AUTHOR'S NOTE
ME: I think I've left you guys in ANOTHER cliffhanger. I'm real sorry, guys. Look — I've updated earlier now! =E
REPLIES TO REVIEWS
SplitHeart1120: Yep. I'll explain pretty soon.There're a little misplacements in here. Green's injuries weren't there by coincidence. And they're NOT there because Kyogre did it to him, to be quite clear. And thanks for asking! I haven't actually explained it in the last chapter . . . So, in short — I forgot =P My mistake as an author. So. . . ! Cupcakes and ice cream sandwiches of the flavour of your choice =)
Moonlight Obsidian Frost Zanpakto19: Thanks! More EPICNESS coming your way soon! That means a LOT to me, coming from you. I'd want to give out a spoiler, but nah. . . Ice cream?
YaysoulX3: Aww, you guys are so sweet! More power to all of you who've given reviews and feedback! SPEAKING OF SWEET, I think you'd want a taste of my favourite cake, CHOCO MOUSSE! ^-^
XXX: Thanks a bunch! Hahaha, oh well, I guess. . . Thanks for the pasta, too! I love pasta! It's a tradition in Philippines to eat pasta on birthdays! Thanks! Oh, and here's the leftover cupcakes at my birthday ^-^
ME: Well, now that that's over, I could start the story now! Anyway — I'm trying my hardest to solve all the pieces and match all the puzzles together and tie all the loose ends before this story is all over. This, my friends, is just the CLIMAX. And yes, more chapters to come, I've decided. And all the characters have their own ending, as I've come to make a conclusion —
GOLD: WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!
RED: What the —
YELLOW: What's the matter, Gold-chan? _
GOLD: Aren't you gonna tell me my ending? =(
ME: Of course! You're one of my main characters, you know!
GOLD: (MUTTERS) I'm one of the ONLY named characters. Even that bartender can be a main character.
ME: And you're gonna appear in a short scene in the first setting of the chapter!
GOLD: Really? (JUMPS)
ME: Of course! I made a promise, haven't I? But I'll tell you ONE little spoiler: I HAVEN'T DECIDED WHETHER ONE OF THEM SHOULD DIE.
YELLOW: WHAT? O.O
GOLD: You're kidding! You're trying to tell us that you have something in mind for this story that involves someone DYING? -_o
ME: I honestly AM. But it shouldn't be Red, Green, and Yellow nor should it be Bill X3 Nor it should be Gold, obviously, for an afterthought.
RED: Thank God — but you haven't mentioned Professor Oak .o
ME: Exactly. He's one of the characters I'm deciding whom should die =P I'm creating a poll over it on my account =P
20th CHAPTER: RAYQUAZA
SAME TIME, SAME SETTING
LOG SEVEN: DAY THIRTY-FOUR IN MIRAGE ISLAND
TIME: 00:07
A few miles off the coast of Mirage Island in a manner of speaking once it was on the Pillar Island, the night of Pacifidlog was treacherous. There was wind blowing in the direction of East, and the currents the storm was making had never looked so deadly — Water-Type pokémon jumped out of the water and literally swam away from the torrents.
At the edge of a huge boulder that rested in the sand under the sea, a small, cautious little pokémon of the sort, with its ends curved, has stumbled upon a whirlpool, wet and weary; it's tired with swimming away from the perfidious waters.
The small pokémon whipped its curved fins and pushed itself to its final limits — the best it could reach was within half a yard from the current — but the rain had exhausted it with all the weight, and it was forced to give itself up and surrender itself to the next life, closing its eyes, awaiting its final breath —
But before it could even open its eyes, something scooped it up and it caught its breath, daring to believe its luck.
"Gotcha!"
A spunky, dark-haired youth at the coast of the island caught his pokéball, soaked and wet with the rain. He gave a soft moan, clutching his injured ankle, dropping to his knees. He took off the bandages, which were, too, wet, and took a glance at his injury. He gave a small chuckle that was cross between pity and frustration: that looked like a wound that'll never heal soon. . . He put the pokéball on the sandy ground, almost forgetting about it, along with the other pokéballs in a pile, while he was too busy wrapping the bandage over his wound again.
"Uncle Wilton! I've got it!" he said, tying the bandages into a tight knot — he didn't even look up when he said it. It's been a whole month and a few days since his cousin had been lost, and it's his job to stay alive and wait for her to come back. . . At least that's his uncle's plan, anyway.
Uncle Wilton looked out of the window of the small, two-roomed hut, squinting his eyes and putting his hand over them. "Good! Now come the hell inside so that you won't get wetter than you already are!"
Gold rolled his eyes. His mum won't know, anyway, and his uncle won't tell her (he hoped.) He wiped his wet face, and he rolled up his sleeves, standing up to his full height and carrying the pile of pokéballs with both of his hands.
