My Innermost Apocalypse

[elliot]

A thread for dream sequences, night terrors, and primal fears of a scared, confused child.

To be updated as the saga of Merope continues. Dreams will be linked to in this post as they are written.

Dream-A1: Depredation. A tour through a world long since ravaged, ended not with a bang but with a whimper.

Dream-B2: Antipathy. Five spiritual messengers pay a visit. They come not in peace, but in fire.

Dream-C3: Apotheosis. A strange, unnatural, and painful transformation begins at the will of a madwoman.

Dream-D4: Consternation. A world unlike any other, where nothing makes sense and madness reigns.

Dream-E5: Aggregation. More make their presences known. How long have they bubbled under the surface?

Dream-F6: Abrogation. In a world where one is an unperson, will their loved ones even know they're gone?

Dream-G7: Inundation. A return to the lands of madness, where things have taken a turn for the hostile.

[elliot]

A-1) Depredation.

Silence reigned in the frozen wasteland once known as Unova, only broken by the sound of a walking stick tapping against ice.

The world was dead with the exception of one, a young boy with sad eyes and a ruined leg. Behind him was the Pinwheel Forest, or rather what was left of it. Trees were coated in snow, some uprooted and others frozen solid. The ground was a thin layer of ice, cracking lightly beneath the boy's feet as he walked. A wind whipped through the trees, causing crystals of ice on their leaves to tinkle like windchimes. In front of the boy was the massive Skyarrow Bridge, a mere shell of its former glory. The stone it was built from looked discolored and aged, and ice had started to cause severe cracking. Snow constantly dropped onto the bridge, forming an almost disturbingly even path. It looked as if it had been untouched by human hand for years. The usual cries and calls of wild Pokemon were completely absent: everything seemed sterile and still, almost dead.

The boy looked cold and nervous. He shivered as he walked, looking from side to side as if he was afraid something would leap from the trees. Harsh winds whipped at him, stinging his eyes and face with tiny shards of frost. And yet he pressed on, moving with the determination of a soldier. Nothing stopped his march, resolute yet shaky. Even as snow began to fall down thicker and thicker, slowing his movement to a near crawl, he continued to push through. And yet despite his resolve, every step he took made him seem smaller and shakier.

Eventually, the boy stopped in his tracks as he finally crossed over the bridge. What he had witnessed nearly brought a tear to his eye: his home city of Castelia, lying in ruin.

This unforgiving cold had not spared the modern metropolis. In fact, it was hit hardest of all. The bustling, busy streets were completely empty, littered with hastily abandoned roadside stalls. The city's world-famous port was completely iced over, the seas themselves frozen over and leaving ships trapped. The buildings were hit particularly hard: the ones that hadn't fallen over completely were cracked, chipped, and worn. Rubble from fallen buildings littered the streets, making the proud city resemble the Desert Resort more than its former beauty. And despite all of this, a heavy coating of snow made everything seem disturbingly peaceful. The center of Unova was now a corpse in repose, and the boy continued pressing on.

The storms had intensified to a blizzard at this point, nearly bowling over the boy many times. They seemed to grow enraged at his defiance, striking harder and faster as he kept walking. The flurries pushed and slammed him, knocking him from side to side as he tried to cross the city streets. He had to close his eyes from how badly he was being stung. A massive chunk of ice even whizzed past his arm, badly slashing it. Red blood splattered on the snow, the only splash of color in this cold, dead world. In a panic the boy ran faster, desperate to find some sort of shelter s the storm grew more and more overwhelming. Eventually he ducked into the sturdiest house he could find, slamming the door behind him to keep the blizzard back.

As the boy steadied himself, letting out a few last pants from how he exerted himself, he realized two things about the building. The first was that this world's disturbingly peaceful appearance was merely a façade. Underneath the snow and ice covering it, the home he ducked into was a complete wreck. The wood was rotten and bug-bitten, as if it had been abandoned for years. Cracks were everywhere, only worsened by ice creeping in the middle. A hole in the roof let snow drip in, and broken glass was littered all over the floor thanks to broken windows. The smell of mold and mildew was overpowering, and with each footstep the floorboards let out a shuddering creak.

