Here, next chapter. Some things are explained, some things expositioned. You'll begin to know what the hell Luphinid is talking about, though not entirely. It's also nicely large and meaty.
Aftershock
Chapter 18
[Are you a great fan of the vaporeon, then?]
[Well, somewhat; I mean, not particularly,] replies Ruki to my question.
[I needed a form, a nice, unrelated form that couldn’t be affected by… oh, long story.]
[And how unusual is it for a creature like that to spontaneously cease to exist?] I knew the answer, of course.
[Very
unusual, Luphinid, very unusual. So very unusual that I can’t see the cause at all. Every known event of any… significance…] She seems to struggle with defining the thought, but eventually she realizes she is too distracted and trails off.
[Explain it to me once and fully. A piece of energy which had once been dark-type flared again, moments before it was to be consumed by a generator, and forced the generator to create that anomaly by the understood method. Then?]
[Then I was notified of it and sent to stop the process of growth, and provide any necessary force to cause it to collapse. It is a simple process but a long and tiring one, and I had no expectations for it to give anything but every possible resistance. However, moments before I began my work, it began dying and imploded upon itself. I don’t expect much credibility, but I’m almost certain it was somehow losing energy, as if the generator began working in reverse.]
[And that was when I came.]
[Moments before the final implosion.] Now agitation once again has the upper hand over formality in the battlefield of her mind, but there seems to have been a compromise: this is now a productive agitation, and I can sense the air of predictions, theories, deductions rising like sawdust from a fevered woodcutter out of her mind. I can show or feel nothing but bewilderment over the whole affair.
[It seems like I had some part in it.] It sounds improbable to my own mind.
[How could you have? You knew nothing about me or it when you came; and the implosion began before you had arrived.]
[Are there really so few loopholes to that in this universe?]
[Yes, there are.]
Suddenly I see the truth in the statement: both the superficial indication and the core meaning. My behaviour has been that of an overexcited child who finds his charmander learnt the move Ember and sees the world as his for the taking. This, then, is my final attempt at moderation: perceive the world exactly as it is. Perceive the world exactly as it is. Perceive the world exactly as it is, perceive the world exactly as it is, perceive the world exactly as it is. Perceive the world as it shou—exactly as it is.
But I have been perceiving the world as it is, and it tells me nothing but the truth. The bond I felt with the creature is truth. Truth is that there was some link between myself and the destruction or the raising of the wrong, and the first verdict of reason has nothing to do with the authority of the truth which I know as my right in this state of being. My reasoning may be flawed, but my perception is perfect.
[I understand your sentiments,] Ruki answers.
[I’ll say no more. I know the paths the mind follows in this condition.] She seems at least as abashed as I was when she admonished me. Have we both been out of line?
But I’m forgetting common courtesy! (It must still hold true for this existence.) [Don’t feel you have to leave on my part. Stay, if you will.]
Does the reader see as clearly through my disguise as Ruki does? You must have noticed the hidden intent behind my words.
[All right,] she says, amused,
[I’ll remain.]
That shining being, made purely of light and sky, could not have existed only in my mind. I could not have been so deceived as to have entirely invented all of her virtues; Ruki Ferena, beginning trainer, was certainly the same as Ruki Ferena before me. Can I not draw out the personality of the former from the smouldering latter? She is capable of all that I have seen her be and do.
Or was the light not within her, but in some irretrievable facet of my own universe?
[Incidentally,] I continue valiantly, [in your time on my plane, how did you manage to appear entirely normal to any passer-by, and fool even a seasoned psychic-type with your disguise?]
[It was indeed rather easier than one would think. The mind and behaviour of the Ruki you saw almost exactly reflects that of the aristocrat Ruki at a young age. The memory is very slightly clarified in this state of existence, and my childhood days were very clear to me even then—even now. But—]
[—You undeniably felt conflicted still. You’re familiar with the personality of the trainer Ruki, but you don’t approve of it at heart, or truly feel at home in it.]
[Very shrewd. No, existence in that state had a thrilling attraction to it, but it was that of an overdosed, almost guilty pleasure. I allowed my id to get the better of me more easily than I had known possible, but something in me eternally disapproved of the whole affair. And I suddenly lost maturity along with all its sanctions, and the assurance to tackle the simplest emotional conflicts.]
[But, looking at your standards, I can’t help but think that you were never
really this irresponsible. It seems inconceivable, despite your several centuries of existence]—
do you remember the ghost at Lavender? I do—[that this was ever your natural state.]
Amusement:
[In fact, you’re right. I was always very slightly boring, firmly based, refusing to rise up and come to any form of excess unless I approved of all it meant.]
And there was a time when I called her immature.
