#and god it must be an answered prayer from arceus

[cheemken]

Yeah the concept with all the Champions dying makes more sense if it was apart of the Rebellion AU. Can make it more devastating for Diantha if the Kalos League tells her how she died

But damn, we won’t have the Lance, Clair and Silver reunion :(

But we can have the “Lance finds out his cousin and son were killed because they were important to him” scenario instead >:). Imagine he eventually asks where Clair is, or where Silver is

Also yeah I intended for Hau and Geeta to be killed as well, I just couldn’t think of a way for them to die lol

But Hau is still champion, and I like what you did with Geeta. Having her as the villain for her region. Love me some twist villain characters

We can also go with the other scenario if you like her being the good guy better. Ma’am dipped, left Nemona in charge (a teenager btw), and came back months later with a fucking killer team. Ready to avenge her soulmate and friends with mons she specifically trained to go for the kill

Ouughfhchfhfjdhsn your honour Lance having to find out everyone he loves is dead😭😭 his wife and kids and his cousin man that's gotta fuck him up imagine him finding out that his alt self is still alive in this universe but he's a prisoner of RR, a hollow shell of a man he once was, a man who lost everything, who was powerless to save everyone and ough,,,, OUGH™

Imagine him on the verge of a meltdown too, having to find out how everyone else died, and how he's still alive, still breathing somewhere, aware of the bloodshed happening around him, but was already too broken to do anything, powerless, dead in a way that he was alive yet mourned for not his loved ones but also for himself.

And oughfhfhf villain Geeta my beloved holy shit can you imagine Geeta meeting her alt self, and she's there w RR maybe, or in her office at the league, and this is so so so fucking self indulgent on my part bc I have this lil au abt Geeta and Diantha as well, but like,,,, ough,,,,, imagine Alt Geeta smirking at Geeta tho, telling her how Diantha died, how her angel fell from grace, how her screams echoed within the chambers, how she was killed by a pack of Houndoom. Geeta couldn't fucking believe what she fucking heard man, her own hands were shaking like crazy, the want to punch and go batshit on Alt Geeta fucking flared, and Alt Geeta was there going, "what are you so mad about? If anything, we took her away from that incompetent dragon tamer she calls her husband." Then she mutters under her breath, "unfortunately, even in her final moments she still chose him."

And ofc, Geeta's there telling Alt that Diantha didn't deserve that, she didn't deserve to die, none of them deserves to die. Then Alt Geeta gives her this dark af glare as she stands from her seat, stalking towards Geeta, almost growling, "if I can't have her then no one can."

Your honour they make me so fucking ill I can't hcmxbxmx

Imagine how that mustve been for Diantha tho, hearing from Drasna how her alt self was killed, how it was Geeta who killed her, and it's by a pack of Houndoom, can you imagine how hurt Dia must've been w that tho, how much it'll fuck her up, bc she knows its not her Geeta who did it, it's the one in this universe, but man she knows she just fucking knows she entrusted the same three people about that trauma of hers, about her past: Drasna, Geeta, and Lance. Like chdmxbnd your honour please😭😭

But either way, Geeta's going through it™ lmfao

W Hau tho,,, y'know imagine if he gets killed by an Ultra Beast, maybe Nihilego bc that's the one w Lusamine right?? That or like,, the cockroach looking one, Pheromosa?? I'm so sorry I'm not familiar w the Ultra Beasts except for Guzzlord and Buzzwole (bc this one's in unite lmao). But anyways, idk, like,,, Lusamine maybe killing Hau, bc ofc, he's friends w her children, imagine her killing off Hau infront of Gladion and Lillie tho, to show them what happens if they defy her again and oughchmdhx that's fucked up your honour Gladion would go apeshit too lmfaooo

[clockvvorker]

This is the way the world e n d s -

                                                                                                     -somewhere you can’t s e e .

volo: the aftermath of the Celestica Tragedy.

Volo is twelve when his home is wiped from the face of the earth. His literal house, yes, but also everything around it, the entire plateau that had housed Celestica Village now nothing but rubble. Volo is also not around to see it happen, and so the understanding of death lays shallow in his memories- nothing has died, at least not to the part of him that doesn’t understand it. Instead, the overwhelming feeling of disappearance contorts his trauma into something more malleable for a chaotic god to dwell in.

In his memories, it’s late in the evening when the Gastly have already come out of hiding and he should have been in bed hours ago, had he not gotten so absorbed in exploring the nearby cave systems. He knows he’s late for supper, and his stomach growls at the thought as he trudges down the well-trodden path back towards Celestica. Perhaps it’ll be grilled magikarp tonight, he thinks idly. It’s technically not the season for it as most Magikarp haven’t migrated up-stream yet, but his uncle is supposed to return to the village with more supplies from the base of the mountain with his guild, and his imagination conjures up the taste of rosemary magikarp that makes his mouth water in anticipation.

He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize where he is until he stumbles into a half-broken wall.

He thinks he must have taken a wrong turn inside the tunnels somewhere - impossible, he memorized the underground by heart - or perhaps a pokemon was playing a cruel trick on him - by jove, those wild beasts were monsters after all. Something, anything that could have led him to unexplored ruins.

But the things that pulls him out of his thoughts and hopes is simple: the silence. Even if he had exited through some unknown tunnel system, Celestica is a large community; there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the bustle of merchants packing up their wares for the night or neighbors chatting excitedly before returning home for dinner. Even across the plateau, closer to the Diamond settlement, the sound of evening prayer would at least be faintly audible on the wind. Instead, there’s nothing. Nothing but the sound of Gastly drifting around the plateau and wind whistling through ruins that shouldn’t be ruins.

Volo thinks he should stop thinking, but his rationalizations get worse. If these aren’t ruins, if they really are...are.......then he should recognize some structures on the outskirts of the village, and he certainly doesn’t. Not the mausoleum at the very edge of Celestica, with its wide marble arch...or the butcher’s shop with ivy running up the columns...or the...his eyes dart between buildings, trying to find anything else to lie about. Instead, they trace the path that his feet instinctively take him down, towards the center of town where he hopes, prays to Arceus that he doesn’t recognize the brightly patterned walls of his family’s home.

His prayers aren’t answered. In the middle of the wreckage of a village torn asunder, not even a friendly residence remains, and Volo swallows back any thoughts that he may have. Purple paint chips from marble walls; there’s no black paint on a familiar roof, but that’s because the building he used to call home no longer has a roof. There’s nothing left but three walls and a foundation, and that’s being generous to the third wall whose upper half leaves much to be desired.

Regardless of the remains, though, Volo remains as confident as he is terrified. This is his home. This is his home and if it’s his home then it’s his family’s home, and if it’s his family’s home then his family must be-

“Dad?” He calls out instinctively before recoiling at his own voice. No answer. “Mom?” The slabs stand silent. He tries to speak out again, but fear stops him. The fear that, regardless of how many times he cries out, nobody will reply.

It’s not a fear anymore, though, but a desolation. He feels sick. This is his home. This is his home.

This was his home.

He turns away. Doesn’t want to go inside. Is afraid of what he’ll find if he does.

                                                                                   “sᴛᴀʏ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ. ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛs ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ.”

He freezes at the voice on the wind, a dark cadence that speaks like a human but doesn’t sound like one. “What do you mean,” he demands of it, spinning around and freezing when he finds nothing - nobody - behind him. He should be more terrified of a bodiless voice than he is, but he’s left all his fear in the hands of the entire village that has disappeared without a trace. He has none left for a spirit of any kind. “Of course there’s something here!”

                                                                                                  “ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ.”

He swallows his words, doesn’t want to believe the voice, does anyways. It’s right; there’s nothing inside. It knows- he freezes. How does it know?

He opens his mouth to ask if he’s speaking to-

                                                                                     “ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʀᴄᴇᴜs, ɴᴏʀ ᴀᴍ ɪ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ.”

-his mouth clicks shut. Bile rises in his throat again. He has a question that he doesn’t want to ask, but he does anyways. “...are those the same thing?”

The voice is silent; that much is enough of an answer for Volo. Even if it’s too incredulous to believe, he can’t swallow back the sick this time.

When he’s finished retching into the bushes, the voice has faded- only for a moment though, as he feels it resting in the shadows of his mind. His shadows- had he always had those? He’s not sure, but they certainly exist now, the miniscule but ever-present seeds of doubt that maybe this voice is right. Maybe Arceus did-

He shakes his head, and can almost feel the presence wrap around him more. Even if that’s true, there’s nothing he can do. A vengeful god had - possibly, he tries to convince himself as darkness tinges the corners of his passion - destroyed his village, taken away everything he had loved, there was no way he could...

                                                                                                          “ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ?”

“No.” The voice brings itself once again to the front and center of his attention, and he wipes the corner of his mouth, keeping his head down all the while. It’s true- his entire world has been shaken; there’s no way anybody would be okay in this situation. But at the same time, he knows he has to be. Nobody else was there to make him okay, after all.

