[Pokémon] Tales of the Hashashin: the Phantom Dancer and the Endarkened Ones

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 22: Well of Shadows

​

Three days had passed since Shango had visited Claire La Fayette, in which the Hashashin devoted themselves to their investigation about Jericho Santaros. Their target had locked himself away in a palace, and nobody currently knew the reason to why he had stayed so long in Myriapolis. Nightingale seemed nervous at this time, being threatening towards the other Hashashin and abusive of his title and power; Shango was so busy with the research for Jericho the Shadow Hunter had ordered that he was unable to see Claire again. Myriapolis had quickly gotten boring, as nothing was happening that would keep Shango in action. This city was as peaceful as Yanakard never was.

Shango was staring at a Spinda, who was trying to walk straight on the side of the road. He was in a relatively quiet, foresty area of the city, waiting for somebody that was supposed to be member of the Ionian Verdict. But no one except a drunken Spinda and two Golems fighting down the street had showed up. Shango was getting bored, as he was sitting on a bench for almost two hours, with only a lamppost and some colorful flowers to keep him company. He had left Tristana with Crystal as the Victini didn't seem up for seeing blood today. But he didn't mind she wasn't with him - at the moment, he wanted to dwell on the image of Claire and the memory of the time he had spent next to her. The Countess had become some kind of obsession for Shango, which wasn't sitting well with Tristana.

As he was thinking about her, now staring at the ground, somebody approached him. Shango raised his head to see the enormous Reuniclus towering above him; he was levitating calmly two feet above the ground, having that menacing grin stuck on his face.

"What's this, you failed your mission?" Zorthan asked, his metallic voice squeezing through Shango's sensitive ears. He examined the Reuniclus, looking straight at its amber eyes; he caught a terrible vibe coming from the Pokemon, as if he was not perfectly sane.

"Yeah," he muttered and looked back on the ground, only to raise his head again to face Hector. They both stood next to him, Zorthan landing on the bench softly.

"What do you guys want?" Shango asked abruptly in a tone that revealed his irritation.

"Your full cooperation," Zorthan informed him quite blatantly. Shango glanced at his immovable grin.

"Have you ever been touched... by a darkstar?" Hector asked him quietly. Shango raised his eyebrows. So, they know. It turned out they weren't just headhunters.

"I have," he said curtly, not knowing where this was going.

"Thing is, we really want to get our hands on these," spoke Zorthan in the same, quiet manner as Hector.

"And how can I help you?" Shango asked them coldly; their intentions seemed to lean towards evil, and not good. Or was it his imagination?

"We're not asking for your help, we demand it," stated Hector in a serious manner, but then chuckled. "Unless you want us to tell our friend Nightingale about your past... besides, Crystey will get in trouble too."

Shango remained silent for a moment, thinking of the situation. "How did you know?" he inquired, still staring at the ground.

"Crystey got drunk last night and let'sss say..." Shango looked at Hector grabbing his chin and looking upwards in a fake expression of being lost in thought. "We... procured such information."

"And I'd bet that Nightingale wouldn't be pleased to hear about Crystal hiding information from him," added Zorthan.

"Alright, alright, fine," said Shango quickly, as if he was suddenly bored of all this. "What do you want?"

Hector and Zorthan glanced at each other. "Woah, didn't think it was gonna be so easy," Hector said and roared his raspy laughter.

"What part of your body touched the darkstar?" Zorthan asked almost immediately, with hunger obvious in his voice. Shango raised his right arm, recalling the moment the darkstar had indulged its powers onto it; it was as if he could still feel its vast, overwhelming power, but it was quite distant. The Reuniclus gripped his gel around Shango's hand, examining it, then letting it go. Hector stared at his mate. Shango assumed Zorthan had performed some kind of procedure using his psychic powers, but he couldn't be sure.

"So?"

"Yeah, it's there," Zorthan said in a serious tone, losing his pompous grin at last.

"What's there?" Shango inquired in a demanding voice.

"The vibe," Zorthan explained, then looked over at Hector. "C'mon."

They walked away, but Hector turned to Shango who got up from the bench as well. "Not so fast, Shango. You stay where you are."

Shango slowly sat down, staring at both of them as they stood at the end of the road. They walked away and talked to each other quickly, but he couldn't hear them. The pair then approached him again.

"Man, our luck sucks today," said Hector, rolling his eyes.

"The darkstar is located in the King's bedroom, yeah?" Zorthan said while staring at Shango.

"How did you--"

"It doesn't matter," Zorthan interrupted him. "Let's just hope it's still there."

"What...? Why?" Shango glanced at both of them, examining their expressions. They seemed to have calmed down, strangely.

"It's safer that way," the Reuniclus informed him.

"Now, Shango, we'll be seeing ya later," said Hector with a grin and instantly turned around to leave.

"Take care, bud," Zorthan patted him on his shoulder, but his whole attitude reeked of pretension as the threatening grin was still stuck on his face. They both got out of Shango's sight, who remained sitting on the bench, wondering what was their strange behavior all about - two random Pokemon, knowing about the darkstars? Shango thought about it for some time, staring at the flowers on the other side of the road. Who truly knew about the darkstars? The Hashashin, the Endarkened Ones and Princess Rosa. With the thought of Rosa, Shango wondered if she was part of the Endarkened Ones; she had been sent in Erca by the King, Stygian territory in other words. For what? Too many questions that Shango couldn't answer, but other things were a priority right now. He stood up and walked away from the empty road, as the member of the Verdict he was looking for wouldn't show up any time soon.

***

Night arrived, darkness covering Myriapolis like a veil. It was the perfect time for blending with the shadows, but Shango was currently enjoying a good sleep in one of the cotton beds their hideout had. Though, 'enjoying' would be a little rough - he was having a dream. The same dream that tortured him for years, that wasn't necessarily brought up every night. Sometimes, even months separated the times he was having it.

The otherworldly figure of the hooded Pokemon was standing in front of him. Hands raised in the air, a melodic voice formed psalms that invaded Shango's subconscious. By now, he had understood that the message was repeating itself in every dream of his; it was exactly the same, though undefinable. He had also realized that the Spirit of the Hashashin was extremely similar to the Prophet of the Dark Cult: they had the same body structure, the same voice but differently coloured cloak. His research about the language had led him to believe that it was the same used in the Cult's hymns that were sung in the churches and cathedrals. The ancient language of the Archaic Precursors was still alive thanks to the Dark Prophecy, the bible of the Cult that was written by the Prophet himself. Shango had figured that the darkstars were connected to all this, somehow. It was time for some more drastic research on the matter: he would study the runes of this language so he could finally understand what the Spirit was saying.

Shango woke up abruptly from his ethereal dream as Crystal nudged his shoulder. He opened his eyes wide, staring at the Zoroark in a look of irritation.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" she shouted, shaking his shoulders. Crystal didn't seem to remember anything about speaking about his past to Hector and Zorthan, but he wouldn't bother reminding her.

"I'm awake!" Shango shouted back, raising his claw to open his eyes wider and show her. "See?!"

She started laughing, but soon stopped and dragged him out of the room with force. They entered the dining room, where Nightingale and the rest of the Hashashin were sitting on the table as usual.

"Yo, 'sup?" Enzo launched himself from his chair, landing in front of Shango to shake his hand.

"What's going on...?" Shango muttered, looking at all of them separately. They looked strange, curious at the same time.

"Shango Maverick," started Nightingale with a seemingly bored look. "You are promoted to a Shadow Hunter."

Before Shango could say anything, Vincenzo, Enzo and Crystal fell onto him trying to hug him all at once. The following scene would be a golden piece to Shango's hall of memories. When things calmed down a bit, he could finally ask why.

"Because that's what Master wanted," Nightingale simply stated, half closing his eyes in a threatening manner. His two head-hands seemed aggressive and violent at the time, implying he wasn't in the best of moods. So now Shango was a Shadow Hunter, the same degree as Nightingale and Bart; speaking of Bart, the Accelgor was standing right next to the Hydreigon, half covered in the shadows. A grin of approval was visible.

"And with that," spoke Bart, "you're breaking the record age of the promotion to a Shadow Hunter."

Enzo shook Shango's hand again vigorously. "Yeah! Bart was promoted at the age of thirty, but you're only twenty four!"

Almost, Shango thought; he had forgotten when his birthday was. Bart the Shadow didn't look mad that he had lost the title of the youngest Shadow Hunter, he only winked at Shango when he shot him a glance full of concern. The truth was that, personally, Shango didn't think he was equal to Nightingale or Bart for that matter. Being a Shadow Hunter would make him equal to his uncle Pasqual as well, but he was doubting that. He felt his promotion was biased, for some reason. The idea of the Master looking for the darkstar crept above him; perhaps his promotion had something to do with the amnesia. Now, the Master would certainly have much more control over him, despite him having excessive freedom granted by his title.

Congratulations, Tristana spoke to his mind. She had hid herself inside his cloak, as she didn't want to reveal herself to Nightingale. Explaining her presence to the dragon seemed harder than climbing King Eoleo's palace.

Shango reached her head with his claws and silently thanked her by scratching her ear. At that moment, he had that feeling of unstable happiness that seemed it would crumble down any second.

Nightingale made a horrible sound that seemed as if he was clearing his throats. Everyone took their places on the table, staring at him. The dragon was staring only at Shango.

