Chapter 83 – Stew

If it wasn't for how thirsty he was, he would have been crying for a lot longer, but some part of Owen kept that from happening. He still couldn't accept it. Amia…

He couldn't remember what cave she had been left behind in. And he had no way to sense where she had gone, either. He was lucky enough to have the sense to bring the green crystal with him, but now that Amia was gone, he couldn't sense where she had been. It must have been tied to her aura.

Now, all Owen could do was follow that smell of stew. It was weaker than the day before—maybe because there was less of it—but that also meant there had been a lot before. Surely, they would have some to spare for him.

At this point, Owen had been more focused on one step after the other than anything else. He didn't want to think too much about what had happened, not until he had food in him. Otherwise… Perhaps he'd wind up seeing Amia a lot sooner than intended.

Another rumble shook the ground—they were becoming more frequent lately—and Owen dashed to one of the rocks, ducking behind each one now that the rumbles were so close.

He was starting to get reckless and desperate. The smell was so strong. He had to be close.

A booming shockwave cracked above him. Owen fell to the floor, covering the top of his head. Another one of those roars followed—the windy shriek of a giant. He whimpered loudly, trying to drown it out, until it finally passed. His chest felt like mush, yet his heart felt tight. He gasped for breath, not realizing that he had held it for so long. The very end of a dark blast, its faded particles shimmering like black-purple sparks, flew far above him.

They were different from the corrupted light that had been used to suppress his evolution, yet the colors still reminded him of that. And that, in turn, reminded him of his tiny, Charmander body.

At least it meant he wouldn't have to find as much food to support himself.

What was that blast? Owen looked up again, but the rumbles were becoming louder. He had to hurry if he wanted to avoid it. He continued to duck between larger rocks, using what little energy he had to sprint between the ones that were too far away, until he spotted a small cave.

He had to risk it. The smell was strongest from there.

He was mere steps away from the entrance when a shadow in the corner of his vision crawled across the ground. He stared at it, then looked up on reflex. His pupils narrowed in terror—something black was flying in the sky. He didn't have time to judge the size or whether it saw him—he only scampered into the cave, not looking back, and then tripped over a small, raised platform.

"Urf—" He didn't smash his face this time, at least. The ground shook again and a few loose rocks hit the dusty ground outside. Softer. It was going away. And he didn't see that flying creature's shadow, either.

With the immediate danger out of the way, he could finally focus on his surroundings. He brought his tail forward, holding it like a torch, and found nothing but a large, stone pot in the middle, over a dying fire made from wood that he recognized as being from the forest.

Without thinking, he ran toward the pot—which was twice his height—and tried to think of how to get inside. He scanned for any wraiths, but found none. There didn't seem to be any traps—but who else could make traps like him? He just had to climb up and get some.

Little bowls were scattered around nearby. Had this place been recently abandoned? Probably because of that huge titan. Could it smell the food? That would've gotten its attention…

Owen pressed his hand against the stone bowl, hoping it was light enough that he could at least roll it to get inside. The moment he did, he felt a jolt of energy rush through him. He yelped in surprise and pulled his hand back, shivering—it was warm, but it also felt like he had been hit by one of Enet's sparks. He poked it again and felt the same spark—so that was the trap.

The food was right there and he couldn't even eat it.

Some primal part of the Charmander made him pace around the bowl several times in a wide circle, looking for an opening. There had to be something he could get out of this—anything! How could he tip a bowl over without touching it? Or did he just have to power through it? No, even then, he was too weak. It was probably too heavy.

If only it wasn't hooked up with a trap!

A trap…

Owen looked at his feet, a thoughtful chirp escaping him. What if he…

Owen stomped his foot near the base of the bowl, channeling a bit of energy into the ground. Then, for good measure, he did another—feeling the strain on his body. He had to stop there.

He took a few steps back. Narrowing his eyes at the base, he tried to activate them remotely. Just a little more… Ugh, I can't concentrate… He could only think about the food inside. He grabbed a pebble instead and readied a Protect in case it went flying back at him. He tossed it onto the trap, using it as a focus, and then crossed his arms.

