Chương 95: Interlude - Alyssa 5

"Hey, wake up." The now-familiar voice roused me from slumber, releasing me from the prison of unhappy sleep. Which was the unfortunate norm nowadays. Intellectually, I knew that nightmares were a rather reasonable aftereffect from discovering a regions most danger killer was after your life. Emotionally, I felt wrung out, like a towel used to sop up something disgusting, and then squeezed too hard in an effort to disentangle the filth.

I spent the first few seconds of wakefulness, groggy, and then a jolt ran through me, as it always did these days when I awoke with a bit of energy to spare. The flush of syn rather effectively cleansed the lingering malaise of uneasy sleep, and I sat bolt upright, rubbing the crust from my eyes.

"Is he back?" I asked, my blinking eyes turning to the object of our last collective half-day of attention. The hideout looked rather innocuous, which was probably the point. The 'abandoned' storefront's boarded windows and careless graffiti said "derelict," but a very careful inspection from a safe distance had revealed scant, but sufficient evidence of our enemy's presence. Proof the first: the windows were boarded up just a little too well.

Fresh planks surrounded the windows, fully blocking the view of any casual observer. The placement seemed careless on the surface, but somehow, they all conspired to exactly block off all view of the 'empty' interior. Proof the second: the door, while ostensibly as inaccessible as the windows, could actually be opened. Ink had carefully treated our theory, and while the door was locked, it wasn't actually sealed shut with nails and plywood like it affected itself.

Proof the third, and the most damning by a far, far margin: The other Zoroark's residue was smeared all over the place, evidence (apparently clear to Ink), of frequent, and sloppy usage of her illusory prowess.

"BB just did a sweep underground, and he picked up tremors. He recognized Scythe by his gait. Our quarry is in." Another jolt ran through me, and this one had nothing to do with syn.

"Well what are we waiting for?" The Dark-specialist hesitated, as I released Pikachu out onto the ground, my sparking partner shaking herself into wakefulness. I felt my eyes narrow.

"Don't even think about trying to leave us behind."

"Like you ditched your best friend?" The words weren't quite accompanied by a sneer. I couldn't stop the reflexive wince.

"That's different. This isn't her fight. She's not the one he's after." The Dark-specialist hesitated, visibly mulling something over, before finally responding, "I'd say she has just as much license to be upset with Scythe as you do. Remember, the only reason I'm letting you tag along is so that you're close enough for me to keep safe if he slips away again." He'd already emphasized that point several times, and I was pretty sick of hearing it.

"Pikachu and I are strong enough to help. Otherwise, what was the point of you training us all this time?" Again, a moment of hesitation that I couldn't read.

"You might be able to defend yourself against one of Scythe's Pokémon, but he's got six, remember. And even hurt, all of them are dangerous." That reminder was sobering, and I stooped to pick Pikachu up off the floor. Generally, my partner preferred perching to being held, but she let me clutch her close to my chest and offered her support by way of glaring at the frowning Unovan.

"We'll keep ourselves safe, just make sure you nail this guy." Mr. Gima nodded, his countenance grim.

"Yeah. You two have done your part, now, it's our turn." - What our approach to the hideout lacked in subtlety, it made up for in style. And by style, I meant overwhelming force. A wave of energy erupted off of BB the Krookodile, his beady brown eyes screwed shut in concentration. The earth around him rumbled, groaning as if under some immense unseen pressure. The huge reptile heaved several deep breaths, sucking in great gouts of air through his elongated snout.

The power roiling around him sharpened, and then stilled, for a brief moment, as the world held its breath. Everything was quiet, shocked into uneasy silence by some shared premonition, some sense of great imbalance. BB's crimson hide rippled, and like a landslide, he knelt, digging his claws down deep, deep into the earth beneath him. Vibrations flowed out of him, steady and minor, from where we stood, a meter behind him.

And just in front of us, the Ground-type's attack set the ground rippling like water, steel and asphalt creaking with impossible stress.

"You're sure no one else is in there?" I asked without turning to face Mr. Gima. I could t tear my eyes away from the spectacle.

"BB would have felt if there were," the Dark-specialist confirmed.

"A Krookodile's tremor sense is about half as good as their eyesight, which means it's twice as good as most Ground-type's." Something about that seemed off to me, but I'd never contest that BB was indeed a master of his primary typing. After all, only the truly elite were capable of moves like Fissure. I'd never seen the ultimate Ground-move used before, but it was impossible to recognize the seismic assault for anything else. No Magnitude, no Bulldoze, no Earthquake could possibly pretend to this sort of power.

