𝕬𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 16 - The Big Reveal
Red's mouth was agape as he stared up at the stage.
An ancient progenitor to humans and pokémon alike? Not a product of myth and fantasy, but through proven experimentation and research? That was what this event was about?
He spied Cyntha's deathly still frame out of the corner of his eye, utterly enraptured by the old man's words on stage. It was understandable, really. Most people tended to be intimidated and awed when in the Professor of Kanto's presence.
"MU, or as we affectionately call them, Mew cells," Oak intoned. "The legacy of the ultimate shapeshifter to have existed in history. It is a creature so versatile that even after millennia of dormancy, it retains the ability to not only morph into any cell, but remain in that state perpetually. It can live on as a machoke for the next seventy years, then shift into an umbreon for the next fifty, and then live on as an onix for another couple of centuries, with no one the wiser. This Mew can intensify or reverse growth at will, becoming a fully-grown apex predator like dragonite with as much ease as a newborn abra."
Red reflexively gulped at that. Even the greatest ditto would be hard-pressed to perform such feats. Transforming into other pokémon? Sure. But maintaining it for centuries seamlessly, as easily as if it actually were all of those pokémon?
That was something else entirely.
"I have never been one to be swayed by superstition, but this is exactly the sort of being that should be classified as," he paused dramatically, his voice lowering to a whisper, "a God." His smile returned full-force. "And that is what we wish to recreate. Tonight, with the eyes of the whole world upon us, we will create a God. And after tonight, the world will never be the same."
Thunderous applause reverberated across the entire hall.
"Every God has a name. The Sevii up north worship the King of Ice, Articuno. The natives of Hoenn worship the World Eater. In Johto, they speak of the Celestic Rainbow in reverent tones. Quite naturally, this God should have a name to call its own." He mock-frowned. "Somehow, calling it The Nameless One doesn't quite fit."
Several chuckles broke out among the audience.
"But there is an important distinction to be made. This is not a God born of myth, but of science. And science has always been the antithesis of faith. By definition, it is the attempt to find physical proof for that which is unknown or not yet defined, to reject superstition in favor of observation. When science offers an answer, it is universal. We do not go to war over it; we rally around it."
He walked up towards the audience until he was standing on the precipice of the podium. And yet, it was clearly the audience who was at the edge of their seats.
"We named the cells Mew after the ancient alchemical word for fluid," Oak revealed. "I believe it's fitting we call this new creature Mew-two!"
Delia Ketchum stepped into the Wildflower Lodge which, given the time and occasion, was practically deserted. A good thing, in her opinion. Less fat cats she felt compelled to smile at.
A small frown comfortably on her lips, she scurried past the lounge area. With the wall-length TV on one side and overly expensive couches on the other, the place reeked of wealth and planet-sized egos. She'd been living in one of the Lodge's condominiums on the third floor for the past week, and despite the world-class comforts, she couldn't wait to get back to Pallet Town.
This was too much like a gilded cage.
Hopefully, the event would end without much fuss and she'd quickly find herself back in her simple, spacious ranch-style home.
Yeah, and maybe I'll win a paid vacation to Slateport Beach while I'm at it, she thought glibly.
"Miss Ketchum," the receptionist welcomed her with a trademark smile plastered across her face. Delia's frown nearly morphed into a full-blown scowl at the sight of her. The thirty-something-year-old cradle robber pulled off the ditzy-blonde impression fairly well, and never let up on an opportunity to flirt with Red.
"Can I help you with something?" Ditzy-blond offered.
Delia tightly shook her head. "Just returning to my room. I—" she paused, realizing she'd forgotten something crucial. "Actually, I do need your help. Professor Oak asked me to grab something from his room as well, but forgot to give me his key card. Can you give me a spare?"
The woman hesitated.
"Well?"
