Chapter 31:
Spirit
Steam hissed from a pipe into the face of the large Lucario as he quickly walked through the dimly lit hallway. A smaller Lucario followed, taking two steps for each of her predecessor's, just to keep up
Surrounding them were the cold grays of the brick hallway, patterned with various piping systems. The deep sound of high-pressure air hissed through some of them. Above, a few hanging lamps flickered, illuminating her path irregularly as she traveled down the hall. The smaller, younger Pokémon pulled on her loose, pale lavender cloak, readjusting it around her shoulders. She returned her gaze to the Lucario walking ahead of her, his form cloaked in black.
"Father," she said in a low voice. "Are you sure about this? Shouldn't you remain at your post? Things are getting worse with—"
"I can't save him, Aura," the figure cut her off. "It's all I can do to contain the damage as best I can. It's bad enough that the project is complete, but now it's loose. We could have a slaughtering rampage on our hands."
"Father?"
"They wanted a Pokémon that was a living weapon of unstoppable force." He stopped, and Aura halted just behind him. The older Lucario turned slightly to glance at his daughter from the corner of his eye. Anger was clear in his expression. "They got one." He turned back and continued walking. "We have to get a warning out."
"But," Aura started with a leap to keep up with her father, "I thought you disbanded the… team. I thought that you broke off all communications. I saw you smash the devices and computers with your bare hands."
"All but one," he admitted. "I had to leave an out. In case the three of us had to escape. Or… the two of you."
"Father, what are you saying?" Aura blinked.
"I'm probably getting ahead of myself again," he continued, "but I have set up a method of escape. If anything is to happen that the two of you are in mortal peril of any sort, and there's nothing I can do to protect you, then you are to take him and get out. Our last contact has set up a sanctuary in Orre, in the Under, where you can lay low for a few years until the situation is contained again."
"What—?"
"You are to take him to the abandoned warehouse near Mount Moon, the one between Pewter and Cerulean. There's a small plane there; you have the minimal knowledge to fly it into Johto, and hopefully into Olivine. From there, you'll use the emergency funds to buy passage to Orre, to Phenac. Our contact would take care of things from there."
"Contact?" Aura repeated as her father stopped briefly to open a door. She followed him inside. "Phenac? You don't mean—?"
"I do," he said, grabbing at a chain to turn on the dim lamp. The room was filled with boxes, scattered papers and various piles of junk. Resting on top of one pile of metal boxes was a beat-up, old laptop, the screen cracked in the upper left corner, and a long, white device plugged into one side. The older Lucario booted it on, fiddling with the attached device to boost the signal as he made a video call.
The fuzzy image of a teenager with short, purple hair flickered on the screen.
"Arcanus?" The teen spoke. "I didn't think we'd—I'd ever hear from you again."
"Justy!" Arcanus breathed. "No, we thought…never mind. Where is your father? It's urgent."
The teen's face fell and he looked away. A ribbon of static flickered over him for a few moments.
"Gone."
"Gon—oh." Arcanus sighed, placing his face in one hand. "Cipher?"
"I don't know."
"Damn it. I'm terribly sorry, Justy."
"Dead?" Aura asked.
"…Yes."
Why is everyone I know dying?
At least, a voice whispered in the back of her skull, at least… this one isn't your fault.
Aura shook the memory of the explosion out of her mind
"Well," Arcanus continued. "I'm afraid I don't have time to give my proper condolences, or for grief. As much as I wish we did. We have a situation on our hands. I suppose that this now falls to you."
Justy hesitated for a long moment, before giving a solid nod.
"The first thing you need to understand is the Arcanus Project as a whole, and why I'm named for it." Arcanus adjusted the wireless adapter device again, improving the video quality somewhat.
The door burst open with a loud noise.
"ARCANUS!" The intruder yelled in alarm.
"WHAT?" The larger Lucario turned sharply to face him, while Aura stumbled backwards to the ground in her surprise.
The man in the doorway wore a torn Rocket uniform, his short, dark hair in complete disarray, his ragged tuft beard stained from the blood dripping from his broken lips.
"Petrel?" Arcanus asked. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"It's Proton!" He yelled, holding on to the doorframe for support as he tried to breathe through the blood in his mouth. "I tried to stop him, but—!"
"What is that sick bastard up to now?" Aura leapt back to her feet, brushing herself off. "I thought that your boss threatened to personally put a bullet in his head if he toed the line again."
"I hope he does this time," Petrel said. "It's… it's him. Little punk must've looked at Proton or something, and the bastard just started beating him to death with his whip."
Arcanus looked at his daughter.
The expression of shocked revelation on her face slowly degraded to an enraged snarl, one that almost hid the tears forming in her eyes.
"Damn him!" She growled. "I'll rip his throat out!"
Aura reached out with both her mind and her life energy, using both the Psychic Element and her Aura-based powers to mentally lock onto Proton's current victim.
"Aura!" Arcanus barked. "Don't do—!"
She ignored him, leaping towards the doorway. She managed to Teleport just before she collided with Petrel. She felt the world around her distort and twist. Her stomach churned and her skull threatened to burst. The swirling colors stopped suddenly, and the world came back into proper focus.
Aura took a moment to take in her surroundings. As she had expected, she was in a rather aristocratic house—the dining room, she assumed, from the china cabinets lining the wall and the utterly smashed, dark wood table and chairs that lay in a pile at one end. A low, warm light came from the wall lamps, the pale grey shades of those nearest the table debris were speckled with overlapping blood splatter.
His blood.
Amidst the broken chunks of wood, Aura could make out the shape of someone trapped beneath it. A small puddle of blood was oozing out from the still form into full view.
Aura half turned to give a hard stare to the figure behind her.
The tall, lean man wore a black Team Rocket uniform, not wholly unlike those of a common Grunt, but with a popped collar and minor yellow accents, as well as white gloves and boots accented with red. His belt was made up of several silver compartments linked together, minus a simple leather loop at the side for the whip currently gripped in his right hand. His disheveled, short blue-green hair framed his face, which—along with his torso—was splattered with small speckles of blood.
"Ah, Arcanus's whelp," he said with a sneer. "Should've known you freaks would stick together. Punk had it coming." He flexed the whip in his hands.
"Proton," Aura breathed.
She leapt at him, grabbing his predominate wrist and twisting it back. The action caught him off guard, and he tensed in an involuntary reaction. With her free hand, Aura swiped down at his face, her spike gashing across his eye. Blood flew from the force of the strike onto her own face. Proton yelled. She released him, satisfied that he'd be preoccupied with his wound for the moment.
She turned back, throwing herself at the broken wood in the other end of the room. She grabbed at the wood, tossing each piece carelessly behind her until the figure's top half was almost completely unburied.
He's not moving. Her breath caught in her throat. She could see his dark blue eyes, piercing through the hair and blood that obscured the rest of his face. They were wide and distant, but they weren't glazed over in….
She shook her head. She couldn't think like that. Aura brushed the hair to get a better look at his face.
"What?" She asked in surprise. It wasn't—it was... "Ash?"
"Aura!" A voice ripped through her senses, causing the room around her to dissolve. She felt two hands firmly on her shoulders.
She shook her head again, blinking rapidly as the memory swirled away.
"Ash?" She asked. Her voice was groggy as her vision stabilized. She wasn't in a house, of any sort. The Ghost Temple, she remembered. The walls were made of an irregular pattern of bricks made from stones of differing colors and sizes. The only light came from the blue flames in the fireplace on one end. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the small room, her arms lying loose on her lap. She looked straight ahead again; her red eyes locked with the dark blue in front of her. "Ash?" She repeated. "Is that you?" She looked at him in dumb shock for a moment. "You need a haircut, kid."
"Huh?" Ash blinked, releasing her. "Never mind—are you okay? You were…kinda spazzing out and… twitching."
"I'm fine," she said, standing up. She avoided his gaze. "It was just a bad memory."
"Drogo said that you were doing some sort of training?" Ash was confused. "What kind of Training was that?"
