[18+ Yandere Meowscarada x Reader] I'll Make Them All Disappear!

64 | Live to Fight, Fight to Live

Not even five miles away from her trainer who has just been stabbed through the chest by a Zoroark, Invidia is losing her mind in an isolated classroom. She clutches the edge of a desk, jerks forward, reels her head, leans, then opens her mouth to eject a thick stream of puke. The faded blue lines of light on her body resurface, making her look like a misshapen android with its thin veins, flowing gently with inorganic blood, exposed. Invidia wretches and pulls back on the desk, almost toppling the thing over with those reckless paws of hers—and speaking of paws, she raises them to her eyes to examine her fingertips which have, sure enough, become covered in cryptic blue marks.

"Theia," she whispers and it comes out sounding like a hiss. "You sick..."

Having had no time to react, she upchucks a second time, this time spewing chunks all between her splayed fingers. It's nothing like choking on hairballs and eventually spitting them up in a puddle of milky stomach acid; it is much, much worse than that. Mostly because she's had nothing to eat recently, at least not as far as she can remember. Whatever was in her stomach has just come out in a rush of sour, bittersweet fluid that goes from brown to off-white to clear the longer it streams, and then she's unable to get any more out. And Thank God for that.

Invidia wipes her mouth with the back of her paw. She still tastes the sickness in her throat, the remnants of food she never once had in her system. And now she smells her own vomit. She cringes horribly, wretches again (but nothing comes up, of course), then stands up straight to assess her condition. She's still covered in those lines, and she feels a surge of... well, something she can't quite describe... but she feels it, all right.

"Theia," she says again. "Theia, Theia, Theia. I should have known I couldn't contain you entirely, you sickly pest. Someone of your caliber doesn't just accept defeat, not even in the face of death."

It's true. Someone—something—like Theia does not just keel over and die when death seeks her out. She does not approach the other side willingly; she will be the one to wait for the other side to approach her. There has never been a Pokémon like her, not a normal one, at least. The Gods, maybe, and the embodiments of time and space and anti-matter, but none that were born to be normal. Any other Meowscarada, Invidia thinks, should be just that: a Meowscarada. A cat with magic up its sleeves, adept sleight of hand, and nothing more. No one should be able to cheat death. No one should—

"No one should be able to bring back the dead," Invidia says. "But that's what you did, wasn't it? Somewhere out there, your trainer is dying, and you're doing everything in your power to cheat death, aren't you? You pest. You sickly, impressive pest."

Sickly, impressive pest indeed. Theia takes pride in it. If she weren't a pest, her trainer would stay dead. If she had been born a goodie-two-shoes, always sticking her neck away from danger rather than in it, the consequences would pile up and everyone would have died around her a long time ago. She can't accept death for what it is. Believe it or not, she wants a happy ending, not just in the heat of the moment but the long run.

One day, she wants things to go back to the way they were meant to be. She'll retire alongside you, grow old alongside you, spend her elderly days gazing at gym badges encased in glass, trophies from overseas, if you can get them—mementos of the life she has lived for you.

To do that, you can't die.

You cannot die.

As Invidia crouches to collect herself and let waves of bubbling nausea leave her body, she also gets a glimpse of something at the very backend of her mind—a glimpse of Theia's soul, bright and green, reaching out to the fading soul of a human.

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