The explosion tipped the bowl over completely, the contents sloshing heavily. Some of it spilled out, but it looked like the pot had only been a fifth of the way full. Still, that was more than enough for him, and Owen let out a series of celebratory chirps and embers into the air. He scrambled to the stew, not caring that it was only warm and not hot. Manners were a thing of the past; he shoved his hands into the brownish-red porridge, pulling out chunks of meat and berries without thought. He even saw some of that tree taffy in the mix, but he didn't care. Food! It was food!

Owen sniffled, taking a break to blink away a few of his tears, and kept eating. It's so good, he thought to himself, his desperate sobs of relief the only thing that kept him from eating even faster.

I'm a mess, Owen thought, trying to calm himself down once he realized how savage he'd been. But if those strange dreams were anything to go by… what if that's just how he was? No—there was more to it. Even feral Pokémon—at least, his mother… his—was that his mother? And not Amia, but…

It gave him a headache. The food was more important for now. Those dreams were fleeting at most; maybe if he got another, he could actually try to focus on remembering them a little more.

Owen winced—there was something hard in the stew. He spat it out. "Oh, gross…"

It was a piece of bone. Part of something a lot larger than him. Shaking his head, he looked into the stew for more pieces, realizing that whatever they had put in this giant pot, they had put it in whole, or at least were… very averse to being wasteful about it.

Why did they run off, anyway?

The thought was fleeting. Curiosity and hunger got the better of him, and he dug through the stew to get rid of more of the bones. Couldn't eat that without messing up his gut, after all. He already bled on the outside; bleeding on the inside would just make things worse.

He wondered where the other bones had gone. He looked around, just to be sure he didn't miss any, and raised his tail. Now that his energy was back, his flame was a lot brighter.

His heart leapt up into his chest—there were bones around, stripped clean of flesh. He recognized a few as bones he'd expect from a limb, and others, vertebrae. Thinner, longer bones suggested wing-like appendages, too… Were those claws?

Owen shuddered and looked inside the stew again. There was something lumpy at the very bottom of the tasty slop. Out of morbid curiosity, he reached forward. The only sort of bone he hadn't seen yet was the skull.

What exactly did they wind up cooking? Owen thought, tugging hard against the lump. It was heavy—maybe as heavy as he was! It's so big! No wonder they had spent so long cooking it. This pot must have been full the first time he'd come across the scent.

He pulled a little harder, but then yelped—he broke off part of the skull. It was certainly a skull, just based on the vague shape. What had come off—to easily—was a pointed horn of some kind. Then again, it had probably been cooking at the bottom for a while. Owen discarded it and tried to pull out the rest of the skull.

With a bit more tugging, he finally pulled it free, the stew falling out of the empty holes left in the head. He grimaced at first, regretting that he'd pulled it out at all. Gross. Maybe he should have waited until he wasn't hungry anymore to do this inspection.

More of the stew fell from the skull, and he started to get a better idea of what shape it had. The lower jaw was missing—probably somewhere at the bottom of the bowl, still buried. The top of the skull was a lot longer than it was tall. Long snout. Intense eye sockets, too. And—

Oh, Mew, it's a Charizard.

Owen dropped the skull into the vat and took a few shaky steps back. Did he just—there was so much, and—

He stepped on the horn again and kicked it away with a shriek. Dizziness from breathing too fast forced him to sit down, holding his head. His stomach churned harshly, it was rising up, hot, stinging bile in the back of his throat. He clenched his jaws tight and clamped his claws over it for extra measure, then clenched the back of his throat.

It would be even worse if it came back out. He didn't want to see it again. He couldn't bear to look at the bowl, either. The Charmander wobbled toward the wall, placing one hand on the rocks, as his tail crackled loudly.

"That didn't happen. That didn't…"

It kept flashing in his head. Those empty eyes in the skull, leaking stew from all over. It slid off of the skull where the scales had once been, mixing with the red stew. The pointed horn that had come off so easily, nothing but a firm tug needed to break the bone. How long had it been there, festering? How long had…

Pointed horn?

Owen glanced back at where he'd kicked it away.

Something about this picture didn't fit, and the nagging feeling finally pulled him out of his spiral. He looked back at the horn again, inspecting it more closely. Charizard didn't have pointed horns like that, like it curved upward. Those were mutant horns. Or maybe some subspecies that he didn't know about. But…

He checked the head again, careful not to look at its face, or whatever was left of it. One horn was still left. And even though most of the flesh had been cooked away, there was still…

Click.

