[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","inner"]

[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","mcredits"][attr="class","fas fa-cookie-bite"]

[attr="class","postruinsicon"]

[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","inner"]

[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","mcredits"][attr="class","fas fa-cookie-bite"]

[attr="class","postruinsicon"]

[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","inner"]

[attr="class","headerbeck"]

[attr="class","mcredits"][attr="class","fas fa-cookie-bite"]

[attr="class","snub-greyson"]
He had barely a moment to register his weightlessness before his stomach was flipping upside down, Greyson's entire body hurtling to the rain soaked earth at alarming speed.

Helpless to reach for his Pokémon, Greyson prepared to die. Yet, Ellie, his Comfey, wasn't prepared to allow it.

A FLOWER SHIELD erects itself around the duo, just enough to veil his body in a thin lining of ethereal leaves.

Like an iridescent comet, Greyson strikes the earth with a defeaning thud, protected as he was by the impact his body was rattled as if he was the center of a blender.

All at once the pain and fear ceased as the Elite Four was thrust violently into unconsciousness.

When he woke it was to an all consuming blackness. He recognized it immediately.

He'd come to refer to this place simply as the Bog—a corner of his mindscape that held truths he didn't want to acknowledge; fears he couldn't face.

His heart thundered, a Pavlovian response, body jerking to stand and flee, yet he found himself unable to move, trapped beneath strings of smoke and shadow.

A figure loomed above him, its features resolving itself to someone he knew all too well.

Himself.



Mm, what is it we have here?

That was his voice. A shudder slid down his spine.

You've underestimated your enemy. Again. This one wasn't even an Avatar. What's the excuse this time?

He heard the genuine curiosity that tinged this copy's voice. Swallowing his nerves, he speaks, pain shooting through his ribs and skull as he does so.

"Who are you?"

The specter smiles back, wide and unnerving, features twisting in inhuman ways.

Greyson, Greyson, Greyson. What kind of question is that? Can't you recognize yourself? It chuckles, a sound like scraping glass, before it continues. I suppose that's not quite the truth though. I'm what you suppress. That hatred; that fear; that grief; that unsureness that lingers in the back of your mind at every decision, the hesitation in your every step.

Another laugh, haunting and echoing. Greyson pushes down the bile that crawls up his throat. Why did everything hurt? What had he been doing minutes before?

"What do you want?" His voice gained a measure of steel once more. It was fleeting, a faint whisper to call upon, but it steadies him just enough. "This is a dream. I have to get back. I have to—"

What did he have to do? Why was he in such a rush? His bondage wrapped more tightly around him, comforting him in their grip, pulling him deeper to.. deeper to.. peace. That was it. He would be at peace if he just stopped fighting.

Aren't you tired? Of being someone you're not? Of trying to play the hero?

He was tired. The fight was never ending, the hate all-consuming; wasn't he deserving of a break?

His copy hummed—was it them, or was the entire place vibrating? He wasn't sure. But it soothed him.

See? That's easier, isn't it? There's no shame in giving up.

No, there wasn't. This was easy. This was righ--

—You've already lost, after all.

A spike of alarm. It was dulled and distant, but his eyes widened ever so slightly.

What had he lost? What was he missing? It was there.. just at the cusp.. something...

"You'll be gone too." A weak counter and one that, to Greyson's confusion, elicited an even greater smile from his shadow.

"You want to go." But why?

You're not the only one who deserves peace. it says, voice hollow.

So even it was tired was it?

A golden luminescence pulls his attention, a star slowly making its way in his direction. It was just dim enough that he didn't feel the urge to look away, a good thing considering he couldn't tear himself from it.

A low growl echoed from his other self. Whatever this was, he clearly didn't like it. That only meant Greyson would.

He bathes in the glow of the slowly approaching light, blinking back tears. No, not tears. Rain? When had it began to rain?

You're fighting for nothing. the voice said and, despite himself, he tears himself away from the light to stare down his otherself.

He was used to the slivers of smoke that rose from their silhouettes, shrouding them in the endless black; but now, it came in droves, more like a dying flame than a veil of shadow.

The light. It was burning it away. He cast a renewed hope into it, expression hardening as defiance trickled in, at first, before the flood gates opened.

Optimism and hope made way for something far more powerful: petty vengeance.

"You're probably right." The light was mere feet away, a kaleidoscope of burning color. Where it touched the shadow retreated like a wounded animal, and even his copy took multiple steps back, shrouding himself once more in his veil of shadow.

"But fuck me it does me good to see you burn." His smile morphed to match what he'd seen from his shadow, but it lasted only a moment or two before pain wracked his prone form.

He was still missing something. Something important. But the pain. His head was splitting and his.. arm. Why was his arm in so much pain? His chest?



I'm not done with you yet. The threat spoke of the future; a promise of a fated meeting. You'll never be rid of me.

Greyson felt the truth of those words. He probably never would be rid of this dark passenger.

The rain blurred his vision, made worse by his inability to move.

Wait.

His eyes drop to the restraints and found himself no longer bound, yet still he found himself fixed to this spot.

Why?

The light was above him now, watching, waiting. For what?

"Maybe not," He says to the retreating shadow. "But I'll just have to kick your ass again and again." A delirious chuckle as the lie left his lips.

His body felt cold despite, or perhaps in spite of the lights warmth; the form was shifting but he can barely see it now.

His shadow was speaking, no doubt another poorly veiled threat or maybe planting another inking of doubt, but he heard none of it.

His eyes closed, a smile spread across his face.

Peace.

It lasted perhaps a second, or an eternity, he knows not which, before he's violently wrenched from it.

His eyes open and the night sky greets him. Rain falls, heavy and unrelenting, but his gaze remains fixed to the stars above. They were brighter than usual. It was nice.

Pain. The pain was blinding. His head, his chest, his limbs--why was his arm twisted that way? He wished for nothing more than for it to end. To welcome that peace back in again.

But he had something to do. Something...

Slowly he turned to meet what had brought him back to this unforgiving reality.

"It took you long enough," he says, voice etched with the deep cuts of resignation. "But you're too late."

His head lolls back to where it was, eyes staring almost vacantly at the night sky above.

"I don't want your help."