Chapter 48: The Demon and the Phantom

She lay in the middle of her own destruction, wondering what the point of it all was. The mattress had been hurled off the bed and frozen to the walls, claw marks shredding it to pieces and leaving cotton innards and springs strewn across the floor. Melting icicles were dripping onto the floor, but with the rain outside and the leaky roof, Weavile barely registered them. Water had been dripping onto her chest for the past hour and yet she hadn't moved.

Some time ago, that Servine had reappeared to talk some sense into her, but she and that Raboot showed her the door. How long ago had that been? Before the rain started, but after she'd torn the room up. Some time last night? That was meaningless. She didn't even know what time it was now. Gray skies made it impossible to tell at a glance, and she didn't have it in her to go outside.

Weavile was still waiting, still hoping to hear Murkrow peck at the window, or that damned Espeon ribbing her for the state of the room, or Joker to come and offer her a joke. She was waiting for… anyone, really, that didn't come here to lecture her like that damn Servine. At this point she'd welcome a retaliatory raid from Persian, or the Guild, or anybody that could distract her. And yet as the icicles melted onto the floor to mark the seconds, nobody came. Drip, drip, drip, drip.

Maybe she should become a warlord? Gain followers that way? The more she thought about it, the more tempting the idea became. A significant part of the syndicate was leaning that way already, given the bandits, so maybe she could try organizing them. Maybe… Maybe she'd go test out Arcanine. Open his cage and find out for herself if he was down for that. Or…

Or the human. That Riolu she'd bumped up against a few times. Maybe she could go find him and fuck around? With the entire world hunting him down, they might even get along now. He was fun to mess with. Weavile's ears twitched as a ghost of a smile emerged. If she asked Espeon she could probably find him, and maybe then…

Espeon. Even thinking about him made her grimace. If Weavile had to go see him for herself, it'd be to wring his skinny neck. That bastard, leaving her to fend for herself…

At the edge of her hearing, Weavile could hear voices downstairs. She shut her eyes and groaned as she raked her claws across the floorboards. "I swear, if that Servine shows up again, I'm killing her," Weavile promised.

Through the walls Weavile could hear the Raboot greet somebody the traditional way: "The hell you doing here?"

"Just here to see Weav," the visitor answered, and Weavile's ears perked. "She hasn't gone out, has she? This place is pretty… y'know, empty."

Joker. She knew that voice anywhere. Finally, somebody was here. Weavile shot to her feet and looked down at herself, brushing off stray splinters and ruffling her chest dry. Or, drier. Slush and bits of frost shook everywhere.

"She told me to kick visitors in the groin."

"... Please don't?"

Weavile hurriedly marched to the door and flung it open. A grin started to emerge before Weavile wiped it away just as she approached the top of the stairs, where she stood with her paws on her hips. The Raboot was four steps down on the first platform, and the painted Floatzel waited another couple steps down on the second platform, fur absolutely soaked.

"There you are. What the hell took you so long?" she scoffed.

"Weav!" Joker's eyes lit up for a moment, relieved, until he saw the state she was in. Maybe it was a few tufts out of place, or maybe something was amiss on her face. "... How long have you been cooped up here?"

"I went out —" How many times have you slept since then? "—two nights ago, but I've been relaxing here since. Why?" she asked. A second later, she looked to the Raboot caught between them and shifted her weight onto one leg. "Do you still need something?"

Raboot paused for a moment, staring back at her with a raised eyebrow, then decided it wasn't worth it. He placed a paw on the banister and hopped down to the ground floor, then disappeared down the hall. Weavile huffed and made her way down the stairs, avoiding the weak spots by memory alone.

Joker looked to either side and made no secret of it, but he couldn't see anyone else. He frowned. "I dunno, it's just… quiet. Like a different kind of quiet. Where's Murky and Sableye?" he asked.

Weavile huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Sableye's stuck hunting Persian and doing business things, and Murkrow…" She sighed. "He's busy too."

"... So it's just you, huh?"

She nodded. "I'm not gonna try and grab him again. And unless Espeon shows up on his own… Yeah. Just me and a few guys like Raboot."

Something twinkled in Joker's eye as his smile returned. "Then let's get you out of here. Get you some fresh air," he offered. "What's say we go have an adventure again?"

An adventure? Her face brightened up and gave away her excitement. She barely needed any convincing. An adventure was exactly what she needed right about now, and the fact that it was Joker of all Pokémon to whisk her away made it impossible to say no. But she had to contain herself. Something was amiss.

Weavile eyed him up and down. He was fidgeting with his paws. Sighing, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered. She knew that was a lie. He knew she knew that was a lie. After a brief staredown, Joker lowered his head. "Look, I'll explain on the way, alright? We need to talk, but more importantly, you deserve to have some fresh air."

"... What're you thinking?"

Joker grinned again. "A haunted forest," he answered.

Weavile blinked. "Carrion Woods?"

"No, a different place. I heard about it while I was east. There's some story about a battle that strayed into a mystery dungeon. I can't remember all of it, but there's gear and treasure in there that was never fully recovered. And Ghosts!" He laughed. "Sounds like fun, right?"

"Ghosts?" Weavile smirked as her claws flashed a malevolent purple. "I can handle that easy. Some fresh air sounds great." She turned over her shoulder and called back into the mansion. "'Ey! Same rule applies! Kick anyone that doesn't leave on their own, alright?!"

A pause. "Got it," Raboot called back.

"Good." Weavile popped her spine and started for the door, slowing down just long enough to slug Joker in the shoulder. He yelped and stumbled back as Weavile stared at him, smirking. "But you're not teasing me for long, got it? Whatever's up, I wanna know before the end of the night."

Joker frowned, rubbing at what was bound to be a bruise. "But it's still morning."

Exiting into the rain, Weavile put a hand above her eyes and stared up at the sky. Sure enough, to the east the thick clouds hid a silvery sphere behind them. Weavile clicked her tongue. "Then by lunch —"

"No takebacks!" Joker blurted, dashing past her.

"Wh — Hey!" She bounded after him as fast as her legs could carry her, unaware of the smile on her face. God, how she needed this...

They were in for a long hike, and all they had between them was a compass. Most Pokémon would call that stupid, and most Pokémon were right, but most Pokémon weren't here to judge them. Neither of their bodies minded sleeping out on a pleasantly cool summer night, and neither had much of a problem foraging or hunting for food.

Two days by foot northeast would take them to the Mystery Dungeon in question. After sifting through his memory, Joker recalled a few more details about the place, and with all the time ahead of them, he wasn't hesitant about sharing them.

"I think they called the place the Wraiths' Backwoods? Something scary like that. It used to be something like... " He made circles with his paw as if it would draw an answer out of thin air. "I dunno. I want to say Foggy Forest, but I know that's wrong. Point is, ever since the Ghosts moved in, it's basically a new place entirely."

Weavile nodded. Maybe that was supposed to mean something, but the mechanics of Mystery Dungeons had long since bored her. As she saw it, understanding them was pointless beyond the basics of how to get through: press forward, but don't go too deep. "Then why am I just hearing about this place now?"

