The Dawn of a new Knight:
Knight sat on a slab rock, pondering the days gone by.
The forest had a sort of noisy serenity about it; everything seemed to be active, moving at its own special pace. The whole scene was awash in the light of the full moon; all but the areas shaded by some sort of blockage could be seen quite clearly. The trees blew in the wind, making their rustling sound that consumed the landscape in a soft veil of sound. A nearby creek exchanged words with the rocks it passed over. But there were other, less consistent noises as well: somewhere off in the distance a Kricketune was chanting its mad song, its notes piercing through wind and time. There was even a soft rustling of what could have only been small paws stomping through the grass nearby in search of a late-night snack. Life seemed to flow through everything, incorporeal puppet strings that moved the forest in a way that juxtaposed activity and peace in a beautiful way.
Knight was a rather simple ninetales with a simple nature. All he really had that was out of the ordinary was a lavender coat that he wore with a startling absence of pride, seeing as an adornment of such a hue was very rare for his kind. Knight enjoyed companionship and simple conversation meaning he found himself drawn into the arms of infrequent lovers for reasons beyond him. Enjoying the simple freedom a feral life living in the deep wilderness of the pokemon world provided was the only way he ever intended to live his life. Knight had never taken part in any sort of human interaction; the fear of being captured loomed over him and most like some dreaded storm cloud. Nevertheless, Knight enjoyed the life he lived.
Suddenly, the world came to a stop with the rustle of a nearby bush. Slowly, a figure cloaked in the milky veil of the moon appeared. It was evident by the way it stopped and stared that it was just as surprised as Knight was to see someone stumble in. However, its eyes and face betrayed no hint of emotion. Knight would have thought this one to be a ninetales, like himself; every basic aspect was there, but there were some key features that were simply and blatantly wrong. It had nine somewhere around tails, as far as he could judge, but they floated about him like a set of ribbons caught in a light breeze rather than lining themselves together to form a sort of still sheet like a ninetales would. Its frame was lithe and its fur was a weathered white coat that clung to him as if were wet paper. Though, perhaps most betraying of all was its face; it was so indescribably wrong, as if the features of a ninetales has been run through a river, dried, then put onto this one. There was no head poof which was customary for his kind, and where there should have been soft, glowing pools of crimson light, there were only two jet-black voids, even when awash in the light of the moon.
In a rather shy attempt to defuse any awkwardness or tension that would have come with being discovered, Knight shot a happy smile at the one that stood before him. Yet all that came back was the grin of a cheshire cat. This smile disturbed Knight, and he began to pick himself off of the foundation on which he previously lay. With an uncanny lack of hesitation, the fox darted forward, its ribbons collapsing into a solid mass that would wave as its owner bounded fast towards Knight's location. Trying to defend himself, Knight fired off a jet of flame that should spash down on the fox 's line of attack. The fire would light up the scene as it did so, and the veil of darkness that previously coated the land would now become a flickering array of reds and oranges.
Perhaps Knight had scared off the thing, or maybe he had killed it? He wouldn't even have time to finish that thought before something furry would brush up behind him. The wave of nausea that would ensue immediately after this event would hit him like the wave of an ocean would hit a shaky toddler. Where knight lost his footing, he kept his lunch, but not before firing off a last-ditch burst of flame in the direction the brush came from. The flame was but a spark, and the fox soon loomed over Knight. Struggling, the ninetales tried to catch a glimpse of his foe, but the world that Knight was was one that was filtered through a kaleidoscope: everything would shift, roll, and drop away.
The first thing Knight became aware of was the wind; it rustled through his fur, a warm, affectionate breeze that wrapped him in its warm embrace. He lay upon what he assumed to be the same rock he had watched the night on and the rock was warm. In his grogginess, he had almost forgot the events that had led up to his sudden unconsciousness, but a sense of danger loomed in the back of his mind. Knight opened his eyes, but the harsh light of the sun forced them to close: it was obvious that the night had been driven away. Slower, he tried again, managing a squint as to see where it was he was, as to see if the day had driven away whatever it was that had attacked him who knows how long ago. It was there, watching him with its beady black eyes. Disturbing, it was for Knight to wake up to this, but he also found himself glad that the strange creature had left him physically unscathed, as Knight felt no lack of physical wholeness, besides a bit of a sore body. Though that was soon proven to be questionable. Knight could only really move his head for the rest of his body failed to react to inner stimuli.
"What?" Was all that escaped Knight's maw. It was a rather blunt question asked with a gruff tone.
