[journey] not so brave, not so smart

Safety is a peculiar concept, a delicate illusion we often take for granted in the routine of our lives. Like a thin veil, it hangs over us, offering the comfort of predictability and the assurance that all will be well. Yet, its fragility is astounding, a fact we tend to overlook until the moment it’s shattered. In the blink of an eye, the mundane transforms into the extraordinary, and the seemingly secure reality crumbles. For most, the loss of safety is a life changing experience, but not for you.

Because you.. are not like the others, now, are you?

You, unlike many, have danced on the tightrope of uncertainty from the very beginning. The illusion of safety never draped itself around your shoulders like a comforting shroud. Instead, you grew accustomed to the adrenaline-fueled tango with danger. Your senses are finely tuned to the erratic heartbeat of unpredictability. In the face of turmoil, you don't flinch; rather, you confront it head-on, as if safety were a foreign concept that never graced your existence. It's not a twist of fate for you; it's a familiar companion, an old acquaintance met on the road less travelled.

Perhaps that’s what drew her to you in the first place. After all, the lost always find solace in the equally as lost. Yet, when you turned your very defiance towards her, instead of towards the world, she no longer sought solace in your presence. How dare you fight for the very thing she could not grasp herself?

Your Mawile notices the subtle shift in the air before you do. Her senses heightened as she shifts where she’s sitting. Such a loyal creature, ain’t it? Too bad even that disgusting Fairy can not fend away the curse at the core of your heart. She, just like you, can not stop the desire to go home tugging at your very core. Home? As if a stronger presence snapped their fingers and decided your time among this realm had reached its end, you vanish before the eyes of your Mawile.

As the world gradually materializes, the familiarity of the rooftop fades away, replaced by the sensation of ancient brown wooden floorboards groaning beneath your grasp.  Exhaling, your breath forms icy clouds that swirl before your vision, a testament to the frigid temperature enveloping the space. Even in the dim light, the contours of the room are unmistakable. How could you forget this place, after all?

Grandma’s home.

“Did you think you could evade me that easily?”

And there she stands, a weathered hand leans casually against the kitchen countertop, her form cloaked in the facade of the innocent grandma you once entrusted months before. Yet, the hatred that glints in her eyes betrays a sinister undertone. It's clear you're not here for another cup of tea.

Oh, you defiant, foolish boy. Even when standing at the brink of your own doom, you find it in you to laugh, to find joy among the wicked. Grandma's gaze pierces through you, her lips contorting with a visceral disdain, as if she hungers to rip your vocal cords out, forever silencing that insipid laughter. And perhaps, just perhaps, she might—

Surprise fills her brown eyes as the fire reflects in them, right before they hit her. She expected you to fight, but she did not expect you to plan it out. She did not expect you to await the perfect moment, and she surely had not expected you to keep that wretched Vixen of Death closeby. While she had beckoned you to come home to her, pulled at the strings of your curse, she had inevitably called the one who had been a prisoner to her lands, for Yveltal-knows-how-long, back to her home as well.

”R-” Her lips barely manage to speak one consonant, before her voice tore into an awfully high-pitched screech. She stumbles back, desperation clinging at her very core as grasps at everything within her reach to shield her from the assault, but it proves futile. The heat gets to her, and this time, unlike the first time it had tried to burn her, the fire relentlessly burned at her skin. Her once weathered skin undergoes a grotesque metamorphosis, liquefying into an amorphous mass that oozes and drips along her body like molten wax. And it becomes awfully clear that perhaps a long time ago she had been human, a living being, but that time had long since passed. What remained was a gruesome monster clinging onto the bones of her own past.

With a guttural growl emanating from her now distorted throat, Grandma lunges towards the Vulpix. Her eyes, once filled with fear, now gleam with an unsettling hunger. With a lightning-fast strike, those demonic claws slash through the air, leaving trails of shadowy energy in their wake. The Vulpix stands no chance to dodge her claws, and she is mercilessly slammed against the kitchen wall, the force causing the room to tremble.

