Even as Gallade's barrage of hit-and-run attacks inflicted his back and arms with rows of scorching lacerations, the Nightmare Weaver remained steadfast in his position.
Any attempts to evade the slashes were being sabotaged by the migraines and weakness aroused by the lingering effects of Scary Face. She had pinned him to the Town Square and there was no use in exerting himself to try and hunt his assailant down, nor in attempting a retreat, which would only open him up for another assault.
For as furious as it made him, Darkrai endured the slicing — all the while suppressing any signs of the palpitations from the poison branching across his body — and instead observed his opponent's movements through the dark of the night.
He had a ruse to out-maneuver him, he was just waiting for the opportune moment.
And the stage was set once Gallade's onslaught thankfully ended: the guardian landed on the overhang of a building, out of breath and sweating already, but most noticeable was his expression: one overwhelmed with blazing fury.
"Are you going to fight back at all? Or are you just going to float there and stare?" Gallade snarled, apparently unnerved by his demeanour.
Darkrai gave no verbal response and instead began to slowly retreat backwards, keeping his lethargic gaze locked onto his perturbed foe.
Immediately, Gallade's rage spiked. "I'M NOT LETTING YOU GET AWAY AFTER WHAT YOU JUST DID!"
He suddenly dove from the roof's edge and struck the Moonshadow like a thunderbolt, his blade thrusting itself into his side, carving a horrific gash and reigniting every prior wound.
Darkrai staggered backwards, dazed. The searing affliction plaguing the entirety of his mutilated torso was far more dire than he had anticipated, and the impulse to clutch his wound almost proved fatal: only narrowly did he parry Gallade's oncoming attempt to capitalise on his collapse, blocking his opponent's blades with his claws, locking them both in an equal struggle.
The attack burying itself into the flesh of his hand emanated a particular, dark aura. Likely a Night Slash. His opponent still thought that he was a ghost or psychic-type. He still had the upper hand.
"Leave here! LEAVE US ALONE!" Gallade's blood-curdling scream startled him, almost causing the Nightmare Weaver to unwillingly recoil and let the sword strike.
Beyond the bare rage, he could discern hints of despair in the guardian's voice, the presence of which disturbed him further.
"I was about to depart, actually," Darkrai was made to blurt out in the heat of the moment by a pulse of the poison.
With a still effortless swipe of his claw, he shoved Gallade away and sent him crashing face first into the pavement.
He kept in the groan of agony which the corrosion should have pushed him to emit, pressed his claw against his cuts and used the moment his enemy was distracted to dissolve into shadow, manifesting a clone in his stead.
The guardian rapidly got back up on his feet and jumped to the extremity of another building, briefly locking eyes with the mirage before striking once more.
... an assault which served to dissipate it into black mist, but sent Gallade plummeting into the ground again.
Wholly disoriented and confused, he heaved himself up, only for the ashen tendrils of the Haze to extended around him and drown out his sight.
The darkness boarding up the windows had plunged the insides of the Shelter into did not help ease the tension in the room. No matter the initial hint of comfort being better hidden gave them, Lampent eventually went and shared his flame with the handful of candles dispersed through the chamber, only serving to exacerbate the suffocating heat, which had itself supplanted the biting cold reigning there upon their arrival.
"And... I don't know what got to me, but I lunged at it an—" Scyther suddenly began to cough, startling everyone there.
He hadn't been hurt, he hadn't been weakened before being overtaken by the darkness, and so Espurr had thankfully managed to claw him out of the Nightmare Weaver's grasp, but he remained unwell: violent coughing, a heavy fever, it had exhausted and drained him. Even as he laid there on the hay bed, trying to recount his story, he was drowning in sweat and trembling, almost to the point of convulsion.
"I stabbed it... in the shoulder," he began again, unblinkingly staring down the door. "And then it just turned around... and everything went black... and then the nightmare started."
That Scyther's voice had devolved into a pathetic squeal at the mere mention of the word prompted the rest of the townsfolk to exchange horrified, defeatist looks. So enthusiastic and brave only a few hours ago... and had been reduced to this.
"Oh, what happened in your nightmare?" Mothim timidly asked, tightly wrapping herself around Lampent's head.