                                                                                            “ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss.“

A lie certainly, but one that he doesn’t mind, after the voice had given him so much truth...because it was truth. It had to be. There was no other explanation for the destruction he never even noticed. He doesn’t even notice as his feelings crawl deeper into those shadows and he lets that voice take up more space in his thoughts.

                                                                                                  “ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ.“

Volo breathes in and finally takes a look at his surroundings for the first time since acknowledging the truth. A slab lays near the steps leading into his home, deep purple in color but emitting a dark aura that conflicts with the holy radiance that Volo has only known. Maybe it’s better that way; Arceus- his white light would only bring pain now.

                                                   “ɪ sʜᴀʟʟ sᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴜɴʜᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ. ᴛʜɪs, ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ.“

He picks up the plate, holds it in his hands, and believes.

There’s really nothing else to do.

[volot]

I HAVE TO GO TO CLASS BUT THE SHORT AND SWEET VERSION IS LIKE oh my god this isnt short and sweet sorry ive been reading about this subject and well

volo doesn’t know where he came from because presumably his ‘clan’ is assumedly gone; whether they’re very spread out or something worse happened is unknown and a factor i’m trying to figure out, but cogita is in the middle of nowhere hiding out and she’s like the only other person with that same pendent he has so assumedly they’re from similar backgrounds. it’s very likely he’s an orphan and never knew his parents, judging by his line about not knowing much about where he came from 

except he kind of does, because he makes a remark about having the blood of the ancient sinnohans. like cogita. so assumedly, like the people of miccina town in the arceus movie, they have worshipped arceus and possibly had a special connection with them. i don’t know if volo specifically had a ‘destined’ connection to arceus or not [ the hair... im sorry  idont think thats styled, especially with the way its going white in the back ], but he must have believed it if he was told it [ and who knows who told him that. cogita? someone else? old texts? old things he finds? but he believes it ]

anyway he gets picked up by the ginkgo guild at a young age and taken under their wing to care for. he’s adopted in and brought in as a guild member, and like yes woo found family, yes ginter pulls on his ear for slacking at work, but it doesnt feel right. he feels out of place. he knows this isnt where he belongs, there’s a deeply-rooted sense of wrongness to the scenario, it doesnt help him. he feels emptier and out of place, apathetic and unattached to these people because he wrestles with the feelings of not belonging here. he wants to figure himself out, where he came from. he can act the part, sure, but he doesnt feel anything. it’s muffled, fizzled out. wanderlust fills him instead.

at some point or another, he meets cogita! she begins to fill him in on things, because shes the only other person who knows something about him and his past. not the full details, but just enough for common ground. give him a bone to chew on when he’s starving. he follows her like a lost dog and refers to her respectfully because she’s the only leverage he has, and the more she tells him of their clans connections to the old mythos and the old legends, the more he begins to think. and think. and think.

he travels the region, because the guild gives him an excuse to. he goes into ruins. he aches and aches to understand. he begins to fill himself with curiosity and ambition because this is the only thing that is making him feel much of anything beyond bitterness. it’s thrilling. it’s confusing. he wants to unravel the world, because if he gets to the base, he can understand what makes it so terrible, and rationalize that it needs to be reset.

he prays to arceus, who he has been told about, because he seeks an answer. because if there is a god, then god will tell him, because he is special. because he has been taught that god is compassionate and kind, and god will not turn its back on him.

god does not answer.

god never answers.

he grows tired with his prayers and grows frustrated as he hears nothing, sees nothing, and his faith begins to teeter. he becomes disillusioned, questioning himself and his faith. questioning if what was taught to him about arceus is true or not.

but his faith is all he has, so he grips onto it tighter. if this world exists, and if this world is so unfair, then god has to exist. maybe god is not answering because he isnt doing enough. but if he does enough, then maybe, finally, he will have an answer. he throws himself into it full force, into full-blown fanaticism bordering on zealousness, because it fuels him. he wrestles with his complex feelings on arceus, because if arceus exists, then why does arceus make the world suffer? if arceus exists, why did they make me suffer? the urge to meet arceus is equal part things; to reaffirm that arceus’ existence, to understand if it is cruel or kind, to ask them why, and in desperation and a need of control over something in his life if arceus rejects him, his bitterness and anger will push him to want to overthrow arceus because he’d felt abandoned. if arceus agrees to reset, then clearly all is well, even if volo itches for that control, it gives him the answer and confirmation he needs, the assurance he so badly wants.

but arceus doesnt do that, and arceus considers him unworthy and says the protagonist is, so he snaps, because it’s unthinkable. years and years of devotion all for it to blow up in his face. theres a better ending to this but this is the fast and quick version ill refine it later.... PROMISE....

EDIT i forgot to add but that want to conquer arceus is like... feeling super cheated by his faith and because if arceus is wrong, then he must be right, and if arceus doesnt understand then volo will make it so that it is understood. vengeance is there too, anger and wrath at how he believed arceus had a heart, but from volo’s perspective, it does not.

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 28 - The Nightmare

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ here is the latest update

THE NIGHTMARE

…

…

[Waking up to see your bed shaking is a bad sign.]

…

…

Ezra hasn’t woken up.

Pacing up and down the empty corridor, your downtrodden gaze is pinned to the pristine, sterile white floor of the hospital and Leon watches you from his seat before he calls out to you, asking you to sit down with him.

A set of double doors that can only be opened from your side keep the clamouring paparazzi at bay, muffling the noise they’re making and muting the flashes of their cameras.

Leon is only able to stay with you for a short while before he must return to work so you make the most of your shared time together.

The paparazzi are eventually shooed away by the security staff of the hospital and you’re allowed to breathe, knowing that you and Leon are truly alone. Almost immediately, you and the Champion weave your hands firmly together and he loops an arm around your shoulder, murmuring soothing words for you to hear.

You sit and wait for what appears to be an eternity until the door to Ezra’s room opens and the doctor steps out, summoning yourself and the Champion to stand.

The doctor goes through some formalities with you before he explains that Ezra’s cancer has spread, he is in dire shape and he will need to go through an operation soon, if not now.

"We've been trying to contact a..." The doctor leaves his sentence trailing to read off a form on his clipboard. "A Mr Ambrose, but he hasn't responded to our phonecalls."

"Ambrose?"

"It says here he's the patient's next of kin," says the doctor, "we need this form signed."

You ponder slightly then ask, "Is it okay if I sign it instead?"

He nods after checking his list where you are also put down as a next of kin, and you are promptly handed a form which you read over before signing and hand it back to the doctor. Ezra’s fate is sealed; he will not be able to leave the hospital for a long time.

You’re on your own.

“Also,” the doctor says before he takes his leave, “we found the patient holding onto this.”

He hands you a folded letter, pressing it into your palm. It’s addressed to you and as the doctor and nurse leave, their footsteps echoing in the distance, Leon stands close to you as you unfold it, revealing Ezra’s handwriting:

[If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead.  

I was very proud to have you as my student. You learned things quickly and held great respect for everyone you came across. Now I know you have a lot on your plate already, but I am afraid there are two things I must ask of you: number one, Greyson’s cemetery will be formally under your care after my passing as per my will, and two, please take care of Cassie, ie, Absol.

She’s forgetting herself as the years go by, and I would not want her to be alone. She will also take great care of you in return.]

“…Oh, Ezra,” you murmur, before you exhale loudly and shake your head. He was dealing with so much yet he never bothered you with his problems, and he would always go out of his way to assist you in any manner.

“Let’s go in,” Leon says, and you nod; you slip his will into your pocket and Leon offers you his hand once again.

Together, you enter the room; your mentor lies on the bed, his eyes closed. It pains you to see him like this, looking so fragile and weak. Absol lays curled up on the floor by his bed, opening one eye before rising upon your arrival.

She slinks up to you and you pet her on the head affectionately before you sit down by Ezra’s side.

“Ezra,” you murmur, “we did it. We stopped Spiritomb. He’s been captured but he’s so dangerous, he’s been taken away by the authorities. I’m not sure what they’ll do to him. And I wanted to tell you that I’ve started to understand Gengar and I can hear what he says. I can even hear Cassie. I know what you mean now. I can hear them.”

His chest rises steadily under the sheet but from his noisy wheezes and deep, raspy breaths, you can tell he’s struggling with breathing. The amount of machines surrounding him, all the tubes hooked to his arms and wrist do not alleviate your worries. Leon plants a hand on your shoulder as you throw your limp gaze to the floor, your lip wobbling.

“Look,” Leon suddenly murmurs, and you glance up.

Your mentor has slowly opened his eyes into a tiny slit, and to your utmost amazement, his fingers begin twitching, his wrist rolling. His fingers curl and his wrist trembles delicately.

“He wants to write something,” you say determinedly, “do you see any pen and paper lying around?”

Leon searches your surroundings before he spots a hospital’s patient leaflet with enough white space for clear writing. You grab the pen from the clipboard that’s attached to the front of the bed and you slide the pen into his hand, and hold up the paper for him.

