Whenever it came time for the decennial duel in Haven, the arena was silent with apprehension: the apprehension of those about to put their mutual trust to the test, yes, and the apprehension of those lining the bleachers, their claws sometimes literally burying themselves into the wood of the arena, ready to watch two of their loved ones, of their co-denizens, put their lives on the line.
Unlike every other match, though — and one might add 'fortunately' — there was but one loved one to worry for... unfortunately, Gallade's foe — floating listlessly across the field from him, observing them all with its unblinking glare — was none other than the Nightmare Weaver.
Some decried what was about to take place — and had been decrying as such since it had been announced to them, now hours ago — as 'folly', 'idiocy', 'insanity' and 'madness', 'preposterous' and 'senseless'. Never so loud that they would be fine with Darkrai hearing it, but always just loud enough for Darkrai to hear all the same.
"This is suicidal! What is he even trying to accomplish!?" Was Gothitelle's addition, this time without any fear of having her sentiments known.
Darkrai, for his part — hovering there, after having savoured every second of his walk to the Town Plaza as best he could, after having savoured even the brief moment Gallade wasted announcing it, after having savoured their draining march to the arena, and then the time they took to position themselves, now wishing to savour every second before this daft battle started — fully agreed with the former remarks and was entirely consumed by the question of the latter.
What was Gallade attempting to achieve? How was Darkrai meant to react to any of this?
"Get set!" A Murkrow's scream snapped the Nightmare Weaver out of his thoughts... and into back into sweating anxiety.
"Ready!" A second's cry filled the wraith — and likely everyone — with even more dreadful anticipation.
"Fight!"
Darkrai and Gallade, both silent, motionless, stared at each other, tacitly agreeing to give one another a moment to absorb the reality of what they had both just been plunged into.
The start of their duel had made him realise one thing, however: one option — to continue to fake being enfeebled and suffering — could easily be crossed ou—
Gallade lunged towards him with a Night Slash, forcing the wraith to use his Quick Attack to retreat out of reach, into the air, as quickly as possible.
... and it was for exactly that reason: it was evident that he needed time to ponder his course of action, time which — no matter how rapid his considerations would end up being — could only be gained through astute and elegant dodging and maneuvering. This entailed that the illusion of him somehow still being frail would instantly be shattered either way.
He would need to put together some more theatrics after the fact to soothe their worries over tha—
Another Night Slash was barely evaded, sending Gallade tumbling face first into the dirt. The question of the aftermath would need to be thought over at a later date, evidently...
He could win. If he did not hold back, he would win. There was no doubt. But winning would scare them—
The sword now aimed for his side, but Quick Attack allowed him to rush out of range, leaving Gallade to instead swirl on himself and dizzily stumble.
Winning would cast doubts on their warden's ability to ever defend them—
Gallade had gotten back up, necessitating that Darkrai parry multiple of his slashes, before simply deciding to seek refuge in the air, out of reach.
Winning would make him seem far more fit to depart, to depart with this entire, stressful event being the ceremony of his booting—
An entire mound's worth of ground — coated in psychic energy — suddenly crashed into him, dazing the Nightmare Weaver and obscuring his vision for a short moment. The instant he cleared the dirt from his eyes, Darkrai realised that he had underestimated just how high Gallade could jump, and was soon met with the sight of the warden plunging down towards him from the sky.
The Moonshadow just as quickly moved to block his blades, before then seizing hold of both, and pulling Gallade with him as he let himself fall. Once they were close enough to the ground, he thrusted his opponent into the ledge of the arena.
Losing would... embolden some of them—
One last assault was dodged, before Darkrai knocked Gallade away and was given the idea of striking the dirt in-between them with an Ominous Wind, smothering his enemy under a veil of sand.
It was not that he feared any one of them, per se, as his defeat would be but an illusion, however, the issue lied in the likelihood that they would more often nag at and pressure Gallade to 'do something about the Nightmare Weaver' and — while, again, the warden wouldn't actually be in any measure to do 'something' about him — this would cause unneeded friction and stagnate any—
Using his Psychic to pin the particles of sand to the ground, Gallade undid himself from the dust cloud faster than expected, and pounced forward, screaming his war cry, this time with more determination than ever before.
Darkrai had an elegant counter, however, and had his silhouette extend behind the warden quickly enough for a Shadow Sneak to be able to restrain him by the leg, and then fling the warden to the other side of the arena once more.
It was their fear of him which had allowed for Darkrai to stay, after all, which had kept them silent during the vote. As much as he loathed the shudders, the gasps, the trembling, the tears which sometimes escaped when they saw him, if peace was ever to be achieved between him and Haven, he would need to be the one in a position of uncontested force.
As if on command, a clash of forces soon took place: Gallade struck with his Night Slash, while Darkrai rapidly parried with Shadow Claw, forcing the warden to retreat, but not without inflicting the wraith with a cut along the palm of his claw first.
The Psychic-type attempted another attack, but was shoved away by the wraith, causing it yet another lesion beforehand. It stung. The energy burn of a Dark-type move tended to be quite painful, as Leavanny had explained to him... a Dark-type move!
In a proactive operation, Darkrai launched yet another Ominous Wind, riling a similar dust storm, but this time made certain to unleash a host of Double Team illusions upon Gallade, just enough to buy him time to develop upon this epiphany.
Night Slash, Darkrai thought from the shadows, watching as the warden leapt from place to place, preparing to parry any one of the wraiths which would end up striking, it was a move Gallade knew would not be quite as effective as any of the others in his arsenal! Being used even after Darkrai had shown that he would utilise a supereffective one in Shadow Claw!
It was evident that Gallade had come into this match knowing that he had no chance of winning, thus, he was holding back, not wishing to cause him unneeded pain.
Gallade was fighting with the expectation that he would lose, but, still, could he trust that losing was in his best interests? That what Gallade expected to unfold would be in his best interests?
He looked back to his foe, confused, disoriented, grunting in fright and flailing in panic at every illusion which crashed into him, bursting one by one into puffs of dark smoke...