The bug began to sweep the room with his harrowed gaze, shrinking away into his pile of fodder, hesitating to give an answer.
"Let's... let's stop. Let's stop bothering him and ourselves with these questions," Leavanny intervened.
"Well, Mr. Scyther, at least Gallade will avenge you now! I would have loved to do it myself, but, well, I'm just not there yet, strength-wise," Mawile was the next to interject, less bothered by imminent doom than the others.
The trifecta of younglings, Mawile, Morgrem, and Espurr, had been coiled by Arbok for their protection — sealing them in with his hood, like the lid on a jar — and only been given a small gap in the serpent's hold to listen and see through.
Cuddled in there, Morgrem was chewing down on the handful of Chesto Berries left in Espurr's bag, the streams of sweat running down his forehead made visible by the light from the slits in the snake's embrace. Espurr could feel him shaking.
Poor him... she wanted to comfort him, she wanted to tell him that there was really nothing to worry about, that the Moonshadow certainly had no intention to attack anyone there... but she couldn't say that.
If Darkrai had just gone and explained everything to them by now, this all would have been much easier! He could've at least told her why he was there, that way she could've maybe helped him not get caught!
Instead, she simply patted her goblin friend on the head, making him recoil a little at the touch, and reached to gently ring her Soothe Bell.
"Let's all calm down a little, okay?" She immediately began to feel his tremors subside, but not wholly disappear.
Espurr needed it as well, eating away that nightmare had made her feel sick and her head hurt. It was... a highly unpleasant thing to have to do, but at least Scyther had woken up. She was two for two, now.
"For a gift for you, this bell's been awful nifty for me," Morgrem chuckled, a chuckle which quickly degenerated into a fearful whimper.
And then the whimper turned into a hiss, as a sudden burst of light blinded them both.
"Esp, can I ask you to hand over your bell, please?" Leavanny reached her hand in. "We shouldn't be making any noise."
The psychic-type gave her item a glance and then quickly removed it from her ribbon, handing the object over to her caretaker.
"Here you go, Miss Leavanny. But how do I stay calm then?" Just the thought alone of not having her little bell was very frightening!
"Well... just... stay calm," she responded, evidently stumped. "I'll give it to you if it's needed, but staying undetected is more important right now," Espurr nodded and Arbok's hood plunged them into darkness once more.
"You don't have to worry, I'm here to protect," Mawile flanked Morgrem with her jaw, pulling him in closer. "But I'm sure that Gallade will beat the Nightmare Weaver back before any one of us has to intervene."
Espurr frowned. She was nervous, but not for the same reason as the rest of them: from what he had told her about himself, Darkrai seemed to be much, much stronger than Gallade. He would try his best not to hurt him — that, she was certain of! — but one of them was bound to get badly injured before he found a way to leave, and that could end up really not well!
Multiple blunt knocks on the wooden door morphed the emotion in the room into an even more potent amalgam of terror and silent, paralytic anguish.
At most, after the unending seconds, some dared to cease eyeing the entrance and turned instead to look at the expressions of those closest to them: Mothim pressed herself against Lampent, Arbok drew in Oricorio and Kricketune, Skwovet climbed on top of Leavanny's head and sat herself in the cover of her crown.
"That is quite likely the Murkrows!" Espurr suddenly realised, more level-headed than anyone else in the room.
"Oh goodness!" Leavanny gasped. "And Pumpkaboo! Let them in!"
Ribombee immediately complied with her order, bravely flying over to open the door, while the rest shuddered at the creak of the handle.
The brief glimpse of Ursaring, standing guard in front of the gateway, was a mild reassurance to those who saw him, before the horde of ruffled and agitated birds poured inside, scampering to insert themselves into the comfort of every nook and cranny in the mass of hiding Pokemon. The shaken Pumpkaboo sluggishly followed behind, being met with open arms by Leavanny.
"I... I hit it with a Shadow Ball," the pumpkin, on the verge of tears, muttered once the door closed shut.
Her statement suppressed even the faintest of murmurs still festering in some corners of the room, leaving all to eye her with disconcerted expressions.
