DESTROYA

you won't like where we'll go

she doesn't quite understand, not in the way she should.

the concept of the origin point is something so familiar, so mysterious and elusive - a conundrum she could never figure out...

yet somehow, it was right beneath her nose the whole time?

she doesn't see the path that led to here - the steps through space-time, destined by fate and left to stain the feet gold like thread uncut by archaic scissors. each one is its own sort of puzzle, existing in terms she can't clearly unweave.

and it starts with a decision to pursue the stars, as all things do. she has not learned from the ancient myths for she readies wax wings all the same... only these don't seem to melt when she finally flies too close to the sun.

they unfurl in a pattern fitting of a galaxy - swirling pink wisps of cosmic energy and attached to each shoulder blade with pearls. they're familiar, things of myth and legend and stories of the universe's creation.

she sees them in her shadow when she walks now like things just out of sight enough to dance in the peripheral vision. haunting, almost like a ghost.

the world around her seems so desolate. post-apocalyptic, tinged with sadness and an odd sensation she can't place. it's not familiar to her, but perhaps it had been familiar to her other self... the one she replaced. newspapers scatter across broken concrete like makeshift tumbleweeds and after a moment of simply taking it all in, she bends to pluck one up.

it trembles in her hands as she absorbs the headline, her grip tightening and tightening on the fragile paper until it disintegrates in a small puff of shimmery pink energy.

"no."

that's wrong. it's a lie. the DRK triad - they're playing a prank on her, aren't they?

except they aren't and the headline is correct for this future self... it plays over and over in the mind until she sees it even when she closes her eyes.

MATIAS SILPH OF THE ELITE FOUR MURDERED BY THE ORIGIN POINT.
rogue avatar's first victim: a study into the devolution
of former head scientist illeana reyes.

she feels her center of gravity lurch out of control, then, as if subjected to the volatile whims of her emotions and reality around her lurches with it. tendrils of pink energy swirl through reality until it's all a mixed bag of different universes, different selves all staring back at her. they shrink in fear at the sight of her, wings spreading from the shoulders and eyes glowing red like the cosmic entity that tethers her to it. and when she looks their way, they hurriedly close their sides of the small wormholes until it's just her...

alone, as arceus intended, in the aftermath of destruction by her own hands.

DESTROYA

you won't like where we'll go

fate always seems like such a tricky, fragile thing.

circumstances always change but can someone truly defy what's already written in the stars for them?

she wonders, briefly, if the her of this timeline had thought she'd end up like this - a god, a monster, a destroyer.

would she have the same fate? they're the same, after all... aren't they?

she finds more newspaper clippings in lilycove. her old, now abandoned home feels hollow and void even as she tries to breathe life back into it. no amount of trying could repair what she - the other her - has already done.

title after title... each one ends in the same twisted way: her as the villain and her victims the martyrs.

they tried to stop her. she understands as much, but how did it get this far?

traces of her former life are scattered throughout her old house. it looks more like a crime scene than a home now, she muses. dust has long since gathered on the furniture.

and curiously, some parts of the house almost seem... eroded.

it's odd, actually. touching the small gaps of erosion feels familiar, as if an echo of a dream - or, perhaps, another future outside of this timeline.

she leaves the house relatively untouched in the end, only taking a handful of newspaper articles with her to pour over on the streets as she wanders aimlessly toward the encroaching darkness.

and as she moves, she can't shake the sensation of being watched - as if red eyes from beyond the fabric of this reality are honed in on her movements. surely not, though, right?

she's been wrong before.

she will be wrong again.

DESTROYA

the gods keep saying you've been warned.

humans are, without a doubt, the most intriguing creatures you've seen.

complex little things yet no bigger than specks of cosmic dust in the grand scheme of things. do they know of their place in the pecking order? do they believe they can defy the natural order?

...do you?

calling it morbid curiosity or following destiny won't change a thing, for you have already selected your piece on the board. her scent is familiar enough to beckon for you - her actions desperate enough to be considered sacrificial offerings.

and you can taste the spatial meddling on her, etched down into her bones and left to slowly rot her away from the inside out.

does she realize what she's done?

you observe from somewhere beyond this current plane, tucked away in your spatial dimension despite being acutely aware of her movements. whenever she goes... your eyes follow. whatever she does, you take in as if nothing more than an interested audience in an empty movie theater. studying... learning...

will she heed the omens?

they say heroes go through trials and tribulations to become stronger. gods place their bets on mortals and when one inevitably disappoints, they shuffle along to the next warm body of mortal flesh over and over until the end of times. eons have passed and it remains the same.

but what if... one were to break to pattern? to throw the wheel off balance and shatter it against the hallowed ground?

would the creator be angry, then?

would you rejoice at the foolish, entertaining actions of a mere girl?

no, you wouldn't, for you understand the forces at play here.

your head turns. red eyes stare beyond to those with white touched hair, gathered up and huddled around their pokemon of ancient ruins. the creator's extensions - the creator's many hands.

they - not the meddling humans, but the singularly eyed hands - turn as if expecting you. they blink. they stare.

and you stare back.

by the time you peel your attention away from their tangled mess of multiple timelines, your human has found another facet of herself here. you see the way she moves, the way she crumples into herself on the cold ground.

has she forsaken you yet?

no, you decide with a sharp, impatient swish of a pink and white tail.

she's smart - she'll heed your warnings... won't she?