"I— I'm afraid our security protocols don't allow that. After all, Professor Oak is a venerated guest at—"
"And I am his representative in official circles. I really don't want to disturb the Samuel Oak over such a trivial matter when he is in the middle of such an important event, especially when some of the most powerful people in the world are eagerly in attendance." Delia shrugged. "But of course, protocols are protocols. I suppose I'll just make a phone call to him and explain how you aren't able to—"
"Oh, no. That won't—" Ditzy-blonde scrambled off of her chair, "that won't be necessary. I understand the situation. Please wait a moment, and I will get you a spare key card."
Delia smirked victoriously. "Thank you."
Ten seconds later, Delia snatched the key card from her frail hands and stepped into one of the elevators. With a soft ding, the contraption began sliding upward, and with it, her heart rate.
"I fear everyone here might be in grave danger."
Samuel's words played themselves over and over in her mind. Pursing her lips, Delia traced the outline of Kaz's pokéball from the outside of her purse. The Champion declared the event to be a pokémon-free zone to prevent any unfortunate incidents.
But if something sinister befell them, they'd be sitting ducks.
Not that Lance Wataru's dragonite-sized ego would ever allow him to acknowledge the possibility.
Delia had met the man once, which was one too many times. Kanto needed a strong, disciplined ruler to carry it forward, not a cape-crazed buffoon who thought he was a superhero or something.
And Red's there right now. In the thick of it.
Her heart began to beat faster. In the past six months, she'd come close to losing her son twice. No matter how much Samuel tried to pacify her, or how much Red downplayed the events, Delia knew better. Her son had the worst kind of luck imaginable when it came to getting into hairy situations.
Being carefree wasn't wrong— if you were as strong as Samuel Oak. But Red, her baby boy, was far from it. He'd been a trainer for less than a year. And yet, Samuel Oak— the ultimate man-child —only enabled her son's gallivanting attitude.
It was enough to drive her crazy.
With another soft ding, the elevator stopped, and Delia walked out towards the professor's room. Quickly gaining access with the spare key card, she made her way inside. Orca's pokéball was to the left, which she quickly dropped into her purse. And now that she was done—
Delia paused.
There was a second Ultra Ball in the room.
Strange. I didn't think Samuel brought anyone else with him.
Curious, Delia picked up the other ball and turned it over.
Coeus? But I thought…
She regarded the ball again.
It was empty. For whatever reason, Samuel had brought Coeus to Pewter with him, and then allowed him to stay out. Then where was he? What exactly did Samuel fear would happen at the event to bring Coeus of all pokémon here?
She considered the empty pokéball.
Still…
Sighing, Delia came to a decision.
Mewtwo.
A fitting name for a God, a titan among pokémon. Red didn't know why, but something about the MU-cells seemed to resonate with him. It was as if there was something right in front of him that he should have known, should have understood, yet it was hidden behind a fog of incomprehensibility. That, coupled with the strange discomfort ever since entering the museum made him feel doubly ill.
"You alright?" Cynthia asked.
"Peachy," he lied, nonchalantly cracking his neck. There was no way he'd do anything to jeopardize his attendance of this event, especially not after finding out what it was all about.
Did Mom know about all this?
He thought about it for a second.
Of course she did.
But that begged a different question, one far more disturbing than anything he'd contemplated thus far.
Just what does the old man fear happening enough to send Mom away like that?
From the normally chipper professor's tone, mannerisms, and even the exact words he used, it was clear everyone there may be in grave danger. But he had no clue as to what it was. Not for the first time, he wished he had his team with him, for comfort if nothing else. Mawile with her antics, Skarmory's power, Scyther's reliable speed, and Mia—
His thoughts screeched to a halt as the professor continued.
"I must admit," the old man declared, "I've had reservations about tonight's announcement, particularly about how it may affect people of faith." He paused. "In fact, I still hold some reservations about performing this act— this resurrection, here on an international stage. But our Champion Lance Wataru," he nodded towards someone in the audience, "has helped me understand that everyone who has contributed to this grand work in some capacity has the right to witness it for themselves."
Red readily applauded, impressed at how deftly the old man walked a thin line. Not only had he shifted any possible blame from Parthenon onto Lance's head, but he also painted a picture of open-mindedness, trust, and impartiality on his own part.