Joker cracked a smile. "'Cause something's going on in there."

"... What?"

"That place was supposed to have been cleaned out since forever ago, but in the past few weeks, they've started finding more again. Even a few weapons, strangely enough." Joker laughed a little. "So if we're quick, we can find something cool and get out of there."

She rasped her claws together. "But there'll be others, won't there?"

"Probably not. Most others don't mess with Ghosts. Too many rumors that nobody knows what's true or not."

Weavile shrugged. "Yeah, you're probably right," she admitted. "They're creepy and Pokémon make things up. Did you know that some guys believe that if you faint to a Ghost, they rip out your spirit and turn you into one of them? Crazy, right?"

Joker averted his eyes. "Y-yeah. How, uh, how stupid could you be?"

"... You believed that?"

"... Maybe a little."

A few miles and a lot of ribbing later, they stumbled upon a slow-moving stream to rest at. They drank in relative silence as they scanned the water, and to their delight they found their lunch swimming by. A blue-striped Basculine was making its way upstream, but with a quick dive and thrust with her claws, Weavile hooked it in the side and threw it onto the banks. It didn't take long from there to finish the poor Wildie off, and after a cursory gutting (that Joker didn't want to watch), they started taking turns picking off pieces of raw fish.

"So." Weavile tore off the skin and took a bite. A little bloody, a little salty, but otherwise underseasoned. Couldn't be helped. She lapped a little of the blood off her claws before pointing one at Joker. "You gonna tell me what's up? Or are you actually gonna wait until tonight?" she asked.

"... Hm." Joker thoughtfully chewed on his own piece, scales and all. "You first. I've got a feeling I'll overshadow yours." He gestured an invitation with his free paw. "So what's eating you up?"

Weavile raised her arms above her head and stretched. "Just that damn mansion. I needed some fresh air, so —"

"Weav." He leaned forward a little with a knowing smile. "We know each other better than anyone. I know something's wrong."

A lost sigh escaped as her arms drooped yet again, and her head sunk. "It's just… quiet," she admitted. "There's nobody to order around since everything got thrown on its head, so it's like…. It's like I'm not doing anything, you know? That fucking Servine ," she tore another chunk off the Basculine and chomped into it. Thin blood trickled down her chin and onto her lap. "She said something about how all the operations are down, and in my head I'm like, 'no shit,' but what was I supposed to do? Tell her that I was right? Tell her that Bisharp fucking played all of us?"

Joker winced. "He… He really did, didn't he?"

"It's like… There's no syndicate anymore, really. I didn't realize how much we needed the Guild to operate. We're dead in the water. Funnily enough, the best option right now is to help rebuild so we can keep up the usual work, but… Man, that's not what I signed up for." She grumbled and took another bite. "I wanted to be king of the castle, and that bastard salted the soil. What the hell do I do now?"

Joker furrowed his brow. "I'm not gonna pretend I know anything to help," he admitted sheepishly. "Circus business is up, but only a little. The people who need cheer just barely outweigh the people who don't see a need for it right now. But they're used to taking care of themselves, so if you ever need me for anything," he shook off his dour expression and gave her a broad smile, "just say the word."

Weavile felt a smile of her own start off, but it withered before it even started. She sighed again. "That's the thing," she mumbled. "You. All of you guys."

Joker pointed a paw at himself. "Me?"

She nodded as she took another bite. "I'd never imagined you guys would get so far away. I went to see Murkrow just the other day, and he…" She grimaced, brandishing fangs veiled in blood. "He sent me away." Joker gasped, and Weavile suddenly brimmed with validation. "Right?! I went to go offer him an adventure, and he told me that he'd rather keep reading to kids! It's like I don't even know him anymore!" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Bastard. He told me to forget about him? Fine by me! I never needed him to begin with. Lousy coward."

His air sacks deflated a little. "You… Weav, you don't mean that," Joker told her.

"Like hell I don't," she scoffed. "Last thing I need right now is dead weight dragging me down. If he wants to retire to a life of boredom instead of tagging along with me, then why the hell should I stop him?"

"... Weavile?" he said quietly as he raised a timid paw. "You're crying."

A pause. She raised a stained claw to her eyes, and it came away with a glistening tear on the mostly white fur. Frustrated, she wiped at her face and blinked her eyes clear. "Sh-shut up."

Nearly two years, and he just…

Joker laughed, though the look he gave her was very sobering. "I'm glad I came when I did," he said. "I'll talk to Murky when we get back, but let's try and forget about him for now. Think of this like taking a vacation!"

Weavile nodded. "Yeah… Yeah, I'll do that. And I'm not gonna let that coward ruin this for me!" She tore off another slab of fish and raised it like the world's worst wine glass. Chuckling, Joker did the same, and the two shared a grin. "To old times!" Weavile toasted.

"To us!" Joker added. They tapped their slabs together and chowed down. Blood and juices dripped from their chins, and neither said a word until they were down to the scales. Weavile tossed her own to the other weasel, who ate them like pizza crusts. She found herself laughing, even though it was a little bit gross.

A minute later, they had their fill, and they threw the remaining third or so of the Basculine into the woods for whatever poor Wildies happened to be nearby. They washed their paws and faces in the river before checking their compass and continuing on their way.

"Your turn," Weavile said, eager to change the subject. "I wanna hear it. Anything to do with Bisharp? Or whatever?"

Joker paused. Since he was a few paces ahead of her, she couldn't really see the exact look on his face, but it was a pause she'd never gotten from him before. He was serious?

"I…" He looked left and right again, confirming nobody sapient was around. More than serious; he was tense. Afraid. Wary, like he was handling live dynamite. Quietly, he went on. "I think something's happening with the other humans."

Weavile furrowed her brow. Other humans? Had she heard him right?

"With what happened to Riley and everything…" He trailed off. His tone was quiet and cautious, almost studious. "I managed to talk with him a bit, actually. During the festival. He mentioned another human he knew, and I told him about me. Even mentioned Espie's place, but I don't think he went there." Joker paused briefly, then turned over his shoulder. "He doesn't know about you, though, if that's what you're worried about. You're still safe," he reassured her.

Know about her? Know what, that she took over? That —

A shock ran through Weavile's body as she suddenly remembered. She jumped and stumbled, physically startled by the realization. She'd… Had she actually forgotten? She barely ever thought about it, but… yeah. Yeah, it was coming back to her now.

"... Weav?" Joker called. Though it was subtle, a little fear shone through. "W-Weav, are you okay? Do you need a minute —"

"I'm okay," she answered, crossing her arms across her chest to hide her shaking paws. "Just — continue."

Joker looked her over, frowning, frozen in thought. She never could really lie to him, but for some reason he hesitated to press. Eventually though, he cracked the smallest of smiles for an instant, then shook his head and went on.

"Right. Just the other day, I… I met up with one of his friends," Joker said. "Ri-Ri's, I mean. At least I think so."

"His teammates?" Weavile asked, eager to move on from her realization. Think about something else— anything else.

"A human. Like, a real one."

