Dark knives shot out at me as I gazed into the foaming water, all their violence vain against the steadfastness of my reverie. Even so, I was chillingly aware of what the sea could do to me, if it ever tired of idle play. The more I pondered the cold bloodthirst of the roiling waves, the farther doubt grew in me. I had come to the summit of wrath and ruin – and for what? Only blinding passion revealed itself to me, no blissful illumination. Would my greatest experiment fail? My thoughts turned unbidden to my past.

From as far a memory would serve me, I had always held unerringly to the truth and the truth alone. Was it not young Ardan who tended to spurn the superstitions surrounding his small village, and did not the teachers and mentors of Ardan alone shudder at the frequency of his ejaculations; "what", "when", "where", and most of all, "why"? If all other of his classmates settled with knowing only the fact, would it not be Ardan alone who scrutinized and questioned and tested everything he received from others before he would settle to its veracity? Indeed, as long as my teachers were not completely jaded by my over-inquisitive nature, I would, of course, be the highest of my class.

Time went on, and as the village school turned into a high college in Rustboro, my inquisitiveness evolved from simple questioning to experimentation. The core of my dealings, however, never changed. Indeed, many were often perturbed by how little my perception of the truth erred, no matter what misleading feelings animated me. Most of my inquisitions were of a passive nature; I had long learned the virtue of a single fact, if there was enough logic to infer from it. And thus my understanding of the universe was under constant evolution.

At one point, I finally struck upon the path so many others had taken – the great Truth, the mother Truth from which all Truths had sprung, and before which everything else seemed illusion. No mundane thought was sufficient once I set my mind to this project; I knew from the first time it crossed my reflections that I was wedded forever to it alone. After much contemplation, I concluded that in places where the thrumming of all other life forms was dimmed, the grandness of that truth would blaze forth, a star undisturbed by any other trivial light. Thus, I decided to seek out such a land where no other life could distract me, and only the great intensity of the universe was visible. Surely, modern technology would avail me in the hostility of such a place.

And so I had come here to Route 133, the Ocean Current. No ship could face the later parts of its violence where it melted into Route 134; and it was as barren of life as a desert. It was better than a desert for my purpose, in fact: a desert was but a void where the sun burnt out any remnants of nature, but here was where the quiet murmur of my objective rose to a near-deafening symphony. Or so I had thought.

But it seemed impossible now that anything as peacefully grand as my purpose could be hidden in such passion. Still, I would go on with this journey. Experiments tended to have surprising results.

I was about to turn back to return to my quarters, when some brief stroke of intuition held me back. Though the few seamen who had volunteered to work my miniscule boat showed no sign of alarm, I was gripped with the unshakable feeling that something great (and thus extremely dangerous) was about to take place in this path of stormy sea off Pacifidlog. I looked out towards the cloud-wracked horizon, and it seemed to me as if the disorderly currents of the storm were coalescing into one great cone, an inverted whirlpool, barely thirty yards before me. As I watched in bewilderment and shock and – anticipation? – a single thread of lightning smote the very peak, once, twice, three times, and silvery-blue branches began to spread out through the ocean from the point where the lightning had struck, pulsating light. The first of the tendrils struck my boat, rocking it, latching onto its very fibre in an attempt to dismantle it… light sprung out from all around me – I knew this was death –

I woke up in the safety of my quarters, exhilarated beyond reason. Deeply perturbed, I dressed and returned to my favourite haunt at the deck of the boat, where my Arcanine awaited me. Regal of bearing and appearance, Ilara played not the part of faithful companion so much as a noble who had deigned to join me in my advents. His unwavering fire had supported me through my worst times, and the intelligence of his eyes always assured me that he understood exactly the meaning behind my rambles. As he turned from his own reflections, greeting me with a few short barks, I wondered what thoughts were crossing his mind. He had certainly not planned this expedition.