Under BB's not-so-careful ministrations, the ground shuddered, then rocked, then roiled. And then the world split. There was no other word for it. One moment, solid ground stood between us and the decaying structure under which our quarry hid. In the next, there was only a sagging ruin, collapsing inwards on itself into an unnatural crevasse. The sound was cataclysmic, echoing off of the nearby buildings and drowning out all other noise in the vicinity.

Surely the fury of BB's assault was beyond Ink's ability to mask, which meant that Mr. Gima was clearly done being discreet. More than that, though, the man was plainly furious. Recklessly so, considering the violence he'd just enacted. I wasn't sure what had him so riled, and mostly, I was just glad his ire wasn't directed at me. The Dark-specialist's eyes were incandescent pools, and it took an effort of will to keep myself from flinching away from the heat in his gaze.

And that was my experience just standing near him, he wasn't even vaguely looking at me. Instead, that cruel scrutiny was directed at the man and Pokémon clawing their way free from the concrete ruins of what was once a building. Scythe emerged from his hiding place in a spray of shattered concrete and splintered wood. His Pokémon surrounded him, all of them covered in a myriad of wounds, some hastily bandaged, most still openly weeping. Mr. Gima's partners didn't wait, nor hesitate.

Neirah and Scrafty tore into the exhausted fighters with a vengeance, each peeling off one of Scythe's hitmoms off and dragging them into a pair of brutal duels. Alister stalked forwards, his blades flashing, only to get intercepted by a green-carapaced Scyther. Four bladed arms flashed in a deadly dance, but the Bug-type swiftly found himself giving ground, clearly outmatched.

A Golbat tried to take to the skies, staggering into the air on wings covered in branching electrical burns, but she was quickly sent dodging and spiraling to avoid a barrage of electricity from my sparking partner. The bolts of lightning trailed closely behind the agile flier, coming ever closer to clipping her wings.

"Last chance to surrender Scythe, and spare your Pokémon any further pain," Mr. Gima called out as his team made swift work of the killer's exhausted team.

"I know they won't stand down, and we won't hesitate to put them down if we have to." A cruel, coughing laugh came from the terrorist.

"I don't know who you are or why you're protecting the girl, but I look forw—" the rest of the man's statement was cut off, revealing the distraction for what it was. A beam of pure malice erupted from what had seemed like empty space, not more than three meters away. Ebony and crimson intertwined in a crackling wave that built up for a mere moment before tearing towards us in a howling rush. And yet, for all the seeming-invisibility of the attack's wielder, it was easily intercepted by Ink.

The allied Zoroark's Protect similarly appeared from thin air, scattering the incoming beam of dark energy into powerless streams of undirected malaise.

"Take her down," the dapper Unovan nodded, presumably to his hidden partner. An eerie howl went out, and I couldn't tell from which Zoroark it emerged. It mattered little, ultimately, since the haunting sound was swiftly matched by a similarly savage growl. The two illusionists met in a shower of light and fury, reality seeming to warp around the pair as they both tried to more thoroughly assert their control over their shared delusions.

Glimpses of their ebony fur were interspersed with flashes of light, dizzying displays of color and sound, and conjured nightmares, each trying to better fool the other's senses and land a critical blow. That left only Scythe's Hypno unattended, but the Psychic-type seemed almost disabled already. She was visibly ill, her already-pallid countenance pushed two shades further into uneasy mauve.

Occasionally, she'd muster up a barrier to protect herself and her master, but the two times she tried to assemble the energy for a teleport, she visibly faltered, clutching at her chest in obvious pain. Chaos abounded, encircling us attacks and bodies hurtled every which way. BB the Krookodile shielded Mr. Gima and I with his bulk, keeping various errant projectiles from striking either of us. I could keep track of the battle only in flashes.

Impressions of movement and smears across the shattered pavement flickered across my eyes as a dozen Pokémon turned a quiet street into a warzone. Mr. Gima was fairing little better, his gimlet gaze flicking back and forth across the action, calling out commands and warnings that were often too late to matter. Scythe had more luck coordinating his partners, shouting commands that his Pokémon mostly seemed to heed.