And then, slowly, deliberately, her eyes move up to meet yours.

”I’ll make you rip your own heart out.”

She growls, weakened, yet fueled by her own anger. How dare you side with that monster and use it against her?

Ah, the solemn resolution of someone who thinks they have nothing to lose, of someone who has no fear to disregard their own life if it meant they could take an enemy down with them. The grandma looked up from where she was on the floor, an unfamiliar emotion shimmering through her dark eyes. Fear? Her lips twitched up into a wicked smile. No, not fear. Excitement. Excitement, because finally she met someone who dares oppose her, excitement, because she knows no matter how hard you try to oppose her.. you stand no chance against her.

It was almost a pity, how the two of you stood on opposing sides - can you imagine what that rage of yours could accomplish if you’d just listened to her? But noo, you had to take from her, take beyond repair, and now, she had to take from you too. She would take, and take, and take, until there was nothing left for her to take, until you had nothing left in this pitiful world of yours. She was done letting others take from her without consequences, it was her turn now. And you.. You were her perfect target. So similar…

And you have so much to lose.

You approach her, your weapon aimed at her with malicious intent. You wish for her death. Interesting. ”Foolish boy,” she muttered under her breath. ”Have you learned nothing from last time?” Do you not remember what happened when you dared pick up a hammer against her? As you press forward, the curse’s grip tightens around your chest with an unrelenting cruelty. The pain, initially a dull ache, escalates into a searing agony that courses through your body. As if an invisible vice constricts around your heart, each step becomes a surge of torment that leaves you breathless. The pain intensifies, radiating from your chest to every inch of your body - as if a thousand needles pierce through your skins at once, each movement met with more force.

The grandma cocks up her chin, a grin daring you to try anyways. ”I don't intend taking that which you do not care for.”  she declared, her eyes narrowing with a predatory focus. As her gaze shifted, an unsettling focus settled on the region where your heart beat defiantly. In that moment, it was as if she plunged her metaphysical hands into the depths of your soul, fingers probing through the tangled tapestry of your emotions. She sifted through the raw agony of your existence, each heartache and torment laid bare before her unseen scrutiny. But she did not stop there. Her spectral touch delved into the fragments of light woven into the fabric of your being—the moments of solace, the connections that breathed life into your spirit.

And then, with a chilling precision, she found them—the threads that connected you to those you held dear. The Pokémon whose companionship offered solace, the mentor who imparted the art of self-preservation, and your best friend, Alastor, who has never cast judgement upon your decisions.

But then a darker intent surfaced, as she grasped at something a little more recent. A conflict between your heart and your mind - a sweet, sweet boy who had only recently stumbled into your life. Poor boy. ”Perhaps I’ll start with him.”

At the thought of harm befalling upon those you care for, your rage bubbles to a level even the grandma has not witnessed before. She raises her molten eyebrows, observing you with a twisted fascination. Despite the agony that visibly contorts your face, there is a cold fire in your eyes that betrays a resolve beyond the reach of her influence. Fight. Win. Overcome. You are indeed.. So similar.

You go beyond her expectations, relentlessly approaching. Most would have cowered away, writhed in pain, cried their hearts out - but not you. You fight, relentless, unforgiving. Perhaps your life has prepared you for this very moment, all those troubles, all that pain. Look at you now. She watches, a cruel anticipation etched across her feature, as if she were eager to witness the culmination of your futile resistance. Perhaps, it should have crossed you as odd, that she did not try to move out of your way.

Against all odds, you reach her, your weapon probing through the fabrics of her clothing, drawing the first drop of blood. And that’s as far as you get. Time slows, and an unseen force retaliates against you. An indescribable surge of pain, a manifestation of the curse’s wrath, erupts within you. For a moment, the world itself seems to scream, and the grandma’s expression shifts from anticipation to a macabre delight. As you recoil, the agony leaving you gasping for air, her wicked grin widens.

”I always wondered what would happen if someone got this far.”