"You are the nineteenth Shadow Hunter alive, Shango, and the third in skill and dedication in this room. Don't take your rank on your head, or I'll cut it off myself," he said evily, everyone laughed but Shango had a feeling he was being serious. He shrugged it off and stroked Tristana.

"Aside of Shango's promotion," spoke Bart calmly, "...we have news over the Chancellor case."

Silence fell on the room now. Shango made himself comfortable on the wooden chair, suddenly noticing the symbols it had resembled Archaic runes; that led him to think that Count Desmondius, who had picked those chairs, fancied the Precursors. Such a random and irrelevant thought at the time.

"The plan is not simple," Bart continued. "Patrolling members of the Verdict enter a blind spot behind Jericho's palace."

The Accelgor turned towards Crystal. "You'll study them and their patrolling habits. When you kill them, you'll represent them in illusions, allowing entrance to the rest of us under them."

Crystal nodded, Nightingale speaking right after Bart was done. His heads were pointing at Enzo.

"You will take out the mages, silently, so they don't notice what's going on."

Then he turned to Shango and Vincenzo. "You two and Bart will head in the palace through the guarden," now he looked at Shango only, "you'll focus on Jericho while the other two take out anyone who tries to stop you. The whole thing doesn't need to be silent, the Chancellor will be trapped inside the palace," said the Hydreigon in a menacing grin.

Shango nodded to show he understood, as did the others.

"Our mission begins this afternoon - that's when the patrol enters the blind spot. Is that understood?" Bart inquired quietly. Everyone nodded again. "See you outside the main square, afternoon," he added and headed out of the room.

Nightingale dispersed into darkness, merging with the shadows behind his chair. Tristana popped out of Shango's cloak and dove right into his hood for the biggest kiss he had ever received from her, thankfully to his cheek. He gripped her small body and pulled her out of his hood, although having a grand smile on his face.

Enzo chuckled and snatched the Victini from his hands to pet her.

"Aight, this'll be the mission of our life!" he shouted and set Tristana free to fly over to Crystal to sit on her enormous mane.

"Let's do our best," said the Bisharp in a content tone, as if they were going on an expendition. Shango thought the scene was tragically ironic, as they were going to kill alot of Pokemon, but he didn't mind as much as he would five years ago. The truth he had not admitted was that his heart had become as hard as stone with the time he had spent with the Hashashin, even if he seemed cheerful and kindhearted on the outside.

***

Shango was walking through the main street of Myriapolis, feeling like a completely different Pokemon now that he was promoted to a Shadow Hunter. His cloak and movements were the same, though - the only thing that had changed was his title. And he felt strange for that, as he still reminded himself he was no match for Pokemon like Nightingale.

The scent of flowers found its way in his nostrils, despite the mixed scents the crowd around him was giving out. He saw he had reached the main square of the city, where the circus of Ravenscare had been set. Now the space was filled with bushes and lampposts. His eyes caught something that seemed like flames waving furiously, but then he realized it was the tails of a certain Ninetails. She was sitting down, observing people like when he had found her in front of that fountain.

Her fur was shining under the bright sun, and like always, she was 'beautifully gorgeous', as he had characterized one time he was thinking about her. The tails waved above her head, as they were massive in size, and some blue bows were tied onto it this time. Shango exited the crowd and approached her rather quickly with his head down, still keeping her in sight.

"What's on your mind?" he asked her, smiling.

"Lots of things," she replied, then looked down. "Beautiful flowers, aren't they?"

Claire was looking at the colorful flowers on the ground, next to a bush close to them. Shango kneeled and picked two of each colour (red, yellow, blue and purple) and a pink one extra. He then turned to the Ninetails with the same, charming smile visible on the bottom half of his hood.

"Allow me," he said quietly, proceeding into tying the flowers onto her tails, along with her bows. She was silent for the whole duration for reasons Shango couldn't tell at that time, but as he touched her tails, she felt her spiritual power connect to his own. It was only for a moment, though.

Shango looked at her when he was done, her innocent smile shining along with her fur.

"How kind of you," she commented.

"I aim to please. Flowers fit you. Has the Count ever gifted you any?"

"No..." Claire muttered, losing her smile. She looked alot different now, innocent rather than seductive. Shango relished the moment, her beauty shining like a beacon in front of him, the flowers around them; nothing else mattered at the moment, not even the fact that he was promoted. He wouldn't even tell her - such irrelevant information to ruin the moment.

"Can I draw you?" he asked her quietly, observing the proportions of her body. She looked at him slightly surprised at first, then her smile reappeared.

"Nobody has ever asked me before. Go on, by all means."

Shango took some distance from her and kneeled to the ground; he observed her stance once again, then he started sketching her on the dirt. But he was doing it backwards so she would be able to see his progress - and as difficult as that sounds, he succeeded in bringing the sketch into life. She giggled when he was almost finished.

"Hold on, lady," Shango muttered as he was putting the finishing touches. "There, done."

Claire remained looking at her own sketch on the ground for a moment.

"She is beautifully gorgeous." The Ninetails had a tricky smile spread across her face that caught Shango off guard.

"... I couldn't agree more."

"It's a pity we will leave it here."

"I'll draw you a million times if needed."

Her laugh filled his ears, slightly perking them up and relieving the tension. He was definitely vastly overwhelmed by her beauty and charms, so much that his heartbeats quickened to the point where he started breathing faster; though he tried to hide it. He momentarily wondered if she was feeling the same, but he rejected that thought of his - she didn't seem like it. Claire was perfectly calm, her smile peaceful enough to convince Shango.

"How about we go on a stroll?" Claire asked him, getting passed him with her tails touching his entire hood. Now he was also convinced she was doing that on purpose. Shango followed her, maintaining his smile.

"Are you going to introduce me to the Well of Shadows?"

"Indeed..."

Shango noticed the weird looks they were getting from the Pokemon as they walked on the street. Every Pokemon stood out of their way, but he wouldn't expect any less from the Countess. Some greeted Claire, shooting the hoodied Pokemon next to her weird glances, but she ignored all of them. Shango proceeded into pushing away somebody that was rather persistant on the matter of his identity. They walked through the city like that for a while, until they reached a quiet side of it that had alot of tall trees. The sand path led to a massive, perfectly round hole in the ground; around it, grey stone replaced the sand and the grass.

The area was quiet and almost empty. Only a few scholars were praying on the other side of the Well. Claire stopped on its edge and shut her eyes.

"I can still hear them screaming..." she whispered in a strange tone.

"Who?" Shango asked, full of curiosity.

"The Pokemon who have fallen in the Well."

Shango tried to listen, but he picked no sound other than the constant murmur of the scholars and the leaves that waved with the wind.

"I can't hear anything..."

Claire stared at him intently, and he returned the stare. "Your honesty is baffling me, dear Shango."

"Has being sincere become a rare aspect of ours to this day?"

"It has..."

Shango was still staring at her, and despite the conversation, he was deeply admiring her beauty once again. He felt that telling her wouldn't be necessary, though, as she already knew. She turned her gorgeous head towards the hole in front of them.

No bottom could be seen, of course, only pitch black, consuming darkness.

"Nobody knows what really lies beyond this darkness," Claire spoke in a low voice so as to not disturb the scholars. "Some say that the personification of evil waits to consume anyone sent from above..."

Her tone seemed as if she was talking while daydreaming, but still charming. "And some others say it is the God of Black testing the unlucky ones."

Shango remained silent for a second. "I find it hard to believe this nonsense," he stated nonchalantly. Claire laughed.

"Nobody knows, like I said..."

"Do you believe in any of it?"

"We have no proof or evidence; nobody actually came back from this black maze. Not even birds."

"... and you said it was built by Hector's family, the Imperatores, correct?"

"That's what they say. Hector's family ruled over this land before the Cult ravaged it."

"I see... I'll ask Hector about it sometime."

"Hmm... I have been trying to get some information from Hector," admitted Claire. "About the reason this Well was built and why it was named like that. But I had no luck so far..."

Shango found it natural that she would seduce Hector to get what she wanted, for some reason. The thought of her doing the same to him crept above his head, but he shook it away quite easily as her charms overwhelmed him again.
​

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 23: Scythes and Wings

​

"Are we all here?"

The Hashashin were standing in a shadowy corner of the main square, staring at the Ionian palace that was built on top of the hill where the fortress once was.

"Yeah, everyone's here," said Crystal to Bart in a plain tone. She was trying to hide her nervousness, Shango figured. He was nervous as well, but within the Hashashin, he was taught to be confident. The Accelgor turned to them.

"Listen up. The Chancellor's leaving in three days, so if we fail this, the chances of getting another shot at him are minimal."

"We're not used to failing, mister," informed him Crystal as if she was offended. Bart started laughing, but soon turned to stare at the palace again. Shango did as well - it was unclimbable from each side, so he wouldn't be much useful. Its gates were too high as well. But that wasn't the plan, anyway.

When Bart motioned at Crystal, the Zoroark walked through the square, invisible to the untrained eye. The other Hashashin followed her, each taking different roads around the square so as not to attract attention. The afternoon sun had started falling to the other side of the sky; Shango thought this was a good time to take Claire out. He was sad that their little stroll was over.

They met again in front of the gates, where two Bastiodons were standing guard. The Hashashin, under the cover of Crystal's illusion, passed through completly unnoticed. Shango was grinning, admiring the powerful organization that truly served peace through death in such ways.