It popped off with just a firm tug.

For a while, all Owen did was stare. He wasn't horrified anymore. Confused, maybe. Baffled? Was that the feeling? He tried to analyze his own thoughts, but then refocused back on the horn.

His horn.

He was the only Charizard in the world to have detachable horns. Har, and all the others of his kind, could turn down their Perceive naturally. But he couldn't. He had to physically remove his horns to stop the sense from overwhelming him.

"It's… it's me. H-ha, it's… it's me!" Owen tossed the head—his old head—back into the pot, laughing with wide, incredulous eyes.

Was he supposed to feel better or worse about eating it, now? He didn't know, and he didn't care. He laughed for a little while longer, settling down into little, disjointed chuckles. The energy from the meal was starting to get to him.

Charizard stew! With only the finest herbs and berries. It cooked itself.

Finally calm enough to grab a small bowl—he gave himself permission to eat his own carcass—he dipped it into the overturned pot. If anything, he could get another helping with some dignity to make up for the circumstances.

Because despite everything, there was a new fire in him that wasn't just from the food. His thoughts, now sharper, came to one new conclusion with this surprising piece of information. While he tried to ignore the twisting of his stomach—either because the stew tasted funny, or because of this new realization—he only let that fuel the flame.

Upon first landing in the wastes, he had fallen so hard that everything in his body broke. Had he been a Charizard? If that was the case… He had died then. He had died, lost part of himself, somehow—he was familiar with the feeling at this point—and became a Charmander. If he died again, would he lose even more of himself?

Only now he understood: Amia was not safe and sound in the aura sea, nor was she in the Fire Realm.

She was still here.

Somewhere out there, wandering as a Ralts.

The smell of paint welcomed him like an old friend. Trembling hands grabbed a nearby can—that he'd produced a while ago from his tail, but it was still fresh and ready for use—and inspected the nearby bucket of dirty water next to it.

Angelo wasn't in the right mindset to paint. He wasn't the sort of insane artist who could only draw when he was feeling particularly flustered. In fact, he couldn't paint at all with how much his hands were shaking, his heart pounding, his legs threatening to shatter like the last few twigs of a tree in Void Forest.

It was just him and the dusty, stuffy, warm, inviting darkness. The Smeargle waded through piles of crumpled papers, heavy and stuck together in a flaky wad from all the paint that covered each one, and into the back room where a small container filled with cold berries sat. The Orb inside had gone out—some sort of slow-burn Hail Orb to keep the insides cool—but he opened it very quickly so the cold would be preserved for what little remained within.

A Pecha and an Oran. Not blessed—though even if they had been, they weren't anymore—and just for a little treat. He started with the Pecha, savoring it, but it didn't stop his shaking. Were there Chesto Berries in those drinks at the café? No, that wasn't it.

He heard a distant scream outside for Arceus knows why. His blood froze instantly, followed shortly by his heart, as terror gripped his chest. He didn't move, and he only realized a few seconds later that he'd crushed the Pecha in his hand. After muttering a soft curse, he grabbed a nearby paper and wiped the sticky remnants on it, tossing it on the dusty pile of trash. Clean that up later, he thought to himself for the umpteenth time.

It wasn't worth checking. He was done. No more healing, no more chaos, just his home, his art, his darkness, his quiet, his solitude. The most interaction he'd never need is for making little art commissions, client requests. Sure, some were a bit hard to deal with, but at least they weren't dying. Dying for his work, sure, but not drifting away to the spirit realm.

Angelo realized that he didn't want to paint with red, perhaps ever. How limiting would that be for his art in the future? Was he being overdramatic? The fact that he felt his Pecha Berry coming back up suggested otherwise.

He needed to distract himself some other way. Perhaps an early afternoon nap. Maybe he could work on that request from that strange Espeon. That painting didn't have any red, did it? Why was his fur suddenly standing on end?

"Angelo."

Some mixture of a silent scream and a whimper bounced around his throat. Unable to look back, he only froze, hoping that it was his imagination. When it was clear it wasn't, he then hoped that Rhys would just leave him alone.

