Alrighty, so I'm writing a fanfiction about Sync. Why? Because I'm a fangirl you silly goose! And fangirls do that sort of thing to prove their dedication to their characters that they love and adore. In this case, Sync the Tempest. <3 So, it's not really that long so far but take a gander if you will... I know I need to make alot of improvements, but you know how the cookie crumbles. >: Enjoy. ^^


Chapter 1 - A Sorrowful Destiny

"Keep it moving!"

The commanding voice echoed throughout the room, urging the seven young boys forwards, all of them linked to another by a dark solid chain. It was a strange sight to behold, for each boy looked entirely identical to another with their thick green hair and emotionless green eyes. They were lead by a rather stout old man, garbed in priestly robes.

"Now, no need to be so rough." Laughed another voice, belonging to a tall figure with rough features and soft brown hair. He strode forwards and looked about the room - an abandoned rather untidy library. "This place will do. Shall we begin, Grand Maestro Mohs?"

"Naturally, naturally." replied Mohs impatiently, dropping the chain he was leading the young boys from, and turning to face them.

They didn't wilt under his stare, infact, they barely seemed to register what was happening when suddenly Mohs yanked the closest one to him and undid the lock. He shoved the poor boy roughly in an open space apart from the others.

"Now then, you... Show me what you can do." He waited patiently for the boy to do something, but all that happened was that he was greeted by an entirely blank stare and no action whatsoever. Growling, Mohs strode over and shook the boy, "Do your fonic arts you pathetic creature!" he yelled in his face, but still there was nothing - not even a smidge of emotion.

"Leave it," the other man said with a carefree air, "It is obviously a faulty creation. Completely useless."

Mohs shoved the boy from him, who stumbled over his own feet and fell, then sneered, "I suppose you're right, Van."

The next three boys were much the same way, not responding to a single command and instead staring blankly at the area around themselves. However, the fifth boy was a rather interesting one.

"Are you like the others?" questioned Mohs, looking at the fifth boy with an almost bored expression.

Although the fifth boy had the same blank stare as the rest, there was a different air about him, almost one of defiance. When Mohs stepped forwards and seized his arm, the boy instinctively tore it away, looking up at Mohs with a frown.

Van laughed heartily, "Well, looks like at least one of them has some life." Mohs just looked down at the boy angrily, who had reverted back to staring blankly ahead.

"So it can move by itself, but can it actually do anything useful?" said Mohs snidely. Further proding proved that the fifth boy - although having retaliated - would do nothing else, and he was soon cast aside with the rest of his brethren.

Although it was merely a flash that fled in sheer seconds, an angry rejected feeling shot through the fifth boy, and he stared at the one who inflicted this upon him fixedly, not comprehending what it meant but understanding that something unpleasant had occurred.

He watched the sixth boy, who was then brought up to be tested. Mohs began to approach the boy, who then suddenly quivered slightly then turned to run towards the others standing in the group aside. Obviously he had observed what had happened to each one and didn't want to be put into that same position.

Van looked amused at this, while Mohs clenched his jaw tightly then whipped around, bellowing, "Useless, all you useless!" He pulled the seventh boy forwards roughly and shook him by the shoulders. "Useless!"

The seventh boy let out a cry of hurt and confusion, and a glowing light emitted from one of his hands, swathing the room in a bask of golden. Mohs grunted and stepped back from the blinding light, his hands covering his face until it died down completely and he was able to see again.

The seventh boy sank to his knees, uttering in a soft voice, "D-don't..."

Both Mohs and Van looked usually surprised and impressed. "A daathic fonic art!" proclaimed Mohs, beaming brightly.

"Well, the beginnings of one in any case." added Van, striding over to stand before the seventh child, still upon his knees, "Very impressive of a replica made so shortly ago."

Looking up from his kneeling position, the seventh child stared straight at Mohs with all the innocence of a child. "D-don't... Hurt..." The soft voice sounded strained and fearful.

"So it can speak too." Mohs blatantly stated. "Van ... I believe we have found our new Fon Master Ion."

"So it would appear. He has a long way to go before he is anything reminiscent to the former Fon Master, but he certainly the most advanced of our collection." Van collected the dark chain from the ground, and turned to Mohs.

"Yes, we know that at least this one can use the daathic fonic arts." Mohs lifted the seventh child to his feet, and faced him. "From now on, your name is Ion, Fon Master of the Order of Lorelei."

Ion's look intensified slightly, and he repeated the name given to him with vague understanding. "Ion..." he said in an emotionless way, "Ion..."