Following the road up the hill, they saw the patrolling guards: four of them, species did not matter. The invisible hoodies approached them and stood by the wall of the palace as they patrolled by. Crystal quietly left them, the illusion fading and revealing them; they were sitting on their ankles, not visible from the mages on top of the ramparts of the palace or the guards on the gates.

The patrolling guards turned to the left, now covered by the shadow of the palace. Crystal followed them from behind, entirely visible but silent. Only a scream was heard right after, which was burried under the constant buzzing sound of materialized darkness that was choking the victim; the others turned to look, the first one had the same fate. The others fell by her claws.

The four 'guards' of the patrol returned to the Hashashin. Two Luxios and Granbulls - typical species that served the Ionian Verdict; their emblems, though fake, shone under the sun. Crystal's illusion seemed completly real, even to the Hashashin. Shango recognized the fraud by the immense Nether power gathered in one spot; Pasqual was telling him every voidborn could do that.

They stood up and passed through the illusion, now invisible. Shango glanced at Bart, who was staring at the palace's entrance.

"How to enter?" he whispered, looking around. There were more guards guarding the entrance.

"Why don't we just march in?" asked Enzo, as they walked towards the entrance.

"Do not attract attention before you strike," said the Accelgor in a teaching manner.

"Alright, alright, then what do you suggest we do?" Vincenzo inquired in a low tone. Shango looked at him. He seemed nervous as well. This wasn't just any mission. He should've been extremely nervous as well, as he would kill the Chancellor, once friend to him. But he was strangely calm, as if he didn't care about the past, only about the future.

"Uhh," Vincenzo was staring at the guards, who were staring back at them as they approached. "Something's wrong."

Shango had fixed his eyes somewhere behind the guards; a giant Rampardos was standing there, holding a cane... his right foot seemed to be broken. But the vibe Shango caught from him was what impressed him. The eyes of the Rampardos were completly black, and his whole figure seemed... non existant. As if he wasn't there.

"Hey, Crystey... are you seeing this?" Shango muttered, pointing at the Rampardos behind the guards.

"This isn't time for games, Shango," she replied.

But the guards turned to face the Rampardos behind them, and it spoke, in a voice that wasn't understandable by Shango.

"What are they doing?" Bart wondered out loud. Shango had the same question, but another one as well: could he be the only one to see the Rampardos?

As the patrolling guards, they passed through the entrance into the garden. Meanwhile, the Rampardos was gone out of sight.

"Hold on," said a voice from behind them; the Granbull that had just let them through was walking towards them. As he tried to grab a shoulder of the illusion, he fell forwards and Vincenzo fell onto him, the blade that was extending from the sleeve of his cloak ripping through flesh.

"Uh-oh," muttered Bart. "You shouldn't have done that."

"What choice did I have? He was going to be dead in a while anyway."

Thankfully, the Granbull was inside the illusion the whole time. They did notice the mages above were looking suspiciously at the spot, and the guards on the entrance would come looking for their missing member.

"Enzo, your turn," whispered Bart. They headed over at a tree, dragging the Granbull with them and hiding under its thick shadow. Enzo left the group and climbed the palace's walls from the inside, where shadows were veiling him from sight; Shango slightly waved at Tristana, who had followed his friend, always invisible. The other Hashashin sat down again, waiting for their mate to finish the job.

However, it was "slightly impossible" not to be seen. Multiple screams were heard, and the rumbling sound of a continuous stream of fire reached their ears. The area was quickly filled with guards. They heard Enzo scream, and Crystal dropped the illusion quickly. Bart grabbed Shango's arm, who was about to bolt outside the shadow to climb the walls.

"Stay on the mission," he ordered in a steel tone. He gestured his head at Vincenzo, who exited the tree's shadow to face the guards that were coming from the entrance. Shango saw their frightened looks: the cloak and hood of the Hashashin was a symbol of fear to the Ionian Verdict.

What of Tristana?, Shango thought, worried about his friend's safety. He knew she was going to be alright, though.

Although the members of the Verdict outnumbered Vincenzo, he was wearing them all out by defending himself and striking when the time seemed right. But from the screams, the whole palace was shook and more members of the Verdict bursted out of the wooden door that was on the far end of the garden.

"Crystey," whispered Bart, motioning upwards with his head. Crystal dashed to the walls and started climbing; they soon lost her out of sight.

The Accelgor turned to Shango and grabbed his shoulders. "Your first and only target is the Chancellor. Let me and Vincenzo deal with the guards."

Shango nodded, full knowing that the two Hashashin were able to pull it off. As Bart the Shadow charged into combat, the remaining Hashashin under the tree's shadow bolted through the garden, towards the massive door.

He found the palace quiet, thankfully, but he knew it wasn't going to be so easy. He walked through the dark hall, trying to hear any sound that was not relevant to the fight outside. His eyes pierced through the darkness to see many figures hidden in the shadows, just like the Hashashin. In the far end of the hall, there were stairs, and on top of them, Chancellor Jericho Santaros. The Armaldo he had seen the other night hadn't changed one bit - he was definitely the nice, kindhearted Chancellor of Ionia Shango knew so well and had worked with and for in the past, but now he had a mocking grin on his face that revealed much about his personality.

"Come here to kill me, eh, Hashashin?"

His voice echoed in every corner of the hall; he seemed calm and confident, though Shango detected a hint of fear in his expression. One of the rulers of this world was standing in front of him, the Endarkened One that was lying to Ionia and Hesperia the whole time.

"Took you alot of time, I'd say," the Armaldo spoke again. Shango did not respond to any of his taunts. His senses were overextended as he was observing each movement in the shadows all around the hall. They were so many he had lost count; just when he needed her the most, Tristana landed hot on his shoulder. I need a diversion, sweetie.

Easy, she commented. Shango knew she was flattered when he called her that. The Victini flew above him, invisible, yet she released a vibrant light that revealed every corner of the hall. By the time the hidden guards had lowered their eyes to the ground, Shango was rushing up the stairs. He pounced againist the Chancellor, but he surprised him by moving quickly to the right.

Old guy's fast. Shango quickly got up and released a flamethrower which was blocked by the Armaldo's powerful scythes. The tips of Shango's hood were slightly burned off - that's why he was rarely using that type of move. Meanwhile, Tristana had released her own hell of flames at the soldiers below. She was getting better and better every fight, but her stamina didn't allow her to stay in combat for long.

The members of the Verdict were surprised by the invisible beacon of light and flames and took cover as Shango was trying to outspeed Jericho, who proved to be a much more skilled fighter than he'd ever believe.

"Ha! I was twice as good when I was your age!" he shouted as he brought down his scythe with massive force onto Shango's arms. The blow hurt his hands, but he blocked it succesfully. Both of them backstepped to take a breath. The characteristical sound was heard: blades appearing out of nowhere onto his vambraces. He had developed their shape in the last three days: they were now long, straight blades with pointy edges.

"Impressive, Hashashin!" said the Chancellor in a plain tone. Shango did not answer again. He was saving an ace up his sleeve.

The two Pokemon clashed again, Shango launching a flurry of bladed attacks that was sure to be recognized by Jericho as the 'close combat'. The Chancellor himself was paying the teachers in the Ionian Academy to keep teaching that technique to students. He was now left breathless by the countless scratches and the effort to defend himself from the Hashashin.

Shango chose this moment to remove his hood and enjoy the confused look on Jericho's face, which was followed by wide realization.

"You...? Shango? You're..."

".. an Hashashin."

Shango had found the opportunity he was looking for: the deadly momentum when his opponent was exhausted and confused, permitting him a deadly blow in a vital spot of his body. Precisely, the Armaldo's ribs that would bleed non-stop.

But then, Tristana's flame faded, darkness covering the hall once again - Shango glanced down the stairs for a mere, seemingly harmless moment to see a dark figure standing in front of the door: a terrifying beast, with four black draconic wings on its back and a cane... the Rampardos from before.

He was startled so much by the sight of the monstrous beast that the Chancellor went ahead and impaled him on his torso with his scythe. Shango couldn't even grunt - blood stained his cloak and his chin as it dripped out of it. His eyes were staring behind the Armaldo's shoulder, lost in the oblivion death was bringing.

"You traitorous filth!" Jericho whispered in disgust as he threw him away. Shango rolled on the floor, which was painted red from his blood. His sense faded with his consciousness, with his last thought being that he failed the Hashashin.

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 24: Rise of the Phantom Dancer

​

The Spirit of the Hashashin was standing in front of him. The song was vigorous, synchronizing with his heartbeats. He still couldn't understand a single word, even though he had heard it multiple times, but he didn't care. Another, irritating voice was echoing into his mind that drew him back to reality, which sucked him like a wormhole. He took a biased, deep breath, instantly opening his eyes in terror as he realized he was probably dying. His vision was blurry at first, but then he made out a Zoroark out of it - Crystal.

"Shango, can you hear me?"

He tried talking, but instead he started coughing up blood. He glanced at the wound on his belly, the biggest one. From the anatomy he had studied in the Academy, he realized the wound was so large, he should've been dead by now.

"What.." he started saying, but he started coughing again. Strangely, he wasn't feeling any pain - his whole torso was numb. He looked at Crystal again; she had her eyes closed, concentrating.

"You don't die so easily," she whispered in tears. Shango glanced around the dark room.

"Where the heck are we?" he asked abruptly, slowly regaining full conciousness and manners. The situation was comically tragic - him, laying on a bed of leaves with a massive wound on his belly and talking like that. He grabbed Crystal's neck and brought her close to him, with his eyes widened in fear.

