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Fog rolled in, covering the base of the towering mountain. The crumbling roof of the temple crackled every now and then. The decorated pillars groaned underneath the pressure of supporting the stone covered sky. Grass crept around the out skirts of the marble base, avoiding it like a plague covered rat. Remnants of moss clung to the carved marble pillars, blown away from previous battles held in the sacred land. Claw marks, desperation, and struggle carved into the marble, forever engraved in history.
The temple was created for something legendary, something only seen as a myth and folk tales. Figures and statues of odd animals lined entry ways. The Temple of Sinnoh sat at the top of Mount Coronet. Its previous god long forgotten, now worshipping two frauds. Though some still remembered. Some still clung on to the legend of true divinity.
Screams rung out against the low hum of the wind. Something akin to laughter settled like an after taste. Blonde wispy hair travelled along the wind in conjunction with his screams. White and green fabric whipped at his body, working with the harsh winds to bring more pain than frost bite nipping at dangling limbs. A pendent crushed on the ground. Merchant clothes scattered almost as if a halo.
His knees slammed onto the stone floor; hands brought up in prayer. A sinister grin painted across his face; eyes constricted into pin points, darting around to observe god, Arceus, in all its glory. Its sharp gaze pierced the man. Viscous crimson dripped onto the marble, pouring in a steady stream from the man’s nose and hands. Splatters of blood – seeping into the layers of fabric like the creeping vines choking trespassers - stained his pale form.
His words slurred together in a religious panic. He didn’t truly know if it was real. If his god was really standing before him. For a brief moment he let himself think it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. He shook like a leaf in the wind. The reap of his sacrifice scattered around him, ink painted on the floor in words with their meanings long forgotten. Coloured textiles littered around his body, some shattered, and some barely holding together.
The god’s form was one to truly behold. Pale skin accented with gold detailing. The soft skin of the underbelly coated in grey. Green gems glimmered in the escaping sun. Wispy off shoots of fur emerging from a helmet like head and a short nubby tail catch in the wind. Its skin protrudes in armour like plating. Its ribs golden and shimmering with the immortals’ blood protrude from the base of its ribcage. With its almost deer like body, it stood in glory.
Volo thought for a minute, maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe Arceus wasn’t standing before him. Maybe it was all in his head and all the effort was for nothing. He shook his head. Foolish thoughts. Of course it was real. How dare he question the divinity of Arceus itself.
Arceus stood over Volo, menacing and exuding authority. Muttered prayers became quicker and quicker in hopes of proving the most divine devotion.
Tears freely streaked down Volo’s face. Pure fear and panic screamed in his mind, fight or flight adrenaline rushes through his blood; though his devotion kept him from acting upon those urges.
It seemed as though a thousand arms emerged from its body, covering the sky in eerie dismembered limbs. They rushed forward, clinging to every surface available, ensuring Volo could never escape. Blood rushed away from each hand, leaving his skin paler than before. A hand hovered over his throat, threatening. Volo twitched and gasped, struggling against his captor.
He was so close to holding him again. He was so close to holding his baby again. His baby that was ripped from his arms. He didn’t even get to name his boy before they ripped him away. Taking his final breath nearly as soon as he took his first.
“My son. Give him back. You took him from me.” Volo screamed, he chanted it like his earlier prayers. His voice hoarse.
Arceus waited. Perhaps for entertainment, or maybe to give the human a false sense of hope. But it waited. He paused, staring up at Arcues. Anger flashed in his eyes, squinting his gaze. “Thine child hath been offered in sacrifice. And hereby accepted as sacrifice,” Arceus murmured, shaking its head at the demands, “Such demands are not to be met lest without requirements.”
Volo growled like a beast, “I met your needs! I did everything you asked me to! I gathered the plates, I sealed away the frauds and I summoned you alone! I did it all! And yet you still refuse to give my son back!”
Arceus stamped its hoof-like foot, silencing Volo in a second, “Thou hath not earned thine child!”
The arms couldn’t be real, they were myth, they have to be myth now. He’s hallucinating. That’s the conclusion he came to. That had to be it, he was going insane and this was all a hallucination and it was in his head. It was all in his imagination and this wasn’t real. Arceus wasn’t real, the arms weren’t real, he wasn’t even at the temple. He was probably in his house, or even in the wilderness. He was finally loosing his sanity, after all this time he had finally lost his mind. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there.. He chanted in his mind like a mantra.
Bracing his feet on the shadowy arms, Volo attempted to launch himself forwards. A strangled cry echoed through the mountain range. The hand that was hovering just above his throat had clamped down. Volo gasped and gurgled against his restraints. His breathing grew rapid and laboured. Eyes darted around before locking onto Arceus.
