A/N: After finally finishing up chapter two of this thing, I decided time was ripe to unleash this upon the fic reading masses.
This fic is both a sequel and a prequel to the one-shot I posted so long ago. As the one-shot takes place in the future from where I'm starting but the fic goes on beyond that point in time, so therefore, this fic has no chapter four. It will skip straight from three (which is currently in the process of being written, Well I have a chapter title anyway.) to chapter five. I would advise you to read the one-shot (The link is in my sig) if you are determined to follow this fic, if not before you read this, then at least after you've read chapter three.
The world in which this fic is being written is one in which humans don't exist, the pokemon world, Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh and all their places still exist, but the dominant species are pokemon, but I avoid calling them pokemon as you would avoid describing people as humans. Normal everyday animals like rabbits, foxes, snakes etc. also exist in this world. So NO Miltank Burgers.
As I said, chapter two has been written and will be posted a few days after this.
As it says in the title, this fic is rated R, mainly for many scenes of murder that not everyone finds tasteful, also noted, this fic at this time in its written state contains one major swear word.
Without further stalling. Here is the short prologue and chapter 1 in which they are sort of tied, so are posted together.
Serial: The Book
Deep in the labyrinth of trees that made Ilex Forest was a sole wanderer.
It was autumn and the earthly colours of orange, red, brown and yellow replaced the usually verdant green of the forest.
As this sole wandered, the leaves of varying deciduous trees fell upon the ground as nature took its course. The figure continued to walk and loud crunching sounds could be heard as leaves were crushed underfoot.
‘Autumn is a time for change; the trees shed their leaves and prepare for the long winter. However, I am not a tree, I have no leaves to shed and need no preparation for the upcoming winter. Why I am so different from these tall unmoving beings is beyond my capabilities to comprehend, so I leave them to their rest.’
The figure looks at the ground and crosses it’s jade green arms, shivering. In an attempt to ward of the cold, the figure pulls its floor length brown travelling cloak over its body a bit more.
It continues to wander until it reaches a small wooden shack, it then stops and sighs, green and blue hair lying limp upon its head.
The figure walks to the makeshift door and pushes it open, inside was a white mat used only for resting, a large chalk circle upon the floor and a small wooden desk upon which sat a jar full of firefly, allowing a faint yellow glow to illuminate the wooden 3x4 metre room.
Also on this desk was a book. A dusty, old tome that had a cover of deep crimson. This book had at least three hundred, yellowing pages of which only a small percentage were filled.
What book would only be partly filled? You may ask. The answer, it was a diary. Owned by the figure, in which he records his most private of ventures.
Sitting on a nearby wooden chair, the figure grabs a quill and a pot of ink from one of the drawers and starts to scrawl words into the tome. The heading on the page being ‘entry four’. When a few pages were filled, the figure smiled and let the ink dry as not to ruin the pages.
When a sufficient amount of time had lapsed, the figure turned back the pages to the first.
This book belongs to Ramirez
Was stated clearly in large lettering. The name ‘Ramirez’ written in a deep red ink, at least, that’s what outsiders would think. For the figure knew that it was blood, his own blood to be exact. And when people asked where he got such a scar on his chest, he would say…
‘I got into a fight with a Scyther’
For self-inflicted scars never go away, be that physical or psychological.
The figure, apparently named Ramirez, flips the page over and begins to read the first entry…
Entry One: My First Time (AKA The Anti-Freud)
I was sat alone on a grassy plain, as was my custom. The rest of my class had disbanded, returning to their respective caregivers.
Why they relied so heavily upon the adults is unknown to me, I have found it perfectly reasonable to live a life of my own, separate from those around me. My teachers would always say, ‘be mindful of the feelings of both yourself and those around you. For that is the way of our people.’ I’m sure the rest of ‘my people’ will agree with this sentiment, but I… am not so sure. I have found that the reading of other peoples feelings seriously clouds the rest of the subconscious, for the outer feelings, lust, cowardice, fear create powerful walls which require a lot of concentration and power for which only the highest of Gardevoir matriarch could penetrate.
