Chapter Twenty: The Ruin of Goldenrod City

There was a darkness that coursed like lament. Through it, a kind of poisoned starlight speckled, like glitter nearly drowned in oil, reaching for the sun. And fog, and cloud, and smoke, and lightning played their parts in turn. The choreography of some macabre ballet - dancing out its misery, proud to have replaced the sky - did dance. And it would dance forever.

Ash fell soft as snow, with all the patience of a thing that knew it would not end. The air stood still as frightened hostages. The ground seized up, as mud recalled the way it had been burnt.

This place, it was not simply broken, it was wounded. And it remembered - Crimson felt it remember.

Pulling himself up, his hands digging through damp decay, the young man tried to wipe his eyes; powdered fallout had covered his face, but sodden fingers only stained them further. He spat and struggled, flailed, pulled up his shirt and desperately tried to clean.

In time, Crimson found his way to his feat, and to his vision. But what he saw was only an extension of the darkness which had first eclipsed his sight - the darkness that coursed like lament

Crimson recalled his mother saying 'There is a place where evil goes to die. A place more evil than even those damned to it.' He could not help but wonder…

…if he had been damned.

All around him towers stood, charred and skeletal, like winter trees, hanging and reaching with monstrous fingers. The half present spectres of infrastructure, lamposts, roadsigns, roads, clung onto life, ever pulled towards the ethereal. This had either been a city once, or it was a city now, and either the damned had destroyed it or they had built it.

His muddy mind attempted to recall. He drew Drex Dreagle, Puck Yaga, Brellia and Sage from the swamp of his consciousness. He steadied the image of the Gnarl Estate and began to stagger forward. Searching for his memories, Crimson found himself amongst the desolation.

But even after he recalled who he was and what had happened - all he found was desolation.

The Clefairy had cast The Metronome, and then… he was here.

Alone.

So where was he?

Alone.

So when was-

Crimson let the word slip from his lips - "Alone."

Taking a moment to accept the circumstances, trying to return to reality, Crimson began to walk. The ash continued to fall upon him, but he did not stop. Covering his gaze, he began to survey. It was a city, or it had been once.

This was a ruin - a ruin that had not stopped being ruined.

From the little he knew he made a guess: this was Johto Province.

Crimson continued to walk. He paced through what seemed to have been a main street, flanked by the remnants of tower blocks. His mind drew back to what he'd seen of Cerulean City, riding atop Brellia - the shimmering skyscrapers and bustling traffic. This place had probably been like that - or even bigger.

His every step crunched against the tarnished ground. The ash continued to fall. His lungs struggled. But he was on a road; he could still recognise the shape of storefronts; he could see the carcases of cars and the distant shape of a bridge. He was somewhere… somewhere with lines to follow.

So he followed.

Step by step, Crimson coughed and fumbled his way forward. What else could he do?

"Hello?" he eventually heaved.

"Hello?!"

His voice vanished before the swirling wreck before him.

"HELLO?!"

Something cracked and collapsed in the distance.

He flinched, but it did not seem to have anything to do with him.

In time he fell back to his knees, returning to the hope that this was all a dream. But he did not wake.

As the ash piled upon him, and the ground sank beneath him, and the air scratched at his throat, Crimson gave into despair. The swirling darkness above, pricked with poison starlight and gashed with vicious lightning, loomed. Perhaps he had been betrayed. Perhaps he had been discarded. Perhaps all of this had been a dream, and now it was the turn of nightmare.

Then a new voice called. "Hello?"

Crimson felt the tears run down his cheeks, turning to mud as they reached the ash on his face. He heard nothing but his pain.

"Hello?!" called the voice a second time.

Crimson pulled his face up, squinting through the merk. Perhaps someone was out there. "Hello?" he called back.

A figure began to appear in the distance. "What are you doing out here?!" it shouted.

Crimson slowly pulled himself up and tried to wipe himself down. "I… Who are you?!"