The paralysis was only broken by Leavanny suddenly embracing her even tighter, which prompted one of the Murkrows to hop along the ground to the feet of the bug.
"Can I get a hug as well, ma'am? I taunted the darn thing!"
The rise of his tone of voice made everyone flinch in unison, all of the villagers present silently but vigorously gestured for him to mind how loud he spoke.
The only exception was Mawile, her awestruck eyes peeking through the gaps in Arbok's protective coil. "You really taunted it? That's so brave!"
The bird nodded, showing no pride in what he had done and, instead, slowly went to stare at the ground.
"I'll keep you safe, little bird, come here," she extended her arms through the hole and let it nestle in her clutches, encircling it with her appendage for added protection. "It's all going to be alright."
"We have no such guarantee," Gothitelle growled from the other side of the room. "It's more likely that it'll tear Gallade apart, and then Ursaring... and then it'll find us, huddle up together in this cramped space, trapped between these four walls... I'll let you imagine what follows," she gave a glacial stare over to the anxious crowd stuck in there with her. "I told you all," she began again, her voice trembling. "I told you that if we didn't do anything, we'd come to regret it. I told you that hiding from it wouldn't work forever. And even if it did, that would be no way to live... you should've liste—"
An explosion and the ensuing tremor cut her off. The Murkrows erupted into an uproar.
His vanishing act having proven successful, the languid and scorched shadow slid through the silent and cold streets of Haven.
Being unaware of whether Gallade was still on the hunt meant that the Nightmare Weaver was forced to keep silent and bottle the groans of pain from the throbbing gashes he so desperately yearned to emit.
He had made far too many careless mistakes tonight. Darkrai's chest, back and arms were imprinted with reminders: some of the worst injuries he had sustained in recent memory... mild, relative to those from earlier encounters, but he needed to get out of there as soon as possible, all the same.
He shouldn't have entered a fight so far from his own turf... not while he was this disoriented, weakened and reluctant to defend himself.
Actually attacking back would have gotten Gallade injured or worse, and Gallade was valuable... to everyone there! It was unthinkable to wish to harm the poor kid. He even fought him at the very heart of his home, just after having given him a fresh reason to despise the foul monster!
He had done enough harm for the night, he needed to leave.
And, as soon as his thoughts trailed back to escaping, he emerged from the depths of the alleyway and his sights immediately landed on what was just across the street from him, nestled in between two houses: an opening towards the outside.
... and behind the beatific portal he could see the blackened meadow, and behind those fields, in the distance, stood the edge of his dear Blightwoods. Home! The radiant lamps which illuminated the contours of the egress gave it a quasi-divine quality. There was tranquility within grasp!
The radiant lamps which illuminated the countours of the...
He jerked backwards from a sudden palpitation due to the toxin, so potent that he could not keep in a grunt. Darkrai's conundrum had quickly been answered for him: there was no time to arc around the light and keep his cover, he was leaving as soon as possible.
It was but on the other side of a short road.
He timidly crept into the open, only to immediately be struck by an oncoming attack from Gallade, stood on the roof of a building: another Shadow Ball, extracting him from his cover and exposing his open wounds to the irritating cloud of dust which now tainted the air.
... and then came another strike, mightier than the last, which sent him crashing face first into the dirt.
The force with which the agonising prod pinned him to the ground and grinded into his back demanded that he free himself by conjuring a mild shockwave from his Dark Pulse.
He barely noticed Ursaring get pushed away and tumble over before Gallade emerged from behind him.
... but then Darkrai, weary as he was, dodged the slash of his blade, and knocked him into a wall!
Scary Face's hold had dissipated! His speed and reflexes had been returned to him!
The Moonshadow riled up another, much more powerful surge of energy, forcing both of his opponents — whom were ready to strike him in his enfeebled state — away, finally letting him escape the confines of the village and take off into the direction of his woods.
The crash, the ensuing tumult, and then the sudden, dead silence just outside of their hiding place — sounding like it was but a few meters away from the door — had only served to exacerbate the tension which tyrannised the insides of the Shelter
The suffocating quiet would have been unbearable, were it not for the visceral fear for their lives and for those of their company making all other concerns they were being forced to endure seem negligible.
A voice finally broke the sterile silence.
