Ch.133: The Shadow's Nature! I am Thou, Thou are I!

"My origins?"

Wendrake stood attentively beside the Shadow King as they overlooked the ruined lands from the balcony. The possessed Feraligatr didn't look at his prized assassin, but remained curious in Wendrake's intrusive question.

The assassin bowed his head. "My apologies if that's too personal, my king. I have been in your service for some time, therefore it is natural to grow curious."

The Shadow King shook his head. "No, no, it's a fine question. Perhaps I never divulged my origins in great detail to you and your fellow heralds. I prefer the secrecy in a way."

"It's a foolish question, I admit. To an end, I simply wish to learn more of your…unique culture?"

The Shadow King chuckled to himself. "Culture? There is no culture to speak of. I was the first of my kind, if you can imagine. That gives me supremacy of the shadows themselves."

"And the shadows? What are they exactly? Surely, they aren't creatures akin to Pokémon. No, they are too ethereal in nature to be considered mortal creatures."

"How astute. And what is this conclusion based from? Have you considered the mortal ghosts of the Pokémon species?"

"Considered, yes, but they possess their own natures to derive from. I imagine the biggest difference between a shadow and a Pokémon is how prone they are to hostility. While I can't speak for all Pokémon, they are less likely to start a mass genocide if your upbringing is a comparative example."

"A surface level examination, but you are not far from the mark. Indeed, shadows possess a greater penchant for aggression, thus carried through their natures. While as a collective, they show little difference to a hivemind, in truth, each individual shadow is its own fragment of a soul. Or, more specifically, the shadow of the soul itself."

Wendrake cupped his chin thoughtfully. "The shadow of the soul, hmm…"

"The physical realm casts a shadow when exposed to light, but the spiritual side casts their own shadows." The Shadow King gestured out to the desolate plains ahead, and all the shadows roaming the earth. "As any wall can cast a mighty shadow, the soul also casts a shadow, though not a physical one. More so, the shadow of the self."

Wendrake narrowed his eyes. "But for there to be a shadow, there must be light."

The Shadow King chuckled solemnly. "Indeed. Light casts shadow, and we discussed how a soul's shadow is not to be taken literally. If so, what is the light?"

Wendrake scratched his head for a moment, muttering to himself, then guessed, "The self?"

"As sharp as ever." The Shadow King leaned against the balcony. "Mortal creatures are the light of their soul. Their everything, from their history to their nature, is the light upon the soul. The warmth is embraced, the best qualities of the soul magnified through the light. That is light with the soul."

"But that would make shadow…"

The Shadow King glared. "The dark parts of ourselves we choose not to acknowledge. Our fears, regrets, anger; everything in our lives that comes into conflict with ideals and morality. One could say succumbing to your shadow turns you into the dark antithesis of your true nature. Embracing it is more accepting, but most choose not to revel in that place about themselves."

Wendrake leaned his back against the balcony. "And you, my king? If you are the first shadow, what became of you? The embrace, or the submission?"

A tight scowl formed in the possessed Feraligatr's face. His nostrils flared irritably. "Who is to say? I truly believe I embraced this destiny, but perhaps a more foolish side of myself fell from former glory. Who knows?" He looked up to the sky. "To think we were granted this wisdom by the errors of the gods themselves. Magic was, and still is, an archaic practice. A mistake to this beautiful world."

"You detest magic, my king?" Wendrake asked.

The Shadow King huffed. "Perhaps 'detest' isn't the right word to use, but I admit my…disgust with it. Regardless of any benefits, I know its faults. It brings hardship, pain, and fear, whether a magic user or not."

Wendrake looked at his hand, gently playing with the magical string that swayed in his palm. "A gift that no one asked for."

"Wendrake, your opinion?" Wendrake glanced at his king, who looked over the side with a dark glare. "You've experienced my gift to you. Are you happy with your life in the abyss?"

Wendrake glared. "I don't follow."

"Pain, misery, and all those troublesome emotions mortals like you had to endure. I am that pain itself. I felt it. I became it. I have to wonder if life would be better for everyone if we locked away our natures and embraced the monsters inside all of us. No suffering and no misery. No misery at all. You were a mess when I sensed you. You lost the will to live, yet I locked away that pain."