The Lucario looked at the Gengar. The Ghost Sage gave a deep chuckle before phasing through the wall and out of sight.
"Creepy bastard," Aura muttered, wiping the corner of her mouth.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ash asked again.
"I'm fine!" She snapped, turning to shoot him a glare.
His face fell slightly. Her expression sobered in response. She turned back and started to walk out of the room. She paused in the doorway.
"I'm fine," she said more gently. "Just… just worry about taking your Test. Soon, if possible. I really don't like this place."
She walked out of the room into the dark hallways.
They are not the same, she insisted. They are nothing alike.
They can't be.
…
…
Silver groaned, rubbing at his shoulder. His arm lay limp, the back of his hand flat against the floor below the bench he was stretched out on.
"You'll reopen your wounds," Wally said. The green-haired teen stood against the nearby outside wall of the Pokémon Center. He watched with boredom as Trainers came and went through the Center's glass doors. "Come on," he sighed. "Let's go in before the sun sets."
"You go ahead," Silver said. "I just need a minute."
"Oh, no you don't." Wally grabbed the back of Silver's jacket and gave a gentle but firm pull, forcing the adolescent onto his feet. "I insist that you eat something before the kitchen closes, and get your bandages changed. You need to take care of yourself, Master Zolton."
Silver groaned.
"You're gonna blackmail me with this, aren't you?"
"Just until you tell me what the hell those things were," Wally said, "and why they attacked you."
"I don't know," Silver said, breaking from his grip. "For either one." I mean, I have a theory or two, but like hell am I going to tell you. Besides, I think you know enough secrets about me and my family.
"Wally!" A loud voice caused Silver to jump forward, nearly knocking Wally over.
"What, Brendan?" Wally asked, not even concealing a groan.
How much of that did he overhear? Silver's mind raced as he struggled to maintain a calm expression.
"So, I was talking to Dad, after we got back from our night with the Wynaut." Brendan spoke with finality, as if this was all he had to say.
There was a long pause while Silver recomposed himself, positioning Wally between him and Brendan.
"And?" Wally finally asked.
Brendan giggled uncontrollably, raising his hand to show a poster of a set of highly detailed masks made to resemble Pokémon in various types of artistic styles.
"What?" Wally blinked at it.
"Slateport's hosting the annual Devon Corporation Masquerade! And it's coming up!" Brendan looked like he was about to combust.
"And your point?" Wally raised an eyebrow at him.
"We need to go!" Brendan's baritone threatened to turn soprano.
"What." Silver and Wally both narrowed their eyes at him.
"We have to go to this!" He repeated himself.
"Absolutely not," Silver and Wally said in unison.
"Awwwwww, you guys never let me have any fun!" Brendan moaned dramatically as he wrapped his arms around Wally's neck. He swayed from his friend, who simply stood still, eyes closed in disinterest. "Come ooooooooon. Please?"
"He's not going to let it go, is he?" Silver asked.
"History says no." Wally sighed. He calmly grabbed one of Brendan's arms and released himself from the grip. "Fine."
"YES!" Brendan cheered, his voice breaking the sound barrier as he began to jump up and down energetically. "You're the best! I love you guys!"
"I never agreed to this," Silver pointed out. "Besides, how do you plan to get tickets to this thing?" He took the poster from Brendan, reading the detail of the event. I mean, I could get a hold of some, but there is no way I'm going crawling back to my father now. I don't want anything to do with this, anyway.
"Oh, I can get us tickets." Brendan smirked. "My father's the most famous and respected Pokémon researcher and professor in Hoenn. He's already promised to get tickets if we want to go."
"I should have known you already talked to him about it." Wally sighed.
"Aw, Wall, I—"
"Well," Silver interrupted. "I don't really want to go. Parties have never been my forte. To say the least."
"If you don't know how to dance," Brendan grinned, "I can teach you in just a couple of hours. Hell, I taught Wally how to waltz, and now he's better at it than me! I would be jealous of the attention he gets at parties and such, but he never seems to be that into it."
Silver briefly exchanged glances with Wally.
He really is that dense, isn't he?
"Plus, you have a girlfriend," Wally pointed out.
"I never said I'd cheat on her," Brendan sounded offended. "Just, well…. Lord knows she'd take the whole disguise part of the masquerade to the extreme."
"She does do that." Wally sighed again.
"For the record," Silver continued, ignoring the tangent, "I can dance. Rather well, I've been told. I'm just really not sure that girls would really want anything to do with me."
"C'mon, man." Brendan walked over to him and draped one arm around his shoulder. "You'd do fine. You've got plenty of wonderful assets in your favor."
Silver leapt out of his grip in response to unwanted contact upon his rear.
Did he just...?
Wally yanked Brendan further away from Silver with one hand.
"Brendan," he said through gritted teeth. "Do we have to talk about personal space again?"
"What?" Brendan looked at him innocently.
"Though," Wally turned his head slightly to raise a brow at Silver, "he does have a point. I think it would be in your best interest to join us. At least for a couple of hours."
Silver scowled.
You're just blackmailing me so that you don't have to babysit him by yourself all night, aren't you?
"Fine."
Wally blinked at him for a moment, before giving a slight smirk.
"Well," Wally said in a disinterested tone. "It looks like we're going to be hanging around here for a while. And, I'm going to have to buy a new tux; I outgrew my last one a while ago."
"Yeah." Brendan nodded. "I need a new one, myself."
"But you just bought one before we—"
"Nope!" Brendan cut his friend off. "I don't know what you're talking about—I definitely need a new tux! I'm going shopping first thing in the morning!"
Silver sighed.
I get the feeling that I don't have a choice; I'm going to be dragged along. He exhaled through his nose. Well, I am going to need a suit of some sort if I'm going to let myself get sucked into this insanity. And a mask.
That's one upside to a masquerade; the masks mean that even if my father or his underlings are there, maybe they won't be able to recognize me.
Silver rubbed his forehead, groaning slightly.
I thought I'd finally gotten rid of the headaches.
"Silver?" Wally noticed his distress. "You okay?"
"Fine," Silver said, shaking his head once. He started towards the Center's front door.
"Where're ya goin'?" Brendan asked, tilting his head slightly.
Silver exchanged another glance with Wally.
"I need to check on the Haunter I brought in last night, and I should probably eat something for dinner before the kitchen closes." He paused in front of the door while it slid open. "I should probably take a shower or something, too." He walked through the door.
I'm going to end up overdosing on painkillers if I can't figure out how to get these damn headaches under control.
…
…
After all, a deep voice echoed in Ash's head, it's in your blood….
"Hmm?" Ash blinked awake. He looked around, finding himself in a rather dark room. He was sitting in an excessively plush, blue armchair. The only light coming from a small, red candle burning in a golden dish on a circular table next to the chair. The illumination didn't go far, though, and Ash couldn't make out the shadows beyond his immediate surroundings. He rubbed nervously at his neck, freezing when he noticed something wrapped loosely around it. He pulled at it to identify the object.
"A tie?" It was a dark blue. More than that, he was dressed in a simple, black-and-white suit. A suit? He wasn't against them, sure, but it just wasn't normally his style. "What's going on? Where am I?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten, Ashura," It was the same voice he'd just heard.
A light clicked on in front of him, illuminating the rest of the room. The walls were mostly lined with bookshelves, holding volumes of varying sizes and colors, as well as various, small artifacts. The source of the new light was a golden lamp with a dark blue shade, the lamp resting on top an elegant, wooden desk. Seated at the desk was a tall man. He had a narrow face with a strong jaw. He had long, black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. His chin was dotted with the slightest bit of stubble, suggesting that it had been about a day since his last shave. His dark blue eyes had barely visible shadows from sleep deprivation under them. The man was also dressed in a suit of his own, the dark purples of the shirt and tie accenting the main black color.
"Who are you?" Ash asked. "Where's Pikachu and the others?"
"Hmm?" The man stood up. He was quite tall, probably around six-and-a-half feet, and his frame was solid—though not stocky—with strong, wide shoulders. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Honestly," Ash said, "I feel… lightheaded."
"Oh?"
