Whispers in the Dark「Pokemon Fanfiction」

Tʜɪʀᴛʏ﹣Fᴏᴜʀ • Uɴʀᴀᴠᴇʟ

* note: some (not heavy) graphic violence from this chapter onwards *

Chapter Thirty-Four: Unravel

The control was returning to her body—not quite, though; this dominance had been rationed out in a different way.

Dull thumps sounded against the container of her head, a hazy fog filling in the empty void—where no thoughts dared to pass.

She had free control over her body now, at the very least. The tinted filter that had been draped over her eyes had been removed, and no unwanted, unpleasing words flew out of her throat like cutting knives. The lightheaded feeling was gone—she could move as she pleased, and that in itself would have been enough to make herself content.

Still, although her vision had cleared, it wasn't as if there was anything nice to even view. Murky shadows lined the path in front of her, as if marking out a clear-cut corridor—and bulky items that she couldn't yet make out formed barriers on either side.

Her gaze flickered around in a frantic manner, trying to search for some other way—but she soon realised that she had no choice but to follow the path before her. She almost preferred the maze over this—at least then she had the capacity to make a decision.

This was not a good decision. Even someone like her could understand that much—it would be hard not to notice the stifling prescence in the air.

It's horrible, she then admitted to herself. I want to go back. This is like the void, but worse—even the Meowstic wouldn't be bad company right now. I can't find my Pokeballs, so that wouldn't be any use. None of my friends would be here.

A voice startled her—but not in a bad way; she was thankful for the distraction from the overwhelming darkness. She recognised it as the Meowstic's—deep and rimmed with a trove of ulterior motives, coy and holding such mystery that her true motives had never been made clear.

Now, the Pokemon stood before her, no longer using the disguise—had it been a disguise?—of a replica and eying her with those golden eyes that she had always feared. She had never despised them—she had been too young to understand hate at that time. No, the emotion she had felt was terror—an emotion that any human could experience at any time.

"I'm not going to stay here forever," the feline sighed, trying to inject an air of mocking laziness into her voice, but that in itself came across as something even more artificial than usual. "I'll be leaving you soon, don't worry. I just came to inform you of some things."

"Your friends certainly are resilient." A small smile formed on her face. "Their emotional strength is part of who defines them, I guess—however, with this new world that Master wants to bring, it will be but a hindrance. We will have to take that away from them."

The coordinator blinked, confused with the creature's cryptic words—yet, she was rattled by her speech. She just knew that there was something deeper embedded in each of the Psychic-type's lyrical phrases—yet, they were so well hidden that they just graced her voice with an unreadable trace.

"I'm just here to let you know that," she muttered. "Master must be expecting me now—I truly am sorry for this. I do not enjoy flaunting strength to others."

With that, the last few strings of her sentence faded off into the waiting darkness, and Celeana was alone once more—even who she had thought of as her worst enemy—yet, an ally?—had left her in this damned void.

Shivering, she reached out, trying to lunge forward and grab on to whatever remained of the Meowstic—but she must have been delusional, because her hands met with air; her ears met with silence, and all she had done was trip over her own feet and land on the ground—it didn't even seem to be touchable. She could feel no pain.