The fox answered cryptically and in a voice that betrayed not a gender. It was light, but not feminine. It was almost the voice of a child, yet it sounded aged. "You happened to be born the wrong thing," It riddled.
Knight didn't speak for a moment, thinking on the meaning of the words. He needed clarity. "What do you mean, born the wrong thing?"
"I'm going to be honest: obviously, we're alike. It's also exceedingly apparent that I don't belong in this world, no?" It was indeed obvious that this one simply didn't match up with any other living creature Knight had ever seen.
Any other idea failing him, Knight decided to ask, "can I get a name?" To which the fox responded with a hoarse shicker.
"You lay before an enigma baying formalities such as names?" It shook its head, the cheshire grin returning once more. "I'll give you one, if you give me yours," It put simply.
Knight didn't like the way that offer was put, but any sort of conversation was better than none at all. "They call me Knight, but that's not my real name, my real name is Syfer."
"Well, Knight, like you I don a name that is not my own. Unlike you, I do not own an alias I wear consistently. Nevertheless, the name given to me upon my birth is Kibo." Kibo bowed, as if introducing itself to him for the first time.
Knight wanted nothing more than to spew out every sort of question that applied to Knight's own situation, or level of danger. Yet something stopped him; he felt as if this Kibo wouldn't appreciate that. There was a certain playfulness to the way Kibo conversed. A certain level of willingness to dodge around the main point, answer questions that were not meaningful. "Are you a guy, or a girl?" Knight heard himself ask more or less just because he wanted ot know the answer
Knight's question was met with a cackling laugh from Kibo. "My dear child, do not confuse androgyny with ambiguity. Though, technically I should be considered gender dynamic." Those last two words were accompanied by a devious grin. Those last two words each had a twist added to them; the fox's voice had shifted, not suddenly from one words to the next, but over time. As it uttered "gender" the voice had obviously been male, yet as it had started to finish the word "gender" and begin the word "dynamic," the voice had shifted in an eerie way, eventually landing on a pitch that sounded naturally feminine. It was the single most creepy thing the fox had done yet. It stunned him so that he had lost the words of any sort of smalltalk.
The fox named Kibo simply stared back at Knight before saying in its original voice, "I suppose you are wondering what it is I want with you?"
"Yes," Knight answered shakily and with a pause.
"I want your body, Knight."
Knight had almost taken that as an offer for some sort of lewd invitation but knew better. At least, he felt as if this creature would have no interest in that sort of thing. Knight, regardless of hims physical and mental laborings, was still unable to achieve any sort of mobility. Words once more failed Knight, as he had lack the mental cunning to formulate the proper rebuttal.
At this new loss for words, Knight simply lay there, feeling defeated and depleted. The fox picked itself up, and began to pace its way towards Knight. Out of all the possible thoughts that could go through his head at this time, none of them were about what was about to happen. Indeed, his mind was largely preoccupied with marveling at how light on the ground the fox's steps were; hardly a sound was created whilst the fox padded its way over, despite the fact that it was indeed treading through a grass that stood inches tall.
Upon reaching Knight's rock, his slab of stone in which no grass could actually grow, Kibo stopped. Knight found he possessed not the will to make eye contact with the one that now stood over him. In fact, he found it hard to so much as look at the fox. Kibo simply stood there, a look of what appeared to be disappointment mixed with a tinge of sadness splayed across its face. Kibo simply stayed there, looking down on Knight. After a few endless moments of this, Knight looked up, worldless. Time had been given for fear to seep into his being, soaking every molecule in dread. He wanted to ask what the fox was going to do to him, but Knight figured it would be more less pain to just get it over with now than delaying the inevitable.
Knight flinched a bit as the fox raised a tail up. A flame sparked up from the tail, but not a flame with an orange and red flicker, no, instead of a orange centre it had a blue one. This blue was not a normal blue, however, it was a light, yet almost corrupt blue aurad by an amethyst purple. It was a ghostly looking flame. Knight was hypnotized by the its flickering wonder. It couldn't harm him, could it? Almost every ninetales possessed a complete immunity to normal fire.
Knight wasn't able to branch off of that thought before a paw came down upon his face, and the flamed tail shot towards his cheek. All he felt next was a sensation unlike any other. It was searing, yet not physically. It burned on the inside. It consumed not his body in pain, but his soul in fire. It hurt him inwardly, not outwardly. This pain had been enough to kindle in Knight some sort of fire, as if he only just now found the strength to oppose this adversary.
