I was once a human. I can remember... I'm tortured by the memories; my memories. They haunt me every day. I cannot escape them. Even in my sleep they follow me. Did I kill? Injure people before I was like this? Humanoid shadows reach out to me in my dreams.
Then there's the instinct. The wanderlust that pulls me to the catacombs. I may be different of mind, but I am the same of body as the rest of the Yamask. It upsets me to think of them being the same as me. I am myself, no; I was myself. I am not the person I was, I'm not even a person anymore.
There was a sigh, one I realized had come from me. It echoed around the sandy passageway, bouncing from wall to wall and whispering down the passageway until it was gone. My fists clenched and I stared ahead, holding my breath and simply hovering there.
I waited.
Nothing returned, no sound, no voices. I was alone.
I didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. It was boring here, and also tiring.
I could not move far from here. It was like something in the back of my mind told me to guard this area. My only company was the sarcophagus.
I've been down here for a long time now. My actions have become a regular routine. Move over there, move back, look around. Hunger is not a problem for me, neither is thirst. I don't know whether that is a good or a bad thing.
Wait... what was that? I froze, my contemplations thrust aside in order to make room for my suddenly alerted state.
A click, a following familiar noise, footsteps. I grasped tight-hold to my mask.
Who could possibly be down here? ... What for? A shiver ran through me. The crunch of sand beneath shoes drew closer. I tensed, waiting with bated breath.
A young man and a Bisharp approached. I pulled back, my hands clenching into fists. I didn't need human memories to know that this kid was a Pokémon Trainer.
"Hey, cool, a Yamask!" he exclaimed. "Let's get it, Zebstrika!" He threw a PokéBall into the air, releasing a familiar looking Pokémon from its confines.
It shook its head, pawed at the ground and glared at me. I glared back. What else could I do? Something kept me here; I could not escape. I knew what this kid was going to do. What he was going to order of his comrade. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I knew what those capsules that lay hidden on his belt did.
I narrowed my eyes and dropped into a fighting pose.
"Zebstrika, Volt Strike!"
Pain bloomed along my left side and I collapsed. As I drew breath, a breath that shouldn't even exist in one such as me, and straightened, clutching my torso, the electric Pokémon charged me again. I barely escaped, throwing myself away from its reach. The Zebstrika snorted in frustration.
It was as I glanced past the beast and to its owner, that I noticed something. He looked... vaguely familiar, like a shadow of a memory that I had witnessed before. For a moment, a flash of an image overtook the boy, contorting him, making him look... less human and more demonic.
Blood covered him from head to foot, dripping down in winding streams from his arms and neck. I turned my eyes away, and when I looked back, the image was gone.
"What...?" I muttered, my unfamiliar low voice echoing off the walls.
"Zebstrika, get it! It doesn't have much health left."
The boy's call brought me back to the present and I moved quickly to avoid the crackle of electricity that struck where I had been moments before. My gaze caught the Trainer's and the bloodied image returned. For a moment, I heard a voice: "You should just go die!" then it was gone. As I shook my head to clear it, a pillar of pain flashed up my back. I cried out.
"Now!"
There was a flash of crimson then, nothing.
When I next awoke, it was to the sound of the boy's voice. My head ached, my body felt torn. The vision of the Trainer was distorted, his eyes narrowed with menace, hands reached out to grasp me and harm me further. Murmurs and whispers resounded in my head, they grew louder and louder, then memories burst into my mental eye.
He... he'd killed me. This one, this human had killed me. He was the reason why I became what I am. I am a remnant of my former self because of him. A screech erupted from my mask and I lurched forward, wrapping my shadowed hands around the boy. I brought all of my anger, all of my sorrow into the strength of my hold; soon there was a snap and the body of the Trainer crumpled to the floor.
As the horrific apparition dissolved, followed by the screamed words, I looked down. I'd killed him in turn, yes.
But, as I looked closer, it wasn't him.
Not him.
It was not the murderer.
Pokédex Entry: Each of them carries a mask that used to be its face when it was a person. Sometimes they look at it and cry.
