"Before the age of electricity, people relied on the moon as guidance. The North Star, Polaris, always shined above Mt. Coronet. Using the galaxy as a map and the moon as a compass, those lost always found their way home."
In the corner of the bed, shackles glint against inky darkness. Empty eye sockets glare at the source of radiance before turning away. "Mere folklore. There was no moon on the night of my demise. Even if I wished to go back, there was no home for me to return to."
Cyrus quickly backtracks. "You're shivering again. Would you like to hold Honchkrow? It's warmest if you stick your fingers under its plume."
"You… You would allow something like me to defile your Pokemon?"
"I don't see why you can't touch my Pokemon."
After a painful silence, the spirit accepts the sleeping crow. It rests its head against the bird's powerful breast. "I have Weavile, Crobat, and Gyarados," Cyrus continues. His guest is too lost in thought, but it manages a dazed nod. "Have you met Rotom yet? It's a wild Pokemon, but—"
"It's fine. As long as Rotom is content, that's enough for me."
The duo sits in silence to the skritch skratch of chipped fingernails against Crobat's leathery head. Skeletal fingers caress the bat's temple, lingering on the small of its ear, its favorite scratching spot.
"Did you have a Pokemon team?"
A cold wind comes out of nowhere and smacks Cyrus in the face. "Cyrus. Do you know why you're confined to the wheelchair in the first place? Do you know what happened to your knees?"
Cyrus frowns. "What happened to yours?"
"Answer my question."
"I offered you my Pokemon's company."
The spirit snickers. Cyrus smirks back. "Very well. This knee, the bullet passed clean through. Treatment was mediocre, but I staunchly believed I could walk it off…" A scoff. "Well, it's useless now. This other one was punctured by someone who despised my very existence. Ultimately, both my knees don't work anymore."
Cyrus automatically lifts his blanket. Bandages all the way down to his ankles. "I'm sorry for prying. In all honesty, I haven't seen my wounds yet. The mere sight of blood is very… unsettling."
"And yet you reside within bloodstained walls." There's an ugly twist to the spirit's mouth. "I envy you, Cyrus. I wish I could remain in this bubble of ignorance. I wish I could roam under the sun without fear of the light."
BOOM! The world is plunged into darkness. Cyrus scoots back when the specter staggers to its twisted feet. "Weavile-!" That's when the red chain wrap around his neck, freezing the cry for help in its place.
"Call all you want, but no one will come. No matter how loud you cry, no matter how much you beg or scream their names, no one will help you. You don't deserve them." No longer does the spirit rely on its hands to speak; there's now a voice inside Cyrus's head, a voice as empty and bitter as an arctic blizzard.
"Ju… er…"
"Shh. You mustn't disturb your Pokemon. Let us resume our conversation outside."
With a terrible ripping sound, giant wings break from the spirit's back. Bizarre, writhing wings created from darkness itself, punctured with crimson talons. The spirit swoops Cyrus off his wheelchair and drags him out to the howling thunderstorm.
BOOM! Lightning captures the spirit's silhouette in white. Its grin is wide, lips pulling at the stitches until blood runs down its mouth.
BOOM! They're at the highest chapel tower of the Old Chateau. Once the spirit releases its grip over Cyrus's neck, the eager shadows will swallow him whole.
"Eheheh...You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment!" Cyrus glares through the burning rain to match those bleeding eye sockets. "Why are you so stubborn? Just give up. It's much easier than holding onto nothing for so long."
"Y… You…"
"Hmm? You what? You manipulative bastard, you emotionless freak, you deranged psychopath?" Lips warp to a terrible sneer. "I'm the scum at the bottom of the sea, Cyrus... a perversion of everything right and just with the world. I'm the monster everyone hates with all of their hearts. Do you hate me too?"
Once the chain loosens, sweet air rushes into Cyrus's lungs. "No…"
"Don't lie to me. Cease the fighting in your heart. Let it rest. Only then will the pain finally go away."
"Why…?"
"Why? I told you: I envy you, Cyrus. You have what I can only dream of having." Now it's those cold, dead hands around his neck. "I will put your body to good use. I will wear your name with pride. Then once I am whole again, I will make them PAY. I will make them REGRET ever BETRAYING me!"