Neirah got baited into a brutal Mega Punch, and Alistair found his duel interrupted while the ferocious feline recovered. Ink ate a cheap shot from the other Zoroark after a Taunt from one of the Hitmons, and Scrafty's attempt to punish his opponent's distraction got stuffed by an Air Slash from the winging Golbat. And yet, for all their advantage in coordination, Scythe's team was being pushed back.

Here, Alisteir landed a brutal Night Slash that sent the Scyther sprawling, there, Neirah landed a Feint Attack on a distracted Hitmonlee. The power difference between the two sides was rapidly becoming clear, as was the extent of the injuries to Scythe's Pokémon. His Hitmonchan staggered out of a Bullet Punch, the Fighting-type's ankle rolling in a bad way. The Scyther's attempt to retaliate against Alister's blow stalled out as they collapsed in a heap, green fluids leaking from their carapace.

The Hitmonlee fell a moment later, struck by a devastating series of blows from Scrafty, and Scythe's Hitmoncan never got a chance to stand back up, clobbered into unconsciousness by a vengeful Neirah's play rough.

"No escape this time, Scythe," Mr. Gima called out to the criminal.

"We have your number now." The Unovan man's gloating was met with a growl almost as savage as the sounds the two Zoroark were making.

"I'm really sick of people underestimating me today," Scythe complained.

"Number 4! Cover us!" The command was clearly directed at the Golbat, who swooped in low to belch a covering of Haze over Scythe and his Hypno. She ate a Thunderbolt for her trouble, and was sent spiraling to the ground, where one of her wings twisted at a bad angle, but her job was done, we'd briefly lost sight of Scythe and his psychic.

"Not this time asshole," Mr. Gima growled as he swept a hand forwards.

"BB, lock 'em down." The huge Krookodile let out a cruel guffaw that made me want to run up and start punching the raucous reptile, and then stomped forwards, sending a roiling wave of asphalt crashing through the obscuring fog. No flash or ringing came out of the smoke cloud, meaning the Taunt was probably effective. Otherwise, Scythe would have teleported away again. Unlike a proper Smog or Smokescreen, Haze faded after a few brief seconds. Unfortunately, that was all the time Scythe needed.

A burst of light erupted from the smoke, prismatic and shining. The haze faded away, revealing Scythe, crouched behind his Hypno. The Psychic-type had clearly tried to block BB's Earthquake, and had just as clearly failed to contain the seismic attack in its entirety, considering the way she collapsed forwards, unconscious. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Scythe was fairing little better, one hand pushed on the ground, as if to keep himself from falling. The other, however, had just finished slamming the activation button on an altogether-too-familiar piece of headgear.

"He's got a PSS," I warned Mr. Gima urgently, "We need to stop him now!" Frankly, I should have saved my breath. All of the Dark-specialist's free Pokémon were already converging, Alister, Neirah, and Scrafty each racing to apprehend the violent criminal. Before any of them could get to him, however, a cloud of darkness erupted around the man. The normally-prismatic light from synergizing looked… off. Desaturated, like I was peering at it through a foggy window.

An ear-splitting howl erupted from somewhere to our left, and another wave of darkness washed over us, plunging our surroundings even further into greyscale. I caught a glimpse of orange-tinted eyes as Scythe's Zoroark abandoned her fight with Ink, appearing next to the criminal and latching a claw onto his shoulder. The pair vanished moments before Mr. Gima's partners got there, fading into the shadows that'd suddenly overtaken the shattered street.

"Fuck," the Unovan man swore, as the glow in his eyes intensified.

"I can't see them. The illusions are stronger."

"Pikachu, come here!" I called out to my partner. I couldn't see her well in the sudden gloom, but my partner's sensitive ears easily honed in on my voice, and she came hurtling out of the darkness, scampering up my leg and onto my shoulder.

"Everyone, close up and stick together!" Mr Gina followed my lead, recalling his partners. Shapes slowly converged around us, Alister's gleaming blades, Neirah's silken fur, Ink's azure eyes. BB had never left, and last to return was Scrafty, the Fighting-type's eyes casting frantically about as his toothy grin twisted into a grimace. Something about that stuck in my mind, my racing thoughts catching on a tiny detail. Hadn't Scrafty's smile acquired a few awkward gaps after our last clash with Scythe and his team…

"Pikachu!" I pointed. I didn't need to do anything more, as a Thunderbolt ripped out of my partner's cheeks, blasting the suddenly-lunging Pokémon back. Mr. Gima and his team wheeled just in time to catch a glimpse of ebony fur before the frustrated illusionist faded away once more into the darkness surrounding us.