An unusually violent stroke of lightning flitted between two clouds, and, as if jolted into action by a heralding call, the two of us dashed to the door that led to the lower quarters. I opened it, and saw not the usual metal stairs, but a more ornate, winding marble staircase, whose dark depths I hastened to plunge into…

Down and down and down and down –

Bursting through the door at the very end and plummeting down into the abyss… all around me a tunnel of light was the only thing visible as if I had fallen down a chute of pure white itself – a semi-circle of that tunnel seemed to be extinguished making it half white and half of the deepest black I felt my consciousness slipping away –

"Take your time," his father was saying, as Ardan gazed undecidedly at the caged Pidgey in front of him. "It's not easy to slaughter the things once they're out of their coop." It suddenly struck me that I was no more than six years old when I strangled my first Pidgey, a demonstration of my manhood in this small offshoot of Rustboro City.

Pity welled up in Ardan. The wretch before him had seen no life other than the dismal cage. Did he have the heart to kill it? Surely this was a sacrifice, a mere test to prove his courage. Hard winters had toughened his hands already. It would be nearly as easy as for the butchers to do this one task. He raised his hands, and, as soon as he had finished this gesture of readiness, all conviction left him. Shaking his head, tears in his eyes, he freed the Pidgey and ran off.

I was moved by this demonstration of mercy… The darkness sprung up again.

Up and up and up and up -

Looking out from the deck of the boat, with Ilara by my side, I could see a slight disturbance off into the horizon. All the disorderly currents within my view began to move to a common point, creating a pointed uprising, like an inverted funnel. As I looked in bewilderment and anticipation and excitement, two threads of lightning simultaneously struck the very apex, giving rise to a branching network of fine silvery-green threads. Before they could reach my ship, I hurried back to the spiral staircase, down and down and down and down –

This time as the chute whizzed around me I saw another shade of white and another of the black so that the chute was divided into four quarters… thrum… finer subtler shades springing out of nothingness… each shade seemed to meld into each other so that a glowing rainbow surrounded me one end pure black and the other pure white…

Ardan was walking along the hallway of his tiny school. (From my estimates, I was most likely eleven years old at that point.) He could see, nearly at the end, that three of the seniors were tormenting a Rattata with their own Pokémon. His anger flared up, nearly as fast as Ilara by his side, and the Arcanine was upon their Pokémon in a flash. Ilara had been an experienced battler long before he had come to Ardan's village, and defeating them and humiliating their trainers was easier than lifting his forepaw. The Rattata, with a nervously grateful glance at the two companions, scurried off to safety.

I appreciated this gesture, but I could not shake the feeling that there was something intensely unsatisfactory about this choice of mine. Tainted it seemed, noble and yet not pure or completely good. Slightly disturbed, I allowed the darkness to bring me up and up and up and up and up –

Ilara was with me again, in the very same place we were before. From his agitation, I could see that similar – trials? – had met him, setting his complex mind into motion, though his eyes were fixed on the spectacle before us. All the flows of water in the distance united themselves to a single point, as an inverted whirlpool rose out from the chaos. As the calm acceptance of familiarity filled me, three strands of light met at the funnel's summit, and veins of pure gold spawned from their communion, branching out… they reached the boat, dug into it, dug into my very fibre and filled me with blinding light…

Down and down and down and down…

One of the lesser circles of Rustboro seemed to leer up at Ardan as he readied his Pokémon. For years ever since, I would wonder what I had in mind to delight in such squalid regions. As the battle appointed here started to begin, above the jeering crowd rose an announcer's voice, proclaiming the circle's meaningless name.

Sableye Square…

It struck me, in a shocking instant, what was to happen here. I could not watch! Out from the flash of Ardan's Electronic Apricorn came his pride and joy, Ralin the Kirlia. He treasured her dearly, second only to Ilara. The Psychic turned to face the sneering Machoke, her ruby horns erect.

"Kirlia vs. Machoke! Let the battle begin!"

This was street battling, my least favourite type of all. There were no rules or boundaries; the turn-based system in legal matches was much too tame for roadside savages, and though it was not completely correct, a match could go on even after one side had fainted, planning to end only at death. What had I to do with such brawls?

