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He awoke to the feeling of leaves on his face. They were wrinkled, indented to the shape of his head. He could tell he had been asleep for some time.
He rose into the darkness. He had entered what he could only recall to be a waking dream, an impossibility of the mind made real. Visions of silhouettes danced along the corners of his vision. He could make out the canopy above his head, the ivy snaking along the walls and floors, and the distinct, musty smell of something impossibly ancient. Everything else was obscured to him, covered by a thick fog of black and shadow.
The room was deathly silent, the only sounds trumping his own breathing being those of the droplets. They slipped from the ceiling, pooling in the empty footsteps of holes at the floor of his feet. He bent down to inspect it, placing a finger inside to determine the liquid’s identity, but he elected to withdraw it after feeling the thick, soupy mass of something that wasn’t quite one thing but certainly not anything else. He could see thin lines extending from the pool, but their destination was invisible in the darkness. He took a step forward.
The earth squashed beneath his feet, a wet, lurching smack against the malleable muscle of the world: his world. The darkness was eerie, the walls far too unnatural to be feasible, the plants encroaching far, far more than they should. Yet the impressment was natural. It was Eden. It was home.
He didn’t know why he felt this way. He didn’t know why he was here; he had no memories and no deja vu. All he knew was that there was something in the heart of this beast. Something beating- screaming for a wish that fell on deaf ears. It held this hell together, ensuring the survival of aberration.
He pressed on.
He walked, his hand lightly treading through the mush in the cavernous walls, so uneven yet so premeditated. There was meaning to it once, but that role was lost to time now; the only thing left was their purpose. There were no scratches, no scuffs. They had no time for that anymore.
The wall began to dip, thinning out until only the most miniscule of trails remained. Fronds of plant life nipped at his skin, the marshland of the floor beginning to solidify as the anomalous liquid reached its first pitstop.
He stopped, scouting the road ahead. The darkness hid his path from him. The liquid made sure to stall it until it was too late to turn back. He could make out, only barely, through an off-handed form of familiarity, a hill, concealed in the distance. He knew what lay at its peak. Taking a breath, he carried on into the darkness.
The hill appeared so forlorn and far away, and yet he felt he had reached the hill in no time at all. He wasn’t quite sure if it had been caused by excitement, fear, or disdain. He wasn’t sure if it had been a side effect that he could call his own, or just a trick of his own timeless exigence. All he knew was that in half of an eye’s blink, he was staring straight into the eyes of light.
The night’s light was barely a memory anymore, a faint glimmer lying stagnant in the path. Bony extensions lay gnawed and matted around its whole, so far gone that it could only be called a half. The light gleamed, held in a deep caress by the ivy that extended its love through the entirety of hell. Though it spoke no words, it knew, almost subconsciously, about his arrival.
He was entirely fine with this fact. He had no thoughts as to why he felt the way he did, but the light remained a friend to him, even when the friend had been thrown to annihilation and he to the recesses of oneirophobia. He knew he was better off than the light was.
“You come again.”
The light’s words, rough and dry, crumbled out like a dying man’s wish. They were neither friendly nor hostile. The light acknowledged the existence of the one who dwelled in darkness, and the one who had come from darkness respected the light in turn. An exchange of identity, one he was sure had been lost.
“...It has been some time.”
The light remained still. He could tell it was considering its choice, what it wanted to say, what it could possibly wish to do. But then, just like the shifting leaves sprouting from its carcass, it settled, still.
“I have no more words to speak to you that I have not said already.” The light gleamed into the path, where the liquid continued its trail. “Go. You know in your heart what must be done. Make peace and accept it.”
The light remained there, legless and broken. The light’s eyes dimmed, and he could tell the light would wait until the next time came to pass before speaking again. He continued down his path, leaving the light to rot, the way it had always been.
He brushed against the leaves and the grass, the flowers and the vines, all devoid of life yet brimming brightly in the shadows. It was forsaken ground, but not for reasons of sacrilege or sentiment. Eden had been forsaken by the garden.
