Chapter Thirty-Three: Let Me Save Myself

Before Ryou did make an attempt to break down the door—if he was lucky, he would just need to break the lock—he took a moment to reflect on the mask he'd been wearing.

There were two types of masks, and he wished neither of them existed—a world where no lies or deceit had to be told sounded like an utopia; an escape that could wash away all the ugly black that his life had been dyed in.

If he could pick one of them, however—it would have to be the first mask. The mask that at least still contained some semblance of emotion behind the gaudy accessory—emotions that, at some point or later, would resurface some time in the future.. Emotions that told him that he was still human; that he could at least be saved.

For most of his life, however, he had grown accustomed to belonging in the second category—and he still feared it. It was a guise, so good at hiding emotions—but they were false emotions that weren't quite there. The first mask at least had something to base feelings off. People who were in the second division were just empty.

It wasn't as if he was given a choice—he wanted to at least hold his emotions—he wanted them to be tangible; wanted him to be able to grasp them—but if he could, they had gone too far—he'd lost sight and drowned long ago. He studied how people behaved and tried to mimic their actions.

For a while, it had been different. The awful emptiness and hollow silence that he felt on the inside—the feeling that he'd lost grasp of his feelings, if that even made sense—had been replaced by something far warmer for a while.

He'd acknowledged that that had been a sweet, sweet dream. This reality was his nightmare—the boy that was Shion Stone was his nightmare. Ryou Imizu had nothing more than an artificial projection from his saddened mind. He was waking up now; one couldn't stay in a dream for long.

After all, he'd chased away the person who'd fuelled that very dream—he had no right to it now. He could just hurt. He could do nothing but make mistakes.

Deciding to pay no more mind to the turbulent churning of his maddened mind, he let out his Flygon, no longer quite aware of his surroundings—it was as if his senses had been dimmed, and he wasn't able to comprehend the actions he was taking.

He'd realised something was off, though—his fear didn't run as deep as it should have. The initial terror had subsided; despite being in a place where he despised with all his heart, something at the back of his mind told him that this was some kind of trick.

Instead, the trainer could sense an ominous prescence, one that took the form of a nagging voice in his ear—telling him that this was not OK; that something was very wrong with this picture.

He couldn't let that stop him, though—he couldn't risk it. He couldn't just turn back now and let someone—who had been a jerk to him, but a jerk that took care of him nonetheless—die because of some pathetic feelings and doubts that hindered him.

He was fortunate to have the Pokemon on his side. It did take some effort, but the lock was broken down in the end, and that was all that mattered. A sense of guilt still stung the innermost layer of his heart, however—all it had done was make that fatal argument with Celeana even more pointless.

Even the simple touch of his hand to the doorknob's chilled metal startled him, causing him to almost draw back out of surprise. Ryou shook his head—he was too old to get frightened by mere things like this—and he nudged open the large frame with a cautious timbre.

He had expected to find his father—that was his entire purpose—but he expected to find him in a more defenceless position. Here, Joseph Stone acted like he was living an ordinary day in an ordinary life, sitting behind his desk in the calmest manner possible and typing away at his damned laptop.

A few moments of tense silence passed as neither of them spoke—his father not even acknowledging his prescence and him surprised by the sudden revelation. Then, the elder Stone—it wasn't that he even considered himself one—peered up, and at that moment, his image was shattered.

"Stop it," he muttered, unsure whether the sentence was aimed towards the man across him or towards his own ears. "You're not my father, aren't you?"

He'd known from the moment they had made eye contact. He'd spent too much time staring into those lifeless pair of ice-cold optics that he'd memorised every pattern and emotion they could produce. Joseph Stone was never one to falsify his emotions.

Thus, he had deduced that that smile was fake. Every fibre; every muscle put into that artificial expression wasn't true. After years of living with that wretched man, he had memorised every single one of his behaviours—not one of them contained any trace of happiness.

"You are certainly observant." His father spoke, but devoid of that usual crisp tone he'd use for business-talk—it was as if something had gotten hold of his vocal chords, speaking through them and manipulating them to his own will. "A normal person wouldn't have been able to notice."