That was it! Gallade already trusted him, to a degree. If he had any reason to further mistrust Darkrai — so thoroughly as to set up a scheme against the wraith — he would dare to battle the creature to begin with, to ever risk leaving his village without a protector, in a situation where Darkrai would have a reasonable opportunity to 'accidentally' injure, maim, or kill him, even under the watchful eyes of his compatriots!
This was a test of trust, and a proof that Darkrai could both be responsible and exercise restraint. This was for the others to see. The conclusion was simple: he had overthought this all, and simply needed to fight, fight in an amicable duel with someone who had been nothing but helpful towards him.
Yes, he would fight.
With a gesture of his arm, the manifestations evaporated, the lingering dust was tamed to the ground, and the two combatants found themselves face to face.
Gallade immediately knew that something had changed.
At that point, though, it would be no difficult feat to nigh-surgically take him down: exhausted from all of the assaults he had launched, and which had been dodged with mocking, demoralising ease, their warden was already on his last legs, without Darkrai even having had to counterattack.
That last part would soon change, however.
The Psychic-type readied himself for another Slash — just Slash, and not Night Slash, as he had likely surmised at that point that he would be given far too few opportunities not to deal at least neutral damage — still without showing any signs of fearing a riposte.
His mistake, as the Moonshadow preempted with a Sucker Punch to his gut, thrusting him a few meters away, before he caught himself with his Psychic.
Gallade landed back on his feet, hunched over and clutching his stomach, inciting many gasps and whispers throughout the bleachers. His immobility lead Darkrai to wonder — for but a moment — whether that had been it, before a detail which had escaped him rapidly came into play: a fusing glimmer overtook the warden, filling his eyes with a purple glow, protracting and sharpening his blades even further.
That was Justified, of course.
Haze had been rendered essentially useless — with the exception of the case where his life was truly put into danger — due to him being fairly certain that, no matter the course of action he took during this battle, it was a necessity that the townsfolk filling the contours of the arena be able to see it unfold, mainly to keep them from panicking and barging into there to 'save' their warden, or the like.
All the same, it was not as though the Nightmare Weaver cared at this point: he did not intend on ever getting hit to begin with and — unlike their first battle, a few nights prior — there was nothing to disrupt his senses or capacities.
Gallade — veritably oozing with a might she could feel even at the very end of the arena — clashed with the monster, which kept his blade at bay with what looked to be a Shadow Claw.
That it was Gallade — and not it — shaking beneath the pressure of their locked stance, him grunting and growling, his teeth gritted, the muscles of his arms strained, the demon looming over him like a reaper, showed Gothitelle all that she needed to know: they did not stand a chance, what had been accomplished three moons ago now was a mere fluke... fluke or ruse...
Their mutual immobility suddenly shattered, with the Moonshadow thrusting itself into Gallade with a Quick Attack and knocking him away. All the while, her expression soured with rage. Why? Why were they fine with this? Why ought they be fine with this? Why leave their protector to suffer under the onslaught of that brutish creature?
The beast lunged into her dear Gallade once again and struck him backwards with the ghastly fangs surrounding its equally grim head, and then — without giving him any respite! — mercilessly bashed him into the dirt with its fists.
It was going to kill him! It was going to kill him and have them watch from the stadium as it did so, like some form of perverse show! That's what was happening! That's what was happening!
"Get down there and help him!" She could not hold herself back from jumping onto Ursaring and seizing him by his fur, crying for the return of reason!
"Get off of me!" No luck, she was only pushed away by the growling ursid.
"You don't have to worry about it, Miss Gothitelle," that miserable vermin — Espurr — had the gall to speak up... no, she would walk back on her words. She would not call the poor, mislead child that. "They both promised each other to be careful when fighting, and Darkrai is still only using his weaker moves, as well!"
"Plus, that's without mentioning that Gallade already beat Darkrai, right?" Mawile chimed in. "And he'll beat 'em again!"
As if on cue, she turned her sights back to the arena, only to see their mighty protector take another pounding to the gut, retreating with his hand clutching his stomach and his blade exuding even more excess energy he would decidedly never get to use.
"Help him!" She now turned to shout at the other nearest Pokemon, which was Honchkrow, with whom she locked sights for a moment, before the avian recoiled, as if it had just been hit in the head.
"I... I suddenly feel so exhausted," she initially thought that the bird beginning to fan himself just as she asked that of him was theater, but the longer it lasted, and the more he began to shake, the more worried she became. "I've been using Superpower over and over again, I'm just so tired! I feel like I'm... I'm sinking into sleep..."
Gothitelle was on the verge of getting up and calling for someone to get both Leavanny and her elixirs, before Honchkrow's eyes shot wide-open.
"Are you alright Mr. Honchkrow?" Espurr flew up to his side, only to be knocked away by a sudden movement of the wings, falling into Lampent's arms.
The raptor wailed so loudly that it made villagers retreat behind their stools, before jumping up into the air, and charging forwards to the battlefield.
He administered the last Sucker Punch, after which point he could not tell whether Gallade was more battered than exhausted. "May we call it a day?"
Darkrai was struck by what felt like a thunderbolt, impacting his back, sending waves of anguish lashing across his entire being, and burying him into the dirt.
The Nightmare Weaver pushed himself back into the air, seeing Honchkrow — Honchkrow? — at the other end of the field.
Had this been their plan after all? Their trap? He gave one good look back to Gallade, barely able to keep himself standing, and saw that, no, he seemed as baffled as Darkra—
The bird charged into him with a Peck, producing an impact so powerful that it propelled the grunting Moonshadow back to the edge of the arena.
Heaving himself up for perhaps the third time, he had but a moment to glance and panic at the sight of Espurr — flailing in the arms of Lampent, with eyes and ears radiating magenta — before Honchkrow's shadow came to loom overhead, and the thrashing from his Superpower then began.
He soaked up pummeling after pummeling — being driven deeper and deeper into the ground — from wings, claws, and beak, leaving him battered there in a crater of dirt.
Hearing the distant roar of an explosion and cries from the townsfolk, however, soon made Darkrai take the bird by the neck — in spite of its physical defenses likely being quite low at that point — and shove it away.