He began to wonder whether the whole presentation was a research conclave or an PR stunt for the Parthenon.
"I also understand that people of more varying faiths and beliefs may react to today's demonstration with profound surprise, concern, and even anger or disgust. As the spokesperson and host of this event, I would like to take a moment to address them directly tonight, and thank them for not attempting to interfere with this presentation."
Red barked out a laugh, eliciting a sharp hiss from his companion. Not that he cared.
Shocking the world with a startling discovery, shoving responsibility for mishaps onto a different party, insulting any possible opposition with praise, and doing all of this within the first few minutes while being the focus of attention.
Subtle strong plays like this were not known to be Samuel Oak's forte. It was not surprising how several audience members stared at the professor like he'd grown a second head.
Bad at bureaucratic politics, my ass.
Red grinned. One didn't get as many grey hairs as the Professor without learning to navigate treacherous waters, after all.
"Historically," Oak went on, "irrational fear and fervor has always suppressed scientific progress. But tonight, I implore everyone to exercise rationality and restraint to what we are trying to achieve. Kanto has had a brutal history. Let us not repeat the mistakes of the past."
And that, Red realized, was seeing the Boogeyman in action. As far as declarations went, it was as subtle as a sledgehammer. And judging from the absolute silence in the room, the impact was just as devastating.
It wasn't a threat, but a humiliating reminder. One that hinted at the barest possibility of what was hidden away within the folds of the man's history should things be pushed too far.
"But enough about differing opinions," Oak chuckled. "Let us not shame this night by speaking only about our differences. Tonight is about unity, about our collective progress. And what could be greater progress than man's creation of God?"
The room trembled violently with applause. And as Red stood up and clapped along with them, one thing became painstakingly clear.
Professor Oak had just set the stage for the most glorious political showdown in the world.
Summon Kaz to Pewter.
Get Arcanine's pokéball, and her own team too.
Collect Red's team from the Pewter City Ranch.
Those were Samuel's instructions. In that order.
Simple, concise, and easy to perform. Yet Delia couldn't help but feel something was missing. The tasks were hardly onerous, and he could have asked anyone from the Parthenon staff to get the job done. Instead, he had specifically sent her.
Probably because Red is in the museum, while I'm now not.
But why had Samuel wanted her to leave the museum premises on this night of all nights? What was that— that beast sitting in Oak's room alongside Arcanine's pokéball? Just what did he think she'd be able to do outside that none of the other staff members, or the League for that matter, would be unable to? What did Samuel Oak know that he wasn't telling her?
So many questions, yet no answers.
It drove her mad.
She quietly plucked Mr. Mime's pokéball from the rack where she'd left it. Of her original team, only Mr. Mime, Kaz, and Drapion were with her after all these years. Rapidash had perished to a nasty bout of pox, while Noctowl grew old and passed away after completing its second decade. These days, Drapion was a full-time assistant on Oak's ranch helping keep peace among the rowdier elements while Mr. Mime took to the part of a house-maid like a fish to water.
And to think they were once Elite-tier pokémon.
Relief flooded her bones. Between Mr. Mime and Arcanine, Delia was certain she could handle any kind of situation. The elephantine dog wasn't as cozy with her as he was with her son, but she was certain he'd obey her commands if it came to it. Even if Arcanine proved difficult, Mr. Mime and Kaz could still take over.
There is a psychic ward all around town, the old man had revealed. Nothing can teleport while inside.
Then mental tricks would have to do. And psychic force. And all of Mr. Mime's gimmicks. Either way, she would definitely be better off than her son's miserable excuse of a team.
Truth be told, she was not comfortable with Red's team. It was an unstable mixture that could explode with the slightest push in the wrong direction. Regardless of how hard she saw him and his team work, she knew in her heart that his team was dangerous.
The experimental hybrid growlithe was dangerous.
The human-killer scyther was dangerous.
Mia was dangerous.