The second realization was spurred when he stumbled upon a very familiar picture: a tall, determined looking man sitting upon a Torterra sat with a young boy next to him. The boy, bright eyed and eager, grinned hugely as he hugged a blue and orange Mudkip egg. He dropped the picture in his shock, realizing that this ruined, decayed building was his home. Nothing could distract him from this fact. Not the blood steadily dripping from his arm, forming a small pool at his side. Not the blizzards battering the house outside, loud and overpowering. Not the picture, which looked distorted and warped behind its cracked picture frame. This was home, and home was dead.

And as he realized this, Elliot sat down and wept.

[elliot]

B-2) Antipathy

Have you ever stared directly into the sun? That's how Elliot felt when the blackness of sleep was interrupted by a harsh, glaring glow.

His eyes slowly began to open as he looked back and forth, shielding his eyes with a hand to keep the sunlight out. Sunlight: that was a new sensation for the poor boy. Since his imprisonment at Merope's, he hadn't even seen natural light. Slowly he sat up, feeling something odd and spongy as he placed his hand down. It was grass, another thing the boy hadn't seen or felt in over a week. In fact, his entire surrounding area was the most peaceful and idyllic thing he had witnessed in a long time. It was nothing but a simple field of endless grass, a crisp blue sky and bright yellow sun accenting it. Puffy clouds drifted through the sky as a breeze rippled through his hair. Was it finally over? Had his torment come to an end?

That's when the earth began to shake, gentle at first but soon almost overpowering. Elliot was nearly knocked over from the shaking, as the sound of hooves slamming like thunder penetrated his ears.

The first Rapidash rode up in a trail of consumption. Every clop of its hooves left grass eaten away, as if a plague of locusts had descended upon the field. The beast was tall and gangly compared to most Rapidash, with disturbingly bony legs. One ankle seemed to be snapped, but the beast didn't care. Patches of fur fell as it stood, revealing many bites from hungering parasites. The skin underneath was taut and jaundiced, held closely on an incredibly visible ribcage. Most horrifying of all was its mouth: ruined stitches dangled from ripped and torn lips, the aftereffects of trying to seal a limitless hunger. Flies replaced its glorious flaming mane, a dense black cloud that choked out all noise with a neverending buzz.

Elliot looked up at the rider, a brown haired man with green eyes that sparked with ambition. His usual leanness was exaggerated to near skeletal proportions, hair fell from his head in patches, and his face could barely hold his massive, hungering grin. And Elliot knew Famine.

As Famine stood at attention, he was joined by a second. The grass withered and decayed underneath his mount's pounding hoods, breaking as he clopped over it. This Rapidash was a terror to look at. Its jaw hung slack, as if the muscles holding it closed had all decayed away. There was no hair, merely a thick, leathery hide covered in cancerous lumps. Some parts of its body had withered to a disgusting black, while others were left mucus-colored from severe gangrene. Its hooves were cracked and poorly maintained, and its eyes and teeth had all rotted away. Its mane had extinguished long ago, a wispy purple smoke rising up in its place.

Elliot looked up at the rider, a redhead who he had once trusted but was now a Judas to him. A fake smile spread across his face, which had browned and hardened into a mask of decay. His eyepatch had fallen, revealing a few maggots writing in his missing eye. And Elliot knew Pestilence.

The two stood at opposite sides, as if to corner the boy, and were joined by a third. Its hooves dripped red with fresh blood, which stained the grass and made it resemble a warzone. While the most normal looking on the outside, this Rapidash's personality said it all. While its companions stood in silence, this mad-eyed beast's jaws gnashed in front of Elliot's face as if it wanted to devour him. Its hide was stained with blood, whether dried and old or fresh and new. Pus leaked from poorly-cleaned wounds, which accented a filthy, battle-worn body. Its flames were still present, but burned scarlet red in patterns that resembled tormented, screaming faces.