Honchkrow's attacking capacity ought to have been tempered as well — if the avian's prior groans about training with Superpower were to be believed — but that onslaught did not feel weakened, nor was the bird on the verge of giving up. Instead, it was rising up, into the sky, preparing to plunge into him once again.
"CEASE!" He snarled, but the raptor — with what seemed like madness filling his eyes — charged forwards once again.
Darkrai finally resolved to fight back — if lightly — by conjuring an Ominous Wind beneath the avian, disrupting its oncoming Brave Bird, and launching it away from him.
Having just bought himself some time, the wraith dove into the shadows, thrusting himself forward to reach the tempestuous, magenta orb Espurr had become trapped in, and, without any worry of being harmed by the storm of psychic energy, he—
An object caught in the whirlwind struck him across the face, flinging the wraith out of there and back in the air.
Once he managed to compose himself — feeling quasi-sick from all of this motion — he found that the 'object' he had just been hit by was none other than Pumpkaboo, bruised and whimpering in his arms.
"Are you alright?" He asked after quickly setting her aside on the ground, pressed to return to his distressed friend.
She responded with a pained nod and whining gibberish. Good enough for Darkrai.
The wraith darted into the storm once again — evading bags, objects, berries, and entire flying mounds of dirt, alongside a deluge of shrapnel from the wooden bleachers — before he navigated his way to Espurr — hovering with dull, shining eyes at the core of the hurricane — and immediately took her into his arms.
"Please, calm yourself! I am fine, we are both fine!" He cried, absorbing the burnt of the shock from her outburst, while his pleads seemed to work: the largest portions of the bleachers suspended in the air were the first to collapse to the ground, with an earth-shaking rumble.
Surely enough, her ears eventually fell back, the glow vanished, the whirlwind subsided, items and Pokemon began to plummet from the sky, but he hugged her ever tighter. The weeping and shaking little creature wept and shook a little less with every caress before, finally, she opened her eyes.
"Are you alright?" He held her up to his face.
"I... I'm sorry," Espurr sniffled, squirming out of his grasp and coming to land on the inside of his carapace instead, nuzzling against his hair. "I... I got quite worried for you."
The Soothe Bell ought to have prevented this! "I was fine... and it's all over now, worry no longer," he reached to give her another pat on the head, but in doing so realised that there was, in fact, no bell attached to her ear.
Darkrai looked upwards, immediately confirming his suspicion: the Murkrow were jousting with their beaks — one against the others — over something with a particular shine.
The wraith took in a deep breath and moved to exert himself — once again — this time rushing into the air, imposing himself at the core of their formation, and making his demand.
"Return the Soothe Bell!"
Instead of doing so, the birds erupted into a frenzied cacophony and their flock dispersed, but the shine of the Soothe Bell under the rays of the Sun made it painfully easy to intercept the particular Murkrow with a Quick Attack.
"Return it," right after he reiterated his demand, the raptor attempted to flee, but Darkrai caught it by the beak, dislodging from it the item himself, and let the Murkrow retreat with the rest of his group.
Next, the Nightmare Weaver hovered back down to the ground and placed her belongings back in Espurr's paws. "Here you go," she took it with a half-smile, still staving off tears, and began to tie it back onto her ribbon.
Being up there, however, with a bird's eye view, had reminded him of the other Copperajah in the room: the aftermath of his friend's outburst — a pile of rubble, where a section of the bleachers had once stood — and the Pokemon still stuck within and around it.
And, so, off he went, again.
"Is everyone alright?" Naturally, his approach suscited apprehension, anxious quietude, and a disorganised retreat away from the monster.
"I... I'm fine," rather unnaturally, someone — Pumpkaboo — responded. "I think Mawile's trapped over there, though!" She flicked her lights on, directing to a large stack of wood which was, indeed, moving.
He left Espurr behind — she was in the midst of excusing herself to anyone and everyone and, while it pained him to abandon her in such an eerily familiar situation, it was not as though he could help her as much as she had helped him — and moved to the wide board, which had likely been a part of the very back of the amphitheater.
Incapable of getting a firm enough grip on the object to otherwise simply throw it away, Darkrai instead placed his claw upon it and summoned an empowered Haze, glaciating it through the middle, only to more easily be able to tear it into two. Thus, Mawile — laying down her jaw, after having struggled to keep the panel off of herself — was revealed.
"Gall—?" She looked up at him with awe-filled eyes, before her expression morphed to disgust within a split second. "Oh..."
"Mawile, are you hurt?"
"Ye—" her frown intensified midway through. "Actually, go away and go help Mr. Lampent over there! Hurry up!"
She pointed her jaw over to another area of the wreck, where Miss Mothim was wildly fluttering around an overshadowed plank, from under which emanated a purple glow. Darkrai heeded her order, leaving Espurr to take further care of her friend, while he approached the insect.
"Can you help him, please, Mr. Moonshadow?" Mothim sobbed, seemingly far too desperate to assure her lover's safety to find time to be afraid.
The wraith nodded and descended to the ground, melding into his own shadow up to the waist. It was just low enough to be able to see Lampent — struggling with his appendages to try and burrow his way out from beneath the wood he was being crushed by — and for Lampent to see him, and massively intensify his flailing and shrieking.
"Do calm down, I am only attempting to help set you loose," Darkrai assured, before reaching his claw towards him — only prompting the specter's wailing to get worse — and sprouting his shadow forwards into a Shadow Sneak, whose claws of darkness heaved up the pile from the inside.
Once the pressure had been relieved from the lamp, the Nightmare Weaver snagged it and pulled it out from beneath there, with the Shadow Sneak dissipating soon after, allowing for the mound to collapse back onto itself. The ghost escaped from his grasp as quickly as he could, jumping instead into Mothim's caring hol—
Darkrai flinched at the sight of an oncoming, sharpened plank of wood from the very top of the accumulation, but a flare of magenta energy stopped it in its tracks and, instead, flung it to the ground, some meters away.
"Thank you, Espurr," the little creature responded to his praise with a proud smile.
"Thank you, thank you, Mr. the Nightmare Weaver!" And Mothim was the one to thank him on Lampent's behalf.