It was real. Everything was real. It was all real. It was witless to think otherwise.
The beasts eyes darkened. The hand grew tighter. Volo’s airways became more constricted.
Arceus willed the hand to relive some pressure. Volo startled, coming back with a sharp gasp. His breath ragged as he attempted to regain his composure.
The hands that circled his legs slowly tensed. Joints squeaked and skin bruised. Blood bloomed in circles from the pressure points. Volo gasped at the sudden strain along his legs. Pain began to sprout like weeds, arms and hands adjusted as the pressure grew more intense.
Volo made an attempt to struggle but it was futile. A nauseating snap reverberated across the marble walls. Volo screamed. Arceus remained quite. White ivory bone sprouted from his shin. Blood gushed from the wound, staining perfect porcelain skin red, like wine in fabric. Volo was hyper ventilating, pain ebbed and flowed through his body.
The pressure from the arms eased from the fracture, but in turn doubled on the un-harmed bones. He kicked to no avail, tilting his head back to avoid the flesh and bone hanging limply.
Arceus took its time. It didn’t want a quick a painless break, it wanted a slow break. Building and building in pressure, bones creak and joints ache until eventually..
Another scream, this one more hoarse, more desperate, more guttural. Instead of letting up the hands Arceus kept pursuing, more and more shattered. Miniscule splinters punctured the skin, viscous crimson dripped in uneven splatters. Arceus persisted without avail until eventually, it all stopped, the arms rushed away, hands gently holding Volo up, almost as though fine china.
Volo shuddered, his breath ragged and eyes blown wide. Sunlight glimmering off the beads of blood. He looked pale, paler than before. His actions not a loud as before. Before he was boisterous and demanding, almost like the child he seeks. Now. Now, he is quite, more like a calm infant after a meal.
It stared, admiring its handy work. Though it wasn’t enough, especially in the eyes of a god. It needed more, more sacrifice, more blood, more pain, more punishment. It needed more. No one to worship but one, so one would take the burden.
Shadowy arms swiftly enveloped Volo’s torso and arms, applying a small amount of pressure. The hand still gripping his throat began to choke him once again, quickly blocking off his airways.
Volo’s mind went fuzzy. All the thoughts that had been racing around before were silent. His vision darkened. And then the hand let up, oxygen flooded through his lungs like a tidal wave. With mind clear he thought it would stay clear, until the hand tightened again. His ribs groaned and cracked as the arms gripping his torso eased further.
Volo hung limp, rasping at every small breath he could get. He didn’t have the energy to scream anymore, his throat raw and voice box even rawer. He stared down at Arceus.
Finally his ribs gave way, shattering into fractures. Blood spittle coated his lips as his lungs punctured. His vision narrowed.
He was going to die.
He was going to die without seeing his son.
He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it.
As his vision darkened, he gave a final sputter. And then, it all came rushing back. He thrashed in place as all the pain and strife came flooding into his mind. He took a breath. One that wasn’t obstructed by anything. He fixed his gaze on Arceus. Did the god bring him back just to kill him again? His body was intact again. Curious.
He briefly thought for a moment, Maybe it was a hallucination.. Though that was quickly scrapped at the pain emanating from his once broken limbs.
Two words echoed in Volo’s mind, he assumed it was a message from his god. Immortal… Punishment…
Why did he deserve more punishment! He was the perfect follower he did everything right!
He was dropped onto the marble floor. Squelching in the puddle of his own blood. He watched as Arceus turned, it’s a thousand arms retreating. Then, it was gone, it’s a bright swirl of light his god, his idol, his downfall, was gone. He was tossed away like he meant nothing. Thrown to the side like garbage.
After a while of sitting there. Slowly coming to terms with his fate. He stood up, attempting to not fall back into his own fluids.
He dragged his feet as he walked down the pure steps, dripping his sins across them. He made his way back down the mountain, he could feel thousands of eyes on him. They felt human. But he knew there was barely any humanity this close to the heavens. He avoided eye contact with any of the creatures. They couldn’t know he was weak. Although he gathered they could smell it on him.
He paused his aimless walking as yelling registered in his mind. Merchants… He thought with distain.
He was one of them himself but he was better than them, he kept traditional values unlike them, they shed tradition for the modern era. Traitors..
He glanced at them but continued walking. No one could know his weakness. No one could know his failure. No one could know he was chosen by the god, the holy one.
He was a failure but he would prove the heavens wrong.