"Dammit," Mr. Gima cursed again, shooting a hand out in the direction we'd last seen Scrafty before the shadows fell. A recall beam went out, the crimson light fighting briefly against the shadows before vanishing off into the distance. Something glowed in the distance for a moment for a brief moment, before the light was snuffed out once more. The recall beam shut off, and after a quick check on the ball, the Dark-specialist bit out another curse and stowed it on his belt.

"Unconscious," he muttered, eyes burning as his partners shuffled uneasily around us.

"Alyssa, what exactly are the benefits of using one of a PSS?"

"They make your Pokémon stronger," I replied without turning away from the oppressive shadows.

"Multiplicatively so. They also let you see through your partner's eyes, and share thoughts with them directly, mind-to-mind."

"Shit," the curse was explosive.

"Okay, remember, a Zoroark can't create an illusion of something they're unfamiliar with. It's not like a psychic making you hallucinate, she's pulling visions from her own mind, not your thoughts. That means she can make mistakes."

"I saw," I murmured as I took a few steps back, further from the encircling shades.

"From both our minds, now," a deep voice reverberated around us, seemingly coming from every direction at once.

"And I have to warn you, I have a much more active imagination than this paltry tool." The shadows swelled ominously, and shambling forms began pressing in from the blackened mists surrounding us. Rotting bodies and twisted abominations pressed out of the fog, their haunting moans catching in my ears like sludge. A wave of attacks poured out from our protectors, dismissing the illusions, but more pressed in, recreated as fast as they were destroyed.

"BB," Mr. Gima whispered, his voice barely audible over the din. The crimson Krookodile shook his head subtly, his snout barely swaying as he stomped forwards with one claw, shattering a few incoming shades. An indignant yowl dragged out attention over to Neirah, who'd leapt back closer to the group, a trio of crimson furrows dug deeply across her back. A flickering shadow wearing Mr. Gima's face let out a mocking sneer, and licked the blood off one crimson-encrusted claw.

The real Dark-specialist shot a hand out, recalling his injured partner as the twisted doppelganger faded away into the mists once more. Neirah's ball twitched once in Mr. Gima's clenched fist, but some whispers that I couldn't make out stilled the erratic movement.

"That's another one down," the shadows mocked.

"Just four to go. This doesn't have to be your grave, you know. Let me have the rat, and you can walk away." I felt a thrill of concern run through me, but it was swiftly replaced with relief as my companion shook his head.

"Not on your life, monster."

"So be it," replied the shades, before pressing in once more. Illusory sights and sounds flooded my perception, half-congealed horrors and distracting howls. The shadows were more familiar now, twisted visages resembling me, Mr. Gima, Fe, our partners. There was only one Zoroark, and maybe a Hypno out there, but it felt like we were fighting an army. Mr. Gima's partners fought ferociously, but most of their attacks were misdirected, aimed only at the cackling shadows.

And the retaliation was brutal, Dark Pulses and Night Slashes and Snarls flowed over us, ripping out of one direction, then another, and another. BB covered Mr. Gima, Pikachu and I with his bulk, and the occasional Protect, for we were clearly the savage criminal's primary targets, but he wasn't above taking attacks of opportunity whenever Ink or Alister overextended into the darkness.

Sparks started building up in my hair and clothes, as I held Pikachu close to my chest, her fur rubbing against the fabric of my winter coat. Some of it was my own power, rising with my stress, and bits of it scattered off me every time an errant attack came too close, a reflexive defense against the encroaching darkness. Another Dark Pulse struck BB, and the massive Ground-type let out a groan of pain as the malignant beam tore scales free from his crimson hide, instead of washing off his syn. Mr.

Gima bit out an oath, and recalled our protector, before tapping Ink on the back and pointing subtly off into the darkness. The Zoroark nodded, donning his own cloak of shadows and vanishing into the shade, leaving only Alister and Pikachu to defend us. The Steel-type became a maelstrom of blades, cleaving through attacks and shadows alike, but exhaustion was accumulating in him quickly.

Pikachu wasn't idle, and bolts of electricity tore out into the black, shattering sneering illusions and repelling waves of darkened power, but this wasn't her sort of battle. Not for the first time, I cursed myself for never buying a BfG. When I'd had prior opportunity, my principles had prevented me, the harm and damage caused by wide-spread use of the devices clear, but now, with my partner's life on the line, I had only regrets about clinging to my prior justifications.