He just laughed—he didn't even know why he laughed—in reply, a sort of natural instinct that had been built up over the years. "You—my father chose me to work for this company because I wasn't normal, right?"

"I knew you would be harder to fool," the man responded, tossing back a response so casual that the banter between them could almost be considered a regular conversation. "I even went to the trouble of possessing this body and changing the world's makeup so that you could be moved to this office."

A mirthless smile played on the trainer's lips, but he forced that expression into oblivion and closed his eyes in an unassuming, innocuous front. "I'm sorry that I've brought you so much trouble, then. I apologise."

"That is fine," the unknown voice—a stranger to him, as far as he was concerned—was far too calm about this entire situation—a scene where even he didn't know what was going on. "I have prepared another precaution. Ryou Imizu...can you get past this obstacle of your past?"

The pale-haired boy wanted to question just what he meant—he was getting confused by the voice's roundabout manner of speaking—but a tap on the shoulder stopped him from doing just so.

He spun around, feeling his heart rate speed up to a dangerous speed and his eyes widening in shock as the white-haired woman behind him offered a coy smile, amethyst eyes half-open in an unassuming, soft gaze.

"...Mother?"

• • •

She was dead. She'd plunged off a building four years ago—for a reason that involved him, he was sure—and he'd seen her lie on the ground, unmoving, crumpled over as an unrecognisable corpse smeared with viscous crimson.

And yet, she was right in front of him, every detail on her delicate face intact and free of any previous injury she might have had. She was here. Mother was here.

He was being stupid—he knew he was being stupid, that Mother would never smile for him—but he couldn't bring himself to his senses. She was right here, alive—or so he thought, at least—and she wasn't dead. Mother was back. Mother was safe.

"Are you OK, Ryou?" Her voice was soft, bordering on gentle even, and she reached out a cold hand to touch her son's face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

—that he was. He blinked, trying to understand whether this figure was real or not—but when he opened his eyes once again, the woman was still standing, a puzzled look plastered on her face as she stared at the trainer with an expression of confusion.

She continued on. "I loved you, Ryou," she whispered, "and I still do. Unfortunately...you still don't quite agree with what he says, don't you?" She tilted her head in Joseph Stone's direction. "I want to be with you again, my son—but unless you join us, we'll always be apart."

Her feet were bare, and she was silent as she slid over to her partner's side, almost disappearing before his very eyes and reforming in her new position. Her smile had disappeared now—instead, it had diminished to a small parting of the lips, and he couldn't tell what kind of emotion she was trying to convey.

He barely had time to react as a shadowy whip of energy lashed out of him—and it was too late as he tried to get out of the way. A cry of pain escaped his throat as he was hit from the side, the strike too fast to dodge as he was sent to the ground.

Agony curdled through his body, and he convulsed—yet, besides the phantom pain, there was no visible injury. He fumbled for a Pokeball—any Pokeball—and let out his Swellow, the bird spreading his raven wings and ready to defend his trainer.

The avian prepared a Boomburst to counterattack, but even his fastest member wasn't enough to match the deadliness of their opponents—the shadows rose from the ground, flickering into the shapes of various Pokemon before shifting once again into paper-thin arrows that struck through his wings.

"Return," the trainer called in a breathless manner, panicking—he'd never kept his Pokeball this fast before. That choice left him defenceless, however, and he couldn't minimise the damage by rolling to the side this time.

"What a kind trainer you've become," his mother slurred. "It's almost like your father, you know. I don't want to hurt you, Ryou...I love you. You know that."

"Stop!" he screamed, and there was no doubt that he would be hoarse for the next couple of days with a shout of that amplitude. "I love you!" he yelled. "Stop!"

"I'm sorry," she muttered, a trembling hand ruffling his hair—and it was all he could do to hang in her grasp like a limp rag-doll, grateful for the opportunity to erase his smile. "I love you," she chanted to herself like a mantra. "I love you, Ryou."

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He'd soon grew tired of hearing this sentence—not because he was an insolent child, but because I knew that "I love you" had become a lie, a meaningless, distant phrase flung out in the hopes of fixing things.

