A/n: Minor tweaks on the parts where the gang met Prof. Carolina in the previous chapter. Nothing serious, just to streamline the story.
It is a scream within rather than without, being comprised not out of sound as conventional terms put it. There is no 'normal' medium for it to wave through, thus nothing to produce sound waves as logical minds understand it.
Nevertheless, it has a voice – and it reaches to the only opposite end which is capable at all of perceiving something as such, to the other being made to listen to the whispers of the souls. The voice is weak for the connection itself was made long ago and in the haste of looming crisis; but it remains there still, as dealings made with creatures of Legend are not easily severed by powers not of their own, and the sleeping Mesprit stirs restlessly.
Slumbering on in the tiny pocket dimension which it has made its home through the ages, the Being of Emotion is nonetheless conscious throughout it all. Being what it is, Mesprit's connection to its vassal is closer than the bonds formed by the other Lake Guardians – but sooner or later, the distress which Mesprit has had the misfortune to experience first come for the others as well through their own interconnectedness which makes each a third of the whole. Other beings, Legends whose aloofness is what considered 'proper' for their kind and their unfair powers, would have tuned the voice out and steeled their hearts – but how can Mesprit, the very Avatar of Emotion, one of the Guardians of Spirit itself, bear with the ignorance?
It has been a scream of agony, of a soul clawed and drained of its – her – vitality. If it has continued, there will soon be nothing left of her but the drainage stops halfway through for some reasons unknown to the Lake Guardians, leaving her clinging still to life but greatly weakened.
Mesprit braves itself to take a peek. And the peek is enough to birth the frightened vibrations that courses through Mesprit, reaching over to Uxie and eventually to Azelf, their fear multiplied and codified for each that feels it. For in their long existence, rarely they have needs of fear, and to have it justified from one delusional yet powerful man has made them wary of him. They will not name him properly, both out of fear and disgust, and what name they allow of him is through the most devious of his deeds: to take the sacred power of the ancient elemental Plates and shape them to suit his needs until they were no longer recognizable; turning to blasphemy the purest of forces which Arceus itself uses as its own.
Now, he has returned – not in the form he once was but the darkness within whom the Lake Guardians call the Wielder of the Red Chains remains the same, burning with hatred and malice which had been there when the Masters of Time and Space were ensnared.
The Lake Guardian's fear reaches further out…
XxXxXxXxXx
Ash is wary when the spectral ground at Cyrus-possessed Professor begins to bulge and form a mound tangled with the same shadowy strings which envelops her body. However, his resolve pales when the comatose figure revealed from the slithery wrappings sparks recognition and fierce protectiveness in rapid succession.
"Dawn!"
Shouting and running at the same time, Ash has a split-second of terrible realization that he has left what meagre protection to be found behind the stone pillar which he has shared with Brock when a ghostly, yet deadly coil lashes in his direction. He dodges to the side, avoiding it from catching him squarely in the chest while Pikachu shatters another one racing for him with a Thunderbolt and taking a defensive stance in front of the Ketchum, channelling his Trainer's anger in his posture – the arched back is a sign other people should really know to keep well away from, if the hums of electrical potentials throughout the Pokémon's body is not enough of a hint.
"I know this reunion calls for excitement, but let's not let our feelings get ahead of ourselves." Prof. Carolina – Cyrus – is saying in that bone-chillingly peculiar voice. They can still hear Prof. Carolina through Cyrus' reverberating, guttural speech, which makes the listeners fidget despite themselves. It is disturbing as well to see that the ghost's every movement is mirrored a few delayed seconds later by Prof. Carolina's body: a human-marionette to the not-quite-human Cyrus.
Others are ready to retaliate, following after Ash's drastic measures, if they are not rendered helpless with the threat of the dark tendrils looming not only over them but over Dawn as well, merely seconds away from piercing her prone body if anyone should want to prove his boldness. Ash, being nearest to Cyrus than the others, is especially tormented by the tense-filled stalemate; hating the moments even more in recognizing that Dawn's conjuring serves only to stay his hands from reacting with more than angry shouts.
"What have you done to her?!" He shouts, desperate to come over and check if Cyrus is telling the truth but recognizing the closeness to be a fatal trap if he should fall into it.
"She is still alive. It is too much of a waste to drain the Aura of Mesprit's vassal all at once," Prof. Carolina is not physically able to do so but Cyrus' non-living eyes – simply two pinpoints of lights in shadowy pits – flares blood-red, his rapture unmistakable despite his inhumanness, "Come to think of it, I have all three Chosen Ones right here. What a fortunate coincidence!"
A cold-feeling dreadfulness settles over Ash as the ghostly eyes rest upon him and seeing a great, terrible hunger staring back from the depths of them, like a starved beast finally discovering preys to feast over after a long season of fasting. By the way Brock stiffens as Cyrus slides his gaze from the Ketchum to his friend, Ash knows that Brock too has felt the eeriness which he himself has felt upon being recognized as vassals of Azelf and Uxie in the Mount Coronet conflict all those years ago. The three of them – himself, Brock and Dawn – are to be preferably kept alive and compliant, to better serve whatever purposes the ghost intends for them.
This Ash understands as he surveys over the situations and trying to discern why bother threatening them in the first place, though whether or not the insights are a boon or a curse remains to be seen. However, the most bothersome thought at the moment is not his incomplete understanding – it was said by the scientist in the centre that two has followed Prof. Carolina to the ruins, yet only Dawn is shown to them. Ash fears to know if Cyrus finds the man not worth the trouble to keep alive as it did with Dawn if his words are worth any shred of trust.
Before he can make any mention of this, the observant Prof. Rowan has also spotted the loophole and is quicker to voice it out loud, though his eyes remain vigilant to the tendrils hovering threateningly over Dawn, "Newton. Where is he, Cyrus?"
