CANTO I; REMINISCENCE

---

Your name is Paul Meatles. You live in a cramped apartment on Brunel Road, in the city of Spikemunth, with your mother, your father, your brother, and your sister. You're just an ordinary boy. You attend Spikemunth Primary School, and you eke out meagre grades. You have friends, but you couldn't be called popular. If you vanished off the face of the world today, the world would not miss you. Except, all that is about to change, because today is the 25th of December, your birthday, and you just turned ten years old. Today is the day that you pack your bags, walk out the front door, and set out on your grand Pokemon adventure.

You remember it like it was yesterday: The day your life really, truly started. You might have been born ten years earlier, but until you were handed the Pokeball with Toxel in it, you weren't truly alive. The day you began to shed the cocoon of your old identity, and blossom into the butterfly of your new self.

And, if you're being completely honest, it's where you peaked. It all goes downhill from here. It'll never be as good as this again.

Still, you suppose it's nice. You used to hate this place, but once upon a time, you had a dream that Spikemunth was reduced to ruins. After that, it soothes your soul to walk these streets again, as they once were. Is this what they mean when they say "absence makes the heart grow fonder"?

A sense of deja vu settles upon you as you retrace the steps you took decades go. It isn't unpleasant. Not yet, anyway. After all, this is still your dream. You'll find a way to fuck things up.

But, for now, you're content to walk both the uneven pavement as you would memory lane, avoiding all the cracks and gaps. Though it might seem it, you are not walking aimlessly. No, though blurred by the haze of your memories, you know that right now, you are walking the same path as you did thirty years ago, on that dark and chilly Christmas night.

The path of Shred Zeppelin, the Pokemon Champion of the Galar Region.

CANTO II; STEPPING UP

---

...Course, this didn't go very well for you the first time around, did it?

Shred Zeppelin's road to becoming Pokemon Champion was, like most of Galar's roads, bumpy and uneven and full of potholes. In the eight years you attempted to conquer the circuit, you managed to get two gym badges total. As it turned out, the world was full of prodigies and savants, gifted children who understood Pokemon battling as though it were an art form. While you were struggling to even get paint on the canvas, your peers were creating masterpieces. Among shining lights, you were dull. Among the perfect, you were flawed.

The fun part of the dream is over. Now, you're beyond the nostalgic sights of Spikemunth, and out in the wilderness of Route 9. From here on out, it's a downward slope, a series of continuous rock bottoms and new lows for thirty years straight. Tonight, that's a restless night of sleep. Tomorrow, it'll be sore feet. The day after that, you'll get stung by a Weedle, and so on, and so on.

Well, no point moping about it. If this is how the dream is playing out, you may as well just play along until you wake up. So, you continue to retrace your steps: Walking along until you find a nice empty patch of grass, trying and failing to set up your tent, and settling for setting up on a nearby rock. It all plays out the same, like an echo, or a ripple, or a re-run of an old TV show. Even the smallest details, from the slight mouldiness of the corned beef sandwich you had for dinner, to the brand of the strawberry toothpaste you used to brush your teeth, are exactly the same. Even things you've forgotten are crystal clear.

And yet, it all feels so dull. You sigh as you begin to settle into your sleeping bag. What's the point of reliving the past when you can't change anything...?


"Wim, wim..."

Your jerk upright as you hear a strange, pathetic noise, and lay eyes upon a curious bug, hoovering up the crumbs of your sandwich. This, too, is part of your memory, the first of many botched capture attempts. First, you quietly unzipped your sleeping bag. Second, you crept over to your bag and retrieved an empty Pokeball. Third, you approached it to capture it, only to step on a loose twig. The resulting snap alerted the Wimpod and scared it away into a nearby crevice. You were completely mortified. It was the most embarrassing thing you'd ever experienced, and nobody even saw it. You would've cried yourself to sleep that night if you had slept at all.