This was.. awkward for him, but he luckily had another thought bothering him, which he could use as a distraction as well. "Pardon me asking, but could you not phase through that yourself? The wood, I mean, as you are a ghost?"
Lampent's eyes shot wide open. "I am so sorry for not doing so at all! And inconveniencing you all the while! I just practice my reflexes very little, and then panic under pressure!" They all practiced their moves very little... though, if all of them were going to become reckless like Honchkrow, it was perhaps for the best...
Honchkrow! Of course!
Once Arbok — able to slither under any pile of rubble and debris — and Ariados — crawling up surfaces of any tilt, and spinning webs strong enough to dislodge and make a pathway for any stuck Pokemon — began their work at the scene, Darkrai gave one last look at his friend — seeming more composed, now that she was aiding by rummaging through the junk field with her psychic ability as well — and then turned his attention to the Honchkrow he had knocked out of the air.
His approach first made the surrounding Pokemon silently — and with worry inundating their expressions — vacate the path to the wallowing Honchkrow and, once the wraith had been revealed to the bird — the luckily, luckily, luckily awake bird — it began to shuffle along the sand and dirt of the area — raising a cloud of dust with each flap and squawk — attempting to fly away, only to plummet back to the ground, finding itself in the same position, but suffering a now even greater exhaustion.
With his worries of having condemned the avian to a torment-ridden sleep now being lifted, the Moonshadow's mind shifted to befuddlement: he was simply astounded... Honchkrow — Honchkrow? — had defied him — risking his own life! — to apparently save another's! What even was going on? Where did this courage, seemingly so foreign to the rotten, former gang leader, come from? He was... so utterly confused...
"Fear not, I do not intend to exact any sort of revenge upon you," Darkrai made clear, once he had noticed Gallade's panicking expression amongst the crowd to his right—
A Hammer Arm struck the Nightmare Weaver to the ground, sending a shockwave pulsing through the land and agitating the sand once more.
Immediately as the crushing weight was lifted from his ribs, Darkrai plunged into the shadows and emerged a few meters away — sending the surrounding townsfolk crying and stumbling over each other to get away from him — and came face to face with the only Pokemon he knew to be able to strike with such might: Ursaring.
The bear rose its fist into the air for another assault, Darkrai crossed his arms to block it, and... he instead felt it knock the dust off of his arms and shoulders with — relative — gentleness.
Wha...?
"Sorry about that," the bear was not afraid to answer the Nightmare Weaver's murderous-yet-paralysed glare with eye contact. "The match with Gall made me think you'd be better at dodging," he laughed and — very strongly — gave him a pat on the shoulder again, his tone and gestures... amicable.
Why?
Also... it was not as though he could just guess that there was an oncoming... wait, no, what was even happening now?
"There's nothing to worry about with this guy," the bear turned to the crowd and — much importantly — his back to Darkrai. Not that he intended to blast him, but... "I don't know if any of you've noticed, but you could beat him to a pulp, he'd shrug it off, and his first worry would be whether you broke a nail doing it."
...
What... even...?
Oh.
Right.
He was not only peaceful, but veritably harmless, yes, that is how he would appear. He was being helped. Very roughly, but it was help, perhaps decisive help. Yes. Good. Very kind. Yes.
Though, as Ursaring heeded him no further attention after that, and instead marched on over to the mess Espurr had produced, Darkrai turned his sights back to Honchkrow, only to be intercepted by Gallade.
"Follow protocol: we heal both parties first, I will talk with both of you," he shot the bird an exasperated glance. "And then we'll see whether you both need to meet at all. Understood?"
"Under—" he wished to respond, but Leavanny — with both Espurr and Mawile in hand — was now the one to cut him off, taking him by the hand.
"Let's get you healed up, dear," she stated, pulling him with her to... somewhere, while the rest congregated around Honchkrow once more.
"What got into your head?" Gallade's shout — as he paced from one end of the road to another — made Honchkrow and the surrounding Pokemon shudder. "Why did you do that?"
"I... I'm not sure! I'm not sure!" Honchkrow whined, falling to his knees, at Gallade's feet. All the while, the murder of Murkrow snickered from the overhangs around the street. "But something definitely did get into my head, I assure you, Gallade!"
"Get up, and get a hold of yourself!" The warden ordered, causing the bird to immediately jump back onto his feet, moving to cautiously groom his feathers as he cowered still. "You are a Dark-type, nothing can get into your head!" Again, he paused. "Do you have no clue of what risks what you did entailed?"
"But! But!" Honchkrow flinched twice, before working to truly calm his nerves. "It is not only my fault! Will Darkrai not also share the blame? And Espurr, as well?"
"Espurr will be getting another lecture, yes, but there's always this type of risk with her, and I can't afford to not have her around when Darkrai's here as well," Gallade sighed. "As for Darkrai himself, I don't see what you're accusing him of doing, besides being there at all? I can't recall him ever committing any offense throughout that, quite the contrary, actually," from the corner of his eye, he could see the cogs in Gothitelle's head turning already. "But both of their cases are irrelevant when I'm talking to you right now—"
"I will let the part where you claim that Darkrai's presence here necessarily entails a certain risk of having Espurr combust in a populated area speak for itself," Gothitelle walked up next to Gallade, monopolising the gathered village's attention, and scored her first, easy victory. "However, is it really so likely that Honchkrow would come to fight the Nightmare Weaver of his own volition? Honchkrow," she strode closer to the attentive assembly, pointing to the avian all the while. "Honchkrow, who admitted that — rather than 'risk' his safety by talking to warden Bisharp — he would have his Murkrow work as delegates? Honchkrow, who would not even dare leave the skies, if he was not certain that any and all Pokemon around him were wholly harmless?" Her frown intensified. "Honchkrow... who would rather sick his gang on a Linoone, rather than fight it himself?"
"To play the Beyond One's advocate," Gothitelle's expression twisted itself into a grimace, once it became apparent that the raptor would be veering into a tangent. "Most of those things I did several, long ages ago now!"
"Well," she looked down to the bird, taking a handful of steps towards it. "You know well that I tend to remember. In fact, sometimes, when I look at you, when I'm reminded of those offenses," she slowly extended her hands towards his head. "I get a momentary urge to strangle you."