A shiver ran up Weavile's spine. She suddenly felt so cold. So much colder than she should ever naturally be. Fucking —

"He lured me out with harmonica music and talked to me. Asked a few questions to probably check what Riley told him, and then he… He asked about the other human." His voice was dry, quiet, terrified. Joker held his paws together to keep them from shaking. "When I didn't say anything, there was this… look. And he started talking about how this body worked. All of my weak points. I… I thought he was gonna torture me. He was only a human, but…"

She could still barely process, but Joker's fear was enough to take her out of this for at least a moment. Tentatively Weavile set a claw on his shoulder. She didn't know what to say, but even still her friend drew comfort from it, and Joker returned a thankful smile. With a deep breath, he picked up where he left off.

"Espie showed up though, and that's what bothers me the most. I know he just tends to appear out of nowhere, but right then? It's…" Realizing that he'd just tempted fate, Joker scanned the forest around him for the signature glow of a Teleport, but if there was one, he couldn't see it. "... And he mentioned a group. I've been thinking about that for a while now. Maybe he was just going along with the human to mess with him, but, there was… It didn't seem like it was a joke. When I ran, I honestly thought that one of them was gonna kill the other."

"Espeon," Weavile chimed. It was all she could think to say. She just had to focus on staying calm and acting normal, and sooner or later, she would trick herself into forgetting. "A human versus a Psychic-type? It's a no-brainer."

Joker paused for a long while as he mulled over her bet. Maybe he bought into her casual attitude and started coming down. Or more likely, he sensed her distress and started bringing himself down for her sake. Joker could always read her like an open book. Either way, after some ten seconds, he turned around and asked, "What if he had a gun?"

The image that popped into her head was so stupid that it made her burst out laughing. Some redneck raising a rifle and firing a round into the head of an Espeon like it was some buck that wandered on his front yard. Spitting tobacco out of his mouth before yelling for ma to go grab a camera while he holds it up. Yet the longer it went on, the less funny it became as Weavile realized how clear the image was, and she wiped the smirk off her face.

"S… Sorry," she said. "This is serious, isn't it?"

"Probably," Joker answered with a smirk, "but it's still funny. And I don't want to completely ruin the mood anyways. This is supposed to be a vacation, remember?" Weavile nodded, and he went on. "Just… Be on your toes. With everything that's happening lately, I feel like something's brewing. And we won't be able to hide from it much longer."

"R... Right."

Night fell, and with the forest far behind them, the two were out on the prairie in a grove of sassafras trees. A thin sliver of moonlight showed the painted Floatzel leaning against the trunk of one, his eyes shut as he dozed in the pleasantly cool air. It was just the two of them, and they were strong enough for the average Wildies to leave them alone. They didn't feel the need to bother with taking watch.

And yet, Weavile did not sleep. She tried for hours to quell her mind and nothing worked. She paced around to further tire herself, she squeezed her eyes shut, she counted to a thousand, and even still she was awake.

So eventually, she gave up. Weavile climbed one of the trees and sat at the very top, poking her head out between the wispy leaves, and started to think.

Human. She'd actually forgotten she was a human, and now everything was so muddied. Everything Joker told her didn't help, of course. It put an urgency behind it all. Something was happening, and if Joker hadn't told her, she wouldn't have a clue. She could be in the same boat as Riley. Hell, Weavile even helped this mess happen to him.

'Weavile.' That wasn't her name, but what was…?

How long had she been here for? She remembered joining the syndicate a little over a cycle — year, a year ago, but before that? When had she arrived, and who had she been before then? Sixteen. She was sixteen, but was that here or there?

There were wisps. In the deepest crevices of her mind, Weavile could see the faintest glimmers. Human faces laughing at each other, screaming at each other. She could see Pokémon, huts, torches, a dusting of snow.

Weavile screwed her eyes shut as she grit her teeth. She ripped off a handful of leaves and tossed them into a gentle breeze as they pathetically drifted away. "I don't need this," she growled to herself. "I just wanted to… I didn't…"

She hadn't always known Joker and Espeon. Somewhere, they must have met and shared their secrets, but as long as she could remember Espeon had been looking out for her. More than just advice and information, he had been covering Weavile's tracks. Forged documents, keeping her informed, teaching her to avoid human phrases, generally helping her along, and even helping Joker meet with her. Though she couldn't remember when she first learned he was human, she could remember that. She remembered the day they first met, and he'd given her the broadest smile she'd ever seen. She also remembered thinking it was a little bit creepy.

Was that when they learned each other's origins? It would have explained the smile in retrospect.

And then there was Espeon. That arrogant, smug little son of a bitch who was always toying with her, always tugging her along, always hiding something. At the very back of her mind… Weavile could see it. Yes, it was there, and remembering it made her paws clench into fists. She could feel the air chill around her. Leaves around her stiffened as frost crawled over them.

Clear as day, she could remember a tree knocked over, pinning an unconscious (or possibly dead) Ursaring to the ground as she—still a Sneasel—lay on the ground, shivering. She remembered the confusion. She remembered wondering why it was so cold. And she remembered when he turned around, adjusting his glasses with his psychic bullshit, and looking at her as if she were some starving stray.

Something tells me you're going to continue being a thorn in my side, he had said, then swished his tails and started strolling away. Come. Let's get you out of here.

Weavile drew in a sharp breath as the back of her throat glowed a soft blue, and as she lurched forward to scream, a scintillating bolt shot out and swept across the tops of the sassafras trees. A layer of ice grew and expanded in its wake, startling Hoothoot into flight and Skwovet from their dens. Frozen spikes jutted out at random and dangerous angles.

"God damn it!" she exclaimed at the top of her lungs. Her claws glowed a malevolent purple, and Weavile slashed them through the branches. She gripped and snapped another one, jumping to the steadiest branch and throwing it as hard as she could. It spun and spun and spun as it flew off into the now frozen canopy of the grove, and Weavile stood there, seething.

Why hadn't any of it come to her earlier? She'd never realized the void that was there? Bullshit! She was smarter than that! Sure, she needed Espeon's help for her plans to go through, but how could she not realize what was missing?!

Fury. Bitter tears in her eyes, Weavile clawed at her head as if to get memories out by force. There had to be something. There had to be something there — she could feel it. If only —

Amidst shattered orbs and frail, grimy bones, the lullaby soothed the restless souls that stirred in the mist. Stronger ones chained to the veil wove through barren trees and dry shrubbery. Duskull with their red wisps leaving trails behind them, revealing the violet vapor paths left by Gastly. The curious eyes of Phantump and a protective Trevenant watched on, trying to ignore their childish natures. Green wisps of freed spirits danced in the air, forming various faces of various emotions with the mists around a cracked keystone and the Pokémon that sat atop it.

Bisharp rested his chin in his palm as he held his darling's music box in a bladed hand. His green eyes watched it carefully as his sweetly terrible voice sang in warped, accented English. He felt calm. He felt stable.

"Bye-bye, bye-bye… quickly die… On the morning will be frost, and you'll go to the grave-yard."