"Is Jericho still alive?" he whispered; Crystal was still crying. He noticed she was also wounded.

"Yes, he is," she replied in an upset, sad whisper, without looking him straight in the eye. Shango slowly let go of her neck and laid his head back, staring at the ceiling.

"I failed," he whispered, his chest burning. Crystal put her arms on it to comfort him. She stayed silent, knowing there were no words that could be told.

"I have never failed..." he was still staring at the ceiling. His emerald eyes were driven completly out of focus, as he was sunk into unconciousness.


***


Shango opened his eyes. The room wasn't dark anymore; light was coming from the window. He had no idea how much time had passed since the palace invasion, but he preferred not to think about it. He glanced at his belly to see it bandaged with his own red sash that had the emblem of the Hashashin stuck onto it. A vision struck him, the monstrosity of a winged Rampardos standing on the doorstep. Such Pokemon did not even exist... was he seeing things? Crystal had never confirmed she had seen the beast behind the guards, informing them of their presence. And Jericho... he had revealed his identity to him, thinking he would not live long. Now Ionia would explode with the news: Shango Maverick, the renowned and uprising hero of the Verdict that vanished five years ago, returns as an Hashashin and attempts to assassinate the Chancellor. Ascendio would kill himself out of shame for his step son.

These thoughts were enough of a motivation for Shango to launch himself from the leafy bed, only to see Crystal was laying on the floor next to him. The wound on his belly didn't hurt a bit, not even when he bent over to shake her head. She slowly opened her eyes.

"Shango?" she muttered. She looked at him as if he was some kind of God. The Zoroark quickly got up and hugged him tightly. She kissed him softly on his cheek, but she still looked rather sad.

Shango looked around the room, realizing the Ambipom was sitting againist the wall of the darkest corner, staring into nothing. He had a plain expression that gripped Shango's heart; he had not seen him like that before. There was a vertical scratch across his face, which still bled and only one of his tails was hanging above his head.

"What happened?" Shango muttered, more towards Crystal as he had some hunch that Enzo wouldn't be able to hear him in this state.

"You see..." Crystal started speaking in a shaky voice. Shango could tell she was on the verge of crying. "When you went inside... his brother..."

"Is Vincenzo dead?" Shango asked directly in a steel tone that didn't represent his feelings at all. Crystal started crying and hugged him again.

All this had been for nothing: the Chancellor was still alive, he knew who his assailant was, and Vincenzo had paid the invasion with his life.

"We couldn't even retrieve his body..." Crystal whispered, terrified for some reason. She glanced over at the Ambipom. "He's saying he's going to kill them all..."

The door to the room opened and Bart the Shadow came in, staring at Shango and Crystal; the Accelgor seemed completly fine.

"Shango," he called his name in a serious expression, "I'm glad you're still alive. I didn't expect you to recover so quickly. It hasn't even been one day."

He looked him straight in the eye. "Your failure costed us greatly."

Shango didn't break eye contact, although his expression was revealing his pain. Without any more words, the Accelgor walked out of the room.

"How am I still alive?" Shango asked Crystal, without looking at her.

"I don't know... we found you on the hall of the palace with that wound bleeding..."

Shango remained silent for a moment, looking at the floor. "Where is Tristana?" he suddenly asked, jerking his head to Crystal.

The Zoroark swallowed, avoiding his stare. "She's in shock, Shango... she thinks of you dead."

"Where is she?" Shango repeated.

"The Countess took her... after we dragged your body out of the palace."

"The Countess...?" Shango was stunned by surprise. Why would Claire take Tristana?

"Yes, she took the spirit with her," Crystal explained.

"I'm going to take her back, then," Shango said and walked towards the door.

"Shango..." Crystal whispered. "Nightingale has ordered a meeting in the Well of Shadows."

Shango nodded without looking at her. He would think of the angry dragon later. Given the results of their invasions, he was probably going to be charged with the offense of compromising the brotherhood, but he didn't care at the moment.


***


The sun was hiding behind the clouds that had covered the sky, but Shango could tell it was about to set in the horizon. He could also tell it was going to rain, and that's why he was walking quickly through the square, blending with the darkness. Nobody noticed him or the sash with the emblem of the Hashashin, he was but a mere shadow without a cloak. Still pondering on how his wound was not aching him at all, he passed through a dark alley with his eyes always fixed on the palace on top of the hill that the Hashashin invaded hours ago; his ears suddenly picked up a familiar voice from the alley. Nightingale.

He peeked in the darkness, recognizing the heavy figure of the beast; he realized that once, he had evaded this particular Hashashin's notice by hiding in the shadows of Ionia, where he witnessed a quarduple murder. That alone reminded him of how powerful Nightingale was. But at the moment, the Pokemon he focused more onto was the one standing before him, talking: Jericho Santaros. He perked up his ears and smirked his eyes, standing againist the wall.

"So that is how it's going to be, Nightingale?" Jericho asked in a threatening manner. Shango could now see through the kindhearted looks of the personality he displayed in public. "Sending the Hashashin against me, huh?"

"I'll have to remind you that we are two different factions," the dragon's voice sounded even more menacing, making Jericho cower a bit.

"Shango belongs to US!" Jericho shouted, smashing his foot against the ground. "And you sent him to kill me!"

Nightingale stared at the Armaldo intently. "How did you know it was him?"

"He revealed himself."

"That fool!"

Shango tightened his fists, still holding onto the wall. So, Nightingale and Jericho were allies - otherwise, why would he not kill the Chancellor on the spot, completing Shango's mission? He gritted his teeth, driven by anger. Nightingale was a traitor to the Hashashin, he was now proven to be corrupted.

A sound was heard from inside the alley; the dragon had disappeared into a portal, and Jericho was standing alone in the darkness.

"You can come out now," he heard him saying. Multiple footsteps were heard, Shango figuring it was members of the Verdict. How typical. He walked by the shadows, away from the scene, thinking it was impossible to deal with all of them at this state; he could barely walk, even if it didn't hurt.


***


An unexpected sight greeted him in front of the Well of Shadows. Crystal, who was holding Tristana, that cute Weavile girl Tiffany that sold candies to the circus and Claire were standing by the great hole in the ground. Shango could not help himself but smile greatly; it was a real, charming smile that spread onto their faces as he approached them.

"So many girls in one place," he said with his eyebrows raised, "is it my birthday?"

That made most of them laugh, but he had his eyes fixed on Claire alone, who just smiled at him back. She walked close to him with her usual grace, her feet slightly leaving the ground as if she was flying. Tristana had charged forward in tears, hugging his neck.

"Shango, you're still alive..."

Shango pulled her off and looked at her; her large, blue eyes were blurry from all the tears. He patted her head gently.

"I heard of what happened," Claire sounded melodic, Shango looking at her now. "It's alright, Shango."

"No, it's not..." he muttered.

Tiffany and Crystal reached them; the Weavile punched Shango's arm.

"Get over it," she said in a playful smile that enticed Shango.

She doesn't know, Tristana spoke quietly to his mind, about Vincenzo...

I see.

Shango smirked, losing his smile. Strangely, he could now not bear to look at any of the girls in front of him, except Claire - he wanted to spend some more time with her, but he was not able now. He prevented himself from looking at the Ninetails, because he was aware of the passion that would flare up. His failure clouded his mind, and Vincenzo's spirit haunted him mercilessly.

"Excuse me," he muttered and gently pushed Tiffany aside, walking towards the Well of Shadows. The darkness on the ground was so thick, it was the absolute black. It had started raining now, the drips splashing on the sand and grey stone of the well, forming small streams as the rain got more serious. He could hear the girls behind him mumble things, but he was lost in thought. Jericho would now leave Myriapolis and spoil his name to Ionia.

A terrible sound cracked behind them, Shango jerked his body around to see a massive shadow a mere nanosecond before impact. His eyes caught the Hydreigon's grin as he fell into the Well of Shadows backwards. Absolute darkness covered his eyesight.

"Shango Maverick," spoke Nightingale, staring at the Well with the grin spread across his face in a vicious expression; he was levitating above the ground, ignoring the Pokemon behind him that was staring at the scene in shock.

"You are sentenced to death for compromising the brotherhood, precisely for the death of our beloved member Vincenzo Dawson."



***


Shango wasn't feeling as if he was falling; only levitating through the impenetrable darkness of the Well. It had overwhelmed his senses and drove him into a lethargic slumber that felt like it lasted for an eternity, but just a second at the same time. He woke up, sitting on the darkness, without feeling cold or hot, hungry or full. He simply sat there for hours and hours, staring at nothingness like Enzo was in the room of the Hashashin.

Lots of thoughts crossed his mind, many more than he had ever thought in his entire life. His mind was able to examine thoughts, memories and their details, but it was truly numb - he did not realize where he was or how he had reached that point. Days passed, even. The memory of Claire circled around his mind, ensnaring and captivating as if she was in front of him. Her shiny fur, her girly voice, her beautiful legs and her charming personality stormed his logic, him raising his hands forward to touch her, but what he grabbed was the dense darkness around him.

For a moment, he could swear Tristana's flare was nearby, but it was only his imagination, as the warm body of the fairy sat on his shoulder, invisible to him and could see Shango. He felt worried about her feelings for a single moment; what would Tristana think now that he fell into the Well? Claire would surely think of him as a loser, as he had never proven himself to be worthy. These thoughts quickly faded, his mind now focusing on one thing: his failure at the palace. He dwelled and dwelled on his failure, over analyzing it to figure out what went wrong and what he did not do right. He did not care about Nightingale and what he had done. Strangely, in the back of his mind, he always believed some day, the dragon would pay for all of his crimes, especially for the ones he committed agaiist the Maverick family.