She folded her arms again, once she realised that her seething was causing discomfort and murmuring.
"But that's besides the point — far besides the point — with the point in question being that we all know that Honchkrow is a coward... or that he values his self-preservation enough not to throw himself at the Moonshadow, whichever way you want to spell it."
"True! True!" The raptor replied.
How open-ended her speech was, however, came to irritate Gallade, who was about to nip her efforts in the bud. "Well, Honchkrow, between your Insomnia and you being a Dark-type, I'm willing to doubt that Darkrai himself had anything to do with your episode: there was nothing he could do there."
...
He paused for a second, just enough to be able to get a whiff of the general sentiment of the Pokemon around them with his psychic abilities: not all agreed fully, not all unfounded suspicion had been erased, but all knew that what he was saying made a good degree of sense, even Gothitelle.
"Correct, on both accounts!" Honchkrow replied.
"Then, tell me," it was time to shift away from that paranoid speculation, and onto something more concrete. "How am I supposed to trust that you won't do something so reckless again? If your decision to do so wasn't even rational?"
Gallade's question was genuine, but he realised the moment he uttered it that it was, again, a low-hanging fruit for a certain someone.
"We cannot really do anything about Honchkrow's pent up rage, no," a fruit Gothitelle immediately reached for. "So perhaps we can avoid the violence by removing the apparent 'victim', if you wish to call Darkrai that..."
"I... I don't think that anger motivated me... in fact, my sense of self felt wholly dull! I felt like I was just... just watching myself ram into the Nightmare Weaver!"
Honchkrow's remark was very interesting — even making Gallade doubt his own certainty, for a short moment — but there was no way to verify the veracity of a Dark-type's claims, nor was Gothitelle willing to give him any time to investigate, before beginning to hammer her point once more.
"You are a Dark-type, Honchkrow, no such thing can happen to you," Gallade could not tell whether Gothitelle was mocking his confidence in his assessment, having perceived his inkling of doubt. "I, however, am a Psychic-type," she would not dare say 'in theory'. "And I'm well aware of the deep resentment — due to this situation Gallade has pushing us into — within the hearts of every Pokemon here. We are all just too afraid to express it, right?" She shrugged and turned to the crowd, but they only exchanged uncertain glances, much to her ire.
"As an actual Psychic-type, Gothi, I can only tell you that perhaps you're underestimating the hospitality and magnanimity of our village," he muttered in return, with his sights and senses moving onto Pumpkaboo, Lampent, and Mothim in particular.
"Eh?" Was the only thing Gothitelle could respond with, before he cut her off.
"Anyhow, we aren't making much real progress with any of this talk. We're living through difficult times, a difficult situation, so I'll be more flexible with protocol," Gallade looked to Honchkrow. "Honchkrow? Do you want to excuse yourself before Darkrai?"
"Can I pass?"
He sighed. "Alright, but I'll carry over your apology to him, then. I doubt that he'd be delighted to have to talk to you either. Otherwise, we will be keeping you two separate for the coming few days. Does that plan of action sound fine to everyone?"
Most gave their nods or vocal agreements, while Gothitelle huffed, but didn't protest.
"I'm not scared of you!" Mawile's nerves finally snapped under his glare. "Maybe you basically beat Gallade — which you didn't deserve to! — but if you think that that means that you can hurt or scare anyone else here, me, him, and everyone else will still beat you to a pulp... again!"
She would receive no response, no, not for what was likely to be the fifth time: while Leavanny was once again patching up his wounds and scars — weaving her silk bandages and handling her elixir-imbued leaves — and while Espurr had completely given up coming to his defense every time — preferring to ignore her friend and, instead, jostle with and scratch at Darkrai's cloak and tail, as he calmly awaited treatment in the shade of the meadow's tree they were sitting under — Mawile had been left seething from the results of his match with Gallade.
She had kept circling back to the same handful of topics and insults in-between pouting in silence, repeating herself like a Slowking, draining him of any will to further counter-argue her claims.
"And we're done for now, dear!" Leavanny proclaimed once the last of the bandages had been laid on his shoulder.
Espurr stopped her play fighting with his tail and hovered up into the air, leaving him to attempt and heave himself up as well, alone, before the insect extended an unexpected, helping hand.
The Nightmare Weaver got off the ground, before growing his legs again and landing — apparently — much too close for Mawile's comfort, which provoked her into attempting to threaten him away with the snapping of her appendage.
Darkrai could only sigh, really. "You have nothing to fear from me."
Slowly, Mawile's jaw cut off its snarling grimace, and descended to the ground again. She puffed and crossed her arms.
"Well... you're a... freak, yeah!" She caught herself from admitting that he did scare her, if but a tad. "With your... weird legs, and all that!"
The Nightmare Weaver was not the slightest bit offended — her inarticulate grumbling was endearing, really — but that did not stop Leavanny from paling, rushing over to Mawile, and beginning her own disarranged attempts at excuses on the toddler's behalf. "She's... she's, uhm, just a wee-bit un—unreasona—"
"Miss Leavanny, it is fine," Darkrai reassured, making certain to keep his tone reeled in. "I have fairly thick skin," he made clear, for future reference.
He had been denigrated in worse ways, by many.
"Oh!" And, with but that gasp, the wraith realised that he had just sent her on another round of troubled apologising. "I did not mean to assume that you were... well, uh, sensitive but, well—"
It was all so tiresome, he thought to himself while she continued to stumble over her words.
"He does look quite peculiar," a breath of fresh air he had become too absorbed into his conversation with Mawile and Leavanny to remember he had: his dear friend, Espurr. "But I believe that it's in an amusing sort of way!"
The wraith reached his hand down towards her — seeing that he had made their caretaker shudder from the corner of his eye — and petted the furball on the head.
She purred, rubbed herself against his claws, and then flew up to his face. "Now, your turn!"
"My turn?"
"Can you do the thing with your head?" No, he would not. "Do you remember? The thing that I found quite amusing!"
He crossed his arms. "I have no clue what it is that you're on about, whatsoever," he did not have a clue, no, but rather knew full well what she had in mind.