Those pit-like eyes focus on Prof. Rowan with equal measure of deep, corrosive detestation and the merits of humouring the old Pokémon Professor. The same eyes speak of her decision to choose the latter when the hatred dims ever so slightly. "If you insist…"
Again, the shadow-bound Carolina-Cyrus' feet convulses and bulges with an illusion of a gigantic earthworm is slithering underneath and making efforts to burst through to the surface. However, instead of some fanciful creatures, it is another dark-shrouded cocoon similar to the one containing Dawn previously pushes through the 'dirt' which rather behaves like the leftover ashes in a fireplace fanned to scatter about smoke-like, unravelling beneath a similarly unmoving body of the aforementioned Newton Graceland.
Promptly, just after a collective shout for Newton come from the watchers, similar dark coils as those guarding Dawn come slithering and settle menacingly around Newton's unconscious body, wriggling with reined desires for more than just custody of the man.
"Now that we have cleared these out," Cyrus' voice through Prof. Carolina mumbles thoughtfully, the first few words too soft to be heard by the wary audience while her not-so-human eyes dart about her environment. "Let's see… shall we have those meddlesome Pokémon stowed away?"
"We are not fools, Cyrus. It is not enough to have our hands restrained; you would have us present our Pokémon to you as well?" Prof. Rowan growls through clenched teeth but the gesture of his hand stays the Staraptor. However, those bushy eyebrows tightly knitted together signify the same urge as that displayed by his agitated Pokémon.
"Interesting assumption, as always." Prof. Carolina's mouth becomes a horrifying line when it is supposedly an affectionate grin, "but incorrect. If these are Legendary Pokémon, it'll be a different matter… as it is, I will settle for the next best thing."
A small gasp follows. Realizing her involuntary act of surprise, Alice clasps her hands over her mouth to silence any other sound from escaping, to prevent herself from being an attraction for whatever reason. However, Cyrus himself seems lost in his own contemplation – Prof. Carolina's face is now set in a critical frown which usually accompanies a complicated revelation in her research – as his eyes pass over each of the defenders.
"You and Cynthia both are Untouched by Legendary Pokémon; how disappointing. At least that Graceland has Giratina's traces, unappetizing as it is," the ghost-Cyrus does indeed sound genuinely upset by this observation before his spectral mouth-slit and Prof. Carolina's lips simultaneously split into identical grins. "Now, for the last time, the Pokémon –"
There is a bright flash whose source Ash has troubles discerning, mostly because his own eyes are already adapted to the shadowy gloom of the world as created by Cyrus. The groans from around him tell similar stories of discomfort from the other defenders as their eyes struggle with the sudden shock before the flare subsides enough to allow vision to their darkness-conditioned eyes. Still, it takes Ash a few seconds to notice and a few more after that to be convinced that the small, beige bundle between Newton and Dawn's prone bodies is a Shieldon, radiantly bright with an unmistakable afterglow of a Flash Cannon which is apparently responsible for the tendrils' incineration to dust. On a closer look, Newton himself is not as prone as he appears to be at first – there are movements in his fingers and hands, and his mouth is moving in a soft speech unheard by anyone else save for his Shieldon, whose hunched back and throaty growls signal readiness to fight. In the same breath, Dawn too is regaining her consciousness – rather abruptly, it seems from the way her chest heaves upward in a great gulping breath – and promptly activates Empoleon's Pokéball to reinforce the line.
For a moment of two, Cyrus' ghost hovering closely around Prof. Carolina's form loses a fraction of its coherency, revealing something else underneath the already faint suggestion of his enraged human face. There beneath the wide rip which emulates a mouth is another horizontal hole filled with shark-like teeth; below his existing 'eyes' appears another pair of light, shining however briefly like a second set of eyes – and then they are gone, as is the second teeth-filled maw.
It is a momentary shock for Cyrus to find his hostage awake, enough for Cynthia to recognize her window of attack.
There is no verbal command. Unwatchful of her advance, Garchomp's strike comes apparently out of the blue for Cyrus, her winged arm spread wide and infused with Draconic power of Dragon Claw. As the limb slashes down, her eyes glitter with determination which is channelled from her Trainer – Cynthia's emotions are running high with the stakes of her grandmother's safety on the line – and Cyrus's ghost nevertheless shrieks painfully as the sharp talon, missing his human host, tears through him though his smoky form just as quickly coalesces and stitches the gash seamlessly.
Cynthia's undaunted and decidedly dangerous spontaneity is taken up with much eagerness by the others. In many flashes of reds as Pokéballs are made to release their occupants, Prof. Rowan's Staraptor, Brock's Emolga and Swanna, as well as Ash's Sawsbuck and Feraligatr are making beelines for Cyrus as a collective rush of Pokémon intending to overwhelm Cyrus with their numbers. A small number of Pokémon remain with their respective Trainers, these being Cynthia's Togekiss for her own protection as well as Alice's and Tonio's, Luxray for Prof. Rowan, while Pikachu and Croagunk covering both Ash and Brock. However, Cyrus proves to be a formidable challenge still for his ghostly vines counterattack as fast as he is being attacked and keeping the defenders' Pokémon at a rather steady distance from him, bringing the two sides to a nerve-wrenching stalemate as they struggle to gain grounds on their opponents.
However, more than Cyrus' defeat, Ash recognizes that Dawn's and Newton's security is an equally high priority when he exchanges looks with Brock because though they are awake, Newton or Dawn are very much vulnerable where they are now. Being so close to Cyrus to attack at a moment's notice and with only so long the Shieldon and Empoleon can keep their grounds in their traumatized states, their concerns are thus divided between swift rescue and providing Cyrus distractions by focusing their attacks upon him.
A nod from Ash – and Brock is throwing forth a Pokéball from which a long, graceful, serpentine form materializes in a red-flash. The Serperior's length coils defensively around Brock and, under his Trainer's instruction, stretches himself to cover Ash as well, a few yards away.
"Pikachu, go!" Pikachu follows where Ash is pointing and hurries off to where Dawn and Newton lay, having immediately understood his Trainer's intention.
