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Knightblazer
10th August 2006, 6:30 AM
Yes, the final chapter of Splinters is finally up! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I liked writing it. My next production is a chaptered fic I've been working on, so stay tuned! XD

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And now, I shall present to you, with out further ado, the final chapter to the Splinters triology, Gargoyle.


† Gargoyle †

It’s been almost four hours now, but Mewtwo is not rushing his task.

There is no need to; a few hours compared to two years is nothing but the faintest blink of an eye, unperceived silence that Mew can cope with for just a little longer. Mewtwo knows he must be completely thorough in his work; read every single word, every single piece of data that might help him figure out exactly how to accomplish his mission. As is common in science, there are many important things that he has to remember, many intricate pieces of data that are far too important to simply toss aside.

The twisted clone scanned the documents over many times, brain muddling through the German language. It’s been many years since he’s read –or even seen- the written language, but he still retains enough of it to understand what’s being said. At least, he knows enough to guess at the meanings of alien words through simple context.

Three of the human scientists are dead, strewn on the floor of the lab, soaking in their own blood. Their white coats are stained, splattered with startlingly bright crimson. Two stabbed wounds, nothing more than a quick, painless death to three feeble humans; Mewtwo had no time to waste on such trash. Even though tormenting the creatures has its own allure, he had eventually decided against it. Hell would be enough torment to them; the netherworld would make any fear he could possibly bring seem pale in comparison.

So he had ended their lives without so much as the slightest thrill at the kill, but still content on not having their disgusting souls in his presence any longer.

Besides, the hunt would be no real sport. It never is when it comes to simple humans; it seems that neither of the two remaining members of the humans are quite ready to share their supernatural gifts, not yet. It’s almost a shame, but Mewtwo forces himself to shrug off the disappointment. After all, Mew would be pleased, in a way.

That’s all that really matters, in the end.

The clone finds the deadened stench of fresh corpses comforting; the rest of the lab is so sterile that it’s almost painful to breathe; so white it’s almost painful to see. Mewtwo doesn’t like the cleanliness, but he accommodates to it, accepting its presence while he works. It is quite a feat, but he manages to block his surroundings from mind.

The data, at least, is very easy to understand. The words, albeit foreign, are as clean and organized as the lab itself; simple, straightforward German. It’s a small blessing. There are some scientific terms and abbreviations, but they are of no concern to the Pokemon, and he simply brushes over them as he does the unfamiliar German words, determining their meanings through the context of the sentence.

So far, it has been a simple task.

The first notes are a simple, basic analysis of the specimen. Pink fur, blue eyes, and a near hundred centimeters tall, twenty-three kilograms. Simple facts, which the silent legendary quickly dismisses and discards, eyes gazing down at the new papers. The left rib of the specimen is fractured from the force of the stab wound, wooden nail punctured directly into the left ventricle of the heart. Three splinters of the wood are embedded into the aortic valve, interventricular septum, and one shard has even pierced as far as the left atrium.

Still, it is useless information; a monster cannot die from wounds such as these, can barely feel the pain of them most of the time.

Mewtwo quickly discards this file, having no such interest in the scientists’ pitiful theories about the feline’s survival; they are studying a world, a creature that does not follow the natural laws of humankind. They would have never been able to understand the true depth of Mew’s power, not after decades of studying her, not after seeing all the supernatural characteristics that cannot exist in a scientist’s world. They would have continued to fruitlessly attribute her inexplicable survival to something other than the holy power of the nail.

Only Doc would have any chance of truly comprehending the creature.

The clone’s eyes carefully trace the next page, lip curled faintly in concentration. There is a rather lengthy list of medications continuously being injected into the feline, an unending supply of anti-psychotics – which were more of a precaution than anything else, an attempt to keep the fallen legendary placid, should she ever inexplicably awaken – as well as sedatives.

These notes are important, and Mewtwo is relieved to have found such an extensive description. There was no way he could determine how to awaken Mew on his own, without the risk of causing permanent damage. So carefully, attentively, the clone memorizes every word, every scientific term, every description of the drugs and their capabilities.

They are drugs he’s never heard of, drugs probably created just for the task of manipulating a monster of Mew’s stamina. It is an impressive list, even to Mewtwo. These drugs are powerful enough to harness a monster, to keep Mew in a stasis of unending, dreamless sleep, without any hope of every fighting through their powerful effects.

For some time, Mewtwo digs through the freezers and storage cabinets, looking through every bottle of medication mentioned in the files. Most are useless, and even more are simply sedatives. They fall to the floor and shatter, unheeded, sending splintered echoes through the silent facility. The sharp stench of them somewhat quenches the stinging scent of cleanliness.
The liquids appear almost gold against the pale surface of the floor, tarnishing the utter whiteness of the lab.