He turned to the direction of the small hut, whipping his wet hair backwards, and strode there with an air of someone walking to work. Once he was on the old, torn mat that had words barely legible — the 'WELCOME' read 'V_l ColV E' — he kicked open the door and took his sneakers off while inside.
His uncle appeared at the doorway — literally, the doorway, because it looked like the door was pulled from its place — and Gold handed the pile of pokéballs to him, after which, he stood straight, and put his hands behind his back while he tried to crack it right back, stretching.
"S'that all?" he said, frowning, after he counted the number of pokéballs Gold piled. Gold shot back up like a rocket, facing his uncle's back while he shouted after him.
"Is that all? Is that all? You try saving pokémon in the storm without your favourite goggles and cue!" Gold snapped, his neck turning red. Uncle Wilton shrugged; he's still not looking at Gold when he entered the living room — or it's therefore called Dying Room because of its lack of liveliness — and stood on tiptoe so as to reach the top of the shelf to put the pile of pokéballs there.
Gold bawled his fists, which were positioned at his hips, yet he hadn't planned any action to do anything. His uncle was such an ingrate. He wouldn't say that if Yellow was the one who'd rescued the pokémon, now would he? After all, Gold was just in their house for the summer, though his was just a few blocks from theirs. What would his mum say now? Nah, she needn't know, Gold considered. He flexed his arms behind his back and wheeled around, humming the melody "Deer in the Headlights" to himself.
Uncle Wilton wasn't one to pick a favourite as well. He treasured each and every one of his niece and nephews just the same. But Gold — Gold heaved a loud, mock-exasperated sigh to no one in particular — he was something Uncle Wilton never saw before. . . That reminded him. . .
"Damn," Gold muttered, massaging his head after hitting the wall, plopping down the couch, which was right next to it. He was thinking too much. A thing Yellow usually does while he was the man of action. Now with Yellow gone. . . He hung his head backwards, then forward, shaking it. Who was he kidding? He needed his cousin. Now with her gone, he couldn't do anything but wait. Wait for her — wait till she gets back, like Barty said.
Unless Yellow doesn't — he gulped — survive there. . .
Gold suddenly felt a rush of wind that made his spine wiggle.
He glanced at the window, squinting, and standing with his socks on the couch, holding the couch's body for balance — the wind was blowing inside and the rain was starting to get in. That happened nowadays. Cursing under his breath, Gold jumped off the sofa as though he were skateboarding and landed on the creaking, wooden floor to dash forward and to close the window.
"Eesh, it's getting a little cold in here," he said to himself, hoping that his purple pokémon, Ataro, was nearby already. He poked his head outside, feeling the cold wind and the icy water hit his face again, searching for his furry little partner: he wasn't close yet. Gold had retreated back his head inside the huge window, thinking: that was strange. Usually, Ataro was early in coming back here.
The cool gust blew inside and the raindrops fell on the floor mat — which, by the way, was the only one that seemed modern in the entire two-roomed hut — and he decided it would be best if he'd close the window right now, thinking that Ataro should knock at the door if he needed to come inside from foraging coconuts. He put the small lock over the hook and took a step backward, watching the bamboo window being blundered by the wind and rain outside.
"That's some storm. . ."
Gold wheeled around, expecting someone with a bad intention, but he found there, leaning at the doorway — literally, the doorway, there was only one door in the hut and that's the one that you first see of the hut — was Barty.
His long beard had run down his entire body and seemed to be longer than his own short height, and though his eyes were closed — even as he walked with his crane, he still kept them closed and God knows how he knew where he was going — Gold saw, between his eyelids and his eye bugs, his cerulean-blue eyes: they stroke through his and it felt so piercing, he blinked a fair few times just to not get flashed from them. Barty's hands were behind his back, though Gold can't help but feel as though he was about to reach for his crane and walk toward him.
"Oh. It's you," he said, grimacing. He sat back on the couch, sighing, but after he heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled, hurrying footsteps, he felt something huge whack him hard on the head.
"Bloody hell, old man!" he yelled, getting up — he rubbed his throbbing head with his left hand after he pulled his hat off with his right, throwing it on the floor, stepping on it. When he opened his eyes — he closed them because it was really painful — however, the old man wasn't in front of him. Gritting his teeth, he wheeled around — there he was: Gold expected him to be grinning mischievously, but, on the contrary to his prediction, he was frowning at him, with his crane held. Suddenly, the pieces fell together on what seemed to be a thorough investigation to Gold
"You hit me with that walking stick!" he bellowed, pointing at his own head. Unexpectedly, the old man whacked him hard on the head again — but Gold never dared to expect that he would jump just to tower his own height — hell, he didn't even know he could still run, let alone jump.