But, again, it all repeats itself. One, you get out of your sleeping bag. Two, you retrieve an empty Pokeball from your bag. Three, you approach the bug--

--You stop. In that moment, a single footstep away from a dry and crunchy twig, it occurs to you that you might be giving this dream too much credit. If you were really back in the past, you wouldn't be Shred Zeppelin yet, would you? And you wouldn't be aware that you were dreaming, and you most certainly wouldn't be thinking in the second person. No, though the world is as it was back then, and you are in the body of your old self, you are not a puppet dancing on strings. You are still you. If all of that is true, then surely, surely...?

From your current vantage, you narrow your eyes, line up your throw, and toss the Pokeball, hitting the Wimpod head-on and enveloping it in the red glow of capture. You hold your breath and wait...

Shake.

Shake.

Shake.

CLICK!

Well, isn't this an interesting little development in this tired old story? A smile spreads across your face as you step up, over the twig on the ground and your defied fate alike, and towards your newly captured Pokemon.

CANTO III; Aspiration

---

Turfield, the town of farms and folly alike. Every fresh entrant to the Galar League starts their journey here, and while some find instant success, others are greeted by a rude awakening. Some get knocked down only to get right back up again. Others, disillusioned, give up, head back home, and surrender to their average, mediocre lives.

You were the former of the latter. You tripped at the first hurdle about a dozen times before you gave up trying and moved on to Hulbury. It turns out, your lone Toxel could not overcome the combined might if Gossifleur and Eldegoss. It was not to be.

But this time, it'll be different. This time, Toxel will have Wimpod to back him up.

And Honedge. And Salandit. And Pancham and Nincada and Sizzlipede and Corphish and Rookidee and Pawniard and Gastly and Magnemite and--

--Okay, so, turns out, ten year old you was just an idiot. You have like, a whole PC box full of these fuckers! Why didn't you just do this the first time? You're way stronger than you were back then!

But, are you strong enough? You take a deep breath as you step inside the gigantic stadium. A look of determination settles on your face.

You've been given a mulligan. This is a second chance to fulfill your lost dream. This time, you WILL become the Pokémon Champion, and nobody, NOBODY, will stop you.

CANTO IV; Conquest

---

"AND THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH, THE CHALLENGER, SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED ZEPPELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!"

The announcer's voice still echoes in your head, over and over and over. Even now, as you sit alone in the locker room, you can still feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins. Your fingers trace along the edges of the Grass badge. How much did you struggle to acquire this in your time? How many lost attempts and failed strategies did you burn through? Hours, days, weeks lost here, all in the pursuit of this badge! And now, here you are, having earned it on your first try.

It doesn't feel real. Then again, it isn't real, is it? This is all nothing but a dream. Maybe that's why you can't find it within yourself to be truly excited about this. Your hands are trembling, but you're not excited. Isn't it strange...?

"Hey, stop moping already. You got what you wanted, didn't you? You won!" Wimpod heckles you, oddly mouthy for a creature that's supposedly cowardly. "Meanwhile, you kept sending me out to fight, even though I asked you not to! I'M the one with a reason to be sad here!"

"Mr Wimpod, you are a Pokemon." Pancham plainly states, looking disapprovingly upon the bug. "It is our obligation to fight. If you did not want to participate in Pokemon Battles, you should not have gotten caught by a Pokemon trainer."

"Easy for you to say. I didn't get a choice. He caught me from behind! Meanwhile, you just walked straight up to him and let him catch you!"

"He gave me bamboo."

"Alright, enough already!" You snap at the pair, standing up as you stash the badge into your pocket. It doesn't matter, at least, not yet. Anyone can win one gym badge. You don't have the stats floating in your head, but if you were to guess, more than 80% of trainers get past Turfield. It's MEANT to be a softball. Compared to Hulbury and Motostoke, this is a walk in the park. Maybe what comes next will pose more of a challenge? Maybe that'll get your heart pumping for real? Maybe that'll give this dream some meaning?