A stranger approached. They held one hand above their head and somehow the ash fell upon an invisible barrier, as if they held a pane of glass. They had the vague shape of a human, but were bent and squat, formed from sharp angles and thin limbs. From their head what looked like two horns protruded.

As they got closer, Crimson noticed they were wearing heavy black gloves and boots, perhaps military grade. Their coat was busted and covered in patches, but still held the shape of federal uniform. They had dark tinted goggles strapped across their eyes and a scarf pulled up over their mouth.

Crimson's instincts told him to run.

He didn't.

He froze.

"You shouldn't be out here!" shouted the figure. "The ash is poison!"

Crimson said nothing and did nothing as the figure came within a few feet. Overcome with shock, Crimson could process only two facts: the stranger's protective barrier was now keeping the ash off of him, and the stranger was a Pokemon.

"Come with me," the stranger said, grabbing Crimson by the arm. "You will die out here." Crimson didn't resist as the stranger led him away.

The march through the desolated, toxic streets went by as a blur. Tugged by the stranger - a squat and jagged waddling creature, shorter than him, but strong - Crimson made no objection and felt himself dissociate.

They pushed forward with aggressive purpose, turning corner after corner, seeing no one, surrounded by the nightmare of this crumbling ruin. In time, the stranger brought Crimson to the charcoal remains of a small building, pulled him through the wreckage and down a set of stairs. The stranger opened a heavy door, pushed Crimson through, closed it, and then turned on the light.

Crimson was stood inside some kind of underground shelter. Canned food and books lined the walls, a small bed sat in the corner, maps and other documents were pinned to brick and strewn across the floor. It was damp and cold and desperate, but it was habitable - it was surviving.

The stranger pulled a chair from the desk that sat opposite the bed, gestured for Crimson to sit, and then walked to the bed. They pulled a bottle of liquor from under the bed and then sat on it. Removing their goggles and bringing down their scarf, the stranger took a drink, and showed Crimson the truth of their being.

Their face was pale, with two pink spots highlighting their cheeks. They did indeed have a pair of horns, black as night, and wide inhuman eyes lacking any iris. Taking them in, Crimson noticed the size of their hands in regard to their arms, the spherical lumps of their torso, the strange energy that emanated from their presence. It was a Mr. Mime.

Crimson's childhood teacher had been a Mr. Mime, before they disappeared and were replaced.

The Mr. Mime took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Crimson. Crimson did not react. "Take it," the stranger insisted. "It will calm your nerves."

Crimson took the bottle and drank. It made him think of Oak. He felt the urge to hand the bottle back, but instead took another drink.

The stranger gave a small chuckle. "Pace yourself. I've plenty." They reached out their hand and Crimson returned the bottle. "What are you doing out here?"

Watching as the Mr. Mime took another drink, Crimson wasn't sure how to respond. For the second time since he had woken up, he began to feel like he must be dreaming.

The stranger snapped their fingers in front of his face. "Ey! Stay with me. Start with your name."

Crimson blinked. "My name is… I'm Crimson."

The stranger nodded. "I am Opal Yule. What happened, Crimson? What do you remember?"

Crimson put his head in his hands, trying not to panic. "I… I was with a… a friend, or an associate… I was with… Their name was - is Drex Dreagle, he pulled me out of a fight. They came, The Ghosts came, I came with someone else, but he pulled me out. We ended up… we were saved or we got refuge in Mt Moon, by the Clefairy. Captain Puck Yaga, she helped us." Crimson lifted his head, barely able to hold himself together.

Opal Yule cocked a small smile. "That old hag is still alive?"

Crimson stammered. "I… I guess… Yes."

"She always said, her power is patience."

Crimson didn't know how to respond. All he could do was stare blankly at Opal.

"Let me guess. She cast the metronome."

"They… They did cast the metronome."

Opal Yule nodded, taking another swig from the bottle. He handed it back to Crimson, before taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one. After taking a long drag, Opal Yule exhaled with a smile. "There is magic in this world, and it is old, and it is strange, and it is unpredictable. The metronome, it has a certain personality to it, a certain… ironic will. If it sent you here, it did so for a reason."