Elliot looked up at the rider, a black haired woman with a red, horned cowl. There was an inferno in her eyes and a sword in her hands, which she proudly held aloft. Like he redhead she had but a single eye, which freshly bled as if it was a new wound, yet her cold fury never faltered. And Elliot knew War.

The three stood in a triangle, and Elliot expected thunderous clopping again. Instead he heard calm, dignified tramping, as if the next rider moved at a gentle trot. Its figure was visible in the distance, mere presence overpowering as it steadily moved forward. The skies darkened as it strode, powdery blue flames illuminating it. Elliot could identify the Rapidash better as it approached: bleached bones, as if the Rapidash underneath had been killed, skinned, and cleaned. Its body seemed defiled yet untouched, dangerous yet harmless, tormented yet at peace. Wind gently caressed exposed bone, making a dainty, windchime-like sound.

Elliot looked up at the rider, a woman clad head to toe in a heavy, black robe. Only the lower part of her face was visible, a fake grin accented with makeup and pale skin. Elliot needed to see no more: just her smile sent shivers bolting down his spine. A storm rolled in, and Elliot knew Death.

The four stood, leaving him trapped. They galloped around him in a circle, a parade of mockery. Blood and plague and decay all blended into a sickening spiral, the ground underneath Elliot's feet resembling the scene of an apocalypse. Through it all he sat and pleaded for a savior, too helpless to even save himself from his own demise. He looked in the distance, eyes watering with fear as the horsemen stopped. Their manes flared and their heads leaned back, as if about to spew gouts of cleansing fire . . .

That's when Eliot saw the figure.

He sat upon a beatified Rapidash, its fur a crisp gold and its flames a healthy red. The paragon of its species, it stood tall and proud even amidst the storm. There seemed to be an aura of radiance around it, beating back the darkness with its sheer majesty. Atop this wondrous stallion was a man very familiar to Elliot. His cape blew in the wind, gentle despite the harshness of the gales, and his single arm was plainly obvious. The sight of him caused Elliot to break out into a grin: his prayer had been answered! Salvation was here! He looked out toward the golden rider, his eyes begging, pleading for release.

Whether out of malice or helplessness,the man merely stared before shaking his head. Turning his steed around, he slowly galloped away before being swallowed into the darkness. Elliot knew Conquest, and Conquest had forsaken him.

The horsemen waited no longer. Their steeds' manes flared to a fever pitch, heat and fumes and droning noise all flooding Elliot's every sense. The horses' mouths opened wide, the last sight Elliot would ever bear witness too.

For a few, agonizing seconds, everything was hot. And then it all went cold.

Forevermore.

[elliot]

C-3) Apotheosis

The boy lurched forward slightly, holding his stomach as he vomitted on the cold, cement floors of Merope's basement.

For this past week he had been nauseous and miserable, barely able to sleep and rarely having the energy to do more than lie around and moan. Sometimes his groan blended in with the wails of other lost souls locked behind these bars, while at other times he was silenced by an irritated "SHUT UP!" from the next cell over.

The stale air and overly-extreme temperatures of his cell provided no aid to his torment either. By day the warmth of he basement only intensified his heat flashes, and by night the unforgiving cold left him shivering in a small, pathetic heap. The smell of vomit, never cleaned up and only growing in amount with each day, conspired with old, dead air to leave him choking nearly every day. The constant sickness left him thinner and sicklier than ever before, but worst of all were the headaches. Horrible, pounding headaches constantly assaulted the boy, feeling like a jackhammer was splitting his skull in half. Sometimes he cried, sometimes he screamed, but by the end of the week he was too feeble to do more than lie down, whimper, and wish for it all to end.

He weakly clutched his head, rubbing it gently to try and ease the pain, only to suddenly reel back in surprise. He patted his head a few more times in disbelief, jaw dropping in surprise.

Two fleshy nubs were sticking out of his forehead, almost like little devil horns.

