When The Sun Sets (Moon X Gladion)

Victory Will Befall The Beast? (Part 2)

Moon stood in the astral plane, her body as still as a comatose casualty. It seemed as though, no matter how fast her mind raced or how much she wanted to fall to her knees and sob, her physical form, sprawled lifelessly in a forest clearing, was keen on betraying her.

Across the plane, only about 20 feet from her, Sun stood in a white hospital gown. His obsidian bangs hung in his face, but the smile in his irises was clear. He trotted closer, his white socks padding the invisible floor. With each step he took, she noticed he left ripples in his wake. She looked down at her own feet, picking each boot up one by one with an inquisitive eye. However, she could not produce the same effect. She looked back up at him, a numbness in her chest. What was this, the fourth time? It was getting old, meeting her dead brother like this.

No, she reminded herself bitterly. Not my brother.

"I know you're not him," Moon said emptily, tearing her stare away from the figure. "I'm not falling for this again."

"That's a shame," Sun tried on a smile," "because it's actually me this time. I promise." His voice was younger, very unlike the imposter from the cave. It was Sun's voice. 10 year-old Sun's scratchy voice. She'd kill to hear him speak again, even if this new imposter wasn't her brother.

"After everything I've been through, you know I'm not going to believe that." She crossed her arms as she spat. "And what's that get-up? You just decided to mimic the last thing he wore to screw with me? What's next, are you going to have him wear the stuffy, oversized suit they dressed him in for the funeral?"

He hesitated, his fingers twitching. He gritted his teeth before looking away from her momentarily. "You remember that."

"Clearly. He was so small... so young. Too young. We couldn't even find a suit that would fit him." She glared at him. "You're trying too hard, beast."

"Again... not the beast." He sighed heavily and glanced down at himself, rubbing his garments with the edges of his palms. "I didn't even realize I was wearing this, if I'm being honest. I-I'll change. I'll change."

In a flash, the figure was swallowed whole by a blinding white light. Moon blocked her eyes with her forearms and turned away, only turning back around when the figure cleared his throat. When she met his eyes again, he was wearing weathered blue jeans and a copper shirt. He shoved his hands in his pockets before balancing on the balls of his feet and subsequently freeing his hands again.

"It's really nice to see you," he admitted simply. "We haven't talked in... how long has it been?"

Moon shot daggers at him, a glistening glower that complimented her arms. She was hugging herself now, shuddering as though she were cold.

"It's been over six years," Sun continued with a forced, but warm, smile. "I was hoping we wouldn't meet like this until you were at least ninety."

"Get to the point," she snapped. "Why are we here? What horrible things are you going to show me or make him say to me, or..." She held her tongue, not wanting to give the beast any more ideas. Not that it would matter, anyway. Yesterday's scars still bled.

He sighed again. "When Mewtwo was trying to copy my likeness... y'know, for 'last time,'" he used hand quotations, "it also needed my personality. Its power... it dragged me here from the afterlife." He shifted uncomfortably in her silence. "You're here to save us."

For a moment, Moon swore she saw something different in this Sun's eyes. He seemed to study her briefly, calculating every twitch of her lip and wobble of her knees. However, he appeared to do so benignly. And, with each of her shudders, he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. This was not the Sun from the cave, who spoke so confidently to her, so rashly. That was not her brother. In the end, that is what helped Moon distinguish this man from the other, separated the sour apples from the sweet oranges. Even a creature of habit like Mewtwo, who was so focused on planting Sun before her, was prone to mistakes. He thought he knew them, but he only knew the sand that rolled at the surface.