"Well, now that this is sorted, what shall we do about the rejects?" Van began to walk over to the group of six, who were watching with some curiousity the events before them and wondering what was happening.

"It doesn't matter," Mohs said dismissively, "Deposit them into the volcano where they can die without being seen by anyone." With that, Mohs lead the brand new Fon Master from the room and disappeared.

"Very well then." Van turned to the replicas, and snapped the chains back upon their wrists, binding them all together again. Silently he lead them to the opposite end of the room, where he triggered the secret trap door that led into the fiery pits of Mt. Zaleho.


Two days later after being abandoned in the depths of Mt. Zaleho, only three replicas remained of the original six. The three replicas who had perished had been weaker then the other replicas to begin with, their health frail and their instincts non-existant. Two of them died in an un-natural way, while one of them had been attacked and killed by one of the many monsters dwelling in the volcano.

However, already another one of the replicas was weakening, and soon it would perish in the same un-natural way the others did, leaving behind only two of the original group of six.

The one who was known as the fifth child was likely the most advanced of his group, progressing rapidly in intelligence and strength, it was unlikely he would suffer the same fate as the others. Although he did not understand alot of what happened around him, he observed what he could warily and eventually he learnt the most important rule of his life; to survive, one must fight or be killed, although the idea of death wasn't something he could yet comprehend.

The other two surviving replicas, the sixth and the second children, were far more reserved then himself and as such hadn't yet learnt as much as he. The sixth child for the most part spent his time hiding with the second child, but soon the second child would die. Only he, the sixth child, had dared to venture somewhat despite his fears, although it had gotten him into a few tight spots that he had barely escaped.

Also he, unlike the others, had starting practicing his speech. For some untold reason, something like fragments of a memory would rush to him, and suddenly he had that knowledge. His ability to speak was incredibly sparse however, his entire vocabularly comprised of a few basic words that he clung desperately to while he attempted to dig deeper into his mind for more information about who he may be.

Who was he? Where did he come from? These thoughts nagged at him constantly.

Then, one day, he came from him. That person from before.

Van had gone into Mt. Zaleho to scout the area and insure that the replicas were destroyed, but what he found instead was quite an interesting sight. One of the replicas was face-to-face with a snarling monster, brandishing his fists defensively, while two replicas were huddled behind him - one of the replicas was slumped over with misted eyes, obviously dead, while another was holding onto the dead replica while bleeding profusely through a great gash in his body.

The monster screamed it's battlecry, and rushed forwards to impale the defiant replica before it upon it's claws, when suddenly a sword was thrusted through it's skull and it died in a bloody instant.

Van removed his sword from the corpse, and turned to the replica who still had it's fists raised. He went to stride forwards for a better look, when suddenly the replica threw itself upon him, punching and kicking at his stomach and legs spiritedly, but only recieved the painful sting of the armour rebounding his fist and he let out an angry cry. The commandant laughed heartily at the boy's attack, although he had to admit the strength and speed of his attack was quite impressive for such a newly-made replica, then lifted him up by the collar of his grimy long shirt. "You're quite the spirited one, aren't you?"

The boy glared at him angrily, a contorted look upon his face. "... Y-you!" He stumbled over his words, "W-who? Who you?"

Van dropped the boy with surprise, who landed roughly on his behind and scrambled a safe distance away. "So, you can speak too, can you?" He mused, "Your progress seems to matching that of Ion's himself. What an interesting development."

"Who?! Who?!" The boy repeated insistently, suspicion and anger in his voice.

The commandant laughed again. "I suppose I should introduce myself then. I am Van ... but who are you, brazen replica?"

"Van." the boy said stoically, "You Van. Me... Me..." at this point he started stuttering, searching himself for answers. Who ... me? Name... name...

"So, you are without a name naturally." Positive that the boy would no longer attack him, Van approached him and looked straight into his eyes. He saw great defiance, and an amount of potencial. He was sure this one could be useful to his purposes, and if he was even somewhat close to Ion's Daathic abilities...

He held out his hand in the gesture of a handshake. "I could give you a name... if you agree to come with me and serve me."

"A name." The boy began to understand what was being said, and he stared at the hand offered to him. He raised his own hand slightly, but then remembered his brethren and looked behind him at the figures upon the ground. "Them..."

"They are dead." came the prompt reply.

"Dead...?" whispered the boy, "Dead..." He took in the sight of the sixth's bloody body, and the still corpse of the second. "Dead..."

