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Eighth.
ENCOUNTER. It's been days since you were brought here. Or, at least, you think it's been days; even if it's not something you're necessarily unfamiliar with, the stagnation of time and space are likely taking a toll, as is the fact that it's impossible to become spatially oriented in this place. The rotation of the walls to become ground beneath your feet, the floating patches of land with their bizarre floral biology, the pools of water flowing silently and horizontally directly above your heads... It's all a bit much to take in, a bit much to acquaint yourselves with. Perhaps it isn't meant for you to become acquainted with at all. The massive creature here with you has been becoming bolder over the last few hours; it's difficult to tell what's gotten into it, but its path through the shadows has been bringing it closer. Once in a while a sleek, sharply-spiked body can be seen twisting its way through the darkness; sometimes long, black tendrils with wicked-looking red tips are seen cutting through the shadows, each of them far larger than you are, before disappearing again into nothingness. It seems to fade in and out with the contours of the abyss; sometimes it disappears entirely, only to reappear so close to the patches of land you've taken to standing on that it feels liable to collide with them, that it seems almost like you can reach out and touch it if you wanted to. Whatever it is, your Pokémon don't like it. You can tell just by being in its presence that it's one of the old ones, one of those whose memories span far longer than most of you can comprehend - one that's always been, since the creation of the world. An ancient and powerful entity, and there comes a point on one of those passes that's too close for comfort that it doesn't pull away and disappear again. Instead it stays, and its head breaches the darkness, and it finally lets you see it. It's massive, alarmingly so, in the same way that Dialga and Palkia were massive - not just in physical size, but in the way that something about being in its presence makes you feel very, very small. Its body is long and graceful in a way that's almost repulsive; it doesn't set down anywhere near you, or anywhere at all; instead, it simply is, hovering before you in a way that commands the stagnant, empty space before you, floating over the abyss like it was meant to be in it, like it's been here for longer than you likely care to imagine. Those long black tendrils ripple a little as they stream out behind it; its body seems to glimmer in the darkness as it watches you from behind bright, red eyes. For the time being, it doesn't seem about to attack; just the same, it's watching you very, very closely. What happens from here is, evidently, your call. |
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We've had some sort of say in the world--every hold we've broken, every being we've sought to restore and free--even if we do not have power backing our words to overwhelm our opponents, we have done all in our abilities to try to retake it.
[It's. Kind of clear those words are fucking with her, but she tries to force herself to be held by them. It's not going well.]
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YOU WILL NOT WIN THIS TIME.]
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How are you so certain of such a thing?
[The question is calm; she's not sure if Giratina is talking about against itself, or against Cyrus, but...]
Is it simply because we lack power? Or what is it that we are lacking?
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Because even if we have failed before, we've gotten up--time after time--to do it again. Even if it meant we were potentially marching to our deaths against the likes of Dialga and Palkia, under the control of those who stand with Cyrus, we have marched forward in spite of all odds to talk them down and break them free. In doing so, we were at least able to break the cycle--perhaps far more than we had done, than the first time we had attempted such a thing. Even with a stagnant world like Cyrus created, he still couldn't perfect it--and he never will.
And that's because no matter what Cyrus does, spirit cannot be destroyed at it's core. It can be dampened, it can be erased near entirely--but it cannot be destroyed, because it has always been. It always will be. It's a constant, no matter how much Cyrus wishes it not to be.
[Camilla just...pauses for a moment, trying to collect herself.]
We believe in our ability to stand against him, and put an end to this--in any fashion that is needed, for that beautiful region to prosper once more.
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...I'm aware.
[And boy does she hate to admit that. It feels like bile, but she clenches her fist, refusing to back down--]
But what of all of you, then, if we are woefully powerless against those two? [Camilla is calm when she speaks again, having taken a moment to breathe.] Do any of you all have any ability to stand the Creator, in it's current state?
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The answer is immediate, and there doesn't seem to be shame in it; the Creator banished it here, man, it doesn't know what you want it to do.]