"What's the big — HEY! STOP THAT!"
Barty kept on whacking Gold's head with a stick — it seemed to never end.
"STOP WHACKING ME, YOU FLITHY BLEEDER!" Gold went on, flapping his arms wildly — he was trying to grab the damn stick, but it was so fast he didn't even know where it was going. He had his one eye closed, and his other open just to get a clear view of what the hell was going on. The old man was good —
"Not until you stop swearing, young man!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Gold seized his chance to find his weakness and took the opportunity to grab the stick when the old man paused to talk — surprisingly, it took him two hands just to stop the crane from trembling: the old man's grip was real tight; he's not letting the stupid stick go so easily. And neither was Gold. . .
"Crap," Gold muttered as the crane was slipping from his grip from his wet hands — he glanced down at Barty. What the hell? He was standing on the arm of the couch — Gold's eyes widened: Barty's eyes were wide open, and he was staring deeply into Gold's — for a split of a second, Gold thought that he was in the control of the old man. . .
Gold shook his head, finding his senses. He gripped the stick with all his might and, surprisingly, even to himself, the crane slipped from his grip and it flew in the air. He glanced at Barty; he was looking as though he was just about to jump and get it —
"My crane!" said Barty, staring at it while it fell to the ground. Gold took one step backward and Barty, losing his balance, fell on the ground as well, face-first. He snickered nastily. Gold flexed his arms behind his head and, whistling pleasantly, bent down the floor to pick up the stick, closing his eyes mockingly as he wheeled around.
"Haha, now I've got your stick," he taunted maliciously, raising the stick above his head. Victory was his — finally. He flexed his arms again and rested his wrists on the crane, his right near at the end, and his left near the handle: his position was of a child with his head stuck in front of the monkey bar. "Now why'd ya hit me?"
Barty's head shot up from the dusty carpet and Gold was surprised he himself hadn't flinched when he noticed what Barty looked like: a pharaoh which has been mummified and had been stripped from his bandages — oh well, Gold shrugged, the crane, which was sitting above both his shoulders with both ends, his wrists still wrapping themselves lazily around the circumference of the thin crane, dragging upwards, the old man could use an improvement to his looks, anyway.
The old man pushed himself up and stood on both his feet, standing to his full height — Gold raised a lazy eyebrow: he was already a foot taller than Barty. That's one short old man. . . Though Barty seemed to frown unpleasantly and his wrinkles had, somehow, drooped over every inch of his bony face, Gold didn't find this at all intimidating, but, however, ugly.
"You treat your elders with respect!" Barty shrieked at the top of his lungs — Gold frowned, bending to Barty's height as he leaned forward so that he was only a few inches from his bewildered face, "So what if I don't?"
Barty shot him a nasty look that was supposed to make him look threatening, but, in Gold's point of view's honesty, it just made him look more hideous.
Gold disregarded this greatly.
"Anyway — have you seen my Ataro?" asked Gold through gritted teeth, squinting his eyes suspiciously at Barty. Barty stared blankly at him.
"You mean that irritant purple, little friend you have?" spat Barty — now that was intimidating; Gold retreated and stood on his full height, but kept his cool as he pulled both his arms back to position and swung the crane forward forcefully so that it was in front of Barty's face a few centimeters — so forcefully, Barty almost cringed.
"Yeah, that bloke," said Gold mischievously, smirking as he handled the sick with one hand with lethargy and idleness, though he swore to himself not to let the old man get his hands on it: He wouldn't want another sticky situation. Barty had to cross his eyes just to be sure that the crane wasn't poking any of them: Gold nudged the stick a little further, and Barty pressed himself against the wall, still cross-eyed. "You seen him?"
"B — b — b — I haven't been paying — watch where you point that thing!" sputtered Barty sharply, as Gold moved the stick down to the crotch of his — what was that thing he's wearing called again? — Ah, yes, toga. Gold sneered maliciously and moved it upwards again, and once it reached his stomach, he poked the tip of the crane on his bellybutton: Barty was trembling with laughter but he refused to even chuckle.
"Come on, don't lie," said Gold, frowning now. He circled the tip of the crane a circumference around Barty's bellybutton: Barty gave a giggle. "Watch it, old man. That's gonna get worse the longer the time you won't tell me where the hell you've seen my precious pokémon."
"I — swear — I — haven't — seen — it —" Barty managed to say between laughs. Gold scowled. Suddenly, he heard the thunder roar and the door swing open — since there was only one door in the two-room hut, he already knew where its location was — followed by the bellowing wind, and the unmistakable sound of rain pit-pattering on the wooden floor. Gold dropped the crane to the carpet, ignored Barty's small wince of pain — because he might have hit him in the stomach before he clattered it — and bolted to the entrance of the living room, nearly sliding: there, at the entrance, the one who'd opened the door, had been his pokémon, Ataro, wet and sniveling.