One last squeeze… and the heart finally stops.
BOOM! BOOM! Gales tear the garden below to pieces. The dark spirit unfurls its wings to full length, rears its head, and unleashes a horrible shriek.
"Grrr…. GRAAAAAAH! EHeHEHehe! Where's your beloved moon to save you now?" With trembling hands, the spirit clutches the lifeless body into its chest. "It's over… I-I can finally be complete…"
"Who said I was dead?"
"EH?!"
Foreheads collide with a painful BOINK!
"Ow…You… have an astonishingly thick skull. That would explain a lot." Cyrus grabs the specter's collar. "I already knew about your intentions to steal my body. A dark wraith like you holds nothing but grudges and regrets in your wretched hole of a heart."
"B-But you… Y-Your heart stopped!"
Cyrus tilts his head. "40,000 volts. I drank toxic, moldy soup. Judging from these scars, I've put myself in much more… dire situations. It'll take a lot more than mere asphyxiation to kill this freak of nature."
Plip. Plop. Fat, juicy raindrops fall on Cyrus's head. The storm has calmed. The moon finally breaks from its prison to bless the world with benevolent white light.
"The light...! No… NooOOOOAAAAAHHH!"
Cyrus rolls himself on top of the writhing spirit. "Can you still fly? Fly me to the garden."
"You… hah… are in no position to dictate-" Cyrus simply moves aside for the punishing moonlight. "GRAAAH! A-All right. Let's go to the garden."
The garden is a mess.
"Are you proud of yourself?" Cyrus snaps. "Come look what you've done."
"Grr."
"Do you wish to be dragged around like a criminal?" That, and the dark spirit moves. Cyrus shoves a shovel into its unwilling fists. "I'll see what I can salvage while you put all the dirt back. Understand?"
The next several hours consist of Cyrus getting used to his crutches while the spirit begrudgingly replants flowers. Seeds are exchanged. Weeds are uprooted.
"Your penmanship…"
The spirit glares up from the labels. "Of course I can write. Do not take me for a simpleminded monster." It's not that. It's how that phantom is holding the borrowed feather pen that catches Cyrus's attention. In fact, that trivial observation bothers him so much that he finds himself staring down at his own hands.
"This is humiliating," grunts the spirit. "My punishment for a failed killing attempt is community service… but it's much more productive than hard labor. Much more bearable as well…
"Still, I don't understand. Don't you hate me for what I've done? You should be pulling a bag over my head and beating me senseless right now! O-Or might it be easier if you'd asphyxiate me like I did to you?" The spirit drops to its knees. "I won't fight back, I assure you—"
Cyrus summons a spring shower upon the spirit with his Sprayduck watering can. He then lowers himself to match the former's exasperated expression.
"Answer me this then. Why were your hands trembling while you attempted to strangle me? Why did you hesitate before stealing my last glimpse of light? If you did plan this from the start, then why did you allow for so many things to go wrong during execution?
"From those observations, I can formulate one conclusion: You never had the heart to do the deed."
The dark spirit stiffens. Then it vehemently shakes its head. "I will kill you right now, pathetic human! I will kill you slowly so I can savor the exact moment when you lose all hope…"
Cyrus smiles, and the spirit freezes in mid-speech. "You treated my Pokemon with respect. You warned me of the consequences of my habit… my unhealthy overreliance on white lies. Because of you, I was able to change myself to win back those I consider very close to me. For that, I thank you.
"However, under different circumstances, I would let you have your wish. But not now. I cannot die just yet while my purpose remains unfulfilled. That doesn't mean I'll let you harm those people either. If you had killed a human, then your soul will be condemned to an eternity of torment... No one will be able to save you then."
When the spirit fails to reply, Cyrus places his hand over the former's vibrating chest. "I know your ears are injured, but you can still hear it, can't you? The truth being spoken from your heart."
"NO! YOU'RE LYING! M-My heart… I don't have a heart. That's what Uxi…"
B-dup. B-dup. B-dup.
Something flickers in those abysses: a trace of blue. A sign of life. The spirit clutches its chest so tightly that its fingernails puncture the coarse orange fabric.