Screams, guttural and menacing, fill your mind, each shriek adding to a chorus of tormented souls. Yet, the most unsettling part was the unnerving laughter of those damned before you. A chorus of those who had fallen prey to her curse, a symphony of madness that resonates through your very being. Join us. The voices cackle. One of us. They shriek. Yield to us. The whispers intertwine with the screams, until there is no way to make out what they are saying, the volume increasing with every beat of your heart. The room echoes with their distant cries, distorted and warped, a symphony of torment that threatens to shatter the fragile remnants of your sanity. Mad! You'll turn MAD!

You stumble backwards, your vision blurring, the lines between reality and nightmare becoming increasingly indistinct. Your legs give up from underneath you, all control slipping from your fingers. Don’t you realise, Ruisang? She has won, and you can’t do anything about it. You can’t save them, much like you have never been able to save yourself. You were always set up to fail. And you were going to fail them too.

A sinister, wicked laugh resonates through the grandma’s small abode. Her molten skin still sizzles as she gets up from the ground, a reminder of your futile attempt at becoming her undoing. A black claw traces the skin where you’ve tried to pierce her, and failed to complete your task. Slowly, without saying a word, she steps back into the kitchen. From the counter, she picks up a long, rusty knife, it shimmers in the dim light as she turns it in her hand.

”I will make it slow and painful,” she speaks, her voice drowning out the whispers momentarily. When she turns back to you, a wicked smile lingers on her lips, looking down on you as you writhe in pain. She revels in the fact you can not do anything. You can not get back up, your body yielding to the pain, so much as your mind will soon yield to the whispers of insanity dragging you down. ”Don’t you worry, son, I’ll give them your regards when they meet their end.” You can’t save them. To be a hero was never written in your stars, you were meant for the pain, for the doom, and what was it all worth? You were meant to be nothing in the end. A failure who couldn't even protect those he loved.

Neither one of you notices the shift in the air, the presence of a third. You don’t notice, until you hear a voice amidst all the screams, the whispers, and the agony. A clarity amongst your chaos, beckoning you to listen to it, to pay attention no matter what. ”Such a pity.” The voice resonates through your mind, strong and powerful, each word clearly articulated, slow enough for you to apprehend it through the curse’s torment.

”I was starting to root for you, Ruìsāng.”

For a moment, the grandma’s eyes linger on you, taken aback by your sudden words. Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks down upon you, considering what your words were aiming at. The voice speaking to you clearly was not heard by her - yet, you have not imagined it either. ”Mhm. Fair.” It resonates through the air, flat and dry, as if it's not impressed by you biting back. It has seen worse from you.

The screams and whispers strengthen as you feel the voice fading away from your mind, driving you to the brink of madness. When the voice pushes back forth, the curse's whispers fade into the background. Whatever this person or thing is, it holds a power even the grandma can not fathom. ”So ready to fight, so eager to destroy everything which stands in your path.” They've seen it. ”Yet, your control always falters in those moments most important to you..” The voice continues.

Even though you don't feel them sifting through your memories, something tells you this being instantly knows what you've gone through. About how you helplessly hid away in a corner from your father, not old nor strong enough to save your mother and yourself from his onslaught. About how you ball your fist, wishing you could hurt whoever dares put a finger on your loved ones, and yet, you always seem to find yourself lacking to complete this wish. That must suck. Not to forget the grandma was doing to you what every demon in your life had done to you before: take away your ability to fight back.

”But you don't want help, do you?”

You wish to fight your demons of your own accord.

Help. You don’t ask for it, you don’t beg for it. You don’t whimper in pain and scream for the third force to help you out of this situation, and somehow, that draws the being in even more. You can hear a soft laugh, but it’s a strange sound, as if the being itself does not know what laughing truly is.

The being does not overthink its words, nor does it twist the truth, for they know the dire situation you find yourself in. ”You are right. Help always comes at a price.” There is no need to hide that truth, for the both of you know the full extent of it. Nothing’s ever free. ”But I am not here to help.” And with those words, they seem to loosen their grip on grandma's curse, the voices coming back tenfold, the agony returning.