"Please!" Rather than relent — as he had first thought she would — the furball instead leaned into his face and gave him her most piercing, Litten-eyed stare...
Well... but... it was not as though he wanted to humiliate himself further... yet... perhaps he needed to do just that.
Fine.
Darkrai took in a deep breath — preparing for the utter embarrassment he was about to cause himself — and then everything when black, his head having retracted itself into his carapace.
Instantly, he could hear even Leavanny chortling, while the wraith could vaguely make out Espurr saying that he was 'quite like a Squirtle'.
And that was enough of that!
"Yeah, you are freaky looking," Mawile scoffed again, once he had emerged from his shel— from his battlements. Her words failed to hurt him in any way whatsoever, but the repetition merited an eye-roll!
"Likewise, you ambulating Tyrantrum maw," too used to making commentary in silence and from the shadows, Darkrai only realised that he had uttered that — rather loudly — under his breath once he caught the narrowed glare she had directed at him.
Panic struck him. He did look odd and deformed! He was odd and deformed! Why must he be so emotional as to take offense at a little girl stating the truth clearly? "I... I am so, so sorr—"
"It's pronounced 'Tyranitar'. You really do need to take Miss Leavanny's classes!"
"No, I... did mean a Tyrantrum," he responded, so eager to lead the discussion away from his rude remarks that he failed to see the quagmire he was marching straight into.
"What's a Tyrantrum, then?" Mawile narrowed her brow. "Miss Leavanny never told us about it."
"Oh! Darkrai is quite old and knowledgeable, maybe he just knows about more kinds of Pokemon than her, so let's listen!"
...
Curses!
"It... well, it is a kind of Pokemon, yes, but one which is now long-dead," surely they would know about extinct species and the like?
Lampent had a vague understanding of the topic, from what he had overheard and seen in dream, so if they did press the wraith further, he could just direct the duo to him instead... though, he ought to perhaps cease mentioning all of these pieces of information he had collected about each and every individual from their town. It was undoubtedly off-putting!
"Did you kill them all?"
The question legitimately shook his out of his thoughts.
"No!" The Moonshadow exclaimed, almost making Leavanny fall over from fright. "I—I did no such thing, no... it is just that they went extinct on their own," admittedly, he could have done much more to preserve them, but, well, he was in no place to condemn Yveltal for wishing to exist.
"Were you around to see them?"
"Indeed I was," seeing the return of the awe in her eyes from the very start of the conversation was an incredible relief. How would she react, if she was made to know just how old he truly was?
Wait... no. Why had he told her any of that?
"So you're like, really old!" Mawile rubbed her chin. "Like one of those weird eldritch evils that Zacian and Zamazenta fight in that one book!"
What? No! He wasn't like—
"I told Mothim that those were too scary to have read to you!" Leavanny couldn't keep herself from protesting.
"He's not evil!" Espurr zoomed back to him and latched onto the top of the disoriented Darkrai's head. "Say sorry to him. Now!"
"Fine," Mawile groaned. "I'm sorry, Dar—" her eyes widened. "Wait! I'm not sure if I am..." and she lost herself in deep thought...
The Nightmare Weaver's hopes that this would be the end of that were rapidly dashed, however, as Leavanny was quick to mobilise during the window of silence. "Just... how old truly are you?"
Ah!
Uh...
A thousand? Would that be a reasonable lie? Ninetales could live so long. Dusknoir were recycled at eight hundred. Cofagrigus could survive for a similar amount of time, before rusting away. All of those would be qualified as 'ancient' by explorers and travelers, he knew... It was a neat, rounded number... was it maybe too neat and rounded...? No, it would do fine. "A thousand, most likely."
Their eyes widened, and he was quite certain now that it had received the desired effect. He was much, much older than that, evidently, however, the larger he would make the number, the more details they would be susceptible to ask for, the more likely it would become that he would end up stumbling into some forbidden or unsavory topic.
Speaking of asking questions, a glance made it obvious that they were already formulating some in their minds, and that was something he ought to nip in the bud...
He would say 'somehow' but, the minute he locked sights with Espurr, she gazed over to her caretaker and friend, and moved to cut off their ruminations. "Wait, Darkrai, Morgrem showed me how to make something for you! Well... not for you specifically, but I knew quite well for who I was going to do it, when he showed me how!"
He had no clue what it was she had in mind, but the distraction had worked, and he loved her.
Espurr launched herself up towards the tree, oddly enough choosing to open her ears, even after the disaster she had recently incurred, and spread her psychic influence to the entire surface, finely picking from it certain branches and petals — and making some fall onto him and Mawile in the process — before returning to the ground.
With impressive dexterity, she first weaved the still-green branches together into a small coil, and then moved to gently insert into it the flowers and petals she had chosen. Finally, she exclaimed a 'there!' and placed the whole on his head, provoking Mawile into a giggle.
"Thank you so much!" Darkrai could practically shed a tear while eyeing it, the beautiful, little flower crown serenely resting there, on his hair. Even in the few artistic depiction of him in mosaics or carvings, alongside his family, he had always been withheld his rightful aureole!
"It's very finely crafted, Espurr," Espurr responded to Leavanny's compliment with a proud smile, while Leavanny was busy trying to keep herself from a mocking grin at Darkrai.
He was not bothered by it. He adored the crown his friend had made for him. It was adorable! Adorable!
"I take it that you're also to do with her becoming so much better with her self-control?" Leavanny asked.
He had certainly prodded her towards fine-tuning her capacities, but he would not claim any such credit for her success. "No, that is all the doing of Gallade and her inner talents, as individual and as species. I knew it once, but no longer," seldom was he in the right state of mind to be able to use it effectively.
It oughtn't require so much effort for a spawn of Arceus to exert a relatively powerful psychic impulse... but he had handicapped himself. Gothitelle had lost her powers to the nightmare and, in a way, he had suffered a similar— albeit less dire — fate: after that catastrophe of a plan he had executed, Darkrai was this shell of his former self... the wraith eventually recovered, yes, in many ways... but he missed his old eloquence, his old self-assuredness — as superficial as it was — his old confidence...