The thought deeply unnerved him, but not for reasons that concerned the world, nor for any misguided anguish toward what could have been, but for some deep, primal feeling in his soul. It ran restless in his heart, and it compelled him to continue moving forward.
He felt his foot touch the water. Grass changed to water lilies and cattails, and the air’s distinct dank smell shifted into something more reminiscent of the aquatic. He could feel the ripples shifting in the water, the smacks of some bizarre growths slapping the water with their feet, their hands, their bones. The water propelled a message against his ankles, and his pace quickened.
The liquid flowed, distilling deeper into the depths of the vast growth. He could feel the cracks of some long since broken carapace shattering beneath his feet. He could feel the fleshy land hidden beneath years of waste. But for one brief moment in eternity, serenity stayed omnipresent, and the water remained.
“You pass through the river of visions once more.”
The water froze. It rippled, hardened into peacefulness. He could still feel the fluctuations in the fluid, struggling to break out of their own purgatory, but the battle to keep things stagnant, even if for a moment, had succeeded. The voice of the water only existed in spirit, and its power still remained in some vague, nondescript form. He knew as much, but he did not know when its body had chosen to fade away into nothingness. The thought saddened him.
“I once could have called you an ally… perhaps, if I were a kind soul, a friend.”
Its voice was cold, distant. The water began to ripple.
“But those days have long since past. I lack the duty I once had… now all I am left with is this wretched, useless purpose.”
The water began to slosh and shake. There was a certain form of wrath in its voice, one that hadn’t yet given in to resignation, but itself was restrained by that very truth. The ripples panged against his ankles like quick strikes to his flesh.
“You have cursed me to this fate worse than any hell I could ever dare have imagined! You are the one who has caused me so much strife, you are the one who has…”
The ripples stopped, the water plummeting to equilibrium. He wanted to comfort it, make its resignation feel less alone, but he knew the time for that had long since passed.
There was nothing more that could be done.
“There is no time for small talk, you ingenuous filth. You have a duty to attend to. Rise, and pray she has not forgotten her love for you.”
Its voice provided him with the propellant needed to continue into the darkness. He treaded upwards, where the path of flow fell silent and apart, slipping away into a vague memory.
The liquid’s flow halted, the path beneath his feet hardening: A scab on the wound. The plant life had withered, leaving only their husks in memorial of what used to be a utopia.
The humidity in the air intensified, the heat burning at his eyes. He stopped, for a brief moment, to admire the flowers. The flowers were charred and gray. Though there were many, they started abruptly, lying in wait next to a large heap of ash. He bent down to take a closer look at one, but a single breath sent the flower into an oblivion of dust. He decided not to admire them further.
The darkness was not alleviated by the heat, and the surroundings were not exempt either. The walls were grayed and rough, brittle and covered in drought. The cracks in the earth extended through the fiber of its being, and yet the ivy still extended through the glimmers all the same. The flowers constantly grew and withered as he passed by, the dust that remained pooling away onto the floor, only to get swept aside by the dust that came by soon after. An endless cycle of ruin.
The heat was so oppressive, he believed, that had the world been flowing as it should have been, the whole room would have been engulfed in flames. But no fire could start in a realm of in-between. Perhaps one would start one day. But he would not know when that day would be, and if it ever were to pass, he believed he would nary remember when he had wished for its arrival in the first place.
The snuffed beast lay ahead. It was hanging in mid-air, the thorned roots birthed from the ceiling so far entwined into its body that the two had become one. With a degree of difficulty, he could see places where the original remained. But there was nothing left anymore. Just a mess of botany pretending to be a beast.
“You…” The beast attempted to open a flowering eye, though it struggled with the null space that still existed. “...How long has it been since we last met…? I… the time… it escapes me.”
He did not respond, and the beast knew that he would not. The beast waited, but continued anyway.
“...Please. We are broken… we have fallen…” The beast’s voice faded in its throat. “...My pride has worn away since we have entered this forsaken hell, and my resolve remains only because it has to. You are our only hope. You must destroy her. If the heart persists, we shall continue to be led by its beating.”
