Heroism is such a pitiful concept.

The boy – Lucas? – had fought to the bitter end before departing the Distortion World, tossing a spiteful look over his shoulder. Giratina had been calmed, retreating into the depths of its realm.

Just as well.

Trapped in suspension, untouched, pure – this is the ideal world.

This is the ideal world.

He had been tentative about staying before remembering that time did not flow in the Distortion World; he is now safe to lure Giratina out once again and complete the second phase of his plan.

There is no opportunity for failure, no chance for interruption. There isn't a soul who would dare to even venture back into this world – not even Lucas, whose eyes had reflected fear caused by a lack of understanding. Of course; he is young. He can't understand.

None of them understand.

Cyrus looks over the cliff, critically scrutinizing at the bottomless depths beneath him.

Whoever fights the monsters should see to it that he does not become one—

His face remains stark. He is perfect, standing in a perfect world, possessing a perfect plan. This obsession –

And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss—

(will swallow him whole.)