AN: Hello, dear readers! This here is Utopia, sequel to We Can Make It If We Try. I am posting a note here for two reasons:
This story is currently being remodelled slightly – hence why I have taken the original down, but I hope to be posting again soon!
This chapter is deliberately woolly, and all will become clear as you read further on – just to let you know that subsequent chapters will not be quite as confusing, and will not be set in the Cosmos!
It's good to be back! (: A x
Within the bowels of the Cosmos, the beast was trapped, unable to spread his wings or even open his colossal jaws to roar in frustration, in fury.
It was over.
He had won the battle, but lost the war. Yes, he had succeeded in planting his seeds of deceit, spite, jealously, and mistrust into the race of men. Of course he had. He was all-powerful - an unstoppable force of pure malice. The mortals only knew him as 'Chaos'.
No. He had been all powerful. Now he was nothing…nothing. He had never before considered defeat, how could he? Being made of dark shadows and brute Dragon strength, how was it possible that his power had been overcome? But he knew the answer. It was soaring above him freely in the Cosmos they were still damned to share. Ho-Oh. The Firelight Pokémon.
Although never truly having considered defeat, Zyrir found himself explosively furious at his fate. If the prospect of defeat ever did cross his mind, it was always with a naively mortal attitude; but he, Zyrir, was immortal. His defeat did not bring the relief of no longer knowing, feeling, or desiring: instead it brought only a form of frustrating, physical paralysis.
The Cosmos remained as it always had been, and always would be. An inky black abyss, with no clear beginning and no fathomable end - just like him, just like Ho-Oh, and Lugia and many others who dwelt in different factions of the same place. It was their domain - those who could not die. The 'Legendary Pokémon' they had been named.
The mortals were not aware of the Cosmos; they could feel the forces that dwelt within in, and they could be influenced by the powers the immortal beasts possessed – but they were wholly ignorant of this fantastical realm. They could never enter it, although the Legendaries could enter their world…the human world. But not Zyrir.
Zyrir was trapped. As soon as his own petrified soul had been destroyed through the carelessness of that girl, he had been unable to move, unable to fly, unable to seep into the hearts and minds of men and corrupt them. Even if somehow, by some unexplainable phenomena, Zyrir managed to regain a particle of his strength, he knew he would never again seize control of the Earth. The Draco Silicis was gone – and no mortal had truly known precisely why the crystal was so powerful, so infinitely precious. For Zyrir, like any creature, mortal or otherwise, possessed only one soul and, once destroyed, it could not be regained or regrown. Without his soul, the Draco Silicis, Zyrir was unable to ever again inhabit the body of another human being, and thus, even should his strength and abilities ever return, he would have no means of projecting them.
Soulless and incandescent with rage, the dread creature writhed silently in his personal hell.
Far, far above, seemingly mocking him, were the billions of gold-blue orbs that floated in the inky abyss; the representations of human souls. Zyrir could only watch as Ho-Oh flew blithely through the darkness, piping its intolerable song and blessing those human orbs of its choice, causing them to glow a brighter gold than those around them.
But human mortals, as Zyrir had learnt in the many millions of years that these beings had occupied the planet earth, were neither composed fully of darkness or light. Some mortals, although very few, were easier to sway than others – some towards evil, some towards good.
He recalled again with wrath the Dragon girl - 'Pascalia' as other mortals had named her. Every particle of his energy and effort he had expended on her, only for her to be beaten – beaten easily – by that blasted 'child of Firelight', and the 'Firemoon child' who had aided him. Trembling with inexpressible ire, Zyrir found those two particular orbs above him in the Cosmos. They were the easiest to spot, for they glowed more brightly than the rest and, unlike the other orbs that more or less fluctuated constantly between the gold and blue hues of human souls, these were almost purely golden, marbled only with the faintest of blue lines. 'Blessed by Firelight', the other mortals called them.
Zyrir knew that if he could only move, his rage would cause those orbs to be snuffed out like candles in a sudden draught. But it was his inability to exert his power, his inability to rise up from the bowels of the Cosmos he once sought to rule, that had further blackened the essence of his being. In his most deplorable state, Zyrir was more dangerous than ever.
He was not able to drag his gaze from those two golden orbs, pulsing as they did with soft, golden light.
How he longed to destroy them.
Although human lifespans were nothing to an immortal, Zyrir felt that he lived a thousand eons for every damned minute those orbs exited in peaceful harmony.
All was lost.
In a more glorious past, a mere sigh of Zyrir's would rock the Cosmos, and cause the blue counterparts of human souls to shudder and pulse, encouraging evil thoughts, words, and deeds - but now a fully-fledged cry of helplessness and fury did nothing, except to infuriate the beast further, as once again his utter powerlessness was exemplified. The Firelight had won the war, and Zyrir was forced to endure this failure until the End Of Time – assuming such a thing ever came to be.
And then, out of nowhere so it seemed, everything changed.
Shielding his topaz-yellow eyes from the sudden, veritable firestorm above, Zyrir gaped. What was happening, so far above? What was causing that blinding, Cosmos-illuminating light? Ho-Oh was circulating the light-storm, singing joyously, its rainbow tipped wings shimmering through the new, dazzling light.
Still squinting due to the blinding brightness, Zyrir's eyes found that which had lit up the heavens. Another human orb had been brought into existence, and yet such an orb Zyrir had never seen. There was no vein of blue here at all – the orb was comprised purely of golden light, and even those orbs from which it had sprung, those which were normally the easiest to spot in the sea of others, were positively dimmed in comparison with the smaller, newer orb that they had created.
Never before had Zyrir had such an overwhelming desire to obliterate a light, and never before had he tried harder to awaken his power, to leave the bowels of the Cosmos and fly upwards just one more time. But he was spent; all of his power had diminished in that final struggle with Ho-Oh. He did not have the power to even unfold his wings – how could he hope to soar upwards towards that new, sparkling orb? And if he managed to get there, with what strength was he hoping to eradicate it?
But no strength was required.
Opposites will always attract, and without conscious thought, and without one particle of effort, Zyrir was flying once more. He was not controlling himself, although he had no desire to go anywhere but where he was being led. He allowed himself to be steered by this polar force, the force that was compelling pure evil to be inexplicably drawn to pure goodness. The immortal black Dragon collided with the tiny, golden orb with an ear-splitting commotion, causing the Cosmos to rumble and groan, and the Firelight to give an unearthly shriek as it realised what had just occurred.
Like with all cosmic, immortal struggles, the mortals on earth were wholly ignorant of the commotion. Two mortals were particularly ignorant of the movements of Chaos, whom they believed to have been defeated forever. They could think of nothing else but their new-born son; that tiny orb of purely golden light that so attracted that inextinguishable evil.