"Would anyone be willing to go and investigate the... happenings outside?" Lampent reared his head from in between the crowd. "It would be exceedingly interesting to have at least a report of this occurrence, in case we do... make it."
"Stay inside!" Scyther buried himself deeper into his pile of hay at the suggestion.
"I'm not letting anyone go out there," Leavanny responded.
But Lampent's words slowly began to reanimate everyone else in the room all the same. They all gave each other faintly eager looks, craving for a brave volunteer to lift them out of this gut-wrenching ignorance.
None dared to step forth.
Gothitelle, more sore than she was afraid, at this point, strode to the middle of the chamber and scanned the room for someone she saw fit to designate for the task. Naturally, her sights fell onto the plentiful, black birds.
"Murkrows, one of you, get out there, fly up, and report back what you see," she ordered.
A contemptuous-looking avian hopped forwards. "Listen here, ma'am, we ain't risking any of our own for no darn reason!" He adamantly protested, all of his associates being quick to confirm with vigorous nodding.
Gothitelle huffed. If they were too cowardly for it, she knew of an obvious choice, someone who would take absolutely any opportunity he could to assert his pre-eminence over the flock. "Honchkrow, then? Are you up for the task?"
"Oh, I would love to be helpful in this situation, but alas... I'd rather not, thank you very much," he told her off and tilted his hat to hide his face, regrettably not as predictable as she would have imagined.
Another huff. She crossed her arms and gave a second cursory look to the nervous mass.
"Well, who elsssse can fly?" Arbok asked, raising his head and revealing the younglings he had coiled beneath him. "Chatot, could you go out?" He received no response, prompting a few glances around the room. "Chatot?"
Little by little, they all began to motion their heads towards one another, scouting for the unresponsive bird, with none calling out his location. What's more, some noticed that he was not the only absentee: nowhere was the immense Drifblim to be found, either.
"They... they aren't here," Skwovet, leaning in from her vantage point on Leavanny's head, finally remarked, dashing the hopes of those few optimistic pokemon still searching.
"Oooooh no..." they heard Morgrem's muffled voice from beneath Arbok. "It didn't take them... did it? Maybe that's what it came here for!" He exclaimed, burrowing himself even deeper under the snake and discomforting Mawile, who sprang up and looked around the room.
Espurr poked her head out from the gap between the serpent's coils, waving for the attention of her caretaker, who quickly made her way to the toddler, in spite of the omnipresent chattering.
"Yes, dear? You faring well?"
"Uh-huh!" She cleared her throat and then formulated the most polite request she could. "Miss Leavanny, may I please go outside to see if I can find Mr. Chatot and Miss Drifblim, please?" The bug's eyes widened. "And then I could go and check up on Misters Gallade and Ursaring, as well!"
Darkrai was probably too shy to do it on his own, but if she went and explained everything to them — about how he didn't want to harm anyone with his nightmares and that he was just a very kind pokemon all around — it would surely stop them from fighting!
"Esp," Miss Leavanny sat down beside her, gently caressing the child's peering head. "I know that you're worried for them, but there isn't much we can do to help, dear."
"But I can help anyone who gets nightmares with Dream Eater!" If it was needed, but she could definitely help stop the fighting to begin with!
"Espurr, just hang back here, you can't help," she felt Morgrem's hand tug her back into Arbok's clutches. "It reeeaaally ain't safe out there."
She sat down, crossed her arms and huffed, immediately getting tired and frustrated by the complacency she was being forced into. She couldn't just sit down! This was really important!
So she got back up, still pouting, and stared at everyone in the room in turn. She was initially considering what else she could say to try and convince them, when they were so stubborn, but, instead, her sights landed on something else entirely: the boarded up window.
If they wouldn't let her go and fix this all up, then she would just not listen to what they had to say and be helpful anyway!
Espurr exhaled and resolved to extend her hand towards the piece of wood plastered against the casement. Her ears lifted themselves up to reveal her psychic organs, emitting a glimmer of pink energy which spread to her eyes and then went on to take over the board on the other side of the room, beginning to heave it out from the frame.
"Wha... what are you doing?" Leavanny stuttered, getting alarmed by the creaking from beside her, and ran over to hold it pinned against the opening.