"Yes, death is a terrible thing..." Van replied soothingly, placing a hand upon the boy's shoulder, "...but it is inevitable. There is nothing left for you here. Will you join me?"

The boy looked up and into Van's eyes, blazing with determination. "Yes." He said simply.

"Excellent. From now on, you will train hard and when you are ready, I will permit you to join my charge, the Oracle Knights." Van began to walk away, back towards the secret entrance to the secret entrance leading to Daath. He expected the boy to follow him, but he just stood there as if expecting something.

"Name." the boy said simply, a small frown on his face.

"Ah yes, I promised that, didn't I?" chuckled Van, facing the green-haired boy with an amused expression.

"A song that is repeated to create a harmony... only a mirrior of the original melody yet inevitably and significantly involved... that which is synchronization. From this day forth, you are Sync the Tempest, one who is fated to always live as the echo of his predecessors."


Chapter 2 - Changes and Blood

Like every soldier, Sync started off with humble beginnings.

Taken in as Van's personal assistant, he was brought to Daath to train both physically and mentally in preparation for his debut as a member of the Oracle Knights.

As opposed to most Oracle Knights training which was done in large groups as a drill exercise, for the most part he trained alone, learning the basic techniques of martial arts under the instruction of a teacher assigned to him by Van. The Commandant had tried personally teaching Sync swordplay, but the young boy seemed to lack the talent for it and was far more efficient in fighting with his body.

Sync had little time for personal indulgences besides teaching himself the instincts of life he was born without. He trained to an extreme degree day in and day out, mastering his technique and artes with brilliant progression. This training was what he lived for, having nothing else to attach himself to, as he owned next to nothing and was devoid of any friends of relationships of any kind.

When he was not training or doing tasks for Van, during the nights where he would lie in his bed unable to sleep, Sync would think about himself and who he was. For a long time he had been referred to as 'replica' and had not understood what it meant, but things were different now. He knew just what he was - a carbon copy of Fon Master Ion, the supreme leader of the Order of Lorelei.

He had seen the Fon Master around Daath, usually in the library whenever Sync went to pick up a volume about the nature of martial arts. The first time Sync had seen Ion, he'd only just stopped himself from walking over and asking him a thousand and one questions about why they looked alike, and what exactly had been the purpose of the night Mohs and Van tested them and the other five replicas.

Later on he burned with embarrassment at how foolish he was. He understood all these things now, and he knew that Ion had not been condemned to the same fate as himself - or worse, the other replicas - because they were all inferior to him. That night in the library was intended to be a measure of their power, and every one of them besides the Fon Master had failed miserably, even laughably.

Sighing in the darkness, he turned over the mask he usually wore in his hands, examining the patterns and shape. It was a rather funny looking mask, a golden beak-like thing decorated with swirls of red. He remembered the day he got it, and how much he disliked it at first.

It had been close to five months since then, hadn't it? That day he left Mt. Zaleho with Van.

They had been walking the path towards the secret entrance to Daath, when suddenly Van halted and stared at him with an unreadable expression for a good minute or so. As he was, Sync thought nothing of it, and just stood there waiting until they started walking again, but then Van did something unexpected.

Sticking his hand into one of his pockets, he withdrew the mask from his pocket, then threw it at the green-haired boy's feet. Sync had picked it up and looked it over curiously, wondering what it was for.

"It's called a mask." Van explained, "You put it over your face, like this..." He retook the mask from Sync and fit it onto his face where it obsecured his eyes and nose with it's swooping design. It was hard for him to see out of, and the feeling of something protruding from his face was annoying. He went to remove it, but Van stopped him.

"Leave it on at all times." said Van sternly, "It's important no one sees your face."

Sync simply did as he was told without any further questioning. He didn't understand why this was nessesary at the time, but now he knew that Van had done the logical thing. After all, how would it look if some random stranger appeared out of no where, looking every bit like their beloved Fon Master?

He'd been forced to change his hair as well, but the extents of that was simply a haircut where Van quickly shortened his hair with a pair of scissors, so his hair was exactly like before only much shorter. He didn't care too much for that hairstyle but that didn't matter. Eventually it had regrown anyways, but instead of cutting it like it was before, he wanted to something a little different.

He had stood, examining himself in the mirror with distaste. He despised looking like someone else, looking as he did. His green hair had been a little untidy from bed head, but in the same basic way it still looked exactly like Ion's, and it drove him absoloutely mad. Growling, he tried to rearrange his hair in every possible way, but still it persisted in looking the same.