Skarmory was the only decent one of the lot, plus the dratini that Samuel now gave him. The mawile was cute, but not really starter material. And the less said about the shellder, the better. What was going on in her son's mind when he decided to keep it?
Thoughts about her son reminded her of the blonde hanging on his arm for the night.
Cynthia Shirona.
Delia had seen her type before— compulsive obsession over the object of her interest. Delia had taken the time to go through the girl's CET scores in the bi-annual Parthenon entrance tests. Out of seven appearances, Cynthia consistently displayed poor performance, and so she wrote her off as an incompetent wannabe researcher relying on family connections rather than genuine talent.
Then she came across the girl's Trainer Rankings.
And learned that Cynthia was a genius.
She was an instinctive battler, with one of the best scores the Sinnoh League had ever seen. Her father was a budding Elite Four member, and her grandmother hailed from the legendary Blackthorne clan. And the cherry on top was her grandfather, Atsushi Shirona, a respected contemporary of Samuel Oak whose findings had led to the success of the Galar expedition.
In hindsight, Cynthia didn't deserve the cold shoulder she'd been giving her. And she wouldn't have, if the girl had been just a little less… obsessive about it. Honestly, why such a talented trainer was choosing to throw away her chance at glory for a glorified desk job was beyond her. It was possibly the stupidest thing she'd seen, right up there with Red and his—
Delia reeled back as the irony of the situation hit her.
A girl capable of achieving greatness in competitive battling who was throwing it away to become a researcher. A boy promised the life of a successful scientist who was throwing it away to chase after the allure of a pokémon trainer.
And she'd left the two teens together.
"I hope the museum survives the night."
In her musings, Delia didn't notice how the shadows in the corridor shifted slightly in her direction.
A low, creeping fog rolled in from all sides as the lights overhead faintly illuminated the audience below. Suddenly, a spotlight blazed to life and swung dramatically to the back of the hall, and within moments, nearly all the guests craned their necks backwards in anticipation of seeing something spectacular.
Again, the spotlight swung back to the stage.
The audience turned with it.
And there, beside Professor Oak, was now a pod of some sort.
The massive incubator, oddly reminiscent of a human ribcage, only golden metallic ribs rather than bone, had a central core with strange spinning spheres and gears and levers. The multitude of pieces connected the golden ribs with one another like a galvantula's web, linking the entire pod to the floor by dozens of tubes rising from the bottom of the stage. And inside the pod was—
Drag–thump!
Drag–thump!
Drag—
"What a strange noise," Red murmured. "You think it's coming from inside?"
"Hm? What noise?"
Drag–thump!
Drag—
"That one! Don't tell me you can't hear it."
Cynthia frowned. "Red, quit joking around. There is no noise."
"But—"
Drag–thump!
"—I can—"
Drag—
"—Hear—"
—Thump!
"…Never mind. I think my ears are just—"
Drag–thump!
"…Ringing."
"Probably," she trailed, continuing to stare at him with obvious concern. "Are you sure you're fine? You do look a bit peaky."
"No, I'm perfectly—"
Drag–thump!
"—Fine!"
He was not fine.
What the hell was going on?
Just then, Professor Oak cleared his throat from onstage. "Let me share with you all a small nugget of wisdom about the resurrection technology we share with Devon Corporation. Resurrection requires a base medium upon which the fossilized DNA is transplanted to recreate a 3D biological image of the fossil. More often than not, this base medium is a Rock or Steel-type, for various technical reasons I won't bore you with. But what could possibly serve as the base medium for a shapeshifter that could turn into… well, anything? The question puzzled us for the better part of a year, until we came up with an ingenious solution."
The screen behind him flickered with the image of a bipedal humanoid pokémon, one with a large triangular head, spindly mustaches, and a bulbous tail protruding out from behind. It was a pokémon Red was all too familiar with.