Crimson took another drink, desperate and afraid. "Where am I?"

"Goldenrod City, Johto Province."

Crimson drank again. "Oak said-"

"Oak?" Opal Yule leaned forward. "Professor Oak?

"Oak really used to be a professor?"

The Pokemon nodded slowly, his expression guarded. Opal reached for the bottle and took it back, placing it on the floor, and taking another drag. "What did Oak say?"

Crimson hesitated, but could not hold his words. "He said… He told us what happened to Johto Province."

"And what happened to Johto Province?"

"It was destroyed."

Opal smirked, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. "If it had been destroyed, you would not be here." He pulled out a second cigarette and lit it. "How do you know Oak?"

"He lived on the same Estate as me, the Gnarl Estate."

Opal Yule nodded again, offering Crimson the bottle. "And you planned to come to Johto?"

Crimson drank. "There was a group of us."

"A group?"

"Another human, Sage. And a Charizard, and Alakazam."

"Alakazam?"

"I shouldn't be saying all this."

"But you are."

It was only then that Crimson noticed the soft pink light glimmering around Opal Yule's eyes, the strange shimmer in the air that surrounded his hands. The Pokemon was making him talk.

Crimson tried to stand up but came crashing back down. His head had collided with an invisible ceiling just above him. Dazed from the blow, his eyes tried to focus. He watched Opal Yule's hand twist, flashing pink, as Crimson's body was boxed in by psychic force.

"All the Alakazam are dead!" shouted Opal, constricting Crimson's body and fracturing his chair. "Who are you really?"

Crimson cried out. "I'm just a boy from the Gnarl Estate. There is one Alakazam left. I met him! I swear! I'm not lying!"

Opal stood, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke into Crimson's face. "I have gazed into the deepest darkness of this world. Forced, without choice, to witness the horror that lies beyond the edge of things. I have seen the truth. Smelt the lies."

Crimson struggled, "I'm not lying!"

Beginning to pace, the Mr Mime puffed on his cigarette, tightening his fist and with it Crimson's invisible prison. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Sepsis, will know."

As Opal turned away, stepping towards a crack in the far wall, Crimson mumbled in reponse. "Sepsis…"

The Pokemon waved his hand and the fissure widened. "Sepsis."

From out the blackened chasm, a wheezing breath and foul stench reached. Crimson felt the sting of a noxious fume enter his throat, forcing him to cough. With each breath he felt the strength of his lungs weaken, as Opal Yule pulled his scarf over his mouth, and reapply his goggles.

Finally he saw it; floating with the slow stillness of a seed caught in the summer air, a hunk of crumbling stone, drifted out the shadow with puppet-like perfection. Upon its burnt and broken surface gleamed the expression of madness itself - the mask of a harlequin - the idol-carved face of a mad and primal deity. Ruptured vents across its form spewed thick, feculent fumes. Just below its monstrous grin, filled with rotten animal fangs, was carved a skull and crossbones. It stared with huge human eyes, bloodshot and intoxicated, stretched out by some vile plastic alchemy.

It laughed. It laughed and hacked through erupting breaths - "KAUF-HIN KAUF-HIN."

Opal Yule wiped his brow. "Koffing 183, this human claims to have seen an Alakazam, recently."

The monster wheezed, its smile unflinching. "All Alakazam… KAUF-HIN… are extinct. This human… KAUF-HIN… mistaken."

"Is he lying?"

Crimson, struggling to remain conscious amidst the fumes, wretched and heaved, coughing himself into a fit. "I… I'm…" he spat.

The demonic orb of deranged toxins drifted closer. It took a deep breath in, robbing the air of what oxygen it had left, and draining Crimson's soul. For a moment all was still, silent, and poisoned.

"Not… KAUF-HIN… lying."

Opal Yule thought for a moment before finally nodding. He gestured for the beast to return to its crack and the beast obliged, still smiling. As Sepsis vanished into the darkness once more, Opal Yule forced the stone closed with flash of pink light. With the creature went the fumes, and through a vent in the ceiling the air returned.