"So close, so close," the shadows muttered.

"The little rat dies, and then everyone else but the girl for interfering. Then, I'm going to find that little friend of yours, and deal with her too, just to show what happens to those who stand against me." The shadows swelled, and I lost sight of Alister, his silvery blades smothered by the encroaching darkness. Mr. Gima was next, the man whirling to dodge an attack only he could see. Whatever it was, the concrete cratered, and we were thrown away from one another.

And then, it was just Pikachu and I, crawling through the black, sparks scattering off of us in panicked waves. Slavering jaws and leering eyes and tearing claws poured from the shadows, forms half-real, half-nightmare.

"Just lay down and give up," Scythe's voice was filled with scorn, and the tone modulated back and forth between the killer's deep baritone, and Fe's sparkling soprano.

"It'll make this all easier. What's the point in fighting the inevitable? You've always been worthless, Alyssa." I grabbed Pikachu and rolled away from a pair of grasping claws just in time. There was a screech as they skittered across the shards of lightning pouring off my skin, and one of the wicked, knife-like protrusions caught on my jacket, tearing a long furrow in the sleeve.

"You'll never be worth anything anyway, just a piece in the real player's games." A beam tore out of the shadows, crackling and pulsing with power. It struck both of us, but I kept hold of my partners, as we went skidding across the shattered pavement.

"The results are going to be the same whether I tear that rat from your unconscious fingers or you drop her yourself. Why go through the pain?"

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed into the shadows, a Thunderbolt from Pikachu crashing into a hazy form that didn't just dissipate. The real Zoroark showed briefly in the electric spray, her azure eyes stained almost completely with shades of orange and her claws dripping crimson, before she faded away, swallowed by the darkness once more.

"Damn, almost felt that one," the criminal's voice mocked, this time sounding like Mueller's sneering tenor.

"But you're too weak. Too helpless. Just like you've always been, like you'll always be."

"You don't know the first thing about us," I shouted back as I staggered upright, Pikachu held close to my chest.

"What we've been through. What we're going to do."

"I know that soon you'll be daddy's little doll once again. And everything else about you? Hardly matters." Mocking laughter rang out, as a crackling Snarl tore up the ground around us and flared against my syn. I staggered, but remained standing, sparks flowing off of me. Little zaps and bolts pushed away the hovering shades, dispelling illusions and pushing the darkness back.

"I'm never going to be anyone's tool. Not ever again. You can only hide in the shadows for so long. Someone will drag you out into the light."

"Who?" the derisive voice thundered, Scythe's voice once more.

"One of those idiots staggering around in my illusions? Your incompetent police force? That violent, little friend of yours? Face it girl. You're all alone out here. Just you, me, and a date with death." One of the sparks coming off of me skittered against something real, and I leapt back, just in time to avoid a gleaming set of claws tearing out of the shade. I tapped my partner, hunkering down as she loosed a Discharge that made my jaw clatter and my hair stand on end. A grunt came from the shadows, and a cough.

"Damn, that one actually tingled. I guess it's good you're least you're keeping this interesting. Killing should be fun, not boring." Three more shadowy forms leapt at us. Pikachu shattered two of them with a burst of power, and I danced away from the third, even as it dissipated into a puddle of darkness.

"But we have nothing but time. Eventually, we'll wear you down. How long can you last, knowing I could be right– behind– YOU!" I spun, an order on my lips, but I hesitated, as I found myself confronting the oh-so familiar face of my best friend, just a meter away. Her face was lit up in a familiar grin, and one hand was reaching out, grasping for my partner. My partner, who had no compunctions about blasting Fe right in the face, a crackling Thunderbolt piercing the apparition, and vanishing off into the darkness.

Scornful laughter erupted from the dim.

"Oh, the look on your face. You must think me an idiot. No, when we finally reach you, when my blades cut that little rat out of your arms, you won't even hear me co–uuhhgh" whatever Scythe had been about to say next, it was cut off by a gurgle, shock and pain shuddering through the shadows around us. At the same time, a voice resonated through the darkness, inaudible, but indisputably present all the same. Loud and focused and dripping with sadistic pleasure.