Croagunk bounds after Pikachu scarcely after Brock gives him similar instructions, deflecting attacks as he goes where evasion is impossible the nearer he comes to Cyrus. As far as their Pokémon go, only those two are swift and nimble enough to reach the hostages before Cyrus can make good on his threats, while still being able to defend their charges when they do reach their targets from further harm. Meanwhile, Brock somersaults himself over to the Serperior's back and gestures for Ash to do the same. Having a little more difficulty than his friend due to inexperience, the Serperior's leafy vines reach back and wrap around his midriff to heave him up, where Ash is seated behind Brock.
"Come on, Serperior!" Brock urges, his fingers digging into the leaf-like scales for traction. "Go!"
Ash braces himself for it, and still he finds himself lurched forward with the Serperior's surging motion. His length undulates gracefully as the Serperior slithers this way and that to avoid Cyrus' shots as best as he can, stirring smoke-coloured 'dust' from the unreal-looking ground in his passing and his vines whipping back and forth to counter those intended for his passengers. For Ash, his concentration is mostly kept on maintaining his balance – a surprisingly easy thing to do, considering that Serperior is not usually designated as mount and the hectic, fast fashion of their movements.
Somewhere in the tumults, a terrible, breathy wheeze from Ash's Sawsbuck signals an incapacitating injury sustained, apparently taking a direct hit intended for Alice; this is quickly followed by a human scream as a tentacle manages to sneak its way between the defenders and stab into Tonio's legs with the tip moulded into barbed ends like a harpoon, slashing a gaping, ragged-edged wound in his calf. Ash is not exactly conscious of his recalling of the wounded Sawsbuck, while in the background shouts and Pokémon noises mingle together into something hardly coherent.
It seems for hours they have struggled although the strange dark grey shroud above and around the group deny them a dependable measurement of time. Ash's senses have begun to blur in the chaos of his environments.
The next thing he knows, something has slammed into his sides, knocking him clean off his seat on the Serperior's back.
xxxxx
The next thing Arceus knows, a pain that is like many needles being stabbed into its chest – into its heart, more precisely – makes the Alpha Legend stops dead in its track for the second time since its venturing into the Unown's troubles. This time though, Arceus is no longer willing to attribute the hurt to something whimsical or induced by its environment – which, for the moment, is the darkness of a Celestial Bridge.
Having its mind previously occupied with discussions with Baraz, Meray and the Confined-forme Hoopa, Arceus finds it difficult to divert its attention elsewhere. What seems at first to be a fruitless detour to Arche Valley instead gains Arceus invaluable insights through the interviews with the Archean siblings and the genuinely innocent Hoopa. Of particular interest is Baraz's input on Hoopa Unbound, the djinn's other form when allowed the rest of its powers which had once caused the catastrophe culminating in Arceus' arrival at the time-decayed Dahara Tower, a decade ago. As for the little donut-offering trickster itself, Arceus does indeed find resemblances to the Aura of the sought-after predator but without the paralyzing effects and the pungency which Arceus dislikes so much, among other things; and so Arceus has left Earth to further ponder the matters in the solitude of the nearest Celestial Bridge.
These findings come with curiously mixed perceptions to Arceus. For one, it means that there is still an Aura-hungry predator somewhere to be tracked down (though now Arceus has more hints to guide it, as given by the siblings and their genie charge); on the other hand, Arceus is secretly relieved that the Hoopa is not responsible, hating to think what devastation it will bring to its long-standing friendship which was started by their grandfather.
A case unsolved is very much Arceus' source of annoyance without the concerns of a dangerous hunter around to add another layer of urgency. However, now Arceus's dedications come into conflicts of which neither seems any less imperative than the other. The needle-prickling pain is itself not so worrisome – Arceus is no stranger to discomforts of varying degrees – but what is pertained in it sets Arceus on edges since Legends do not normally fall to sickness the way Earthly creatures do; and one inflicted on the heart has no encouraging news to tell at all. Curiously, when directing its focus inward to find the cause, Arceus' innate connections with the Lake Guardians are strife with disharmony, themselves reflecting the states of the trio's minds. They do not speak with words, but the inner voices of Mesprit, Uxie and Azelf chase one after another in the manners of their waking selves – a hectic narrative of images, sounds and sensations which jumps to and fro from one point to another – and they struggle to be heard by their Master.
Equally alarmed and curious, Arceus opens itself to their pouring.
Arceus receives all which can be told – and as understanding laboriously forms itself from the many pieces Arceus has painstakingly obtained, so too its fear rises to meet the dreadful realizations of what it has ignored and neglected. For they speak of the same name which Palkia vehemently did back in the prison-Closed World, and to call these pure coincidences stretches too much willingness than what is safely warranted; nor did Arceus has followed a blind lead in coming to Arche Valley. No, Palkia's concerns are perfectly legitimate as Arceus has thought, while the minds of the Lake Guardians are the windows to the scene of its concerns materialized.
And what scene it must be!
Worst of all, perhaps, is Azelf's attentive addition, uttered in soft whispers but with an air of someone privately convinced of its intuition. Arceus fears to share in the conviction that the Avatar of Willpower has sensed truly, yet that must have been so. Who else could have caused the Legend's heart any measure of pain if not Ash himself, the consort it has brazenly neglected, even for a good cause?
Thinking so, Arceus's fear climbs to a new height previously undiscovered. No mundane threats can affect the bond forged between them sufficiently as to be reflected back in itself.
What a fool I have been! It is a curse and a lament, the sentiments warring as they rise to dominate Arceus until the Legend can no longer tell which has triumphed over the other, knowing only that upon it an encompassing torment has descended.
So terrible thus Arceus' distress, the Lake Guardians' minds writhe restively to the distant echoes of their frightened Master; and they know, beyond everyone else, that this is not a matter to be put aside or delayed, hence urging the Original One to make haste for the source of it. No amount of poise learnt and cultivated through the long years of aloof watchfulness can calm the brewing turmoil within for in a casual glance Ash's presence is dimmer than he should be, akin in sense but much less ephemeral than Palkia's as it soars from one reality to another. Arceus hurries after the advices of the Lake Guardians while its own heart becomes the compass through which it may find again the Ketchum, wherever he may be hidden.
xxxxx
Somewhere around his ribs, an unhealthy cold is seeping through his flesh and bones, chasing away warmth and makes Ash groan through gritted teeth.