Only one way to find out. Picking up your bag, you sling it over your shoulder as you make for the exit, Wimpod and Pancham scurrying behind you. This was just the first step of your conquest. It's time to carry onwards.

CANTO V; Power

---

Hulbury and Motostoke? Laughably easy. Stow-on-Side? Completely effortless. Ballonlea? You barely broke a sweat! And you're not even going to dignify Circhester with so much as a single word, because even doing so would be a waste of breath.

All in all, that's six gym badges in a little over a month. Some people spend the entire year grinding the Galar League, and you've almost cleared it in a tenth of that time. Imagine that? You are one of those blessed prodigies, those legendary savants, gifted with a natural understanding of the ebb and flow of Pokemon battling. You're the shining rookie that's the talk of everyone from Wyndon to Freezington, from the message boards to the talk shows. You're already a favorite to clear the preliminaries. Some of them even think that you have a shot at winning the primaries. Hell, a few particularly dedicated members of the Shred Zeppelin fanclub think you're going to be the one who defeats the undisputed champion.

Is this what it means to be powerful? Not only are you an exceptionally talented trainer, but everyone knows it, too. You're starting to get approached on the street by people asking for autographs. Other trainers are challenging you, as though you're someone worth beating. Whenever you walk into a store, you get showered with praise and thanks and discounts and favours. It's everything you've ever wanted. It's everything you could ever want.

So, why does it feel so empty?

Your Corviknight Taxi lets out a caw as it begins to descend, diving through the sea of clouds and towards the ground below. You can already see your destination from here, the next step in your journey: Spikemunth, both your home, and the home of the Dark-type gym. You're hardly eager to return, but it seems that the dream is giving you no choice in the matter.

It's fine. You don't intend to stay long.

CANTO VI; Birthright

---

Was it right for you to have been born?

The question occurs to you at the dead of night, as your Corviknight Taxi makes a swift exit from Spikemunth. You thoughts don't even linger on the gym battle that happened hours earlier. Without the roar of a massive crowd or the spectacle of Dynamax, the sheer one-sidedness of the conflict was laid bare for all to see - Scrafty cut to ribbons by Aegislash, Malamar crushed under the heel of Grimmsnarl, Skuntank buried by Golurk, and Obstagoon beaten to a pulp by Pangoro. Barely a scratch on your own team, while your opponent's was destroyed utterly. The novelty of your forced dominance has long since worn off, but it's only now that you're starting to find it uncanny.

Which, you suppose, leads you back to the question at hand: There's a strong possibility that you lived the worst version of your life you possibly could have. Hypotheticals and theoreticals aside, you constantly found yourself walking the wrong roads and getting into bad situations, and it was almost always your fault. Sure, life dealt you a bad hand, but you never knew when to fold, did you? You always went all in, and always paid the price.

This time, however, things are different. Backed by your own unconscious imagination, you've changed your fate. You've stacked the deck so that you're dealt a royal flush every single time. You've become the legendary and unstoppable trainer you've always told people you'd be one day. All that's left is to take the last few steps, to dominate Hammerlocke and conquer Wyndon, to become the Pokemon Champion that you always wanted to be.

So why can't you be happy about it?

Sure, it's a dream, but that shouldn't change anything, should it? Even if you know all of that, even if you know it doesn't really mean anything, you should be able to revel in the moment. Hell, you've indulged in so many ill-advised flings and poorly judged drug benders, you're well used to ignoring the bigger picture in favour of the here and now. So, why can't you do it here?

If you can't be really, truly happy in your real life, and you can't be really, truly happy in this false life, then can you ever be really, truly happy at all...?

CANTO VII; BLUR

---

This is depressing. It really, really is. You can barely even remember what happened in Hammerlocke stadium, but judging by the eight gym badges on your medallion, you clearly won. Then again, it wasn't ever in doubt, was it?