"An alakazam is the best documented pokémon to communicate in human speech, albeit telepathically," Oak described. "With the mental prowess of an alakazam and the shapeshifter's ability to morph into other types, we are hoping this creature will be defined by a well-evolved and distinguished mindset, capable of rationality, deduction, and logic— all concepts that make us human. We hope to create a being that will interact with us regularly, allowing us to learn from it while ensuring it will learn from us. This symbiosis will bring us closer to true understanding of the entanglement between humans and pokémon. While the resurrection process is underway, I will be down there with all of you. Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy the party."
The applause rang so loudly that Red could feel the floor vibrating underneath his feet. Yet, despite that—
Drag—
The strange noise kept ringing in his ears.
—Thump!
Without stopping.
Parties were uncomfortable.
Red was never the social butterfly— that was all Gary. When the hall was filled with important celebrities, rich investors, and VVIPs, being a part of that large crowd was difficult, mostly because he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.
As an impressionable lad hailing from a rural town, he knew parties could be fun. Getting his hands on drinks was an option, but Red didn't like being drunk, and something told him being inebriated wouldn't make him any more charming than he already was. More amusing, perhaps, but not in a good way. There were people to talk to and girls to flirt with, but once you set all that aside, it was ultimately about people wanting to talk to the great Professor Oak. As a pseudo-grandson to the man, people would go on about how he had big shoes to fill one day while asking about his future at Parthenon. After curt answers, awkward pauses, and multiple guests excusing themselves from the conversation, he'd start to wonder why he was there to begin with.
So… yeah. Parties were uncomfortable.
Feeling a warm arm entwine around his own, Red looked up at Cynthia's beaming face. "Let's go join them!"
"Um, I don't think—"
"Red!" Professor Oak exclaimed, striding towards him with open arms. "Why are you skulking around in the corner of the room? And with a beautiful young lady to boot!" Cynthia blushed at the praise. "Come, there are people you simply must meet."
Red found himself being dragged across the floor by his arm, Cynthia in tow, as the professor marched them towards the very first crowd that intercepted their path. He gulped as he realized just who the members of said crowd actually were.
Sabrina, who had gone office-casual in laconic defiance of the entire corporate trend, perked up in recognition, causing the others to take note of their presence. The brown-haired man on her right was dressed in an impeccable formal maroon suit and tie, and looked like someone who would fit right at the center of a business meeting. His dark eyes seemed to capture everything going on in the hall with crystal clarity.
This was a man to steer clear of. Standing before him, simply meeting his gaze made Red feel like he was matching eyes with a predator.
"Red, meet Lionel Giovanni, the Viridian City Gym Leader. Not that he needs any introduction, but he has been very interested in meeting you since the… incident in Viridian Forest."
Of course he would be. Lionel Giovanni was Kanto's Iron Fist. The man's tunnel vision and utter apathy for criminals was well-documented. And if rumors were to be believed, he treated challengers to his gym with the same prejudice reserved for criminals.
Then again, if all you have is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail.
"I heard about your escape from Team Rocket. Dealing with an Executive at your age is… simply splendid," the man congratulated in a baritone voice. "We need more people like you in the League. I spoke with the Ranger Squads, and Kanto would be lucky to have you serving as an Ace."
Red just stared at the man, mouth agape.
"What's this event you're talking about?" asked the woman on the far left. Red immediately recognized the woman dressed in a tight blue body-con as Lorelei of the Elite Four— former High Priestess and Coven Mother of the Sevii Archipelago, and an absolute nightmare to face on the battlefield.
And she owned a cloyster. A natural one at that.
If he were honest with himself, it was the insane desire of having a cloyster of his own that motivated him to keep Shellder back in Viridian. He knew it was an utterly stupid ambition to have, but perhaps Shellder would still listen to him after his evolution?
Miracles happened. Or so he liked to think.
"The Viridian Forest fire," Giovanni explained as Lorelei gave Red a quick once-over. "This is the kid who got into trouble with a Team Rocket Executive."
"An Executive," Lorelei arched an eyebrow, her lilac hair bringing out the color in her eyes as she stared at him through thin, rimless glasses. Red had the oddest feeling of being x-rayed, like all of his secrets were hers to peruse through at her own leisure. "I suppose you knew what you were doing when you made him your protégé, Professor."
