The scream didn't leave my throat. It was trapped there, a jagged shard of glass that wouldn't let me swallow.
PAIN.
It was a living thing, a predatory entity that had replaced my nervous system. Every fiber of my being was a conductor for a current of pure, unadulterated agony.
IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!
There was no "passing out." The mercy of shock, even the chemical veil of adrenaline the brain drops to protect itself from the unthinkable—it was absent here.
The Distortion World wouldn't allow the luxury of unconsciousness. I was forced to experience—to witness every micro-second of my own destruction, my mind pinned to the peak of the agony like an insect on a board.
Please kill me! My soul shrieked into the eternal void.Let me die! End my suffering!
Blood wept from my impaled heart, a pulsing fountain that should have emptied my veins in minutes. It flowed out through the open wound, staining my body the vivid crimson of life. But as the droplets touched the air of the abyss, the universe seemed to recoil.
The crimson began to curdle and glow. It transmuted into a divine, liquid silver—a substance that felt like molten starlight. A white-hot heat erupted from my core, clashing violently with the abyssal chill of the world around me.
They fused together, melting into my very muscle and bone, healing me, reforging me. I felt the platinum mercury stitch my shattered ribs back together with the force of a blacksmith's hammer, returning me to a mockery of existence.
When the tendrils finally withdrew, ripping themselves from my flesh with a sound like wet paper tearing, I waited for the end. I waited for the gush of life to leave the hole.
The gaping wound didn't knit shut. It didn't bleed out.
Instead, the edges of the cavity curled and hardened, turning into iridescent, silver ridges. The skin shifted and folded, driven by an invisible, geometric will, until it formed a permanent, lidless eye carved directly over my heart.
It was an abyssal rift in my chest, a window into the same void that birthed the monsters of this realm. It pulsed with a faint, rhythmic violet light—a heartbeat of shadow. My own pulse was gone, replaced by this thrumming, eldritch vibration. I was no longer a "biological error." I had been edited.
I looked up at the Great Serpent.
Giratina didn't move. It hovered, its six tattered wings shimmering like oil on a dark pond. Its golden mask was unreadable, but its eyes—those burning, red orbs—observed the flickering mortal in its domain with a terrifying, clinical patience. It wasn't looking at a snack, or even an enemy. It was just watching.
It was waiting.
The Red Chain fragment at my chest, once frantic, had gone deathly silent, no longer signalling its warning.
The Serpent leaned closer, its massive shadow swallowing me whole. A sound vibrated through the floating island, a low, tectonic hum that bypassed my ears and spoke directly to the new eye in my chest.
"Witness," the echo seemed to say, though no mouth moved.
I gripped Kishin's hilt. My fingers weren't numb anymore. They felt like cold iron. I stood up on the inverted stone, the gravity no longer a suggestion but a command I finally understood. The pain was still there, but it was no longer "mine." It was just fuel for the rift.
I stared back into the god's eyes, my vision splitting—seeing the world through my own eyes and through the violet rift in my chest.
"What do you want?" I whispered, my voice sounding like grinding stone.
The god didn't offer an arduous quest. It didn't demand a soul. It had made its decision.
And in that heavy, infinite silence, the "message" finally clicked. This wasn't an invitation. This was more akin to an eviction.
I was a parasite. A speck of biological dust that had tumbled into its perfect, stagnant clockwork and jammed the gears. I was an "error" that was starting to smell up the place with the scent of mortality and death.
The Great Serpent didn't need a champion. It simply wanted its privacy back.
It let out a low, vibrating huff—a sound like the wails of the damned—and the force of the breath nearly knocked me off the inverted island. Its six wings flared, not in a majestic display of power, but with a pressure that swept across the void—not in anger, nor malice. Correction.
The violet eye in my chest throbbed, pulsing in sync with Giratina's irritation. The "divine silver" wasn't a gift. It was a stabilization, a way to temporarily prevent my body from further deterioration, just long enough to get me the hell out of its domain.
The Serpent's massive, golden-masked head drifted closer, its breath smelling of ozone and ancient rust. Its tendrils cleaved the void near me, and the space began to warp, swirling into a jagged, violet-rimmed hole that looked like the doorway back to the world of the living.
GO.
It didn't say it, but the psychic pressure was clear. Get out. Take your sword, your flesh, and your noisy, human thoughts, and leave.
I looked at Kishin, then at the rift, then back at the god of shadows.
I blinked.
"Understood."I croaked, my voice still sounding like the scraping of metal.
I did not belong here.
Giratina didn't blink. It just loomed, an eldritch wall of detachment, waiting for me to take the hint. It had only saved me so I wouldn't perish in its realm—so my mortal corruption would not stain its purity.
I didn't wait for a second invitation. I took a step toward the rift, the silver-edged rift of my heart pulsing with a frantic desire for oxygen and a sun that didn't look like a calamitous storm.
As I stepped into the tearing fabric of the exit, I turned, feeling the Serpent's gaze on me—a mix of profound boredom and the certainty that I would be the last of my kind permitted to enter.
"Thank you."
I whispered my departing message.
A faint flicker passed through the god's crimson eyes.
Then the violet light swallowed me, the cold of the abyss finally giving way to the crushing weight of gravity.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Sinnoh: Eternal Forest
"Krow… krow."
Murkrow perched on the branch of his tree, preening and picking at his glossy black feathers for any dirt or grime. He turned to overlook the beautiful forest he called home, and a small sliver of happiness bloomed inside his chest.
Murkrow was a simple bird. A really simple bird. He had no troublesome worries, no complicated thoughts.
Head empty.
Wake up, eat some Wurmple, collect shiny things, mate, and fly home to sleep in his collection of precious treasures.
Ah yes. Life was good.
Huuuuummmmmm…
Aside from that annoying, incessant buzzing. Where was that strange sound coming from anyway? Was a stupid Kricketune practicing a new song somewhere?
Also… wasn't it a bit too bright for the dead of night?
Murkrow glanced upward—
—and saw the massive crack in the sky.
Before Murkrow could process the confounding sight, the crack split open and he was nearly rendered blind.
BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!
White lightning spilled out, striking the land and illuminating the darkness of Eterna Forest. The sound was audible across Sinnoh, and for a brief moment, the night sky turned into day.
When the dust settled, a wide, gaping crater was all that remained.
Cautiously, Murkrow glided down, peeking inside. An unconscious human male lay at the center, beside a long, black, very shiny sword.
Murkrow immediately made a decision.
Shiny = mine.
He hopped closer, intending to claim the blade as his own. But as he edged nearer, Murkrow froze. An ominous pressure emanated from the sword. Every single feather on his little birdy body screamed at him to turn around and get the hell out.
So he did.
He didn't get very far.
As soon as Murkrow took to the skies, he was yanked back to the ground. Two long purple tassels shot out, wrapping around both his wings and pinning him in place.
"Ughhhh."
A painful groan broke the eerie silence as the human dragged himself to his feet. He looked around, eyes sharp and vigilant, yet confused by the forest scenery.
Long raven hair tied into a high Ponyta tail. Navy-blue clothes. Shiny armor. Silver scars etched the human's exposed skin.
Strangely, this human had a glowing hole in his chest, the rift flaring through the tear in the navy uniform.
Then those glaring purple eyes locked onto Murkrow.
The sword lifted itself and floated to the human's side, still holding Murkrow captive.
Murkrow panicked. Was the human angry? Was this the end? Had greed finally doomed him?!
"Hey, little bird," the human said.
"Where are we?"