Work Text:
Volo’s ascension should have left him wanting for nothing.
And yet, he wants for something.
His knuckles whiten as his fingers curl around the throne's armrests. Every inch of his surroundings are adorned with the spoils of his hard-won conquest, but he feels not the smoothness of gold, nor the glory of his role as the new, far more merciful god. Instead, his chest aches, infested with a hunger that is devouring him, piece by piece, from the inside out.
Volo contemplates how he has allowed this to happen while he shrouds himself within the heart of his empire.
He has succeeded, there is no doubt about that. If one was to peer over the edge of the Temple of Sinnoh—now a grand cathedral erected to celebrate his radiance—they would see the rest of humanity locked in painless, joyless stasis. They would see them living in harmony, their souls having perished, brought back, and stripped of all emotion save for an undying devotion to their savior.
There isn’t a need for him to confirm this. He knows he has won. Victory is everything as glorious and ecstatic as he’s expected it to be, but there is something preventing him from achieving true perfection. Something he wants, something he craves.
And it is beginning to drive him mad.
Volo has a suspicion what this obstacle could be. It’s indisputable, really, when there is only one other being able to think independently from him.
He turns his attention to the throne room’s secondary occupant. Silver meets slate-gray, the latter tainted with a disgust that feels out of place in this reality. She is the sole mind, aside from his own, permitted to remain lucid. If his theory is correct, then her devotion is the last requirement needed. Once he achieves it, this hunger would, hypothetically, no longer consume him. There is just one small problem.
She loathes him with every fiber of her being.
“Such scorn is not becoming of you, my dear.”
Akari scowls at him. It is a permanent feature of hers these days, an expression that serves as an extreme contrast to her former self. Despite her venomous demeanor, however, she is still quite beautiful. Volo has dressed her in a celestial garb much like his own, wanting his lover to appear as godly as he did. The white and gold robes, adorned with twinkling stars stitched into the fabric itself, cradles her form with such exquisiteness that it almost compensates for her foul personality.
“Who’s fault is that, I wonder?” Akari snarls on cue.
“You tell me,” Volo replies. “At one time, you desired me, just as I desired you. We shared so many tender moments together… and yet, you pretend it never happened.”
He does not lie. Volo hadn’t been blind to the feelings Akari harbored for him, a sweet, childlike crush that had blossomed as early as their first encounter. Manipulating her had been easy; thanks to her naivety, he had achieved godhood at last, allowing him to sweep her up to the heavens alongside him. This life is a blessing for her, even though he knows it had come as a shock.
Saying that, Volo never expected this level of resistance from her.
Akari has abandoned all forms of reason. It’s like she has become a different person, baring her teeth at him every chance she gets. She is vicious and hostile and absolutely unwilling to see his point of view. Her scowl then deepens, the bitterness in her voice cutting into him. “Whatever I felt for you died the moment you betrayed me.”
Volo cannot stop himself from growing irascible. These little outbursts had been cute at first—endearing, even—but so many weeks of never-ending insurgency are starting to grate on his nerves.
"You test my patience. I’ve given you more than you could ever dream of, but you resist me at every turn. Why do you persist in your defiance?"
“Why? You want to know why?” Akari moves to stand, but the chains connecting her ankle to the floor prevent her from going far. Volo hadn’t wanted to resort to such inhumanity, but her countless attempts to strangle him left him with little option. “Because you lied to me! You hurt me! You’ve robbed the world of its freedom, reviving everyone into lifeless puppets just so they can stroke your ego, and I…” she pauses to take a breath, “I never asked for any of this, Volo!”
“You’re right. Perhaps my methods were… uncouth,” he admits, invoking a scoff from her, “but this is for the greater good. You will come to realize this in due time. All I request from you—for now, at least—is to be more open-minded.”