Was it the Rampardos who distracted him? Pasqual had taught him never to be distracted by what was happening around him; only understand it and adapt accordingly. Was it that he had not been subtle? He could try entrance to the palace from a window and assassinate the Chancellor without a fight. Was it his arrogance of choosing the front door that almost got him killed? Or was it that he asked Tristana to deal with the members of the Verdict?

Maybe he was just not good enough.

There was nothing else to think about his failure. His mind had reached the point where it was unable to decode this memory any more. Right after, it was as if his mind locked away his memories into a box and opened another one, which was entitled as 'the Phantom Dancer'.

Just as he thought about it, the hooded figure of the Spirit of the Hashashin appeared in front of him, towering above him. Shango got up from... wherever he was sitting and faced the mysterious Pokemon that appeared in his dreams every so often. But that didn't seem like a dream at all; it was real, Shango would swear. The spirit grabbed his shoulders and the two proceeded into hugging each other again, Shango having absolutly no idea why. A thought jumped into his mind: the Spirit was connected to the Phantom Dancer. It certainly was not coincidental that it appeared once he began thinking of this entity the Prophet talked about.

The hours passed, without him realizing what was going on. He was simply sitting there, quietly, staring forward. There was a missing piece on the puzzle of the Phantom Dancer, but just as he was thinking of that, a faint source of light appeared far ahead. He stared at it with no emotion.

As it got closer, he got up and ran towards it. A black, round stone chamber with six Rhydon bulwarks forming a pentagon was in front of him; blue light was falling on the immovable beasts, Shango looking around to find its source. Runes were glowing on the walls, shedding their light; Precursor text, no doubt.

An unearthly, black gaze was piercing the darkness in front of him. In the middle of the chamber and Rhydon pentagon, a terrifying figure was standing immovable; Shango took a closer look, identifying it as a Scyther with two extra scythes on its back. The eyes were completely black, like the Rampardos's, and all of its scythes glowed purple. Its legs were longer as well, its body black and its head greatly misshapen.

Immense power struck Shango; he felt more presences in the chamber. Two figures were standing behind the mutated Scyther; a Zangoose and a Reuniclus. Hector and Zorthan. They paced forward, the blue light of the runes falling onto them. Their eyes were entirely black, like the Scyther's.

"The Phantom Dancer," the Scyther spoke in a heart gripping voice that seemed out of this world.

"Finally," said Hector, his feral spirit overcoming his voice.

"We've been waiting a looong time for this," Zorthan's metallic, psychic voice echoed in the chamber. Shango could now clearly see what was wrong with him: he was alot bulkier, his right hand was completly black and had three sharp claws on its tip. All of his limbs were connected with red veins of flowing blood and his body inside the gel was changed greatly as well. The amber eyes had turned black.

As for Hector, his claws were much bigger and the fur of the Zangoose that was usually red was now black, like his eyes. His cape was covering his right arm, falling on the ground. He seemed as ferocious as ever.

"What's going on?" Shango muttered.

"Come to us. There is no reason to be afraid," said the Scyther, extending one of his scythes towards him. His voice sounded transformed and had a tad of Hector's in it: it was just as vicious.

"Why not?" Shango asked, suspiciously. He had a hunch they could catch him anytime.

"We are your brothers. We never hurt our brothers," the Scyther spoke again.

Shango thought he had nothing to lose or win and walked to them, crossing the chamber and entering the pentagon. It seemed as if the Rhydons were staring at him.

When he reached close to them, the Scyther hugged him... for a second, Shango thought he was going to slice through him with his sharp scythes, but that was not the case. He was getting a dark vibe from all of them.

"You are voidborns..." he whispered.

"Wrong," said the Reuniclus with a huge grin, "we are voidborns."

Shango stared at him confused; then he figured Zorthan implied that he was a voidborn as well.

"But I don't look like you..." the Hashashin were claiming themselves to be voidborn. So why did they not have those features these Pokemon in front of him had?

"Indeed, you don't..." muttered the Scyther quietly. "Because your blood is mixed."

"I don't understand."

"You are the Phantom Dancer," said Zorthan. "But I bet you don't even know who that is."

"No..."

"Listen to our tale, then. The tale of the voidborn."

As the Scyther started speaking, Shango examined all of them with curiosity, while carefully listening to him. He was at a loss, at a shock, but he also felt numb.

"Arceus created Pokemon, during the Making, and gifted them with the elements to protect themselves. On the era afterwards, the Age of Heroes, the gift of the elements led to the strong being able to feed on the weak - the equality was broken, and hierarchy was formed, Kingdoms raised and thousands died for the Kings. Of course, death was againist Arceus's will; he called the Paragon of the Dark, Darkrai, and gave him the Dark Plate. From it, Darkrai fused his spirit with that of a thousand Pokemon, and the Stranger was born."

Shango cringed by the information, smirking his eyes. "The Stranger?"

"That's what the Precursor runes from the Age of Heroes tell us," Zorthan said, "but we prefer to call him the Phantom Dancer."

"His mission was to ensure that there would be no more Kingdoms to die for, to establish the peace that followed the Making. And to keep in check these powerful crystals, the darkstars, to guard their secret and defend the knowledge of them," the Scyther continued.

"The Phantom Dancer's descendants are called the voidborn. Along with his powers, we inherited his cause: to guard the darkstars. The first of us descended into these lands from the northern mountains as the Zoroarks - and Chantalai Ancelotti was the first one to be fully active. Inspired by the lost history of his people, he created the Brotherhood of the Hashashin to continue the purpose of the Phantom Dancer. The assassins were made to kill those who possessed knowledge over the darkstars and sought to use them for their own gain."

Shango stood silent. Multiple images of Zoroarks passed through his mind, including the drawing the window of the Cathedral formed: a black Zoroark against a white one. What was all this about? The Scyther said he was the Phantom Dancer. But that couldn't be true. The Phantom Dancer - or the Stranger - was born in the Age of Heroes. Too many questions.

"You said the Stranger was called the Phantom Dancer... how can it be? I am the Phantom Dancer," he declared, making Hector chuckle.

"True enough," he said, "you're the Stranger's reincarnation. You're one and the same, a soul with the same purpose."

"Why me?" Shango asked; it seemed as if he didn't like this fate, which chose him instead of the contrary.

"Because you are perfectly suitable... I assume our friend the Prophet let you know?" Zorthan spoke again, bringing his right hand to scratch the gel of his ribs with his black claws.

"Friend?"

"Yes, of course," Zorthan said. "He, too, is a descendant of the Phantom Dancer. He is helping us keep track of the Endarkened Ones. Now, who the Endarkened Ones are, you might ask..."

"No. I know all about them," stated Shango. The others glanced at each other, surprised. "And I intend to kill them all."

"Hah! You're on the right track," said Hector, chuckling.

"Indeed," muttered the Scyther. "The Endarkened Ones seek to use the power of the darkstars. As the Phantom Dancer, it is your duty to eliminate them from this world. We are also looking for the darkstars, as my brothers here made it clear to you before. Not for using them, but for protecting them."

Shango looked at each of them; even though their terrifying looks and rather vicious manners, they seemed to have good intentions, which put Shango into thought. Could they mean well?

"When did you learn I was the Phantom Dancer?"

"The spirit you are carrying around let us know."

"Tristana?!"

"Yeah, her," said Hector with a faint smile that looked malicious; it was actually identical to Shango's. "We invaded her mind easily when you were wounded."

"And about that wound," said the Scyther, "we took care of you."

Shango noticed the monstrous being in front of him was smiling, revealing his sharp, saw-like fangs.

"How?"

"Your fate is not to die by the hand of some Chancellor."

"Can you control fate, then?"

"Is it not what the Phantom Dancer does?" the Scyther countered his question. Shango thought about it. What was the Phantom Dancer destined to do? End lives. So, in a way, he was controlling fate. He threw a look at the Scyther to show him he understood.

"Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Zaunix Jato, Zaun for short."

The Scyther flashed a terrible smile, though he didn't mean ill.

"How did you all end up like this...?"

"We are born this way," Zorthan informed him; Shango glanced at him. "The blood of the Phantom Dancer runs pure in our veins - while yours is mixed."

"Speakin' of how we look," said Hector and pointed behind him, "here is the mask of the Phantom Dancer."

Shango's eyes travelled behind the Pokemon, he fixed them on an altar where a mask was facing him; he had not noticed before. It was what we would call a 'hockey mask' in our world, only it had eight holes: one for each eye, two under each of them, and another two for a mouth It had multiple scratches and seemed to be made out of tristanite, flexible and light. It gave off an unearthly feeling of terror, even if it was empty.

The others stood aside, allowing him to approach the altar with the mask. He lifted it in his arms, feeling its power. In fact, it was a plain, aged mask. But the meaning, the idea, this mask had, struck him like lightning: it was serving the safety of his identity. This mask would be sacred for him, for the Phantom Dancer.

He noticed a black cloak behind the altar. Zaunix approached him and lifted it with the edge of his scythe. It was made of a wonderful material that caught Shango's attention immediately.

Shango nodded, examining the cloak without believing what he was doing. It was a smooth, plain black robe.

Maybe all this was a dream and he would wake up on his bed, dying. He slowly wore the black cloak and the mask. The others looked at him.