"Ataro!" he cried, rushing to his pet and hugging him — the feel of his soft fur; he missed it — but it wasn't the same with him wet, but at least he was okay. He pulled him back, beaming, and he pushed back his hair, asking him as he saw his upset face, "What took you so long?"
Ataro gave him a grimace. Gold's smile faltered instantly: he wasn't crying because he had a runny nose. . . he was crying because he was depressed. . . but why?
"Ataro? Ataro, boy, what happened?" Gold murmured to him, his voice cracking. Ataro shook his head and his long, tail pointed outside: Gold squinted his eyes, standing up —
What he saw made the hair behind his neck stand on end. . . The blood in his nerves came to a stop, and made a pit stop at his brain, clogging it: his head felt so heavy now. . . His eyes widened as he saw the sight before him — there, beneath the storm, under the cloudy, dark sky was . . . !
"K-Kyog — what are you talking about?" Yellow said in disbelief, looking from Red's sullen expression to Green's: they knew something she didn't, and it was obviously something she was missing — something big. Green had to be lying, he was seriously injured and he was making up nonsense on how he got to that condition? But the problem is . . . when had Green ever lied to her? He's told her every question she threw at him — though he hasn't told her quite everything: there were still some things she's never known, and some questions she'd never thought she'd ask them — if she didn't know what was going on, why should she ask something she didn't even know?
The weather was getting worse and worse — though Yellow doubted the three of them even cared — the trees were being blown by the ferocious wind; the whole forest was wailing — and sometimes, Yellow could have heard the distinctive sound of pokémon howling in the night since she and Red got out of the cave — it certainly was the time of midnight: but Yellow wished that she was certain about everything else.
"I'm not lying," Green said, his breathing slow and loud. Yellow stared at him, her expression not changing. He's read her mind . . . she forgot about that. She had to be honest with him, or else he'd think she was a hypocrite and frankly, he's the only person she's been honest with throughout her whole stay in Mirage Island. He seems to be able to weasel anyone out of anything . . . like some kind of police.
Red looked from Yellow to Green, his expression defiant with rising vigilance; At the corner of Yellow's eye, she thought she saw Red's teeth bare out, and she tore her eyes from Green to look at Red instead — Green broke his gaze from watching her face and decided he should watch Red as well. He was fidgeting, from the looks of it, and he seemed hesitant on telling the both of them something. Yellow bit her lower lip.
"Red? Is there something wrong?" she whispered softly, making to move from her position. He raised a hand, glaring at the moon. Yellow instinctively took one step backward, her eyes bulging: the first thing that came to her mind when she noticed Red's alertness was the thought of him becoming a werewolf — Yellow now felt stupid to have thought of that — but when his actions reminded her of something, she suddenly remembered.
She looked up, grabbed Green by his bloody, wounded arm so tightly; she also felt his hand go numb. She focused her attention on his eyes: he looked at her, his eyes widening: she was thinking the same thing he was — of course, he can read minds — Green can sense emotions . . . and Red can sense danger —
"What is it, mate?" he said suddenly, reaching out his right hand to Red — Red was shivering — no . . . he was trembling. It must be really bad. . . Yellow made to go over as well, but Green took one step backward and thrust his bloody arm in front of her stomach so that she should remain rooted at her spot. She stared at him, bewildered. He must be mental —
"He's finally sensing it," breathed Green quietly. Yellow felt her temper rising — which has maintained this level since she's arrived in Mirage Island because of Red's denseness — and her blood began to run normally again.
"You haven't told me everything yet," she muttered quietly, frowning. She sensed Green's head turn her direction and she instinctively looked away, just to avoid his eyes. She focused her attention on Red now. "Red — what is it? What're you —?"
Red craned his neck upwards, taking one step forward in the moonlight, where the trees weren't able to shade the shine — and in the darkness, Yellow saw, what Red probably didn't expect her to see, being too busy with something, that his eyes were glowing the same blood-scarlet shade it always had whenever he was angry. She nervously took one step backward, clumsily tripping over a small rock when Green caught her with both arms — of course, he was too weak to support her, had he been in full health supporting her would have been easy — and the both of them stumbled on the forest floor, covered in blood.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Green!" Yellow stuttered, trying to stand up — she could even feel Green's blood stick to her shirt on the back and didn't even bother to check it; there were worse matters now that were more significant than that. Green gave a soft moan from behind her as she looked over her shoulder to check if he was okay — he seemed breathable, though he had trouble trying to stand up. Yellow glanced back at Red, who was now still as a dog who had caught scent of its prey — she turned back to Green and helped him stand up with both of her hands.