He nodded, the one affirmation he could give, as he proceeded down the darkened path behind the beast. The beast squirmed in its trap, but its efforts to turn were in vain.
“You must destroy her! Let the end come! We have prolonged fate for long enough!”
He quickened his pace. He knew it was wrong, but he also knew he had no other choice. It was a sensation so distant and yet so familiar… it disturbed him more than any horror he could dare hope to face outside of the walls he lay trapped in.
The lushness expanded as the dried caves were left behind in his wake. The liquid began its journey once again, flowing through the floods of glass and floral displays with no regard for the death that lay beneath their roots. The ground made abhorrent sounds as his feet squished into the mud. It bubbled and popped as he pushed his way through the grass, and cracked and crunched as he stepped on objects that were impossible to attempt to witness. A thick layer of rotting fruit hung in the air, but it did not disturb him much. It was too busy trying to escape to freedom to worry about the ones still living.
He felt something grab at his foot. He reached down into the grass. His hand settled onto something jagged, hard, and yet smooth all the same. He felt a discernible hole inside of it, and he raised it to eye level. In the dim vestiges of light, he could make out what he recognized as the skeleton of one of the ferret creatures of his home… Neither of their names were of much use to him now.
The skeleton growled, but lacked a tongue or mouth or jaw to even attempt the action, causing it to shudder in his grip. It clawed at him, lunged at him, but he was quicker, and he threw it into the wall. He could not see it, but he could hear the cracking sound as the hole in its skull grew wider. He had no time to pity it, as he could feel the pawing intensify around his legs.
He began to run, the pawing coming from beside and below and above and inside of his legs and outside of his body. They brushed against his hair, tried to pry open his mouth, tried to punch a hole inside of his chest, but none of them had the power nor the will to do so. Reaching a long, worn vine, he grabbed ahold of it and began to climb. The faded memories of life did not pursue, nor did they reveal, but he could tell they were watching. Expectantly. Hopefully. For what, he did not know, but he knew he had an inkling that he decided he would be better off not thinking about it.
He ascended the vine. It was rough, akin to sandpaper, and worn away in various places. He tried to avoid the patches where it had worn away completely, but it was a struggle to do so. At times he felt himself cling to the very tendons of its form, unable to avoid paining it further.
As he climbed, he looked to the walls, from which emerged strange protrusions. In the darkness, he could only recognize the vaguest of shapes, but it was only as he hit his head on a chiseled away alcove did he realize what the protrusions were. He recognized the sight immediately, and he elected not to think about the matter further.
He had no time to dwell on the graves of the gods, for the light that began to shine above him blinded his vision. He struggled to hold onto the vine, which stubbornly held firm against his swaying, as he stared straight into the light above. He had never seen anything so beautiful, yet he had never seen anything so equally sickening.
He poked his head into the light and climbed into the room. The ground felt warm, squishy. It felt natural, grown. No liquid flowed in a place as lively as this. He looked into the light source. He saw the convulsions, the fluctuations. It was a sign from the reaper itself.
“So… you’ve arrived.”
She lay, still beating, where the creature’s heart once resided… still resided, in fact. She had become one with the heart, splintered with it, but neither remained quite intact. Her flesh had shattered into unnatural, jagged, uneven chunks, some large, some miniscule, some non-discernible to the eye. Every second she convulsed, the flesh shifting so quickly that nothing of the original could be determined beyond the knowledge of knowing it still existed. She was unrecognizable, an echo. But he knew who she was. She was his best friend. She was Celebi.
“It’s not been long, has it?” Celebi struggled to form a laugh, but whatever will had wanted to do that had turned to dust a long time ago. “...Kill me.”
His eyes widened, his feet shaking. He opened his mouth to speak, to release the words they both knew he would say, but Celebi was quicker.
“You’re kind… I know this. Too kind. It’s why you came here… why you and me…”
Celebi screamed in pain, in agony. He covered his ears, but the noise overrode any of his attempts. He could feel every second she was spending in there agonized into a single sound. He felt her pain tenfold, but he knew she felt what he felt one hundred-fold more.