What he had ended up trying was stupid — Cresselia had told him that he couldn't follow her — he had been warned that it would lead to nothing good! And he had not listened...
Perhaps, perhaps he was thinking in euphemisms: self-assuredness? Confidence? Overwhelming, misplaced pride, more like. A pride becoming of a spawn of the Original One, yes, but maybe not of the deplorable, black blot on the family tree, of the One Who Should Not Have Been.
Perhaps it was good that he had been shattered. That his pride and obtuseness had been shattered. His oh-so-fresh memories of Scizor battering him into the ground, of... that place whose name he could not remember, of threatening to disembowel those villagers who had dated to ask to shake his hand, of throwing a tantrum at those who were far too frightened to greet him with thorough reverences they did not even know of, came back to mind.
It had cost him, and this world, nigh an entire village... though, even with his arrogance, his entitlement to being treated as his siblings would be — as a veritable god — gone, it was not as though the reactions he received had shifted very much...
"Are you even listening to me!?" Mawile finally cried loud enough to break him out of his self-induced trans. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"
"Oh! Uh..." Darkrai flinched and recoiled away into the air, though he managed to stop himself from fleeing any further, having realised that there truly was nothing to fear.
Soon enough, both Espurr — latching onto his hair like a Joltik, as she had a clear tendency to do by now — and Leavanny — wrapping her leaf-arm around his to reel him back in — were upon the Moonshadow. A tinge unnecessary, for him having just been mildly startled, but... the excess of worry made him feel warm.
"Are you alright, Darkrai?" Espurr, sticking to his face, meowled.
"I... I am fine, yes," even if stuck in an odd limbo between being perturbed and nearing tears, after their display. Espurr would receive another, loving stroke on the head.
"As I was saying," Mawile began, following a series of forced coughs. "Psychic is great for coverage! Ask Gallade, since you apparently don't know nothing about types advantages!" She paused for a short moment, just to roll her eyes. "You were just dodging and floating around for half of it, anyway, not like you deserved to win."
His performance may have heavily disappointed her, but Darkrai intended to at very least make a more powerful impression here... and not because her constant comments were getting under his skin, no!
"Do keep in mind that my own typing is rarely known, and that I am easy to confuse for either a Ghost- or a Psychic-type," he explained. "That being said, it is not as though I often need a type advantage to be confident in my chances of winning," as a former warden of Haven — Grimmsnarl — had discovered, even from behind his Light Screen...
"I just... don't get it! How did you even train to get that good? It's not fair!"
The very first answer was that the Havenish were quite weak, compared to most other Pokemon... but he would keep himself from stating the primary answer. Them knowing that they could, indeed, one day call upon aid from the outside was not in his interests, even if said aid was highly unlikely to be the end of him.
"Truth be told... and this is quite likely to be contrary to your expectations about the Nightmare Weaver, but... I do not enjoy fighting, nor do I train often," he sighed. "Trickery is more so my domain of choice, when in duels," truels and more, most often.
"But then how did you get so strong in the first place? And how do you keep being so strong without wanting to train?"
"Well, whether I enjoy the situations where I am forced to develop my skills or not has seldom been of any relevance..."
"Huh?" She tilted her head.
"Pressing circumstances have lead me to hone my capabilities, more so than any free volition of mine to take time and advance my strength for its own sake."
"And what does that mean?"
Good grief. "It's because those who fight me also want to kill me, Mawile. It is neither a choice, nor a pass time, and how often I am confronted with this reality has kept my abilities from degrading," by the end, he had to restrain his tone, something he liked to think he was becoming better at.
That frustration was the emotion that he needed to hold back was a rarity, though.
"Oh..." finally, she accepted his answer. "Well, you don't have to fight anyone while you're here, you know... oh..." her eyes widened, accompanied by a quiet gasp. Honchkrow was one example, she herself was another. "I... I am sorry for hurting you with my Flash Cannon... thank you for that, if you really were trying to help..."
'If'... it was good enough.
"It was an unexpectedly powerful blast," it was not. "Decently accurate, as well," meh. "However, has your foot gotten better?"
She silently nodded.
"Oh!" Espurr giggled. "That...! That...!"
"Rhymes," Darkrai whispered.
"That rhymes!"
"Well, Mawile," he returned to the issue at hand. "I risk repeating myself here, but do know that I have no intent on harming anyone here. I am as invested in your friends' good health as you are."
She thought for a while. "I don't know whether I should trust you, but... okay, I will trust you a bit more," his eyes widened. "But, if you're lying, me, Gallade, and everyone else here will be there to stop you and will beat you again! Even worse than before!"
"You know, they couldn't really beat him," Espurr began, placing herself on the plateau of his collar and, once again, wrapping her arms around his head. "He was just holding back not to hurt anyone, but he's much, much stronger than them!"
His pondering whether what she was saying would help or make their anxieties worse was the only thing keeping his mind off of the incredible embarrassment this flattery ought to be causing. It was a pressing question during his duel with Gallade, one which, frankly, Honchkrow's impromptu intervention was able to avoid him having to answer fully.
"Yes, he even has a move that's like Hypnosis!" Espure continued to praise him before the enthralled Mawile. "But it can put a lot of targets to sleep at once, just like that!"
"Show how it works!" Mawile's request visible shook Leavanny, who — from head shakes to waving her hands — began to execute every gesture of disapproval all at once.
"I have... another power, which I would be more than willing to demonstrate more thoroughly," without even asking whether they agreed to it or not, Darkrai melded into his shadow, stretching out along the ground, and assumed the silhouette of a Mawile. "Do try and guess which Pokemon I am imitating."
The trio watched as he imitated her — biting, swinging her jaw... trotting — before Mawile herself finally responded. "It's me! It's a Mawile!"
"Correct!"
His shadow tore apart and, instead, morphed into that of a Pumpkaboo — flickering her lights on and off by forming gaps in the artifical silhouette — which was guessed by Espurr without missing a beat. Darkrai confirmed her choice, and moved onto Mothim, and then Lampent, both of whom were guessed by Leavanny, in spite of the last one — a lamp — being rather hard to manifest as a shadow.