"What is going on?" Ash repeated, starting to get anxious. "Where am I?"
The man walked slowly around the desk to him. He looked down at Ash, one eyebrow raised in concern. "I'm—!"
A loud rapping sound cut him off. Both men turned to face the door to Ash's left, which he could barely see in the poor lighting.
"Enter," the strange man said as he recomposed himself.
A young woman entered, roughly Ash's age. She stood at about average height, her slim build completely enveloped in a simple, dark blue dress. Her orange-red hair flowed in slight waves down just past her shoulders. Her teal eyes locked with Ash's.
Was he crazy, or was she—
"Misty?" Ash gaped. What the hell is going on?
"Sorry for the intrusion, My Lord."
My Lord? Ash raised a brow. Misty never talks like that. He looked back at the strange man. Who the hell is this guy?
"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"Ash struggled to keep his voice under control.
"Ashura." The man looked at him, concern clear on his face.
Ashura. A new, deeper voice echoed in his mind.
Everything swirled into darkness. A pair of bright, angled red eyes dissolved into existence right in front of his face.
Ash screamed, trying to throw himself backwards.
Ash found the action to be impossible, however, as the chair in his dream had become the cave wall in reality. He breathed rapidly for a few moments, looking at his actual surroundings of the bare Temple room. A large Gengar stood in front of where Ash sat, a wide grin on his face.
"Sage Drogo!" Ash exclaimed. "What the hell?" So I was dreaming. But, what the hell about? "Haven't you heard of personal space?"
"Look who's talking," the Gengar chuckled, floating backwards slightly.
Ash looked at the others sleeping against the wall around him. Pikachu was sprawled on the stone ground near his lap—Ash must have knocked him off his head or shoulder when he had jolted awake. Nyx was curled in a loose circle on Ash's lap, the Dark-type Pokémon generating enough heat to negate any need for a blanket. Misty was sleeping against the wall to his left, her head leaning slightly against his side, with most of her weight against his shoulder. At first glance, it seemed that Aura was likewise leaning against his right side, but a second look showed that she was actually angled more behind him, her arm wrapped behind Ash to place her hand on Misty's shoulder.
Huh. Why wouldn't she just sleep next to Misty, then? Ash looked at the sleeping Lucario, who muttered something incoherent.
Ash gently picked up Nyx, placing him in front of Misty on the ground. The Shiny Umbreon mumbled in his sleep, but didn't wake. Ash stood up slowly, returning his gaze to the Gengar.
"What do you want?" Ash asked the Ghost Sage. "It's the middle of the night."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"The Ghost Element's Test must be taken by the Chosen One in the dead of the night," the Sage explained. "Alone."
I had a feeling I would, Ash thought with a grimace.
He looked back at the others. Aura's grip had tightened on Misty, pulling the Lucario close against the teenage girl, the human's head resting on the Pokémon's shoulder. Aura's head tilted, and laid on top of Misty's. Ash's grimace deepened.
"Alone, huh?" His voice was a bit more bitter than he intended.
"Yes. This is the Ghost Element," Drogo said. "It is intertwined with what we call Spirit. You must meet the demands of both on your own."
"I don't understand."
"You will, Chosen One." Drogo started to float away. "Or you shall perish."
"Perish?" Ash repeated, following him out into the hallway. "What do you mean, 'perish'? You mean, die?"
"That is what the word means, yes," Drogo said, continuing to float down the Temple hall. "You are not new to the Tests as a concept, Chosen One. You should understand the risks they pose by now. Their defenses may be meant to keep the unworthy from accessing the Elements' sources, but they can easily kill even you."
"I…" Ash hesitated. "Yeah. I guess."
"Come with me, Chosen One," Drogo said. He stopped in front of a wall, the rock surface as irregular and jagged as any cave's. "Your questions shall be answered." The Gengar then floated right through it.
"Uh," Ash stammered. "I can't walk through walls. I'm not a ghost."
"Walk through the wall, Chosen One." The voice sounded clear enough.
I'm gonna break my nose, Ash scowled again. He took a deep breath before walking after Drogo. Just like the Gengar had, Ash phased straight through the stone and into a new cavern. Unlike the rest of the Temple, which had chunks of the wall paved with carved bricks, this area had the same, unpolished stone of any cave for walls, ceiling, and floor. There was only a single torch hanging in a metal sconce to shed any light in the cave, and—besides the fake wall he'd just come through—the only way out was an irregular tunnel in front of him that went down, deeper into the earth.
Ash turned and faced the wall he'd just phased through. He hesitantly reached out to it, finding that his hand still passed right through it.
"Whoa," Ash breathed. He turned back to the Ghost Sage. "It's… not really there, is it?"
"Not everything is as it seems," Drogo said with a chuckle. "Not in direct appearances, nor in action, nor even in your instincts." He clapped his hands together, and as he drew them apart, a wax candle materialized between them. He handed it to Ash. "You must see things as they truly are, feel with something even stronger than gut reaction."
"What?" Ash asked, taking the candle. The wax was a swirl of dark red and purple. The wick sparked, igniting into a small, lavender flame. "Whaa—!" He exclaimed. "What is—?"
"This will be your only illumination as you travel through the Spirit Grotto. The flame will change, depending upon the situation."
"What do you mean?" Ash asked.
"I cannot say."
"Of course not," Ash groaned. "Would it be so bad for someone to give me a straight answer?"
"You are being trusted with a great power, Chosen One," Drogo said. "We must make sure that you are capable of truly using this power. By making sure that you are never just handed it, we can also make sure that you respect this power and understand its magnitude." His expression darkened. "We can't let just any idiotic child run around with what amounts to the power of a god, now can we? Especially not when you consider what's out there—and who."
"The Traitor." Ash looked away.
Drogo nodded.
"While you may go back and refuse to take the Test at this point, once you begin, you may not be able to exit the Grotto until the Element had been claimed. You will be returned only upon victory." He started to return through the false wall. "I sincerely hope that you do not die."
"Somehow," Ash muttered to himself, "that doesn't really make me feel any better."
He turned back to the downward path before him. He thought he saw a light flickering in the distance. He could go back, like Drogo said. But that would be giving up. Ash scowled at the thought. He looked at the candle. The flame continued to flicker, the flame growing briefly before returning to its original size.
He started down the tunnel, stumbling slightly on the uneven stone. The candle gave him light to see well enough that he never actually fell, but he had some difficulty with his sense of balance. After a few minutes, Ash found himself at what appeared to be a dead end. There was a slight alcove carved into the final wall, with a small, metallic statue resting in it. The metal glimmered a slight purple in the odd candlelight. The statue depicted a Spiritomb, the Pokémon's keystone resting upon a flat, stone base with a single word carved into it. Ash traced the letters with one finger.
"Courage," he read it aloud.
A loud rumbling echoed throughout the tunnel. Ash turned sharply, trying to see back down the way he'd come.
"Hello?" He called out.
The ground beneath his feet abruptly vanished. Ash immediately began to plummet into the darkness, his stomach apparently deciding to remain behind.
This again? Ash felt more annoyed than worried. This is getting old.
He looked over to his left. The candle—which he had dropped when he'd started falling—was descending at roughly the same rate as him. The little flame was wavering rapidly from the air resistance, but never went completely out. He reached out, managing to grab it without burning his own hand. Ash tried to use it to try to get a look at how far he had left to fall.
Before he could, however, the gentle grip of a pair of arms suddenly stopped his decent.
"Who…?" Ash raised the candle to illuminate his savior's face. With a loud yell, he pushed himself out of their arms with his free hand. Ash fell to the ground, dropping the candle, which rolled a short distance away.
It was the man from his dream. Though, instead of the suit, he wore a black trench coat over like-colored pants and a red shirt. The toes of his dark boots were capped in steel. The shadows under his eyes were even worse than in the dream.
"Ah, Ashura," he said gently. "Glad I was in time, for once."
"Who the hell are you?" Ash didn't realize he was nearly shouting.
"I suppose it would be unfair to expect you to remember." He leaned over slightly, offering a hand. "Let me help you up."