She glares at him from the foot of the throne. Volo leans against it, its back towering above them both. It's carved into enormous wings that terminate in feathers embedded with rubies and emeralds, the tips of which wrap around him elegantly. He is fond of it, having built it to magnify his radiance, although Akari has made it very clear that she views it as nothing more than a gaudy display. She looks away, revolted by the throne's presence, and stares at her chained foot instead.
“Am I supposed to understand why you’re keeping me here as a prisoner, too?”
“This,” Volo gestures to the rest of the room, “is no prison, Akari. I made this for you, for us! And you continue to reject it!”
He rises from his seat and descends down the steps. Volo stops in front of her, sighing when she recoils from the hand that reaches for her cheek.
“Don’t,” Akari hisses. “You’re wasting your time. If you want my submission, you’ll have to take away my free will, because I’ll never give it to you otherwise.”
It becomes his turn to scowl. Volo hasn't taken away her autonomy for no good reason, he believes Akari is capable of purging herself of her imperfections. It is a decision he does not regret, though it wanes in wisdom with every spitting obscenity and swipe of her fist.
Truly, it is aggravating that she refuses to express any semblance of gratitude, but he is not willing to give up on her just yet. She is admirably resilient. She had fought well against him. She had even defeated his main team, an outcome he’d failed to predict. Of course, no mortal could stand up to the might of Giratina, and Volo cannot blame her for what she was.
“You’re well aware of the reason why I allow you to think freely,” he adds, plastering a smile on his face to replace the frown. “You are above your peers. When I opened the rift, I thought of you as an irritating miscalculation, but I was a fool, for I did not realize you were, in fact, a gift from Arceus Itself! You became my tool, my lover, and now, you can become a god. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I believe you, of all people, are deserving of this privilege.”
Akari says nothing at first. Her eyes trail upwards, fixing on the crown atop his head—a wreath adorned with shards taken from the original eighteen plates. He has the plates themselves locked away, naturally, but he is willing to share them with her if she accepts his truth.
The hunger pestering him coils in excitement at the very notion.
At last, Akari returns his gaze. She opens her mouth, and Volo is eager to hear her response.
“…Go fuck yourself.”
Anger flashes in Volo's eyes. The chains around Akari’s ankle jangle when he raises his arm and strikes her with the back of his hand. She falls, hard. If not for the mechanism keeping her in place, he would have sent her flying.
Crumpled on the floor like a Starly with a broken wing, Akari stays silent for a long time. Volo watches her carefully, his expression hard and tempered in the face of his outburst. He shouldn't have done that. Lashing out at her had been cruel of him, unbefitting of a virtuous god. It is regrettable how long it is taking for him to adjust to his new role.
Still, Volo hopes that she will realize the error of her ways. He goes to help her, but Akari thanks him by spitting at his feet.
Her behavior shows no signs of improvement.
Akari is infuriatingly stubborn. It feels as though she is provoking his wrath on purpose, but to what end, Volo cannot fathom.
Every act of kindness is thrown back in his face with relentless adamancy. Akari tears the celestial robes from her body, preferring the indignity of tatters over the insult of resembling him. She breaks the plates of ambrosia served to her against the edge of the dining table, choosing to forsake physical pleasures in favor of boredom. She fights him tooth and nail when he makes her sleep next to him, and the second his back is turned, she hides from him.
Most insultingly of all, perhaps, is that she has the audacity to refuse his love. Once, Akari had wanted him, had melted in his arms from the chastest of kisses. It had been almost comical how easily she succumbed to his seductions, and now, her hatred for him is unyielding.
It is blasphemous. It is unrighteous—to deny God is the gravest of sins. However, Volo is superior to the being Arceus used to be. He is a just god, and so he forgives her.
He replaces her clothes when she destroys them. He cleans away the food she refuses to eat. He pushes aside his simmering lust when she moves to sleep on the floor instead of in his bed. He forgives her time and again, enduring humiliation after humiliation, and she repays him by spurning his patience.
Even a god has limits. Eventually, Volo reaches his.