The clone finds what he needs quickly, a single, small bottle of sapphire liquid. He turns it in his paw, watching the thick fluid closely as it churned. A liquid strong enough to immediately reverse the effects of the sedatives, to draw Mew out of her slumber.

Finding needles is easy enough, although determining the correct dosage is not so simple. But after a few moments of contemplation, he decides three CCs will be adequate enough. If his calculations are correct, it will bring the feline out of her slumber, but not too violently. It won’t induce any more pain than Mew will already have to cope with.

Mewtwo pauses in his work when he hears a small shriek behind him; it seems his captive has awakened.

“You’re wrecking my lab!” cries Doc, voice shrill, a mixture of complete fury and disbelief in his tone. Of course, Doc doesn’t seem to comprehend his own predicament, tightly bound in chains and at the mercy of his enemy. The Doc’s mind is on such an extremely different level that he can no longer interpret basic primal instincts, his basic survival mechanisms.

Mewtwo finds it almost endearing.

But there’s nothing to be said between them; the notes have plenty of information, and trying to reason with a madman isn’t something Mewtwo is inclined to attempt. He barely listens to Doc’s irritated mumblings in German, voice rough with irritation.

Mewtwo is even rustier on auditory German than he is with the written language, but the few words he does understand are hardly kind.

Carefully, the clone turns the vial in his paw, inserting a slender needle through the cap. The blue liquid is surprisingly thick, and it takes a few moments before he can manage to cleanly extract three full doses of it. More than enough to wake up Mew, no matter how sedated she is.

“What are you planning to do?” asks Doc. His German accent is thick, almost more German than English. Nonetheless, it’s not completely impossible to comprehend. It only takes the clone a few moments to determine what was spoken.

Mewtwo taps the needle, a few droplets of the sapphire liquid splattering. “I am here to retrieve the kitty,” he says simply, eyes focused on the stray bubbles beneath the needle. He smirks slightly, not even taking his gaze from the vial when he retrieves the spoon Kage, pointing its jagged end towards the feline hybrid now standing inexplicably next to Doc.

“Hallo,” purrs Schrödinger in greeting.

Mewtwo tilts his eyes, eyes roaming over the slender boy. Schrödinger is standing as elegantly as an Egyptian icon. The pale sapphire eyes are disarmingly childish, but the smirk twisting the slender lips betrays the level of mature malevolence inside the creature.

Mewtwo fires a single shot from his spoon, the twisted bullet brushing close enough to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Schrödinger doesn’t even twitch. “I leave for just a few hours, and you’ve already gotten kidnapped!” he says to Doc, but the slitted feline eyes don’t move from the clone. His English is considerably better than the Doc’s, but it’s still marred by an irritating, guttural accent. Schrödinger stares down the jagged spoon, clearly unimpressed.

“Be quiet, warrant officer!” snaps the Doctor, struggling under the thick chain binding him. He barks something in German that Mewtwo knows is an order to untie him. It’s a futile demand, and the Doc should know this. The chains the clone used are not in any way simple to break. They will not come undone, not until Mewtwo decides to free the Doc himself.

Apparently Schrödinger has come to the same conclusion, because his pale eyes are staring down at the chains with a perplexed expression.

“You can't free him,” says Mewtwo. It’s a needless statement, but he enjoys the scathing glances both creatures give him. “Those chains are three inches thick, and not even I could break them without some difficulty.” His eyes rake down the slender, unimpressive form of the feline. There is no brute strength in the creature; he is built purely for agility, grace. “An anomaly such as yourself would have no chance.”

The cat gives a look that can only be described as a pout, pale brows drawn down in frustration. He sits down next to his maker, long legs pulled to his chest, a hand pressing flat against the ground to maintain his balance. Schrödinger’s body is lightly pressed against the Doc’s side, a strangely intimate gesture. Mewtwo looks at the two humans for some time. It’s a strange closeness, even for a parental relationship.

Unless, the platonic, familial relationship is nothing but a farce.

“Keep in mind, I have no intention to kill either of you,” says Mewtwo, turning the needle in his paw. “But I also don't have any reasons not to, I'd just prefer to hear my beloved know before I destroy our last remaining enemies.”

He walks to the door, punching in the code he had salvaged from Doc’s mind. He pauses as the light over the handle turns green, the lock releasing. “If you want to have any chance of saving him, cat boy, then you will stay,” says Mewtwo, not turning back. “I have no chains that can bind you. Only him.”

And he knows that will be plenty to keep the feline in check. More than enough, really; Schrödinger had fiercely protected the Doc before, even at the cost of many of his pitiful nine lives. The boy had been ripped to shreds, and the clone knows that he must feel pain just as any other, but he had given into the pain willingly to preserve his creator’s life.

