the Fell Dragon, and memories began to resurface in his head.
In the power of all the bonds and friendships he had forged, Chrom had lost. He and Robin were gone.
Gods, no.
“Robin-”
A wave of magic hit him instead of a jolt this time, and he could hear Grima laugh as he yelped in pain.
“Do you see now, Chrom? What all that talk of bonds did for your pathetic world?”
“The world… can still be-”
Chrom fell to his knees, pain overtaking a corpse that should have been buried long ago, rotting flesh and bone straining under his own weight.
“Let go of me…”
He pointed his sword at Grima, his arms shaking.
“Go on, then,” Grima challenged, arrogance heavy in the vessel’s voice. “Recall that trite statement again about fate.”
“Fate… can-”
Fate can never be resisted.
Grima chuckled darkly. “Good. I see you’re coming back to me, Risen King.”
Wait, did he say that out loud?
“No… no, that couldn’t possibly be it-”
What was he doing, raising his sword against Grima?
“No… you’re not-”
Grima smiled, fangs gleaming.
“Hush now, Chrom, and rot. It is your fate, and you know how fate is, don’t you?”
Of course he did. How could he ever forget?
“Fate… can never… be resisted…”