Akari kneels before him with her hands tied behind her back. Restraining her is the only viable method of keeping her still, but inducing her to yield is not the outcome he seeks. Volo attempts to guide her into his light with the same words of seduction she used to fall for, injecting as much honey into his voice as he can bear to.
“Akari,” he purrs, bringing himself down to her level. “Please. If you acknowledge what I’ve done for the earth, you’ll realize how much better everyone is for it, I promise you. You want to see your friends at peace, don’t you?”
“They’re not at peace, you lunatic,” Akari spits. “You’ve just brainwashed them.”
“On the contrary, I’ve enlightened them. Did the Almighty Arceus consider this? Did It consider how Its children suffered? No, It simply left them to their own devices. People were not designed to care for themselves. Under my rule, they feel no pain, no confliction, merely devotion to their god… a god that answers them when they call.”
“At what cost, Volo? Sure, pain is awful, but you know what’s worse? Feeling nothing at all! This isn’t a utopia you’ve created, it’s a nightmare!”
Volo’s patience wavers, taut as a drawn bowstring.
“Then I’ll make you see.”
He yanks Akari to her feet, his grip bruising as he drags her to the building's edge before forcing her to look down at the masses below.
From the cathedral he’s built over the Temple of Sinnoh’s carcass, they are able to view the new Hisui in its entirety. Both humanity and Pokémon remain trapped in the unfeeling equilibrium Volo has subjected them to. He'd had to revert reality to a new-born state in order to accomplish this, but he has poured his heart into rebuilding it to his liking. His work unfolds before them, and Akari sees the companions she had gathered throughout her journey frozen in empty devotion. They wear the skins of their past selves, yet they are fundamentally different. They are perfect, whole, complete.
Akari, on the other hand, thinks otherwise.
“Stop!” she begs, twisting and squirming in Volo’s grasp. “Stop, Volo, please! I don’t want to see this anymore! Take me back!”
“Not yet, my love. You must acknowledge the beauty of my creation… witness how I have changed the world for the better!”
Volo keeps her still so that she can absorb every detail of his masterpiece. He can identify several individuals that he’s bothered to remember the names of—Laventon, Kamado, Cyllene, Adaman, Irida—he regards them with indifference while Akari pleads for him to cease. A broken sob escapes her when she spots the boy she once knew as Rei, and Volo feels tears pool into the palm of his hand.
Akari soon falters, growing limp as the minutes tick by. Time does not affect them as it once did; immortals have no use for such restrictions, but Volo has yet to bless her with true divinity. Once she accepts him, and only when she accepts him, would he ascend her to his level and spare her from the woes of being human.
Satisfied, Volo returns to his throne, placing Akari onto his lap and wrapping her in a possessive warmth. She barely responds.
Has she finally acknowledged the good he’s done?
The thought arouses him as he peppers her neck in kisses, his teeth scraping along her skin and leaving marks in their wake. She submits to his touch without a trace of her usual defiance, and Volo's excitement reaches its zenith.
“I’m so happy you see the truth,” he pants breathlessly. “I was beginning to think you never would.”
Akari’s head lolls backwards. Volo lifts it for her, unsettled by the sight of her ragdoll-like form, and pulls her closer. In turn, he removes the bindings holding her wrists together and positions her legs on either side of him.
“You… you can ascend with me. You can live as a god by my side… and… we need not restrict ourselves to one planet. We can expand our affinity to the rest of the galaxy. Would you like that?”
He phrases this as a question, yet he does not anticipate an answer. Her submission alone is more than enough to entice him.
He shudders as he grinds into her. Mania is quick to follow, blurring his vision with his own overzealousness. Volo knows the feeling well, though he is no more able to control it as a deity compared to when he was mortal.
He cannot bring himself to care. Akari’s obedience was the one thing he lacked, and now that he has it—truly has it—there are no more obstacles in his path. He snakes his tongue into her mouth while he digs his fingernails into her thighs, rocking his hips against her with unrestrained ferocity. He wants every inch of her—every cell, every thought.