Given an opportunity to defy fate, you found yourself prisoner of another path. There is no battle in Galar that you can lose. There is no trainer in the entire world that can defeat you. The gamble of the fight is dulled by an immutable outcome, always in your favour. The thrill of the hunt is meaningless when your prey is weak and weary, and your stomach is always full. What's the point? There is no point. It's pointless! POINTLESS! Why even fucking bother with any of it? It's just not fun! There's nothing to learn, nothing to gain, nothing nothing nothing! It's all just a drama, the world's worst comedy, acted out on an REM stage. Performed by a single man, Shred Zeppelin, for an audience of nobody save Arceus himself.

It's ironic, isn't it? For all your life, you dreamed of being the best. Now, that dream has come true: You are the best. And yet, now all you want is a return to mediocrity. This certainly is a cruel dream. You can't call it a nightmare, but you're tempted to. Whatever it is, it's a real bastard.

...Maybe it's not too late? After all, there's still the champion. You have no doubts that you'll breeze through all the preliminay chumps and crush all the gym leaders you've beaten before, but the champion? The undefeated champion? The strongest in Galar, maybe even the world?

If there's meaning in this dream, it has to be found when you face him.

A meaning that can only be discovered in battle.

CANTO VIII; BREAKDOWN

---

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED! THE CHALLENGER HAS SWEPT THE CHAMPION'S TEAM SIX TO NONE! EVERYONE, YOUR WINNER, AND NEW CHAMPION OF GALAR, IS SHREEEEEEEEEEEEED ZEPPELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!"

...But...

...But then, it was all...

...Why...?

In that moment, as he stood atop the world, Paul Meatles wondered why he had bothered at all.

CANTO IX; DESTINY FULFILLED

---

And just like that, Paul Meatles awoke from his dream.

For most, falling asleep at work would be grounds for disciplinary action. A lecture, a fine, maybe even dismissal from their post. But when one holds the title of Champion, such minor transgressions often go unpunished. Even if one wished to enforce it, it would be trivial to avoid the consequences of such actions. With power such as his, battling prowess and political connections and social influence, he are able to do as you please, and avoid that which displeases he. Such is the luxury of the strongest: To always have their way.

Slowly, Paul peels his face off the surface of his mahogany desk, and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Idly, he turns his face towards the window of his of his office, and stares out at the skyline of Hoenn, cast in hues of orange and red and purple by the setting sun. The king stares at his kingdom, and feels nothing. The hollow in his stomach stopped gnawing at him thirty years ago, when he first won this title. Everything that came afterwards was just the echoes. Since the moment the entire world screamed your name, you have done nothing but walk the path ahead of you, led forward by the chain of excellence wrapped around your neck.

Aaaah, such a shame. You can't even appreciate the beauty of the dusk, nor can you feel melancholic enough to sigh. You just continue to gaze outward, neither admiring nor wistful.

Ringringringringringringring... Ringringringringringringring...

Ah. He's getting a call. Without even turning his head, Paul reached over to pick up the receiver, put it to his ear, and waited to see who was on the other side.

"Mr Meatles, sir?" Came the voice of his secretary, a hardworking and overworked woman. She is the real backbone of your Championship reign, carrying all the bureaucratic heavy lifting as you drift between effortless battles, tiresome meetings, meaningless publicity events, and listless malaise. She pauses for a bit, waiting for you to respond, but when you don't, she simply carries on. "You missed your five o'clock meeting with the Executive Board of Gym Management, sir, but I've rescheduled it for the same time next week. In the meantime, you've got dinner with the commissioner at six. The limo is waiting for us outside. We can discuss the intricacies of your appearance at tomorrow's harvest festival. The ghostwriters have a first draft for your speech, and--"

...What did he do to deserve this?

Paul leans back, looking up to the ceiling. Nobody forced you to go down this path. Nobody held you hostage, or imposed their wishes over you own. Hell, you didn't even foolishly misunderstand and blunder into it. No, you never had a choice. It was always going to end this way for you, and there was nobody to blame for it...