A warm hand catches him on the cheek; around his waist, an arm is slung about supportively. Then, comes Brock's voice through the muffled shouts and screams of the fighters still struggling to gain advantages.
"Ash," he is calling, hurried and afraid. The arm around him is pulling insistently, encouraging movements that Ash does not feel himself capable of at the moment. "Come on, we have to get away."
Still, Ash tries. He wills strengths to return to his limbs, forcing himself to move first a finger, then a hand, then a whole arm – but by the time he tries to sit up properly, his sides begin to flare with sensations of iciness that eat their way into his chest, constricting his heart and lungs until he gasps with the effort to breathe. Pikachu is barking encouragements at his side; Ash does not know when the Pokémon has abandoned his original course and races back to him, but he is grateful for the concern.
All the same, Ash is worried himself what has befallen Dawn and Newton while his body struggles with his failing strength.
"Better than you," Brock says tersely when asked of this. His expression is telling how seemingly insensible where Ash is giving his concern when he is himself rather compromised. "Serperior has reached them. Empoleon, Shieldon and him together are keeping Cyrus at bay."
As if to confirm Brock's assessment, Cyrus lets loose a frustrated howl-like sound as Serperior thwarts his latest assault whilst finding himself struggling to hold the advancing Pokémon at bay. Urged by their Trainers and perhaps motivated by as well by the encouraging outlooks on Dawn and Newton, the Pokémon presses forward harder with Cynthia's Garchomp primarily leading the charge, firstly occupying Cyrus with her rapid slashes before Prof. Rowans's Staraptor moves in to take advantage of Cyrus' disorientation – and in the process, forgetting that more than just Cyrus are receiving the brunt of their retaliation.
Perhaps it is fortunate that Cyrus has managed to puppeteer Prof. Carolina's body to the side, where Staraptor's flesh-rending talons instead graze her lower arm rather than her more vital chest. Fresh, angry-red blood spurts from the long, newly-cut gash along her arm, churning the ephemeral shadows which hug the surface as they dribble down to the ground.
"Stop! Garchomp, back down!" Cynthia's yell resounds mightily, realizing the gravity of their actions with a start as she fearfully beholds a widening patch of fresh blood staining the lower sleeve of Prof. Carolina's coat, where the fabric has been thoroughly ripped apart and showing the broken skin underneath.
The landshark halts her movement. With her, so too the other Pokémon abort their attacks in their various stages of execution immediately and settle instinctively into a defensive ring centred on Prof. Carolina. Though their throats echo with their respective noises of warning, the complex reality of the situation, having dawned on the humans, are now being recognized by the Pokémon as well. The new and unexpected dynamics of their situations are not lost on Cyrus either, nor does he fail to recognize that his significant advantage now lies in his possession of Prof. Carolina herself.
Cyrus' shadowy hand, larger than her head alone, slithers in movements inappropriate for a limb around Prof. Carolina's torso, the long, spindly fingers covering her now-stilted face. The other limb – no less ghostly or fearsome-looking than the first – reaches down to the bloodied sleeve in a threatening emphasis. The rip that is the ghost's mouth stretches and widens, recognizable to being a triumphant grin of someone who has the last laugh.
"You cannot win. I have her. I have –"
If her previous bleeding has been staked to stay the defenders, even Cyrus himself had failed to foresee what comes next.
The retching happens first – shocking all those present, even Cyrus – though nothing but air and dripping saliva come out of Prof. Carolina's mouth before she suddenly falls to her knees although Cyrus' shadow remains where he is despite their previous movements seemingly interconnected to one another. Though the defenders react with outrage at first – Cynthia going so far as leaving her hideout before she is stopped by a hold to the arm by Prof. Rowan – it becomes evident to them that Prof. Carolina's sickness this time is not his doing – not, at least, directly, for Cyrus is himself frantic, as can be seen in the shimmering form and ugly grimace contorting his immaterial visage.
"Useless!" He screams, rage and frustration blending together in his no-longer smug voice. "What good you'll serve if you cannot stand being a host?!"
Prof. Carolina's illness continues unstopped despite Cyrus' enraged attempts to apparently master the woman back into his control. There is even her own voice – the unaltered, untainted tone that is truly Prof. Carolina – can be heard as groans and muffled gasps through her dry coughs and heaves, while Cyrus lashes ineffectively to get her off her helpless kneeling. More and more, the shadowy body which represents Cyrus becomes disconnected from Prof. Carolina's physical body, dark wraithlike roots which ground the ghost to the human disentangling from her outline one at a time until Cyrus floats above like a balloon waiting only for the right gust to blow him away, connected only by two or three stubborn strands.
Cyrus lashes at Prof. Carolina's face as a wicked reminder to the humans, using his shadowy hand – more claws than a humanoid hand in appearance – but the limb passes through her harmlessly, if leaving her in a momentary coughing fit as one would when inhaling smoke.
"He's weakening!" Brock is shouting, recognizing as well as Ash what may be a possible opening for a true advantage they have ever had since the beginning of their entrapment. "Everybody now! This is our chance!"
Cyrus screams, only sounding fractionally human in the increasingly beastly desperation which has come to grip him in listening to the order given by Brock. In the next second, it is no longer a scream but a truly animalistic noise of a predator robbed of the prey already within his claws, a sound coming from terror so great it becomes instead a primal rage to preserve one's existence.
Ash is the first to recognize the danger as the ghost's burning eyes vengefully fix themselves in Brock's direction, scarcely seconds prior Cyrus' resolved detachment from the sole protection of Prof. Carolina's body as his host, the body of whom crumples unconsciously to the ground.