I love you, he projects the words from his mind, I love you, Akari—
His high ends the moment Akari returns to herself. She shuts him out, jolting back to reality faster than he can process, and clamps her teeth down on his bottom lip.
Aurelian ichor spurts from Volo’s mouth as he tears himself away. It cascades down his chin and stains his tunic like a holy waterfall that promises to grant eternal life to those who drink from it. Her strength comes as a complete surprise—he is sure he had felt her psyche break—and Akari seizes the opportunity to inflict more damage, screaming and cursing as she does so.
“You call this love?!” She claws at him, coating her fingers in the liquid amber coursing through his veins. “I’ll never accept you as my god! You’re a scourge on this world, a parasite! You’re nothing to me!”
Her furious howls are halted when Volo regains control and shoves her to the ground. He then straightens himself to his full height, seething and overwhelmed by rage.
“You contemptuous little wretch!”
His fists clench and his teeth gnash in his skull. Violently, he brings Akari to her knees and entangles her in new chains so she cannot escape. He has had enough, and she must pay the price for insubordination.
“I have done nothing but dote on you, Akari! I’ve forgiven your transgressions time and time again, I have given you the world—no, the universe! How dare you defy me after all that I’ve provided?!”
He regurgitates the remaining ichor from his mouth, gagging on its sickly taste as he conjures a whip in his hand. It unravels from its spiral and drapes along the floor, white as snow and glowing with divine energy.
Volo turns to Akari before he can change his mind. Hurting the one he loves offers him no satisfaction, but he hasn’t any other choice. He snaps the top half of her attire from existence, and, with great regret, brings the whip down on her exposed back.
She cries out in agony as leather caresses her in its stinging embrace. Unlike him, she bleeds red—proof that she is not a complete deity—and her insides turn the marble crimson. Volo strikes her again and again, each lash blending into the next, lost in the rhythm of her ruination.
Her screams break his heart. They twist and pull at him, tempting tears to dampen his eyes, but he must continue for her sake if nothing else. A life of sin is no life at all, and so, he flogs her until she shrieks herself hoarse.
Volo does his best to minimize his lover's suffering as he tends to her injuries.
Although he could mend her torn flesh in an instant if he so desired, he lets the wounds linger. It pains him to do so considering she is most beautiful when whole, but indulgence cannot come before discipline. Her suffering serves a purpose, and he will not allow himself to be selfish.
Akari flinches when he wipes away the encrusted blood, her body instinctively recoiling from his touch. Volo presses a kiss to the nape of her neck in a twisted gesture of tenderness as she rests on his bed. He feels her urge to pull away, to hide amid the covers, yet to his pleasure, she stays.
“I’m sorry, sweetling. I loathe to see you like this, but it is for your own good. You understand, don’t you?”
Akari swallows hard, her pride crushed under the weight of defeat. She gives him a small nod.
“I… I think so.”
Her voice trembles, betraying the effect his lesson has had on her. Volo angles her chin, prompting her to meet his gaze before pressing his lips to hers—this time, with the unspoken warning that she dare not bite him again. Akari’s watery eyes squeeze shut, and for a few seconds, she kisses him back. He doesn’t push her further. Her mind is still human, after all, fragile and readily broken.
“Well done,” he murmurs, his praise soft but calculated. “I knew you’d come around. It’s easy to forget how fragile humans are, though I promise I’ll be more patient from now on.”
Akari remains passive, dutiful of her own volition, and Volo has to take a moment to drink in the sight of her bowed form. Her features are delicate, her obsidian hair catching the light and forming a dark halo around her. Neither of them need to sleep anymore, but his chambers allow them to bask in each other’s presence without distraction. He holds her close and is grateful that she no longer resists him.
“I meant what I said, you know. I love you.”
Volo forgives her when she doesn’t reply, and the hunger within him falls silent, content—for now.