Everyone else watched on with gaping eyes.
Espurr tried her best to slip out of Arbok's hold, with little results, as the serpent responded by constricting her tighter. "Sssstay here."
"Mr. Arbok, do let me go, please!"
"Uhhh... I'd... rather not," the confused snake quickly retreated his head behind his coils, once Espurr turned to him with psychic energy-infused eyes.
"If you don't unhand me this instant I'll... I'll..." she wanted to say something threatening that would force him to let go of her, but it would be far too mean to say that she would have an outburst to scare him.
Instead, she looked around the chamber while she wondered — seeing all of the terrified but mute expressions, which recoiled once they crossed sights with her — and landed on an obvious option: her Soothe Bell on the table by the window. Of course!
"I'll start clanging my bell quite very loudly, making a huuuuge ruckus!" She made sure to demonstrate just how big the ruckus would be by stretching her arms out wide.
"Esp, stop with this," Miss Leavanny commanded, leaving the wooden board to fall to the ground with a clang that made everyone shudder. "I don't want to hear another word from you!"
Espurr frowned and wrapped the bell in pink aura, all while staring down her caretaker, beginning to smack it against the table, the acute strikes to the furniture causing far more noise than even the chiming itself.
Leavanny slammed the bell against the wood and pinned it with a spit of Sticky Web. "What's gotten into you?" She let go of it and marched over to the little pokemon peering out from Arbok's hold.
"I wanna help!" Espurr pouted.
"You can't," she pushed down on her head and tucked her in.
"I really do think that we should go and help them!" Mawile herself was now fighting back against the shackles of the coil, being discomforted by the increasingly tightening clasp.
"None of you are going anywhere!" Leavanny made clear, but both continued in their struggle for freedom, with Mawile eventually managing to liberate her jaw, biting down hard on the snake's tail, which made Arbok scream and retreat from them.
While Leavanny cut Mawile's attempted breakout short by pinning her to the floor with a Sticky Web, Espurr managed to wriggle her way out through the window, disappearing into the moonless night with her bag in hand.
The insect ran first to the glass, seeing the toddler under her responsibility vanish, and then frantically turned to the befuddled townsfolk, growled when she understood that none were going to do anything to help, and then sprinted out through the door after her.
"I... I think I'll just stay here..." Morgrem slowly shrank back away under Arbok.
The creature's cerulean eyes pierced through the darkness of the meadow to give one last, chilling glare, before its form — of such a deep black that it stood out even in the moonless night — vanished into the murky depths of the neighbouring woods.
They both stood there and nervously gaped ahead at the archway of trees leading to the realm of shadows, hoping that this had all come to an end.
After a long moment, Ursaring, without budging his sight from the treeline, finally let out a deep breath, reaching to place his paw on Gallade's shoulder. A prideful smirk formed across the bear's face.
"Chief... we did it. Can you believe what we just did?"
The guardian took a moment to respond. His heart was racing, he was exhausted and, quite honestly, terrified beyond belief, his legs weak and shaking, as if he was on the verge of falling over... but he couldn't let that get in his way. What they had just accomplished was wholly unexpected. The thing had retreated in pain! They had — somehow — repulsed it back into its domain!
... but that wasn't enough.
"We're not going to let it get away with just injuries," Gallade eventually growled.
"What do you mea—"
The Guardian finally took his eyes off of the weald. "I screamed at it before you intervened, I told it to leave... it said that 'it was just about to depart'."
"Wait, it talked?"
"Whatever it came here to do, it's already done. This wasn't a victory. If we let it flee, it's won."
The psychic-type summoned a circle of swaying and clanging blades overhead — Swords Dance — giving him further strength. The blast had made him feel more powerful as well, his Justified reacting to what was most likely a Dark Pulse. They were in a good position.
"Couldn't sense any thoughts or emotions from it, it could just lack them... but it's most likely a dark-type. You have Hammer Arm. If you do follow, keep that in mind."
Eventually, Ursaring clenched his fists and gave a reluctant nod.
Darkrai had wanted to get back to his cavern, he could probably have remained sealed within it for at least the coming few weeks after... all of this, but his last frantic burst of energy was far from being enough to allow the Nightmare Weaver to return home.
