"My Name Is Glenn" by NobodyAtAll

Warning: spoilers for the Fiendlord Saga.

Many years in the past, in a small English town, four boys surround a fifth, younger boy at the park, bullying and taunting him.

“Look at the freak with his green hair!”

“Did your mummy spank you for dyeing it?”

“Sh-shut up! It’s not hair dye!”

“Yeah right! Pull the other one! It’s got bells on!”

“We’ll show you what happens to boys who lie!”

“That’s enough.”

An older boy, in his teens, walks up.

He’s tall for his age, and muscular, and his hair is messy and dark orange.

The four bullies turn to him.

“Oh shit! It’s Cyrus!”


And the four bullies run away, as bullies tend to do when presented with a stronger opponent.

Those cowardly little bastards.

The boy who was being bullied, now in tears, looks up at his savior.

“Th-thank you, Cyrus…”

Cyrus walks over to the boy, kneels down, and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Glenn, there are times when a man must take a stand, and face those who torment him. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Had I not been here, those rotten little buggers would have beaten you to a pulp. Would you have allowed that?”

Glenn sniffles.

“I… I don’t like hurting people. Not even bullies like them.

Cyrus smiles.

“You’re too soft, Glenn. You’re a marshmallow.”

A year or two later, Cyrus has started training Glenn.

In an old barn, Glenn hacks and slashes away with a wooden sword, cutting down dummies made of sacks and straw.

Cyrus drew vampire faces on the sacks used to make the heads.

As Glenn demolishes another dummy, Cyrus whoops.

“Great, Glenn! You’re really getting the hang of it! But remember, lower your guard, and you’ll allow the enemy in!”

Behind Glenn, one of Cyrus’ peers, who had to be talked into doing this, sneaks up behind the boy, dressed in a vampire costume.

“Bleh! I vill suck your blaad!”

Glenn whips around and whacks him on the head with the flat of the sword.



“Oops! Sorry, Toma! I didn’t know it was you!

“That’s alright, Glenn. But Cyrus, you owe me thirty bloody quid for this!

“We said twenty, Toma.”

“That was before I got whacked on the noggin. Which I don’t hold against you, Glenn, so don’t give me those puppy dog eyes. Thirty quid, Cyrus, otherwise I hold you down and let the lad whack you.

Cyrus, grumbling, takes out his wallet and pays Toma for his time.

“Thanks, mate. I’m gonna go get plastered.

“Drink respo-- ah, sod it, he’s already gone. Let’s get back to work, Glenn.”

A few years later, Glenn and Cyrus cross a bridge together, side by side.

Cyrus, now a strapping young man, has a sword seemingly made of gold and silver strapped to his back. Glenn has a sword strapped to his back too, but it is merely a steel sword.

“Glenn, I’ve decided to join the Association.”

Glenn, now also a strapping young man, smiles at his master, the man who taught him how to fight.

“I thought so. You’ll be a damn good Hunter. I just know it.”

Cyrus smiles back.

“Won’t you join with me, Glenn? Will you not fight by my side? We could get you a new sword.”

Glenn’s smile falters.

“I… I cannot.”

“But why not? You’re actually better at handling a sword than I am. You’re a natural. I mean, we actually ran out of dummies because you sliced them all to bits.”

“Vampires made of straw are one thing, but if I faced a real vampire… I’d probably drop my sword and run away.”

Cyrus chuckles.

“Come on, Glenn. You’re so much stronger than you think. Stand firm and fight. With all of your might. We know the Way.”

“Maybe you’re right. What’s the worst that could happen?”

A year later, Glenn finds out, on a moonlit mountaintop.

Cyrus is dead. His sword, Grandleon, has been broken in half. The half with the hilt lies besides its former wielder’s body.

As Glenn kneels beside his fallen master, cradling Cyrus’ body, tears streaming down his face, Cyrus’ killer looks down at him with a smug smile of satisfaction on his face.

A tall vampire in a black robe, with long, light blue hair and pointy ears. Besides him, an even taller, morbidly obese man, his eyes glazed over. The fat man is holding the other half of Grandleon.

The vampire speaks up in a deep, rich voice.

“And yet another stupid bloodbag falls to the great Fiendlord. Yet another hunter who thought he could slay the almighty Count Ianos. Ha. He wasn’t even worth turning.”

Ianos turns to Glenn, who gently lowers Cyrus’ head to the ground, stands up, and starts walking over to Ianos, hatred in his eyes.

Glenn unsheaths his new silver sword.

“You… you bastard…

Ianos chuckles.

“Are you going to fight me next, boy?


As Glenn swings at Ianos, the fat man punches him, sending Glenn falling to the ground, and his sword flies out of his hand.


The silver sword is melted in mid-air by a fireball cast by Ianos.


“I do so despise silver. Good work, Oswald. Hold on to that thing. We’ll put it somewhere this pathetic little bloodbag will never find it.”

Oswald just grunts.

He’ll be getting replaced soon.

But not before the Fiendlord invites him for dinner.

Oswald might last Ianos a while.

As Glenn gets back up, he runs back towards the Fiendlord, only stopping to pick up the hilt of Grandleon.

Ianos laughs.

“You still want to fight me? Look at you! You haven’t even got an entire sword! And you’re so weak! I just can’t take you seriously! You’re as weak as a shitrat! In fact…”

As an idea enters Ianos’ brain, a diabolical smile spreads over his pale face.

“Since you’re as weak as a shitrat… you might as well be one!”

The last thing Glenn sees before he blacks out is Ianos pointing at him, and a flash of green light.

The next morning, Glenn wakes up at the bottom of the mountain. It’s started raining.

Glenn miraculously survived being thrown off the peak, but his body aches all over, and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls, and itches all over too.

Glenn gets back up, still holding the broken Grandleon. He groans as his brain finally notices the pain that the rest of him is now feeling.

As Glenn catches a glimpse of his face in a puddle, he does a double take.

He kneels down and takes a closer look at his reflection, and gasps in horror.

His head has been replaced with a fluffy’s head.

Green fluff, matching the inexplicably green hair he used to have. A white patch, around his mouth. A dark green mane, and yellow eyes.

“What the Heww did he do to me?!?”

Glenn drops the hilt of Grandleon and claps his hands over his mouth as he realises what his voice sounds like now.

Then, he lowers his hands, and a look of grim determination appears on his face, as he picks up the broken sword, and looks up towards the mountaintop.

“On this mown, I sweaw a sowemn vow. I wiww wepaiw my mastew’s bwade. I wiww hunt down the Fiendwowd Ianos. I wiww sway him, and avenge Cywus. I wiww not west untiw this vow is fuwfiwwed. This I sweaw. I’m coming fow you, you vampiwic son of a bitch.”

As Glenn departs, he muses to himself.

“I weawwy hope this shit isn’t pewmanent.


Now we have Chrono Trigger…


Ha, yeah, big fan of that, too. I added that bit with Cyrus training Glenn so it wouldn’t be a direct copy paste.

But Glenn’s been part of the headcanon since “The Inn Between Worlds”, so you should have figured this out sooner.

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Though I should also say, I also tried not to make the characters carbon copies of their inspirations. I did the same thing with Annette and June.

Did you catch the reference to Chrono Trigger: The Musical, too? I’ve put a few other references to Man on the Internet’s lyrics in my stories.


I like making references.

Deal with it.

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