...No. That's wrong. There's one thing that you can blame this on, that you can blame EVERYTHING on. And, as Champion, you have all the resources that you need to finally meet them.

"Cancel everything and book me a flight to Sinnoh, Miss Flynt."

"S-sir?"

"I have an urgent matter I need to discuss with someone. Alone."

CANTO X; DESTINY UNENDING

---

The trek to the top of Mount Coronet is solemn. Nobody is there to block his path with pointless challenges or inane questions. There are no landslides or avalanches or cave-ins or anything else that might impede his climb. Even the wild Pokemon seem to stray away from his path, as though they know not to interfere in his business. Thus, he has nothing to do but make the lonely walk along these carved paths and through yawning tunnels, his only company the falling snow and the howling wind.

All in all, it takes an hour for Paul to reach the ruins of the Spear Pillar. Then, it only takes thirty seconds to walk upon the ancient stone, past rows and rows of crumbling columns, to the far end of the fallen temple. At the highest point in all of Sinnoh, he looks down upon the rest of the region. From here, it all looks so small, so insignificant. It is as though he is standing atop heaven, upon the pinnacle of everything, looking down at the wretchedness before you. But, he did not come here to admire the view. Instead, his eyes turn eyes upwards, away from the world that disappointed him, and towards his final challenge.

To some, the Azure Flute might just seem like a novel instrument from ages past. But the champion knows its true purpose.

As he puts it to his lips, he begins to play. Shard, shrill, discordant bursts of noise, devoid of rhythm and unpleasant to the ear. However, just like all things, reality bends to accomodate him. In an instant, inadequacy twists into brilliance. In the span of a second, the wretched cacophony changes to a melody most pleasant, a soothing song that pierces the lingering disquiet.

A wordless request, and one that the universe is all too eager to acquiesce. From nothingness, comes light. From light, comes brilliance. From brilliance, a flawless stairway is etched into reality. The last steps of his journey. The final destination.

One step. Ten steps. A hundred steps. A thousand steps. The champion climbs past the clouds, through the atmosphere, and breaches out from the depths of the skies and into the shallows of the stars. He can feel the air growing thinner, thinner, thinner still, until it vanishes altogether. Still, he breaths. Still, he carries on. He does not even stop to question why he isn't dying, because he knows the reason why. Mortality is the concern of those who struggle. For the indomitable, death is meaningless.

Ten thousand steps. A hundred thousand steps. A million steps. Then, as he stands amidst the infinite cosmos, he finds his final foe: The Maker and the Unmaker, the Source of All His Woes, Audience to his Tragedy, the Uncaring Malice of All Things, and The One Who Consigned Him to His Inescapable Fate:

ARCEUS, THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA

As he stands in front of God, Paul feels a strange mixture of emotions bubble up within him. Emotions that he has long since forgotten, that he hasn't felt since he was a child. Joy, anger, fear, surprise, they all clash against one another, and yet, it is dread that dominates his mind. He stands before the judge of all things, the one who looked upon him, sentenced him guilty, and damned him to an insignificant life that meant less than death.

A chill went up his spine. Doubtless, if he was not wanted here, he would not be here. If the being in front of him wished it, he could be obliterated in an instant, destroyed so thoroughly and utterly that even his soul would not remain. So then, why? Why was he being allowed to stand where he stood, with this formless paradise?

”Do you know why I’m here, Arceus?”

”O’ SINGLE SOUL TORN, THOU SHALL NOT FIND WHAT YOU SEEK HERE. YOUR IDEAL AWAITS IN A FORGOTTEN PLACE, AS BITTER AND BROKEN AS YOUR DREAM. HOME IS WHERE THE LOST BEAST LURKS, WITHIN THE ONCE-FLAWED SWORD.”

Each world is like rapture and damnation all at once. His body feels like it’s dissolving. His brain feels like it’s melting. His brain feels like it’s unravelling into a thousand different threads. The champion had underestimated the omnipotence of God. Still, he reaches for a Pokeball.