If Cyrus is akin a trapped animal whose strength is enhanced by self-preservation, Ash is lent the extraordinary fortitude by the species of determination as that which empowers parents to care and defend their offspring. It does not matter that he is not blood-related to Brock or any one of the humans present; he cares for them all the same, nor does he make any distinction between humans and Pokémon, no matter whom their Trainers are. Though this seems like a folly and recklessness to outsiders, it is a trait inseparable from Ash Ketchum that it becomes as if a second nature. Hence to Ash at least, there is no complex thought but the simple, irreconcilable urge to protect that makes him push himself up despite the iciness lingering in his chest when he sees Cyrus' headlong charge towards them, utterly disregarding the myriad bombardments from the defending Pokémon although each attack seems to render his already wraith-like form more insubstantial; even giving Pikachu's point-blank Thunderbolt an enraged howl but little else to mark the successful hit.
Caught by surprise at the spectacle of Cyrus's relentlessness, Pikachu would have been as vulnerable as Brock to the ghost's revenge but Ash, fighting his weakness, shoves them both aside – just in time to save them but also putting him in direct line of Cyrus' charge, of which he alone receives the full brunt of it.
At first, it is as if the world's time flow is restrained to a snail's pace as Cyrus' ghost disintegrates upon contact with his body.
The world as he sees is strange, for it seems like he is looking out with two pairs of eyes imperfectly aligned with each other. Every object and person, every line and corner perceivable to Ash is faintly multi-layered like they are being viewed through lenses which are minutely out of synch, creating effects like afterimages; then, his and the second vision drift closer together and meld with each other, in the process restoring normal vision – but now with a peculiar blue-and-purple tinges.
In the next second, as the ghost's fluid outline reforms itself to Ash's frame and in the process, regains a semblance of substantiality like a heavy blanket of fog, if fog the colour of night rather than white. Ash is aware of the intensifying coldness where he is formerly struck, but the pained scream he expects to make never comes. His mouth opens but his vocal cord twitches ineffectively, producing a croak which is immediately silenced against his will.
He means himself to move but his limbs will not obey.
He can feel his lips splitting in a wide grin though he does not remember wanting to do so, for the headache has returned with a vengeance.
xxxxx
Ash is, suddenly and inexplicably, no longer in that shadow-covered world, where terror in the form of ghost-Cyrus has returned to menace them yet again. Instead, no matter in which way he sees, there are only endless, starless night to meet his eyes… broken by the huge, iron-like coils of some serpentine creature which is now holding him tightly in its fatal, rib-crushing embrace.
-I will not be Confined again, a deep voice, tinted with angry growls in every syllable, declares but the source is indiscernible. The voice filled his ears and mind and heart, reverberating in the space where nothing but its deathly coils exist, suffocating him in more ways than water filling a man's drowning lungs the tighter it constricts around him.
The moment it speaks too, is the moment Ash realizes that the skull-splitting headache has followed him from the shadow-world of Cyrus' making and into this place… wherever this place is.
-I remember you, boy… Fate has brought you back to me.
The head which is now lowered from an unseen height to the level of Ash's eyes is not at all a match to the body of the endless, space-filling coils. For though there are hints of a reptilian thing to its body, the face before Ash's eyes possesses a wide mouth which houses dozens of sharp teeth which are too huge and too many, stretching the lipless maw into an eternal grin, though anything but happiness is reflected in those cruel visage. A pair of huge, oxen horns protrude from the sides of its head, atop which grows a lush of purplish hair which is tied into a high-rising lock. Most terrible of all of its features however, are those eyes – aglow and alive as Arceus' red-burning ones in that long-lost time of its wrath.
The headache comes to its peak then. It is like something has gone nova in his skull, searing the inside of his head with pain untold by words. Here, in this unknown world and hugged in the unrelenting snake-like body, Ash can scream – and he does, his throat raw and his eyes sting with hot tears. He screams long and hard but nobody listens to him – nobody but this creature which takes on the face of Unbound Hoopa, save for the eyes which hold a wild hunger which Ash has not seen in the eyes of the little Hoopa Confined.
Through this unbearable pain, his lost memories trickle back into remembrance, each moment a drip into the glass of his thought-bearing mind. It fills his head slowly but steadily, unrelenting despite his agony that he waits only for the blessed unconsciousness to bear him away…
But he is awake, and before his eyes his lost memories flash in rapid successions. There are many of these, too many for him to discern individually even if he should stay and watch for months or years, but some holds more prominence in their various ways, enough for him to latch onto:
The most recent ones come first – Arceus' kisses, both chaste and passionate, as their bodies tangled upon the bed. It was their second mating, back in the depth of the Palace of Origin; Arceus worried despite its burning lust, voicing its concerns frequently that they should be careful, should not let their passions unattended lest Ash would be overwhelmed while Ash laughed away its fear and held it close…
A golden pillar of light, breaking through the gloom of gathering stormclouds. Arceus hovered in the sky above them for a moment, its glow brighter even that the glare of the desert-sun. Arceus was unmoving as it surveyed the ravaged land where Dahara Tower once stood – and then it strode away to disappear among the clouds. The numerous Legendary Pokémon – displaced from their times and places and summoned here by the powers of both Hoopas – too followed suit and vanished from their sights.
Baraz and Hoopa Confined emerged from the other side of the ring, the latter pulling the former through the hoop-portal seconds before it was closed, safe and unharmed and untouched by the wave of reality decay which consumed Dahara Tower. The ancient building had not been as fortunate as Alamos Town…
The tower stood but only barely; already half-crumbled, waiting only the definitive blows to bring it to its knees. The sky crackled maddeningly with thunders. Arches of lightning forked through the dark sky heavily blotched with equally dark storm clouds while an eerie shimmering glow grew and spread about voraciously, like rising tides engulfing all in their paths under the watery depths; eating away at bricks, rocks, stone tiles, even the very space in its passing, dissolving them all into glittery particles which blew away on unseen wind, never to be reformed again…
The vision of Arche Valley. He had never been there but Hoopa Confined had lived there all through its 'imprisonment', and the wonderful vista of golden fields and a village among the mountains were shown to him in his mind – and the other being which had lurked within screamed rage and nonsense.