"Red's sensed something, I know it," Yellow said, more directly to herself than to Green, bending down to help him balance as he slowly made progress in standing, her hands soaked in Green's blood. Now that his blood stuck to the back of her shirt, Green was almost clean of his; though his scars and cuts were visible under his shirt, now that the blood had been . . . er, taken away. The least length of his cut had been 3 inches long. . . Could Celebi do this to him over and over again? It didn't seem to be the type of pokémon to —
"LOOK!" Green yelled, finally standing up, pointing his finger over Yellow's shoulder — Yellow turned around and found that Red — who most probably broke his stance and finally decided to do something about it — had gotten to his feet and was crouched down, almost on all fours — he was breathing heavily, his arms were limp at the sides of each of his jeans — his right arm on the right side of his jeans and so on with the left — and he was in a sort of position in which his right foot was bent forward, and his left slightly bent forward, though not as much as his right — and he looked — there was no other word for it, and, quite frankly, this was the only word that fit Red in Yellow's opinion, whom was terrified — disturbing.
His blood-scarlet eyes were darting from side to side — he seemed to have been looking for something and was obviously not himself — like a crazed maniac, almost larger than usual, even though his eyes were now slits. The atmosphere of the forest seemed to have changed in an instant; almost as though it responded to Red's — well — transformation. The trees weren't as they seemed; they were howling, Yellow was sure of it. She's lived in Viridian Forest — near it — and was certain that this was out of the ordinary. The wind carried the cries of the forest pokémon a long way, and Red suddenly shot his head up, alert.
"Yellow," said Green's voice behind her — inching towards her, he carefully approached her without surprising her so as to not alarm Red. Yellow felt his fingers wrap around her wrist slowly and his grip soon tightened — but she wasn't paying attention to him alone. Her eyes were on Red only, and he seemed to have behaved less . . . human, she's observed. . . What was happening? "When Red experiences this. . ."
Red made a sudden movement, turning his head to the right, suspicious of the howling wind howling in Green and Yellow's direction — she felt her straw hat being fluttered away and used her right hand to clutch on to it — but it seemed that how tight she was going to grip on her straw hat didn't matter to Yellow much right now — she was listening carefully to Green while observing Red's inhuman actions. . . He was too busy staring at the forest behind him, he completely — Yellow's stomach gave a small, unsettling lurch and her heart seemed to have sunk — forgot her and Green.
Green seized this opportunity to approach behind Yellow with ease — he was now behind her when she took one step behind that he knew to mean she was listening to him. He cautiously, shyly, moved his mouth behind her ear — he didn't want her to get wet with his blood.
"He senses the alternate of Kyogre," breathed Green softly in her ear, finishing his sentence at last — Yellow felt her knees droop. Alternate — alternate of Kyogre — Red Jewel — Green's got the Blue Jewel — Red's ironically got the Red Jewel — Climate — something about climate — third pokémon. . . The third pokemon of the trio. . . Mortal enemy — never-ending fight. . .
Kyogre is the pokémon . . . pokémon that dwells in the sea. . . Can make silent waters into roaring waves . . . has the power to destruct an entire colony of corals. . .
Yellow racked her brains to recall the rest of the description, literally, closing her eyes forcefully just to remember. . . Green's told her his story — she has to remember. . .
Alternate . . . alternate of Kyogre . . . Contrary. . .
Something flashed in Yellow's mind's eye, and Green's voice inside her head rang.
The two legendary pokémon — Groudon and Kyogre — have this effect on the climate once they go to an area. Kyogre, bringing forth the clouds together and creating a storm following it in its search for its mortal enemy Groudon to continue its never-ending fight, whose power is contrary of Kyogre's, bringing the heat of the sun with it wherever it walks on earth; drilling from the earth and creating heat waves that could reach up to 87 degrees Celsius. The only thing that would calm these two astonishing pokémon is the third of its trio, Rayquaza [Rey-kwey-zuh], the Sky Pokémon, who lives in the atmosphere, and can be summoned in several ways.
"Groudon," Yellow breathed softly, a realization occurring inside her mind; Groudon — it was the pokémon that lived under the earth, the ground — it could cause heat waves that reached up to 87 degrees. . . It was the mortal enemy of its alternative, Kyogre — they have been in battle for long years, and up to now, they still have the same rivalry — Groudon . . . can be controlled by the Red Jewel. Beside her, she felt Green stir uneasily — and abruptly. Yellow could suddenly recall what Green had shouted at the both of them after they got out of the Refectory. . .
He's turned me into a monster. . .