Now, disregarding the feelings and going straight to the source, you can access the inner thoughts and memories without very much effort at all, for even I could do it, a mere Kirlia.
“Rami! Rami! Where are you?”
I sighed; it was my adult calling for me.
“Why don’t you just telepathically find me, it would save a lot of time and energy on shouting.” I sent this to her and the shouting then stopped.
“But looking is half the fun Rami” This I received back.
Scowling, I stood and began to walk to my assigned dwelling. “There is no time for fun, why must you pester me with such trivial frivolities when you most certainly know I won’t partake in them.” I retorted.
A sign of life behind me, why must she follow me.
“I’m following you because I want you to be safe, son of mine.” She seemed to stress the last part as if to put across that she is my mother and deserves obedience from her offspring.
The lofty Gardevoir had a ‘reassuring’ smile upon her face as she floated gracefully beside me, her white skirt and green hair flow lazily behind as she goes. Despite my disdain for the woman, I had always envied the fact that she could almost float soundlessly around, it left detecting her presence down to sight and telepathy.
Sometimes I just wish I could be left alone, far away from ‘my people’ and their rules, so I can gather my thoughts.
“You know full well that being left alone is stupid, Kirlia like yourself fall prey to predators very easily in the outside world. Staying in the village is the best for any non-adults, and even then it is discouraged.
“Will you stop reading my thoughts!” I sent, using also a confusing technique to amplify my point. “It’s very rude of you.” I voiced aloud.
“Well you seem to do it all to often. Yes, I can feel you digging around at times, but I find it sweet that you want to know all about me.”
I was about to think rather malicious things about my adult. And I knew she was at the ready to feel any retort I may make subconsciously. So I blocked my mind; feeling the small tendrils of conscience snap I smiled.
‘Sweet? I don’t find it sweet that I used the knowledge to destroy your favourite part of the forest, or that I burnt your prize-winning vegetables. Well Florence we’ll see how sweet I can be later on today.’
We soon got to the edge of Eterna Forest, to a grove of trees tightly packed into a circular shape. This was done using the innate telekinetic abilities of all Gardevoir and Gallade, by twisting the form of the many trees to an angle that formed the circle. Pushing at a cutaway part of the trees, the ‘door’ revealed a simple living area.
“Now I want you to put Ms. Hope’s lesson into practice today, I don’t want her to tell me your meditation techniques are faltering again.”
And why does she lecture me? She herself failed to complete her meditation practices.
“I’m going to go into the forest. Don’t try to follow me.” I announced lazily and walked out of the dwelling.
“I swear that boy isn’t normal.” Florence voiced aloud, hands on her hips.
Mind dripping with malice I entered the large wooded area that was Eterna forest, so named, as it hasn’t changed for as long as it has existed, Eternal, as it should be. It was an odd property of the forest that allowed me to calm down much quicker than I can usually do in the outside world. For I live truly in my mind, and mind works best when I meditate in the forest.
How best might I undermine my matriarchal caregiver, I wonder. Destruction of property perhaps, it would be a pain for her to retrieve more materials to rebuild, but more of a hindrance than anything else. Maybe I could sully her name, make her a social outcast, I for one would be pleased at such a change. No, maybe more, but for now I don’t know what that could be.
By virtue, all members of the Gardevoir/Gallade tree are vegetarian. The native berries and herbs of the forest providing more than enough nutrition for the whole population of the village to survive rather prosperously. An albino rabbit bounds worriless by, stopping to nibble at a one of the said herbs, it begins to move on but then stops again. My doing; I had probed the depths of its feeble mind, the thought processes being slightly off-centre, nothing I could follow, the rabbit was driven purely on instinct, where the next meal would come from, whether or not that female was ready to mate with. It was a refreshing change from the meandering canals of the minds of other thinking beings. So I almost felt a twinge of sorrow when I forced a lesion on the buck’s carotid artery, the massive internal bleeding causing a large purple bruise to form under the skin at its neck. The male rabbit fell onto its side, going in to shock, my hold not allowing the blood to clot at the wound. Time passed and the excess bleeding had caused serious brain damage and eventually the buck’s death.
