Survivor
Hmm...Blame wikipedia for this one...
Summary: Set roughly 150 years after the events in the Sinnoh Reigon. A Post-Apocolypse fic. After the Demons kill almost all of humanity, what will a lone Survivor do?
Disclaimer: I own neither Pokemon nor the Post-Apocolypse ideas. Sadly, they got to it before I did. Mildly inspired by The Mist, Silent Hill, IT, and a few million other horror movies D
The sun has been covered over by it, that horrible pale mist that dulls my senses, and make my emotions as depressed as...Well, I don't really know what to compare it to. It's horrible, that I am sure of. Usually being the last survivor is. I don't know if I am the last surivior. There may be more. But I remember what She said...If you are not hopeful, you can never be disapointed. Disapotion hurts, I know that well. So I listen to Her words, and just concentrait on surviving.
They...Whoever They are..Is...Whoever caused this should die a horribly slow and painful death, if they haven't already. It may not make things better, but it would make me feel better. This mist that blocks my vison, these bloody, rotten corpses of fallen Humans and the Pokemon that tried to protect them...It's horrible. Just awful.
Another thing that She always told me...Though why I never got...Was that you are no more important than any other creature on the planet, and should not be treated as of such. That if you were to die, chances are you would not be missed. Even with those famous celebrities. If they died, people would be sad for a while, then they'd move on, like you'd never of left, ony that you had. Sister always called Her horrible for telling me these things. I laugh grimly. She doesn't know the meaning of horrible. She is dead, like everyone else. I am certain that most of the Humans are dead, and the Pokemon are likewise, other than those 'special' types that were spared.
Ghosts seem to be among those spared, as are the Dark type, Psychic type, the Scathe type, the Poison type, and...Their type. Those merciless Demons. I laugh once more. She also told me not to call anyone or anything a Demon. And yet...she was truely a Demon. Or at least...half of one. Being one of those 'PokeMorphs' must of been irritating. But now...there was in fact a Demon type. I have deemed that She was one of the people that helped make this horrible world filled with blood-paved streets, rotting corpses with Murkrow, Honchkrow, Aerodactyl, and those Demons eating the flesh off of them, and those Demons...Heh...Those Dark types were not the true Demons, and the Scathe type were pretty damn close to being these Demons, but the REAL Demon type surely existed...The Undead type...The merciless slaughterers that came from the realm that they came from and ripped apart the world that I had know, replacing it with these monsters and...
By now I am laughing madly...There was one more type that had been released...The Virus type...Sure, they'd always existsed, but we never truely recognized them as a Pokemon type, until those damned Undeads appeared, killing everything, and the Virus types taking everything else. And it looks like I fell into the trap of a Virus...
The Cicada...one of the most unusual of the Virus types, tends to torture their victims with sorrow-filled thoughts, and then they shall break into an insane laughter, caused by them unknowingly crossing the borderlines of sanity and insanity by the grief and sorrows of their own life. They feel a tad bit paranoid, and eventually start to claw at their own throats. And guess what? That's my Virus. And it doesn't exactly help that my nails were grown for protection against Humans...
One more corpse is added to the piles. A Houndoom chuckles darkly, happy by his decision to team up with a Virus type and a few Undead types. It offered lots of food. But they didn't seem to like their food hot...nor did they seem to need to track down prey anymore...nor did they need him. They turn on the Houndoom, ripping his body apart limb by limb, devoring his intestines hungrily.
Another corpse is added to the pile...
"Don't you just love it when a plan comes to its peak and actually works? I do...It's a bit sad that you had to die, Sam, but you were just a tool for me to use..."
And so the goal of the darker of the Silvertail's goal had been completed...As was Father's. All it took was a bit of mental reconstruction...
Yeah...I probably should of let it end after "One more corpse is added to the piles." Ah, well. I'm not really all that good at writing horror/angsty one-shots. Also, a bit of Hinamizawa...Drop a review.
Wait.What