Wendrake bowed. "I do feel relieved not to feel such tedious emotions."

"Yes, but do you feel the world would be better if we became monsters? Savage beasts who act with no rhyme or reason, yet they can live perfectly content lives. Tragedy becomes nothing more than an inconvenience, then maybe no one would be held back by the grief of a dead loved one, or a series of misfortunes weaved into your destiny. Maybe no one ever has to feel that pain again."

Wendrake glared. "And that…is your dream?"

"It's certainly a gift I wish to bring to the world, even if I have to eradicate droves of these worthless creatures to reach my goal. I seek something from the past to bring that destiny to the light. In time, my dream will be realized."

Wendrake crossed his arms and heaved a sigh. "My apologies, my king, but I do not have an answer. I can't speak for mortal life. My own experiences mean nothing to the grand design."

The Shadow King chuckled. "Mull over for as long as you need to. I am a patient ruler." He leaned over the balcony and sighed. "I waited a couple millennia for this. Tragedy will become a thing of the past."

Morgan set his flask down and sighed. "I can't say for certain I understood the Shadow King's ideals. Everything was a haze during that time, but I remember it all."

Team Ravenfield stared in shock and awe at the Hypno, stunned silent. Whether captivated by his brief retelling of the past or petrified by such polarizing beliefs, none of them could offer a reply.

Morgan shook his head. "Despite the dark undertones, it's hard to call him a mad tyrant motivated by evil. Can't say what motivates him is anything good, but he's just as real as the rest of us. Dark emotions brought into physical form."

Wes finally found the words to reply, "I…I have so much to ask. So, what exactly are the shadows?"

Morgan raised his finger. "Why don't you consult the book?"

He twitched his finger, causing the book of shadows to fly out from Ella's vest. He caught it in his hand, triggering the ghostly chains to take physical form around the book. The team gasped, leaning forward for a closer inspection.

"The book bindings!" Gwyn gasped.

"Don't tell me…" Tony mumbled.

Morgan held the book in both hands and, in a fluid motion, opened it, breaking the chains apart. The vanished into ethereal mist. A dark smog blew from the pages of the book, like the pluming smoke of a volcano. Morgan batted the smog aside, then pushed the book towards the group.

Ella blinked in bewilderment at the book pages, the first pages she had ever seen from it, then slammed her paws down on the table. "Hold the freakin' crystal orb! You wrote this book?"

Morgan waved it off. "It's…more of a fancy journal than a book, but yes, I wrote it."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Flint asked.

"Because I had to be sure you were ready to hear this news. Considering everything you all been through in the Immensus Library, how can I possibly explain this without being turned against? Most of you didn't look at me with the most trusting stares, after all."

Griffin sighed and settled back. "Alright, fine, we'll go with that. We got this from the library, though. Where's the one you wrote?"

"Though I never visited it, I was partially aware of the library's existence, or at least I hope I was. The library gathers all the information compiled in the world. I figured an official book would help Uxie sort the information. So, as soon as I made it and applied the cursed bindings, I destroyed the original copy, knowing full well a perfect replica would find a place within the library."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "You planned ahead for everything."

"I couldn't risk that information being shared with mortals. Aside from the Immensus Library, all secrets were kept tucked safely in my head." He tapped on the book. "More importantly, everything you learn from that book refers to the history of the shadows and everything you need to know about them."

Ella flipped through the pages while the others looked over her shoulder. "There's so much to cover."

Morgan nodded. "I wanted to be thorough, so let me give you the bare assessment of my research." He flicked his finger, turning through numerous pages before stopping a quarter through the book. "I can't stress enough just how powerful and fragile a soul can be. Flint has demonstrated what an empowered soul is capable of."

Flint sighed, then shuddered. "Yeah, no kidding."

"A shadow isn't particularly a soulless creature, but it is without a soul. I suppose in the simplest way I can explain, they are living grudges."

"Grudges?" Gwyn repeated.

"There have been old myths about ghosts, saying they would wander the earth because they have unfinished business, or perhaps their tethered to something through strong emotions like sadness or anger. Regardless of the method, shadows aren't dissimilar to ghosts, though what they are is. A ghost is the soul, trapped in a fog fueled by lasting feelings. A shadow…is the soul's darkness personified."