Mewtwo moves his hand down to the strange gear in the door that serves as a knob and twisted it, the metallic clank indicating many deadbolts simultaneously unlocking.

“Are you going to kill her?” asks the Doc, halting Mewtwo’s motions. The clone pauses just slightly, glancing over his shoulder to the German scientist. There’s an analytical light in the Doc’s eyes, all pretense of monotonous humanity gone. He sees it, almost feels the powerful mind mulling over his intentions, reading him with ever gesture, every glance.

In the single moment, Doc is something completely different, a different person entirely. That other man, that indecisive, incompetent creature is nothing more than Doc’s critique on humanity, a guise to hide his truest, most violent nature. Mewtwo instantly understands why this man is a survivor, understands that he is one of the most cunning minds behind these humans. Even though the clone knew beforehand that Doc’s entire persona was a lie, it is still a disconcerting change.

“You aren’t, are you?” says Doc, and the awkward use of the English language is suddenly, inexplicably gone. The German accent is only a slight purr in his voice, but otherwise, the English accent is perfect.

It seems even the unintelligible German accent had been a game, a disguise.

The cold light in Doc’s eyes suddenly brightens as revelation takes hold, the pieces falling together in his mind with seamless precision. Without a word spoken, Doc seems to know everything, as if he can see into Alucard’s very soul simply through pure logic, simply by watching him. “You’re going to…” There’s a slight pause, and the creature smirks. “Posses her.”

Mewtwo knows now that the wording is not a mistake; Doc is intelligent enough to speak a different language with perfect precision. The twisted clone knows exactly what the Doctor means, knows the kind of ‘possession’ silently implied.

Either way, Mewtwo doesn’t care; he simply smirks, turning away from the two humans. They’ll be dealt with later, when the time calls for it.

For now, he has someone far more pertinent to deal with.


.:...---...:.

Mew’s first conscious sensation is the freezing cold.

It’s not a slow ascension of awareness, either. There was simply nothing, overtaken by an icy fog in the fastest of seconds, exposing her to the worst kind of agony. The freezing sensation wracks through the length of her body, through her skin and to the very marrow of her bones. The ice claws at her, seeming to tear through her flesh like icicles.

Desperately, Mew tries to gasp, to draw in a breath and cry out in agony.

Nothing.

There’s just a slick feeling in her throat, and the mingling burn of ice in the pit of her chest. Her instincts work faster than her mind, and before she can comprehend the motion, her hand is against her mouth, the index finger pressing against the tender backside of her throat until her insides lurch with pain.

Instantly, she expels a strange, thick substance, body hitching in agony as she tries to swallow a few solid breaths. Nothing but a clear blue substance, which she can just barely make out through a blur of white blinding her vision. Her mind feels numb, the conscious thoughts distant and foggy. But her body is alive, nerves sparking excruciatingly, every sensation nothing but the purest agony. With every second that passes, the pain only intensifies, becomes clearer to her awakening mind.

The feline tries to draw in a solid breath, but her body clamps down on the oxygen, lungs seizing with pain. The burn of suffocation begins to spread in her chest, head pounding so violently it almost seems to vibrate from the inside out. She gasps in vain, chest cramping, and Mew suddenly realizes she can feel needles inside of her. Hundreds of them, each one seeming jammed into the heart of a nerve.

Breathe with me.

Her hand tingles when she feels the clone’s fingers on her, the touch an uncomfortable sensation against her deadened body. But she doesn’t fight it, lacks the capacity to do so. She knows that the creature with her is Mewtwo, simply because she can feel in the very core of her being. The connection between them, the connection of rivalry and bittersweet affection is unmistakable.

Mew’s paw is placed gently against the chest of the creature, fingers flat to fully feel the clone’s slow, deep breaths. The words spoken suddenly hold meaning.

Breathe with me, messiah.

It is not an easy task by any means, but Mew forces her body to respond to the order, forces her lungs to draw in a slow, calm breath as the clone does. Through the pain of hot needles and the freezing sensation of deadened flesh, she forces herself to listen to the single demand. Her paw grips the clone’s cloak, and she forces every sense in her body to focus on the slow rise and fall of Mewtwo’s chest.

Every deep breath is agony, bringing her mind closer to consciousness. She does not allow herself to succumb to the delicious pull of blissful unconsciousness.

She has been asleep for more than long enough.

The simultaneous breathing seems to continue for an eternity, but the feline persists; her body eventually seems to feel more under her control, more than just some numb space that only pain could permeate.

