Part 7.75: The Lost Fict

Memory Phase 7

Laza?

I don't own Pokémon.


Secany

Memory Phase – 7

"So, is it that time again?" an angelic voice echoed. I couldn't find the source – all was still frozen, my sight locked on the clock. The voice sounded much like Aza's, although with more femininity to it, sharper 'S' sounds, more confidence, more melody. "Odd, this feeling. I feel something I have never felt before: wholesomeness. My, would that be your doing, Cruce?"

Cruce, wherever he was, failed to reply.

"I thought not," the angelic, effeminate Aza giggled. "Somebody put you here just for me, so I could wrap you up in a cocoon of my love. A challenge~. So then, this cycle differs! The prospect excites me. What about you, Cruce? Why, I would love it if you walked into my light.

Come to me, would you? Be my friend like you never would before."

Silence. A flash of blue from below. Blinding at first, the light began to settle, leaving a tranquil azure glow against a backdrop of blank mist, glittery particles floating into the air, decorating a barren white. The particles remained, a delicate windy whistle blowing them into the air, singing to the percussion of seconds. The burning floral scent, our signature smell, singed the air, its design sickening me, reminding me of a home that I may have never had, a fabrication of somebody's imagination. I was enraptured by the artificial memories. I didn't know what they were. I only knew that they were there, as whole as the pieces of light that flew into the mist like leaves or snow in an updraft.

"And what lovely fur you have to compliment the pale white skin you once owned..." 'Aza' sang. "Peculiar. I've no memory of this place, or us ever meeting here like this. Pray tell, what has fate wrought?"

"Mmh...? Wha? How did I... get so short...?" a 'small' boy's voice rang over the sparkling noise, the echoing delight of that non-Aza.

"It's me. Laza," the other said, as if instructing a child. "Because my name is Lazareon, and I will make your home beautiful.

Let us find a way there."

The blue, glistening cloud rose away, leaving behind traces of its dust, only to be swallowed again by the white perpetuity of the mysterious pearl-sand shore.

How could they find a way to Cruce's home? There was no mention of the Bell or that Clock. Did they already have one on their person? Was one nearby and I couldn't see it? I couldn't confirm whether or not they were really even here. All I heard was voices.

Then, I began to see the rest of the white shore beneath the shadow clock, the headstone still planted in the center of it all; the water, the beach, the bed of flowers and grass. It was peaceful.

Once more, the clock's hands raced, speeding their pace. One by one, shades of figures spawned in the waters, some on the shore, completely still, all facing the center of this place. They remained for split seconds, before a Crossblade fell onto each individual shade, shattering them, turning them to grayish mist against the white horizon. Looking high, I saw hundreds upon hundreds of tiny dots each plummeting to the sand and water, a rain of Crosses, destined to take place of the figures. As they landed, they were entirely silent. There was no puff or thud. There was no noise. Even the ticking of the clock quieted itself. Only then, did the Crossblades appear to fall in slow motion. One of which, bearing the flamelick similarities to my own, descended before me, turning, tilted, burning.

"I can't understand." uttered a boy somewhere, not Cruce, but still very young. The voice didn't sound like Edge's or VC's either, and since those were the only young boys whose voices I could recognize pretty quickly, I assumed this was a stranger; though, the voice did have a familiar innocence to it. It reverberated, as to suggest this boy was something of a ghost. I couldn't see him. I couldn't attest that his voice was even coming from this place, because it was clear and pristine, whereas I would have thought it to be slowed down, warped, and ugly. He spoke again.

"Lu? Where are you, Lu?" he asked, voice quivering. "I can't understand. Where am I? Why am I a snivy again?"

My Crossblade landed before me, stuck in the sand. It remained that way for a time, before uncertain gravity tilted it to the side some, then it fell over. It was the only Crossblade to do that.

"I remember too much. I remember way too much," he lamented, voice increasingly shaky. "Everyone. But! I was just there! I was just on Earth! No? No! Was I on Earth? Or was I home?

Is this home now?"

Oh. Jovany.

I always did wonder how he got here. More over, I wondered how he got 'there'. Our world. Though, all that was left of our world was what was inside the Paradox. Poor guy. It must have been lonely being the only human. He made friends, but he also made plenty of enemies. I remembered us falling in the second category. He stopped us. He fought us. What I couldn't remember was whether or not we won. Jovany was supposed to be some kind of hero, right? Well, so were we, so... the narrative didn't know what to do with any of us. May as well have stopped writing itself and dumped it off in a bin full of canceled stories. Maybe that was the Paradox.

He wasn't speaking anymore. The place was full of Crossblades. The last thing I saw before it all went bright was Scion, walking with his arms hugging a bundle of flowers of different colors and sizes. Beside him was the shaymin Nephi. Nephi stopped in the patch of white flowers, nearly disappearing, save her black nose pointed up at Scion, who sat down, turned about, and showed me what exactly he was holding. They may have been shaped like flowers, but that was about it. They were pieces of flesh and bone, eyes and sinew. Some of the eyes had eyelids, blinking. Some of them were still dripping with pus and blood. Some were pieces of Pokémon, others human, and, I assumed, others Hypereal.

"What an extravagant first batch, Scion," said the tiny Pokémon. "Soon, it will be rather rigorous to keep up, so save these, wouldst you? Ooh, yes, that yellow and black flower, with the bright red stem – may I?"

With the usual silent obedience, the hooded human looked into the armful of dripping horrors, found the flower in question, and plucked it from the group, squeezing hard enough with one arm to wring out more juices into the sand and grass. He crouched down, the red-stemmed 'plant' between finger and thumb. He offered it to the shaymin, setting it atop the bed of real flowers.

Strange. That yellow flower had a couple yellow leaves on its stem, sure, but it also had a bolt-shaped tail coming out of the stem.

"A necromancer's fantasy," hummed the gleeful shaymin, whose nose all but vanished in the flowerbed. "And soon, a reality. Scion? My Clock is yours. Leave those flowers behind the headstone, and return to your hospital bed."

As commanded, the quiet human left Nephi undisturbed with her treasured flower, walked about the grave, and leaned down for a time. All went white before he rose.


(Cruce?: Espurr)