"So is it just my suffering you want to see?" Knight asks, actually able to struggle up to a stand now, whatever fetters that had kept him down, be them physical or mental, letting up a bit. Kibo stood a few yards away. Having quickly dashed back after doing whatever it is it did, the fox was now off the rock and prowling in the grass. As Knight asked his question he felt a warm trickle down the side of his face, as if he was crying. Was the pain really all that bad? He looked down to see a drop of sanguine ichor drip then shatter on the rock below. No, of course it was not his eye, but a wound that should have been cauterized.
"Your pain is something in which I desire neither to see nor hear." Kibo promised as Knight traipsed back, dizzy at the sight of his own blood. The fox was stepping closer again, closing the gap between the two with every stride. Eventually, it would emerge from the grass that clung to his paws like a fog and back onto the rock, wordless, ever watchful.
Knight would let out a deep, seething growl, still kindled, still fighting and say, "Take what it is you're here for and go."
"Without pleasure." These two words would be the last thing ever said to the conscious Knight before he was hit in the other cheek by the same tail that had previously afflicted the other side. The searing sensation would return followed by an astounding lack of nothing, though no one could say Knight didn't any longer exist. His mind, body, and soul were all at once severed from each other. The only one of which it could be said Knight still possessed ownership of was his soul, and even that was within the domain of the fox. His mind, lost along with all his precious memories. The body, however, still in sight, though the Fox's was once again, absent. It turns out Knight's body had never even fallen back onto the ground after the disconnection had occurred. Rather, the fox had quickly taken over the dormant body, as it had said it would and now puppeted it from within.
Kibo felt as if this world was already too well acquainted with itself. It almost seemed a camaraderie in which Kibo could never even hope to place himself in. Maybe that's why he decided to steal the body of the poor knight: an attempt to fit himself into this world. Kibo sighed, not really knowing what to feel. The fox had always tried to never harm anything that didn't get in its way, though he found that conforming to this self-imposed moral was harder than it would seem. Kibo did loath being out of place, so much so that going to great lengths to preserve true identity was of utmost importance.
Kibo whispered to the wandering soul: a promise that it would be kept safe. Souls were the main source of the fox's power, but to use his power he would, more oft than not, have to harm the soul, take a fragment of it first before being able to actually do anything. Kibo owned a few such souls that were vowed to be kept untapped. They were souls of those whom Kibo owed a great debt that was never paid, or even those of souls the fox held dear. Despite outwardly behavior, Kibo did have feelings; he wasn't soulless in the metaphorical sense. 'Misunderstood' could be the proper term, though he would wager most understood him quite well, for most of the fox's time was spent luring sexually vulnerable characters into situations that would promise whatever it is they wanted, only to take their soul. Kibo wouldn't always steal souls, sometimes the fox would steal vis, which is a power source. Sometimes Kibo would even steal their form: their likeness, then wander around as whatever he was copying, messing up friendships and what not.
Throughout the course of its thoughts, the creature had wandered down to the creek nearby, and now sat staring into the dancing reflection of Knight's face. The only notable difference from this body and the body of the old Knight were the marks, affectionately called 'sigils' by the fox, that rested under the eyes. They were two little marks with no real meaning, yet they allowed Kibo to make this form his own, and even conduit all his normal powers through them. Though, conducting a power not native to the body would cause the sigils to bleed.
As Kibo sat at the edge of the creek, the fox found itself unbothered by the thought of being in something else's body, it was an experience in which was well known. Nay, far more bothersome was the fact body felt like a new shoe two sizes too small. Ironic, however, was the fact that this form would grow on the fox, and become as comfortable as an old leather pair of well-fitting boots. So Kibo dwelled not on that thought, as it was not a problem that would last.
Letting his mind now travel, Kibo thought on the name the ninetales had chosen: Knight. Kibo was fond of the way it fit his own personality; knight's being well known for their honor, yet more often than not, in reality, corrupt in some form or another. This world already knew a Knight, why should that have to end? Rather than ending Knight, and introducing Kibo, wouldn't it be better to simply never end Knight? This is the conclusion that the fox came to, and from that moment on 'Knight' and the gender associated with him would be Kibo's, at least as far as anything able to inquire would be concerned.
The new Knight decided to pick himself up and walk back to his slab of stone. Perhaps he went there to honor the old Knight; he wasn't even sure, he simply felt compelled to travel back, if only to rest. It was a simple uphill trek from the creek to the crest of the hill on which the rock was placed, but one spotted with trees and other obstacles. He soon arrived, the grass rustling as he walked through.
Knight sat on a slab rock, pondering the days ahead.