Crimson took a breath as one breaching the ocean's surface. His vision span, as feeling returned to his body and his mind raced. "What…" he heaved, "What… why… was that thing?!"

Opal pulled the scarf from his face and sucked on his now stained cigarette. "The mind, it often lies. But breath, breath never lies. The toxics, Crimson, the toxics know things even the psychic could never fathom."

"What… the fuck… are you talking about?!"

Pulling off his goggles, the Mr. Mime laughed and took a swig from his bottle. "First rule of warfare: if your enemies weapons are better than yours, steal your enemies weapons."

Crimson was so out of his depth he decided to stop asking questions. He focused on catching his breath and trying to push the memory of Sepsis' face out of his mind. "I just want to get out of here."

Opal's laugh became a cackle as his hand passed through the invisible barrier which still held Crimson. He offered the young man the bottle, shoving it into his lap. "Just because i believe you've seen an Alakazam doesn't mean I trust you. And just because some things need to be extracted with poison, doesn't mean the rest can't be extracted with… persuasion."

Sitting cross legged on the floor, Opal Yule's eyes began to glow bright pink. The air shifted, and the Mr. Mime levitated several feet above the ground. Crimson screamed as first his body and then his soul were placed in boxes beyond his comprehension. A thousand questions and a thousand feelings rushed him all at once, probes and persecutions piercing flesh and thought like needles drenched in synthetic stimulants sour to the taste.

Somewhere far away, far past his pain, he saw Sage, he saw Drex Dreagle, he saw Cecille Freys… and past them… he saw someone else, alone in a dark hall, surrounded by flags, small and impossible, staring with fuschia eyes, waiting.

When Crimson awoke, Opal Yule was gone. All that remained of his saviour and imprisoner was an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, an empty bottle and the crack in the wall. Pulling himself off the ground, slowly - still mindful of the invisible barriers - Crimson found himself completely free to move.

He looked around, trying to remember the details of his nightmare, trying to grasp the thoughts and feelings Opal Yule had stolen from him - trying to remember the face of the figure with fuschia eyes he had seen in his dreams… what a small and terrible thing it had been.

In the end, he found himself compelled towards the crack, and the beast that lay beyond it. After Opal Yule, and the thing within his dreams, Sepsis seemed more curious than horrifying. Placing a cautious hand against the burnt stone of the fissure, Crimson felt the bitter heat. Pulling his singed hand away, Crimson came to his senses. Maybe Sepsis was the least horrifying, but it was horrifying nevertheless.

"What are you doing, you idiot?! You need to get out of here!"

Picking up the empty bottle, and smashing it into a shank, Crimson marched towards the exit. He was reaching for the handle when a voice spoke from out the crack.

"Please… KAUF-HIN… help me. Please… KAUF-HIN… human… please."

Crimson froze, unable to turn. He said nothing, hoping the silence would linger eternal.

It did not. The same voice corroded it.

"Human… please… KAUF-HIN."

Crimson turned, staring into that abysmal fissure, desperate fingers of dissipating smoke trying to claw their way out.

"I…" Crimson did not know what to say. "I… You tried to kill me."

"Sepsis did not try to kill. Sepsis only was itself."

Crimson choked on a hangman's chuckle. "Yourself is poison."

The chuckle hung in the air and died, as a sound reminiscent of stifled tears, quivered out the stone. Then there was silence. Then a shudder. Then silence once more.

"Sepsis is poison."

There was no glee in the mad god's voice, only shame, disgust and isolation.

Crimson did not respond. So, Sepsis spoke again.

"But even so… KAUF-HIN… Will human help Sepsis?"

Crimson glanced behind him at the door, winced, clenched his fists, but did not take a step. "Help you… even though you are poison?"

The silence returned and Sepsis let it linger, but not eternal.

"Poison no ask be poison… KAUF-HIN… LIke human no ask be human."