Instead, he collapsed along the way, the teeth of his collar burying themselves into the cold dirt, while the rest of his body went numb from the myriad of searing lacerations and... just... exhaustion.
He was back within the safety of his Blightwoods! He had made his way out of that mess! And without killing or maiming Gallade nor Ursaring, nonetheless!
He... could've killed them, at any point, most likely... a single Dark Pulse at full force would've torn either of them to shreds... but he hadn't found the need to do such a thing, in spite of the circumstances!
He had salvaged the most he could from this horrible night, now it didn't matter that he was in anguish: he would simply faint soon enough, the poisoning would get to him, he would be left vulnerable, laying there like a carcass waiting to be desecrated further... but, luckily, they weren't going to come looking for him... evidently not.
He would get up eventually, the rest would be figured out after that.
Even as the regular throbbing continued to burn through him — a ticking clock, counting down until he eventually lost consciousness — Darkrai slowly exhaled, feeling the tension within his chest subside for a little while, and placed his head against the ground, trying to assume the least burdensome position he could manage before he fainted.
...
There was a rhythmic beating. Not the pulse of his heart, nor that of his poison-strained veins.
It was footsteps.
It took the woods little time to make Gallade doubt the wisdom of his decision to tread into there.
It was dark. Gallade's psychic abilities allowed him to sense the forms of the trees, ground, and rocks along the way, even in the pitch-black, but the glow of his Psycho Cut was necessary to light up the area for Ursaring.
It also made visible the dense, unnatural fog around them, writhing like a sea of tendrils, still in motion from something which had passed by there before them. This disturbance was how they intended to track it down.
The desire path they were steadily advancing through was marked with sparse sets of ancient footprints of varying shapes and sizes, which had been shielded from any downpour by the canopy, leaving them as vestiges frozen in the dirt.
It was eerie. A sight, a sense, as simple as that was enough to make his bowels turn. But he needed to march onwards, march onwards for the safeguard of his own home, keeping everything else off of his mind.
... the gnawing cold. The Sun never reached this place.
The sterile ground. Almost perfectly uniform, barren of any life other than the slender trees. The creature had corrupted the soil to reshape the forest in its image... at least according to Gothitelle.
The vast, monotonous expanse. It made him feel claustrophobic, besieged from every direction, the small stretch of visible land around him providing the only safety in this nightmare realm.
The dead silence was crushing.
He wanted out.
He had sworn never to return here. One wayward venture into the Blightwoods — as a child, a Ralts, no less! — had been more than enough for him. He had successfully hidden from the Nightmare Weaver behind a tree, and then Bisharp... had come to his rescue.
There was no indication that he would be as lucky this time.
The Dark Pulse the Moonshadow had emitted was the most powerful he had ever endured, imbued with such horrific power, that even what radiated from the nightmare-infested Scyther paled in comparison. A wave of potent malevolence to make a psychic-type feel as if his insides had just been burnt, or his soul rotted away.
And — perhaps it was due to the injuries it had sustained — he knew that the attack hadn't been used at full force...
He wanted out, but that couldn't be affor—
The ground between them burst, breaking the uneasy tranquility of their march and sending both protectors on the retreat, in opposing directions.
They scrambled to get back up as fast as possible, finding themselves a few meters apart, separated by dust and disturbed earth.
The duo regrouped back-to-back at the heart of the clearing, only for their attention to turn to the fog: it had thickened and begun to billow around them, confining them to the small hollow in between the trees.
They stood by, unflinching, and watched as wavering, black forms began to infest the outer rim of the wall of mist.
One after the other, the silhouettes would manifest around the murk — skimming its verges, eerily slithering around them, staying just out of clear sight — before diving back into its depths.
The ominous, calm spectacle it had put on for them lasted until the appearance of a singular, glowing, blue spot, one which rapidly proliferated into a volley of flickering all around them, increasing in intensity and number with every flash.
Gallade's eyes flared with panic. "Wh—What?" He struggled to squeal.
"Illusions. It's just making its mirages blink. We pummeled the thing, it's not trying to get us," the bear responded. "Probably off cowering behind a tree somewhere."