This place of death still had a breath of life. Embers of green waved and spun around him while the Duskulls left their bright red trails, and the pale blue moonlight shone upon Bisharp like a spotlight. Quiet but content. Perhaps they were happy. Perhaps in moments like these, spirits might pass on to what waits beyond the veil.

"Grandfather will come and will bring the coffin. Grandmother will come and will bring the grave clothes. Mother will come…"

Bisharp trailed off. The spirits lost their shapes as the mist evened out around them. An intruder. Bisharp sensed it at the same time they did. All was silent save for the somber lullaby, but it was a different kind of silence: the kind meant to be broken. Bisharp's fingers twitched.

The intruder spoke first, and the moment Bisharp heard the voice, he smiled a sick little smile.

"No please, don't stop on my account," Espeon called out as he strolled through the mist. They were just close enough to see each other's silhouette in the moonbeams. "Your song was so charming, and you couldn't have picked a better place to sing it. It's so… you."

Bisharp didn't say a word. His thin smile was tensed, restrained, held back by mere threads. A shaking hand closed the music box and tucked it away as raspy breaths greeted Espeon.

Soon Espeon got close enough where they could see each other, and he sat down a foot away from a mostly buried skull. Through the beams of moonlight, the patches of rust on Bisharp's face were clear to see, as was a fresh scar on the front of Espeon's chest. Bisharp's eyes traced along a diagonal line where no fur grew. Even with a berry to heal, the damaged tissue remained?

"I'll be damned," Bisharp whispered. "You actually got into a serious fight. Who… No, wait, let me guess. If it wasn't related to the syndicate, then…" A bladed finger scraped against a patch of rust. "Either the human or the Weavile."

Espeon sighed. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It —"

"If it was that girl," Bisharp interrupted, "then it shows you don't have a handle on the kids you were entrusted with. And if it was the human, then it shows that you can't handle it when you're not in full control of the situation. That if anyone comes and disturbs your little process…" He blinked, and his eyes were red as he looked over the scar again. "I have to admit, I'm jealous."

"... Are you done?" Espeon huffed.

Without a word, Bisharp closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Right." His tail swished indignantly. "So what the hell are you doing out here?"

Bisharp started kicking his feet back and forth, tilting his head back to feel the beams of moonlight on his face. "Waiting," he answered. "I knew you'd show up eventually."

"By yourself? Where are your helpers?" Espeon stamped a paw into the dirt. "They told me you hadn't come back. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it was to find you?"

A dry, lively laugh answered him as Bisharp shook his head. "I told Alakazam that I wanted to talk to you. Several times. Did he just not tell you, or do you not listen to what I want?"

Espeon exhaled through his nose. "I've been busy," he said. "And you haven't."

Silence. Bisharp opened his eyes again, tranquil green like a meadow, to find Espeon glaring at him. He could feel his threads being tugged at. His fingers twitched.

"... Espeon," he whispered. "Say that to me again."

"Oh, I'll do more than that. I'll spell it out for you!" Espeon shouted back. "The scarf. Isn't. Here. We're supposed to be wrapping things up, and you're out here doing nothing. Singing in the den of a Mystery Dungeon! And you have the nerve to threaten me?!"

Air hissed in Bisharp's nostrils as he took a deep, deep breath. He held up his left arm, where the woven knot of red and green fabrics was covered up by an intricate cerulean bracelet. "I have your three keys. I have what you need," he rasped. "Are they nothing to you?"

"We aren't leaving —"

"I dealt with your threats." Bisharp hopped off the keystone, shattering a femur beneath his foot. The mist around him stirred, wavered, evaporated. "I killed my own brother. I turned my homeland into easy pickings. I maimed my own son. Is all of that nothing to you?"

Espeon locked up, but Bisharp could practically smell his fear. He was keeping up that usual arrogant persona, but those eyes of his, those strange soulless eyes, they wouldn't look at him. Bisharp kept cycling between satisfaction and fury, satisfaction and fury, fingers twitching, twitching, twitching.

Leaning forward, Bisharp uttered through clenched teeth, "I want to see her."

Espeon's ears flattened as he tried desperately not to shrink. His eyes shut as he stamped his paw again, trying to force some authority. "Get yourself under control," Espeon ordered, though there was a faint quiver in his voice. "I'm not negotiating with that psychopath. I deal with enough already."

Bisharp marched forward, and Espeon didn't back down. He squatted down in front of Espeon. The air was getting warmer. Mist burned off. Small lines of smouldering flames ran down Bisharp's arms like veins, his chest, his neck, his legs. Orange sparks drifted off his body in a rising current of air, swirling lazily up like hundreds of departed spirits.

Espeon swallowed.

"I am getting impatient," Bisharp warned, glaring at him with those dark blue eyes, like night just before dawn.

Espeon took a deep, shuddering breath as he forced himself to keep standing. His ears pulled back as he finally met Bisharp's stare. "If you touch me," he growled, "it's all off."

Silence. The two stared at each other in this place of death, and neither knew if it was about to see fresh blood. Bisharp's fingers twitched and twitched before he balled his self-made hands into fists. "Then tell me," he said patiently as his eyes flashed green, "why we're waiting."

Green: the reasonable one. Espeon inwardly sighed with relief, but he couldn't let himself relax. It wasn't over yet. "We're waiting for Weavile," he said. "She's almost stabilized, and she's bored out of her mind. It should only be another few weeks."

A stream of scalding air rushed out of Bisharp's nostrils, and Espeon turned his head away in discomfort. "Is that the truth?" he asked.

"Of course."

Bisharp scratched a finger along one of the fiery veins, agitating a curtain of fire to shoot up. The finger in question now glowed a dim red, and he pointed it right between Espeon's eyes. "And I have to wait because…?"

"To lure them all in. Once they have the storms—" Espeon suddenly stopped. His ears perked as his eyes went wide, and his tail shot straight up. In an instant he was taken away from this place of death as he glanced over his shoulder to the south, scowling at nothing. "Oh, for the love of…"

"Work calling?" Bisharp asked, making slow, playful circles in the air.

Espeon bared his teeth, shaking his head as he stood up. "She's having another meltdown," he grumbled. "I have to go. If you give me ten minutes, I'll be back."

Bisharp didn't answer. He merely shut his eyes and retracted his finger.

Glancing back, Espeon added, "And put those flames away while you're at it. You're disrespecting yourself." And without waiting for an answer, Espeon's tail drew a circle in the air, and a faint golden shimmer overtook him as he Teleported away.

To deal with Weavile.

Bisharp took a deep breath as he returned to the fractured keystone he had used as his seat. The dew evaporated behind him. His greaves left scorch marks in the grass behind him. Even after all this, Espeon was putting him aside. Again.

The fire was fading, but there were still red glows all along his body like coals in a bed of ashes. Disrespectful or not, he couldn't help it. His blood boiled, boiled, boiled, boiled.

He didn't matter.

Shutting his eyes, Bisharp took his left hand and moved it to the blade disks on his chest, scraping and carving away at his fingers. His body always tried to undo what he crafted, so to keep this extra dexterity, he had to do this regularly. Once it was painful, but somewhere along the way it had become relaxing.

But he couldn't relax. His head ached. Something bubbled deep inside of him.

