Whispers in the Dark「Pokemon Fanfiction」

Fɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ • Fʀᴇɴᴢɪᴇᴅ Dᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Chapter Fifteen: Frenzied Desperation

Celeana found herself back in the void.

As calming as the black space seemed, she could feel a sort of muted terror rising in her throat—the type of fear that was deeply rooted and was trying its best to stay veiled.

The shadows tried to be subtle in their mental attack, but the coordinator had already recognised these terrors; she knew that they were there. The blue-haired girl took a careful glance around—it looked as if she was alone in the darkness.

Yet, she felt as if she couldn't trust this pitch black earth surrounding her; as if something could jump out any moment and swallow her whole.

She was quite right—she could feel a pulsating beat of resounding life that surged through her metaphorical prison, and as much as she'd like to be surprised, she wasn't very dumbfounded when a figure rose through the sea of blackness and started towards her.

Though, it was incorrect to say that she wasn't scared—or shocked in any sense, for that matter—when her replica padded through the ebony-stained space, arriving to a stock-still halt right in front of her.

Amethyst eyes blinked at her, the blank expression having returned to the pale skin of her face. Then, the corners of her lips twitched slightly, stretching into the same empty shell of a smile that Celeana had seen her wear the previous time they had met.

The figure was the first to speak, taking a step forward and lifting her gaze to face the coordinator.

"If we're going to spend some time in here, it's going to be tiring if we do it standing," the clone commented, gesturing to the ground as she spoke. "Why don't we take a seat for now?"

The blue-haired girl felt her subconsciousness forcing her head into a nod, and the two of them seated themselves on the inky surface of the ground.

Raising a hand, the amber-eyed coordinator stretched her palm outwards, feeling for the mirror that had separated them the last time. Sure enough, the glasslike material was back in place, and she wouldn't be able to get through.

"Why am I here again?" Celeana uttered this in a soft tone—disguising her terror would do nothing. She had never been very brave, and she'd never been nonplussed to admit it to herself.

The teenager across her copied her action, pressing a palm onto the thin surface of the looking glass, but her venture was instead successful—she could feel the unmistakable texture of skin brushing against her own, but instead of the warmth that humans naturally seemed to radiate, she was different.

Her skin was cold—it wasn't even painful, just a lifeless, numbing temperature that chilled the coordinator all the way to her heart.

"Because you're weak," the figure drawled. "And I'm strong. You'll need my help to fight against whatever that other me is."

The knowing tone of her voice was frustrating—it was clear that she knew what was going on. However, her replica continued as if nothing had happened, her monotonous drone still devoid of life. "Weakness and strength are such tiring concepts," she admitted.

Celeana leant forward, not daring to take her hand off the separating barrier between them—both fearful and intrigued of her opposite's cunning voice. "What do you mean?"

"I really do despise defining words like these two," the figure spat—yet, these very words sounded manufactured, as if she'd been reading off a script. "Because of them, we have divisions and conflicts. We argue every day over who's weak and who's strong—what pathetic humans."