When her breathing is deep and calm, the clone’s fingers release hers. The needles are drawn from her skin one-by-one, the agonizing pain replaced by a dull ache.

“Can you speak?” asks Mewtwo. His voice is not soothing or sympathetic, just demanding. Somehow, Mew finds that to be somewhat of a relief; she did not need the demon’s pity, among other things.

Mew struggles with the words, but she already knows what she needs to say, what her body is pleading for. It’s a sensation far beyond just the icy pain and exhaustion. The word leaves her lips in a mockery of her true voice, nothing more than the faintest whisper in the air, but it is enough.

“Food.”

The demon’s body suddenly moves away, Mew’s paw dropping to the floor unheeded. The fallen feline tries to tilt her head, to focus her eyes on the creature, but there’s nothing more than a shadowed blur against the white tapestry of the laboratory.

“Get up, messiah,” says Mewtwo, making no move to help her. “If you want to eat, you will get up. Now.”

Another demand, one that the feline has no hope of debating. She struggles to make her body relent to her needs, but it feels so heavy, frozen. The muscles are undoubtedly nothing more than a disgusting, atrophied mess, especially after being asleep so long.

Her mind fuzzily tries to recall just how long Mewtwo said it had been, a difficult task when memories are still nothing more than undefined images flitting against her consciousness. But it is enough to keep her mind occupied from the pain, and she eventually finds herself able to lay both hands on the cold surface of the floor, shoulders protesting in agonized pain as she pushes herself up.

Her body straightens, head swaying slightly with vertigo as she attempts to keep herself steady. The whiteness of the lab is gradually becoming more defined; the shadows of Mewtwo’s form more vivid. She can tell that the clone is wearing his same outfit, as always: a cloak of dirt brown, the tip fastened securely around his pale neck.

Mew feels rounded fingers cup her face, steadying the uneasy balance instantly. It’s not a pitying gesture, for which the fallen legendary is grateful. It is nothing more than a hello; an intimate greeting that cannot simply be verbalized. She pliantly leans into the touch, returning the feeling as well as she can manage.

“Are you really too weak to stand?” mocks the clone quietly, a glint of white flashing before the feline’s gaze as the demon smirks.

Inevitably, Mew realizes that Mewtwo is trying to rile her, to incite her anger and frustration for her own good. The feline knows this as well as she knows her own name, knows that the clone is in no way being genuinely malicious. Yet, the insult does exactly as it’s intended. Mew’s body tightens, and she determinedly forces herself to plant a foot on the ground, forces herself to rise. She does not surrender to the blinding cramp that slices through her calves, ignoring the fuzzy imbalance that causes her body to sway.

It would have seemed utterly impossible to manage such a feat moments ago, and yet, Mew finds herself on her feet, staring at Mewtwo through bleary eyes. The creature’s hands are on her, steadying her, helping her maintain her stature. It is help she cannot refuse at this point, not when her own body feels alien to him.

Nonetheless, the feline tries to push away the hands, grasping the demon’s wrists in shaky hands. But Mewtwo doesn’t let her pull away, and Mew’s body is simply too damaged to fight back. Mewtwo’s hands grip him tightly, until Mew is forced to rely on the clone for balance.

“You’ll lose far more dignity if you fall on your head, Mew,” murmurs the demon, chuckling softly.

Defeated, Mew lets her exhausted form sink against the clone. It seems almost natural when her forehead lightly presses against the clone’s, warm breaths mingling together. It’s a familiar gesture of intimacy, like the memory of a dream she once had, but yet cannot seem to recall.

They stay silent for a time, the clone’s paws gently against the damp fur of the feline, a few stray kisses and nips bestowed on Mew’s lips and cheek. The feline knew from the beginning that there was a connection between both of them. It is often said that there is a thin line between love and hate, yet it was not so with the demon and messiah. For them, this line is a chain, binding them both to the emotions, the inescapable destiny.

And yet, stepping on this side of the intense emotions between them, arousing the dormant emotions of desperation, of twisted loyalty was overwhelming. Mew could feel the possessive tenderness in the steadying embrace, a gesture of the bitter longing Mewtwo had felt in her long absence.

Had Mew been consciously aware of the time passing, he supposes she might feel the same desperate longing. However, this is not so; she still remembers the fierce battle as if it had just happened. She’s fully aware of the wound embedded deep inside her heart, a reminder of her last living moments on the battlefield.

The thorns had long receded, the skin regenerated over the few splinters inside of her, but the power is still there. The desire to fight, to conquer the demon is a prickle in the back of her mind, one she knows she has to determinedly push away. The rivalry has no meaning at this point.

At least, not for the moment.