He saw an anxious Hoopa Confined hovering before him. Pikachu prowled at his feet restlessly and the words he spoke to them were not what he thought…
The choking hold of the powers of Hoopa on his mind. Even though the Prison Bottle caged its essence, its powers had grown conscience of its own and birthed hatred separate from the Hoopa Confined. Its malicious spirit radiated out of it and caught Ash in its grasp when his fingers touched the bottle, flesh against glass; the sensations he felt then was the same as what he feels now –
"Shadow… of Hoopa…" Ash gasps. It does not seem that he draws breath at all in this strange unending place, somehow, but still his crushed torso is struggling to manage any speech at all.
Call it an intuition, but Ash suspected that not all of Hoopa's malevolent spirit was cleansed after all. A fraction of it must have escaped the penultimate reunion with the original Hoopa, thus restoring it to its Unbound Forme. That which had resisted absorption must have bided its time all these while, in utmost secrecy building its energy to rebel as it once had when trapped in the Prison Bottle for hundreds of years – history repeating itself.
-And you… you should have been mine then, the Shadow snaps, teeth gritting together and making a deeply discordant sound that causes uncomfortable tingles all throughout Ash's body. -I shouldn't be restrained. I shouldn't be tamed. I am the Shadow of Hoopa, greater than all mortals, wiser than the Eldest, mightier than the Outer Giants! I am without compare – and that Confined-runt took them all from me!
"We… we weren't trying to tame you – we're trying to help! You shouldn't be destroying or - or killing –"
-You're more foolish than Baraz – curse his name! I am the Master of my Fate and the living Legends. I could call them from anywhere and they would fight at my whims! Even the people praised and sang to my glory! The Shadow's anger manifests in a writhing purple-red Aura possessing of bone-biting chill, crawling across Ash's skin and parching his mouth and throat. -You have no right to tell me. You're nothing more but a nuisance!
Ash fights to open his mouth and speak; to deny the accusation and hopefully ease the blind rage which has consumed the Shadow of Hoopa. Perhaps it is not yet too late to mend the enraged Pokémon…
"I couldn't have agreed more, Shadow of Hoopa."
One section of the snake-like coil in front of Ash bulges grotesquely. There is no mouth or other orifice to have accounted for the voice, yet it seems to Ash that the voice does indeed speak from the fleshy, squirming distension – and how it grows! Very soon what was once a lump roughly the size of a human's head develops into a something taller than Ash. Nauseating to watch as the purple-greyish hump bloats, it becomes a horrifying scene once it buds off from the main body by clinching itself at the bottom so very tightly, like a lump of malleable clay being extremely twisted will separate into two pieces. The transformation does not stop there either – Once detached, the formless blob begins to take a humanoid shape. It is like watching a pair of invisible hands sculpting features onto the globule until it is undeniably clear that the individual who towers over the tightly-wrapped Ash is Cyrus.
Well, the face is Cyrus. The rest of his body, while recognizably hominoid, is like the works of a sculptor who has grown tired of his project. Though clothless, Cyrus cannot be said to be naked, not when he is missing details like feet with conjoined toes and incomplete hands which lacks two or more fingers than the normal five for each.
He is also huge. Nowhere near the gigantic manifestation of the Shadow of Hoopa, but still larger and taller than an average human. If Ash is to stand beside him, he will only reach below his chest.
"Indeed he is a nuisance – but a beneficial nuisance, I should say," he says, a hint of satisfaction in his lazy drawl. "Tonio was too fragile to reside for long. We shouldn't have bothered with Alice, not with that mad Darkrai around… but you, Ash. You are perfect to replace Carolina."
Cyrus' sunken eyes hold some hints of his human origin in them but the blood-red pupils unnerve what shred of comfort left for Ash. Stubbornly, though recognizing the likely folly of his boldness, Ash forces himself to bear his piercing gaze and lock his eyes to his.
"It has been a while, Ash. A long, long while… You have no idea what it is like to be trapped outside of Earth." It is painful to maintain eye-contact, but there, finally, Ash notices the same overwhelming hunger which the Shadow of Hoopa has stared at him. Remembering the glee exhibited Cyrus-possessed Prof. Carolina in discovering that the three Vassals of the Lake Guardians are gathered together, Ash cannot help but shudder with revulsion and avert his eyes.
A pair of hands, possessing only four fingers on each and nail-less on every digit, frames Ash's face gently, even fondly, lifting him up so that he is left with no choice but to meet Cyrus' gaze.
"It is ironic that I, who abhors emotions and sentimentality, am nevertheless consumed by it. In this sense, I have failed my goal." The edges of his mouth turn down to form a scowl which has looked so permanent on his face when he was still a living, breathing, bodied human. "You and your stupid friends thought that 'love' and 'friendship' will answer everything… but I find that anger is much more beneficial. It drives me. It enables me to persevere even when my body has long died. To reflect that success was only a breath away… and to find yourself denied your purpose – it was an exquisite torture."
-He was in league with Baraz and Meray against me, the Shadow of Hoopa growls from behind the Ketchum. -I should rid of this brat quickly. We shall have a feast – there is so much Aura in him!
Its constriction becomes tighter but a look from Cyrus is apparently an understandable gesture to the spirit of the Pokémon, who promptly relaxes its body only so Ash is not lost in the crushing pain.
"Yes. You, Ash Ketchum, had thwarted us both. Palkia and Dialga too; they may look like mere beasts but they have the most cunning minds. If Shadow of Hoopa had not found me, I would never have escaped their prison. What remains of its powers broke me out and empowered me in my mission – in return, I became the half it has lost…"
Ash has no delusion that he may escape from their grasp as Cyrus has escaped his jail, or worse, if the ravenous look they impart upon him is indication to what they have in mind for him. He is scared, as a human with a proper instinct should be, but Ash cannot fight the burst of anger at Cyrus' self-righteousness. Has he not learnt something, anything at all, in his punishment? Ash is absolutely baffled by how cunning and clueless a person can be at the same time, or how Cyrus can mingle such short-sightedness in his grand ambitions.