DESTROYA

you won't like where we'll go

she gets to a point where the universe feels like it's gradually getting smaller. it's an odd sensation, like feeling cotton candy dissolve in your hands the moment you place it into water.

and the longer she stays here, the more she begins to understand.

she had uprooted society as they knew it - ripping it out from the ground like a weed that overstayed its welcome. whole cities wiped from the map without so much as lifting a finger...

they've called her many things since that fateful day of blessing.

the alchemist. the celestial. the cosmic. the origin point.

now, she's simply vastator - an archaic name befitting a god's chosen...

but is this really what she was meant for?

she believes in fate, surely as you all do, but when does fate become too much? when the seas turn red and the skies burn their way to an early death?

planetary forces are easy to navigate now. she can pick and choose the exact spatial atoms to tug at until matter unravels in a fluttering display of pink coated dust. erosion, too, has become a helpful tool in the eradication process...

and eventually, she loses herself in the process.

galaxies burst into nothingness and there is something to be said about the beauty of a solar system decaying - the cosmic matter going gently into the dark night of the expansive space around it. the act of destroying, in some small sort of way, feels numbing. she can see and feel it happening, surely, but the agonizing sensation of spatial seams decaying beneath heat death of the universe has long since passed. what once burned against the awareness of her skin has grown numb in the process of scarring over until she's a barely there version of herself.

she's certain, then, that this isn't how it's supposed to be.

the red eyes and their watching sensation feel stronger now - as if right next to her on the other side of the spatial plane. she can feel your presence. she could reach out and pull you into this side of existence if she wanted to... for you have given her the power to do so.

and will you live with the consequences of this girl? of everything she has done... of everything she will do?

DESTROYA

the gods keep saying you've been warned.

you knew, in the end, that it would come to this. the fragility of mortals can only go so far when combined with divinity. you've watched enough to see the signs - the fissures in the mind, the paranoia seeping in through the cracks despite your attempts to overwrite them with pink energy.

you've seen this before in your own brethren, even in yourself... in self-righteous grabs for power you cannot have.

the creator had banished one of you - anti-matter, sealed away on the underside of the realm - and chained the remaining three in strings of red with will, knowledge, and emotion.

you know the end as it comes.

and perhaps, in a way, that's why it has to be you to put a stop to this.

your chosen has become corrupted. she splits apart at the seams. your spatial energy, alone, is not enough to mend the broken parts. you cannot make her whole...

for you have tried and you have failed.

she turns as if expecting you, as if she has always known you would come for her, as if you're death and she's evaded you long enough for her to accept the end when it finally comes.

"hello, old friend."

she knows you in a small, intricate sort of way. you're a part of her as she is of you.

it does not make this any easier.

you don't move. your eyes only blink slowly.

"i've gone too far, haven't i?"

you don't need to explain it to her. she understands just as you do.

her expression is one of acceptance, of willingness.

she takes a step toward you as pink energy begins to gather around you both. whether it is yours or hers, it does not matter...

for this is the end of times and you can hear her faint whispers echoing into the spatial matter around you.

"it's okay..."

she has a faint smile on her face. you do not understand the nature of it. gods do not need such expressions, but it tugs at you all the same.

a brilliant flash of pink occurs, then, and everything fades...

DESTROYA

you won't like where we'll go

sunlight settles on her skin and she startles into awakening, chest heaving through the onslaught of panic as awareness comes crashing back into the body.

for a moment, her gasps echo against the four walls of her room...

and then silence settles.

the world is just as she had left it - the same as the night she went through the portal. somehow, it feels as though she had never left.

and yet, she knows on some intrinsic level, that it had been as real as this moment is.

she can still feel the faint spatial awareness as it leaves, as she returns to full normalcy and settles back into this timeline.

the following days are on autopilot for her mind is constantly drifting back to the distant memory of her other self. she can still see the destruction when she closes her eyes, the newspaper headlines haunting her even in waking hours.

and when she sees the likes of FERNANDO SILPH or MATIAS SILPH in the corridors of league headquarters, she ducks to avoid them for she cannot face the consequences of her other self.

she won't.

red eyes still watch from a plane beyond the bounds of this reality, but she is not aware of them yet. in time, she will be...

for now, however, this alternate timeline had been a warning - an omen from higher powers to sway the scientist from the path she has been wandering.

perhaps fate can be changed. perhaps the wheel will break in a good way and destruction will not stain her hands red.

or maybe, in the end, this is a self-fulfilling prophecy even with the consequences fresh in her mind.

she won't know yet, but you will.

and despite seeing the beginning, the middle, and the end...

you cannot decide whether it is harrowing enough to cease your observations.

you continue to watch in silence from spatial realms beyond. watching, waiting, and hoping for things to be different.

the alchemist is an anomaly, surely, but perhaps instead of bringing about the origin point... she will stop it.

her head turns, then, to regard an approaching colleague and you shift your focus away from her familiar scent of spatial meddling to continue breaking your own chains.

see you soon, old friend. try not to carry that weight.