When the moment ends – which it does, after what seems to be countless hours – Mewtwo does not demean Mew by helping her walk. He simply releases the feline and beckons her to follow. Mew does so with fiery determination, forcing her aching legs to move, forcing her unsteady body to respond to her demands. With time, each step becomes easier, and the pain lessens considerably; it seems her regeneration capabilities are still wholly intact.

They leave the room together, Mew wrapped tightly in a thin blanket Mewtwo had retrieved from the lab’s storage. She barely notices the two humans situated near the wall, watching silently as they pass. The feline feels no fear, no apprehension any longer. Mewtwo is not one to easily lose, and two human scientists are hardly going to get the best of her.

At this point, Mew knows there is very little to fear. She only fears the past, the blackened gaps in her memory during the last moments of battle.

She doubts that any of the people she had once cared for had made it from the battlefield. It was a price the legendaries had been willing to pay, but the consequences of being left as the single survivor are… indescribably lonely. Mew’s fingers instantly ghost over the spot on her chest, the spot where she stabbed herself. It is a burden she will have to live with forever.

Mew is close to asking the clone why she isn’t still a monster, why she isn’t slave to the nail’s power, but the answer already seems clear. Mewtwo had somehow managed to disable the mechanism in her mind, whatever vulnerable part of herself that the nail had exploited. The power is still there, but the insanity that had accompanied it is only a muted sensation, easily controlled under his will.

Mew rubs her bleary eyes again, trying to clear some of the watery thickness away. It’s still a distorted world, as if she’s looking at it through the curve of a glass cup, but it is enough for now. She can see Mewtwo, see scientists dead on the floor, and see the endless white expanse of the facility.

The feline’s paw remains firmly against the wall, steadying her motions. Even wrapped up in the blanket, even after being dried off, she is still extraordinarily cold.

The after-effects of stasis, she realizes numbly. It feels like some sick joke, that she’s been asleep for so long, starved of sensation, denied consciousness. Everything she remembers of the experience is a faint dream, images of Mewtwo and a frozen memory of war.

But the dream still seems intangible.

Mew is led to a small room, which is considerably more tolerable than the rest of the laboratory. It’s a kitchen, of lightly more muted colors than the stark white. Silvers and grays mingled with a deep blue, almost like the evening sky when looking to the east. The feline immediately feels more at ease with her surroundings, and heavily collapses into one of the chairs, still shivering with the cold.

“I haven’t eaten in decades,” says Mewtwo suddenly, voice a deep drawl. “And I’m not about to start now.”

The demon slides over a sandwich that he’d retrieved from the fridge, and Mew immediately unwraps the meal, eating it voraciously. The bread is stale, and the meal is hardly of adequate quality, but the feline feels that it is the most delicious meal she’s ever had. Even with her abilities, even with her immortality, she cannot escape something as fundamental as hunger. It’s more than clear now that she can survive forever without food, but the urge for it; the hunger is still ingrained into her delicate body.

She’s so enraptured in his meal that she hardly notices when the demon disappears from the room. When he does, though, Mew feels no trepidation; she knows Mewtwo will be back, trusts the firm belief inside of him that the clone will always return, no matter what happens.

Mew savors the food, drinks deeply from the water Mewtwo left out. Her body begins to feel almost human again after the meal, the agony of awakening becoming nothing more than a hazy memory.

The feline closes her eyes and rests her upper body against the table, letting her body succumb to the exhaustion. When her eyes open again, she is staring at the ceiling, and she is no longer cold. It’s a strange shift of scenery, and any other time, the feline would have been startled and suspicious of it. But not, she simply rests, letting herself enjoy the bed, enjoy the freedom.

“How did you find me?” asks Mew, automatically assuming she is in Mewtwo’s presence. She seems a shift of movement out of the corner of his eye, and she knows the demon has approached her.

“Liquid oxygen,” says Mewtwo, sounding almost uninterested. “It was easy enough to track them down after I found out they were using it. There are only a few suppliers that can make it in mass production. If the Doc had made it himself, he would at least need the equipment for it. It was just a matter of finding the seller.”

It takes a moment for Mew to interpret the jumble of words, but she eventually understands the clone. She nods, just slightly to acknowledge the explanation, closing her eyes again. She almost asks where they are, but realizes it’s irrelevant. All that matters now is that she’s away from the lab, away from the humans.

There’s another brush of touch over her face, but this time Mew moves to smack the hand away. She stops abruptly, instantly surprised by the strength that’s returned to her arm. Her eyes open again, staring down at her fingertips, at the sliver spoon lying beside her. Somehow, inexplicably, Mewtwo has managed to give her back her old spoon.