"Personified darkness of the soul," Wes mumbled.

"Every creature has a shadow to their soul, and the Shadow King has the influence to bring it out. That's how he got to me, and to the other heralds. He appeals to pain and suffering, promising a future where we don't have to feel that pain ever again. This may not sound encouraging, but it's hard not to be tempted by his offer if you truly can't handle your fears."

Ella glared as she flipped through the book. "So, every shadow we faced…was a grudge left behind by a Pokémon?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes."

"That means Nightmare is one, too," Tony added. "Makes me wonder why he of all shadows was made into the big boss general. I wonder who he was in a previous life."

"I would like to know that, too," Ella mumbled.

Morgan sighed. "That wasn't on my to-do list, so I couldn't tell you. I do know Nightmare was a fairly skilled warrior, but there were so many at the time, it's hard to tell which."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Every shadow we faced…was someone who held a grudge and allowed it to manifest into physical form."

"For the most part, yes. Shadows can duplicate themselves, but it hardly detracts from the point. Indeed, through the Shadow King's influence, he was able to command these negative aspects to heed his aid. Those feelings of hopelessness, fear, and anger naturally gravitate towards the Shadow King. He is the ruler of negativity itself. The incorruptible soul is a mere playhouse for his whims. The shadow is his to command."

"And he brings out the worst of us," Wes mumbled, gripping his jacket tightly.

Morgan narrowed his eyes sympathetically, then sighed. "The very first of them all. He got to me, and he easily swayed over Callista, Voss, and Aeternus to his side. He played to their weaknesses."

Griffin glared. "So, does that imply they weren't corrupted souls before encountering the Shadow King?"

"I find it hard to believe a witch could've been a good person," Gwyn admitted.

Morgan shook his head. "I can't speak for certain on their beliefs in justice, but…I can say, at one point, they had a chance." He crossed his arms over the table, leaning against them. "How strange I view them as my enemy, yet I still, in a way, respect them as valuable comrades. Their pasts…though I know so little, they've been through a lot like me."

"How so?" Tony asked.

Morgan shook his head. "It's…not my place to speak. In what little honor I can give them, I choose not to speak of their pasts disrespectfully." He looked sternly at Gwyn, Tony, and Griffin. "Judgment should come down to those they've heavily affected. Loss, threats, vengeance; they are your obstacles, not mine."

Griffin eased his body up, but his fists curled tightly as he glared down on the table, eyes radiating with his magic. "I won't find anything forgivable in that bastard."

Gwyn cradled her head within her arms and sighed, feeling a glistening in her eyes. "Yeah…"

Tony just stared quizzically at the immortal Hypno, trying to pick up clues from his stoic eyes. "Is this another one of your weird tests or misdirected advice?"

Morgan shrugged. "That is for you to decide."

"Misdirected advice it is."

Flint broke his long silence and slammed his paws down on the table, gathering everyone's attention. "Morgan, forgive me for accusing you of this, but from what you've told us, it's clear the Shadow King is merely the result of this same negative phenomenon. Correct?"

"Yes."

Flint glared. "Does that excuse everything he's done? Regardless of what he is, his very nature is tainted with corruption and spite. There's nothing remotely redeemable to him. He's nothing but the shadow of someone's anger. Do we forgive the soul, but hate the shadow? Is the shadow meant to be rejected if it only brings pain to others?"

"Flint raises a point," Ella joined in. "This was the first shadow, right? If it's all his anger and whatnot, why start a war? Why did he start the Grand Imperium War to begin with? What was his purpose?"

"Perhaps this mysterious vengeance against the Ravenfields," Tony suddenly chirped in with a stroke of revelation.

"Huh?" Ella gasped.

Wes blinked, then looked down thoughtfully. "An obsessive, single-minded grudge against our whole family…and magic itself."

Morgan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "There…is a lot to your family history that has been washed away from history itself. It was kept mostly self-contained within the family, passed down to the children. It's likely your father wanted to tell you before he tragically left this world. That name was a rarity. I took a keen interest in that name when I broke away from the Tribe of Shadows."

"An interest in what?" Flint asked. "You knew about one of our ancestors. What did happen to our family?"