The grandma, on the other hand, now stands before you, her mouth slightly agape as she looks at you with utter confusion. She is not narrating? Has she overestimated you? Were you turning mad already?

”Yet, I can be a worthwhile ally.”

The voice returns.

”I can give you that which you most desire, to destroy all that opposes you.”

They pause.

”I can make you strong.”

And isn’t that all you have ever wished for? To be able to fight back?

Why? The grandma looked over her shoulder, and then back at you. Suddenly, worry flashed through her dark eyes. Were you turning mad, or was something else going on? She pressed a dark incantation over her lips, and the curse around your heart tightened its grip, twisting and straining as if the agony she had caused you before wasn’t enough already. She then starts turning towards the door, revelling in the idea of taking what you love, just like you took from her. Vince, Alastor, Vik, even your mother. It would all be your fault.

”Because I could use someone like you,” The voice resonates through your mind again, and in the corners of your eyes, you see a dark shape standing in the shadows. ”And you could use someone like me.” A silence washes over the two of you, and the only thing you can hear is the grandma’s footsteps as she starts making her way to the door. It’s now or never.

”I will lend you my strength in those moments you require it the most,” The being senses your mistrust. ”I will allow you to destroy those who stand in your way, and those who bring harm upon those you care for. And I promise I shall not pose a threat to them, either.” It allows you to think about it, before it adds one final thing:

”In return…” The being continues. ”I need you to pledge your allegiance to me, become one of my own. A harbinger of chaos and destruction. Take that which we need, and destroy that which stands in our way.” The being stops speaking, their attention focused on you. You feel time slipping from your fingers, the grandma slowly making her way towards the door, to take from those you love.

”No-one would ever be able to harm you like she does now..” The being adds, as if it were a final push towards this newfound allegiance. You would no longer have to standby and suffer this kind of loss, this lack of control. It was a reasonable offer, to ask for your loyalty in return, was it not?

The dark lends you its strength, a helping hand among this agony. Fuelled by this newfound power, you surge forward, wielding your weapon as if it was always meant to end this way. The grandma turns towards you, unimpressed, waving her hand in the air, summoning the curse. It is only when her curse does not respond to her whims - your feet carrying you relentlessly, unaffected - that worry crosses her expression.

By the time she realised this cruel play of fate against her, it is already too late for her. The poker pierces through her skin, unforgiving, as if she had never been strong enough to resist its assault. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as she stumbles, her back hitting the wall behind her. Dark eyes widen, as clawed hands desperately curl themselves around the poker pierced through her very own heart.

”H-how..?” She stammers, gasping for air, her features turning more human as the ages she spent among this place, in this inbetween, passed by. And then, as she realises what is about to happen, you see an emotion shimmer through her dark gaze, one you did not expect to see. Relief.

Deep creases form wrinkles of old age, before a final gasp shudders over her lips, and her entire being crumbles into ashes. As she fades, so too does the place around you change, the illusion she cast upon this place finally falling. You stand among the ashes and remains of what once was a family home - a place of loving and caring, a place long gone and forgotten. Broken walls stand as a testimony of what once was, a fireplace dangerously clinging to the last solid bricks maintaining its structure. Black soot lingered on places where the fire failed to swallow everything whole.

You take a step, and underneath your weight, you hear something shatter. Looking down, you find your foot standing on the last remnants of a picture frame, having shattered the last pieces of glass still tethered to it. Although aged by time, you see the picture clearly for what it is: a mother cradling her child, a loving smile on her face. And even though the years had not been kind to her, you see the woman for who she is: the grandma who's heart you pierced. She looked so happy, so innocent, so kind. It makes you wonder, what happened to turn her into such a malevolent being.

Here’s the thing, Ruìsāng. Let me make it clear to you:

Villains are never born. They are forged.

But at least you won. Right?

A true victory.