Gallade clenched his fist. "Well... it... it should know we know that it's weak! And we're the ones out to get it!" He cried out, half-convinced, at the profusion of lights. "WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"
... and then the thunderstorm stopped.
The darkness which oozed from the bowels of the forest coalesced into a singular spot at the center of the glade in front of them, making the Guardian regret his words.
The undulating, wispy plume was the first to emerge, followed by the appearance of that grim, blue eye he had come to abhor. The chain of blood-red teeth pierced the ground, dragging along with them the rest of the disarrayed patchwork of rag-like, tattered flesh which served as its body. A circular wave of sickening, dark energy concluded the demon's entry.
Gallade's jaw tightened. The surge of anger at the sight of the thing overwhelmed any fear of it he had and, without hesitation nor thought, he lunged at the monster, screaming.
His brandished blade — overflowing with power — struck the bewildered Moonshadow before it could launch an assault of its own.
The pain made it retreat with a howl, before the enraged creature rushed at him just as suddenly, knocking the Guardian away with a smack to the head, and sending him flying to the periphery of the haze.
Gallade clutched his pounding head and slowly heaved himself up, just as the ashen white smoke poured in from every direction, creating a deluge to overwhelm them both.
Drowned out by the sudden flood of cold, he was left in complete panic, having felt the comfort of his added strength be burnt away after just one use.
He inhaled and took a weary step forward, trying to cross the distance between himself and his comrade as fast as possible, only to immediately be sent trotting back by a pitch-black outline surging from out the unknown and dashing through his field of vision in the blink of an eye.
Gallade retreated to the comfort of a trunk which would shield his back, getting brief glimpses of the form of the monster, as it manifested from every angle, only to dissolve back into the mist just as quickly.
He put his palm to his chest and tried his best to compose himself, to concentrate in the little time it had given him before it decided to strike.
"It's messing with us, Gall," Ursaring shouted from beyond the white. "Just follow my voice and get here, these aren't real. Double Team, remember? Mirages."
The reminder forced him to once again take a step forward, and slowly pivot on himself, scouring nothing more than mist, the bleak ground, and the linear trees... before a silhouette took form out of the corner of his eye.
He spun around and jumped backwards, almost tripping.
In front of him, surely enough, was it: free of any previous scars or wounds, eerily levitating just off of the ground, its emotionless expression fixated on Gallade, who snarled and wasted no time in lunging at it again.
Upon collision, though, the monster didn't recoil nor attack back, but rather erupted into a cloud of black smoke. The only thing his blade had impaled was dirt.
Gallade felt an outpour of panic once he realised what had just happened, but he was given no time react with anything but a gasp before a clawed hand surged from the darkness beneath him and clamped down on his skull.
The Moonshadow's face was the next to emerge from the ground, feeling himself get lifted off of his feet while it stared him down.
Immediately, Gallade snapped out of his paralysis and freaked out, unleashing an onslaught of Night Slashes, the graceless barrage of which began to carve into the creature's arm.
"CEASE, OR I WILL CRUSH YOUR SKULL!" It bellowed, its fingers pressing down on his head.
The cry terrified the Guardian and made him comply, closing his eyes to no longer have to lock sights with its own, harrowing gaze, and went limp.
"It would have been... wise to retreat, yet..." instead of either spearing his head with its talons and turning his cranium into shards, or mutilating him as revenge, the monster spoke. It spoke with a trembling — but far from feeble — voice. "You risked... leaving your village... a protector short."
It was going to kill him. It was going to kill him and then return to Haven.
"But... I must admit that you have... impressed me enough tonight to... deserve a chance to live."
Gallade's jaw dropped.
Impressed?
What?
The pressure from the nails restraining his head disappeared. It threw him to the ground.
"You may leave, but no such chance will be afforded to you the second time."
It tried to chuckle, but it devolved into a cough. Its hand came to reflexively clasp its wounded chest, drawing attention to the return of all the other horrific injuries it had sustained throughout... bruised, battered and lacerated all over, it seemed as though the Nightmare Weaver was on the brink of collapse as is.