Ezra scribbles before his eyes close and his hand goes limp, unmoving. He’s fully unconscious now, and Absol emits a saddened yowl.

Glimpsing at the paper to discern what he had written, there is only word in bold, capital letters: DEIMOS.

“Deimos?” Leon mutters. “What does that mean?”

You contemplate briefly with a hand under your chin, “…Well, if my memory serves me right, Deimos is the name of one of the natural satellites of Mars. The second is Phobos. They’re named after ancient gods and the personification of dread and terror. Phobos and Deimos were twin brothers,” you reply.

Leon looks impressed with your trivial knowledge and crosses his arms with his eyes closed as though in deep thought as you fold the paper up.

Easing yourself off the seat, you lower yourself to Absol’s level, crouching before her. “Cassie, I need your help. Who are Deimos and Ambrose?”

She regards you intensely with her bright blue eyes before she lifts up a paw and licks it for a second. She says, "My dad mentioned Deimos once but I didn't understand what he was talking about. Ambrose....he's from dad's church. You could try asking him."

Cassie doesn't have sufficient knowledge on 'Deimos', you realise, so you say, “And what about Gossamer Cave? Can you take me there? It’s real, right?”

"It is very real, but I can’t take you there," she replies, "I’m sorry. It doesn't reveal itself to everyone, such as myself. If I were to guide you, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to find it at all."

As you nod, Leon observes your interaction with the disaster pokemon.

“Okay. I understand. Thank you so much.” you reply.

You kiss her on the top of the horn and she purrs; you want to ask her how she became a Pokemon but she emits a loud yawn, exposing her jaws and sharp fangs, then she stretches on her frontal paws and curls up to sleep.

“She’s gone,” you murmur with a helpless sigh, rising to stand with a cloudy expression on your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“...I think so.”

It’s time to visit Graves, who is in better condition than Ezra and has been given a separate room not too far away albeit in a different ward.

The journey is spent holding hands with Leon as you stroll down the corridor, your mind laden with weary thoughts. Leon periodically throws worried glances at you, noticing your quiet demeanour and squeezing your hand affectionately.

Graves’ room is up ahead and as you open the door to enter, Magnolia and Sonia are present, and another doctor and nurse are tending to your unconscious godfather right now. You head over silently and the women hug you tightly; the doctor makes his final assessments and you stand as he explains Graves’ condition to your group.

It’s good news; Graves will make a full recovery but the doctor isn’t sure when he will wake up.

“Don’t worry, dear, the doctor says Inspector Graves will be alright,” Magnolia mutters, patting you gently on the shoulder.

“Yeah, he’ll wake up soon.” Sonia pipes up.

With a nod, you head over to Graves’ side and plop yourself down on the seat closest to him. Similar to Ezra’s situation, it’s odd seeing your godfather so vulnerable like this. However, his expression is not one of pain but instead, an idyllic, tranquil one. He looks peaceful and undisturbed.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Chris,” you murmur.

After the visit, Leon leaves the hospital first; he’s immediately bombarded with the awaiting and impatient paparazzi outside before he takes off on Charizard, having answered minimally to their probing questions with a polite grin. Leon will meet you later after he’s finished up.

You take a Corviknight taxi to Circhester, a town you have never properly visited before for there was no reason for you to go there. The only known attractions you’re aware of are the baths which are an immensely popular tourist attraction, but you pass the structure quickly, making a beeline for the Church, a massive, stone-white building with gothic architecture that stands to the north, its large spire poking out from the horizon. You can also hear the faint ring of the bell.

It’s larger than you had thought, with a massive wooden door held wide open by huge stones placed strategically and as you stand before the wondrous, centuries-old building, you look up and all the way to the spiralling and huge archways and the flying buttresses, marvelling the genius design and intricate sculptures of saints and pokemon which encompasses an Articuno and Arceus that are situated on the east and west segments of the building respectively.

Without further ado, you step in, your footsteps echoing loudly as you enter the nave. The cathedral is alit with smoke from incense and the litany of quiet prayer, and it has also been outfitted to cater for tourists, with several signs indicating the fire exit and even the ‘gift shop’ to the right.

It’s busy today, with several groups of tourists being led by a guide, they are taking photos of the statues and impressive paintings on the walls and ceiling whilst a few, undisturbed locals are praying as they sit in random spots in the aisles.

A few clergymen dressed in the traditional black and white garb stroll up and down but they don’t pay any attention to you and you glance around, wondering how you will find Ambrose.

The clergymen are possibly the ex-coworkers of your mentor and it seems none of them are aware of who you are. It’s best to ask around and so you make your way towards the altar at the end of the chapel where you spot an old man at the altar dressed in the traditional white and gold garb.

A pair of half-moon, gold-rimmed reading glasses perch precariously over the length of his long nose and a few tufts of silvery grey hair poke out underneath his black hat. Beside him, a Mightyena sits on its haunches as it scans the area and as you approach, it emits a growl and the old priest looks up from his book and squints his eyes at you.

“May I help you, young lady?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone called 'Ambrose'. I was informed I would find him here.”

“And who might you be?”

“I’m a disciple of Ezra’s.”

He blinks sluggishly for a moment before his thick eyebrows scrunch together and he pushes his glasses further up his nose, peering at you for a closer look. “Disciple?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Confusion sweeps the old man’s face for a second before he says, “I am Ambrose.”

“He’s in hospital right now. Will you go see him?” you ask. Stunned, Ambrose hesitates for a brief moment and you're quick to add, “He has cancer.”

Ambrose blinks widely behind his glasses before he shakes his head. "Oh, Ezra. How unfortunate."

“He mentioned ‘Deimos’. Does that mean anything to you?”

Your response is an alarmed hiss of “Shh, not so loud,” before the old man closes the book he was reading with a slam and hops off the altar; he grabs his walking stick and Mightyena’s leash which is fixed with a collar and the pokemon guides him down the stairs carefully. “Let's speak over here.”

He beckons you to follow him to an empty pew at the front where he ushers you to sit down before plopping himself down.

“Ezra should not have mentioned its name to you," he utters.

“Why?”

“Do you know what Ezra has done?"

"What?"

"I mean the reason why he was thrown out of the church?”

You think it would be wise to hear what he has to say so you merely stare, and he sighs exasperatedly once more.

“Many years ago, a boy was brought to us from the orphanage who claimed that he had been conversing with a creature of unknown origin. It taught him things."

"What kind of things? What kind of creature was it? A pokemon?"

"No. Not a pokemon."

"Then...a demon?"

Ambrose appears conflicted as he grips his cane tightly.

"Unfortunately, he was never inclined to share those details with us," he replies. "Everyone thought the boy was delusional but he affirmed its existence and that it was real, and so we called it the unspeakable horror. Ezra was worshipping this false god, so he was sent to us to be rinsed and cleansed, to save his soul. Gradually over the years, he improved and he learned our teachings instead…and he stopped speaking to this thing and when he was old enough, he took on a wife and had a child. I thought he would be fine but then I was told a demon had targeted him and his family and he allegedly invoked the unspeakable horror he had known since childhood, which resulted in the death of his loved ones. It was a bad time. The church received a great deal of backlash and he was banished from the order. Ezra has lost favour with God, and you should do the same and renounce him and his teachings now, before it’s too late.”

Ezra has never told you about any of this; however, you do know one thing:

“Ezra isn’t evil," you retort, "he’s my mentor and he’s been helping me this whole time. He taught me everything. He’s been helping tonnes of people since you kicked him out.”

“He’s been teaching you forbidden, dark magic. Ezra is a condemned heretic and his methods are unorthodox. We do not speak of him here.”

"Does this mean you can't help me?"

"You may speak to me to absolve your sins."

You sigh heavily. “If you can’t help me, that’s fine,” you reply. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

Ambrose shifts uncomfortably in his seat before he says, “May God guide you along the way.”

…

You leave the church, back to square one and having hit a dead end.

Returning to Wedgehurst, you grab your rucksack and begin to pack some essentials, namely your radio, journal, some talismans and a few snacks. Graves' photo of your parents drop out of the journal which you pick up and scan intently for a few moments, before you carefully return it safely in between the pages of the journal. You leave the bag propped up beside your bed for later.

Afterwards, you make your way to the lab to conduct desk-based research. Unable to shake off the feeling that something bad is going to happen, you head to the bookshelves and begin rifling through any titles that may be of interest and settle them on the floor near your desk.

Once you’ve amassed a few anthologies, you pick up the first book off your pile and flip to the first page. You will be going through every book in an attempt to unearth more information on Gossamer Cave.

You also try to find out more information on the shiny Lucario you had seen several years ago. When nothing fruitful comes from the books, you rifle through papers and journals you have only to come to the same conclusion. Next, you sift through various maps of Galar, tourists leaflets and articles about Galar’s history, legends and folklore.

There is no mention of the cave anywhere.

