"'That tree' was our mission objective, and I obey orders." His voice is curt, cold with residual anger not directed at his guest. "Your warning was appreciated nevertheless."

He allows Adrian Malcolm to continue from there without interruption. Even as they idle in the relative calm of this disused wing, miasma leaks through Gavin's steady breath like dark omen. It swirls around the underboss of its own accord.

"So you are its avatar."

He does not seem alarmed at the reveal; there had been time to process shock during the fight. Now, the aftermath. Reaction comes, instead, in a whoosh of breath as he sighs. She was going to live. He closes red eyes for a beat, then opens them again.

"Good," he says, then, "And I am Lugia's chosen, as I'm sure you've inferred. I do hope you'd tell me if you've seen my death."

"I was joking." Gavin's deadpan, serious tone does not change even with the admission. "Thank you for the clarification."

It was an interesting power, and one that makes his skin crawl as he realizes the implication of earlier words. 'Myself, others...' Gavin knew, through Darkrai's shared blessing between Walsh and Lulu Flint, that avatarship was not always exclusive.

Resignation deepens at Empirio's name.

"Yes, he knew the name as any in Rocket should." His lip curls. "Unfortunate. How many others know?"

As far as he knows. A dissatisfied grumble rises in Gavin's throat.

His relatively relaxed demeanor shifts the moment Lugia is mentioned; the affront that spreads through his thoughts is not entirely his own, the slumbering legend infuriated by such dismissive words. Outrage sparks at the word force, and Gavin's lips purse.

I know, he attempts to soothe, but he doesn't—

"That thing is Lugia, Guardian of the Seas — and it is my partner, not my slave." The red of his eyes matches that of the corrupt legend, and they burn with its same malevolence for a beat before Gavin regains his calm. When he blinks, the fury seems to quell. "But if you seek to subjugate Yveltal's will, there may be options."

He pulls out the ball in which Lugia chose to slumber. A dark blue ball patterned with lighter web, four strong yellow bands gripping it like claws.

"Prior to our partnership, this was the only thing stopping Lugia from killing us all."

"It's known as a Beast Ball; they're meant to contain alien lifeforms."

The Ultra Beasts, he means, but he gives Adrian Malcolm the benefit of the doubt in assuming he'll know. Lugia was not such a Beast, but Gavin theorized its connection to Nihilego through the poison allowed the capsule to function.

Or, perhaps it was capable of containing any powerful entity...?

"Perhaps it could do more, but you'd need to ask our scientists."

There's a distant ache for a life he could've had, but it's gone as quick as it had come.

Gavin tugs gloves coated in blood and ash from his hands, sets them on an empty surface. Shifting, he holds out the ball in the palm of his hand, an offering for Adrian to pick it up and inspect it further, should he wish. It's heavier than an average capsule, cool against exposed skin. There's no worry for Lugia's safety; the legend is bound to him, now, its would-be prison now only a formality.

Gavin angles his palm to accept the ball—

(—it's the lightest of touches, barely a graze, but it's enough—)

—and drops it, instead, slumping forward momentarily as darkness closes on the edge of his vision and he nearly passes out.

He catches himself on his knees, glad to be sitting down, blinking rapidly with muted alarm as he struggles to figure out what had happened. It's reminiscent of how he'd felt the times he'd nearly bled out after a rough fight, ringing in his ears and Adrian Malcolm's voice too distant for how close they sat.

Lugia's telepathic voice returns him to clarity, rumbling like thunder through his thoughts. This one would seek to drain your life.

Its anger surges through him, reinvigorates a small amount.

Gavin stares daggers at his now unwelcome guest.

"What did you just do?"

Nausea rises in his throat, and Gavin has to close his eyes to stem vertigo. He feels weak, heavy, like he can't support his own weight. He doesn't open them again until the ringing subsides.

Adrian Malcolm's confusion seems genuine, but Gavin is not one for trust.

"You touched me," he forces, stiff, "and you did — something. What?"

From the ocean beyond, a low cry echoes. Though warped by corruption, it's otherwise not unlike the song of Wailord from the deep. Lugia's fury makes itself known, but its anger can only invigorate so much.

"Is that Yveltal's boon?"