”I’m here to capture you. Once I have, I’m going to use you to remake the world. I’ll have everything that I wanted. Everything you denied me.”

”THE BLACK KNIGHTS DRAINS THE MARROW OF THE SKELETON. THE PROFANE MEETS THE BLASPHEMOUS. HERESY ENTWINES WITH SIN. A NEW PRIME EVIL IS BORN, YET THE SHADOW AT YOUR FEET REMAINS.”

”I’m going to make everything perfect. I’ll succeed where you failed.”

”THE SALAMENCE WRITHES LIKE A WURMPLE. IT IS INCOMPLETE. IT KNOWS NOT ITS TRUTH. THE MIRROR OF THE HYPEREGO IS SHATTERED.”

”I’ll undo it all. Without exception. Good or bad, I’ll erase it, do you hear me? I won’t let a single shred of your flawed reality remain.”

”ONE QUESTION. THEN IT ALL COMES TO AN END. CHOOSE WISELY.”

The thread of his life begins to fray. The champion can feel his existence begin to fade. No, that isn’t it, is it? He isn’t being erased. Everything is being erased. Paul Meatles has spurned God, and he has been punished with the destruction of everything, all that he has ever known, and all that he will never get to know.

”Bastard! Why?! WHY DID YOU PUNISH ME?!”

”A SIMPLE MISUNDERSTANDING: I HAVE NOT PUNISHED YOU...”

A pause, as long as eternity itself. For a split second of an eon, God looks Shred Zeppelin in the eye, and his eye narrows.

”YOU ARE MY PUNISHMENT.”

Just like that, everything makes sense. For the first time in thirty years, you smile. And then, everything ends...

...

...

...

When you wake up, you proceed to spend a week straight referring to yourself as "The Punishment of Arceus". So, y'know, all in all? Not the worst dream in the world.

[googlefont=Shadows Into Light]SCENARIO 1; HIS NAME IS DURANT

---

This is so fucked.

You sprint through the forest, ducking under soaring Staraptor and dodging past furious Feraligatr. It's absolute chaos, and you have to sprint through it to try and find your fucking Pokemon. You grit your teeth and tighten your grip on your Dream Ball as you jump over a burrowing... something. You don't know what, and you really don't want to know. You just gotta find your guy and get out of here before things get much worse for you.

It doesn't help that you've got the most dogshit ability known to man:

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN - You may teleport directly upwards, minimum of ten feet, up to a hundred feet.

Yeah, it SOUNDS good. You thought it was good too, until you ended up breaking your spine in the spawn area. Luckily, you got reset before the havoc started, but it doesn't change the fact that you got stuck with a bunk ability. You don't even maintain any momentum, so you can't even use it to jump! What complete ass... But it's fine! You don't need it. You'll just make it through your own way, as you always have. Now, where the hell is your insect?

"DURANT!"

Oh, there he is. That's the good news. The bad news is that a dozen shadowy legs have shot out of the ground and grabbed you with a Shadow Hold. The worse news is that your Durant is slowly approaching, malice in its eyes, mandibles snapping open and shut with extreme violence. Shit, this isn't good. You can't move your arm enough to toss your Dream Ball. What the hell are you supposed to do here?

...No. Surely, the answer isn't that stupid. Surely not...?

BLINK! Surely yes. With Stairway to Heaven, you teleport up about ten feet in the air, and with the split second you have before the shadowy limbs can catch you, you manage to throw your Dream Ball and hit your Durant head-on. Before it can react, the bug is consumed in an oh-so-familiar red flash, and after wobbling back and forth for about three seconds, you hear that reassuring click.

You've caught Durant. The Durant you already owned. You'd be upset about that if you weren't readying yourself to hit the dirt. Or at least, you would, if the world around you hadn't frozen. A pair of prompts presented themselves, one offering strength, and the other purity. Oh, that's easy. Purity is overrated and stupid and boring, but strength? Strength is cool as hell.