This would make a lovely present for my dear mother. Perhaps I should hang it from the roof so she can get a good look at it. Yes, this would be a good plan for the time being.
Taking some Abandi rope, so named after the plant that bares the threads, I bound the buck’s legs and telekinetically lifted the other end of the rope to the rafters. It took a lot of concentration on my end; mentally marshalling the air molecules tightly around the rope and moving them, whilst still in the tightened position, up towards the roof. Then the hard part, tying it so as not to slip.
And now I play the waiting game.
Perched in a shadowed corner I pondered the possible reactions my mother would have. Shock; surprise; intrigue; anger? Hopefully it would occur in stages, one after the other; shock at the sight of it, surprise of why such a thing was there, intrigue as to who put it there and anger as she realised that it was me.
Again focusing on the buck I forced another lesion, but this time on the skin. The cut allowing the built up blood to flow freely out of the wound, the resulting pool spreading to the full extent such a small amount of blood could.
I didn’t have to wait long, the door opened and as predicted. She gasped, dropping everything in her hands, apples rolling around the grassy floor, some even settling in the blood pool.
She had stopped and closed her eyes. She knows. And her deep red eyes fell into the shadows right into the irises of mine.
“What have you done?” She stated in a flat emotionless tone.
“How could you know, you said it yourself, the circle.” I was dumbfounded; the exact principle I have tested had failed me.
“You have much to learn youngling, the circle does indeed keep the minds of others away and indeed keeps you from calling out. However, with two in the circle, nothing is affected between them.” Again in her flat, placid tone.
Her tone rose exponentially and the furniture started to shake where they stood. “How dare you bring death into this house! Do you know how long it takes to get bloodstains out of the carpet? Of course you don’t; I had sent you away, and within the protection of the circle, I ripped your father limb, from limb. Using only my mind. The abuse I had felt at his hands was inexcusable, but the power I felt was amazing. It made me feel alive. So you will understand, why I had to mentally restrain you outside of the home so you don’t squeal to the other adults, why I had to break you. You will not disobey me again child; for it shall be the last decision you will ever make.”
The shaking had stopped and the great looming figure of the matriarch Gardevoir had faded; the eyes though, still contained the anger, still contained the malice and still contained the madness. Emerging from the shadows, it was my time to speak.
“Mother, let me inform you. You never truly ‘broke’ me; in fact, you put in the place the final piece of the puzzle. Before the beatings, before the verbal and mental abuse, I was a mere confused child, but father left and you took over the domineering role. Sure at first I had to wonder why this was happening, is this a typical upbringing? I had to ask myself, then I thought no. It isn’t, if it were so then all the other children would be like me, and I’m the only one there who is like me. Unique. When I came to realise this fact, I started to enjoy the habitual torture, playing along to your sick little game, writhing in terror every time you came looming over me when I awoke, every time I fell to the mat and was about to sleep. The burning I felt in my joints every time, was such pleasure that I dreaded afterwards and the time in between. Yes mother, you never truly had any control over me, I only gave that effect so that, when the time came. I could give you the same kind of pleasure that you have been giving me twice a day for the past five years.” And with that I fell silent for a few seconds, absorbing the look on her face. It had seemed to go full circle, she was very shocked.
“Yes mother, you know what they say.” I then tilted my head slightly to the left. “Crazy runs in the family.”
And then I knew what she was talking about. Total control over another being was such a great feeling, greater almost than the torture. “Here we go mother, get ready to die.”