Once you’ve gone through the majority of the hard copies, surrounded by mountainous stacks and piles of old and itchy books, magazines and other miscellaneous documents, you move online and conduct various searches, scrolling through page after page until your eyes hurt.

You extend your search to include all possible regions – Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kalos, Alola… unfortunately, having factored in major regions meant it would not be possible to complete your findings in one night.

Despite this shortcoming, you can only find legends on ancient, mythical pokemon and their ties to the distinct regions. There is nothing on Galar, the legendary pokemon and any relations to Gossamer Cave.

Perhaps you’re looking at this wrong, you think, so you attempt to find any information you can on Deimos - whether its nature is demonic or not - but all you come across are basic information on the moon and the mythos.

You grab your cup for a sip of your drink but it’s empty - you’ve run out of coffee – grumbling, you rise from your seat, stretch and head to the coffee machine only to see that you’ve run out of coffee beans and coffee sachets. The next alternative is tea but all the Eldegoss tea is gone too. You're out of everything.

Sighing, you return to your desk, yawning; exhaustion has made you weary and your temples are throbbing. You close your eyes, resting your head on your elbows for a quick lie down and you find yourself drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

However, something soft and weighty is propped over your shoulders and flops over your back and you reopen your eyes to see Leon sitting on the spare seat beside you, trying to tuck his cape over you.

“Leon!” you exclaim, eyes wide.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smoothing his large hand over your hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

“It's fine. I shouldn't be sleeping anyway,” you reply, before you fling your gaze to the clock on the wall. "You're early."

“Yep,” he says with a grin. “I can stay with you for the rest of the evening.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah,” he says, before he quickly pulls you into his embrace; you’ve grown accustomed to his hugs, how he envelopes you with his arms and pulls you against him as tightly as possible.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest as you snuggle against him. Admittedly, you were feeling very alone today and his presence is very reassuring. You almost want to ask him not to leave your side.

He chuckles as you bury your nose into his neck, inhaling his musky scent and rubbing your cheek against him as affectionately as you can. He rubs your shoulder soothingly before you pull away, nudging your head to the sofa with a smile and you both rise from your seats, wandering to the couch where you both seat yourselves side by side with the cape draped over the two of you, the cape keeping you close together and very warm.

“Any updates on Inspector Graves and your mentor?” he murmurs as your shoulders knock together, your thighs touching.

“No update, but they’re doing okay.”

“I hope they wake up soon.”

“Me too,” you reply with a sigh, closing your eyes as he weaves an arm around your shoulder.

“How did you get on with your research?”

You shake your head. “Nothing substantial. I met and spoke to Ambrose but he can’t help me.”

“What did he say?”

“Just told me a bunch of bad stuff about Ezra. Urgh, I need a break.”

“Yes, it’s very important to take breaks every now and then,” he replies, and you chuckle.

“I think so too; I need a distraction. You’ll do nicely.”

As you rest your head on his shoulder, Leon picks your hand up and in turn, you rub your fingers over his callused skin; it’s from years of pokemon training and battling, and as you gently smooth your fingertips over his thumb, Leon folds his hand over yours and your hands enclose together tightly.

You smile and he carefully observes your reaction; since you’re so close to him, you can hear his heart pounding a little harder and louder than before as his cheeks grow red and warm. Deciding to fan the flames, you huddle even closer to him and then shift to place your hand over his thigh; he tenses up immediately.

“Leon?” you murmur absentmindedly, stroking his thigh before you use two fingers to run up and down his leg.

Leon stares at your action before shifting his glance to you, unconsciously swallowing down. “Y-yes?”

“If my parents were still around, they would have loved to have met you…would’ve loved you in general,” you mutter as you gaze at the tranquil scenery outside. “And Rosie too. You would’ve gotten on so well with them.”

He nods, his eyes glued to your wandering hand. “Hop loves meeting new people and making new friends, I’m sure he would’ve loved meeting Rosie. They would get along like a house on fire.”

You nod, patting him on the knee before you gently squeeze the sculpted muscle of his outer thigh and he tenses up for a second time. “Everything would have been so different.”

“Mm-hm,” he makes a weak noise from the back of his throat as you lean against him comfortably with a sigh.

"I just want them back."

A brief silence spawns, and Leon observes you carefully.

"Do you think I'm...fooling myself?"

"What do you mean?"

"....Every time Graves or anybody else would say that they were dead, I'd...well, I'd tell them off. I'd rebuff them. I'd say my family were still alive and that's it, end of discussion...but I think a part of me deep down knows they're dead. And that they have been, for a long time," you whisper, "there's no way to bring them back, and I can't deal with it because I never knew how. I don't want to accept it because I...it's...well...I-I..."

As you struggle for words, inhaling shaky breaths, Leon wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"I can't deal with it, Leon."

Whilst he ponders the best way to reply, you're quick to spring back to your usual self, hastily wiping away your tears and giving him a wide smile.

"Oh gosh, look at me. I...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to dump that on you-"

"No, wait."

Before you attempt to wriggle free from his embrace, he plants his hands on your shoulders, effectively stopping you and you look up, your gazes meeting. Leon's smile has completely vanished, replaced with a solemn expression.

"You've never had the chance to talk about it, have you?"

You're surprised he's so blunt with you on this occasion and his words make you double-take. "I'm fine, honestly! I made a mistake, I didn't mean to say that-"

He squeezes your shoulders firmly, "Listen. It's okay. You can tell me."

His eyes never leaving yours, you let out a weak laugh from the back of your throat, trying to smile albeit failing miserably and you shake your head, just a little, casually flinging your gaze to the side, then to the ceiling, then back to him. Leon's gaze doesn't shift. You're no longer able to fool him and your mouth falls open a tad, as though you were trying to speak though no words come out.

"I..." you croak out, your voice weak and dry all of a sudden.

When the first tear leaks out from the corner of your eye, you quickly wipe it away.

"Leon," you mutter, inhaling a breath.

He waits.

"...I need to go back to work."

You can tell he is disappointed by your answer, but he nods regardless and says, “I’ll help," before he throws a glance to himself, at his Champion gear. “Let me get changed out of these clothes first.”

He departs from the lab and returns in half hour or so donned in a black hoodie and sweatpants; the change from Champion to lounge bum is so drastic, and upon his return, you've gone back to normal, to your usual self, as though the conversation that had taken place had vanished completely, and you giggle to yourself whilst Leon grins at you timidly.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, and you shift your gaze to two bookshelves in the corner.

“….I haven’t gone through those yet….”

Leon looks undeterred despite your despondent tone, and rolls his sleeves up and takes out the first book from the top shelf. They’re large and old, resembling tomes, with their sleek gold lining. Leon prevents himself from sneezing from the muskiness of the pages and though you’re concerned, he joins you at the desk where you’re going through two books at the same time.

He watches anxiously but you don’t notice, going through page after page, holding a magnifying glass occasionally when the text is too small. Leon settles his book on the desk, sitting opposite you and flips to the first page.

The text is tiny. The words are archaic. It was probably written fifty or seventy years ago, complete with hand-drawn illustrations of strange-looking creatures. He checks the cover where the fine print reveals it's a book on demons.

Looking up, you’ve already covered a third of the books that are propped up in front of you.

He watches you pour through the research wordlessly, completely absorbed.

You’re one of the most hard-working people he’s ever met.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, looking up from your book.

Leon glances at his own book. He had barely passed the first page. “Uh, no, sorry.”

“That's okay, take your time.”

It’s back to reading and as you flip through pages and pages, Leon continuously tosses you worried glances. In a few or minutes, you’ve gone through the first book and shut the cover, rubbing your temples as you close your eyes and you shake your head. No Deimos, no Gossamer Cave.

You reach for the second book and begin to plough through, and Leon has only passed the first chapter of his anthology. He stares as you go through the pages one by one, your eyes glued to the book, scanning the thin pages, fingers blurred with black ink.

“There must be something here,” he hears you utter under your breath, “Anything! Even just one word will do. There must be something that will help me…Come on!”

As you groan aloud with frustration, slumping in your chair with defeat, Leon puts his book down and grabs his chair, carrying it over to your side before he drops it by your side, facing you.

“Hey,” he says, and you cast him a tired glance.

Leon stares at you intently for a while before he gently pulls you into his embrace once again, giving you an affectionate squeeze.

The tension in your shoulders disappears immediately, the mounting frustration, agony and exhaustion slowly ebbing away as he embraces you tightly; with a shuddering sigh, you close your eyes and sweep your arms around him, murmuring a quiet but grateful ‘Thank you’ in his ear before you press your lips gently over his cheek.

...

As the night wears on, Leon returns to Postwick; he asked if you wanted to stay overnight at his (he has a spare bedroom for you) but you declined; you had desperately wanted to, but recent events have made you more cautious than you should be and you don’t want to endanger him or his family.