That's when he'd learnt that the deceptive phrase could be used as a shield.

How foolish he'd been to even believe in these words from the start.

"Why are you hesitating, child?" His "father" spoke, a light echo in the fog surrounding his dazed mind. "Whether it's because you want the pain to stop or whether you want your mother to live...why haven't you made a decision?"

"I—It's not a lie that I want Mother back," the pale-haired teenager mumbled in reply, "but I can't do this. Something bad's going to happen if I choose to follow you guys. I can't be selfish just for a wish like that—there are billions of other people in the world that have their own wishes too. And, to be honest—I couldn't dare to prioritise the wish of someone useless like me."

Joseph Stone arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his response. "I wouldn't call what I'm doing something bad," he reasoned. "I'm thinking about this from my own point of view. A world where no one has to hurt—isn't that what you want? You can stop running away."

He flinched at the last two words, but didn't cower. "Equality..." he lowered his head. "Maybe I would have wanted that when I was younger. But—just when I'm starting to find the true me behind my mask, you're trying to take all this away...why can't you—you just let me have this bit of happiness?"

His voice quietened considerably. "At least...let me save myself..."

"I address this to my father," he stated, trying to recollect what was left of his composure. "Not this pitiful excuse that's trying to act as one. I'm able to say these things because I left on this journey. I have the strength to save someone. And I'd like to use this strength."

"And to Mother..." he looked at the white-haired woman. "I know you did love me—thank you for that. I've lost you already. I'm sorry for letting you die, and I'm sorry for not bringing you back now."

(And he's crying. He doesn't know why. The tears are a foreign substance that are numb, rolling down his cheeks as if they don't belong.)

• • •

He shuddered as he took a look at his new surroundings—calling it eerie wasn't quite enough, with platforms that floated in every possible direction and an ominous purple all around. If the golden light behind him hadn't snapped him out of his trance, he'd have continued standing there for minutes.

"Who's there?" he asked, startled, turning around and coming face-to-face with an ethereal creature, several inches taller him and golden ridges sparkling and even more vibrant against the dimness of the world around him.

His eyes widened at the sight—he'd only heard tales about this Pokemon through books. "Arceus?"

"So you do recognise me," the Legendary replied, inclining his head towards him with respect—yet, he still managed to maintain the aura of authority that glowed around him. "Yes, Ryou Imizu. I am Arceus, the creator of this world."

"Congratulations on passing the test that Giratina set you," he praised. "That was not easy—and you were alone. I am certainly impressed by your mental fortitude."

Ryou blinked. "That...that was Giratina?" To say he was bewildered was an understatement, but he would find the answers to his questions soon.

"Yes." The Lord's tone held urgency. "And I cannot engage in such casual banter with you right now. We have no time to waste—that test was also a means to divide you from Celeana Asthansia. She—and the whole world—are in danger."

"Celeana?" He tensed up at the name, and it all came flowing back—he was the one that had driven her away. It was his fault that this was happening. Shit.

"Do not blame yourself," he comforted. "It was not your fault. What you can do now is come with me to find her—I know for a fact that Quinn is not on close terms with her. At this point, you are the only one that can help her."

The trainer brushed a lock of silver hair out of his eyes. "You're not finishing your speech."

"You are sharp," Arceus replied. "Yes. If the situation gets out of hand, there is only perhaps one way that we can resolve this. I do not want to risk any human life, but if it comes to that—"

Oh. He understood what the Pokemon was trying to imply.

"That's fine," he cut in, keeping his tone light. "Now, what did you say about not wasting any time?"

• • •

haha well shit happened in this chapter ?

and cliffhangers. cliffhangers everywhere

and i can't waste any more time i need to get off the computer soon

Besides that, thank you SO MUCH for 8.6K reads and 1100 votes! That's about a 300+ increase in reads :o My next goal is 1115!

Critiques are most certainly welcome, and don't forget to read, vote and give your thoughts in the comments! Please be 100% honest!

~ nyxia ☆