Her eyes widened — looking up from her absentminded gaze at the dark, forest ground, she glanced at Red, who has been bathed in the moonlight — his blood-scarlet eyes reflected it, and he was in the same position as he was then, though he seemed to have been more mellow now — this was it — Red had been scampering around the area like a mental lunatic — hell, even like a pokémon — and he had no concern whatsoever for herself and Green — Red was behaving as Green had described himself — a monster that only appears once it's reacted to an ancient pokémon. . .
"Green —" she breathed slowly — she couldn't say anything much, what with her heart trying to kill her like it always had every now and then since she's arrived in Mirage Island — she gripped her hand around Green's arm so tightly, she thought she heard him wince, but she disregarded that: there were more matters to discuss. . . "What's Red to become . . . if this keeps on?"
Trembling, Yellow gripped Green's other arm for support, watching Red's frantic, alert movements with dread and fear as she waited for his answer, not able to continue further. Red — she's known him like a best friend for such a short time, she's only felt that this life was indignant for her for knowing him a little while only. . . Green, as well. . . They were the best friends Yellow's ever had. Green gave a small, chilling sigh behind her neck — something cold ran down her spine as he did — and he didn't immediately answer to this question. Yellow had the impression that he wasn't fully paying attention to Red at all — but he was looking at the ground to avoid anybody's eyes.
"We're going to wait," said Green finally — and this reply came so unexpected and far from Yellow's prospects Yellow literally spaced out and felt a psychological, huge weight on the head — she gave a jerk that looked like a sudden, eager nod and looked over her shoulder to look at Green's emotionless, serious expression, away from Red's frantic movements.
"Eh?"
Being in Green's tight grasp, she couldn't move from her position and only struggled to get out of his strong grip — wait for what, she thought almost despairingly, because she didn't have a single clue as to what the hell he was starting to talk about — feeling that she was missing something, she waited for his answer — trying to look as patient as she should be, and not to struggle helplessly, but failed in both attempts — Green darted his focused eyes from Red to her, solemn.
"He's on a frantic search — the Red Jewel — it's responding to something from outside this area and it's getting closer by the minute," said Green — Yellow thought he wanted to say everything in every smallest detail possible quickly — if not impatiently; his eyes were now back on Red again, and Yellow followed his gaze, unsure of herself, and at the time she finally knew why — her heart stopped pumping blood and has fluttered in the air, and her stomach dropped so low she thought it's already left her body and had clattered on the ground — Red has collapsed on the forest floor, curled in a ball, and was writhing in pain so loudly, everything around him has stopped: even the wind has stopped howling.
Yellow made to move forward, taking one eager step forward — her boot even had dug itself firmly on the muddy ground — but Green, despite his wounds and cuts, despite that he was even behind her before she made a sudden movement toward Red, had already moved before her and was by now two steps ahead of her — Yellow thought she caught his eyes glint cerulean while he ran past her — but this time, unlike those other times, she didn't stop her tracks — she sprinted faster and followed Green, who still was two steps ahead, fifty yards away from Red.
Yellow, who was in such a hurry, had to jump four feet each hasty stride just to get to Red in the fastest manner possible, determined to outrun Green this time — but he was still hot on his tracks and the both of them ended up tying in reaching the writhing Red. Yellow dropped to her knees — which felt like jelly all of a sudden — and reached out a trembling, cautious hand to try and help Red almost immediately after she kneeled down, almost recklessly — Green suddenly held out his and slapped hers.
Yellow winced and retreated back her hand, nearly forgetting Red was there and accidentally hit his arm with her hand but disregarded that. "What was that for?"
She massaged her now throbbing hand with her hand opposite and looked at it piteously; it was turning maroon. Biting her lower lip, she turned from her hand to Green — her expression changed almost instantly. She was glaring at him. Then she looked down at Red and her opposite and safe hand twitched in hesitating to help him out: writhing, groaning and gasping, his eyes closed, Red looked as though he were having a nightmare in his deepest sleeps.
Green didn't immediately respond to Yellow's question, and remained silent, looking thoughtful — his eyes had never left Red, but despite Red looked like he was in real pain, in agony, and was suffering, he hasn't done anything yet, which made Yellow wonder even more curiously as to why he still hasn't done any further action for this. She, too, hasn't made any further movement — in mixed feelings for anxiousness in being slapped again and in worry for what she'll do to Red recklessly.
"Don't tell me we've got to wait for this to stop," Yellow said abruptly, a realization occurring to her, trembling — the thought itself carried unhealthy and chilling possibilities. . .
Because Green didn't immediately answer, Yellow already had the impression that they would wait for Red's writhing to stop — silence means yes, after all. But Green's always been reticent, so maybe —
"What can we even do about it . . .?" Green muttered almost inaudibly, analysing the situation thoroughly — but alas, he's got nothing. Green's remark came out longer than Yellow'd expected, she's given up in supposing that he would speak, but when he did, Yellow gave a small splutter, scrambling for words, staring at Red's now gasping body.