Then he had spotted a bottle of gel sitting on the counter next to him. Normally gels were used as healing supplies, but he figured the sticky substance would work nicely in holding hair together. Scooping out a glob of the gelatinous stuff, he swept his hair forwards and parted it into thick spikes, then grabbing a pair of scissors had modified it to his satisfaction.

The end result was completely unlike his previous hairstyle, and left him quite pleased as it wasn't that bad looking either. Since then he'd kept up that hairstyle with a minimal amount of effort, as strangely enough it eventually sort of trained itself to stay that way.

He recalled such events in his life on those restless nights, and if he was lucky, eventually he fell into a dreamless sleep.


The next morning, Van greeted his assistant enthusastically and thrusted a list into his hands. "My apologies for bothering you with such trivial work, but things have been rather hectic lately and I'm afraid I simply don't have the time to do this myself."

Sync chose not to respond. He listened to the instructions on his latest task then set out. He was supposed to go buy some food and ingredients from the marketplace.

The Daath marketplace was as it always was - slightly busy but nothing unordinary. He was used to doing everything himself and therefore had come to the marketplace many times to pick up his own supplies with the allowance Van granted him for his work. He navigated the crowds with ease and stopped before the foods booth.

"Hello there!" The lady behind the booth called out cheerfully, "And what can I do for you today?"

Sync handed her the list of food and ingredients, and she nodded briskly then set to work collecting all the items then putting them in a large basket. "That'd be three thousand gald, please!"

He paid up quickly, then grabbed the basket and left without a single word. He wasn't in the mood for talking at all today, he just wanted to get back to the cathedral and spend the rest of the day training.

Looking to save some time, he spotted an alleyway which looked as though it could be used as a shortcut, and progressed down it. It was a little dark and kind of smelly, but he'd be out of it soon anyways.

He was just about there when suddenly he felt something grab him from behind. Whipping around, he faced off against an extremely dirty old man who was staring at him in a menacing way. "Ya boy!" He yelled out in a hoarse, crackly voice, "Gimme all yer foods and gald, or I'll hafta cut'chyer!"

"I don't think so." Sync responded smoothly, turning to keep going down the path and ignore who ever this crazy dirty person was.

"I dun think ya heard me!" the old man's voice sounded angry, "I sez gimme all yer things!" He pulled a dagger out from his belt and lunged forwards to stab Sync in the back, but the green-haired boy was quicker and just barely side-stepped the attack.

"A-are you crazy?!" Sync sputtered, knowing he just avoided being stabbed. He looked about frantically, unsure of how to handle this - he'd never faced off against anyone in a serious battle! What was he supposed to do against that dagger?

"Do as I sez and ya won't die, boy!" the man lunged again to show he meant business, and Sync tried to dodge but panicked and was grazed in the shoulder. He felt hot blood trickle down his arm, and suddenly his whole body went numb. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to--

His train of thoughts was interrupted by another assault. "Stay back!" he cried, and instinctively shot out his fist in a powerful punch that smashed the old man across the face and sent him flying backwards. Bent on survival, Sync leaped onto the man and without thinking started pummeling him over and over with the hands he'd hardened over months of training.

So consumed in the fears of the moment, the instincts to destroy this threat, that before he realized what he was doing a dark pool of blood had spread beneath the body of the old man, his face battered into something so unrecognizable that when he regained his senses the green-haired boy cried out in terror and backed into the wall, staring at the disfigured mess before him.

He had done this to another living being. This crushed corpse upon the ground was his own fault. He felt pity licking at his insides, but besides the horror of his own brutality he couldn't even summon the emotions to feel sorrow about what exactly he'd done. He laughed weakly and slumped over, clutching at his head and wondering the extent of his own strength... if he could do this, then just what was he capable of? He hadn't even used any of his artes on this one.

"So... he's dead." he whispered to himself.

Suddenly the sound of voices reached him. People were headed this way! He couldn't be caught here with this... this thing! Grabbing the basket of food from where he'd left it, he fled the scene as fast he could, thoughts of what occurred going through his head as he ran to the extent of his speed.

His first murder, a game of survival, a cold heart to the pitying sight. Hate welled within him, hate for himself and what he'd done... for he believed he couldn't feel the sorrow he desperately wanted, even if he didn't realize that his anger was created from that sorrow.


Okay, so that's it so far. Stay tuned for more Sync goodness! Thanks for reading! ^___^