He didn't, and he should have known he wouldn't. In fact, he was walking closer, into his home, seeing all this mess—clients weren't supposed to see this, this was his private room, why was he breaking into his house and trespassing? Just because he was a Heart, he had the right to barge into anywhere he pleased? Oh, gods, he was right next to him. What now? His body didn't move. He was a feral Rattata facing down an Arbok.

Rhys' paw gently held Angelo's shoulder, squeezing the life out of him. "Are you all right?"

His voice still didn't come to him. Instead, Angelo choked out a small squeak, then another sputter, and then shook his head. He was far from fine, yet he couldn't say it aloud. Mixtures of shame and evasion had his throat sealed.

"What happened?" Rhys said, sweeping aside the mess nearby with his foot like it was the most normal thing in the world. He sat down next to Angeo, crossing his legs.

Something finally escaped him. "I can't go," he said.

"I can see that," Rhys said gently, still holding onto his shoulder. "I was waiting for you in front of the Heart HQ. When you didn't show up, I checked the hospital…"

Angelo couldn't hide his shudder. "I can't go back there."

"Angelo, why? You nearly surpassed my healing," Rhys said. "Yes, I had to replenish my strength—I'm not tuned to healing—but you…"

"I can't go back!" Angelo shouted again. "I—I'm not built for blood. I'm sorry. But I've done all I can, and I can't… I can't…"

More silence followed, the dusty air wrapping Angelo in what little comfort he had left with the intruder in his home. He couldn't tell Rhys to go away; he was an Elite. The only one left in town. The fighter. And he was telling Angelo to go and help. Just like his father. The one that Rhys probably saw when he looked at the Smeargle before him. His father who worked himself to an early grave all for the name of others.

Angelo wasn't a Heart; that was his father. Maybe Rhys had to see that.

"I'll come later," Rhys said. "The hospital might be getting another wave, and we can use your Heal Pulse. Can you also Sketch Life Dew from someone? Anything will help."

There was no escaping it. One way or the other, Rhys was going to force him to get involved. And how could he say no? He heard his father's words echoing in his mind again.

It's our duty, Angelo. Our ancestor didn't work toward this power for us to squander it! Now, come on! Let's try another Dungeon! I'll help you draw later!

"Angelo?" Rhys said. "Your aura is… very unstable. Please, if there's anything you need…"

"I—I'm fine," Angelo said. If he said the truth, Rhys would just echo his father's words. "I—I just need to rest. I'm fatigued from the healing. Later this afternoon, I'll come back, I just—"

"I understand." Rhys nodded. "Take care of yourself."

"And what about that flying trip you wanted to take?" Angelo said. "You—needed someone who could fly."

"I needed someone powerful who could fly, but right now, securing the injured in Kilo is more important. I'll… find some other way to contact them later."

"How would you do that? Are there any Waypoints you could—oh."

Rhys smiled sadly, nodding. "It's not very easy. If there was a way to remotely contact them, that would be wonderful, but…" He paused, looking at Angelo's paw thoughtfully. Rhys finally let go of his shoulder and hummed. "Remotely… Arceus…"

"What?" Angelo asked. "Arceus? Destiny Tower, from the Books, appeared, didn't it? You're planning on flying all the way there?"

"No. I won't have to." Rhys stood up. "I should have realized it sooner."

Angelo figured they should have realized a lot of things sooner, but in all the chaos, they've just been trying to put out the immediate fires. "What did you realize?"

"I could just send a prayer to Arceus," Rhys said. "Star mentioned that she could hear prayers—surely it's the same for Arceus… Rrgh, but I can't remember if he's particular about what sort of address you'd make…"

"O Lord, hear my plea, and by Your Grace may it be answered," Angelo recited like the chemical formula for sugar.

Rhys blinked, but then nodded in recognition. "Of course, your father must have taught you that. Thank you."

Angelo said nothing and Rhys stood up, bringing his paws together. The weight over Angelo's shoulders lifted slightly, but only slightly, when the Lucario finally exited his home.

"Fighting Pokémon," Angelo muttered to himself. "So imposing…" He knew that wasn't it.

With Rhys gone, he looked at the uneaten Oran Berry next to him and frowned. He rolled it for a while, forward and back, and then eventually watched it bump into the corner of the room. The pile of discarded papers leered at him—what are you going to do now, failure? Add to me, clean me up, or are you just going to run away again?

Angelo retreated to his bedroom.