"WHAT? By then, he'll die!" she managed to say, her voice nearly cracking — tears began to form in her eyes and she blinked them back: she was going to stay strong. Strong for Red. When Green made no comment — or he might have ignored her, much to her anger, because he still hasn't locked his eyes with her — Yellow turned away from him: she didn't need Green. Who cares about him, anyway? But she didn't even know what to do yet, or how to act.
She only found herself staring at Red — he was now still and silent, and his eyes were closed for some reason — his teeth were still bared, but he didn't show any movement of aggression: he just laid still there, despite that his uncontrollable vibrating stopped — his hair, laid on the ground that looked like it's been rained on and has suddenly dried up in the matter of minutes, had scattered across his eyes, and he showed no signs of life or twitching. Red just laid there, his body motionless and curled up in a ball. His hat had fallen on the ground a few inches from his hair — Red might've cared if he hasn't gone ballistic all of a sudden . . . or if he was still — every nerve in Yellow's body stopped and she gulped — alive.
Green, who suddenly rose from his position in the corner, and who had apparently came out of his reverie, reached out a careful hand and kneeled down beside Red's hand — he was checking his pulse — something leapt out of Yellow's chambers and seemed to not come back there again — there was this certain possibility that Green, too, however taciturn and silent all the while, despite being motionless, thought he was dead. Green, who was always so sharp — the one who'd always crack a case — the silent, but knowing — who had a close mind — who always had hope somewhere in that cold heart — even thought Red was dead. It's seemed like the end of the world in Yellow's mind right now. . .
"He's still alive," murmured Green, with a hint of mild surprise, after a pregnant pause that seemed to be like an eternity. . . He was alive — Red's still alive — he hasn't had a heart failure or anything — he's alive. Yellow's mind's eye had suddenly seen a Red, healthy and sane again, who was sitting like a dog on the floor in front of her, still and silent, but looking hopefully playful — and she's imagined herself trying to instruct him to fetch a stick.
"He's still alive? — I mean, what's he gonna be like when he wakes up?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly — he could be anything. . . Yellow stared at Red's unconscious body, frowning: he was breathing already — not that he wasn't breathing — but more tense and hoarse than it's already been. Yet, she still felt something aching within her; it seemed more than sympathy. . . She felt Green stir uncharacteristically beside her, almost trying to shake her awake from her short reverie. Yellow rose from her position and turned to face Green — her eyes locked with his.
"I think," Green breathed, looking as though he had suddenly felt tense under the direction of Yellow's gaze upon his emerald-green eyes: his blood-strewn hair had almost covered his eyes, "that he should be back to normal — but that doesn't mean he'd forget what he's sensed."
Yellow stared at Green — she wanted to tell him to help her carry Red up to the dorm — or just simply support him up — but seeing as he, too, looked injured, she wanted to cancel that idea out — however, before she even asked him — her mouth was wide open then — Red's left sneaker had twitched at the corner of her eye, and she was left with her splutter cut short — he was moving; Red was awake —
Red blinked. He was lying down the floor, he concluded — his other eye was pressed against the muddy forest floor and he noticed a little early that his hat wasn't sitting on his head anymore — it must be around somewhere — but enough about that. He can't feel his bones. . . He could only barely move his hand — his hand . . . it was lying on the ground a few inches from his face.
He sniffed the air feebly a little.
Unmistakably, the scent of melon and strawberries filled his nostrils: that must have meant that Yellow was nearby. But what with every inch of his body motionless and throbbing, he couldn't control himself enough to even sit up.
He wasn't seeing much. . . The vision was pretty blurry: everything seemed to be moving. Back and forth — pan up, pan down. . . Yet Red was sure that every second counted — his vision was clearing: finally, he could be very sure that he was lying on the ground, the right side of his face pressed in the ground — his body had suddenly became lucid and controllable: he tested his reflexes and controllability with his left foot — sure enough, he felt it land on the ground.
"He's moved again!" exclaimed a voice Red had no trouble recognizing from the tone alone — excited and happy-go-lucky: yep, it had to be Yellow. Red gave a weary and exhausted, but reactionary motion that was supposed to be lifting him up: he only ended up landed on the ground again — apparently, he can't speak because he still can't control his mouth.
"What's the idiot doing?" asked Yellow, scowling now, watching as Red gave his own feeble attempts to lift himself up silently. Red cursed Yellow silently under his breath — if only he could speak. . .
"He's having trouble trying to control his nervous system," clarified Green calmly — but if Yellow had replayed his sentence over and over again, she was so sure that there was a slight tone of annoyance there. She smiled slightly — she's finally thought out why he was always so sullen. Yellow tilted her head a little so that she'll be able to look at Green's expression.