At home, you have dinner with Sonia and Magnolia, watch some late night TV together then take a shower. It’s been a long time since you’ve spent the night at home, and you and Sonia spend the remainder of the evening chatting until it’s time for bed although the entire duration of your light conversation, a feeling of dread was growing in your gut as the hours passed.

"It's so nice that you're home!" she gushes, "we can go and get our nails done together and go to the beauty salon!"

She continues going on about other tasks you can accomplish together but you mutter, "Hey Sonia?" as you lie on your bed, staring at the bland ceiling of your shared room.

"Yeah?" She's at the vanity table, brushing her hair.

"If anything happens to me, can you look after my pokemon?"

She puts her brush down and turns to you with a huff, hands on her hips. "Of course! But why are you saying something like that anyway? Nothing's going to happen to you." She chastises you with a shake of her head.

"...I feel awful," you murmur, "In fact, I've been feeling awful all day. It won't go away."

"Well, your godfather and Ezra are in hospital, of course you feel awful."

You nod in agreement. That could be it.

"And you're probably tired and not used to being so active during the day." She sighs as she climbs on her bed and stretches in her comfy pyjamas, grinning, “It’s been such a long time since you’ve actually slept at the same time as me, too. This is so nice! You should stay at home more often.”

You nod again and she rolls over to reach for the lamp.

“I’m switching the lights off now.”

“Okay.”

“Night!”

“Goodnight, Sonnie.”

The bedroom is encompassed in darkness at the flip of the switch, and you hear Sonia rolling over to lie on her side with a sigh whilst you lay sprawled on your back under the covers, eyes closed.

Taking deep breaths in and out, it takes a while for your mind to gently ease into soothing, dark oblivion, and you begin to nod off. You listen to the wind howling gently outside, Sonia’s clock ticking on the wall. You think about Jace, Volkner, your mentor, Graves and finally, Leon.

At the mere thought of the Champion, you smile to yourself as you wonder what exciting things you will do with him tomorrow when he finishes work. Maybe you will have the double date with his friend Raihan and his girlfriend? Maybe you will go camping with him in the Wild Area once more?

With happy thoughts in mind, you roll to your side in a bid to get comfortable and soon, sleep overtakes you.

Your eyes close and as your body grows limp and weightless, your mind ventures away from the bedroom and into the deepest depths and the pit of the abyss, and as you drift to sleep, you dream of a long stretch of road that lies ahead of you, surrounded by two-storey houses with long driveways and huge gardens.

This is your old neighbourhood in Kalos.

“Huh?” you utter to yourself, “why am I here?”

It’s night and it’s raining heavily, wind battering your form. You’re standing in the middle of the road for some inexplicable reason, freezing and trembling from the frigid chilly air; you hug yourself and cautiously glance at your surroundings.

A familiar house lies up ahead.

Stunned, you make your way over and up to the front porch, looking up and around. All the lights are switched off. Everything’s as you remember; mum’s porcelain Politoed garden set are put on display in the lawn. The hedges have been trimmed, courtesy of your father. Rosie’s scooter hasn’t been collected in and lies by the gate.

Dad placed a spare key for any accidents, so you grab it from underneath a Cottonee ornament by a plant pot and you slot the key into the door, twisting it.

The door opens and you step inside your home, closing the door behind you.

Although you have not returned for years, it does not feel that way; you venture into the lounge and peek inside; the sofas, the mantelpiece, the TV…the two leather recliners where dad and Graves used to sit when watching the games…it’s all there.

“I’m home,” you murmur under your breath, before you throw your glance to the stairs.

Sucking in a shaky breath, you head up as quietly as you can and find your old bedroom door, opening it.

The two beds are there, and there are two individuals sleeping inside.

There’s Rosie, who lies on her side, facing you. And then there’s a lump under the covers in the other bed, which you assume is yourself.

Eyes widening, you realise why you have come home, at this time.

“Rosie!” you whisper in shock, before you tiptoe over to her side, “Rosie, wake up.”

She groans and opens her eyes weakly as you shake her shoulder. “….Sissy?”

“Yes, it’s me! Oh god, this is…this is it, I know why I’m here! Come with me. Come with me now,” you hurry inside the room and scoop her out of the bed, into your arms.

Cautiously throwing a glance to the lump in the bed, you breathe a sigh of relief when it does not move, so you quickly leave the room as silently as you can and trek down the stairs.

At the front door, you set Rosie down and she looks around in the dark before she clutches her little hands together and looks up at you, her lip wobbling. She says, “Sissy, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, Rosie, everything’s gonna be okay,” you reply, pulling open the door for her and ushering her outside into the stormy night with you.

“Mum!! Dad!!” a familiar voice suddenly yells, “Rosie, no!!”

It’s your voice.

Looking up, you see ‘yourself’ standing at the top of the banister, ashen-faced and petrified.

Everything is surreal, and a slither of guilt slides into your gut but as she runs downs the stairs towards you, you pull the door shut in her face and jam the key inside the lock, holding onto the handle as tightly as you can.

You can hear her screaming and fighting with the doorknob, trying to get it open.

Aware she’ll call your parents next, you leave the key in the lock, grab Rosie and begin to hop down the steps of the front porch, heading for the street.

“Sissy, what are you doing?” Rosie exclaims, “Where are we going??”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Rosie,” you utter as you adjust your grip on her. She is so warm, this cannot be just a dream. This must be real. And if this is real, you’re determined to do one thing: “I’m here to save you.”

Angry footsteps pound after you; you toss a glimpse over your shoulder to see your father rushing towards your direction. He’s too quick, and whilst you’re ecstatic to see your father alive in the flesh once again, his gaze sweeps through you, as though you’re naught a shadow in a thick fog, and he seizes hold of Rosie, pulling her out of your grip. He looks confused.

“Who’s there? Who are you??” he demands.

There’s no time for explanation, you struggle with your little sister as your dad fights back, pulling Rosie as far as away from you as much as possible.

“Dad!! Let go! Let go of her!!!” you scream angrily, but he’s wildly flailing his arms into space as though fighting an invisible assailant which forces you to duck and retreat on several occasions.

Grabbing onto the back of Rosie’s shirt, you cling on as much as possible until the fabric tears and your nails furiously rake against her back.

She emits a startled shriek as she’s finally back in dad’s arms and you topple backwards, staring at your hands in shock. Your father glances left and right, his terrified gaze missing you completely, before he turns and disappears towards the direction of your house.

Looking up, your father has vanished with Rosie.

“Dad, wait!!!”

Scrambling to rise, your feet do not move on their own accord and you’re forcibly pulled away from the ground, your body thrown backwards with malicious force until you collide with a hard surface.

Confused, you’re left to rub your aching head as you pick yourself back up; the scenery has changed, shifting from the street outside your house to the basement, specifically your father’s lab.

You attempt to take one step forwards only to be met with a thick glass, revealing that you’re in a container of some sort.

Throwing your gaze down to yourself, your body has become engorged, clunky and ungainly and it doesn’t take too long for you to realise yes, something is definitely not right.

You try to speak, to say a word but all that emits is a rather low and horrific, demonic screech. Lifting your hands to eye level only to see two large and awkward-looking, grey-skinned palms. In fact, you are not even certain this is ‘skin’ and overall, it is not belonging to a human but a pokemon.

Dusknoir.

Cheerful, muffled humming captures your attention and you glimpse over to see Rosie playing with her dolls at the foot of the staircase.

“Rosie!” you yell, thumping your strange, massive hands against the glass, “Rosie, it’s me!”

She looks up and turns to your direction, cocking her head to one side. “Dusky-nor?”

“Rosie, let me out.”

Instead of replying, she picks up her two pokedolls and forces them to kiss, whacking them together again and again.

You try hard to grab her to pay attention.

“Rosie, let me out. You wanna play, right? I’ll play with you. Let’s play.”

To your chagrin, she does not bat an eyelid and as you glance around the lab anxiously, it’s then you see your father’s poster of morse code taped to the wall. That must be it: Rosie cannot understand what you’re saying.

Tapping on the glass with one of your fingers, you spell out a message, occasionally drawing a dash. Rosie eventually looks up and glances at your direction once more.

“Play?” she says, having understood.

“Yes, let’s play a game. Find a way to let me out,” you spell out in morse code.

She juts her bottom lip out and shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound very fun, Dusky-nor. Why don’t we play tea party instead?”

Before you can reply, the door to the basement opens and a girl enters. It’s ‘you’, again. “Rosie, what are you doing here?” your past self says with a huff. “Don’t come down here on your own.”

She picks your little sister up and off the ground and you watch them converse before the dolls are collected and the two sisters glance at you.

Goddamnit, you weren’t quick enough.

You growl and slam your hands over the glass repeatedly with frustration as they scurry off in a panic in response to your display of anger.

“Wait!” you yell.

The lights are turned off, bathing you in darkness, doom and gloom.

You are alone.

Curling into a ball, you wonder how you got yourself into this sticky situation and how you are going to get yourself out of it. Hell, why are you in the body of a Dusknoir anyway? How did this even happen? Though there are horrific true stories of kids waking up and discovering that they had turned into Abras...