We close ourselves off for a few minutes, the both of us reflecting on what was lost. I remember the days when, sprawled out on the warm grass, I would pore over the formulae I thought to be so impossibly complex, and my mind so brilliant to find meaning in them. Ruki would be sitting tall and straight a few feet off, and what I realize now—that her amusement came not from my neck-deep dives in complex battle mechanics, but the mere sight of a young boy so earnestly focusing into the little he could then accomplish—was hidden to me then. I would call out impromptu lectures on what I found most deeply interesting; my efforts at bringing the unified and boundless into strict mathematics seem so juvenile before her wistful remembrance of the lack of cares she never permitted herself. But, then—I cannot deny it—if preferring the state of strict discipline is childish, I proclaim my immaturity with pride.
[If it remains apart from the rest of the universe, Luphinid,] Ruki suddenly asks,
[does it still have the right to its smallest, most modest contribution?]
I know exactly what she means, but must I face it?
In a quiet, almost defeated tone, she adds:
[Does the irresponsible father have the right to his child?]
The intent behind the words is what jerks me back. It feels futile, a wrinkled hand at the end of its struggle, letting go of what it held dear, because it knows better than to keep after it. In the space of two lifetimes I’ve never learnt this final lesson, and I
must not let go.
[Does the struggling line of ancient trees have the right to existence? We were great once, Ruki, and the girth of our greatness may be gone but we still have the seed.
We can grow it back.]
The shot of adrenaline was delivered true and well, and the voice that now replies is calm and assured [certainly, certainly, CERTAINLY]
[Of course. In any case we are deep, inseparable friends, and those days still live on in our memories.] Her mental gesture is like a sigh.
[Who are we to decide? The progression of fate made our time together a complete, separate universe of its own, to be taken as granted and accepted with no relation to our world. We’ll have merely to see what it chooses.]
But there is something in this sentence that distresses me terribly; it is reflected in the contraction of the word will, and suggests to me the ancient memory of looking up at what I could see as nothing more than whimsical chaos, watching the naked shape of my shining companion be swallowed in its insignificance. I feel the helplessness she has borne for so long now; I cannot understand it.
What is it?
[Do you not see the empty terror of this?] She gives no answer. [To control a human being, to know every hope, dream, aspiration, every menial thought or trait, is your own will—it’s heinous. It’s worse than murder, it’s—it’s—]
[The complete destruction of the human soul,] she finishes.
[I know, clearly and completely.]
[It begins with the values. It takes your heaven, all that is pure and joyous to you—and all that means nothing to fate, only another pawn, it means
zero—and it corrupts them over the course of its threads, having its meaning pulled away, dispersed, like a dissipating halo, until you can look back at its life and death and feel, my god, that terrible indifference. My last memories are the most precious to me, and I cannot see them corrupted.]
I cannot see the final negation, I want to finish for myself, my question answered. It’s the negation that I hate and fear.
[But, Amaren, this is nothing new. This is the way the universe has been turning. You must accept it, because this is what you are; you must realize that the soul had never been destroyed, because it never was. You must learn not to pine for something entirely out of the question.]
[I know, do you think this is hidden from me?]
[Certainly, certainly.] And, on the compulsion both of us know, we distance from each other once again.
STOP
[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\//}]
RESUME
The latest setback on my project did away with my productive urge, and the general tendencies of inaction have miraculously given me reason to procrastinate. I have been spending a few useless hours reflecting on the memories I had summoned solely for the purpose of my project, and I’ll waste no more than this paragraph in alluding to them.
I hit again a point of no production—I know what I fear, I see the basic principle of any further actions, but what on earth do I
do? The project is a valid choice, I accept, but even there I lack a definite line of inquiry.
It is nonetheless the only thread I have.
But… how?
It is clear what I must do to protect my sanity. Where is that construct… it must be exactly here…! Ah. [
the mountain is clear but Route 5 unrecognizable]
[
[UNRECOGNIZABLE DATA. UNABLE TO RECORD. PL]
Ah, the virtues of a physical environment! It uplifts my soul and feeds fresh air to my mind. My head may have been turned by the conversion, but I feel elated enough to describe until my mental voice grows hoarse.
As I emerge out from the tropical undergrowth, a great tower of earth looms up before me, an ancient monolith with his shoulders draped with imperial coats of green. A crown, a halo, of black rumbling smoke rises from his open mouth, and his magnificent radiance shines out like a beacon to colour the clouds red—red like blood, like wrath, like kings’ velvet. His two arms are placed regally before him to enclose his kingdom, and though they are black and hardened with centuries’ rule and war, their caress is gentle enough to support a budding town, and a multitude of young, green leaves. His royalty is in warring and healing. I look over my shoulder, and see the extent of his might: those cold, creeping waves rolling up to the beach turn before they are half-extended, and return meekly to their province; their lightless, heatless, clammy insides do not make the slightest attempts to make war upon the volcano’s kingdom. The sea’s heaving bosom rocks the little boats on the port as an anxious young nurse might rock the cradle of a baby, she moves forward timidly to ruffle the hair of those children before running back, her neck bared in submission. And I find that my thinking mechanisms have indeed gone sore.