Ash stared at the hand for a long moment, before looking back up at the man. He didn't take the hand. The man's dark blue eyes filled with clear pain.
"You don't really expect him to trust you," a new voice spoke from behind Ash, "do you, Gyles?" Ash felt a pair of hands grab the underside of his arms and lift him to his feet. He turned to face the newcomer. It was a young man, appearing to be several years younger than the first, maybe around twenty-one years old. The man's slender and gently-shaped face was clean shaven. His long, dark red hair was neatly tied back in a tight ponytail, much neater and longer than the first man's. Even in the purple light, Ash could see that the man's eyes were a dark teal, their narrow gaze focused on the other man. He wore a loose, black buttoned shirt and slacks, and—like the first man—a pair of heavy, steel-tipped boots. The second man was slim, in comparison to the first man.
Now, who's this guy? Ash raised an eyebrow at him. Wait. His eyes widened. Gyles? But, that's—! He turned back to the first man. You mean…?
"I'm sorry, Ashura," he said in a soft tone.
"Dad?" Ash breathed. "But… you're dead!"
"Isn't that the point?" The red-haired man behind Ash pointed out. "Don't forget where you are."
The Ghost Temple. Ash remembered. "So… you're a ghost?"
"More like a memory meeting possibility," the mysterious man clarified. "What once was, combined with what could have been."
"Why?" Ash turned to face the other man. "Why would the Temple show me some… ghost-thing of my father? I never knew him; he died when I was a baby."
"More specifically, he died shortly after you were born."
"Whatever. You didn't answer my question."
"Oooh," the red-haired man sneered at Ash. "Looks like the precious Chosen One has picked up a bit of his father's arrogance after all, eh, Gyles?"
"Whadaya mean?" Ash turned back to Gyles. "Who is this guy?"
"My greatest devil," Gyles said in a low tone.
"What?" Ash didn't understand. He raised the candle, trying to better illuminate his father's face.
"He's here for a very simple reason, Ashura," the red-haired man spoke into Ash's ear from behind, gently grabbing his shoulders. "He's here because he never was around when you needed him. He's here because he's not there for you now, when you need him most. He's here now because he had to go and get himself destroyed and leave you and your mother alone to struggle along without him."
"But—!"
"Imagine how much easier life would have been if he hadn't gone and died on you. Imagine having both parents to raise and support you. Imagine how much stronger of a trainer, how much stronger of a person you would be if he'd been there, too. But, because he had to go and be reckless, he got himself killed."
"Mom said he died of pneumonia," Ash retorted. "That doesn't—!"
"How do you think he got himself in that situation in the first place?" His voice softened. It was smooth and gentle, like some sort of soft cloth. It made Ash's stomach churn. "He thought himself strong. He didn't care about how his actions affected you or your mother. And you're the ones that ultimately paid the price; you're the ones who suffered. His pain is done. He can't feel it anymore. But, even though you will never understand the grief, you will always be the worse off because of his indiscretions.
"And," the man continued, "imagine your mother's pain. This was the man she loved, after all, the one she chose. Married him. Had a child with him. And, just when you were born, just when she needed his support the most, he had to up and die on her. Left her alone, with no family to turn to, to take care of her child on her own."
But… Mom wasn't alone, Ash wanted to protest, but he couldn't make his voice work. She had Professor Oak…and Gary's parents, before they died. And… and… His thoughts faltered.
"You don't have to defend me," Gyles said softly, apparently reading his son's mind. "He's right; it is my fault, at least in part. You have a right to blame me, to be angry with me. It's okay. I deserve it."
"I…" Ash didn't know what to say or how to feel.
"He admits it," the strange man said. Ash felt him press something into his right hand. "And now, Chosen One, you can pass judgment on his sins against you and your mother, after all this time."
Ash raised his hand to look at what had been placed in it. It was a dagger, its wooden handle delicately carved with miniscule detailing. The steel blade glistened in the candlelight. Ash turned and looked up at the man. What the hell…?
"You do know how that works, right?" The man smirked. "You grip the wood handle firmly," he continued in a condescending tone, "and you press the metal pointy end into the chest of whoever you need dead. In this case," he turned Ash back around with one hand, "your father."
"I'm not gonna kill my own father." Ash felt sick.
"You're not really killing him," the man reminded him. "This Gyles isn't even real. He's not even a real memory. Not really. He's not a ghost or a spirit, either. Even I'm not really here. All this is, is an opportunity for you to let that confusion and frustration out, to prove to yourself once and for all who's to blame. Let that deep, burning feeling that lies dormant in your gut erupt into a fire you can harness."
"What are you—?"
"It may not be much, yet, but there is an anger buried inside you. It's in your blood; you can't escape it. Why not harness it, learn how to control the power it can grant you? You are the Chosen One; you could become more powerful than the Sages let you know. You could be even stronger than the Legendaries, than even Arceus."
"I…"
"You want to protect your loved ones, don't you?" The man didn't give him time to respond. "Your mother, your Pokémon, your friends, your girlfriend?"
"I don't have a—!"
"I can help you obtain that power, to find it within yourself and to harness it to its fullest potential. But, you must take that first step yourself, by letting yourself go."
"You're still asking me to kill my own father." Ash was able to complete a sentence.
"But, like I said, we're not real, neither of us. So, you're not really killing anyone. Plus, no one will ever know. It will be your little secret, of how you took that next big step into a world of power."
Ash looked from the knife to his father. The man looked away, resting his hands in his back pockets, which left his chest totally vulnerable. It was as if Gyles wanted to give Ash the opportunity, as if he wanted to die. Ash frowned.
"I would know," Ash said. "I would never be able to forget that I was willing to kill someone—my own father—even if he isn't real. And, the fact that there is a Ghost Element means that there are probably actual ghosts of people—like Dad. And, wherever he is, he'd know. Those are two good enough reasons for me to say no." He turned to the red-haired man, harmlessly pushing the dagger flat against his chest, forcing the man to take the weapon back. "You can keep your power or whatever. I'm the Chosen One, but I'm also Ash Ketchum. I will protect my friends how I choose, not you."
The man blinked at Ash.
"Ashura." Ash heard his father sigh.
The red-haired man grimaced at Ash.
"What a disappointment," he said, twirling the dagger in one hand a few times. "So be it." He tossed it in a nearly careless manner. Ash felt the rush as the blade barely missed his cheek. "How boring, that you should fear death."
"I'm not afr—!" Ash started automatically. Wait. He turned back towards Gyles. Dad.
The dagger was embedded in the base of Gyles's neck. His hands were wrapped around the handle, as if he intended to pull the blade out, though they didn't move beyond trembling. Blood gushed from around the blade, darkening the red shirt below it in a macabre swirl. It began to also drip down to the floor, a puddle forming in quiet splashes.
Gyles made a soft, wet sound as he tried to breathe around the blade.
"Dad!" Ash yelled. He leapt to catch his father as he fell to his knees.
"Don't, Ashura." Gyles's struggled to speak through his cough. "I… brought this upon myself; in fact… I deserve far… worse for the sins… I've committed. I've… more than earned… your anger, my son. I'm sorry."
"What does that mean?" Ash asked, but Gyles simply coughed and exhaled. "Dad? Dad?"
Gyles's body dissolved into dust in Ash's arms. He sat completely still for a long moment, staring at where Gyles had just been. The candle lay on the ground nearby, the flame barely existent. Ash raised his hands and looked at his palms. They were stained a dark red. Blood. Ash felt his chest contract and his jaw clenched, as if of its own accord. He stood up and faced the strange man.
"You bastard!" His hands balled into fists and his arms shook. "Why did you—? Why?"
"Don't you know who I am?" The man sneered at him. "Surely by now you've seen my face in metal and stone enough to recognize me, Chosen One."
Ash stared for a moment. Images of statues from each Temple flashed briefly in his mind.
"The Traitor."
"That's one name for me, yes." The Traitor pulled out another dagger and began to twirl it in mild disinterest, no longer looking at Ash. "You should ask your little friend for some others. She knows quite a few of them."