Even though your family are here and you are in the sanctity of your own home, you cannot help but feel very scared and isolated. You can’t be locked up here forever.

Unsure how long you have been stuck here, you begin to feel not quite yourself. Your enlarged stomach is empty of food and your mouth hungers for something to eat. A mere scrap or morsel will do. Perhaps you should attempt to escape, somehow. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Lifting your hand, you might as well try and carry out one of Dusknoir's attacks, perhaps a simple Shadow Ball would do the trick. To your amazement, a ball of sweeping dark energy automatically begins to manifest and gather from the base of your palm as soon as the thoughts of escaping your confinement arises in your mind and from it, an uncontrollable, powerful blast shoots at the glass container which shatters it entirely.

The action was not without consequence though, and your father suddenly goes flying away from the contraption from the sheer force, smacking into the wall as shards of sharp glass rain over his body.

It appears he had been standing nearby doing some late night research but you weren’t even aware of his presence and now that you've attacked him by accident, you're rooted in your spot with shock.

Time must have passed since you were left on your own and everything has been fast forwarded to a particular crucial moment of your past which must be the event where your father and sister went missing.

Freed from the glass container, you rise into the air.

Dusknoir’s power is impressive; you feel its power surging through your body, the strength it possesses. You could do anything you willed, such as saving your father and Rosie before the incident happens.

Your father groans audibly with pain as you attempt to reach him, but his Sableye and Haunter spring out and begin attacking you to protect their trainer; you did not know that they were also here that night.

“I’m trying to save them!” you growl at the pokemon as you avoid their troublesome attacks. “Stop getting in my way!”

You manage to sweep them up and into your hands, unsure how to deal with them.

The answer lies when a short distance away, the papers lying on your father’s desk gently slide an inch or so from their usual places before they’re completely tossed into the air; a strong wind has whipped up from out of nowhere in the small space of the basement, causing chilly air to spread throughout the entire area. A shimmering, horizontal line appears in the darkness and a gaping hole opens up leading to a swirling vortex of deep purple.

As Sableye and Haunter continue to thoroughly resist, getting on your nerves and ruining everything, you proceed to throw them inside the portal. They are immediately sucked inside and vanish in seconds, their helpless cries drowned out by the blowing winds.

Turning round, your next course of action is to take your father and sister with you; a dim white light hovers from your father’s unmoving body, an inch above his head, shining under the gloomy light of the basement.

You make your way towards him and a little, frightened wail can be heard.

It’s Rosie, but you do not see her, just another light identical to your father's - except hers is a beautiful and bright, shining white light. It's incredibly powerful, and you are immediately drawn to it like a Venomoth to a flame, overwhelmed with the most haunting desire to devour it.

You gingerly pick her up with your massive palm though she flails and struggles.

“Rosie!” you exclaim, “I’m going to save you.”

“No! Let me go!” she kicks and screams for your parents and as your father begins to stir, you also pluck him up effortlessly off the ground.

With your father and sister in your grasp, your breathing begins to grow laboured and your vision grows blurry; your insides squirm and grows hot and you emit a yell as your stomach opens up, your ribs and skin stretching until they snap and tear apart.

It’s Dusknoir’s mouth, and you let out a choked rasp of pain whilst your human hostages continue to struggle.

“What…?” you whimper out, before your hands begin moving on their own accord.

You are not in charge anymore; Dusknoir is back in control and it’s hungry.

“Wait, stop!”

As you tremble and gasp, Dusknoir’s hands continue to move beyond your control.

“Stop!” you yelp, hot tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “NO!”

You begin to feed your father and sister inside your belly, watching them wriggle and flail, their screams muffled before everything goes silent as Dusknoir’s mouth seals shut.

You’re no longer hungry.

…

“Oh god! It was me!” you cry out, “It was me!”

Tossing and turning, you sit up in the darkness with tears staining your face, hands clawing at the sides of your head.

A crumbling static noise captures your attention and you look up; your radio lies a distance from you and whilst you wonder what it is doing here from out of the blue, you head over, bending down to pick it up.

It feels cold and heavy in your hands, and the dial is turned wrong.

Out of habit, you switch it to eighteen ninety eight hertz where the static grows louder and finally, a scratchy voice can be heard:

“-a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies...”

The voice is unfamiliar to you.

“Hello?” you say, though your rule of thumb is not to respond no matter what you hear. “Who’s this?”

“This is Rosie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then it’s me, your father.”

“You’re not my father.”

“Yes, I am. And then on some days...I’m your mother.”

Dropping the radio with fright, you watch it clatter to the ground and the antenna breaks and the screen shatters upon impact, but the voice from within begins to chuckle.

“I’m coming for you."

…and you wake up by a slight tremor underneath your body and a weight pressing down on your chest and legs.

Your eyes open in a snap at the unfamiliar sensation and you discover you're in bed, soaked to the bone with cold sweat.

Inhaling shaky breaths as you come to grips that you are now fully awake and the temperature of the entire room has plummeted, the weight on your body grows heavier and heavier and initially, you're paralysed, numb from the horrific nightmare...but there's something in your bed and you promptly lift the covers up.

A pair of red, glowing orbs dance around in strange circles, weaving and bobbing between the small gap for a split second before you realise they are not circles of light but in fact eyes, and these eyes had been watching you until you had woken up - and the weight disappears in a split second, retreating. The duvet follows its movements, a bump zooming all the way to the edge of the bed before it drops off and the duvet goes flat.

You kick the blanket off yourself entirely, scrabbling to sit up in alarm at what you had just witnessed.

The clock beeps loudly and you whip your head round; the LED screen reads three am precisely.

The tremor returns and you hold your breath, before a second and far more violent quake flings you to one side of the bed.

The bed shakes again and you finally cry out as you glance around yourself in shock and confusion; the bed rocks angrily to and fro, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The noise is deafening.

In the darkness, your eyes dart left and right frantically as the bed continuously shakes and Sonia stirs, grumbling and groaning from the deafening noise.

You climb out, dropping to the floor and crawling backwards on your elbows. Sonia, now wide awake, rubs her eyes and flips on the switch of the lamp before she emits a gasp of shock at the sight of your shaking bed.

“What’s going on?!” she shrieks with fright before she lets out a loud cry of, “GRAN!!”

As she wails, a dark shadow suddenly flits from underneath your bed and to the ceiling of the room, clinging to one corner.

You daren't peel your eyes off it, your entire body shaking all over with fear as this shadow - initially appearing as a blob, begins to take on the shape of a man - and it springs towards you in a matter of seconds, leaving you no room to retaliate.

Sonia had been gawping at your bed in astonishment whilst you hurriedly evade the incoming attack and roll over to your rucksack, pulling out your khira dagger from within. You plunge the dagger into the body of the shadow as quickly as you can and it writhes for a few seconds or so.

It's too early to call it a victory, as the dagger wavers under your grip before the blade promptly scatters into fragments and the shadow slips away.

Stunned, you gawk at the broken dagger as the humanoid silhouette rises, towering over you. You stare up at this unknown being, your breathing growing laboured before it slams a dark appendage towards your direction. You narrowly escape by making a frantic dash for the door but the floorboards cave in from the assault and Sonia lets out a cry of fright from the alarming sound.

The shadow pursues you furiously, crawling over the wall and over the stairs.

And you yell, "Gengar!"

The pokemon appears, gathering dark energy in his hands before firing a powerful Shadow Ball, yet the attack passes through it completely and the pokemon is left bewildered as the shadow continues in its pursuit. Gengar is quick to react however, and he sinks into the shadows once more.

You throw a casual glimpse over your shoulder, grabbing several talismans from your bag which you had enchanted earlier. Tossing them at its direction, you're dismayed to see that they do little to stop it and the shadow charges through them completely, rampaging down the stairs in its wake.

Nothing's working, and downstairs, you see Cutiefly and Sunkern at the last step before they spot you - and the shadow.

You want to tell them to run away but Cutiefly flaps his little wings, sending a bustling gust of fairy wind towards your attacker's direction whilst Sunken squeaks and throws a barrage of Razor Leaves at it - to your horror, the attacks pass through much like Gengar's, and the shadow lunges at them.

It happened so quickly; their little bodies are juggled in mid-air as the shadow rips through them. Sunkern drops to the ground first, his eyes wide and glossy, the leaves ripped off his head. Cutiefly's fuzzy body follows suit, bouncing over the floor and coming to a rolling stop. A deep puddle of red seeps out from their motionless, mangled bodies, staining the pristine floor.

The sight of your beloved pokemon torn in half in front of your very eyes sends you into shock; your mouth contorts before you unleash an ear-splitting shriek of horror from the back of your throat.

Two weak balls of light rise from their bodies; before you can take a step forwards, the shadow pounces on one and swallows it up and the remaining light, in an effort to escape, darts to the side but is also quickly chased, caught and devoured by the shadow.