"That's how the Phantom Dancer looks," said Zaunix in a look of satisfaction.

"By the way, I saw a Rampardos..." Shango's spontaneous thought surprised him. The voidborn glanced at each other.

"Traitor of our kind," Zorthan said with anger obvious in his metallic voice.

"Van Alsum is his name," Zaunix informed Shango. "He's serving Myriapolis as an executioner," he continued in a cold tone that clearly stated he despised Alsum.

"He commits atrocities, and he's in league of Jericho and the Endarkened Ones," Zorthan said.

Shango stared at them through the eyes of the mask. He was grabbing the wrist of his left shoulder, his stance revealing his muscled body; this cloak was toning his figure, making it seem even more threatening, he was sure of that.

"Then why don't we take them all out?" Shango asked, his voice giving away his grin inside the Phantom Dancer's mask.

"Good idea..." said Hector, grinning as well. Shango adjusted his vambraces to his cloak, thinking he would definitely try forging new kinds of blades. His thoughts flew away from his vambraces as he looked around the chamber.

"Where the heck are we?" he asked, already knowing they were at the bottom of the Well of Shadows. Zorthan raised his right arm, as if he was introducing the area.

"This chamber is designed to keep the secrets of the voidborns; the Well and its darkness are but a test to anyone who happens to fall in. Only our kind is able to survive this procedure. Tell us, what happened when Nightingale threw you in?"

"I thought of my life, what I have accomplished and where I have failed, I thought of my friends and people I have met."

"Interesting..." muttered Zorthan in a low voice that sounded like a clinging noise. "Usually, the survivors lose their logics and mutter something about the void and darkness."

"How deep is this well?" Shango asked, thinking that nobody could survive a three-day fall inside a hole in the ground; in fact, he didn't believe a hole could be that big...

"No less than fifteen feet," Hector answered.

"But it's the void that creates a gap, making the fall seem long," explained Zorthan. "You see, the void negates the feeling of time and space."

Shango nodded, noticing Zorthan knew the most about the void. The Reuniclus levitated forward, reaching him. The blue glow of the runes on the walls transformed the colour of his gel into turquoise; it was slightly glimmering, everywhere except his face where it was completly transparent, allowing him clear sight.

"Now," he started saying, Shango cringing from the intensity of his psychic voice, "time's wasting, and time's money. Not that we need any of it, heh."

Hector chuckled with him, but Zorthan quickly got serious. "But you get the point. About Alsum, we know what he is and where he is coming from - Jericho himself awarded him the title of the executioner a few days ago, and they both permitted entrance to templars in Myriapolis."

"Templars, here?" Shango asked in a serious tone.

"Templars," Zaunix repeated, "they've formed an alliance with Alsum and his mate, Judge Kayle, who is a voidborn Sigilyph. Together, they frame and execute any one who opposes their rule, along with many of the citizens."

Shango was staring at them, stunned by what Zaunix was saying. That's new, he thought, smirking his eyebrows.

"How could the Hashashin have missed that? How long has this been happening?" he inquired, truly wondering why he had never heard of the Judge and the Executioner.

"Your brotherhood is corrupted to the core," said the Scyther coldly, the buzz of his wings sounding, "Nightingale doesn't want those two out of the way, because they spread the Stygian influence over Ionia, benefiting the Hashashin. It's been like this for a week or so."

Shango wasn't believing in his ears; he could accept that Nightingale was a traitor, but one of the rules that were binding all of the Hashashin was never to hurt innocents, citizens or children. He was commiting a crime only by letting them live.

They looked at each other, Shango observing them. "And why do you care if some lives are lost? You're only searching for the darkstars."

"They know about the darkstars," Zaunix said abruptly. "Whoever knows about them must die, for the sake of our secret."

"So, they will die," said Shango. "What's the plan?"

"The executioner does his work under the Cult's cathedral every evening, but we couldn't reach him so far," Zorthan smirked, "templars form a thick line protecting Alsum."

Shango brought his claw to his chin, then he remembered he was wearing the Phantom Dancer's mask. Its steel feel was projecting a meaningful power.

"I know a way of reaching him," he said, slightly grinning.

"Perfect," said the Scyther and clapped his scythes together. "Now that that's outta the way, how about Jericho Santaros?"

"Oh, I have prepared something special for him..."

***

​

Shango and his newfound allies had stayed down the well for the next two days, in a special chamber located underneath the altar. They were planning their next move, considering all of their enemies in Myriapolis; the Chancellor, the Count, the Executioner and the Judge. Shango had found out the voidborns were much more dedicated and organized than he had thought. The events of these days had overloaded his mind, leading him to a state of confusion. He had not yet realized he was not an Hashashin anymore and that he was free to do what he wanted. But what did he truly want? Right now, he cared little of his life as Shango. The same events he had experienced and let him free put him into thinking; the dark organization that crept above Hesperia and Stygia could not be left to do as it pleased. Now officially known as the Phantom Dancer, his ancestor with the responsibility of maintaining the peace over the Empires, he was going to vanquish every one of those who threatened it. Starting with the Chancellor Jericho Santaros.

The voidborn had informed him that the Chancellor was leaving from Myriapolis that day, having completed his 'mystery business' that Shango assumed was the meeting with the rest of the Endarkened Ones. Accompanying his departure would be several members of the Ionian Verdict; assaulting him then seemed foolish, at least to the Hashashin, but Shango realized Nightingale never really wanted to kill the Chancellor in the first place - Jericho seemed to be informed of their arrival. Meaning that Nightingale had plotted his death; but things didn't go as he had planned, as the voidborn claim to have saved him from death, somehow. Therefore, he charged him of failure and threw him to the Well of Shadows. Shango was driven by madness and anger when he figured this all out.

But his first priority was to avenge the Chancellor, beating him in a rematch, right in front of the whole city as he was leaving. Having forged blades, new weapons with his mind, and with three new allies by his side, he would now wipe Jericho from the face of the world. As for the others, they would have to wait. A day or two...

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 25: Mercy

After quite some time...
​

The snow was falling heavily, small snowstorms whirling around Myriapolis' walls, clouds blocking any sunlight. A carriage exited the gates of the city, along with an army of Pokemon bearing the emblem of the Ionian Verdict. No citizen was following, as they had no reason to stay in the cold to see the Ionian Chancellor Jericho Santaros be off, who was unwelcomed in the first place. But there were some who were interested in his departure, two shadows standing on top of the walls, right above the carriage. The first one, a mutant of a Pokemon that was nothing but a shadow in the mere eyes of the mortals, known as Zaunix Jato amongst his fellow brothers. The second one was the hoodied assassin we know as the Phantom Dancer, best known as Shango Maverick. A state of tension filled silence was established between the voidborns by the time the Chancellor's private carriage had begun moving from the square inside the city.

"Don't go."

Zaunix' scythes were forming in an 'x' in front of him as he leaned forward to get a closer look on the marching army that surrounded the carriage. Well trained Ionians would instantly overwhelm them if they attacked.

"Do not give me orders," Shango snapped, but his mask remained rather impassive, although still menacing. The effect the mask had on his voice was not a muffled one - it instead gave it an otherwordly feeling that its owner was now getting used to.

The Scyther turned to look at him in disbelief; he had known Shango as a nice Pokemon so far. "You can't do anything," he reminded him, genuine concern hidden behind the buzz-like sound that came out of his mouth.

The Phantom Dancer's gaze scanned through the army that had now fully exited Myriapolis; his green eyes flashed under the mask, although there was no sunlight to begin with. After some moments, he spoke without looking at his ally next to him.

"Another time. Another time."

His stare fell onto the carriage, sharp eyes immediately detecting the Armaldo resting inside. Shango's chest did not fill with hatred againist the Pokemon, just like every time he thought of the Chancellor - instead, a cold determination overwhelmed him, colder than the snow whirling around and roosting on his shoulders, head and ears. He had now learned of his true origins. As the Phantom Dancer, he was to purge the land of the injustice, and for that quest, there was no room for feelings, just the unshakable will and the reassuring thought of his sacred purpose. The Chancellor's assassination had now gone beyond personal.

Shango shot himself up and turned to look at the city of Myriapolis unfolding under him. They were on the highest spot of the walls, which offered them a neat view. With his back turned to the carriage headed away, he fiddled with his claws, snapping and rubbing them together to create nearly metallic noises. He had lately started doing that when he was bored.

"I miss my girls."

Zaunix looked at the assassins as he stood before him - none of us could of known, but most of us could figure - the expression his monstrous face had was veiled with confusion. It was only natural, after all.

"What?"

"Claire and Tristana."

"Phantom," Zaunix started, his voice having absolutly no emotion as usual, "you're not Shango anymore. You need to leave your past behind."

The wind blew through the Phantom Dancer's cape as he stood still, gazing at the city.

"There's no need for that," he said, the sweet image of the Ninetails swirling in his mind just like the snow in front of him. He was slightly smiling as the image faded, to be replaced by Tristana's; his smile turned into a smirk at the thought of Tristana being brokenhearted from his 'death'. Something would have to be done about that, and soon. And what of the Hashashin? Enzo and Crystal would be devasted by what had happened.

