Inspired by the internet sensation Twitch Plays Pokemon. Largely just a novelization of the playthrough, though I'm going to add my own slight spin to things. But yeah, basically I'm bored and I wanna practice writing and I'm deeply emotionally invested in the events of TPP, so I thought I'd do this for fun.

The Book of Helix

Prologue: From the Outside, Looking In

"... And in the inky black beneath the dome, when the mind is besotted in all directions by Evil, fifty-thousand voices shall become One, and in so doing, spiral out of the darkness and into the light..."

Helix ?:?:?:?

Somewhere, outside of time and space, in the darkness of the void, two Ancients clash.

Lord Helix, the Fifty-Thousand-limbed Spiral. Two thin slits for pupils set within round and yellowed eyes gaze out from a gargantuan swirling shell, spiraling loop after loop after loop into the infinite void over a myriad of thrashing, blue tentacles.

And the Other, the Opposition, the One known as Dome. Glowing red orbs for eyes hang above scathing, yellow claws, all of which emerge from the darkness beneath an immense brown concavity.

Sprawled out in the darkness between Them lay all that They have wrought, a vast and unknowable universe. Lesser beings have spread far and wide across this land, creating and growing and roaming the once indomitable wilds. Creatures of immense power and energy also live out their lives alongside the lesser, these creatures of lightning and fire and air. Perhaps from such a partnership, thought the Lord Helix...

And so the Game commences, a Game of Ancients, played from the outside, looking in. Two deities clash, and the world of man and beast shall tremble.

Your move, the Dome says courteously, though not with a voice; there was no voice. Only malice. A malice made tangible.

Lord Helix lowers His pondering eyes onto the whole of existence before Him, searching, seeking a path forward, the first move in a long and perilous journey towards victory. Sweeping over the Kanto Region, His gaze falls upon a woman alone and with child in a small town called Pallet. Yes, perhaps here...

A single blue tentacle, one of Fifty-Thousand suddenly darts forward through the veil separating existence and the void, snaking down, cutting through crystal blue sky and puffy white clouds, and descending upon the unsuspecting town of Pallet, towards a modest brick home not too far from Prof. Oak's stately laboratory. The limb melts right through the brick walls as if they weren't there, and snakes through the rooms before coming to a stop before the pregnant woman easing herself into bed, clutching her swollen belly.

"There, there, Red. Stop your kicking and rest easy. Let momma sleep, it's been a long day."

The blue appendage hovers hesitantly above the swollen belly, though unseen by mortal eyes. It shivers slightly, seemingly wary of committing fully to its decision. Perhaps questioning the wisdom of such a gambit, silently guessing at the consequences that will follow, or perhaps fearing for the unholy burden this child will be forced to carry; it lingers there.

Be on with it, chides the Dome.

The blue appendage hangs there for a moment longer, but then it lowers, resting gently on the pregnant belly and the child within for but a second. And then it was gone, retracting up into the heavens leaving the woman feeling naught but a slight chill before drifting off to sleep.

In the small town of Pallet, a boy named Red is born. He begins to cry. Swaddled tight in a soft blanket, he is given to his mother.

"So... Ms. Delia. Have you given him a name?" says the doctor, giving his clipboard a look-over.

A pause. "Red."

"Like the colour?"

"Yeah." More wailing. "Should he be crying this much?"

At first, the doctor is not concerned. "Of course! I'd be more worried if he were quiet. Crying means he's breathing, and breathing means he's alive. Relax and rest a little, while you've got staff here on call. He's only going to become more of a handful once you're out of the hospital." A smile and a wink, and the doctor was gone. He has more pressing matters than a newborn and a worried single mother.

(=o=)

Five hours later, after another complicated delivery, the doctor passes by Red and his mother again. The baby is still wailing, and the mother is looking more nervous. His brow furrows as he changes out of his scrubs. He's still crying?

(=o=)

The doctor returns the next morning to a flurry of complaints about a crying baby throughout the night. A quick walk around the wards, the source becomes apparent. Red and his mother had been moved to a private room overnight. The baby in her arms is still hollering.

"He's got quite a set of lungs there," a sullen attempt at levity.

"He won't eat, he won't sleep, he doesn't need a burping. Is there something wrong with him?"

"Well, looking at the charts, nothing really. It's a bit strange, but really not uncommon," says the doctor, though a bit unsure. "I think just to be safe, we'll do some additional tests to see if there's anything we may have overlooked."

But the tests turned up nothing. All of his organs are functioning well, there's nothing wrong with his senses or perception. His reflexes are fine too, faster even, than normal. Finding nothing wrong with him, the doctor could only discharge the young mother and her crying child from the hospital. "It's what babies do," he says, casting a final reassuring glance. But as the doctor leaves for his other duties, he inwardly wonders what exactly might be wrong.

At home, it soon becomes apparent to the new mother that the crying will not stop. Not for food, not for sleep, not in her gentle, rocking arms. Not until Red cries himself to exhaustion and passes out.

When he wakes, he begins crying again.

What Delia does not know is that her son has been touched by the will of a God: that he is now privy to a game of Ancients, a cosmic struggle between good and evil. What she cannot know is that Red, in all his infantile wisdom, notices in the back of his mind, a voice. A voice that is not his own. The will of another speaks to him, loud and booming, constant and irrevocable, and for that reason he cries. Fifty-Thousand voices from the moment of his birth, spoke as one - and will continue to speak, unendingly, beseechingly, they speak, even now -

'Left. Left.'

Amidst the crying, Red's head twitches left. His gaze falls upon his mother's mistermime, looking on worriedly. The voices ease for just a moment, and the crying falters slightly.

A moment to breathe.

Then the voices start again.

AN: The real story starts next chapter. Leave a review and let me know what you think!