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

71 | White Noise

April 5th, 9:37a.m.

Three days until the trip to Area Zero.

Hard to say you're not stressed about it; it's a place you've never been, and if the stories are anything to go off of, it just might be the last place you ever see. Whatever the opposite of vacation is, better deemed hell on earth—that's Area Zero. You try not to stretch your mind thin thinking about it and carry on to the Terarium for some training. It's occurred to you that you never really got around to doing any substantial training routines with Cinderace or Meowscarada (although she probably doesn't need any more training, if you're being honest), and now that you've got a Zoroark on your team, you'd at least like to look capable down in the gullet of that paradoxical wasteland.

Imagine: you turn up to Area Zero and the first Pokémon you come across, whatever it may be, ends up knocking your three teammates to their knees in one fell swoop. Ms. Briar and whoever else might be joining your private expedition will surely be thinking otherwise of the so-called Prodigy. Then again, you wouldn't mind if the title dropped from the world entirely—you don't like feeling like a spectacle for everyone to gawk at.

I'm just a dude, you think as you descend the finely polished staircase into the Terarium, Meowscarada sticking right close next to you. A dude with a cat, and a rabbit, and a crazy fox. The Looney Goons, gotta catch 'em all. Except for Cinnamon, I guess.

"What are we doing today?" Meowscarada asks, stretching her arms above her head.

"Training," you say.

"That's it? Easy. I can clear this whole dome in five minutes—six and a half tops."

There she goes again, bragging about her strength like it's all she has to her name, when in reality it's just one big excuse to commit mass genocide. You'll never understand how you raised her to be a pathological killer, if it was you at all, or if she was just programmed this way. Bloodshed's baked into her DNA.

"You won't be the one training," you say, and that immediately shuts her down. She looks at you like you're absolutely nuts. Her, not training, not getting stronger? Unbelievable. Meowscarada does one last stretch, moans as she cracks her shoulder, and rests her paws limply on your shoulders as you walk.

"But I could use a little power boost," she says. What a lie that is. You try not to let your disbelief show, but it manages to slip out in the form of a crooked grin.

"You're plenty powerful. This training is exclusively for Cinna and Zoroark. You're not invited."

"Meo-aww, why not?"

"Because..."

You trail off, the words gone from your mouth.

Because your strength is something no one can rival. Something horrifying.

You're remembering the time you ended up dead, stabbed through the chest. Actually dead, and not just napping real hard. To find there had been no holy light waiting for you in that dark place after death was disturbing, very much so, but what's more disturbing is the light that did find you belonged to Meowscarada. You vividly recall your body (or soul, who the heck knows anymore) reaching out, locking hands with an ethereal image of Meowscarada as her green light seeped into the darkness.

The moment you touched her soft fur, your eyes opened and you had been granted a gift of power that should not fall in human hands—not in the hands of any living thing, really. What dies should stay dead. There is no such thing as coming back from the dead—that is only a trope of fairytales. This is real life, and in real life, you walked off the plank into the sea of the dead, tasted the waters of an afterlife, and swam back to the surface all at once.