Not-Chryssa
She/Her
27
May 1
Eterna City, Sinnoh
Panromantic
radio host
agent
as flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport
TAG WITH @chryssa
chryssa glasgow
HOENN HISTORIA
POSTED ON Oct 7, 2020 1:46:32 GMT
|
|
| H O E N N H I S T O R I A She was a motherfucking god.
Chryssa’s laughter rung out across the field of chaos; wild, elated, triumphant laughter. It was swallowed up by the crash and rumble of boulders, falling and shattering to pieces on the stone floor. The shrapnel fell through her where she stood, passing harmlessly through her body.
You can’t hurt me, she thought, eager to test her limits, and walked towards the Regirock emerging from the ancient ruin. She leaned heavily on her cane, its tassel stirring sluggishly as she gripped it tighter with excitement. Nothing can actually touch me here, can it? Not even you, monster.
Too close for comfort, the seven eyes of the earthen golem pulsed as if they were switches on a communication board, its cannonlike arms bearing around with a warning hum like an instrument of death.
But tonight, that song was not for her.
With a cry of triumph, in one motion the girl unsheathed her Honedge but then stumbled as the ghost blade surged to life, tassel wrapping tightly around her wrist and lashing her to its hilt. What? But I thought...
Her heartbeat slowed. No— it skipped. She grew lightheaded, not from giddiness, but from her vitality being siphoned away. No! she thought, dazed, just as the Hyper Beam burst like a cannon filled with starlight before her eyes.
Possessed by a force not her own, her hand came up as if to parry the blast, the torrent of light parting around the darkly glowing blade and flowing to either side like running water. The Hyper Beam ended, its path diverted, and Chryssa sank to her knees.
It seemed she was invulnerable to the dream, but not to herself.
She lowered Muir and just managed to sheathe it, her hands starting to tremble as soon as she let go. All around her, people and Pokemon were still fighting. ”You people don’t get it,” she called, weakly, and no one seemed to hear. The figments of the vision continued to fight, to fall, their Pokemon crushed, their bones breaking. ”Wake up, none of this matters! It’s inevitable. We can’t change it.” She received no answers, and continued to watch as others streamed into the fray.
Was that true? All around her, people—faceless ghosts— seemed to be having an impact, even if just a small one. Lifting her chin, still too weak to stand, Chryssa resolved herself. Fine—if she couldn’t change the events in play, maybe she could find the source. If not the dreams, then the dreamers themselves.
So from where she’d sunk, chaos all around her, the girl fixed her eyes on those few faces and remembered.
|
|
|
|
|