Slowly, Mew forces herself to sit up, eyes focusing on her surroundings. A dimly lit room, in what seems to be a hotel. There’s a wide window, but she cannot see anything outside, just an expanse of pitch-black sky. The moon is just a slender crescent, gray clouds drifting across the silvery light.

And next to him, Mewtwo sits. He’s different now, no doubt; his clothes are different. A black outfit, a suit that defines every line and curve of the demon’s form. The new disguise is elegant, but still wholly unfamiliar.

“What happened”’ asks the feline reluctantly, running her hand over her own clean outfit. It’s looser than she remembers, and she grimaces, realizing how pathetically wasted away she is after such a long sleep. Even her regenerative abilities could not prevent that.

“The war ended,” says Mewtwo simply, leaning closer to Mew to look him fully in the eyes. It’s graceful, the way Mewtwo is sitting, utterly graceful. Mew cannot quench the sudden allure, the sensation of sinful desire that grips his soul.

It feels familiar, almost natural to look at the clone with desirous eyes.

The clone smirks knowingly before continuing. “The humans were destroyed, the demons and clones eradicated,” he says in an intimate whisper, so close Mew can see the individual starbursts in Mewtwo’s irises. “With the exception of the two remaining humans, we were completely victorious.”

“Where are they?” asks the feline, trying to sound calm, collected. “Did you just leave them behind?”

The demon laughs softly, a whispery chuckle in the back of his throat. “Hardly,” he says. “I had Rukario to finish them off. I would have gone with him, but I doubted you were quite ready to return to London.” The demon sighs quietly, eye closing briefly in thought. “The Pokemon are not coping with the war as well as they could. And after your little escapade, the Legendaries aren’t exactly a welcomed sight anywhere.”

Mew feels like laughing suddenly, a cold, unfeeling laugh. She doesn’t feel much like a legendary anymore; her purpose was ripped away from her. The only time she had a purpose was in the war, and she had destroyed it. She had helped her enemies destroy the Pokemon she was sworn to protect.

And now, she was in the company with one of those monsters, needing him, relying on him. Faith, perhaps, is all she has left; beyond that, she knows she has truly outlived his usefulness to the Lords above.

“Stop being so melodramatic,” growls Mewtwo suddenly, crimson eyes flashing with irritation. “I can practically hear your thoughts, messiah.”

Mew glares at the clone, paws clenching on the sheets. “What I think is none of your business, traitor,” she mutters tetchily, but even as the words are leaving her lips, she knows it’s a futile argument. As if anything would ever deter the demon.

“Still the same typical bullsh*t,” says Mewtwo dryly. “You never change, Mew.”

Irritation immediately prickles in Mew’s mind. She opens his mouth to retort, but the clone gives her a silencing look, a hot glare that Mew hasn’t seen since she impaled herself with the nail. The words die in her throat.

“You were the one rival I respected. Not an enemy to defeat, not an obstacle or a threat to humanity. You were a rival to me, not to humans, not to my master. You were my rival, and that it itself made you unique from every other enemy I’ve had in the past centuries,” says Mewtwo. “I hold you to a certain level of esteem. I do not want to hear the same exact self-depreciating nonsense that I have heard from every other human in the past two years. I expect strength, not some pitiful surrender to God. You curse him for your tainted life, but you forget that you served him of your own volition, not because you were destined to or forced to.”

“God didn’t toss you aside or abandon you,” continues the clone, laughing bitterly. His paw moves to rest against the splinters hidden beneath the feline’s flesh. “He did need to. You did this yourself, Mew, through your own selfish and tainted mistakes. And you told me you regretted it.”

Mew looks at the brilliant eyes of the demon for a long time, silent. “So that wasn’t a dream,” she says roughly. Mewtwo doesn’t answer, but Mew knows it’s true.

Mewtwo isn’t denying it.

The truth is more painful than Mew would have guessed, the simple knowledge that the dream was more than just his subconscious playing a cruel joke. It is apparent now that Mewtwo has fully experienced every part of the feline’s agony, had witnessed parts of her mind and soul that were hidden from the world.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Mewtwo quietly, paw flat against the protuberance over Mew’s heart. Mewtwo’s hand is suddenly beneath the shirt, sinking through the material as if it isn’t even there. All she felt was a soft caress of cold flesh against hers. “I knew those parts of you a long time before then.”

The demon leans in close, the slender form lightly brushing against Mew. The movement is seamlessly graceful, the lips against hers impossibly soft. It isn’t a fight for dominance, not any longer. It’s an indulgence, a show of tenderness that could have never been expressed those years ago. It feels like everything that defined their relationship has shifted, but Mew doesn’t mind. She needs it to be different from how it had been. The feline has nothing else to grasp onto now, and a hateful rivalry would eventually leave her with nothing.