"You're mad, Cyrus! If the world is flawed, it is not because of emotions; it's people like you who ruined it! Dialga and Palkia were just defending us – defending Earth!"
The scowl instantly deepens. His eyes bulge so much that they counteract the natural concaveness of his face, making outlandish caricatures of his serious expression.
"You'll never understand," Cyrus hisses while the Shadow of Hoopa, reacting with the same anger at Ash's audacity, growls into his ears warningly. Cyrus shakes his head; again showing something close to remorse in that gesture. "No matter. We only need your Aura – and your friends' as well – to feed us. We will seek the Legendary Pokémon themselves, once we have grown strong enough to feed on them! Then – Then, their powers will be ours instead, and my perfect world shall come true after all…"
A nod from Cyrus, the coils tighten around him – a wall of muscles relentlessly closing down upon him until Ash can do no more than gasp, despite the fear and agony he is suffering under his captors' hungry and expectant stare.
xxxxx
Under Brock's command, the Serperior has Dawn and Newton clamber upon his back and transport them to safety, where Cynthia, Prof. Rowan, Tonio and Alice have taken to hiding. Admittedly it is not a proper shelter, with only collections of half-crumbled structures, stone pillars and unidentifiable slabs as their covers, but these are much better than the open space they have occupied and nearer to many other Pokémon to help with their protection. The lull has also enabled the Garchomp to rescue Prof. Carolina, carefully picking and carrying the unconscious woman back to their midst in her arms where Cynthia quickly set to examine once she is deposited on the ground.
As for Brock himself, he refuses to move an inch away from Ash's side, a stance steadfastly adopted by the equally anxious Pikachu.
It will be a lie to say that Brock is not frightened. It is just that his fear is overruled by the greater worry for his friend – nothing encouraging could have been said when Ash's body, crumpled and doubled over himself, is wreathed in a shadowy emanations which have previously enveloped Prof. Carolina under Cyrus' possession. However, collapsing after taking Cyrus' charge intended for him, Ash has yet moved from his foetal curling on the ground, his arms tightly wrapped about himself as if to contain whatever it is in his body from escaping its confinement.
He may have died at a first glance. Ash's breathing is slowed and faint to the point the rise and fall of his chest are almost imperceptible. His eyes are wide but unresponsive to any movement Brock has attempted in front of his face, dilated and staring lifelessly into a horizon nobody else can perceive.
"Ash," Brock whispers; his hands grasp the shoulders to shake, shuddering as the unusual stiffness reminds him of a fish left dead for too long, "Ash – Damn it, Ash! Stay with us!"
The Pikachu's distressed wails are heart-breaking sounds Brock have heard coming from other Pokémon before in the course of his caretaking training, but ones which always make him wish for deafness. The Pokémon frantically paws into the Trainer's arms and nuzzles the pallid cheeks and, failing to garner any reaction, begins to clamber over the rigid body, racing back and forth to tug at the sleeve of his shirt, at the edge of his jeans, at the messes of his hair…
Dawn's appearance, dropping to her knees beside Brock, is unexpected but wholly welcomed. The Croagunk and Ash's Feraligatr are with her, their attentions having brought back to their Trainers after the chaos of their attacks; their heavy breaths signal the urgency with which they have raced back to them.
"Brock." Dawn reaches out with her weak, trembling hands to touch the Ketchum's face. Her fingers are tremulous as they stroke his cheek and the corners of his unblinking eyes. "…what happened? I didn't – I didn't realize, I was just –"
"Cyrus," Brock says but finds that further explanation eludes him. The tightness in his chest makes speaking that much more difficult. He says instead, "I can't get him to wake up. He's not responding to anything!"
To a degree, Dawn seems to understand him. Perhaps she too has been forced through similar catatonia when Cyrus was still holding her and Newton hostage. However, neither of them knows how best to proceed and help their friend, hanging their hope solely on the fact that Ash is still breathing, however weakly he seems to do so. Brock has learnt a few vital first-aid treatments as a supplement to his career, but none of the techniques seems to be helpful in the situation they are now forced into. Ash's Feraligatr and Brock's Croagunk prudently hang back, sensing the tensed air about the humans, but Pikachu actually growls warningly when they try to coax him away from the Ketchum that they resign Pikachu to himself.
It is thus a chest-blooming elation to see Ash finally stirring from his stupor, first by drawing his first deep breath before lifting his head to better perceive both Brock and Dawn bending above him. For the first time they can see life and focus returning into his brown-eyed gaze, though tugging at his arms, Brock discovers that the limbs are resisting his attempts to unfold them.
"Ash, t-thank goodness!" Dawn cups her hands on the sides of Ash's face, drawing his eyes to her and very nearly cries herself out of happiness. "We thought – we couldn't wake you up, at all –"
Her relieved outburst stops abruptly. For in looking into Ash's eyes, she realizes that there is fear and tension in them that she cannot understand. Ash is looking at each of them – firstly at Dawn, being closest to him, then at Pikachu who is jostling for a space to nuzzle his cheek and finally, at Brock who hovers closely behind them – as if he beholds enemies rather than friends.
"Pika-chu…?" A soft paw rests on his cheek, inquiring what Pikachu cannot ask verbally.
"Pikachu… you've got to go." His lips barely move. The whisper might have been easily passed over as the confused rambling of a newly-awakened man, but the intense concentrations in his wide-eyed stare says otherwise. "…I can't hold them for long. Take Pikachu… take my Pokémon and the others… bring them with you. Find a way out. They'll come out soon and they'll hunt you down. They are starving."
"No, Ash. We're not going to leave anyone behind –"
"You have to." It is no longer a plea, not with the fierceness with which he says this. However, his friends know that it is spoken from fear rather than anger, they way his eyes scrunch together and his mouth tightening in grimace. "They will move on to others when they've done with me."