His gaze travelled from the city of Myriapolis down the red sash that was tied around his waist, inside the black cloak with the runes. The insignia (H) of the Hashashin was still there, shining faintly, reflecting his black claws as he touched it. No matter what his newfound allies called him, he was still an Hashashin, like his father. And if the Hashashin were corrupted, he was going to purify the brotherhood himself. But all of that would have to wait, as Myriapolis and its people were quietly asking for a saviour to free them of the presence of Judge Kayle and Executioner Van Alsum who continued to terrorize the city under Templar command.

"We must get going..." Zaunix said in a lower voice, flapping his abnormally large wings; Shango was beginning to think the Scyther did that whenever he was nervous, but then again, such being seemed impossible to be nervous.

"Yes, of course. I hear our friend Van is giving a show today..." Shango snapped his claws again, making a louder noise this time.

"Make sure... you attend to that."

Shango gazed at the city below him, speaking no words. It was time. He rushed forward and lept off the walls towards the city, the snowy hill awaiting under him.

***

Shango's ears were perked up from the cold, but also from the constant, monotonous voice that ripped through the air like paper. It was a strange voice he'd never heard before, but he could instantly relate it to the voidborns; as he got closer to the square, where Pokemon had gathered in crowds, he realized there were two voices: a soft and a rough one. The soft one had a slight touch of power, a psychic power, and the other one sounded merciless, when it spoke. Occasionally, screams would be heard from inside the crowd, but the rest of the Pokemon would stay silent. Shango subtly pushed his way through the crowd, reaching a point where he could take a good look on the atrocities that took place on the square.

A Rampardos, without black wings, was standing on the left of a stone template, his claws bloodied; besides him, multiple Pokemon were laying lifeless on the mud. Van Alsum, the Executioner, normal form, Shango announced to himself, narrowing his eyes just before he took them to the left, introducing them to a Sigilyph that was talking right now. Judge Kayle. In front of the two Pokemon, there were multiple Skuntanks, templars no doubt, that had formed a protective circle. Shango's eyes travelled to the rooftops of the house around the square, but no building was close to the point where the two Pokemon did their job - bypassing the templars seemed impossible. Look at all the protection, Shango thought to himself, as if the crowd would attack them... truly, the crowd stood and watched as the Judge pronounced names and two templars brought a Pokemon onto the template, where Alsum ripped it apart in front of everyone's eyes.

A blood pool had mixed with the snow under the dead Pokemon; Shango caught a movement in there and realized some of them were still alive. He smirked his furry eyebrows under the mask, thinking that such sight would cause him to have nightmares five years ago. Not now, he was used to all the suffering, and he quietly promised himself to end it when he got the chance. Shango deemed the Judge and the Executioner were unapproachable today, so he relaxed his muscles and scanned through the crowd, ignoring the desperate cries and the constant voice of the Judge placing charges.

Behind the crowd, next to a patch of snowy flowers and a Kecleon shop that was deserted, a Ninetails was standing; Shango's pupils dilated, recognizing Claire. A familiar flare was brimming right above her tails. Tristana. He remembered Crystal saying the Countess had taken her for some reason.

He pushed his way out of the crowd, walked throughout the square, staring at the beautiful Ninetails sideways. She was staring back at him with a look of suspicion, but only for a moment; once Shango was out of her sight, she turned her head to the square. Sliding in the shadows of the nearby buildings, he approached her from behind, his eyes fixed on the flare above her tails. A moment of silence and concentration passed with him staring above the furry tails; none of them had noticed him sneaking up behind them. He suddenly shot his arms, grasping the flare tightly, engulfing it into his hands. She was sleeping, he could tell from her temperature.

He stepped away carefully, making sure not the snow under him didn't give him away. He felt Tristana starting to wake up as he turned around the corner and started running to the unknown. The spirit took her physical form and Shango grasped both of her wings so she wouldn't fly away. He quickly sat down on the snow, heartbeats rising along with his friend's temperature. Her large blue eyes slowly opened, then they widened in terror of the masked hoodie. Shango remembered he was wearing the Phantom Dancer's mask and he quickly removed it, throwing it besides on the snow.

"It's me, my goddess," he whispered, caressing her head with his claw, letting go of her wings. She looked at him stunned with her mouth gaping open. Tears started forming on her large blue eyes, falling hot on Shango's belly.

"S-shango... i-is this a d-dream?"

"No."

She flew from his hands, reaching the fur of his face with her tiny hands, having a lost expression. Shango felt sorry for her, seeing her like this, but now it'd be over.

Tristana hugged as much of his face as she could grasp, his cheeks wet with her tears. It felt like having a fever - the heat the spirit was expulsing was extreme. He had to pull her out of his hood before she fried his head. When he looked at her, she was still crying, speechless.

"I won't disappear again," he said in a reassuring tone, having a faint smile. Tristana spent a few moments looking at him in astonishment, then she slowly descended to his chest, burrying her face in his fur. Her heat was much more welcome on his chest than his head; Shango felt the fuzzy, cozy feeling when next to her. The cold was pierced around them, the snow melting around him as he leaned againist the now warm stone wall.

He petted her head and rubbed her ears playfully, his smile growing. She looked up at him, the last signs of sadness in her eyes fading away, to be replaced by happiness. As he placed one hand on her back, she seemed to cringe with his touch. The comfortable silence that ensued between them gave Shango time to relish Tristana being close to him. He realized he was feeling empty without her in his cloak or sitting on his shoulder.

She seemed so fragile and innocent, he couldn't help but continue petting her as she always liked it. He returned her intense stare, feeling she was about to say something.

"What happened, Shango?"

Her voice seemed more stable now, but there was a hint of worry in it; she glanced at the mask resting on the snow. Its steel surface was facing upwards, the dark, empty holes of the eyes giving off a creepy feeling, as if the mask was full. When Tristana looked back at him, he started explaining what had happened after he fell into the Well of Shadows. His words were swift, but it seemed like a long time.

Tristana stared at him with concern, after he was finished. Her eyes narrowed and she glanced at the mask again.

"So that's what the Phantom Dancer is about..." she muttered. "Isn't there any other way of granting people freedom than taking lives?"

Shango was afraid of that question; he always knew Tristana did not generally approve him killing non-wild Pokemon. But he had the answer ready.

He shook his head, smirking his eyebrows. "I have no way of ensuring that the bad people of this world won't come back to their evil ways. Taking their life is my only option, Tristey."

His sincere tone didn't seem to convince Tristana, but she remained silent, staring down at his chest as if lost in her thoughts. He patted her head and grabbed hold of her tiny body, along with his mask. He got up from the pool of warm water Tristana's heat had formed around him, his cloak dripping wet, and wore his mask. He realized it acted as if attracted to his face, as if it latched onto it... he would investigate that later.

"Is hiding your face that necessary?" Tristana asked him with a hint of smile that reminded him of her lively, playful one. That smile was reflected on his face, under the mask.

"Yes, enemies can't stop looking at my gorgeous face," he said, chuckling as he started walking through the snow covered road. Tristana's laugh filled his ears, sounding like a melody that was alot different than Claire's laugh. He held the spirit close to his chest, the heat she was radiating pushing the cold of the snow away from them.

"What of Claire?" Shango asked, hoping Tristana would tell him how she had reacted when he fell into the Well. Tristana took a moment to reply, but he could tell she was smirking in irritation.

"She seems like an OK person..."

"Was she sad?"

"Maybe... she didn't show much of it."

"Ah..." Shango suddenly realized the constant voice of Judge Kayle had disappeared. He turned to the left, to an alley. Releasing Tristana from his hands, he rushed up the wooden wall of a house and kicked it, grabbing the tip of the roof and pulling himself up with ease. The fire spirit landed on his shoulder, touching his black cloak and feeling it.

"I like your new cloak," she said as he lept to another roof, headed towards the square.

"I'd get you one if I could," he joked. But his hearty smile disappeared when his eyes fell on the pile of Pokemon thrown on the snow, in the middle of the square, next to the stone template. The Judge had just dismissed the crowd, stating that whoever approached the dead would be charged with murder for some insane reason. Shango's eyes travelled underneath the roof to see Claire pacing away; he would have to talk to her later.

The Pokemon of the crowd were crying as they wanted to stay next to their relatives who had been executed, but the templars were pushing them away frantically. Shango sat on his ankles, watching the Judge and the Executioner being teleported away by two Kirlias. Now that the opportunity to kill them was gone entirely and the square slowly started to empty, he waited.

Deadly silence quickly fell on the square, the snow slowly falling on the bodies of the poor. Tristana was staring at them in awe, saying nothing, until she noticed some of them were still struggling.

"Shango! They're still alive..." she said, desperate.

"Some of them."

"We have to save them!"

"Yes..."

Shango launched himself from the roof and tumbled to the snow underneath. Tristana flew ahead, hovering over the Pokemon, examining them; Shango came running after her with his eyes fixed on the Pokemon. One of them cried loudly, a small Buneary, it was a child. He retrieved it and put it on the snow, slightly lifting its head. It had wounds from the Rampardos' claws on its chest, bleeding nonstop. Eyes widened in fear, causing Shango to cringe; but the mask remained impassive.

As the Pokemon cried a second time, Tristana landed next to them and touched it.

"There's nothing we can do," Shango said, turning his head to look at the rest of the Pokemon. "Their wounds are all fatal."

Tristana remained silent as she stared at the dying Buneary. "But... he's but a child, why would they do this to him?"

Shango took his decision. He landed his claws on the child's neck, precisely on a vital spot, killing it instantly. Tristana let out a screech.

"What are you doing?" she asked, getting in front of his face as he stood up.