Oak violently coughed.
"Protégé?" came a booming, familiar voice from behind him. Red didn't even need to turn around to identify the newcomer. It was the voice of the person every child in Kanto and Johto dreamed about. The clear, ardent tone of voice could only belong to one person in the entire world.
The Dragon Master and current Kanto-Johto Champion.
"Lance," Oak welcomed.
Following his cue, Red turned around, taking note of the way Cynthia suddenly stiffened by his side.
"This must be the famous Red Ketchum," Lance drawled, looking him up and down. "Aren't you?"
Lance was of average height and a slightly heavy build, with broad shoulders and a deep chest. His skin was lightly tanned, with neatly brushed black hair and a stylish grey-and-silver suit making him a center of attention no matter where he went. Oddly enough, the characteristic cape he always had on was missing.
"Um, you know my name?"
Lance laughed exuberantly. "Of course! It's hard not to notice when the good professor here makes waves in the bureaucracy to ease League protocols for a certain someone."
Red glanced towards the old man's slightly strained smile, but said nothing.
"Brock also had many good things to say about you. You impressed the hell out of him."
"I did?"
Lance laughed again, a bit too loud for it to be wholly genuine, as he patted Red on the back. "Don't be so humble, boy. One must always be willing to acknowledge their deeds in public. 'Humblebrags', my father called it. And—" His eyes met Cynthia's. "Oh my, forgive me. Not acknowledging a beautiful lady in public is the height of rudeness." He offered his hand to her. "May I know your name?"
"Cynthia," she replied, her tone frosty. "Cynthia Blackthorne."
And just like that, it felt as if the temperature dropped to sub-zero levels. The tension could have been cut with a knife.
"Are you now?" Lance demanded.
"A Blackthorne?" Lorelei inquired, her eyes widened. "A genuine Blackthorne?"
"From my grandmother's side, through my father," Cynthia answered, her eyes never leaving Lance. "These days, I go by my grandfather's surname. Shirona."
"I… was not aware of that," Oak chimed in, looking at her with surprise. He turned towards Lorelei. "Her grandfather was a contemporary and a dear friend of mine. I had heard she was a prodigy, but—"
"Well, if she's a Blackthorne…" Lorelei trailed off.
Red glanced from one face to the next, more than a little confused but also unwilling to ask out loud and be outed as an ignorant kid. Lance treating him like one hadn't helped matters any. Just what was it about a Blackthorne that had changed Cynthia from the girl on his arm to the most interesting person in the room?
"What is this Blackthorne business?" Giovanni cut in.
Red mentally thanked him.
"The Blackthorne were the original owners of Johto, or as they used to call it, Joh'tland," Oak replied, seamlessly shifting into the role of a teacher. "They were masters of Aura manipulation and control, and generalists at that. In scientific terms, their APR would be within the top one percent of the population."
Several people gasped at the proclamation.
Red knew the term— Aura Production Rate. It was the capacity of a creature, human or pokémon, to produce Aura within their bodies. What this 'Aura' actually did was a lot of technical stuff that Red neither understood nor appreciated, but statistics showed that the top one percent of the trainer population meant incredibly high APR values.
A high APR value often translated into success as a trainer. The why and how was unclear, but if what Oak was saying was true, then Cynthia Blackthorne was a figurative monster in human clothing.
Said monster had an iron grip on his elbow.
He sighed. Somehow, he just knew this discussion would only lead to trouble.
Why is it always me who attracts the crazies?
Oak continued his explanation. "The Blackthornes were a clan of Elite-tier trainers. After the Great War with Rota, they were forced to leave—"
"Driven out," Cynthia hissed.
"Driven out of Johto by," Oak hesitated, "the Wataru."
"Barbarians from northern Hoenn joined hands with Rota and attacked us when we were at our weakest." Cynthia was all but glaring at the Champion, much to Red's dismay and amusement. "When the war was over, they took our home and kingdom away from us."