Found you, we heard in our ears, Pikachu and I both shuddering involuntarily at the sheer wrongness present in the unfamiliar mental voice. The oppressive darkness faded away, illusions banished like mist under the morning sun. With the mantle of darkness lifted, the battlefield was revealed in its entirety. Mr. Gima and Alister stood back-to-back just a few meters to our left, while Ink was off to the right, standing over an unconscious Hypno.

The other Zoroark was shuddering in the middle of the cracked pavement, head thrown back in a silent howl and arms seizing by their sides. Behind her stood Scythe, the killer transfixed, staring down at the crimson stain flooding the front of his jumpsuit. I've found you, finally, the voice rang out again. Judging by the way Mr. Gima, Alister, and Ink twitched, they heard it too, and the source was swiftly revealed, as Scythe pitched forwards, landing in a heap on the dusty ground.

Standing behind the collapsed body was a short, hunched figure, swaddled in a flowing black cloak. Hands covered by lengthy sleeves clutched a wicked blade, the weapon coated in a thick layer of dripping blood. I've found you, and freed you! Just like you freed me! Like I've freed so many others! An unmistakable tinge of zealotry stained the mental voice, manic, yet directed, intentional.

Stunned silence suffused the battlefield for a few moments, as we all tried to parse the sudden shift in paradigm, but the quiet wasn't total. A keening whine came from the collapsed body in front of the newcomer, and for a half-second, I thought it was Scythe, somehow still alive and screeching in pain. And then I saw the true source of the sound. Not the killer's unmoving body, but instead the PSS that'd fallen free from his skull.

The device was aglow, but not with the normal prismatic shine of active synergization, but rather with a sinister, orange radiance.

"Watch–" I didn't have time to finish my warning before the device exploded, fragments of metal and shards of sparkling crystal spraying everything near the impromptu bomb. Scythe's inert body was riddled, and if the man wasn't dead already, he certainly wasn't surviving the shrapnel that tore through his prone form. Similarly in the blast radius were the hooded interloper and Scythe's Zoroark, both Pokémon staggering as their bodies were riddled with broken components from the explosive device.

Small shards of metal enacted terrible wounds on the Zoroark, staining her ebony fur with crimson blood, and the hooded figure folded in on themselves as their cloak similarly bloomed with evidence of harm. Worse than those, however, were the flecks of glittering orange that embedded themselves in both their bodies. Flecks that instantly grew into thumb-sized shards, sprouting from wounds like malignant shoots, and gleaming with an eerie, inner glow.

The Zoroark staggered, but remained upright, her wordless howl cut off by the explosion. Her ebony snout came back down, and any hints of blue in her gaze were lost, coated in a layer of roiling, swirling orange. This time, her scream wasn't without sound. It was an explosion of noise, an outpouring of sonic force that sent everyone sprawling. Shadows tore off of her in waves, not the illusory obscurement she'd been using previously, but malignant waves of energy, barely visible in the waning, evening light.

Windows shattered all across the street, those that weren't already blown out, and her haunting cry was swiftly matched as the cloaked figure behind her rose, adding their voice to the unearthly chorus. I almost couldn't think past the sounds, the eerie wailing. Pikachu had both paws clamped over her ears, and Ink was doubled over, his eyes frantic and wild. Mr. Gima had retained his footing, and he and Alister were working their way closer, stepping forwards as if caught in a gale.

And then, the raucous cries ceased, both cutting off at the same time. The shadows drew back, swallowed into the two quivering bodies. As if the tide were receding, just before a tidal wave. My instincts screamed, and snatched Pikachu off the ground. All the hair on my body stood on end as I turned, sprinting away from the howling sense of danger that was ripping through my senses.

"Alyssa!" The sound was distant, but familiar. My own name, shouted by a voice I knew almost as well as my own. As I ran, my eyes caught on an approaching form. My best friend, charging forwards, one sleeve flapping wildly in the cold breeze.

"Catch!" Fe punctuated her high-pitched scream by skidding to a stop on the icy ground, slipping and sliding for a few moments before catching her footing. One arm reared back, and then came pitching forwards. Something came hurtling through the air towards me, glimmering and vibrant. Another object joined it, propelled by a blast of water from the fish hovering over my best friend's shoulder.

I reached out as if I were in a dream, and somehow, the object caught in my hand just as Pikachu reached out a paw to snag its companion. Two glowing stones, neither larger than a finger, each gleaming with inner power. And then, the darkness swallowed us both, my last sight of the world beyond the rent in reality my best friend's worried gaze, illuminated by the setting sun.