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Old 08-02-2017, 04:37 PM   #57
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Join Date: Jun 2017
Posts: 524

Dagon runs a hand through his beard, and smiles faintly upon witnessing your choice of partner.

“I see… A rather special one, that is for certain. Much like yourself.”

Understanding the seemingly insurmountable odds of the task ahead, you decide now is the right time to strengthen Momonga; fortunately, you have the tools to do just that, and once the crimson phantom is done consuming the mysterious candies, a surge of power emanates from it, signalling the method was effective. You are in enemy territory, a strange dimension that mirrors your own – it can be assumed danger will surface at any moment.

Vividly recalling the many images you saw upon the train’s “collision”, the correct path is clear to you: the railway that runs away from New Fizz, upon which the moon casts its glow. The sky, you notice, retains that unsettling purple tint, and the air feels oddly stale, but apart from these two facts, there is little else to differentiate Giratina’s realm from the “real” one, at least so far. And so, the journey begins.

You walk along the railway with determination, leading the way, with Dagon following close behind, effortlessly keeping up with your pace despite his advanced age. Momonga floats in between, taking in the eerie atmosphere that makes your ghost companion feel strangely… at home. The three of you travel in complete silence for quite a while, each lost in his own thoughts – as for you, the spiralling visions, the black and red train and the colossal Krohm, as shown to you by Dagon, are images you can’t seem to forget even if you tried – and neither are the myriad questions swirling around in your mind. How far gone is the old Incineroar, now hellish Golurk? What is the source of power fuelling it, the one Dagon mentioned? What will you do once you finally meet Krohm face to face?...

The sound of another train in the distance causes all of you to stop and look behind. Whatever locomotive is approaching, it still seems to be quite a distance away.

“Krohm’s black and red engine isn’t the only one that travels these rails,” Dagon explains. “In fact, it’s rare for it to do so right after sunset; it usually falls on the lesser troops to stake out the perimeter of the human city. That is probably one of them approaching; we still have time, but it would be wise to stay out of their sight.”

Suddenly, you are assaulted by an intense migraine, like a thousand nails digging into your skull and bringing tears to your eyes; mercifully, it goes as quickly as it came. Dagon also seems troubled, but his tolerance to the pain is probably on another level, given how long he’s been in this world. However, his usually expressionless face twists in a look of great concern.

“A distortionMove!!

Alas, it is too late. In the blink of an eye, the train in the distance is gone - and just as fast, it suddenly rematerializes on the rails… directly in front of you! Much like before, the proximity and speed leave you no time to react other than instinctively brace for impact… which, also like before, does not come.

But this time, neither do any visions. When you reopen your eyes, you see the train vanish into dust, blown away and scattered like a cloud of pollen, and after a powerful burst of light, it is replaced by three creatures floating above the ground. Each of them resembles an ancient longsword, with a golden pommel and a single, sapphire-like blue eye; the tip of each blade is dangerously close to your neck, Dagon’s, and Momonga’s red orb respectively, and if any of you makes even the slightest unauthorized movement, the results will likely be catastrophic.

“I… I am afraid this is a misunderstanding,” says Dagon in his characteristically calm voice, demonstrating impressive fortitude in the face of adversity. “You see, we are simply outsiders trapped in this realm, not souls of the departed!”

A mistake easily corrected , echoes a metallic voice in your heads. At that, Dagon falls silent – the only reasonable course of action.

The closest to you, as you come to understand, was the one to speak. It seems to be the leader of the group; slowly, it advances toward you, until the impossibly-sharp edge gently touches your throat. It then pushes forward a single millimetre, pressing the tip against your skin and piercing it ever-so-slightly, enough to bring a single droplet of blood trickling down your neck.

State your business.

Last edited by Maskerade; 08-02-2017 at 05:21 PM.
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