He kept himself from doing Honchkrow — as that would be highly distasteful — and instead attempted something which they were far less susceptible to remember right at the start: a head crowned with two, dull and bulbous horns, its body round and woolen, ending with a curved tail that held a sphere at its end.
"Is that a Mareep?" A new voice responded.
"Gallade, sir!" Mawile called, forgetting that her ankle still hurt and stumbling forward with a grunt, when she tried to run over to him. "Darn it!"
"Hello everyone," his eyes took on a pink hue and Mawile was lifted off the ground, the dirt from her fall being removed from her hands and knees, and set back on the grass she had been sat on. "Even though we met about an hour ago."
"It was... a long hour, but less so than I expected, honestly," Leavanny commented, shooting Darkrai a glance.
What did that even mean?
"Gallade, I'm really sorry for the mess I caused!" Espurr let go of him, levitating instead over to the warden, whose leg she latched onto. "I just got scared, and hurt, and worried, and my Soothe Bell was gone, and there was nothing I could quite do about it, but I'm still quite sorry!"
"Don't worry about it, Espurr," Gallade made her hover up to him, shaking both of her little paws. "I was the one who told you to stay in town these past few days, it's hardly your fault. I shouldn't have announced that we were doing a duel right before we did it. I'm the one who's sorry, alright?"
"Darkrai," Gallade turned to him with an extended palm, but it took far too long for the Moonshadow to understand that and, so, the warden lowered his hand before Darkrai could reach out for it. "I... only just realised that I totally forgot to compliment you on your incredibly impressive performance back there... wait, what's that on your head—?"
"Gallade, are you alright? And is Honchkrow well?" As regrettable as this display of impoliteness was, Darkrai wished to cut back on the peripheral chatter and get to the most important issue at hand as rapidly as possible. "He acted in a very reckless manner—"
"Yes, I'm fine, he's fine... you... you won't have to meet him, he doesn't really want to meet you for the time being, either," Gallade confirmed, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Even as the warden's eyes again hovered towards his flower crown, Darkrai could not keep himself from staring at his hand, addled, just like with every other case where a villager dared touch — or approach at all! — the Nightmare Weaver.
"You know... everyone has been rather stressed out, under pressure," Gallade had to force away any visible craving to break down cackling at the sight of aureole. "For a few days now. I've never seen anyone act like that, but... he maybe just... snapped. Quite a few folks are still jumpy... but you're making progress!"
If that was so, then it had wholly escaped him. That being said, Darkrai was more than willing to chalk what Gallade was saying up to an attempt to keep him docile.
"Not with everyone, apparently," the wraith crossed his arms behind his back, staring off into the distance.
"What... do you think of Gothitelle?" Gallade uttered this horrific question, once he noticed Darkrai veering away from the conversation.
Curses!
He shot a glance over to Leavanny, hoping that perhaps she would somehow realise that he needed aid, but the bug kept silent, with her antennas twitching with curiosity. Mawile and Espurr were no less interested, and no more willing to help.
Curses, a second time!
He took in a deep breath, and resolved to give a response, as fleeing would be even ruder. "I... I do not hate her, no, not at all..."
"Even after—?" Gallade had understood the moment of silence the Nightmare Weaver had offered himself to think as an end to the answer. "You... don't seem to bear very many grudges, at least. Good on you!"
"That is not true, I don't think," Darkrai looked up to the tree they were sat under, hoping to find some distraction for at least his vision.
He had wormed his way into being lord over nightmares, fear, pain... whatever else was left, after all... it would be an insult to these domains — ones over which he had been divinely-granted stewardship — for him to try and claim that strong emotions were in some way entirely basal.
"I don't believe it wholly virtuous to forgive and forget any and all offenses and insults, however... it is not as though those committed against me are not often justified, or, well, understandable..."
There was a principle within his family, that of 'disproportionate vengeance'. Disproportionate vengeance, disproportionate punishment, befitting any attack against a being of disproportionate stature. The extinction of a family, a species, the destruction of a planet, or — at the very summit — of Creation itself, could all find themselves to be righteous punishments for a lack of reverence, mild insults, mere impoliteness, depending on the grandeur of the victim, depending on the member of the First Family.
There had been many arguments over whether he would benefit from this doctrine — him, whose stature was objectively that of an abomination, a blot on the genealogy — within the first few millennia of his life. It had been ruled in his favour, but, luckily for him — luckily for them — he knew well that he had been left within a limbo, that he ought to be — that he could be — more indulgent.
"Miss Gothitelle's aid to this village, to curbing my excess, then and now, is something I am deeply grateful for, in spite of her current demeanor towards me. I would have wished for her to be less hostile, of course, but... even the eldest and most venerable Trevenant sometimes strangle others of their kind, and they are far too old and wise to be preached to. Eternal peace no matter the price is the goal of none. I will not force it to be hers, nor will I waste effort adopting it as my own. She is not willing to pardon me, and... I am willing to respect that... I will not press her any further..."
Or, perhaps the truth of the matter was that accepting her as doomed would lift a weight off of his own shoulders. Cowardly, maybe, but... he was not himself sure as to which explanation was closer to the truth.
Gallade's brow narrowed and his sights shifted away from Darkrai for a moment, as he pieced together what he had just been told.
"What's a Trevenant?" Mawile interrupted.
Oh, right, that was why Gallade was puzzled.
"A Pokemon that resembles a tree, one which lives a very, very long time," he explained. "So, during that time, it gets very knowledgeable and wise."
"Is it like the Whimsicott you scared to death?"
Why did she have to phrase it in such a way?
"N—No... or, well, perhaps, in a way—"
"Are you a Trevenant?" Espurr asked... for some reason? What?
"No? I... I am not a Trevenant."
Espurr followed on, sticking to his leg once again. "Well, you're very old, knowledgeable, and wise! Look, you even have flowers and branches growing on you!" Her own joke sent her into a laughing fit.
One could doubt his wisdom — or his resemblance to a tree, that as well, it was tenuous! — but it did not matter: he loved this, and the reminder that it would all come to an end soon, eventually, in a few days, made his heart ache.
"Darkrai," Gallade called for his attention once more. "Do you think that there's any way we could arrange for you to stay?"