She? Ash tilted his head in confusion. Why would Misty—?
Dolt. A familiar voice echoed, cutting him off.
No, Aura. She said that—! Wait. Her scars. On her back. Could they be from—?
"It's almost a shame, though," the Traitor didn't wait for Ash's mind to finish. "The high and mighty Sages put all their faith in you, little boy. A child. One who can't even accept all of himself."
"What does that—?"
"You wanted to know why I was able to so easily and thoughtlessly kill Gyles? It's for the exact reason he said. I am his greatest demon, the one that destroyed him, heart and soul."
"That doesn't make sense. What does that mean?"
The Traitor gave a low, short laugh. He walked up to Ash, stopping mere inches away from the teenager's face. Ash wanted to back away, to hit him, to do something, but his muscles seemed to freeze in place. The Traitor gently grabbed his chin—sending a wave of cold down Ash's body—and lifted the teenager's face to lock gazes.
"You don't know," the youthful-looking ancient said in an almost sad tone. "You don't understand. You don't have the truth. You can't truly face the darkness in your own heart without it, but to learn it risks shattering your weak light, your fragile mind."
"That doesn't make any sense!" Ash repeated. "Tell me what that means!"
"Do you assume yourself to be able to give me commands, now, Chosen One?" The Traitor laughed again, releasing him. "How can you master another person, or the Elements, or indeed anything at all, if you cannot even master your own emotions?"
"Can somebody please make some goddamned sense?" Ash's voice started to crack.
"Oooh, someone's got a foul mouth, now," the Traitor taunted him, still laughing as he backed away into the shadows of the cave.
"Hey!" Ash yelled, picking up the candle. He tried to use it to light the area, to find where the Traitor had gone. "Come back here!" He breathed heavily as he waved the candle back and forth; the flame was a little larger now, but still too small to be of much use. Afraid of accidentally blowing it out, he stopped.
He took a few steps forward, towards the jagged wall of the cavern. The grey stone was tinted purple in the colored candlelight. He pressed his hand against it, checking that it was real. He sighed before turning and leaning back against it.
"Coward," Ash muttered. "That's just great. He's not even real, and he's just making things more crazy and confusing for me. What's next?" He peered into the darkness, calling out to whoever might be within hearing. "Is there anything else, while we're at it? Anything else you want to do to confuse me? Can we just get the crazy stuff out of the way?" He heard the sounds of slow footsteps approaching. "Oh, good. What now?" The sound continued, but no one appeared. "H—Hello?" Ash called out.
The flame on the candle went out.
What? Why did that happen? The footsteps were getting louder. And faster. Who is it? Is it gonna be Brock now, with some super crazy secret? Or maybe Tracey's some psycho murderer. Hell, while we're being insane, maybe Mom's actually a crime lord. Or—!
What Ash didn't even consider, even among the highest insanity, was that the footsteps could end with someone gently grabbing the underside of his jaw and his shoulder, and pressing their lips against his.
So, when exactly that happened, Ash froze, losing all sense of comprehension. Heat erupted from the point of contact, spreading across his face. The faint taste of sea water tingled in his mouth. When the contact with his mouth was broken, his mind tired to kick start back into gear.
Wh—what? What? Did that—? Did someone just—? What? Kiss me? What? I mean. The hell? Kiss. Just. What? Who? Who?
"He—hello?" He finally stammered. "Who just—who?"
"Don't tell me you don't already know." There was no mistaking her voice; he heard it every day.
The heat on his face increased and spread even further, reaching the tips of his ears. He was suddenly very glad for the utter darkness and its ability to hide him from sight.
"Why?" He struggled to speak.
"You know why."
His mind raced, trying to think of what to say, when something clicked.
"You're not real." He remembered. "You're just an illusion. It's not really you. This is just… some sort of trick."
"Maybe," she admitted. "But, it feels real enough, doesn't it? And, everything here is dependent on some memory or thought or desire buried somewhere in your mind. So, then…."
"No," Ash insisted. "No, because that would mean that—!"
"That it was you who wanted to kiss me, not the other way around?"
"I don't—I can't—no."
"What about the Fighting Temple?"
"Th—that was just hormones," Ash insisted. "We were caught up in the moment. That's all. It didn't really mean any…."
"Then why do you think about it so much?" The words made every muscle in Ash's body freeze. "Why do you look back on it and feel regret?"
"I—I don't—I…"
"And why is your heart threatening to break your rib cage?"
"It's not!" Ash nearly shouted. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything, and I'm definitely not afraid of this!
"Oh, Chosen One," the Traitor's voice sounded from right next to them. "You still just don't understand."
He felt Misty—or the fake Misty, or whatever—being pulled back away from him. An orange light suddenly burst into existence, apparently out of nowhere, illuminating the whole, small cavern. The Traitor now stood just in front of him, holding Misty from behind in front of him, one hand firmly around her neck.
Ash took a step forward, but froze in place again when Misty made a wet, choking sound. A small point of metal protruded from her stomach. A dark red color spread and swirled from where it emerged, staining her clothes and dripping to the stone floor.
Just like with Gyles.
Ash opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. He simply stared. The Traitor removed his dagger from her back. Her body collapsed to the floor. Ash's muscles finally cooperated, and he leapt to her still form. He gingerly took her into his arms. Judging by the ragged sound coming from her throat, she was still alive—barely. He pressed his hand flat against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The hot blood just oozed between his fingers and down his hand and arm.
"Misty…" He was barely able to even say her name. He looked up at the Traitor. The red-haired man smirked back. Ash narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You…you bastard! I'll…!"
"You'll what?" He cut him off. "Kill me? I think we've already established that you fear death far too much to be able to manage that, even if you could so much as lay a scratch on me to start with. Besides," he chuckled, "I think you have something else to worry about now. Look at your hand."
Ash looked at his right palm. Resting there, in his reddened hand, was the dagger, the blade dripping with blood. He dropped it in shock, the metal clanking against the stone with deafening volume.
"I didn't do it!" Ash yelled. "I would never—it was you—I saw you do it!" His heart was threatening to leap out of his throat now.
"Did I?" The Traitor asked in mock confusion. "Are you sure? After all, I'm just a figment of your imagination, aren't I? Born from some dark thought buried deep in your own mind. Perhaps a memory you don't recall. Besides, aren't you missing the point? Or, is she not the one you saw carved into the statue of Death, at the foot of the mountain? Was she not the one under that hood?"
"But…" Ash hesitated. "But, there were two people under that hood!" He remembered.
"I know." The Traitor laughed again and dissolved into nothingness. The orange light shifted to blue, darkening the cavern. He couldn't see very far from his position, now. Ash looked back at Misty. She was still breathing—just—but, now there was something in her arms, as well.
No. Someone.
"Pikachu." Ash's throat tightened. The small, yellow form resting against her arm was still, and also soaked with blood from a deep gash in his side. He was silent and wasn't moving. No. No, no, no, nonononono. No! This can't be happening! He looked up. "Someone—anyone—! Please… help…."
He had to do something. Misty was still alive—if barely—and Pikachu might not be dead, yet, either. He had to do something. But, what? What could he do? What could he do, but sit there, helpless, as they died in his arms? Died, and left him all alone in the dark.
This is my fault. This is my fault! And I can't do anything to save them.
His eyes burned and his vision of their limp forms began to blur.
"Ash…" he heard Misty gurgle his name through the blood in her mouth and throat. "It's okay. You don't… have to fight… it. You… don't have to… hide it… anymore. You can… say it. It's… okay."
"What?" Ash choked.
"Please…" her voice was somehow able to get even fainter. "Tell… me… how you… feel… at this… moment."
"Wha—?"
"What… emotion…?"
Ash stared at her.
"Please…" she repeated. "Don't… fight… it."
Ash's heart pulsed through his neck again. The beats vibrated against the streams of tears running down his face. The blue light faded and left him in complete darkness again.
"I…." The words threatened to get caught in his throat. Eventually, he was able to speak them, in a barely audible whisper. "I'm… scared."