"I can't," he whispered, slivers of metal piling in the grass beneath him. "She wouldn't want me to."

Espeon, or 'Sora,' wouldn't listen to him. Too busy sticking to the script, making sure everything went as it was supposed to. He was always acting like he was in charge, in control, deciding all the rules. Even though he'd approached Bisharp first.

Slow, precise strokes carved the spots between his fingers, then sharpened the points and the edges. Focus on the mechanical motions. Focus on each and every movement.

It wasn't fair.

"Please." Bisharp was whimpering. His greaves tapped nervously at the keystone. "They're innocent in all this. I'm telling you, she wouldn't want humans to be hurt."

Yet his head turned as if pulled by a chord, and Bisharp looked down at his arm. The woven band of red and green, and the intricate blue bracelet placed overtop it. The relics. 'Keys.' Brought back by his own hands, and what did it cost him? He had already thrown away everything. His brother, his homeland, even Mergo…

A trembling hand raised to his own face. In the reflection of his shined steel, Bisharp saw it happen. His eyes flashed blue.

"But she needs them to be," he declared, and with a snap of the fingers he was gone.

Weavile's hands were stained as she clawed and clawed at the sides of her head. Her breathing was rapid, her heart pounding. She couldn't focus on anything.

She kicked and slashed at the branches around her, hoping to find some sort of catharsis in aimless destruction, but there was nothing. Only confusion. Only a storm of chaos inside her skull.

The thoughts wouldn't stop. Her frustration was only growing and growing and growing. It felt like she was splitting apart, and she couldn't —

"Weavile."

She gasped and whirled around, and sitting on the branch just a little behind her was the complete son of a bitch. His tail even swished just as it always did. He looked a little bit less annoyed than usual, but otherwise it was the same smug, punchable face as always.

"You," Weavile snarled, pointing a bloodied claw at him as she glared through a veil of frozen tears. "So now you show up? Two weeks of silence, of…" She shook her head and stamped her foot on the branch, catching Espeon off guard as he stumbled to keep his stance. "What the hell is going on?!"

For a moment, Espeon only stared, sizing her up and staring at her self-inflicted wounds. It was faint, but Weavile could clearly see it: shock. Not amusement, but genuine breathlessness. Good. For once he seemed to actually listen to her. Espeon swallowed before opening his mouth to finally speak. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" he asked.

"A deep — a DEEP BREATH?!" she screamed.

He nodded, and his gemstone gleamed. A second later he added, "Just because this isn't a library doesn't mean you can yell."

It was so like him. She shouldn't have expected anything else from this bastard. Weavile tossed her head back and cackled, running her paws through her feathery crest and leaving smears that glistened in the light of the moon. She was going to strangle him. If he had the nerve to try and calm her down like that after all this shit, then she'd bash his head open —

"Alice," Espeon called.

And like a trained dog Weavile responded to it like it was a command. Her violent thoughts were shoved aside as a single word, a single name, echoed and echoed and echoed. She knew that name. As her claws fell limp at her side, Weavile was positive she knew that name. Was it hers?

Quietly, as if she might sully it, she repeated the name: "Alice…"

Espeon nodded. "Good. Very good," he said approvingly. "Now, I know you want to strangle me right now, but if you promise to calm down a little, I can promise to relieve your little headache."

She was furious, yet she couldn't raise a claw. She was confused, yet she could scarcely form a thought. Weavile stumbled further back on the branch. "You… You — you're keeping things from me," she said defensively. "I'm not stupid. How did I get here? How long have I been here?!" She sniveled and wiped at her eyes. "And why haven't I questioned you before?!"

A short pause. Espeon's gem gleamed. "You have."

Weavile blinked. "I… I have… But then why —"

It happened too fast to really process. The glow of an orange flame, bright like a meteor, ignited overhead, and Espeon immediately sprang into action. He crouched, pressing down on the end of the branch with his telekinesis as the air grew hotter around them. "Brace!" Espeon yelled, then released the branch. An unprepared Weavile was catapulted off the tree and into the air.

"Wha-what's going —"

In a streak of fire, Bisharp plummeted with his leg outstretched like a guillotine, looking almost like the devil himself. He was staring straight at her. As his blade effortlessly carved and cauterized where she had been just an instant earlier, Bisharp stared at her with small annoyance. Too slow to swat the fly.

His burning path cut, Bisharp hit the ground with an explosive pillar of flames that lit the tree up like a torch. Weavile suppressed a scream. She landed on the frozen canopy, where she immediately scampered and dashed away from the flames.

Espeon appeared right in front of her. The ice was slick and he could barely keep his footing. but even as he ran in place, he stared up at Weavile. "Grab on," he ordered.

Weavile barely hesitated. She lunged forward to wrap her arms around Espeon, and he struggled to not go spinning out on the ice. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't even stop the questions. "What's he doing here?! And how is he on fire?!"

"Later," he answered. "We're leaving."

A low, absolute, infernal answer came from below: "No." Something glass shattered against the trunk, and a pulse ran through the air. Thin phantasmal chains wrapped around their forms, completing a ring before fading away.

Weavile screamed out, "Gogogogogo!"

Espeon said nothing. His tail completed circle after circle in the air, but he wasn't going anywhere. "You're kidding me…!" he groaned. "He chained me here?! This —"

The entire tree lurched an inch. Wood groaned and squealed as their already precarious platform tipped over. Espeon lost his footing completely and started sliding off the ice. The tree was falling, and below awaited the smoldering figure of Bisharp, glaring back up at them with his fingers locked together.

And then, as a whimper reached Weavile's ears, horror took her in its tight, cold grasp. "Joker," she gasped. She turned her head to see the painted Floatzel, awake and petrified, staring at the fires. Weavile tugged on Espeon's ear and pointed a shaking claw at him. "G-grab him. Grab him, we can't leave him!"

"I can't," Espeon growled, kicking her I'm off of him. "Take him and run. I'll do what I can."

"You can't just leave —"

Espeon left. He jumped off the ice and disappeared below. Weavile could feel her heart sink and her claws ball into fists. That bastard! She shook her head. Now wasn't the time. Gritting her teeth and wiping at her eyes, Weavile turned for her friend.

All sharp, jagged angles and veiled in bright flames, Bisharp truly looked demonic as he burned a hole into Espeon's face with those eyes. Even those were glowing indigo like draconic embers. "Pick one," Bisharp ordered. "You're losing one of your humans."

"I think the fuck not," Espeon growled back. His forked tail glowed a dim blue as he swished it through the air, leaving a trail that steadily grew and brightened. In moments, a hovering sword of aura levitated in the air as if it had a mind of its own, held in the hands of an unseen knight. "You leave me no choice. No matter what happens, I cannot let you kill them."

"A Secret Sword? Did you really equip yourself with that just for me?" Bisharp tilted his head to the side. "And did you really think that would be enough?"

The gap was closed in a moment, and Bisharp slashed with the left while jabbing with the right. An icy blue blade moved to block one while Espeon jumped out of the way of the other. Waves of flame rushed in the wakes of his attacks, sending blistering air into his face. The sword scraped along Bisharp's arm and went for a jab straight for Bisharp's chest, but the Mad Jack twisted his body so that it deflected off the bladed disks.