Morgan glared. "I can say this much, the Shadow King's obsession with you two isn't unfounded. With how reckless your lineage was, your particular branch of the family is the only surviving one. Others either never married or died before they could have children. I would almost call your branch the worst of them all. Too reckless and destructive to die. It runs in your blood, as does their magic."

"Their magic?" Wes and Flint gasped.

"I was curious how you came to possess Priscilla's Soul Blaze, Flint, then it struck me. With the power of your bloodlines, I believe your family possesses an innate specialty in an archaic form of magic. The connection between past ancestors, their wisdom, and their abilities. Ancestral Magic."

"Ancestral Magic?" Wes repeated in confusion. "I know a lot about magic, but that one's new to me."

"I've heard of it," Flint said in awe. "It was a theoretical form of magic that required a particularly strong bloodline. A family of natural born fighters or great will. There have been supposed records of it, but it's hard to come by. Not many bloodlines can claim their family was filled with strong-willed individuals."

"Except ours, I guess," Wes surmised with a grin. "But, why didn't we know about this?"

"It doesn't quite work the same way as normal magic. In a way, it has to be called upon in the right situation. I suppose Flint summoned up Soul Blaze as a means to preserve his life, as granted by Priscilla herself. You called for aid, she responded."

"Incredible," Flint awed.

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Still, I don't see what this has to do with the Shadow King. Did one of our ancestors make him angry or something?"

"That, I unfortunately know the answer to." Morgan glared. "However, a part of me fears whether or not I should tell you. Some things were meant as they were for a reason. Your obscure history is no different."

Wes glared. "Morgan, we need to know the truth."

"Was there…something wrong with our family?" Flint asked worriedly.

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "Something wrong…"

The immortal Hypno had wandered the old town after completing his job at the lumbermill. He tried hitting up the tavern to get wasted, but was once again cursed not to feel the numbing relief of alcohol, instead forced to wallow in his purposeless life, held by strings over death. He had to leave immediately after starting a bar fight.

He glided his thumb over the cut on his cheek. A simple fix for his darkness, but he chose to let it heal on its own. The pain kept his mind grounded. All he could do was wander, completely sober and miserable.

He got strange looks from the townsfolk, whispering under their breaths. More gossip about the strange, moody loner that sent chills up the spines of the cowardly.

He decided to dock himself between two buildings, plopping beside a barrel full of rainwater. He pulled out his flask, filled with the strongest whiskey he could acquire, and chugged it down, pleading to become blind to his misery for once. If he kept drinking and drinking, the pain will eventually go away.

With the last drop sliding onto his tongue, he sighed and went limp, slumping halfway down his back and staring at the orange and purple sky. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't get wasted, and he couldn't forget. An eternity trapped in the darkness, a chance to leave it all behind, and he wished he could forget it all.

He reached behind his waste and drew a dagger. He stared at the rusty blade, dejected and sad, then carelessly traced the tip across his chest. He wanted to end his suffering, but self-preservation would kick in and deploy the darkness to mend his fatal wounds. A simple dagger wouldn't end him, not even tetanus. He never tried, but he knew the results. He took far worst hits before.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Maybe it can dull my thoughts, just for a little. Just something to…forget for a moment." He dangled the dagger over himself, staring up at the tip.

"Oh my. Good sir, you shouldn't be playing with knives like that."

He properly gripped the dagger and set it aside while glancing to the soft, very angelic voice. His presence was graced, perhaps literally, by a Whimsicott dressed in the clerical robes of the church, specifically a bishop. The headpiece fitted nicely on her head with most of her cotton hair sheared down to a shorter appearance.

She had a radiant and kind smile that, for a moment, made the withered Hypno's heart thump, but he pushed the thought aside, old memories running to the surface.

"Go away," he grumbled hoarsely.

The Whimsicott approached. "Do you request shelter for the night, sir?"

"I'm not homeless."

"Then perhaps you would appreciate help back home? You seem very tired."

He glared sternly. "Go. Away."

"My, my, what an attitude. I can smell the alcohol from over here. You shouldn't overindulge."

He merely scoffed. "Believe it or not, I'm not drunk."

The Whimsicott sighed, then tutted with disappointment. "You remind me of my aunt. A reckless drinker, she is. I love her dearly, but her drinking habits lead her to trouble."