The cave was instantly and completely illuminated in a purple light. Ash looked over towards the source; the flame of the candle had reignited, burning far brighter than any candle Ash had ever seen. It simply burned silently from where it lay, just within reach. The illusions of Misty and Pikachu were gone. Ash's hands and clothes were no longer covered in their blood. There was no dagger on the ground.
There was only him. It was just Ash, alone in a cave with a candle. He wiped his eyes, and took a moment to get his breathing under control.
Was that it? Was that all the illusions wanted him to say? That he was scared?
Now you're catching on, a familiar, female voice chuckled in his mind. You reckless dolt.
He picked up the candle and slowly got back on his feet.
I just want to be done with this and get out of here. I want to leave this bad dream behind.
"I can do that," a new voice spoke behind him. It was a deep, masculine voice but youthful. More than that, it was one Ash had never heard before. He turned to face the new speaker.
The figure was almost completely covered in a cloak, black accented in dark red. The hood was up, obscuring most of his face; Ash could only see had a rather slim frame, and stood an inch or two taller than him. Ash could barely make out the figure jaw, slender but solid. His mouth was closed in a slight frown. Ash could see some of the boy's long, red hair, as it flowed out from under the hood. Unlike the Traitor, though, this hair was loose, and a brighter red color.
"Who are you?" Ash asked. "I've never seen you before. Have I?"
"My name would serve you no purpose," he spoke. "We do not know each other. This is true. Yet, somehow you've managed to summon me here, all the same."
Something occurred to Ash.
"Will we ever meet? I mean, like, really? Will I ever find and meet the actual, living you, the one that breathes and feels and… does the… things." Wow, maybe Aura is right. I am kinda a dolt.
"You are definitely your father's son." The figure turned around. "Maybe someday. Maybe soon. I'm not actually real, after all, so even if the future can be seen, I certainly can't see it."
"What do you…?"
"Come on," he cut Ash off. "Let's get going." He started to walk away, towards a narrow tunnel out of the cavern and further underground.
"How do you know where to go?" Ash asked as he jogged slightly to catch up. "I mean, the other… illusion thing said that everything here comes from my memory, or something. And I've never been here before."
"No," the cloaked boy said, as he led Ash around a series of bends. "No, you haven't. But, you are the Chosen One. You have a soul that is drawn to the Elements. So, I guess that's what I'm following. And, for the record, we're called Echoes." He walked down the sloped path, leaping down off the edge. Ash held the candle over it before following, seeing that it was maybe a two foot drop and thus reasonably safe to follow after the Echo. A small amount of water splashed underfoot as he landed.
"Water?" Ash asked as he ran to keep up with his guide.
"Apparently. I would explain where it came from, but I can't really be sure. All I really know is what you do, after all. Maybe it's from the river that runs by Mount Pyre." He stopped before the wall of their current cavern for a brief moment. He walked right through it.
Ash hesitated, before following after him. Even though it wasn't really there, and he didn't feel anything as he walked through the false wall, it still unnerved him.
"Why are there these fake walls here?" Ash asked.
The cloaked boy stopped for a moment, and turned slightly. This time, Ash could see the shape of his nose—a little larger than average, but straight—and just barely made out the color of his eyes under the cover of his hood. They were blue in color, and so dark that they almost seemed black in the low light. His eyes locked with Ash's for a brief moment, before he turned back around and started to lead Ash through yet another series of twists and turns and false walls.
"Because," he finally whispered. "Things are not always as they seem."
Well, that was helpful, Ash thought to himself with a bitter frown.
The boy stopped suddenly.
"There are stairs, now." He pointed directly down. "Do not trust your eyes. They are wrong. You will walk down through the floor. Then, you shall find the Spirit."
"What?" Ash scratched his head with his free hand. "Whadaya mean?"
The boy didn't speak again. He simply walked forward, and down, into the floor and out of sight. Ash followed after him. He held his breath as he walked down, his foot phasing through the stone. A deep chill pierced his gut, but Ash clenched his teeth and forced himself to walk forwards despite of it.
Ash found that he was following a circular staircase—carved deliberately and with intricate detail from black marble—that spiraled gradually downward. After the staircase made several rotations, Ash found himself at the base, in a small, square room in the middle of the spiral. Directly in front of him, in the center of the room, was a metal basin resting on top of a pillar of black stone. Ash noticed something was carved into the stone, just under the basin. He lowered the candle to shed light on and read it.
Courage.
Ash scoffed slightly. He looked around. I guess he's gone, now, he decided. He looked back at the basin. There was the small puddle of liquid in it. Ash looked back at the candle in his hand. He tilted his head in thought for a moment. This is probably crazy. He lightly tossed the candle into the basin. The liquid ignited, and a burst of flame erupted into life. Ash backed up in an instant reaction, raising his hands to keep the sudden light from blinding him. The ground shook slightly, as the far stone wall loudly retracted into the ground, revealing the room beyond. The fire burned out, and the only illumination was the pale blue light coming from the new room.
Ash slowly walked around the basin and into the Ghost Shrine.
Unlike any of the Shrines before, the room's walls, floor and ceiling were all carved out of the same black marble as the staircase. The walls were still covered in the usual carvings, though the light came from the glowing columns of blue crystals in each corner. In the left front corner, right near the doorway, were the expected statues of Hikaru and the Traitor. Each life-like detail carved and shaped into silver, the statues depicted the ancient Lucario apparently in the middle of training, his legs bent and arms outstretched in a battle stance Ash had never seen before. His eyes were closed in a peaceful expression. The young Traitor was attempting to mimic Hikaru, but his stance was far more awkward, and his mouth was slightly open in a confused frown. The Dragonair was wrapped around Hikaru's midsection, its eyes closed and mouth open, as if in the middle of a conversation.
Huh, Ash thought. I wasn't expecting that. I mean, I didn't know what I expected, but… not that. He turned to the center of the room.
As usual, in the center of the room sat the statue of the ancient Sage-King kneeling and holding up the Shrine's Orb. The Orb in nestled safely in the silver paws was a swirling mix of dark purple and dark red, just like the candle Drogo had given him had been. Several statues of Ghost type Pokémon surrounded the Shrine Statue, including Gastly, Misdreavus, Shedinja, Sableye, Banette, Drifblim, Spiritomb, Dusknoir, Rotom and a couple others Ash wasn't familiar with.
He stumbled over the Gastly statue, almost falling over, as he slowly made his way across to the Orb Statue. He looked around.
"You're not gonna reappear and attack me while I'm doing this, right?" He called out to the darkness behind him. After a long silence, he shrugged and turned back to the Orb. "This is just going make me more confused, isn't it?" He muttered. He took a few long, deep breaths, before clenching his eyes shut and grabbing the Orb with both hands.
The pain didn't come right away, as it had with the others. First, a wave of cold washed over him, as if he had leapt head-first into a pool of ice water. He trembled violently as irrational and unbridled terror surged through him. Just when those sensations began to ebb, the first of the waves of pain tore through him. Ash tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat.
Eventually, the pain faded to a dull throbbing. Ash hesitantly opened his eyes. The Shrine around him was gone, replaced with an entirely white void. A few feet in front of him there was a simple throne carved from dark grey stone, with a figure cloaked in black seated upon it. The figure looked up to face him.
Under the hood was the bird-like skull of the statue of Death at the foot of Mount Pyre. Ash inhaled sharply in recognition.
"Ashura Ketchum," it spoke. Its voice was neither male nor female. It stood up and took a few steps towards Ash. "I did not expect to see you. Not yet."
"I… who exactly are you?" Ash felt rather uncomfortable in this person's presence.
"I am Death." The words held no emotion. "I have no form; I solely appear as you currently perceive me. You are not dead, and thus have little purpose to stand before me."
"I—I was…" Ash stammered. "The Gh—ghost Temple. T-test."
"Oh. I see. You are here because you fear death."
"I'm not afraid to die!" Ash exclaimed.
