"Life begets life."
A swing of the hammer, the high-pitched clanging reverberating through the room. It was hot, and the temperature would only climb higher until the deed was done.
"Life begets death."
Another swing of the hammer, the only other sound left when the echoes died being the man's sweat sizzling on the pieces' surface.
"Death begets life."
Another swing of the hammer, shaping the mound of metal and raw energy into shape. It was close, now, to completion. A bit more work, some polish, sure; yet the end of the work was near.
"Death begets death."
Another swing of the hammer. Then, a crack.
The man's arm felt a spark fly through his nerve, ending at his shoulder, pain suddenly pulsating through the entirety of his side down to his waist. His elbow was on fire. He stepped back, clutching his arm, swearing, dropping to his knees. He knew he should not have pushed himself as hard as he did. He knew it was risky. But he also knew that he would not, could not bring himself to, rest, relax, cease working until the task's finalization.
And here it was in front of him. It needed a bit more time. Time that he might no- no. He had promised. He had sworn on the life that had given itself up for him. Whether he had any flesh left on his bones when the final swing made contact would not matter. Whether any would know in this world that it was his name embedded into the very soul of the machination he was working on would not matter. Whether he even lived to see the results of his labor, the fruit of the most painful endeavor of his life, would not matter. So long as he knew. Then Cobalt could rest easy in the piece, knowing it did not waste the energy it had left.
The man stood back up, his arm still throbbing, his head beginning to pound away like the hammer he still held desperately. He switched his hands, and raised the hammer once more.
"From life, death."
Another swing of the hammer. His own flesh, his own blood, the mettle in his metal, creating life from still metal still.
"From death, rebirth."
Another swing of the hammer. He could still, however faintly, still feel Cobalt's aura, pulsing inside the chunk he was chiseling into shape. His Lucario would no longer be who they were, but in exchange, they would be born again.
"From rebirth, pain."
His arm was numb now. It was no longer sweat dripping off of his face, sizzling against the burning lump that showed no signs of heat at all. It was soon outpaced by his tears.
"From pain, its own cessation."
He would no longer feel this after his task was complete. Whether "this" was merely the pain of failure, his body releasing the last of its grasp over itself as his hands loosened in tandem with the hammer, his life slipping from his palms the same as his tool. Or mayhaps it was about elsewise; about the relief he would receive from the very thing he was losing himself to creating, out of malice to himself, sure, but mostly out of love.
Then another swing. A brittle shatter. The metal, before strong as any stone tenfold, ripping to shreds like a piece of parchment. Cracks soon erupted throughout the surface, unfurling as if spooled and spun over the surface and meeting in clusters and growing ever more from there, chunks collapsing off in misshapen handfuls, small clouds of dust and almost, shavings, perhaps, being thrown into the air as small beams of blue light, bursts of energy, began to pour out from the newly-formed escapes in the now-shattered shell of molten rock and metal the thing had been cast in.
The man stared for a moment, but only a moment, then began to tear the shell off by his own hand. Flakes and jagged edges were cutting even through the thick Tauros-Leather gloves he was wearing, the blood steaming against the clockwork heart, gears not of metal and ridges that interlaced precisely down to the nanometer, but instead of magic and life, infinity energy coursing through every molecule, each fit to burst through the sheer overwhelming force of the semi-artificial life that coursed through them. Each was a work of sheer splendor, an incredible feat that combined all the most difficult parts of each condition of life; the physical, through the direct labor, the force exerted by his muscles to make the piece. The mental, showing itself through the intensity of the process that had to be meticulously planned out, step by step, each condition, every variable, every application of chemistry, alchemy, and arcane study shown through the 20 years of devotion this stole away from him. And finally, the spiritual, his very partner having been the volunteer to conduct the experiment upon, Cobalt's very essence as both a living being, and as his lifelong friend, giving the final burst of strength and spirit both that allowed Him on high to allow another to play with the forces such as Creation.
After shedding as much blood in a matter of a minute as he had sweat and tears in the past two decades, the man ripped the last of the cast off, revealing something smaller than a Ribombee yet as dense as a Heatran's helm. It glowed blue, a faint hue that radiated out in a small radius, every inch of its surface glowing equally, shadows cast on the wall from his hands and fingers blocking portions of its delicate light. He lingered, for a few moments, but what felt like an eternity, simply basking in the glow. The light filled him with a renewed sense of vigor; the bout of nausea and fatigue he was previously moments from succumbing to had completely slipped off. If they were not gone, and instead repressed, he felt no signs of it: he was in a state of bliss as the greatest of nights' coolest slumbers. He picked up the small metallic shape, bringing it over to an assemblage of overlapping metal rings, each attached to another piece of metal allowing them to rotate, until all of the different rings shaped from a single circle with a deposit in the middle to a sphere gracefully rotating around it, each ring adding another layer of dimension to the construction, holding the piece in place. It now completely covered the small piece of metal, small slivers of light making it out between the gaps of the metal sheets that now covered it.