"If you're worried I'll get alcohol poisoning, I'll be fine. Now, leave."

The Whimsicott narrowed her eyes. "As a servant to the will of Arceus, I can't allow myself to let such a disheveled man sleep out in the cold."

"How saintly of you," the annoyed Hypno grumbled. He pushed his back to the wall and attempted to stand. "I can get home on my own." He tried to leave, but the bishop stepped in his way, arms crossed firmly. He glared. "Get lost, lady."

She narrowed her eyes. "You…carry a great deal of sins on your shoulders. I can tell."

"You holy types just love to pry into that stuff whenever you want."

"Do you wish to atone?"

"I'm a disgrace in Arceus' eyes. I wouldn't be welcomed."

"No one is rejected from Arceus. Whether you are a holy man or not yourself, we do offer shelter to those in need. Or, personally, we are a friendly face to share your problems with."

He bared his teeth. "Get out of my way, now."

The Whimsicott glared. "Sir, I regretfully cannot do that. Despite your claims, you are very weak and tired."

The Hypno growled and raised his hand. Flickers of purple string danced around his hand. "I've done worse for less." His eyes flashed red involuntarily.

The Whimsicott had noticed. "I sense…an even greater sin burdening you."

"Cut it out and get out of my way!" The Hypno swung his hand forward, visible slashes following his fingers.

A cold wind blew across his face, then his entire body suddenly became frigid. His eyes widened as ice sprung up across the entire alleyway instantly. The cold was so stiffening that his arm completely stopped, as did his string.

The bishop stared him in the eyes, covered in a heavy frost, yet unbothered. Her short, cotton hair expanded outward like sharp icicles. The creaked lowly from the sudden flash freezing, as did the ice under their feet.

She took a deep breath and released a thick steam from her mouth. "I've seen men who lash out in this manner before. Held back in the past by the memories of trauma, war, or paranoia. But let it be known I am your friend. I am a friend to everyone."

"Th-Th-Th-This cold…" the Hypno chattered. "C-Can barely…move my joints."

The Whimsicott sighed, releasing more steam from her mouth. "I extend a warm greeting and demeanor to all, no matter their past or their ideals. As a bishop loyal to the cross wheel, I seek only to better the world through kindness. That is the destiny I mapped for myself. However, should I be struck down, I will take away that warmth and show those who oppose me the true coldness I harbor."

The Hypno, shaking in place from the ice crawling up his skin, stared in disbelief at her. "Who…are you?"

The Whimsicott smiled warmly. "You may call me Vashti. I am the bishop of the Auroralia Church." She drew a long breath, then exhaled.

The ice coating the alley evaporated slowly. The Hypno felt his body untense and his joints move freely once again. He fell to his knees, clutching his arm and staring down at it with a shocked gaze. "That level of ice magic…I've never faced a spell that could halt me in place with ease." He lowered his head shamefully. "I've grown weak."

A delicate hand caressed his cheek. He faced the smiling Whimsicott, eyes shimmering with sympathy. "May I have your name?"

"…Around here, I'm known as Valentine."

"Valentine. What a lovely name." Vashti giggled. "Valentine, my invitation still stands. There's always room at the church to recuperate. You look like you need a warm bed, and ear to listen to you."

Valentine narrowed his eyes sadly, then hung his head. "I would…appreciate it."

Vashti took his hand and helped him to his feet. "I will take you there. We'll get you some warm soup, then you can tell me what aches you."

"Thank you…Vashti." Valentine closed his eyes and sighed. He gently wiped at his wet eyes, choking back his pitiful sobs. "Thank you…"

Morgan sighed, then faced the team solemnly. "I researched your family extensively. Everything about them. I never mentioned this, but you could say fate allowed me to have one friend in my years of immortality, even if I couldn't accept the commitment. One of your ancestors, Vashti Ravenfield, was the reason I was able to learn so much about your families. I kept track of the notable ones, then fate led me to meeting Garret."

"Vashti Ravenfield?" Wes asked.

Morgan smiled. "A lovely woman, devout to the cross wheel." He chuckled. "If I recall correctly, after getting to know your father, I realized she was Garret's great grandmother."

Wes and Flint's eyes widened. "No way!"