Nothing but regret.

So Mew simply lets go of it.

She truly believes the tales now, the legends that demons are innately sensual creatures, romantic monsters. It is truly the other side of the pendulum now, the furthest, yet simultaneously the closest to hate she could possibly be. She can feel Mewtwo’s shallow breaths against her lips, the caress of fingertips against her face.

A single finger traces the deep scar, an acceptance, an admiration for her flaws.

Mew is gently eased back onto the bed. The clone is looking down at her with an expression in his eyes, uncharacteristically solemn. It’s an unspoken promise, a silent acknowledgement of the chains binding them.

And for once, the chains don’t seem like a burden.

Mewtwo’s fingers ghost over her eyes, and Mew closes them. There will be nothing more tonight, just rest and recuperation. The world is damaged, and there is still work to be done when they return to Gaia, the city of legendaries. There are thousands of children who are homeless and alone, and Mew is content at the prospect of helping the young ones again, without the tainted shadow of the legendaries behind him to cause their eventual downfall.

The feline’s sleep is timeless, but her body is grateful for the rest, grateful to be living again.

When she opens his eyes, it’s still dark, but it’s no longer a suffocating darkness. It’s just the night.

She tilts his head, eyes falling on the demon. Mewtwo is sitting on the windowsill, the faintest black silhouette against the night sky. The crescent moon spreads a silver sheen over the creature. There is no crimson glitter of eyes, no stir of life; Mewtwo is sleeping, as still as a gargoyle.

Mew watches the sleeping creature for a long time, the sight of her sentinel calming, soothing her exhausted mind. Mewtwo is a far cry from a guardian angel, but it is the closest Mew will ever get. And she knows she prefers this creature to any of God’s creatures that could bring her solace. This creature understands the darkest sins her heart, the deep bloodlust and viciousness she can never rid herself of. And Mewtwo will not begrudge her for it, will never try to make Mew into something purer.

At this point, there would be no turning back anyway.

Mew falls asleep again, with the image of the shadowed angel, the gargoyle sleeping in the shadows of the windowsill.

Knightblazer ;262;

Hahahabvc87
10th August 2006, 3:01 PM
Well, for one thing this fic is incredibly slow-paced! Good thing I was patient enough to read it through till the end so that I could post my review the same day! :p

>_> I see you still have the he-she gender mixup in this fic; surprisingly enough I never noticed it until Usukairi came along... Here are the ones that I found:


Mewtwo’s hands grip him tightly, until Mew is forced to rely on the clone for balance.


Had Mew been consciously aware of the time passing, he supposes she might feel the same desperate longing.


And now, she was in the company with one of those monsters, needing him, relying on him. Faith, perhaps, is all she has left; beyond that, she knows she has truly outlived his usefulness to the Lords above.


There are thousands of children who are homeless and alone, and Mew is content at the prospect of helping the young ones again, without the tainted shadow of the legendaries behind him to cause their eventual downfall.


She tilts his head, eyes falling on the demon.

Some other errors:

without any hope of every fighting through their powerful effects.

I guess that would be an "ever".


And yet, stepping on this side of the intense emotions between them, arousing the dormant emotions of desperation, of twisted loyalty was overwhelming.

This sentence confuses me even though I've read it at least 10 times over... @_@

The connection with the Van Hellsing (sp?) manga is very clear here, and you've even put a direct reference to Alucard in the text! However, I'm not a fan of Hellsing, so some parts of the fic seem rather awkward to me, an example being Schrödinger's existence and direct references to Hell and God. Nothing too serious though. :p

Okay, now that my gripes are out of the way, here comes the good part!


Mewtwo is even rustier on auditory German than he is with the written language, but the few words he does understand are hardly kind.

In this case, ignorance is bliss! :)


“You’ll lose far more dignity if you fall on your head, Mew,” murmurs the demon, chuckling softly.

When you put it that way... it does seem funny... ROFL!

Mew X Mewtwo shipping! Kutie Pie would be very happy at this indeed! Their romance was present throughout the 3 parts, and also served as a plot device rather than just some miscellaneous information. You even managed to describe the passionate love-hate-rivalry between them rather well!
This third part was not as gory as the last two, but they definitely had a dark atmosphere at every twist and turn. Romance and horror are definitely your strong suits. :) Hope you post more of these when you do!

With that said, I now leave the world of imagination for the world of dreams... Class starts early tomorrow and I wouldn't want to miss it. o.o"

Sike Saner
14th August 2006, 8:02 AM
Ah, what a lovely way to cap off a night that was. ^^ This piece ranks quite high among your other works in my eyes - the length alone, I find very satisfying. Also satisfying was the description of Mew's agony - one thing I have noticed not only from this but from others among your works as well is that you speak of pain very nicely. ^^

Favorite moments and et cetera:


Breathe with me.