It's preoccupied which might give you an opportunity to attack, but a harsh tug on your arm stops you from doing otherwise: it's Gengar, and he's unlocked the front door for you.

"We need to go!" he exclaims.

Sonia arrives at the banister and spotting the bodies, emits a scream. You don't have time to react, and you certainly have no choice but to leave.

Sparing one last glance at the mangled bodies of your pokemon, you leave with Gengar, sprinting out of the house and down the path as quickly as you can.

...

That night, the ghost Pokemon Researcher of Wedgehurst did not return home.

[obliviouskind]

The Infancy of Galactic, Its Leader – and What Was to Come

---

Cyrus had the idea of Galactic within his mind at the tender age of seventeen, a concept more than anything else. A fickle imaginary position that could, or would, bring him the godhood he thought himself worthy of (deserving of, and perhaps even destined to gain) within the realm that currently was – before he could take his place within the new one that need be created.

---

--That the world was at fault, with its spirit for strife created at the humans bare hands, was a matter that had always been known to him in some manner. His family aided perfectly in fostering his view of humanity. His father, in his eyes shown through actions that would befall him in its entirety, was a vile human being. Stealing and lying to get to where he found himself within the elite – to his mother, who sought company with unfamiliar faces in broad daylight yet could not find it in herself to spare a moment in her time to ask her son how he was doing.

She wouldn’t have gotten an honest answer, he would admit. So perhaps it was fruitless to dwell on such matters…

(That he would come to mimic his father’s ways as he grew in age was a thought he didn’t dwell on, nor did he feel connected to the idea. For when he lied, when he stole – it was justified. Can’t you see? He did it all to reach his goals that would make the world better.

--That the one that already existed got destroyed piece by piece meant little. It need not exist, nor will it be around once he was done…)

His one escape at this early age, his one light through this troubling revelation and realization – was at the guiding hand of one man alone. The designated youth pastor in training, only known to Cyrus under the name of Father Orlov. The youngest within the church, barely above the age of twenty – yet to Cyrus it made no difference. He held the authority over himself and the others of the group, he was the adult. Heaven-sent for him and, perhaps, him alone. He did no wrong, for he followed the ringing bells of the church as Oración played in almost unrecognizable tones within the tower looking skywards, took strides across stone floors as his baritone voice echoed off of pillars keeping the canopy above him supported and Orlov? He always smiled, even when wrong had been done. Would hold a grin that distorted once smooth skin with wrinkles, aging him beyond his years. And as the evening sunlight shone behind his towering frame, the singsong tones of children spewing choir songs line for line for all to hear – the feverish vigor that Father Orlov had shown him behind closed doors in his attempts to show Cyrus that he, and no other, had a purpose, got lost in the shape of a man that in the eyes of all others could be described as normal.

In those moments, even as a young boy, Cyrus had contemplated if there was a truth to either personality that the pastor showed – or if everything about him was theatrical and false. --He was merciful, until he was not. He was your guiding light, until his thumbs pressed into the hollows of your cheeks hard enough to leave bruises – leaving tears you swore to never shed at the corners of your eyes for him to judge.

As though he was Arceus himself.

… If he had deserved the hours upon his knees, his neck craned to the point of lasting damage before limber fingers found their way into his light locks to keep him steady – he did not fully know. For what he did wrong, was minor such offenses. Inconsequential and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

(Yet now, looking back, he found that had it been him in Father Orlov’s shoes, then he most likely would’ve mimicked the act on his own accord. Punishment, as it were, hurt more if something that deeply mattered to you was questioned. Cyrus may have grown out of the physical punishment his father dished out towards him once he hit teen hood – but the punishment of being shunned for his actions within the church stung all the more the older he became.

--If he didn’t belong in the church, then he truly was a lost soul.)

Father Orlov had been the person to put the idea within his mind. That he, Cyrus Akagi, needed to be set right – for he would one day bring forth greatness. Eventually, as more doors opened than closed for him within the religious scene of Sinnoh – stories locked away were brought before him. And the spark to actually do something with the station he held began to manifest into something more…

Something menacing, some might have said.  

---

… Cyrus had the idea of Galactic within his mind at the tender age of seventeen, a concept more than anything else. A fickle imaginary position that could, or would, bring him the godhood he thought himself worthy of (deserving of, and perhaps even destined to) within the realm that currently was – before he could take his place within the new one that need be created.

In his early youth, the promise of greatness had not been one of selfish desires – for to be equal with the Creation Trio and their Father had been his goal. However, as the years passed, as he aged from fourteen to fifteen, from fifteen to sixteen – the matter that he, unlike the claims of the priests, had never had his prayers answered became harder and harder to ignore. For, certainly, if this was the path that was created for him and him alone – then Arceus should speak to him as he does those below him. Yet he did not, would not, and eventually Cyrus decided that he could not.

And thus, to be an equal no longer was his desire. --Cyrus wanted to bring forth those that had ignored his calls, and show them what a mistake that had been.

He would become God. He would replace the one that was, aged and blind to the world he once created – and he would rise above and destroy it all to begin anew. When the world has nothing but evil, a flood must be brought forth to cleanse the grounds.

This revelation was kept to himself, until the day that it wasn’t. Past the age of seventeen now, within the later months of what one may have called a try at normality – Cynthia was the first to hear of his plans, his thoughts, of how there were many troubles youths out there searching for a light to follow and that he, Cyrus, could be just that. A noble proposition at first; one she could not deny. But as details of his inner thoughts spilled forth past tight lips – feeling as though perhaps, within her whom he had given so much of himself to willingly or not, there could be understanding of his ideals – but the matter that he thought of the world he inhabited as less than desirable became all the more apparent. Something terribly hard to ignore and look past.

--They were already forsaken, he would argue. Youths who cast away their humanity the moment they left the church. Useless, unless their potential was brought forth under the guiding hand of someone who knew what he was doing… and I can do just that.

(Once within his embrace, tucked underneath his chin against his chest – now, the young girl distanced herself from his person. As though being near him, as though touching him, would burn her.)

--It would do the world a service, rather than scar it further. For if I led them, then they would work towards a goal that held an ultimatum worth striving for.

(Denial, rejection – and her fists slam against him as though harming him would change his mind. Would right him as she saw fit, for her way had always been the path most traveled. Most desired. With her seated on her knees before him, he would to stand. To tower over her through a growth spurt that came later in life than he would’ve liked it to.)

--… What do you mean, that’s insane? It’s the right thing to do, can’t you see that?

(Let it be known that, though Cyrus was anything but pleasant towards her in this moment – he never came to hurt her. Even in this moment, as his hand cupped her chin and his fingers pushed their limits against the hollows of her cheeks – he never left bruises upon her skin.)

--I thought you were smarter than that, Cynthia. But you’re just a stupid ordinary girl… Aren’t you?

(He had always been more verbal about his distain, after all.)

---

Upon turning eighteen, after what some might consider heartbreak (a sentiment that truly did not connect with him, for losing Cynthia was not as upsetting as one might have thought), Cyrus entered a new chapter of his life in more ways than one. Though still feverish about his ideals, his views and his goals – the matter that he now in the eyes of the law was an adult did not pass him by. --Neither did his father. Quickly, Mr. Akagi brought his only son forth onto a meeting within the company he held power within, seeking a station for Cyrus to take over.

That it was a minor such position for the first upcoming months, was inconsequential. For perhaps, had Cyrus not been the type of man that he was, then he would’ve stuck to such simple tasks as file organization and receiver. But, as it were, the young man quickly managed to enter the competitive ranks as the year went by. If it could’ve been done quicker is up for debate – although having a high work ethic, Cyrus stalled within each position.

--Being forced out of church duty had done well for him, as well as worse. Now lost from the community that once had held him stable, the thoughts festering within his mind like thorns within his throat were hard to ignore. And so, to linger within each station he entered, was a move that was rather conscious. For if you move too quickly, you might miss out on something precious.  

In his teens, days felt as though they took an eternity to begin anew. What time he wasted could be amounted to lingering outside his house after three hours of extra lessons, dreading to return home to a house that most likely stood empty. If not that, then skipping those very classes had become a habit hard to break – all with the consent of his teacher, mind you; she knew he did not need them as badly as his father thought him to.

Now, within the working man’s schedule – it truly felt like there was not enough hours in the day. Still, Cyrus took care in filtering things through a day-by-day approach, seeking out information that he may need for the future while also manifesting a personality of sorts that would aid him in his given task. Stoic, quiet – not so terribly different from how he had come to be within his teens, yet more pronounced and certain. --Stuck up, would be a comment coworkers eventually would hand out as though it was a compliment to take kindly. And mostly, Cyrus did as such. Not because he didn’t know it was meant as banter – for he did; but because it had become a goal of his in the later months of his twenty-first years.

Within his station came privileges not before known to him. That the company he worked for had reach – being one of the leading offices for all transports out of Sinnoh, as well as for those that entered – was not unknown… However, how much he could gather had become a surprising item. Specifically, the inner workings of Sinnoh’s closest neighbor.