Brock's hands clutch Ash's shoulders with the iron-strength of a Staraptor's talons, turning Ash's attention away from Dawn. "You said 'they'. Who else…?"
"…You don't know the Shadow of Hoopa."
Having said these, Ash's eyes roll back into their sockets, momentarily leaving nothing but complete, eerie whites in the place of his pupils. Fearing that they have lost him yet again, Brock, Dawn and Pikachu crowd around him more closely, doing their best to bring the Ketchum back among their midst.
Instead, when Ash regains a focused look, they know that staring from behind the brown eyes is no longer their friend.
"I pity you all, sentimental fools," Ash says but the voice is not entirely his own. The hoarseness is Cyrus'; in the same way Prof. Carolina was recognizable in her speech but has been tainted by the ghost's rasp. "He'd fought bravely to give you a chance only to be wasted."
Like a startled Liepard, Brock backs off with an arm stretched out protectively in front of Dawn, ushering her and the other Pokémon to retreat. Pikachu gives out a pitiful bark, though he obeys Brock's hushed, yet urgent commands all the same, recognizing the risks if he should proceed with his stubbornness, especially after hearing Ash's frantic warning. Cold sweats break over Brock's skin, his eyes sharp and his muscles strung out in readiness for action even though Ash's puppeteered movements look sluggish as he unfolded himself from his crouch. If anything, it will seem likely that as time goes, Cyrus will be adapted to his new home to be much more manoeuvrable with Ash's body. After all, Prof. Carolina's conducts had been entirely unsuspicious under Cyrus' occupation, lasting as long as it is, beginning perhaps since Tonio's ailment which was when she showed her first sign of mysterious bouts of sickness.
As for now, little can they do but to wait and watch Ash Ketchum's body coming to his feet. Even now his gestures look a little better and more neutral when he sweeps away the shadowy, ground-covering fog which has clung to his arm in a manner one would to dirt soiling one's body.
"Now then," he says matter-of-factly, "we're back where we have started. Nothing changes. Resisting will only prolong the inevitable."
Brock opens his mouth, his retort ready to burst forth – whatever that may be because his thoughts are muddled and driven by warring emotions – but it ultimately left unsaid, borne away by the unexplained change around them. It is in the air, mostly, as the hairs on their skin begin to stand on end and invisible fingers crawl across their skin, leaving tingles of static electricity in their wake. The shadow-fog cloaking the ground churns as seas are roiled in storms, though if there is one inbound nothing can be perceived by their eyes. Though at first their assumptions lay the blame on Cyrus, the face of the possessed Ketchum reveals only befuddlement and, if one cares to look closely enough, a deep-seated fear that Ash does not share with the profoundly systematic Cyrus: a fear for things which have gone out of one's control, no matter how meticulously and diligently one has worked to see success.
Dawn, out of instinct, sweeps the Pikachu off and holds her close to his chest protectively, struggling against the Pokémon's pitiful barks and wiggling to go after Ash, murmuring words into those long, flattened ears without knowing exactly what is being said. The nearest cover is at a worrying distance, so Brock shields her as best as he can as Dawn is doing to the Pikachu, an act that Croagunk, Feraligatr and Dawn's newly-arrived Empoleon shoulder themselves in regards to the humans.
As far as anyone can remember, they have not felt wind here ever since they have been kidnapped to Cyrus' shadow-world. Thus it strikes them with nerve-shocking intensity at first as the dampness and heat of the still air is replaced by a sudden gust that sweeps around the place, its origin indiscernible, sweeping the shadow-fog around and around in its passing.
"What now?!"
They can hear Cyrus' voice shouting amidst the thin whistling of the wind, which grows only stronger the more they wait for it to abate. If previously Cyrus has been angered and fearful, they have been for the identified outcomes should he fail to find himself a new host after Prof. Carolina; now, it seems that he is transfixed to be facing with things unknown to him, right after his first crisis has been averted. For all his cool calculations and manipulative schemes, there is only so much one can take the pressure before one fall after another will begin to take its toll. The wind eventually gathers into a vortex where Ash has been standing; suddenly realizing that it has become the centre of activity for one reason or another, none of which he quite understands, he steers Ash into a panicked retreat. Ash stumbles on an unseen obstacle, perhaps a rock, and he falls backwards with a painful-sounding thump but his eyes remain fixed to his front, Cyrus' fear growing as the maelstrom develops.
Suddenly, the eye of the vortex erupts, birthing ribbons of multi-coloured lights: blue, green, yellow, red and more shimmering into existence, writhing like living things… a chromatic antithesis to Cyrus' shadow-tentacles he has used upon the humans not too long a while ago. Light – blessed, warm, illuminating – spills forth from unseen source into the shadow-world, reminding the watching humans of the golden sunlight which have been denied of them and they revel in the comfort of its familiarity and homeliness. For Cyrus though, there is nothing delighting to be found in the light as he scutters back desperately from the intensifying light, as well as the massive, four-legged figure it cloaks.
The defenders are initially unaware of it, relieved enough as they are to be bathed again in light, noticing only Cyrus' distress at the progression. As a long leg steps out from the centre of the light, itself softly radiant in the same shade of gold, the humans are brought to watch avidly as an unusual creature comes forth from the swirling, light-bathed whirlpool. The second leg is accompanied with a long neck that ends in a head that drags behind it a smoothly tapering projection. A body follows suit, then the back legs, and lastly, the tail – all culminating together into the Alpha Pokémon Arceus.
They are simply astonished by the presence of a Legendary Pokémon at first, unlooked for and unimagined in their wildest dreaming, even cautiously optimistic of its coming; then they notice the smidgen of red on its face, a colour that is out of place amongst the golds and whites conspicuous on the body, and realize suddenly that the unusual eyes – attuned squarely upon Ash not a few steps away from its legs – are smouldering with wrath.
Brock shivers and, in his arms, so does Dawn and Pikachu. For they do not forget the unquenchable flame in the Original One's eyes as it levelled down Michina in that time which no longer exists except in their minds.