So I reached out my consciousness, feeling for the joints between arm and torso, leg and pelvis, head and neck. And pulled.
“Isn’t it just magnificent mother? The feeling of being so close to death but never quite reaching it, luckily for you however, you can go all the way. If there’s an afterlife, maybe we can talk.”
She uttered a few mumbled screams.
“I’m so sorry mother, I can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.” At this I laughed, perhaps the only time in my life, I laughed. It was then I realised that I was truly happy, an emotion I had not felt in my entire existence.
The release of suppressed anger was a sight to behold. The elder Gardevoir, pain enveloping her whole body, all her senses, she’d be screaming rather loudly if it weren’t for me.
“I wonder mother, do you now wish for death? Do you wish for his clammy hand to take you from the pain, take you from the suffering? My only regret is that I couldn’t give you five years worth of the same pain, the same suffering. So I suppose I could end you right now, on the carpet of which you killed my father, in the same way you ended my father. It’s fairly ironic, isn’t it? The circle of life continues to spin, unerred by the petty squabbles of mortal beings. But there are those of us, who like to give it a good push every now and then. I am one of those people mother. And I will turn your circle to the label marked, ‘death’. Goodbye, and do say hello to father for me.”
I reached deep and with one final pull, the dainty Gardevoir became many pieces of the same puzzle, the blood of my mother joining the blood of the unlucky buck in the same pool on the now unseen carpet.
I stared; at the head of my mother, now departed from the shoulders, the look upon its face, one of fear, a fear induced by I.
And when I looked at what I’d done, I thought it… Good.
* * *
Proceed with explanation of subsequent events.
Ramirez, the adolescent Kirlia, stood over his late mothers body and watched, just watched as the bacteria began to eat away at the flesh. He decided then and there that, so he never forgot this moment, he was going to write it down. Picking up a nearby empty book with a deep crimson cover, he got some ink and a quill, and wrote. The entirety of what had happened, both leading up to and after the events of this wonderful night.
It was around this time that the Matriarch leader sensed an odd disturbance; the amount of people around town had diminished. You see, Gardevoir are creatures of habit, and at this time it was customary for many to have a nightime walk around the encompassing forest. With some careful probing of many different minds she came to a conclusion, and went to investigate.
She knew of the mind of which was missing and she also knew where the mind lived. Concern grasping her wrinkled face she continued on, wind whipping through her greying hair.
Finishing off the last few words, Ramirez began to think about what he could do now. Anything he wanted, he reckoned. Without any legal ‘parents’ to look after him, he would be classed as an orphan and allowed to do anything. But just as he had turned the wheel of fate with his mother, his own wheel was spinning and his prize was waiting outside the door ready to come in.
“Florence, it’s me. I’m coming in.” the matriarch chief shouted.
Upon hearing this, Ramirez instantly stopped. He knew the price for murder and there was nothing mitigating about matricide. He clutched the book and stayed where he was, the matriarch was far too powerful to attack.
She entered and staggered backwards in fear at the sight now confronting her. “What… How… Why was this done?” She managed to splutter.
“I will neither explain or describe my actions here. Know only that I enjoyed it and would gladly do it again if she stood here now.” Ramirez mentioned. And he said nothing else.
The matriarch was still horrified by the ghastly sight before her.
“I henceforth exile you from this village, you shall never return and you shall never seek repentance for your crimes. I had heard tell of this sort of thing happening in other, more violent clans, but never here did I expect such an atrocious act. You knew the punishment; you knew you would have to pay the price. Leave here now and never let me see you again.” She spoke this, not in heightened tones, but in a slow monotonous drawl, acid laced upon every word. Now it was her turn to say nothing else.
The adolescent Kirlia kept hold of his only possession, the crimson covered book, as he was forcefully ejected from the tall, oaken village gates.
Not knowing what to do, Ramirez just walked, walked into the distance. And as far as the village were concerned, he was already dead.