Far to the east of Kilo Village, atop Destiny Tower in a late afternoon sun, Arceus stood near the edge of his domain and stared at the settled vortex in the faraway horizon. Dark Matter stopped his advance. Perhaps he'd finally realized that so long as Arceus remained active, he couldn't advance. Did that mean he was unable to claim Star's power? What had happened to her, then? Perhaps the same could be said for the other Guardians he'd claimed; perhaps there was hope yet.

But it was all speculation for now. Dark Matter could have been waiting for him to bring down his guard; attacking the vortex while it was down didn't seem to do anything, either. Should he approach? …No, that was too risky.

O Lord, hear my plea, and by Your Grace may it be answered.

Another one from Kilo Village, from the feeling of it. He had been getting a lot of those, and while he typically listened to them without any direct acknowledgement, this one was a familiar voice.

The prayer continued. Kilo Village is stabilizing, but we have a great influx of outside villagers in grave conditions. Mutants are running rampant in isolated pockets across Kilo. The Dungeons are amok with wraiths. We need time to recover; is there anything you can do to help? How is the Trinity? Guardian realms are being invaded by wraiths, and I do not have the mobility, currently, to investigate. Manny and Willow may look after them, if needed. Er… I suppose if you have a means to communicate with me…

Did he? He did. Just as he'd reached out to Owen, he could reach out to Rhys, though a god interfering with mortals—or whatever Rhys counted as—wasn't something Arceus was very keen on doing.

But he and Rhys had already communicated before, and he felt he had a stronger connection to the Lucario, anyway.

Fine. If only because it pertained to the Trinity and Dark Matter and a great crisis. Hello, Rhys. The Trinity is fine and where they should be. I am on Destiny Tower, making sure that Dark Matter is not advancing and keeping my Judgement charged.

It took a little while to hear Rhys again; Arceus imagined he was stunned in getting a reply. Perhaps he was also feeling honored in being graced by a reply at all by his almighty Creator.

Almighty once he got his Hands back, at least…

You can't eradicate him outright? Rhys asked.

The ignorance stung, but Arceus didn't let it show. No. I can only suppress him, and he is currently idle. I cannot sense any power charging within the dark vortex.

I see. Then it's safe for you to descend? We could use your assistance.

The idea disgusted him on reflex, but a rational side suggested that what Rhys was asking for wasn't unreasonable. In this time of great crisis, would he not be at least slightly obligated to descend and help?

Very well. I shall descend. Alert the town and I will depart.

He supposed that waiting wasn't totally out of the question, but he did want to at least help, and standing around, while habitual and familiar, was making him restless. That void in the sky wasn't going anywhere, after all, and he hadn't been able to appear in the mortal world for so long…

But it was a little unbecoming of him, too.

A gentle gust of wind ruffled his fur and making an ethereal whistling noise through the wheel that wrapped itself around his abdomen. His heart fluttered; wind… How long had it been since he'd felt a genuine breeze? It hadn't crossed his mind all this time. He was ashamed to admit it—and he never would to anybody else—but feeling the wind over his fur was something he didn't know he had wanted.

The sunlight was next: warm against the gray skin of his face, trapped in his fur for what little of the heat broke through its white surface. He stepped uncertainly toward the edge of the tower, admiring—admiring the autumn forest to the south, its leaves halfway between orange and green.

This was the world he ruled; the world he had to defend against Dark Matter. And with Star out of the way, perhaps he finally could.

Are you able to teleport here now? Rhys called.

Snapping from his thoughts, Arceus prepared himself. I am. I'll sense for your aura…

It wasn't that difficult to find; Rhys was distinct to him, and zeroing in on his position was only a few steps away from trivial.

In a flash of light, Arceus disappeared from the top of Destiny Tower and reappeared in the middle of town. Almost instantly, he heard loud shouts and gasps in surprise, and he tilted his head upward to bask in their inevitable reverence.

"Indeed," Arceus said, projecting his voice for everyone in the square. "It is I, Arceus, here to—"

An earth-shattering SNAP filled the air, followed by a heavy, chest-shaking rumble. Far to the north, just over the horizon, a puddle of black ink spilled over the clouds and ate away at the sky. It crawled out in rapid and ravenous branches, tearing the light away from the day.

Within seconds, it was halfway to Kilo Village.