"It's true. He never met her, obviously, but he heard plenty of stories from his grandparents, which he was more than happy to share with his team." Morgan closed his eyes and sighed. "She was wonderful company. I visited the church everyday for two months until I had to move on. Those two months, they really helped get me out of a dark place at the time. That…That's the troublesome behavior you Ravenfields seem to have."

Flint raised his brow. "What?"

"You hold onto your beliefs like a religion. No matter who opposes them, no matter how they're challenged, you never change your ideals. You adapt them, but they never change. Vashti believed to always extend kindness as a first result, never violence. Hard to believe that woman was trained under Priscilla herself. She may not have been a fighter, but she knew how to end a fight. Just like how your father believed in reaching impossible goals, the types that can never be accomplished. He believed in the journey over the destination. He never thought about how things would end, just how he was getting there."

Morgan paused for a moment, his eyes narrowly sadly. "I have to wonder if he was thinking that when he last spoke with you two and your mother."

Wes and Flint looked at each other sadly. "Guess he didn't want to believe he could have died," Wes mumbled.

"Dad's always been reckless," Flint added quietly.

Morgan nodded. "The Shadow King called your family the enemy of Fate itself. He deemed your entire bloodline the sole enemy to rival the power of destiny and prophecy. He doesn't say this for dramatics. In fact, he declared it when he had to battle a Ravenfield…in the war."

The group went dead silent, staring at the Hypno in disbelief. Flint opened his mouth, his jaw trembling briefly, then asked, "I-I'm sorry, but…our family was in the Grand Imperium War?"

Morgan nodded. "Two, in fact." He clasped his hands under his chin, resting on them. "And when he learned the existence of them, he declared them enemies of Fate."

Ella glared. "But why? What did they do that was so daunting to him?"

"It's not so much what they did, but their very existence that aggravated him." Morgan glared seriously. "The Shadow King fought one of your ancestors when he was still a Pokémon…and he erased him."

Another round of silence around the table with chills running up the brothers' spines as their faces contorted in shock. Their friends also couldn't believe what they were hearing, leaning back in their seats with their jaws hanging open.

Morgan closed his eyes. "When he learned of the existence of a Ravenfield in that war, he didn't want to believe it was a case of similar surnames. No, he knew that one was a true descendant, as hard as it is to believe. The fate he dealt out to your lineage, a desperate attempt to wipe your existence clean, was somehow avoided."

"But…how?" Flint asked.

"The gods?" Gwyn guessed.

"The Life for a Life spell?" Ella guessed.

"He…missed?" Tony asked unsurely.

Morgan shook his head. "None of those. He truly believed the Ravenfield lineage was eradicated."

Wes ran his paws down his face. "This…This is nuts. Why would the Shadow King want to kill, freakin' erase, our lineage? What did our ancestor do to him?"

"You could say it was a difference in ideals." Morgan used his string to flip through the shadow book's pages. "Your linage harbors great ambition to succeed in whatever they set their minds to, especially when it comes to magic. Before the Grand Imperium Age, magic wasn't widely used, even demonized. Those who pursued it…were considered madmen playing God."

The book pages landed on a page, with a black and white illustration on the left page.

"From where it started, there was a point in your history where it was tainted in the same darkness the Shadow King exudes."

Ella picked up the book, squinted at the page Morgan landed on, then gasped. "Wait…that's the Shadow King?"

Wes and Flint looked over her shoulder, then recoiled in horror. "What?!"

Morgan glared. "The legendary hero, Apollo, fought an unknown dark warlock in a seven day battle that ripped apart the fabric of reality. Though told through stories, the truth behind that battle had since been buried with the truth. Your history is linked with that myth, as well as the identity of that warlock. Apollo and that warlock became eternal enemies, the true enemies of Fate."

Wes and Flint fell out of their seats, trembling on the ground. Their eyes, shrunk to the size of pinpricks, stared vacantly at the page. The warlock's name…was all too familiar to the two.

"That…That can't be right," Wes mumbled.

"Our family history…dates back to the Idol of Origin itself," Flint gasped quietly.

"Dad told us that story so many times when we were children. I idolized it so much…"

"But Apollo…and the warlock…"

"Everything about them…"

The team stood up, staring sympathetically at the petrified brothers. Both brothers, who fought to rein in their troubles and fears, now cowering at a book they couldn't bear to believe.