Cyrus holds up a white lily. "I'm sorry. You lost your way when you lost everything. But it's not the end of line yet. As long as I'm still here, I'll do my best to guide you home."
The stars light up, sending bands of light pulsating across the night sky. The spirit's gaze shifts from the pulsating full moon to the human shrouded in moonlight. Then it sighs. It accepts the flower.
Cyrus's smile swallows his eyes. "You owe me a favor for almost killing me. Do you mind accompanying me on a midnight stroll?"
I've always wanted to try this. With a deep exhale, Cyrus thrusts his open arms to the heavens. His fingers corral slices of the galaxy, separating the Milotic Constellation from the Gyarados Constellation, dividing east from west, and partitioning out what he knows and what he doesn't about the wonders of space.
That hollow voice sneaks into consciousness like a radio emission in a vacuum. "Keep shooting for the moon, and you'll fall past the stars."
"I'll catch a shooting star, and you'll catch me if I fall." The spirit glances over its shoulder to witness Cyrus's mischievous smirk. It says nothing and turns away.
Eventually Cyrus brings his attention back down to earth. They've passed the boundaries of Eterna Forest and are now zooming past signs of civilization. Once they reach the city of lights, the spirit swoops down so Cyrus touch the ponds of Amity Square. It soars over the lavishly-decorated Contest Hall before perching on top of the highest tower of the glass cathedral.
"Mommy, there's a demon on the church! A-And it kidnapped a man!"
"Hold on sweetie. I'm almost done with my call."
The full moon is swallowed by the spirit's black wings. It smirks and takes off, but not before Cyrus can give a reassuring wave to the horrified child.
"Ah, that reminds me. I'm not the only one who can see you, aren't I?"
"I only show myself to you," is the quiet reply. "You're the only one who hasn't cursed my existence… yet."
The flight continues in silence. Once the wind picks up, Cyrus presses himself against the strong, broad back.
B-dup. B-dup.
"Are you my guardian angel?"
"Yes, Cyrus. Guardian angels wear collars and shackles just like me. Oh, and let's not forget that your guardian angel just tried to kill you."
"But you failed."
"Tch. You know you don't believe in that stuff."
Cyrus smirks. "Of course I don't. If you're not an angel nor a demon, then who are you? You always seem to know something about me that I never told you about."
No reply. Gusts part the spirit's stark white hair, revealing a deep gash on its scalp. Cyrus's eyes trace the sloppy stitches up to a meadow of discolored skin wherein lies an imprint of a boot. Within the soot is…
B-dup. Within the soot is a black square. A burn? But upon closer inspection, it's… a charred silicone chip. One that's too deeply embedded to extract.
And that's when his skull almost splits from a surprise headache. There's an eerie ringing in his ears. Strangely enough, the pain seems to be coming from the exact spot on his scalp…
Suddenly, the spirit stiffens. There, in the distance, is a… looming tower? A fortress? One with spikes, legs, cannons…
"This is Veilstone?" it murmurs. "Cyrus, hold on tight. I need to see this for myself."
It is indeed an armed fortress. Judging from the giant craters in the ground and the trampled greenery, a rampage had taken place not long ago. Said fortress has settled into the riverbank, overlooking Veilstone City like an abandoned watchtower.
That spirit is muttering to itself as it hovers around the perimeter. "How…When…What happened while I was…"
"Freeze!" A blinding light arrests Cyrus's senses. Something prods his legs. When the light recedes, he finds himself staring into a familiar round face with narrowed eyes.
Cyrus dons a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Gym Leader Maylene. It's quite dangerous to be outside this late into midnight."
Maylene jumps. "Y-You're real?! Ahem." Both sides exchange bows. "Y-Yes, that's me. I'm afraid the tour group left hours ago…
"Wait a minute! Don't move! Hands where I can see them!" Maylene keeps her flashlight on Cyrus while she pulls out a poster. Her eyes dart to and fro, lingering especially on his hair, his crutches, and his polite smile.