Seemingly as soon as the boy noticed them the headaches returned. However, they were sharper and more painful than ever before. His eyes bulged in pain as he screamed in agony, voice rising above the other dismayed groans and sobs of Merope's torture dungeon. He felt the nubs on his head rip through his skull, growing longer and pointier. There were holes in the nubs, too: they weren't tumors, but instead massive, pointed ears. With each second his hearing also improved, allowing him to hear the cracking and crunching of bones all over his body.

His jaw was where the first cracks happened. His skin grew taut like that of a hairless cat as his mouth elongated. His lips receded into his mouth, replaced by long plumes of fur that formed a sickening parody of a mustache. The muscles in his face withered and atrophied to their bare minimum, leaving his head looking like a gaunt, fleshy star.

The next cracks began at his limbs. Unlike his face, where he could only guess what was going on, he could actually see what was happening here. He cringed as he watched his arms wither away, the forearms tapering off to thin points barely strong enough to support his hands. His hands, on the other hand, only grew bigger and bulkier. His pinky and ring finger fused into a single talon, as did his pointer and middle fingers. With the sound of a nice piercing paper, the thin skin of each finger was brutally ripped through by sharp claws.

His legs suffered an even worse fate, cracking brutally as they forcibly migrated to opposite sides of his hips. The bones inside compressed and shortened in ways a human leg should never bend, forming a permanently bow-legged stance. His toes fused into two clawed points, as another claw painfully tore through his heel. He tried to stand, but his awkward bird-like feet and searing pain in his body left him collapsing when he tried. His new, pointed snout smashed into the floor, leaving it oozing a tarry, brownish blood. He uneasily poked it with a clawed finger, recoiling when he felt how sticky it was.

The brutal pain resumed once more, this time on his waist. With a painful pierce, something sharp penetrated the boy's backside. A quick reach behind the back caused him to vomit black bile in disgust: it was his spinal cord. The renegade spine twisted backwards, flesh thinly coagulating on it as it formed a long, somewhat curved tail. Hair extended from each nerve cell, uniting into a titanic, fluffy mass.

Through it all, the boy found himself wasting away. The muscle in his body was eaten away by this strange metamorphosis, causing him to weaken by the second. Skin and bone were soon all he had left, held together by stringy tendons and ligaments. As if to fix this emaciation and leave his feeble body protected, bony plates began protruding through his skin. Blood spilled with each new plate extension, cracking hideously as they fused into pieces of an armored carapace. It extended all the way up to his neck, which shortened slightly so his head could connect with the plates. Unable to stand or even look around, he weakly tried to call for help. Only a feeble "Kadabra!" came out.

Immediately the boy realized what he had become, and his eyes bulged in terror. Yellow fur began shooting through every pore in his body, putting him in immeasurable, inescapable pain. Before only one part of his body hurt at a time, but now everything burned and itched like he was rolling in a bathtub full of spiders. He weakly stood, wobbly due to his birdlike claws and top-heavy body, and raised his hands to the sky in silent plea. If there was one thing about Kadabra that he knew, it was that they could-

-The outside was cool, bringing relief to his heat-choked body. Fresh air poured into his atrophied lungs for the first time in ages. He planted a hand in front of himself to help stand, opening eyes and finally seeing the sunshine.

Teleport.

He let out a cheer, forgetting his pain and excitedly hobbling away from the house of Hades. He had endured, he had survived, and now he had finally escaped! Sure, each footstep caused his bones to crunch and filled him with excruciating pain. Sure, nobody would ever find or even recognize him. Sure, tarry blood stained his yellow coat like he had been struck by a car. But he was free, and the details could wait until later!

Apparently he wasn't as forgotten as he feared, though. Through the trees near Cherrygrove he saw a familiar purple-haired girl, hearing her call for his name with his greatly enhanced hearing. He wasn't alone: Anabel had finally come for him. Excited and briefly forgetting his predicament, he rushed from the trees and cheerfully greeted her.

She blinked twice, uncomprehending, before grinning. "A Kadabra? I could use another Alakazam! Come on out, Elusin!" Red light spilled out from her Pokeball, a Zoroark appearing with menace in its eyes. Elliot's troubles had only just begun.