Her hand tingles when she feels the clone’s fingers on her, the touch an uncomfortable sensation against her deadened body. But she doesn’t fight it, lacks the capacity to do so. She knows that the creature with her is Mewtwo, simply because she can feel in the very core of her being. The connection between them, the connection of rivalry and bittersweet affection is unmistakable.

Mew’s paw is placed gently against the chest of the creature, fingers flat to fully feel the clone’s slow, deep breaths. The words spoken suddenly hold meaning.

Breathe with me, messiah.

I always love it when he calls Mew “messiah”, in that way that seems like mocking and yet also something else. Plus, the “Breathe with me” made me think of a Prodigy song, so that was doubly cool. ^^


Nonetheless, the feline tries to push away the hands, grasping the demon’s wrists in shaky hands. But Mewtwo doesn’t let her pull away, and Mew’s body is simply too damaged to fight back. Mewtwo’s hands grip him tightly, until Mew is forced to rely on the clone for balance.

“You’ll lose far more dignity if you fall on your head, Mew,” murmurs the demon, chuckling softly.

Well, he certainly does seem to have a valid point there.


A single finger traces the deep scar, an acceptance, an admiration for her flaws.

I just think that line’s really cool. ^^


And she knows she prefers this creature to any of God’s creatures that could bring her solace.

I know the feeling. X3




This was a lovely addition to the rest of your library. Boss work. ^^

Bay
17th August 2006, 12:26 AM
It seems even the unintelligible German accent had been a game, a disguise.

Oh my gosh, Doc is not German! XD


Her hand tingles when she feels the clone’s fingers on her, the touch an uncomfortable sensation against her deadened body. But she doesn’t fight it, lacks the capacity to do so. She knows that the creature with her is Mewtwo, simply because she can feel in the very core of her being. The connection between them, the connection of rivalry and bittersweet affection is unmistakable.

Hehe, yeah, those two. Always fighting, but at the same time, love each other also. ^^



Mew struggles with the words, but she already knows what she needs to say, what her body is pleading for. It’s a sensation far beyond just the icy pain and exhaustion. The word leaves her lips in a mockery of her true voice, nothing more than the faintest whisper in the air, but it is enough.

“Food.”


Aw, poor her. She did not eat any food. ;_;




There’s another brush of touch over her face, but this time Mew moves to smack the hand away. She stops abruptly, instantly surprised by the strength that’s returned to her arm. Her eyes open again, staring down at her fingertips, at the sliver spoon lying beside her. Somehow, inexplicably, Mewtwo has managed to give her back her old spoon.

Yay, Mew got her spoon back! Hehe, I knew Mewtwo has some niceness in him! XD



And next to him, Mewtwo sits. He’s different now, no doubt; his clothes are different. A black outfit, a suit that defines every line and curve of the demon’s form. The new disguise is elegant, but still wholly unfamiliar.

Oh my gosh, wardrobe malfunction! XD



The demon leans in close, the slender form lightly brushing against Mew. The movement is seamlessly graceful, the lips against hers impossibly soft. It isn’t a fight for dominance, not any longer. It’s an indulgence, a show of tenderness that could have never been expressed those years ago. It feels like everything that defined their relationship has shifted, but Mew doesn’t mind. She needs it to be different from how it had been. The feline has nothing else to grasp onto now, and a hateful rivalry would eventually leave her with nothing.

Nothing but regret.

So Mew simply lets go of it.

That’s why I love your writing so much. You knew how to put the emotions between those two.


When she opens his eyes, it’s still dark, but it’s no longer a suffocating darkness. It’s just the night.

She tilts his head, eyes falling on the demon. Mewtwo is sitting on the windowsill, the faintest black silhouette against the night sky. The crescent moon spreads a silver sheen over the creature. There is no crimson glitter of eyes, no stir of life; Mewtwo is sleeping, as still as a gargoyle.
Aw oh, gender mixes! Yeah, you should be careful with that.

So this ends the Splinter trilogy. This is your best work so far. Mewtwo and Mew may not suddenly show their emotions like the last two fics, but there is still some love and hate in there. ^^

Well, good luck in your other writings.

;134;~Good night, and good luck~

Knightblazer
19th August 2006, 11:01 AM
... I wrote in Alucard...? *checks* Whoops. >.<

Well, sorry for the many glaring errors I made; I compeleted this fic after I'd just rcovered from a case of diaherra, vomitting and a forty degree high fever, so please forgive me. ^^;

Thanks for reviewing this, you three; I hope you had a good time reading this!

Knightblazer ;262;