Arceus summoned his light and fired a volley of quick, arcing beams of white light—it was a sloppy Judgement, and he hoped that would be enough to stall it in time to prepare a proper one. He ignored the screams and startled shouts, as well as Rhys calling for everyone to calm down.

"Arceus, what's happening?" Rhys asked for them all.

"Nothing to concern yourselves over," Arceus said as the blasts of light cut through the darkness. It slowed the advance, but more ink pooled over the sky. Cursing mentally, Arceus focused and, in a flash of light, disappeared from Kilo as quickly as he'd arrived, and the cool breeze of Destiny Tower's top greeted him. Here, he could draw from his power the most, where the spirit world met the living world.

His light redoubled, and then he fired at the expanding darkness. The great arms of creation crawled across the sky.

Complete pandemonium and panic shattered whatever order Kilo Village had left. Rhys couldn't deny it himself; his heart was beating out of his chest. He stared helplessly at the expanding darkness that raced Arceus' Judgement.

"Ev-everyone get inside!" Rhys shouted, having no idea whether that would be even close to useful against the sky literally disappearing. He raised his arms above his head and charged an Aura Sphere several times larger than his head, firing it at the sky. It flew slowly; a shadow crept over Kilo Village in a blink's worth of time, and suddenly it was a night without stars.

The glow of Rhys' blast lit the street for a few seconds, bathing it in bright cyan. Another bright light—ADAM's Hyper Beam—lit up another part of town and beat the Sphere's pace. When the Hyper Beam struck, a splotch of light tore through the void, revealing the sky that was indeed still there.

An orb of lunar energy followed, and then a feeble, fist-shaped Aura Sphere right after from Manny's attempt at a strike as a spirit. So, they hadn't left yet? Good, because leaving was useless at this point. And then came a volley of flames from an aura he didn't fully recognize, and then a speedy, successive blast of rocks.

Where were all those attacks coming from?

"Attack, attack!" shouted a Weavile to Rhys' left, flinging high-speed Ice Shards at the blackening sky. "Ugh! I can't get high enough!"

"Allow me!" A Mawile dipped her second set of jaws beneath Weavile and hurled him upward; he followed up with even more Ice Shards before flipping in the air and landing with a stumble.

Several more Pokémon followed up, carving tiny holes in the oppressive night. Waves of light followed from the north, explosive shocks disturbing small pebbles from their resting places on the ground. The holes in the sky remained for much longer, and a follow-up Hyper Beam from ADAM carved a permanent gash through it.

Rhys sensed something forming within the clouds. The same tingling sensation he felt when energy and aura gathered for a powerful strike.

But then, as quickly as it came, it faded, instead replaced by another volley of Judgement spears. The civilians struck for a second time, this time led by ghostly Marowak riding atop an Arcanine, throwing a flaming Bone Club toward a particularly dark patch of the sky. Unfortunately, it fell short.

Rhys wondered if, had they not been on a mountain, the thought of trying to strike the sky would have been laughable. Still, it was well below the clouds.

Another explosion knocked the wind out of Rhys and forced him to his knees, as well as several of the other Pokémon in the area. That wasn't a normal shockwave; it rocked him down to his very spirit. Some Pokémon had passed out from the shock, waking up seconds later. He had sensed their very auras violently eject from their bodies, returning to their living shells seconds later.

Light returned to the sky in slow waves, the black sheets fading into the nothing that it had come from. A tense and heavy silence followed, nobody daring to speak. All eyes were on the horizon, which finally lost its ominous, dark aura. Already, Pokémon mumbled about Arceus' arrival and subsequent departure.

"Arceus…" Rhys sighed. What happened? He looked to the now clear sky. I have to tell them something about your brief appearance.

Dark Matter was waiting for me to leave Destiny Tower in order to strike. I cannot leave again.

Rhys squeezed his paws. I see. Very well. I will be seeing you later, then. There is another thing I need to take care of… Particularly having to do with our medical needs.

Medical?

Rhys nodded, but then realized that Arceus probably couldn't see him. There are a lot of healers, and even a talented Smeargle, but I'm positive another wave of Pokémon will be coming in need of our already exhausted supplies. We need better healing.

Better… Arceus paused. You don't mean…

Rhys winced, but projected his sigh to Arceus the best he could. I need to find Emily.