Griffin whipped around and snatched the book off the table, growling at Morgan. "Is this some kind of twisted joke?!"

Morgan looked away. "I only wish it was. Like all realities turned to myth, the truths behind them weren't black and white. Some say we create our own monsters. The Ravenfields…they created their worst enemy, who went mad from the grief of war." He glared solemnly. "Even a good man in legend…can succumb to the harshest of traumas and become the very thing he sought to fight against."

Ella crouched down and hugged the brothers, trying to get them to calm down. "Wes, Flint, whatever you're thinking, this isn't who you are."

"Our family…created the Shadow King…" Wes mumbled.

"Our family…created the greatest tyrant known to Mysto."

Griffin, Gwyn, and Tony looked at each other worriedly, then reopened the book to the very page that frightened them. An illustration of an Infernape and a Honchkrow at battle with each other, the landscape distorted in their clashes.

The Infernape was illustrated holding the Idol of Origin.

Gwyn covered her mouth. "No…"

Tony bit his lip. "Dougal Ravenfield, the dark warlock of destruction."

Griffin, who usually tried to remain stoic, shook fiercely. "The Shadow King…Apollo's shadow."

The Grand World Tree, usually surrounded by villagers or tourists admiring its towering size, became deserted at the sound of gunfire. Villagers ran screaming back into their homes, and any that tried to interfere were swiftly knocked out.

Waves of sand rushed across the ground and knocked everyone away, then circled around the perimeter of the tree. Tall walls erected and surrounded the tree, leaving a wide corridor for the invaders to proceed on through undisturbed.

The Desert Beasts.

Arid led his crew down the sand corridor, ignoring the hapless screams on the other side of the sand walls. "Ambrosine, this is the right place?"

Ambrosine pulled out the book. "It should be. The Shadow King's tomb was documented to be hidden under the Grand World Tree. There, everything about this war and the Shadow King's hatred of the Ravenfields should be down there."

Arid glared. "Then we haven't a second to waste."

"Indeed," Graham agreed. "With the keys in our possession, it won't be long until the shadows track us down." He looked over his shoulder worriedly. "Every second we're here, the closer they might be. They might even know where we are."

Arid looked at the cursed mark on his gauntlet. "I hope he can't track us through the shadows he manifested."

Jones sighed. "Even then, we won't get far. The damages to the Wasteland are far too extensive to patch up. We won't have a way to escape if we're found."

"There better be something worthwhile down there," Banama grumbled. Lyra nodded in agreement, scratching her arm that was still held in a sling.

They stopped in front of the tree and gazed up its massive size. They felt like Joltiks being sized up by a foreboding Ursaring. Though, now enemies to the shadows, the feeling was numb to them.

Arid crouched down and pressed his palm against the ground. His gauntlet glowed as sand particles danced around him. The crew kept surveying the sand corridor for anyone trying to bust through, but it seems they were safe for the time being.

Drake kept hold of his sheathed katana. "Anything, Captain?"

Arid kept silent for a moment, sensing through the ground, until he detected something. "There's a passageway to the tree." He stood up. "That must be the stairway to the tomb."

Jeffery perched on Arid's shoulder. "Excellent work, Captain! But, uh, how do we get in?"

Arid snapped his fingers. "Malcolm, Rico, unload the box."

Rico and Malcolm dropped a small box down and pried the lid open. The purple, explosive minerals they held onto for a long while. Arid raised his hand and clenched it tightly. The minerals rose in the air and crumbled into sand, then floated towards his gauntlet.

"It's the last of our supply, but it should get us through with a little boost." Arid closed his eyes and focused on the explosive sand. The cursed mark on his gauntlet shined. Darkness surrounded the explosive sand and coated it with black flames. He condensed the corrupted sand into a ball.

"Are you okay, Captain?" Cheshire asked.

"I'm fine," Arid grunted as sweat dripped down his forehead. "You all might want to step back. I don't know how strong this might be."

Leigh and Indigo motioned everyone to get back while Arid approached where the tomb door was hidden. He took a deep breath, then raised the explosive ball over his head.

"Time to put this mystery to an end!"