"Nah… Medicham, only Gardenia believes in ghosts. This can't be him… Besides, he looks nothing like that crook…" Maylene looks up. Flashes a sheepish smile. "Um… Hi. S-Sorry about that. Can you walk? If you live around here, I can accompany you home. What's your na—"
Then Maylene sees his shady company. The dark spirit gives a deep nod. She looks down at the poster. Looks up. Returns a shaky, painful bow. "S-Sir, try to g-g-go home soon. T-This place a-attracts b-b-bad juju in the d-dead of night. E-Excuse me…"
"Wait! Maylene, you dropped your… You dropped your poster." She's gone. Cyrus shuffles to the fallen paper. There's a face. Numbers. Letters.
A mugshot.
BAM! A red talon impales the shadowy face before Cyrus can make out its features. Those wings nudge him back to the looming tower.
"Don't dawdle, Cyrus," mumbles the dark spirit. "Let's hurry before the sun rises."
The inside of the fortress bears the skeleton of a corporate building. A tangled network of muddy footprints suggests the former presence of looters and vandals.
Somewhere in the ruined hallways is a distorted jazz melody.
BAM!
The spirit rushes back. "Cyrus? Are you all right? Did you hit your knees when you fell?"
"Yes… Yes. I am fine." He can't even muster a convincing façade. And the next thing Cyrus knows, he's being piggybacked again. He tightens his grip around the spirit's neck, but if the latter has any problems with that, it's not saying anything.
There's a wall with graffiti scrawled all over. Nasty, biting remarks cursing the same name.
"Galactic," Cyrus murmurs. There's something about that defaced golden "G." Something that makes him sick to his stomach… while at the same time making him feel very empty inside.
The headache returns. "This layout… isn't right."
"That's because this isn't the original layout. The Nap Room used to be over there."
"Why did things change so quickly…? When did they…"
"Let's not dawdle anymore, Cyrus. I'll fly us to the top floor."
The boss's office is a large room with tall windows that overlook the Veilstone skyline. Most of its contents are long gone. Nature had broken through the sterile metal walls to reclaim its territory.
Tmp. Tmp. His footsteps echo off the ravaged ceiling as Cyrus hobbles to the moss-stained glass. You can indeed see everything from up here. With another deep breath, Cyrus straightens, squares his shoulders, and links his hands behind his back.
A jolt of electricity shoots up his spine. It feels as if he'd just brushed against the very fabric of time.
"Contemporary legends of Veilstone speak of a decisive battle at this very spot during the last solar eclipse." That voice is far away. "The Hero of Sinnoh smote her foe with a fiery rain from the heavens. Once the Villain's throne fell, the curse broke, and his kingdom was returned to the people. Everyone lived happily ever after… or so it seemed, since this story does not yet have a conclusion."
It has gotten so very cold. No amount of shivering can alleviate this internal blizzard. A blanket of darkness drapes over his shoulders. This time, there's nothing dangerous about that smile. Rather, just looking at the spirit incites a heavy sorrow within Cyrus's bosom.
Then a rosy pink hue peeks from the covers of night. The breeze grows warmer as colors intensify in the lightening skies.
This ghost had blue eyes…
Said ghost tilts its head. "I had forgotten how warm the morning sun can be… What a beautiful sight. Cyrus, look over there. Do you see the moon? Only twice a day do the sun and moon ever appear together in the same sky."
"Once during dusk… and once more during dawn." His eyelids are fluttering. The light is very warm. "Dawn… that's when the sun and moon… that's why she…"
When the spirit turns, Cyrus is slumped against its shoulder, his chest rising and falling with gentle breaths. The former places its hand against the other's ribcage.
B-dup. B-dup. B-dup.
"I can toss you over the ledge right now. I can smother you with duct tape… Or I can rip your heart out with my claws." The spirit carefully lifts the sleeping Cyrus onto its back. "But you would still trust me enough to rest in my presence. If I'm that stupid, then I how did I survive for so long?"
The city has awakened. Soon tourists will crowd the ruins, and everyone will see that the notorious Galactic criminal had come back to life.
"If you have changed because of me, then I have also changed because of you. Does that mean that the only person who can change you is yourself?" To the spirit's musing, Cyrus mumbles something in his sleep, prompting the former to chuckle. "I digress. Let's go home. Jupiter and Rotom will be livid if you're not in bed."