“...I know you’re kind.” She panted, her faded breath gasping for hope. “It’s why I want you to do this. You’re the only one who can.” Celebi’s flesh shifted, and he could tell it was trying to move closer together. “Kill me and grant me this one mercy. Don’t make me have to wait another thousand years for a happy ending.”
He noticed, on the ground, a rusted utility knife. It was dulled, broken, and barely recognizable, but he knew it to be his. Vines sprouted from the floor, carrying the knife up to his hand. He moved to take it, but he hesitated. The vines quickly grew impatient and forced the aged tool into his grip. They withered away moments later. Celebi stared at him expectantly.
“Fulfill your purpose. Please. We came here to destroy the threat to our own existence, and now find ourselves trapped prolonging that end. They could not free themselves. I am beyond saving, and only you can kill us. An eternity of death is the only thing better than this infinity of hell.”
He raised the knife above his head, dragging his steps toward Celebi. What remained of her eyes watched him, waiting, praying, hoping for the one thing he knew she wanted.
“I’ve spent an eternity forgetting and remembering and forgetting and remembering… all of my happy times have been replaced by the pain of failure and the dampness of flesh. You are the only one who can set me free… my best friend.”
He faltered. His knife wavered in his grip.
“No. Don’t stop. This is what I want… all I could want.” Her voice picked up, her excitement growing. “Give me mercy!”
His hand shook. The knife loosened. He stepped forward, and forward, and forward, and forward. He raised it higher. Celebi was laughing now, almost maniacally but with such innocent glee. It was what she wanted. He knew it was what she wanted. He knew it was what they all wanted.
He dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor.
“What… what are you…” Celebi’s voice fell, her flesh writhed, her screams grew higher. “Please! Please!” She howled, her tears heightening as her voice wailed. “Please! I’m begging you! Don’t make me suffer anymore!”
He began to look around. He knew there had to be another way out. Some way to spare their lives from their prison, some way to exchange who was trapped in the heart, some way to escape. He whirled, turned, begged for anything- anything to save them.
That was when he felt the thorns pierce his heart. He felt the vines stabbing through meat and bone and curling inside his chest. They burst from all seams, all angles. They squeezed down on his heart, pulled and tugged at his ribcage. He felt himself burning from inside and out. He looked at Celebi, horrified, but any apologies she would have given had been said a long, long time ago.
“You’ll be back. Our cycle continues forever, but I know one of these days it’ll break. I know one of these days your conviction will waver.”
He screamed as he felt his heart go out. He yelled as he fell to his knees. He went silent as his head hit the floor.
“Please… for me… next time… promise?”
The lights in his eyes had already been extinguished.
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He awoke to the feeling of leaves on his face. They were wrinkled, indented to the shape of his head. He could tell he had been asleep for some time.
He rose into the darkness. He had entered what he could only recall to be a waking dream, an impossibility of the mind made real. Visions of silhouettes danced along the corners of his vision. He could make out the canopy above his head, the ivy snaking along the walls and floors, and the distinct, musty smell of something impossibly ancient. Everything else was obscured to him, covered by a thick fog of black and shadow.
The room was deathly silent, the only sounds trumping his own breathing being those of the droplets. They slipped from the ceiling, pooling in the empty footsteps of holes at the floor of his feet. He bent down to inspect it, placing a finger inside to determine the liquid’s identity, but he elected to withdraw it after feeling the thick, soupy mass of something that wasn’t quite one thing but certainly not anything else. He could see thin lines extending from the pool, but their destination was invisible in the darkness. He took a step forward.
The earth squashed beneath his feet, a wet, lurching smack against the malleable muscle of the world: his world. The darkness was eerie, the walls far too unnatural to be feasible, the plants encroaching far, far more than they should. Yet the impressment was natural. It was Eden. It was home.
He didn’t know why he felt this way. He didn’t know why he was here; he had no memories and no deja vu. All he knew was that there was something in the heart of this beast. Something beating- screaming for a wish that fell on deaf ears. It held this hell together, ensuring the survival of aberration.
He pressed on.