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
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II. THE SERPENT The cave drank in sound, swallowing every breath, every blink. It starved for something Chryssa couldn’t quite describe-- perhaps it was light, or color, or the miracle of vision itself. Whatever it was, she felt it dulling around her, siphoned away with every foot she fell.
She was not alone down here-- gray statues, calcified with time, flashed past her from the passing veins of rock. She saw a Cubchoo, its body gray and dripping with threads of solid lime as if trying to escape the walls themselves. She fell past it, descending deeper.
They contracted, sloping narrower and narrower, until Chryssa realized she was falling not down a pit, but a pyramid.
Her body passed through a barrier, and she entered the nest.
THE SERPENT was a beast of angles and cruel geometry. Its body coiled like cardboard, ridged and broken at every joint. She could see it drowsing in the depths of its container, starving for something timeless, something outside human words. Something OTHER.
It lifted its gem-encrusted head, many-eyed and alien.
It opened its mouth, the predator of the pit, the heart of a trap built for an anomaly who only fed once a millennia. With her swarm of stones, the stench of sea and scars rising from its breaching tongue, Chryssa fell towards it.
She reached for her sword, but Muir wasn’t here. Her Pokemon had disappeared. Free-fall was no place for a cane, and no place for a blade.
So instead, she reached for a shield.
She caught herself on the serpent’s snout, fastening fingers in the hard edges of the leviathan's largest eye. It screamed soundlessly, vibrations rupturing arteries of stone. She pulled, tasting blood, freeing the faceted plate from tattered nerves. Trailing cords that smelled of salt and stone, she brought it up to block strike after strike of its barbed tongue, bending it like fork tines.
It writhed, its tight coils unfurling, its maw gaping listlessly. The yawning vacuum of its breath swelled again like a great sigh, buffeting her with age and cold. It seemed almost like a great tunnel, paving the way forward.
Something glinted in its depths. Something strange and achingly familiar, which called her towards a dream-- or perhaps away from a nightmare.
Chryssa did not hesitate. She stepped from the tooth-lined rim of its jaw, and fell towards the belly of the beast.
... The concept of a ‘fabric of reality’ was in error, the mundane child of two-dimensional thinkers. Reality was a needle stitching the unfathomable, and Chryssa’s last step took her from its thread to its point.
PASSING CUBCHOO
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