Even as it faced him, it swayed from left to right, in a perpetual struggle to keep itself afloat, punctuated by twitching and shuddering... it hadn't miraculously healed itself. The Moonshadow was too weak to try and end him. It was bluffing!
"Will you... run?"
Those words made the Guardian's determination spike.
He sprang back up, coalescing every bit of his remaining force into a Shadow Ball, and struck the creature with it before it could react, sending the thing hurling into a tree trunk and then collapsing down onto the ground.
The battered Nightmare Weaver shrieked and then pushed itself back up into the air, only for Ursaring's massive form to emerge from the mist, striking it with as much strength as he could muster — a Hammer Arm so strong that it produced a shockwave upon impact — and burying it into the earth.
The monster pathetically whimpered and shuffled along the forest floor, trying to get away as they both cautiously advanced towards it. Sheer dread had consumed its expression... one only as pronounced as its lack of facial features allowed, but Gallade could still make out the fear and frustration in its shining eyes.
Ursaring roared once it weakly managed to lift itself back up again. "Don't think we're letting you get away!" Initially frightened at just how resilient it was, he responded by shoving it into the ground with another Hammer Arm, keeping the Moonshadow subdued.
Gallade stared into its tortured expression — with it clearly staring right back at him — while marching forward with his elongated blade. It was only fair that the Guardian should be the one to fell the beast.
"This ends here, you've made us suffer long enough," Gallade, the absolute idiot, with sabers lengthened and surrounded by a black aura, paced towards the apparently vanquished Darkrai, whose infuriated growling made him hesitate before the next step.
The agony caused by his ribs being pressured into his lungs precluded the latter from uttering a word. It would have been a great occasion to do so, even if his motives would be questioned.
Instead, quite sorrowfully, they would have to perish here tonight, lest he did in their stead: he wasn't going to give up on living.
With every throb from the worsening poisoning, his vision deteriorated, the images before him decaying into blurs, dancing in a sickening motion while he trembled.
He heard Gallade take another, careful step. One more, and the Nightmare Weaver could put a regrettable end to this whole charade.
He had wanted to help the poor fools.
He had given them ample opportunity to leave with an unprecedented victory, and himself with wounded pride.
He had hardly fought back, for fear of injuring them, letting them make him suffer with no reprisal.
Then, he tried to just scare them off and away, to make them realise just how feeble they truly were in comparison, to make them realise that they they were far outmatched when facing him.
But, now, as Gallade trode closer, it would be through their own fault — and not his! — that they would be consumed by the Dark Void.
They would fall asleep. He would faint from the toxins. He would fight through it and wake up. They wouldn't wake up... and, this, all through their own fault!
The blurred image of Gallade took another step, but immediately retreated once Darkrai heaved his shaking hand into the air, using the final remnants of his power to channel the black orb destined to soon swallow them.
"Please listen to me! Don't hurt him!"
A wave of energy not his own surged through and then past him, suddenly lessening the heavy pain on his chest, ripping away the bleary silhouettes of his enemies, and, for a short instant, making the ashen whiteness which had dominated his murky sights glimmer with a bright pink.
Darkrai let his hand fall and made one, last, agonising effort to raise his head, being met with the sight of both Gallade and Ursaring shuffling on the earth some distance away from him, trying to get up.
"Darkrai! Are you alright?" Espurr appeared out of nowhere, latching onto his collar and shaking him. "Please be okay!" She mewled.
Talking pained him, thinking straight was even more of a chore, he could only stare at her in dual befuddlement and joy.
He felt another surge, this time painful. The worsening poison.
His friend gasped, seeming to have noticed the corrosion running down his torso, and immediately went to rummage through the bag she was carrying, while Darkrai's vision turned to the now upright Ursaring and Gallade.
A sudden cloud of bitter dust was blown into his eyes and wounds, making him cry out from the flaring pain.
"GET AWAY FROM IT!" The shriek of the green form made him want to cover his ears and retreat, but he couldn't move.
His eyes shut.
His hearing dwindled.
There were only fleeting cries and voices.
"—listen!—"
"—not evil—"
"—not to hurt us—"
"—accident—"
He felt a light, soft touch be placed on his left arm.
"—just like me—"
Darkrai blacked out.