So, you hit the option to Keep Your Pokemon's Strength, and then time proceeds to unfreeze and you proceed to immediately hit the ground. Needless to say, ouch.

[googlefont=Shadows Into Light]SCENARIO 2; HIS NAME IS STILL DURANT

---

This is so fucked.

"DURANT DURANT DURANT!"

The ant lets out a monstrous screech as it storms forth, becoming the blender that reduces yet another floor of enemy mobs into a floor of dead enemy mobs. Then again, you suppose you did get pretty lucky with your items, didn't you? Life Orb to deal more damage, Leftovers to heal the recoil, and a Clear Amulet to prevent that destructive damage from being hindered. After that, you just needed to tag along with one of those robots who picked a Helping Hand Pokemon to play support, and one who picked a Follow Me Pokemon to play tank, and it's all pretty easy.

Then again, it's not much of a dungeon, is it? It's just an overlong stadium. Most of the designs are just narrow queues and packed stands. You just Shadow Hold, Hone Claws, and then use whichever super-effective more is most convenient. Then, it's into the next room, where more of the same awaits. That's fine, though, because it took you a good ten minutes to figure out how to use your items, so if it were any more confusing, you'd probably be lost.

Shitty game designers. They just don't make them like they used to. Now, Arceus Claw on the PS2? THAT was a video game...

But finally, after countless rooms of samey combat in corridors and halls and stands and seats and corridors and halls, your party finally arrives on the pitch. Striding across the pitch, you lock eyes on the solitary figure on the other end, wreathed in their red cape covered in dozens of logos, wearing a cap with the design of a crown overtop. Evidently, this was your last challenge. The final boss of this dungeon. One last final obstacle to overcome.

"Halt, challenger! If you want to become CHAMPION, then you'll have to beat me in a Pokemon ba--"

"DURAAAAAAAAAAAANT!"

SHADOW HOLD. HONE CLAWS. X-SCISSOR. Before you or the boss can even react, Durant has already performed its rotation, and in the blink of an eye, the boss' health bar melts. ChampionBossDeath2.mp3 plays multiple times in quick succession, each instance lapping over to the last. His body falls down, and the model clips through the ground. Clearly, this was not intended, but whatever failsafes were programmed kicked in. Victorious music plays as loot falls down from the ceiling, including a legendary trinket - A familiar looking flute.

...Who the fuck programmed this shit, anyway? Aren't you dreaming? What, did Nontendi figure out how to put a Wuu I in your brain or something? Seriously..

[googlefont=Shadows Into Light]SCENARIO 3; NEW DAY. WAKE UP. CHECK THE REGISTRY. YEAH, HIS NAME IS STILL DURANT.

---

You know, when you were told you were supposed to destroy this place, you figured it would've been like, your office? Or the first place you camped at? Or maybe a stadium, at a push? You didn't expect it to be ALL of Spikemunth.

Seriously. Why are all your dream experiences just completely miserable recently? Between getting obliterated by God, fucked around by that Winter Fucker, and having to run demolition on slums, it's starting to get really taxing. Why can't you just have a nice sleep? One where you dream about frolicking with the Mareep, or swimming with the Barboach, or something like that? Instead, you're suffering abstract tortures and being made to perform unpaid manual labour, which is a very concrete and real torture.

"DURANT!"

Durant rips into a lamppost. Mandibles cleave through metal like a pair of hot knives through butter, and it comes crashing down like a fallen tree.

"DURANT!"

Durant slams into a car. The hood crumples and the engine begins to smoke, and before long, a fire is ignited inside.

"DURAAAAAAAAANT!"

Durant does this. Durant does that. You, though? You don't do much. Not much you can do against all this metal and concrete. No, you'll have to leave the slum destruction to your Shadow Pokemon. You'll just have to do the hard part - Staying awake. Or, well, not waking up. If you fall asleep in a dream, does that make you wake up?

Much to think about.