"That is not what I said." Death turned slightly. It raised a skeletal hand, and a staff made of a twisted branch of ebony materialized in its grip. The staff held a large, round gem—rather similar to an Orb—of a reflective black color upon the top. "Though, I admit you seem to be right, in a sense. You may fear the instant of death, the cause, depending how you eventually meet it and your circumstances at the time. But I can tell that the concept of being dead, in and of itself, holds no fear for you. But, neither of those were what I spoke of."
"I don't understand."
"You fear death."
"Can you please explain what you mean?" Ash tried to remain calm.
The image of Misty's dying form appeared on the ground, the deep wound in her stomach, just below her rib cage, bleeding profusely. A puddle of blood spread from her body.
"Are you trying to claim," Death asked, "that your friend's death does not scare you, in any way?"
"I…" Ash hesitated. "I…. Of course it does." He managed in a small voice. The image faded back into white nothingness.
"Are you surprised?" A familiar voice spoke from Ash's right.
Death and Ash both turned to face the speaker.
"Hikaru," Death addressed the Lucario. The ancient Sage-King was wearing a wide, jeweled, gold collar detailed with silver on the top of his chest, with a long purple cape flowing from the back. He wore wide bracelets of similar design to the collar as well. He stood a slight bit taller than the average Lucario, but was still significantly shorter than Aura. Hikaru also seemed to be mildly transparent, as if he were a ghost or spirit.
I guess he kinda is, Ash realized.
"Ah, Hikaru," Death said. "I've been waiting a long time for you to stand before me. A long time."
"Sorry that this still isn't a proper hello," Hikaru said with a light chuckle. "As you can see, I'm not exactly capable of going with you."
"Wait," Ash interrupted. "You mean, you're not dead?"
"No, I'm dead. Technically. I just can't die properly."
"That doesn't make sense," Ash said. "Can you please explain what that means?"
Hikaru chuckled. "I suppose today has been rather taxing on you, hasn't it, Chosen One?"
"You could say that." Ash narrowed his eyes.
"Allow me to try to clarify a bit." Hikaru took a few steps in silence. Ash wondered if he was trying to decide how to say what needed said, or if he was simply walking because he finally could again—in a way, at least. "I guess you could say that the manner in which I died left me bonded to a particular task. That I am still bound to the living world due to my greatest sin."
"What sin?" Ash asked.
"That I was unable to contain the evil I inadvertently helped to raise."
"The Traitor." Ash understood. "But, that wasn't actually your fault. He betrayed you."
"True. But he was still my responsibility, and I should have been powerful enough to bring him down. My last ditch effort took far too long to bear even the slightest of fruit. My prophecy—namely, you, Chosen One—didn't fulfill for countless long years. Because I misjudged the passage of time in my final moments, countless lives have suffered in some manner or another due to his malice, his thirst for blood and power, and his ease in manipulating the hearts those around him.
"And, now, I can't truly rest until either he is defeated and my prophecy is complete, or it fails utterly and he wins beyond all hope."
"So…you've been waiting for me? Since the day you died? Conscious?"
"I did not feel the passage of time quite the same from the moment of my death until the moment of your birth, but yes. In a manner of speaking, I was." Hikaru didn't sound upset in the slightest.
Ash stared at him.
"As fascinating as this is," Death cut in, "I do believe that Ashura is here for a reason. We really shouldn't hold him longer than we must. His body cannot maintain contact with such a powerful Element without it accepting his ownership for long."
"Alright." Hikaru nodded. "If you don't mind, I shall withdraw. If there is one Element I don't wish to cross, it is yours, old friend."
"I appreciate it."
Hikaru faded into nothingness again.
"Is he ever gonna just give me a straight answer?" Ash asked.
"He mostly has. Truth is dangerous. It must be handled properly, with respect. There is much light in the living world, but that means that there is also darkness. Where there is life, there is also death. This balance is what powers the Ghost Element. Even Spirits, they are simply a blend of life and death, having returned to the mortal world without fully returning to life. That is why the Ghost Element is also known to the Sages as the Element of Spirit. But, more than that, the Ghost Element also presides over an emotion, one that is forever linked to death in many ways.
"Fear."
"But, I'm not afra—!" Ash started.
"But, you are." Death took a few steps to close the distance between them. "You carry a great deal of fear. You cannot hide it from me. But, the fear of death, even of that of your loved ones, is not your most crippling. Nor the fear of failure. Nor of pain, nor of any primal phobia. Nor is it even of intimacy. It is fear itself that you fear to the point of self-destruction. If you do not understand this fear, and the true relation between fear and courage, you will get yourself killed. And many others will die with you." Death placed its hands on Ash's shoulders, its glowing eyes staring straight into his own. "Allow me to show you the truth."
Everything melted away, swirling into a blend of dark colors. The smell of rain filled Ash's nose. And blood. He could taste it on his tongue. His legs moved without his command. He was running down a city alleyway, in the rain, in the early evening. Blood seeped from the cracks of pain on his lips and nose. His left arm was also bleeding, judging by the burning stripe running diagonally down it from his shoulder, oozing blood down onto his hand and in between his fingers.
I'm in someone else's body, Ash realized. Is this someone else's memory?
He felt long hair brush against his face, as he—or whoever he was sharing a memory with—suddenly took a sharp turn down an intersecting alley. They skidded to a stop shortly after, right in front of the tall, metallic mesh fence that blocked their path.
Ash could feel his—could he call it his?—heartbeat accelerate. Whoever's body this was, it was apparently a bit beaten up, and they were terrified. They looked about slightly, possibly trying in vain to find some way to get a boost up and climb over the fence.
They cursed bitterly, grasping at their bleeding arm. They turned around at the sound of rapid footsteps in the rain.
A tall man with chin-length blue-green hair—wet and tussled from the rain—in a black Team Rocket uniform came to a stop a few feet front of them. His eyes were a cold, light teal, narrowed in a calm fury, and he had a wide but clean scar down across his left eye. He was carrying a whip, the handle firmly in his right hand with the end loosely wrapped around the left. A smirk spread across his face.
"Nowhere left to run now, little punk." He chuckled darkly. "Now it's time for you to pay."
The beat-up "little punk" told the Rocket what he could do to himself.
"Looks like the girl taught you some rather foul language before she died, huh, kid?" The Rocket scorned them. He flexed the whip in his hands. "Pity she didn't teach you some manners, too."
"She did." The kid paused to spit out a small chunk of blood. "She just taught me that bastards like you don't deserve them."
The Rocket made a loud growl-like sound, before lashing out with the whip.
Ash felt a surge of sharp pain from where it made contact with the left side of his neck. Or… the person's neck, he corrected himself. Whatever. They stiffened from the blow, automatically placing a hand over the wound, blood seeping in between his fingers.
Who is this kid? Ash thought. Why is this Rocket beating him to death?
"It's a shame she never taught you how to fight." The Rocket flexed the whip to allow the rain to wash some of the blood off. "I do enjoy getting to play with my food, but I prefer my prey to actually play and not just bark at me. I mean, I never did get revenge for almost losing my eye. I guess I'll just have to make sure I take yours, instead."
Ash felt the kid lower his hands, tightening them into shaking fists. His vision blurred, and he could feel their heart pounding against their ribcage and their knees trembling.
"I might die here," he spoke calmly. "I may just be a little kid compared to you, but things are not always as they seem." Ash felt a realization pierce him as the kid continued. "Even a dying Eevee can still bite." He spat another chunk of blood into a puddle of rainwater at his feet. I will not die like a coward, his voice echoed in Ash's mind. Not like this.
The Rocket's confused expression turned to shock as the kid suddenly charged at him. He raised his whip again.
Before either could make contact with the other, Ash felt himself jerked back into his own body—sort of—and into Death's presence again.
Ash found himself suddenly breathless and tried to recover as his looked back up to the cloaked figure. Next to Death stood another figure, also shrouded in black, though he was semi-transparent like Hikaru had been. Ash could see some of the long, red hair flowing out from under the hood, but the face was otherwise almost entirely obscured.
The kid who led me to the Shrine, Ash realized. Was that his memory? Was that how he died?