Lurching forward, Bisharp kicked high at Espeon. He jumped back to avoid it, but a searing line of fire shot forward and caught him clean. Fur blackened. Skin charred. Espeon grit his teeth and suppressed an agonized scream, keeping his focus to call the sword to him just in time. As Bisharp drove his greave to Espeon's face, the flat of the aura blade caught it, but Bisharp was still strong. The impact kicked Espeon off his feet and drove him into a tree with a dry crack. Bark splintered and branches shook.

The sky was full of fleeing birds flying in unorganized flocks. Pokémon fled in all directions, abandoning their dens as parents dragged their kits from slumber. Pillars of smoke billowed into the air, and the canopy of ice was steadily beginning to melt.

Joker took that all in as a mere footnote as he backed away on shaking legs from the fires. The crackling, the heat, the winds, the glow… He was trembling.

A claw firmly wrapped around his wrist, and with a yelp he was forced from his trance. Weavile looked straight at him, trying her best to stay calm. She was scared, but he needed her not to be. Hopefully Joker couldn't feel her own trembling.

"Look at me, Joker," she said, pointing at her face with her free hand. "Just focus on me, okay? We need to run. As fast as we can. Understand?"

His eyes flicked back and forth between Weavile and the fire, Weavile and the fire. "What's… What's going on…"

"I don't know, but we need to run." She grabbed on tight and led him away. "I don't — where —- just, away. As far as —"

Joker gasped, and just as Weavile turned over her shoulder, he regained himself enough to pull her close as he fell on his back. A volley of white-hot iron spikes soared inches above Weavile's head. They punched into nearby trees with a flurry of thunks, sizzling, burning. And Bisharp was running straight at them.

They hadn't even hit the ground before Joker sprang into action. His other paw reached out and pulled Weavile close as a shell of water formed around him, and he rocketed away in an Aqua Jet with Bisharp fresh on his tail. Bisharp reached into a smoldering bag and threw another volley of burning spikes, but the acrobat wove around them with the thinnest margin for error.

Spitting, Weavile poked her head out of the side of the jet and opened her mouth. A blue bolt fired from the back of her throat as she sketched a line between them and their pursuer, and a jagged wall of icicles sprouted up. The warped silhouette of Bisharp grew closer, closer, and through the ice there was a bright orange glow in the palm of Bisharp's hand. It looked like the sun itself, and he pushed it straight through the ice like it wasn't even there. Bisharp dove and rolled through, and the star fizzled away.

"What the hell even is he?!" Weavile screamed. "Since when did he use fire like this?!"

"Like hell am I gonna find out!"

Bisharp was only getting faster. He was almost close enough to reach out and grab one of them. Weavile gasped, instinctively preparing another Ice Beam as Joker veered off to the left, but Bisharp was too —

A blue smear rushed in from the side, and Bisharp raised his arms to block it as the Secret Sword made a slash straight for his neck. He slid backwards, carving grooves into the soil as he shoved the sword back, which then went for an upwards slash. A steel boot stomped down on it, forcing the sword to the dirt as Bisharp whirled around just in time to see Espeon. His hind paws glowed a malevolent purple as Espeon spun and kicked, catching Bisharp in the thigh. There was a resonant metallic echo as Bisharp stumbled back and off the sword, whose invisible wielder then thrusted straight for his chest. A reflexive swipe parried the attack, and Bisharp regained his footing.

"Joker!" Espeon called. "Take her and get out of here! I've already called for backup!"

Joker swallowed. "On… on it," he answered. The Aqua Jet broke, and after landing gracefully he started sprinting with Weavile. Even when they were out of the grove, surrounded by open fields and the glow of the fire, they didn't stop.

A burning line carved through the soil as Bisharp adjusted his stance. The blue embers in his eyes flashed red for a moment. Fingers twitched. "Stand aside, puppet," he ordered.

Espeon adjusted his glasses as he glared through the cracked lenses. "I'm not letting you undo everything."

Bisharp was just about to lurch forward, but movement from his right caught his eye. A hand raised in a blur to catch a twirling bone, curved, slender. For a second, Bisharp tilted his head as he stared incredulously at it, but something else moved from his other side. Bisharp whirled and braced both arms in front of him as a burning log soared through the air, crashing straight into him and cracking in half. Bisharp skidded backwards in a cloud of smoke and sparks.

Predicting the third, Bisharp gritted his teeth and hurled the bone above, catching a winged creature straight in the side. Dragonite cried out in pain, biting down on an Ice Beam that puffed into frosted mist around his maw. The small figure of Marowak dashed past, kicking off a tree trunk to catch his weapon out of the air. And Alakazam was… somewhere. Bisharp could feel it.

He charged for Espeon again, arms engulfed in flames and malevolent purple. The Secret Sword slanted to brace for a parry, but Bisharp pivoted and twirled to Espeon's right as he kicked dirt underneath his glasses. He didn't even have to dodge the aimless slash.

"Ngh. Catch him!" Espeon barked.

In a great gust of wind Dragonite swooped right by, Marowak clinging to his back as they followed Bisharp out of the grove. The antennae sparked and crackled before discharging a great forked bolt of lightning. One of the prongs arced into Bisharp's back — a clean hit. He stifled a cry as his muscles contracted, and the Mad Jack stumbled to his knees.

Marowak jumped next, wielding the bone like it were a blade to plunge into the smoldering Bisharp. Chances like this didn't come often, but Bisharp was far from downed. As Marowak fell upon him, Bisharp snarled and whirled around, intercepting the bone with a steel arm. The weapons rattled against each other as their wielders fought for dominance.

"Halt, hunter," Marowak declared. "You will harry the humans —"

"Shut up," Bisharp growled, standing up and kicking with a blazing leg. Marowak broadened his stance and blocked the attack. A wave of sparks and heat came over his face as he stared up at the blue-eyed devil. Above them both, Dragonite's antennae crackled and glowed again.

Espeon was just regaining his sight when he heard a monotone voice that actually showed a little fear. "Here," Alakazam said, and a damp hot rag wiped at Espeon's eyes. He blinked a little, nodded his thanks, then scanned around for Bisharp. Alakazam let out a sigh. "We came as fast as we could. Are they okay?"

"I can't warp. Those two're running," Espeon growled. "Two minutes left, and we can't talk him out of this."

Alakazam bristled. His mustache straightened out for a terrifying moment. "You… You don't mean —"

"It's Blue," Espeon answered. "He can't be talked down."

Even with the fires around them, a shiver ran up Alakazam's spine. "B-Blue?" His spoons clattered together. "He's actually using his flames? Blue?"

"Yup." Espeon tested his legs and started running again. The phantasmal sword followed at his side. "Watch yourself," he called back. "You're all irrelevant to him."

Swallowing, Alakazam levitated swiftly behind. "You be careful too," he answered. "When was your last fight? How many ages ago?"

Espeon furrowed his brow, ignoring the other Psychic as he picked up speed. He didn't need that reminder right now.