Cinnabar Island, on the whole, is a peaceful and warm little place, with an endearing scientist community and only one objectionable site. This night feels benign enough even to warm my extremities. And here, if I am not mistaken, resides a dear old friend of mine which I somehow feel I must visit.
It takes only a few minutes to find the figure, for it glows like the great volcano—the biped with its long neck and lowered head, and the streamlined strip of dark blue fur brushed over the length of its back, with the single ring of low-burning fire around the neck. I watch the reserved typhlosion for a few moments, recalling her adamantly narrowed eyes and the inconspicuousness she manages so easily. Eventually I call out:
[Hello, Angin.]
She turns her head, startled, looking in my direction. Her eyes widen and she hurries my way.
She has a round pokéball shape painted into the side of her head; it’s a mark of approval by the Pokémon League recognizing that she has the knowledge of human civilization (but not the articulation) to move freely through human facilities without a trainer whenever she wishes. As she approaches, I (partially) fill in her remaining infirmity with a telepathic link.
[How?] is her first and only word.
I bring the entire tale out for scrutiny, and she gestures at the breadth of it.
[Well,] finally,
[I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to make of your death, either. There’s not much sense I can or want to make out of the madness you enjoy. What do you plan to do now, though? I thought you already based yourself on the… whatever you call it.]
[Well, then, perhaps you weren’t completely shrewd when you were examining it. I intend on a visit to my hometown—you’ll soon see why.] In fact, my act is only an act. There is no indication from my memories that this would be the path to take, and no reason for me to take this into mind (let alone act on it).
[But what I wish to say is,] and this indeed had been planned, [it would be lovely if you could join me for a while.]
The typhlosion makes a slight expression of surprise, and hurri—
[All right, I’ll be your temporary pokémon. But why?]
I raise my hand to my eyes, and black clouds flare up from within my sleeves; but as I place it in the path of the moonlight they shrink back in fear. [I only want something steady to lean on. If the monotony is creeping up, rest assured you will find upheaval where I go.]
I’m turning to head for the white, spotless ferry. [My old team must have been dispersed, or I would have my noctowl fly me there—of course, that wouldn’t accommodate you. What has happened to them, really? I suppose the morgue facilities must have taken them into custody, and since I have no will of any sort they must have been rehabilitated and released for the wild. It must be a relief for them, this is certain. None of them were born in captivity, and they must see their introduction to me as a largely negative event. No, wait—I believe I have destroyed their minds far enough to perhaps never allow them freedom. And Lepena, surely, was wrong from the beginning. Only Ytarrik was a sane exception (at least as sane as me, I mean), and he… oh, sweet hell!] “Uh… Yes, yes. This pokémon’s with me, receptionist.” [The memory’s so hazy… but I’m sure he was fused into my mind when I transcended, and that must have messed up the process deeply. Transcendence, after all, removes most serious psycho-physiological issues, and I can’t try and estimate how the device must have interpreted Ytarrik. Is he then dead? Is that why I felt I had to meet you rather than my first choice?] Angin’s neck-flames flare a little.
[I shall have to ask Ferena.]
STOPRESUME
My predictions are always correct: nothing of consequence has happened over the sleep period. Neither of us is skilled in conversation, and we have taken no scruples in a comfortable journey.
To those who are curious, my idyllic little ferry took the longer route into the Kanto Bay and straight for the port at Vermillion, arriving by the next evening. (I had carefully planned for the ferry which would do this.) My steadily increasing tolerance for the light held out until I could duck into shelter, and I waited restlessly until the full night. Angin appears to share the insomnia I have patiently developed over the ages. We made good time, and at this point, in a Saffron warehouse, the night is still thick. Angin already caught her prey from the outskirts, and I suppose I can still use my trainer account, using the confirmations of identification sensors as indication. I believe I can still do something, after all these years of corruption. The purpose is almost completely clear to me.
I feel I should share the suspicions I have developed over the day. I am still wary of the earlier incident at Mt. Coronet, when I had walked in on Ferena’s struggle with the wrong-creature. It is definitely no coincidence that the problem should have been solved moments before I arrived. I can hardly imagine what power I could have been bestowed with to allow such magnificent feats, but it seems clear that in my declared war against power-lusty destiny, I have been dealt the first blow. It was in the plan of fate to have me arrive and destroy the wrong; I had been brought without my consent of knowledge to serve my master. There can be no other explanation for how two such disparate things as my intention and the result of my actions could have ever been bound. Indeed, why do I call it a suspicion? I am certain.
And now I must confess to you a dark, understated, intense joy—my purpose is completely clear to me. No longer will any thought of mine ring without my deepest and most conscious consent, no event spiral out of my control, no possibility unseen and unaccounted for. It is time for me to gather every shard of my soul, every smallest resource, and bend it towards my own free will. To break the mortal bounds, to think a thought outside the plans of my master, is the purpose of my existence—and it is my own purpose, born of what
I hold sacred and
I will.
