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The Distortion World, in Cryrus’ opinion, certainly lived up to its name. It didn’t make a lick of sense. Up was down, left was right, and horizontal was vertical. You could walk for a day and come back to where you started, or walk for a week and not seem to move a meter. No man could ever get used to it here, not sincerely. Not even a man as messed up as Cryrus.
Even the gravity of the distortion world seemed to be much different than that of Earth’s. That was the worst part. You could be walking and then suddenly be forced sideways onto a chunk of land that used to be akin to a wall; now more like the floor you were just on. Rivers and waterfalls run upwards towards the never ending, ever empty sky, painting its empty blackness with murky waves.
The water could be labeled as the only sound here as well. For his whole time here, Cyrus has known only the sound of his voice and footsteps, the far off cries of Giratina, and the cascade and trickles of water.
Funny, he thought, how a Pokémon as powerful and mighty as one Giratina never showed its face to him. If Cyrus had succeeded in his plan of becoming god of the Earthly realm, much like how Giratina was god of its own distortion world, he wouldn’t be hiding from his subjects. Or subject, singular, in this case, for Cyrus was the only being in the entire universe here. He had no one to talk to, laugh with, accompany, or even see, and he knew he would die alone here.
But it didn’t much bother him like it would for others. Most humans would shudder or shy away from the prospect of dying with no one to comfort them, but not Cyrus. He had been a loner since birth, preferring the company of only himself and his machines than to other humans or Pokémon. Not to be heard wrong though, Cyrus didn’t detest Pokémon like some people do. No, he valued them, sometimes at an even high pedestal than his grunts or admins.
Pokémon were plain and straightforward with their emotions. They didn’t care to hide them for the sake of others. If a Pokémon was angry, it snarled. If a Pokémon was happy, it played. If a Pokémon was scared, it whimpered.
Likewise, if a human was angry, they would do far more than openly show it, same as for other emotions. Emotions weren’t useful to humans. They only served to get in the way and cause all the strife in life. All of life’s problems could be derived from petty emotions overcoming a weak man's mind, and Cyrus had once sought to change that.
But now, as he sat on the edge of one of the endless expanses of floating islands that made their home in the distortion world, he realized how foolish he had been. Really, how could he not have seen it? His motives to change the world on a universal scale and create a perfect world with no conflict were driven by the very things he sought to eliminate. Emotions.
Cyrus looked out into space, though it wasn’t exactly the normal kind of space he was used to seeing through telescopes. It had an energy to it, a life force and an unbeating pulse. He sat on the dusty ground and stared awhile, one of the only pastimes he could do in this new life. Staring, thinking, walking, and swimming- though he never did the latter, were his exciting day to day activities. As unenjoyful as ever, on par with his old past times on earth for the ability to bore him to his bones.
Earth, he thought wistfully. How long has it been since I left that dimension? Two weeks? A month? A year? As hard as he tried, Cyrus couldn’t get a grasp on time. Just like gravity and sensibility, it didn’t exist in this hellish landscape. Time was an illusion and Giratina was the clock. There was no sun or moon to help him guess, no numbers or words or ideas or stars either. Just upside down waterfalls and rocks. That’s all he had.
Cyrus swallowed his breath and swiveled his head, looking for even a glimpse of the elusive Pokémon that made its home in his perdition. Maybe if he physically saw the beat rather than heard it, he could retain another grasp on his crumbling reality. But the Pokémon never showed up before, and it certainly wouldn’t show up now. It was teasing Cyrus, edging him on to insanity. It was trying to break him.
Each day Cyrus felt himself slipping. He prided himself on his ability to remain stoic in the face of terror; to be unflinching when a normal man would be trembling. Maybe Giratina knew that bit of information somehow, and that’s why it was avoiding him. Maybe not. Who was Cyrus to know?
“Giratina…” he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and scratchy from underuse. He waited for a distant reply, but dramatically didn’t get one. “Giratina, why not rule over your subject?”
Cyrus bit his tongue much harder than he would have liked. Pain was one of the only things he could feel anymore. That, and the overwhelming, over repressed feeling of fear he felt everyday. He cleared his throat and started to speak again.
“Are you afraid of me? Do I remind you of Arceus in any sense, in my quest to rule my universe as you do?” he asked. “Because I’m afraid of you.”
Cyrus waited in hope for any form of reply. Even one of the far off cries he’d grown so accustomed too would be welcome now. But nothing came. The universe would not be sympathetic for a man such as him. Cyrus knew that already, but that didn’t mean he could accept that.
“I think I deserve some form of pity from you, my ruler. Pity for your sheep.”
Nothing again. That was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing mattered anymore, not to Cyrus. The universe meant nothing. Giratina meant nothing.
He meant nothing.
Not in blood, body, or spirit.