Oak coughed again.
Lance placidly smiled.
Red couldn't blame the girl for her fury. Blackthorne City was literally called the City of Dragons, and was registered as a Wataru settlement to this day. Even the city's Gym Leader, Claire, was a Wataru herself, and Lance's cousin to boot. But if it originally belonged to the Blackthornes…
Ouch.
"You seem to harbor a lot of resentment for something that happened before either of us were born," the Champion observed, eyeing Cynthia like she was a nuisance. "But you're not wrong. What happened to the Blackthornes was a terrible affair. I deeply regret it."
"I'm sure my dead ancestors are very grateful for your regret."
Silence fell upon the little crowd like a thunderclap. Every single face— from the stoic Giovanni to the easygoing Lorelei —jerked at the statement and stared at her with disbelief. There was a fine line between audacity and idiocy, and Cynthia just barrel-rolled through it as if it didn't even exist.
"Well," Oak broke the silence, a polite, apologetic smile on his face, "I need to mingle with other guests. Red," he gave him a knowing stare, "I believe you still need to find someone."
Red blinked at that. Amidst the surprises unveiled that night, he completely forgot about that bit.
"Excuse us," he half-chuckled, "I need to find someone—"
"Oh, you're excused," Lance replied airily, smiling at Cynthia, who glared back at him. Jerking on her arm, Red broke her out of her disdainful gaze. With a contained yelp, Cynthia quickly followed him across the floor.
"But Red—" Cynthia tried, to no avail.
Red pressed on, eager to find this 'Dr. Fuji' and speak with him, as his mentor instructed. But more than that, he wanted to get the hell away from the Champion and the awkwardness of what just happened.
Just great.
In a single minute, they'd somehow spurned one of the most powerful people in their region.
And the strange pit in his stomach only served to assure him that the night was far from over.
The worst was yet to come.
Ding!
Ding!
Ding!
Delia scowled as she jabbed at the elevator keys, but the stupid contraption simply would not open. The last thing she needed at this hour was basic technology breaking down on her— she certainly didn't want to climb down five floors to reach the basement either.
Ding!
"Just work already, you stupid—"
Ding!
It did not.
Repressing the urge to kick the elevator, Delia sighed and took off her high heels. Walking down five floors would be a nightmare, but she couldn't just stay here and do nothing. She turned past the main corridor and towards the entrance to the staircase, which winded downwards in an immense spiral, making the descent appear more than a little intimidating. For an acrophobe like herself, it was like descending to hell.
Not for the first time, she cursed the anti-psychic measures the League took. Teleporting would've been so much better.
Don't worry. You've dealt with far worse before.
"Yeah, that's right! It's no big—"
The lights went off.
"…Deal."
She could hear something scuttle in the shadows.
Breathe, Delia. You've been here for a month. You know this place inside out.
She took a step forward.
There is nothing to fear.
And then another.
Nothing to fear.
She gripped her purse tightly as something scuttled in the darkness again, but continued to slowly descend the staircase, warily studying her surroundings as best as she could.
Thirteenth step.
Fourteenth step.
Fifteenth step.
Suddenly, the lights flashed. The power was back on.
Delia let out a sigh of relief, feeling the constant throbs of her heart slow down. Eight years as an explorer and sixteen more as a researcher, and here she was being spooked by a power outage.
Quit being so paranoid, she chided herself. No one is out to get—
She looked down at the floor.
More specifically, at her own shadow.
It had shrunken, as if constricting itself to a minimal surface area. That in itself was odd, seeing as how there was no light overhead. By all logic, it should have lengthened, not—
A pair of malicious purple eyes peered up at her.
The lights went off once more.
And Delia Ketchum screamed.
Editor: Solo Starfish, the best goddamn starfish the world has ever seen.
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𝒫𝒶𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑜𝓃𝓈 can read up to 4 chapters ahead of the current release.
Thanks once again, and we hope you continue to enjoy our stories.
~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~