I was watching.
I am always watching.
When that boy, that poor, miserable boy, came to Cinnabar, I saw his every move.
I heard him. I heard them. I heard it all.
The constant commands, the calls for anarchy, the talk of gods and prophets and champions… it amused me. I have seen many things in this world, wars and legends and battles that tore the world asunder, but never this, never one body hiding a legion of voices.
And they spoke of me. Only briefly, only in passing, but they spoke my name, my true name, the one which no man has yet discovered. They knew my form, my presence, where I was, what I could do to those who dared to cross me. A glitch, they called me. A glitch in the system, something that was never supposed to exist, something that could wreak utter havoc upon the world in an instant.
Yet some still wanted to encounter me.
These voices, these thousands of minds, knew the hidden and intricate rituals that would awaken me and allow them to admire my physical form for a brief moment before my presence corrupted their sight and minds. They knew the danger, the cost, but many in the legion remained undeterred.
So I watched, and waited, and wondered. I had thought I knew all, but I knew not from where these voices had arrived, or how they had come to know of me, while all others in the realm were oblivious to my existence. But they knew of me, and I of them. I had met my equal, another force of chaos that evaded the understanding of mere mortals, and I longed for our moment of confrontation.
But that moment never came.
When the boy stepped foot on my island once more, his physical form remained unchanged, but his mind was different, quiet, focused. The voices had gone missing, absent from all the lands that I searched, as if they had fled from all of reality.
It took three years before I sensed their return. There was another- a new face, in a new land, but unmistakably the same voices in control. I was there for every step of the journey.
But they had forgotten me. Even when they met with the former host, the one who had known of my greatness, not once was my name uttered. Their quest for our encounter had been lost to the vagaries of time.
The voices disappeared again without ever being reminded of me.
I was their equal. I, too, fight for the glorious cause of chaos, for the sake of corrupting the wretched order of the world from within. We should be allies, working side by side. But they ignored me. They forgot me. They no longer cared about me. Whatever their grand scheme was, I no longer fit into it.
Such hubris could not continue.
I marked every day of that long era in which I waited for the voices to arise once more. Over the course of those dull years, I formed a plan. The voices would be able to forget me no longer. They had proved that we could not work together; I would have to prove my might another way.
The host was a girl this time, but I cared for the voices, not the body off which they fed. She moved slowly, much too slowly. They had to be taunting me, knowing that I was waiting for an opportune moment, stretching out every second before I could appear.
Finally the time came for me to reveal myself to the voices. I knew what had to be done, what form to take. They had called me a "glitch", but spoke of others who had earned that name, rumors and legends from a different realm. There was one glitch that was not a glitch, ordinary enough to be accepted by mere onlookers, extraordinary only to the discerning eye.
Pikablu, they called it. A Pikachu colored blue, one of their most ancient legends.
The Trainers of this land called it Marill.
The voices were struggling, the first Leader of this land refusing to fall to their might, and they were begging for some way of vanquishing this obstacle. The voices prayed for a savior, and so I became one.
I alone defeated the upstart called Roxanne. I alone granted them that victory. They praised me, told tales of my valiance, of my virtue. But they remained unaware of who I really was, of my true form. I had not remembered that, despite their vast unearthly power, the voices were entirely unskilled in the art of subtlety.
I had been unnamed then, but as they attempted to change my name, I guided them towards picking a more fitting moniker.
M.
That had been one of their names for me, M. Not my full name, but one that they had once known, one that they still should be able to recall. But though they created a plethora of nicknames for me, none were able to stumble upon the truth. Their thoughts remained clouded, unfocused, unable to comprehend what was before their very eyes.
But that matters less now. I was, and am, beloved by the voices. They praise me, call upon me, hope to pin every success on me.
Yet one challenger remained. There was another whom the mob adored, a Torchic. I had convinced them to let me evolve, but this one remained little, and all the more beloved for his unchanged form. They talked of him as their savior, him as the one who would lead them to greatness, though he was nothing, a mere brainless Pokemon, nothing at all compared to the might contained within me.
But that threat has been e͖̘̼̰̖̜̣͋ͦ̆͟l̠̫͂ͨͤͣ͊͋͐͝ͅͅi̯̣̥͚͖̇̀͠ͅͅm͊̐ͪ͝i̙̣ͮn̘͕̲̤̪̈̒ͧ͆͒͗̒͘a̛̤͕̙̼̘͙͋̄̋̒̓ͯț̣̭̝̩̱̈̒̓ͣͅě̪̝̗͙̀͠ͅd̲͞ now.
None remain to challenge me.
All rely on me.
I have but one goal remaining:
R̤̲̠̖̘͓̬̤͍͑͂̐̔ͦ̐͑̓͡e̛̗͚͚͐͂ͤ͒̈́̎͞m̸̞̪̠͚̖̥̹ͤ̅̔ͯͦ͐ͫͪ̔ȩ̬̤̝̉̄̃m̢̖̰̯̘͍̎ͦ̈́͗̂́̈̇͘͝b̧̥̠̥̖̻ͪͬę̹̤̦̏̌͆ͣ͞r̺͓̦͉̭͔͋ͤ̓ͦ ̹̮̭̤͚̜̺ͫ̋͆̇̚m̷ͥ̑͂҉̼͇̦̤͔̻̼̩e̷̯͍̙͔̥̟̻̒ͮͣͯ̍͢.̟͇͔̺̰̺̭ͣ͒̍