He had named the concoction of metal, magic, and labor the Soul-Heart. Like the heart, it would hold both keys to your body; Heart, to keep your feelings and emotions, your love, your rage, your desire for good along with vices, and your Soul, the piece that gives some Pokémon, and even some people, the ability to truly grasp, and understand, the world they reside in. It was what gave them thought beyond the need to survive; what allowed their brains to develop higher levels of cognizance, to truly begin to see the world for what it is, and eventually, what it truly could be. All it needed was a host, something for it to latch onto, to hold. But organic material could not handle the energy output: In order to compensate for the amount of energy wasted in light emissions, he had to up the total energy stored, which wasted more energy through brighter light, and also meant he had to pick a material that could handle that much output in the first place. His initial idea had been lead, but lead was far too insulating; silver, then, but the reverse was true; eventually, there was a balance of metals found that did not waste too much energy but could still handle the excess as a precautionary measure.
The chassis to protect the piece would be inviting, but intimidating; clunky to some degree, unfortunately, but the price must be paid to ensure its safety. The metal contraption closed, two sheets of thin metal covering it; one red, one blue. The rest of the body was colored red and gold, cast from melted Aggron helmets, and the discarded shields of Aegislash abandoned by their spirits. It was a tank, a large dome making up its midsection, two ears stemming from a Klink-shaped headpiece, large mechanical eyes carved out, two dots on its face to make a nose and a mouth of the same color as the sheets covering its core. Its arms and legs were seemingly feeble, shaped like needles, small round sections making up its joints. But they were built for precision; despite how clunky the machine may be, it would need to be able to move itself well to perform its tasks.
Immediately, the eyes lit up with the same tone of blue, and the creation collapsed onto the floor, its legs retracting into its large shell, which closed, creating a ball at the bottom. The head retracted as well, closing the sphere completely with its large ears, finishing the nearly impenetrable shell. The man nearly fell backwards, collapsing onto the floor, eyes wide in disbelief. Despite all the effort, he was not sure if the machine would work. This would be the moment of truth.
A breath passed. Then another. Another. Time seemingly froze, and his breathing stopped, until-
The head popped back out, the eyes now two soft shades of pink, arms popping out to dust off the golden bands on its facsimile of a red ballroom gown. It tilted its head, blinking, staring at the man on the floor, before scurrying over to him, the tips of its arms beginning to glow. As the arms made contact with his gloved hands, he could faintly feel his arm almost stitching itself back together. Slowly, he felt his hands begin to shake. He realized that, no, they had not just started. They were shaking for the past several minutes, but he had lost so much feeling in so much of his body that he simply did not know. He felt warm, and as the machine held his arms, slowly healing him, he smiled, and leaned back, laying flat on the floor, almost crying, not from the pain of the shards of metal still left on the ground beginning to dig into his back, but from the relief. The release of tension and stress in his body alone almost made his life's work worth it.
After a time, he regained consciousness. It seemed as though he had fallen asleep, now in a different section of the room, the scraps of metal and rock now cleaned off the floor, the entire room tidied. And next to him, merely standing over him, watching him, was his creation.
"Help me up, Cobalt. Please." He extended his hand, and the Pokémon allowed him to grab their arm, helping hoist him slowly onto his feet. He wobbled, and the Pokémon worriedly held his sides, allowing him to lean onto them. He laughed, chuckling at first, then hunching over, his hand over his stomach, attempting to prevent himself from choking on air as his body rippled with waves from a fit of humor he hadn't felt in a long time. "Cobalt, welcome back!" He wrapped his arm around the machine, then, quickly realizing, pulled back. "Wait, my apologies." He stepped back, the machine reluctant to let go of him. He lowered himself down, getting face-to-face with the machine, then dropped to one knee, kneeling as he stared them down.
"You were made with the king in mind, my dear. To me, you shall always be my Cobalt. No less, no matter what. But to the others, you are a mechanical marvel, a creation from a time we have not yet seen, to bring wonders we might be yet to discover. To me, you are my partner. But to them, the king, whoever asks: You are the first of your kind, Magearna."