Johto, but more prominently – Kanto.

Files upon files had been brought to him about a ‘company’ going under the alias Rocket. A small such business, seemingly, yet ordering more supply than it rightfully should be able to use. Suspect, if nothing more. And so, eventually, a folder filled with given names (or most likely codenames, considering many lacked an attached family name at the end) came upon his request, all thanks to some connections he managed to get a hold of. Pay for, and leave with promises for a later date.

The reason why? Well, though a family mafia concerned with fame and fortune more than change was disappointing to say the least – the matter that such an organization came to fester and, as it seemed – prosper – within Kanto was a marvel to study. Take cues from, if given the chance. --Cyrus did, after all, have something similar in mind for himself and his future.

Though limited in his reach, what he gathered was enough for minor such decisions to be taken. One such thing, leading back to mischievous ‘compliments’ spoken between office corridors. Stuck up, was really just a word for cold. Soulless. How could he deny them their opinions, when it had been his goal to portray himself as such? To ignore his emotions, good or bad, for the sake of staying focused on what needed to be done before change could truly be birthed from ashes.

Approaching his twenty-second year, Cyrus had fastened himself in his role as moderator of a company he would drop the second the chance was given to him. However, the matter that he had invested so much time into this very work… It had halted the creation of what needed be done. Handling so many different sides of the same coin within his own two hands was a task seemingly impossible – for when he should seek out those that followed him, he instead had to build up a foundation for what would support his endeavors in the first place.

Locked in place, it seemed like a goal difficult to reach in the near future. And time, as it was created, was fickle and unstable. When he needed it the most, it might give out on him. --What, or rather whom, allowed Galactic to take its first steps towards something more clear – was by the help of no other than Josefina Yartsev. The new, young secretary stationed for him to manage as he pleased. But one year younger than himself, her reserved and quiet nature was a pleasantry he hadn’t known he had been without before it was given to him.

He came to learn about her background as time went on. As one month passed after another, their companionship worked like fine clockwork. When he needed her, she was there – what he asked of her, she delivered. No questions asked.

Cyrus came to enjoy her in ways he never thoughts himself capable of. For up until now, every person upon this earth (save for Father Orlov, his mind always nagged at him – don’t forsake those that fed you what you desired most) sat vile within his throat. To speak with them, a task rather than pleasant socialization. However, Josefina was different – as different as humans could be. --It would eventually lead him to confess his wants and goals to her, after indications that she, too, was unhappy with the state of her life in this given moment.

Under the guiding light of the late evening sun, Cyrus would call to her from within his office to propose his set conditions to her. If she truly desired to move past the life she now had, to become her own – to find meaning within herself and what her purpose may be – then he could give her just that. She just needed to be ready to give part of herself back in return, unquestioning and faithful as can be.

That she answered with a heated ‘yes’ almost immediately, was worthy of the smile that tugged at his lips. He let himself have this one moment of weakness, this one moment of honest emotion.

--I knew I could trust you, he would offer – rounding his desk to meet her where she stood. You always carried yourself as a woman who knew she deserved better than this.

(He stood closer than need be – his presence, taking all the air out of the room. Enough so that her breathing came in shallow breaths that rose her chest momentarily, before it once more sunk. A tall woman clad in heels, she stood close to him in height yet not enough to meet his gaze without craning her neck ever so slightly.)

--You will hold a very important position, one that will take up your time. Enough so that I would advise against keeping this job. You don’t need it.

(Just as he knew with Cynthia – dearest Cynthia, whom held a gaping wound filled with nothing but filth and a fickle heartbeat within her chest towards him – he knew the same applied to Josefina. For when she looked at him, in this moment, there was honesty within her gaze. Something akin to devotion, to love, that he could not return. Not now.

Perhaps, never.)

--What I need of you is not an easy task. I will help you as much as I can, but for the most part you will have to manage on your own. At least, for a little while. I know you can manage such a thing, can you not? You are, after all, no ordinary girl…

(Breathless, broken. And thus, as her lips parted and something that tasted of promise brushed against his own – Cyrus knew that she would travel to the end of the world and back for him if given the order. If given the chance.

Just as it should be.)

--… Are you?

“No.”

---

Galactic was given its name by the mother who nursed it in its infancy, for Josefina held an interest in all things outlandish. And Cyrus held no protest against this name – for it would not stick around forever, nor did he hold the desire or need to think of something himself. --That Josefina would come to be known as Jupiter, however, was a suggestion of his own. Something she found to be delightful.

Just a few months past his twenty-third birthday, the organization he had sworn to himself to build at the age of seventeen was under his guiding hand. First, distant – though his rare visits to those underneath him had seemed to only heighten the devoted following his commander had managed to gather. It was for the best, in the end, that a mothers children would liken themselves to the present parent, rather than the absent one.

It was as it should be.

Saturn, as well as Charon, were additions to their goal early on – while Mars was a child who came to hold her station from cheer luck alone. Not a bad choice, though a hasty choice all the same.

Leaving his station at the company he had once called his fathers, Cyrus took up the work as messiah for the first time in his life. Properly, with the power to back him up – and years’ worth of research to lead him down the path of godhood.   --The hindrances that would come his way, could not have been seen by anyone.

For truly, what can a child really do against a dynasty ready to take over the world?

[volot]

@arucrea​ ┊it’s the beginning of the end.

wintry, austere... surely, this land bears some resemblance to the hisui of old.

fresh snowfall crunches beneath the press of his boots -- so new and yet still so worn with age -- as he proceeds down the powdered path. the freezing chill threatens to nip at his skin, slip beneath the layers he’d adorned and bathe him blue with winter’s kiss: but the fire burning within the deepest parts of him, untamed at his core, presses him on to endure, endure, endure.

( his desire, even now, cannot be contained: even when rejected by the god he seeks so desperately, he has persevered. knocked from the highest point towards heaven, his crawl back skyward has resumed for a hundred years. fingers rent and raw, teeth grit, refusing to give in: bitterness denies it, ambition destroys it, the divine mission and curiosity pumping the arrhythmic beat of his heart; the blood of the ancient sinnohans burns within his veins, demanding no rest until he has finished what he started. until he, chosen, will witness his ideals fully realized. until a world this cruel is born anew. until god answers for all it has denied him in silence, and bends to his whims. )

a lift, a vault, a leap; he lands, with some minor stumbling, over the fallen tree in front of the split-mouth road he’s hounded. the trail through the undiscovered territory between johto and sinnoh had been a tricky one, maps unreliable and the people scarce; a spit of land that preserves the past so clearly, that if it hadn’t been for the sparse pickings of homes and small settlements on the blurring horizon, perhaps he would have wagered it was a photograph of hisui. untouched by time. not so unlike himself.

but it hadn’t been an impossible task. word with kind strangers had given him a lead and an inch to work with, and when paid in the information he sought, he charged forward with reckless abandon. he was so close, so close -- the sinjoh ruins, the last remaining structure of his people, a holy site long forgotten, a place of calling for arceus, was only a finger’s brush away--

now, it was right over his palm, the lines of it -- his destiny -- matching over where the temple resided. when he rises from his full height and takes in the sight before him, he’s not sure what leaves his chest tighter: the sudden influx of air, or the unforgiving temperature.

had it been the latter, it hadn’t mattered. his heart skips a beat, then begins again: faster now, hammering away in his chest. excitement thunders in his neck, his wrist, in-between his ribs: his mouth trembles, a shuddering breath lost on the cloud of cold that expels from his chapped lips. teeth shine in his smile, wolfish and with unwarranted glee, awe and accomplishment burning in his wide-eyed gaze.

finally. finally.

“the sinjoh ruins... at last, at long last...!”  the words fall from his lips in disbelief, to a party of no one other than himself, voice riding on a tremor as a laugh creeps out. his eyes crinkle, head tipping towards the dreary sky above. snowflakes stick to his reddening skin and cling to his eyelashes as he turns a sneer towards the heaven again, as if god will finally peer from its haven and witness its chosen one, scorned, after all this time.

“almighty arceus...” he breathes, ravenous and rancorous, a prayer and a curse, his sneer gone into a sardonic. with only the wilderness to hear his plea, he demands from the heavens again: “so, this is your altar, is it...? hidden away from humanity, where the birth of a new world begins... the final riddle i’ve been looking for! surely, you must have brought me here, haven’t you?”

silence. nothing. the world yawns and stretches on, suffocatingly quiet. the eye behind his curtain of his hair twitches, its gift long since taken from him. ( why, if god had any heart within it, would it rob him so?! why would it steal its blessing from him, and leave him to be cursed?! ) bitterness coats the back of his tongue, turning his smile sour, as he whispers a promise: “no... of course you have, of course. for a century, i’ve searched, solving every mystery... and now, you will heed my call.”

forward, volo charges -- towards history, to unravel the final mystery of the universe, and turn the cosmos on an axis.