Weavile and Joker hadn't stopped running. No amount of crashes and clashes far behind them could get them to slow down. Neck to neck, side by side, running through the grassy plains as the inferno grew brighter and brighter. Hell had opened up behind them, and they wanted nothing to do with it.

It felt somewhere around half a mile when Joker saw a small ridge ahead, and he veered faintly enough to nudge Weavile. "Duck and hide," he said between breaths.

"Wh-what?" Weavile could barely focus.

"I said— oh, just," Joker snatched her wrist and dove over the ridge. Weavile gasped as the two tumbled down the two foot drop. He pressed his back against the ridge and aimed an ear up. His blood was up, but he couldn't stop shaking.

Weavile pressed her knees against her chest as she bit her lip. Cold. She felt so cold. Her body was a frozen mess of trembling claws and clattering fangs. This wasn't right. None of this was right. Who was she? What the hell was going on?

Alice.

Her claws raked against her arms. Pain. Pain dulled the thoughts, pushed away the doubt, subdued the fear.

"Weav," Joker whispered. She barely heard him. "Weav, l-look at me. We're going to be okay," he promised. "Espie will be here any minute to Teleport us away."

'Espie.' He'd been about to tell her something. She'd questioned this all before? What was that supposed to mean? What had he almost said?

"... Weav?" Joker set a paw on her shoulder, then cracked a shaky smile. "C'mon, if anyone here should be trembling, it's me. I, uh… I mean you know I don't like fire —"

"Joker," she said in a dreadful whisper, staring off into nothing. "How long have I been here?"

His smile withered and died. "What…?" Joker retracted a trembling paw as he sat there, paralyzed. "Four years. Don't you…"

Her claws pinched and scraped her arms as her eyes shrank. A lump of iron formed in her chest. Four years. Years: a human term. Four human years, and she could scarcely remember a thing. Distantly she was aware she was digging into her arms, trying to pull herself back to the danger she was in, to dull, push, subdue, but it wasn't helping. It wouldn't fix the fucking void.

"N… No," Joker whimpered. "No no no no, no!" He slammed his head back, jabbing his crest into the dirt as his paws clapped to the side of his face. "I messed up. It was too early and I messed up." Despair. There was genuine despair in his voice.

Slowly, Weavile turned her head, scared and uncertain. "J… Joker?" she whispered. "What do you mean? What did you…"

He was all over the place. "I — It's —" His gaze went to her, to the grass, away, back to her, up, to her, the grass, away, her, up , Joker shut his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Weav. I'm so sorry. I should've just — just left it to Espie."

Something glimmered in Weavile's eyes."Left… Left what?" Hypnotized, she lurched forward and grabbed Joker by the shoulders. "Left what?! Joker, what's going on?!"

"W-Weavile, calm down, he'll —"

"I can't," Weavile nearly shouted, but at the last second she suppressed a frenzied cry. She couldn't stop trembling. Fear, outrage, indignation— they ran rampant in her mind and she couldn't reign them in. All the cell doors were open. "Please, Joker, if you know some —"

A blazing comet streaked by over their heads, roaring, screaming. Marowak crashed into the dirt thirty yards ahead of them, sending dirt and sparks and flames into the air. An instant later as the grass was starting to ignite, a second comet came trailing after it: Bisharp, with his knees raised and his arms braced. Wreathed in fire and with blue embers blazing in his sockets, he was a creature of carnage coming up from the chasm. Marowak must've been thinking as much.

A column of bright fire engulfed the two as Bisharp landed on top of him. Blistering winds whipped and bent the grass, drowning out Marowak's cries. Weavile gasped, turning away as the heat sank into her frigid skin. It burned. It was so bright she could barely see, but she could still hear. And amidst the crackles and cries, there were whimpers.

Joker shirked away from her hold, pressing himself up against the ridge. He couldn't look away. He could scarcely utter a word.

"J-Joker?" A desperate Weavile grabbed him by the shoulders. "Joker, snap out of it!"

A crack of thunder, and a bolt of lightning struck Bisharp's shape as Dragonite swooped in. Bisharp staggered, and Dragonite dove into the flames, snatching the charred form of Marowak by the arm. Blackened skin peeled away as he cried in pain.

Bisharp reached into his bag, removing the last of his spikes and transferring heat into them. A volley of six turned Dragonite's back into a dartboard, and one pierced each of his wings. Dragonite stifled a cry as he spiraled out of control, landing and rolling and driving the spikes deeper.

And then, Bisharp turned to Weavile. The flames breathed with him, rising and falling, rising and falling as they fed on the grass. A curtain of smoke billowed up and obscured the night sky. All was dark, all was burning. He started towards them.

Weavile shook Joker violently. "Get up, get up!" she cried. She had to get out of here, but there was no way she was leaving Joker behind like this.

His eyes were far away, staring past the flames, past the smoke, seeing shapes that weren't there. She heard screams from beyond the veil. Quietly, in a coarse and unnatural tongue, Joker started uttering a word that Weavile couldn't understand.

"Oh, for the love of —" Weavile grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him off his ass. She'd drag him if need be. Joker yelped and stumbled as Weavile started to run. "You don't get to stay behind!" she roared, looking back at him.

And as she did, she saw Bisharp sprinting after them. Weavile shrieked and picked up the pace, forcing Joker along, but Bisharp was fast. Even plated in all that steel he was gaining on her. She was dead. She was so dead, and she'd never know why. That insane fucking psychopath was going to kill them both, and she'd never know why. She'd never know who she was, all because —

Bisharp pivoted and raised his arms, blocking a slash from a phantasmal blue sword. The blades rattled, but Bisharp proved himself the victor and shoved the Secret Sword back. He kicked in retaliation, sending a wave of flames at its conjurer. Espeon, patches of fur burned and glasses missing, jumped over it. A ring of stars formed around his body, spinning, spinning, shrinking, shrinking. All of his other techniques had been tapped into, but there was still one more. His ace in the hole. His trump card. His Last Resort.

"Stay away from them," Espeon ordered. The ring of stars condensed, and his form lit up like a morning sun. Bisharp grit his teeth and raised his arms, and Espeon crashed into him. At once the flames flickered. Bisharp groaned and went sliding back, sabatons carving grooves in the dirt.

Weavile sighed with relief, but Joker's heart only sank. He finally found his voice, but the fear was still there. "It won't work," Joker said.

"It will," Weavile answered. Espeon bullshat his way through everything. It had to work. Whatever that move was.

But Bisharp stopped. The white glow around Espeon dimmed, and Bisharp lurched forward and grasped Espeon by the neck. Skin sizzled. Fur burned. The breath in his lungs heated like an oven as Bisharp raised Espeon high. Behind him the phantom sword made another slash, but Bisharp reached out his other hand and caught it. The phosphorescent edge cut into his palm, and boiling blood oozed out.

"You brought them into this," Bisharp declared. The back of his throat glowed like a forge. "And you have the gall to say that in front of them."