"No, Ashura," Death responded. "This child still lives. You can see him here because, much like Hikaru, he has managed to avoid his destined demise. Hikaru may share the record for avoiding me—along with the Traitor—but this boy's defiance is also worthy of note."
"How long has he been…?" Ash didn't know how to phrase it without risking offending Death.
"Over sixteen years." As soon as the words were said, the image of the cloaked boy vanished again.
"I still don't understand. Why did you show me that?" Ash asked.
"There are many reasons to show you his memories." Death looked away. "Most are beyond your understanding, at least at present. However, it was perhaps the best way to teach you about fear. And courage."
"But, how was that brave at all?" Ash asked. "He was terrified; he'd been running for his life and only fought back because he was cornered."
"You don't understand." Death looked at him again. "Fearlessness is not bravery. To act without any fear in your heart is mere recklessness. All it will bring is pain. Recklessness ultimately breeds fear. It is those who act despite their fears that are truly courageous."
"You mean…?"
"By denying your fear, you are acting out of cowardice, not bravery. Accept your fears, and admit to them. Only then, can you find the strength of heart to face them. Some things are more important than fear. What do you fear?"
The image of Misty and Pikachu, bloody and dying, came unbidden to Ash's mind.
"The death of your loved ones is not a fear to be ashamed of," Death said gently. "If there is any fear to feel guilty over, that certainly is the furthest from it."
"But…" Ash started. The memory of the dagger in his hand flashed again.
"Nor is the fear of being responsible for it. On the contrary, this fear may be what keeps you whole. This fear, the fear of causing pain is the biggest difference between you and your foe. You master fear by learning how to use it, how to make it fuel your courage, not by burying it."
"I don't…"
"We are out of time." Death interrupted.
Ash felt the waves of pain surge through him. The white voice swirled into darkness as the shapes of the Shrine began to rematerialize.
"Remember your fear." Death's fading voice called out to him. "Remember to accept it."
I… Ash tried to think through the pain. Could it be right? Maybe, Ash decided. Maybe… it's okay. Maybe it's okay to be scared. Maybe… He thought again of the sight of his dying friends, the sight of his father practically begging his son to kill him, the feel of a—
Ash shook his head.
Maybe I really am just afraid. Maybe. Maybe that is okay. I… can try to accept that.
I am scared. Maybe that's what will make me brave, after all.
The pain suddenly stopped. His vision slowly returned to normal. Ash didn't remember falling, yet he found himself on his back, staring at the ceiling. He looked at his hand. The Ghost Orb sat in his palm, the colors swirling in a soothing pattern. He lifted his left hand, and the Gauntlet shimmered into view on it. Ash brought the new Orb to it, the ancient sphere automatically shrinking to allow him to place it in its slot. He took a moment to look at the Orbs.
Eight. The first circle's done now, too. I think Nyx mentioned that Steel would be next. Good. Should be a more… simple Element. None of this mental…emotional…thinking…mess. Yeah. He sighed. Even in my head, I sound like an idiot, don't I?
He slowly got back to his feet.
"Now, how do I get out of here?" Ash asked. "I'm not supposed to try to climb up that first hole I fell through. Right?"
A loud laugh sounded right behind him, causing Ash's entire body to stiffen reflexively, his eyes widening. After a moment, he slowly turned his head slightly to look behind him—and directly into a large pair of red eyes.
"AAAAAAAAHAAHAAAAGH!" Ash yelled, as he twisted his body around so he could leap back and away from the Gengar who had just materialized. "Drogo!" He placed his right hand on his chest in a vain attempt to get his heart to calm down. "H—how—? How long… have you been there?"
"Long enough." Drogo chuckled, before vanishing from sight again. "I'm here to take you back. Now, stay still."
"What? Why?" Ash managed to ask, before he felt something grab him from behind and start lifting him up. "Drogo, what—no! The ceiling!" He managed to yell, fidgeting desperately in the Gengar's grip as they flew up to the ceiling.
And right through it.
"I'm a Ghost, remember?" Drogo chuckled again. "I can pass through walls and ceilings."
"What about me?" Ash was starting to feel disorientated, as they passed through several floors, not all of them lit.
"I'm also the Ghost Sage," Drogo's voice became much more serious. "I have power enough to share some of my more basic abilities now and then. Especially with the Chosen One."
Sure, Ash decided. Whatever. It's an answer. I'm just happy to be given one, finally.
"Here we are!" Drogo stopped suddenly. Before Ash could even take in his surroundings, let alone ask any of the dozen questions swirling in his head, the Ghost Sage simply let go of Ash. The teenage boy cried out as he fell, the sound being cut off when he landed onto something hard and—judging from the sound—wooden, his face instead landing in something soft, textured, and somewhat warm.
"Good morning," A familiar voice said in an irritated sigh. "If you wanted some breakfast, all you had to do was say something."
Ash lifted his head out of the goop—oatmeal?—and looked at the Lucario seated at the table right in front of him. She held a book in one hand and a fork with a bite of fried egg in the other. Her narrowed eyes and slight frown suggested that she wasn't at all amused by the Gengar's little prank.
"You okay?" Misty asked from where she sat, to Aura's left.
Ash looked around. The Gengar had practically thrown him onto the table in one of the Temple's dining areas. He'd been fortunate to miss most of the plates and bowls of food placed on it—except for the oatmeal that he'd fallen face-first into. Nyx sat on a bench on the opposite side of the table from the others, one paw firmly on Jerzy's tail to keep the Rattata from running off. Pikachu was seated on Misty's shoulder, his head tilted at his trainer.
"When you said you would go pick the dolt up and drop him off here," Aura continued, "I didn't know you meant literally." She placed her fork down and shot the Gengar a glare.
Drogo simply laughed maniacally and vanished from sight again.
"Creepy old bastard," Aura muttered, grabbing some bread and taking a large, angry bite.
Ash righted himself, sliding off of the table and standing back on the ground. A chunk of oatmeal dripped from his hair and into his eyes. Unable to see, he turned back to the table and reached for a napkin to wipe off his face. The cool feeling of metal against his fingers confirmed that he'd missed.
"Dork." Misty said, so that Ash could barely hear her. Louder, she added, "Let me get that."
Ash opened his mouth to protest, but his voice got caught in his throat when he felt her hand rest on his shoulder. He stood, frozen as she wiped the oatmeal off with a napkin. Heat spread across his face, only intensifying when the napkin finished the job by brushing against the side of his jaw.
"There," Misty said, apparently oblivious to his flustered state. "You're almost acceptable now."
Pikachu chuckled from her shoulder.
Ash blinked, staring. He felt as if an anvil had been dropped onto his head. But, instead of it making him more confused, something finally seemed to make sense, if only a little. Misty and Pikachu were both here. Together.
Alive.
Misty tensed when he suddenly pulled her and Pikachu into a tight hug.
They're alive. They're okay.
He sighed in relief.
"Ash?" Misty asked in surprise. "Are you okay?"
"Pikapi?"
"Uh," Ash let go just as suddenly, "yeah. Y—yeah. I'm good. So. Food!" Ash turned to the table and sat at the bench. He quickly started to reach for different foods, putting them on his plate. "Breakfast. Eating. I like food. Yeah."
"You're rambling nonsense again." Aura didn't look away from her book.
"So." Ash looked up at Nyx, desperate for a change in conversation. "Where are we going next?"
…
A/N: Due to my Beta currently being extremely and understandably busy with graduation and starting grad school, beginning part-way through this chapter I have a temporary Beta while zie gets things settled again. I'd give my new, temporary Beta a shout out, but he hasn't told me any aliases for FF or AO3 or other archives, so I can't. Either way, I'll be updating again here (two more chapters are awaiting editing, and a third is almost done), and on a more regular basis again.
Also, coming up soon are some one-shot and two-shot spin-off fics that connect to this one in some manner or another, but they'll only be uploaded to AO3. My profile there can be found at /users/Neon_Zephyr The first one should be up by the end of May, and will feature a young Professor Oak. Either way, see you guys next time!