Ralin proceeded to throw out Psychic crystals, constructing a Barrier around her, as the Machoke advanced immediately with a flurry of Mega Punches. I remembered laughing inwardly at the Trainer's lack of strategy, as individual crystals were directed in the way of each punch and shattered upon impact, turning the blows and simultaneously injuring the opponent's fist with their shards. How wrong I would turn out to be…

Ardan immediately suggested Ralin to use less energy on her wards; here, surely, was an inexperienced trainer, but the order was not necessary, since Ralin had already let down her guard. She lazily flicked a tendril of Confusion at the Machoke, and he took the blow with a great amount of bother. It had not struck my mind then that the brunt of the damage my opponent had took was imaginary, and that he had been merely acting to put his foe into deeper complacency.

Ralin began to play with the Fighting-type, pushing him this way, then that, and coaxing him, with regular jolts of pain, to fall into a jerky sort of dance. Perhaps the trainer was forcing the Machoke into submission, I mused; no member of the Machop family would stand for such humiliation, even for the sake of a battle. I wished, more than ever, that I had never been lured into street battling.

Eventually, of course, Ardan tired of his opponent's disgrace, and ordered Ralin to finish the battle. She spread out the tendrils of thought, nearly covering the Machoke's form…

Before a flash engulfed him, and another materialized a roaring Houdoom in his place, sinking his Dark fangs into the Psychic threads. With a burst of corruption, he ripped apart the frail tendrils, ripped apart her thoughts, ripped apart Ralin's very sanity, before he realized what he had done. As the Kirlia fell on her knees, utterly defeated, a howl of remorse shot up through the dingy streets, and Ardan was overwhelmed with shock, loss, anger…

Five Apricorn shot through the air, releasing the rest of his party. He would rip apart the man who had planned this for his loss. As ten bewildered and shocked eyes looked up at him for instructions and explanations, his rage faltered. Five extremely powerful creatures stood before him, ready to do whatever he ordered, trusting him to tell them the correct thing to do… Could anger truly be the driving force behind a responsible decision? Death was no way to remedy death. He stood there, indecisively, emotion fighting reason, when he realized how absurd the situation was.

"Return," he sighed. He would explain everything later. Wearily, Ardan made for a Pokémon center. He would never street battle again.

A flash of white…

The rainbow chute whizzed up around me readying itself… thrum… it pulsed red – thrum – orange… thrum yellow… thrum - green thrum blue… violet indigo –

THRUUUUMMMMMM…

the rainbow began spinning… faster and faster and faster and faster, until all its beauty melted into a brilliant white, no, gold -

Clarity returned to me, and with it a brilliant illumination. From the highest turret of a floating city I watched, as a godly colossus towered over me, framed by titan pillars and curtains of sapphire.

Kyogre…

The ruby in its hide burst into flame, and I was struck with a vision: darkness and delusion everywhere, while a higher being held open a door through which golden light peeked in –

As the fire of transcendence spread through its veins once again, the dark red line along its contour a vanguard, a deep, divine humming began to emanate from every stone and heart and drop of water around me, like some siren's song of old… The humming grew, flared, flashed a glimpse of brilliance, and all the veils of illusion were swept away, storm clouds on a windy day…

A symphony of a million threads rose up to a blinding crescendo, reaching one climax after another, engulfing the wonderful melodies of every stone and heart and drop of water in existence, overwhelming me with its complexity and its simplicity and its brilliance, filling me with sweet elixir and pulling me in.

There was nothing else to do: I surrendered myself to the golden aria.

An excerpt from the local newspaper, less than a week later:

The bodies of the renowned scientist and philosopher, Ardan Numarak, and his Arcanine Ilara, were found on the deck of their capsized boat in the patch of calm sea off Pacifidlog. Peculiarly, though drowning is obviously the cause of death, no sign of drowning exists on their bodies, and they have been perfectly preserved from the moment of their death.

More unusual still is the cause of the destruction of their boat. Within the first day of the expedition, an exceptionally violent squall overcame the boat. The scouting Pidgeot arrived first, and, unfortunately, could not rescue the victims, as they were trained to relay information alone. In a shocking freak incident, a stroke of lightning hit the water immediately near the boat, and the resulting disturbance in the waves was tall enough to overcome the vessel.

The scientific community greatly regrets the death of one of its finest members, and the failure of his greatest experiment, though Numarak's objective for coming to such a place is unclear.