Green hastily looked in the other direction: apparently, she's already forgotten about Red. Well — he's got his wish now: she's finally diverting her attention to him — but trouble is Yellow's already figured him out.
"What?" he said, regretting what he wanted to happen — he was so sure that her amber-brown eyes were upon him. Turn away now — turn away now —
"You're not. . ."
"I'm not," snapped Green — though he thought she heard his tetchy tone crack. Behind him, Yellow was smirking.
"You've experienced this and you're too upset to even think about it!" said Yellow in such a dignified, imprudent voice not unlike Red's was whenever he thought he's figured something out — sure enough, when Green turned around, relieved that Yellow's attained a head that's got a density of thicker than a 9-foot thick cement wall, she was wearing a smirk almost precisely like Red's. "You may be cold in the outside, but you're really sensitive in the inside!"
Whether it was Green's destiny to end up with dense people, he didn't even know anymore. He was just fortunate that both of his friends ended up denser than the earth's core, but it gets puzzling because he'll be the only one knowing something. Well, at least Yellow was smarter than Red, that's a start. . .
Green was about to say something when the both of them heard something muffle — Yellow turned her gaze from Green and her eyes widened — Green, of course, had only seen the right side of her face. He'd guessed Red can already control his senses back, he didn't even need to look.
Yellow could now see the mud that was covering Red's right side of his body — leaves, twigs and dry dust had also been attached to his clothes — all the while Red had been scampering around the area like a pokémon. . . all the while he'd pressed his face against the ground — he'd developed scars. . .and cuts; they were uncannily alike to the ones Green had. . . Come to think of it — Red had been biting himself, she'd recalled. . . Her eyes swivelled to his left hand: it had scars which were all half a centimetre deep — and it slashed across his elbow to the tip of his thumb; blood travelled disturbingly downward, dripping. So . . . !
She turned to Green, horror-struck — he didn't get all his injuries while he was attacked by Celebi — Green must have scratched and bit himself while he lost control — losing control of his nervous system — the Red and Blue Jewels were reacting to the presence of Groudon and Kyogre both and had most probably taken control of Red and Green's bodies —
"I sensed more than Groudon, Green," breathed Red steadily. Yellow was now watching him in such terror Red gave a slight chuckle in spite of himself — a chuckle that turned out to be, what seemed to be like to Yellow, cross between a groan and a sigh before a choke. He disregarded this so abruptly when he realized the situation because he turned to Green, looking more solemn. "It's there. On the small island — Rayquaza."
AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE
ME: Just so you know, guys, I don't read cliff-hangers too much. So why do I keep ending these chapters in one? I know, I know — you hate suspense as well, I get it — too much suspense will make you wonder what the ruddy heck happened just because the author's forgotten to write how and why. But that's life, and everyone's got a point of view —
"HOLD ON A BLOODY MOMENT!" shrieked Yellow, puzzlement and pure comprehension dawned across her face mixed with rage — because nobody in here tells her what the hell is going on nowadays and she just hates feeling like an idiot because she still doesn't get it — and terror — since both of her companies in the deep dark forest were badly injured — and, the last expression she didn't even expect was to mix with the solution, reproachfulness — for she had just shouted at the Red, whom had just injured himself greatly.
Red raised his eyebrows with difficulty — Yellow turned to him, her eyes overlarge, with an air of someone trying to explain something in panic. "No, don't try to explain — GREEN!"
She turned her heel and faced Green with such aggression and determination to know something. Green just simply did nothing and looked mildly surprised by this: Yellow had suddenly remembered that he, too, was in the same condition Red had been in and lowered her voice a little.
"How'd you get like this?" she asked softly, locking eyes with him. When she understood that he didn't seem to be able to speak at this moment, she went on, "Your condition looks much more serious than Red's —"
"I . . . ran into Celebi in the forest after I had a fit with myself," Green said carelessly. Yellow's jaw dropped open. Looking as though he hadn't seen anything, Green continued, "It obviously still had our last fight in its mind — it took revenge and I still wasn't in the mood to fight — or in the condition. So . . . Yeah, you've guessed it," Green added, smiling a little in spite of himself, staring at Yellow's amber-brown eyes. "After that, it just sort of . . . took off, I guess — I was left under a tree. Good thing too, because there was this storm."
"Red said something about Rayquaza," said Yellow slowly, after giving Red a small, apologetic smile. He smiled back, although there was still a sign of apology there as well — so they obviously were exchanging diffident smiles.
"Yeah — I guess it's landed on the island you've been at, so that could be a problem."
AUTHOR'S THIRD NOTE
ME: Aww, you guys should've KNOWN I didn't want another chapter to end that way! =) Oh, well. . . See ya later! =P