Espeon clawed and squirmed as his skin burned. The grip on his throat was too tight to scream. "F… F-f —"

He closed a fist around the phantom sword, snapping the blade as it dissipated into blue mist. Bisharp cocked an arm back and hurled Espeon into the side of the ridge. Clods of dirt flew out as he was embedded into the earth. And once again, he ran towards Weavile.

Hope, she learned, was a fragile thing. The moment she dared to hold onto it, it shattered. The pit in her stomach grew. Tears froze on her cheeks. She looked down to Joker, and the fear in his eyes confirmed that they both knew: he would catch them.

And yet, Joker smiled. Nervous, shaky, maybe even empty, but he still smiled up at her. "I'm glad I found you," he confessed.

"Wh… What does that even…" Weavile shook her head, mirroring the smile. "I'm… I'm glad —"

A concentrated jet of water shot into her chest as Joker parted his maw. It blasted her off her feet and into the air. Weavile cried out, only to get a mouthful of lukewarm Hydro Pump. She sputtered and gasped as she went tumbling, tumbling through the grass. Like a skipping stone she bounced along the dirt.

And she saw it. As she rolled over and over, for a few separate moments she saw it against the fire: Joker, suspended in the air with Bisharp's arm through his back. Oranges and reds and blues. A mouth open in a silent cry. Something in the palm of Bisharp's hand that wasn't supposed to be there.

Weavile turned over one last time, facing away as she dragged to a stop. Her stomach turned to lead as she stopped breathing.

There was no way she saw that right. It must've been a trick of the light as Joker jumped away. It must've been! It was such a Joker thing to do. Blast her with water while they're running for their lives, then come up and laugh as he grabbed her wrist? Classic. If she just turned around, she'd see him grinning, wouldn't she?

She couldn't move. Her paws fidgeted, pressed against the dirt, but Weavile couldn't muster the courage to look. She clawed at the soil.

She hadn't seen that right.

"Rest," Bisharp soothed. "You shall pass peacefully." There was a sharp, wet noise as Joker let out a quiet gasp. Bisharp took a deep breath. The grass rustled, and the harsh light of the flames started to dim.

Weavile wrapped her arms around herself to try and hold herself together. She hadn't heard that right. The crackling was distorting things, messing with her head. Fear. Smoke inhalation. Something. It had to be something.

And then, Bisharp started to sing. His sweetly terrible voice contorted to fit a language he was not designed to utter, and he serenaded them with a melody warped by the passage of time.

"You are my sunshine. My only sunshine."

Her will crumbled to dust, and Weavile scrambled to turn and face him. As the fires faded, and the defenders crawled from their graves, there sat Bisharp with his hellish body extinguished, holding Joker's head on his lap like it was just a peaceful summer night. As if Joker's eyes weren't glazing over, as if there wasn't a hole in his chest and his own heart at his side. As if blood wasn't seeping out of his smile.

"You make me happy, when skies are gray."

As if none of this happened. As if he hadn't attacked and maimed his own goons. As if Espeon wasn't feebly clawing his way out of the dirt. As if Weavile wasn't even there.

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."

And Joker laughed. It was weak, barely audible, but it held all the scraps of his spirit that remained. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back, too tired to feel fear anymore. "Please don't take… my sunshine…" and he never finished.

Choking, Weavile took a staggered step towards Bisharp. And then another. And another. "Give… Give him a Sitrus," she croaked. "You— you have one. Sitrus, or Reviver, or…"

Gently, Bisharp set Joker down in the grass, raising a hand to his face. The sharp edges didn't cut a single hair as he closed Joker's eyes for him.

"Help him." Her voice cracked. She found her stride and started marching towards him. "You can't just ... you can't…"

Bisharp placed his palm against his chest, spreading out his carved fingers as much as he could, then closed his eyes to utter a prayer. "In peace, may you find truth. In the sun, may you find purity. Ave Aster."

Peace. Truth. Purity. Those words actually just came out of his mouth. That psychopath, that murderer just fucking said that in complete earnest. As if he were laying Joker to rest. As if he were giving him his final rights. As if —

She couldn't hold herself back anymore. Fury and grief were as one, and she didn't know which drove her forward, but she wanted nothing more than to kill. To kill or be killed. Her claws glowed violet as they extended like knives, and she parted her brandished fangs as the back of her throat glowed blue. Weavile screamed, and a bright beam shot out and swept out.

Bisharp clapped his hands together and held them in front of him, conjuring a twisted spherical wall of light in front of him. The Ice Beam made contact and froze around it, growing, growing, a sharp mess of jagged ice crystals that crept up like a tidal wave.

The barrier faded and Bisharp batted away chunks of the ice, but Weavile moved to his flank. She choked back a sob and leapt for the throat. And as Bisharp turned to face her impassively, Weavile knew there would be blood. His or hers, she was going to put a stop to it. She needed to. She wanted nothing else.

Just on the edge of her vision beneath her, she could see Joker, content yet strained with a clean hole in his chest. And smiling, of course. He seemed to always have been smiling.

Bisharp raised an arm and caught her leading wrist, throwing her through the ice. She fell hard onto the ground, pieces of frost landing and skittering around her, and Weavile squeezed her eyes shut as she covered her face in an empty hope to block his next attack.

But no attack came. She only heard his footsteps start to walk away. She could only feel the last of flames sizzle out, and darkness settled under a smokey sky.

Slowly, Weavile opened them again to see the dark figure walking away from his chaos. Leaving her alone. Leaving her broken. Fangs brandished, she screamed, "Where're you running, asshole?!" She scrambled to her feet and sprinted after him. "What happened to trying to kill me?!"

She made another attack, but Bisharp used his superior reach to press his palm into her face and shove her back into the dirt. "I will not disrespect him," he said.

"RESPECT?!" Weavile screamed, tearing her throat. She sobbed, wiped at her eyes, and shot back up again. "After all this, you're talking about respect?! Fuck —"

She jumped yet again, and Bisharp turned to snatch her by the throat. His grip was tight and unyielding, yet the razor's edges that were his fingers felt eerily gentle. His breath smelled of charcoal, and from this close, through the fading smoke the moonlight showed a hint of green in his eyes.

"Joker let himself die," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't know why he did that for a sick, despicable feral, but I will not spit in his face. Show him the same respect."

Don't call it that! Weavile screamed inside her head. Her mouth opened, but all she could manage were choked and garbled gasps. Why would anyone do that for her? 'Let himself die.' The bastard was just trying to find meaning in this!

"Psych… psy…" She kicked and clawed at his arms, leaving thin scratches in his gauntlets. Fury and grief. There was no way Bisharp was going to leave her here. No fucking way.

He dropped her like a piece of litter, giving her one last pitiful, disgusted look. Then his gaze swept across the field and the smoking grove. Bisharp let out a low, forlorn sigh. And he walked away.

Weavile wiped at her eyes and made to follow, but the will wasn't there. It was pointless. Feebly, pathetically, she screamed after him, "What are you?!"

And Bisharp stopped. His fingers twitched into a fist as he bit down, but it was only a short pause. "I'm sorry," he answered, and left Weavile alone. And behind her, the last thing she had lay destroyed.