Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Hands of Creation

Act III - A Faded Voice

A red sphere shielded itself inside a hollow shell. While it could not curl, it was the closest equivalent to hiding away from the world: within its void, within its own small reality. All around it, above and below and behind and in front, were little pinpricks of light. False stars like the night sky of the living world.

Little droplets of slime punctuated the otherwise complete silence. It was annoying. He didn't have to be here. He could have wandered off to do whatever he wanted while he took care of annihilating the world. Was moping around really necessary? Dark Matter rumbled irritably, turning his attention toward the Goodra that refused to leave.

"Why are you still here?"

"Please stop this."

The words felt like little daggers against his core. He contracted his shell like a child hiding deeper under the covers. What was he doing, hiding away from the Goodra? He had the upper hand! Judgement, Devastating Drake, Light of Ruin—all three attacks only paused his advance. The real stopping point was this pestering Goodra. With him around, he...

"I changed my mind. You... you tricked me. That wasn't fair."

"I only made you realize the truth. Because you denied it all, too. For so long, you tried to convince yourself that the world—"

"It's not ruined! It's not rotten!" Anam squeezed his fists together, slamming them against his sides. "The world's just hard to live in sometimes, and that's just life!"

"It is the reality the old gods created."

"So?" Anam challenged. "With all the bad stuff, there's also... also good stuff! And that means—"

"Fleeting pleasures in a world that was built on survival. By default, life persists only for its own sake, and only by taking away from other living things. That is the rule of nature molded by Mew, based on the laws formed by Arceus."

"And what about Necrozma?" Anam said. "He's in here. How come you never talk about him?"

This child was actually growing a spine. He'd never seen Anam talk back to him like this before, in all those centuries. Always kind, always delicate, and now he was yelling... But the way his lips quivered, his tail flicked here and there... He felt his fear, his sadness. He was only lashing out because of how all other mortals lashed out. Kilo's new god was cornered, and now he only knew but to struggle aimlessly.

Pitiful.

"Don't just stare at me like th-that," Anam said, his voice hitching at the end. "Necrozma's why I made the world better in the first place. What did he do wrong, huh?"

Another long silence followed, the fake stars in the fake sky rotating around them. A few more globs of purple slime fell onto the flat and featureless void, the imaginary floor formed by Anam's own desires. It was a wonder how long the floor would exist before he fell into despair like everyone else.

Stubborn.

"His mistake is the same one you made," Dark Matter replied. "He trusted mortals."

Another quiet rumble shook the void, and Anam finally looked down, flicking his antennae. He sat with a childish plop and looked up at Dark Matter.

"So you refuse to leave?"

"You can't do anything while I'm here."

Dark Matter growled at that, looking down. Even now, he was tied to him, stuck in a perpetual deadlock so long as Anam continued to have hope. How irritating. Anam had lost hope so completely for that one instant, and he'd already recovered? What fueled him?! Why?!