"Showing some mercy," he said, walking past her. His claws were sunk on the Pokemon that were still alive, until they were all laying dead. Every time, he was evaluating their wounds in case there was somebody who could be saved, but he found none. Tristana's face had transformed from disgust, but she said nothing as she knew well of Shango's good intentions.

After he was done, panting, he walked away from the empty square, without throwing anothe look at the blood that was staining the snow. Tristana had burried herself in his mane, hiding inside his cloak, silently mourning the deaths of so many Pokemon.

As they walked in the street that led to the north part of the town, Shango heard multiple feet sinking into the thick snow and being plucked out of it; he slightly turned his hoodied head towards the other road, darkness engulfing all of his mask. Six Skuntanks were pacing so that they would meet him where the roads merged into one. He took a mere second to investigate their expressions and define their intentions, and when he figured they were not intending harm, he stopped in front of them, allowing them to pass by.

"Evening," he said calmly, forcing the squad to look at him suspiciously. Tristana's heart jumped in her chest, her temperature rising. The moments the templars spent in looking under the hood, they only saw Shango's brimming green eyes.

They moved passed him, and Shango took the other way, turning his back to them but having his ears on guard for the slightest sound. Indeed, four legs came running from the road where Shango had come from, to join with the group of the others - another Skuntank, no doubt. As Shango walked away from them, he heard the panting Skuntank inform the others that something had happened in the square. Right after, they turned around and walked quickly towards him.

"You, with the hoody," someone called. Shango felt Tristana's weight on his shoulder, but saw none of her.

"Don't kill them," she pleaded him in a low voice. Shango completly ignored the invisible spirit and turned around to the Skuntank who had walked in front.

"I have some questions for you," he said in a cocky voice. Typical of a templar who had a whole squad following them. Shango spread his arms in a welcoming motion. The tips of his black claws were barely visible from the sleeves of his claws; an experienced fighter would be able to tell he was about to attack.

"Were you the one who killed the Pokemon at the square?"

Shango merely nodded. The Skuntank glanced back at the others behind him with a wicked grin, then back at Shango.

"Who are you working for?" asked the templar, Shango subtly covering his sash with the insignia under the cloak before he replied.

"The Phantom Dancer."

"Who is that?"

"Me."

The Skuntank looked at him in confusion, slightly tilting his head. Then he realized Shango was just fiddling with him.

"Did you know, 'Phantom Dancer', that killing Pokemon is bad?"

Shango remained silent. He wasn't going to argue with the irony, the templar was probably being sarcastic too. He could only listen to the silent pleadings of Tristana, who was nudging his hood slightly.

"Then you're in for some beating," the templar continued and the others laughed.

"Don't you think it unwise?" Shango said abruptly, bringing his arms close to his waist; metallic sounds were heard inside his sleeves, but the templars seemed to ignore them. Out of foolishness, out of ignorance, it was all the same to Shango.

"Unwise?! You think we're afraid of you?"

"No. But you should be," Shango said, shooting both of his arms at the templar's head in front of him, grasping it; he stepped on his front leg and slid all of his claws and nether blades on the back of the Pokemon's neck. Past a second later, two fans of multiple blades were thrown againist the other templars, scattering them around. Shango had charged againist a Skuntank who had been hit on the ribs, sliding under him and ripping the other side of his ribs with his claws; tumbling to the left, he avoided the incoming claws and stabbed through the dirty mane of the Pokemon, quickly drawing away to face the four templars standing; two of them had been hit by the blades Shango had launched, which had now vanished. It seemed as if the powers of his vambraces did not last long; but the nether blades, two in each vambrace, reappeared, this time way longer, extending out of his sleeves againist the templars.

"Time for some poisonous warfare," said one of them to the others. Shango knew what was coming; he raised his head to make sure Tristana was in a safe distance away.

The Skuntanks blew air from their nostrils, a strong stream of air made Shango flinch, but it was mostly the terrible smell that overwhelmed his sensitive nose. A purple gas had started leaking from the templars, filling the air; suddenly, Shango could feel the Phantom Dancer's mask stick onto his face as if it was trying to protect him from the poison. He quickly rushed backwards, running away from the cloud - jumping onto a window, he climbed up to the roof of a house nearby. The whole street had been covered by a purple cloud, the templars still inside it.

Tristana flew to his shoulder worried. "Are you alright, Shango?"

Shango didn't reply. Instead, he quickly removed his hood and his mask. He felt the fire burn in his belly, now coming out of his mouth as a deadly stream that ignited the whole street; Pokemon did not know why this happened, but in our world, we'd know it as methane ignition. The sky was lit for about two seconds as the whole street burned with hellish flames. The snow melted and the walls and fence of nearby houses were painted black. When the purple smoke was consumed, Shango could see the fried manes of the templars.

He felt the breeze blow through the fur of his face, a rare feeling ever since he started wearing a cloak. But he soon put his hood and mask back on, making sure nobody saw him. He sat on his ankles on top of the roof, scanning through the ground that had become black from the flare.

Tristana nudged him again; he noticed her grim expression as he glanced. He simply patted her on the head and gently forced her on his shoulder. She knew full well that her protests about him killing Pokemon would be brought down immediately, thus she remained silent.

"Come, Tristy, dear. Let me introduce you to our new friend Zaunix."
​

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 26: Pestilence

​

Shango was sitting on a bench in the lonesome woods inside Myriapolis, Tristana holding onto his chest as he laid back, looking at the cloudy sky where the stars supposedly were. He had removed his mask, which was now resting next to him upside down. The cool air didn't bother them one bit; having found each other again, they were not bothered

"Look at all the beautiful stars, Tristy," he said, having a sly smile hanging from his face. Tristana raised her head in excitement - he knew she was always amazed by the night sky - and looked around.

"Stars?! Whe--" Then she realized she was looking at the clouds, which blocked the stars; she turned to Shango and looked him astonished, gasping, with her mouth slightly opened as if saying 'how could you do this to me'. She then bit her lips playfully and punched his cheek with her tiny fist.

"Stop that, it hurts," Shango said sarcastically, laughing as he rubbed his cheek.

"Aww, let me kiss it," Tristana said, pushing his claws away from his cheek and kissing it softly. Shango looked into her blue eyes, which were reflecting the clouds above them.

"I thought you wanted to hurt me!"

"I do, when you tease me like that!"

Shango suddenly turned his head to the right, perking up his ears and staring into the night. The snowy street seemed empty, but Shango knew better. Tristana looked as well the moment snow was heard to be crushed under strong feet; they both watched the sword-like footsteps on the snow being made on themselves, Shango feeling Tristana's heart beat faster with terror.

The greatly mutated Scyther popped in front of them out of nowhere, Tristana letting out a small scream, instantly hiding under Shango's cloak. The purple glow of Zaunix's scythes was reflected on the glittering snow, his black body blending with the dark of the night.

"I see you have found your companion," said the voidborn, his unnatural buzz piercing the night.

"Zaunix," Shango exlaimed and got up, Tristana letting a cry as she almost fell out of his cloak. Shango stared at Zaunix, clearly irritated. "You scared her."

He then looked down at Tristana, who was tightly hugging his belly, peeking at the monster in front of them under his cloak. Shango placed his hand on her head reassuringly, drawing her out gently. "He's our friend," he whispered, making her look at the Scyther. She seemed to be calming down, to the point where she flapped her wings and approached the mutant shyly.

Zaunix completly ignored her, still looking at Shango; it was impossible to tell what expression he was wearing, not only because of the dark, but because of the structure of his face. When Shango took his charmed eyes from the flying spirit, he stared back at him intently, wanting to make clear he was not parting with Tristana. Zaunix let out a buzz, something that sounded between a cry and a sigh.

"Have it your way, then," as he spoke, Tristana drew herself away from the scary buzz.

"What happened to you...?" Tristana asked him in a low voice, innocence mixed with sadness and horror. She slightly tilted her head, examining the Scyther's dark body, his two extra scythes that were sheding their ominous, purple glow around, and his massive green bug wings that seemed to literally reflect anything, as if they were made from polished glass.

Shango thought Zaunix' face stiffened, but it could be just him. He ignored Tristana's question, still looking at the hoodied Pokemon in front of him.

"What news, Phantom?"

Shango took two steps next to the bench, feeling the snow under his boots. He took a deep breath, his eyes travelling from the shadows of the woods to the snow that had covered the ground. He spoke only after some moments.

"There is no way of approaching Van and Kayle undetected or without triggering open conflict. Plus, they can always teleport out of the scene if something goes wrong."

He looked at Zaunix, smirking his furry eyebrows; though only the voidborn was able to see through the dark of his hood. "They've planned these executions well - they teleport in and out, and we don't know where they reside at any other time. We'll need to procure... another strategy."

The Scyther glanced to the left, at the path which led to the main square of Myriapolis. Then he looked back at Shango with something that looked like a small grin.

"Tell me... have you got anything in mind?"

"Pestilence, my friend. Pestilence."

Zaunix remained immovable; Tristana dove to Shango, getting in front of his face and wearing a troubled expression.

"Pestilence?" she asked naively, tilting her head. Shango had a grin, knowing that most would suggest he was insane or evil for suggesting it. But he was sure Zaunix and the rest of the voidborns would understand. Tristana was another matter, sadly.

"Pestilence," Shango repeated. "We will get to know where Kayle's court will take place next. We will infect the ground with a plague and spread the word. Nobody will set foot in there."

Zaunix remained staring at him, Tristana's face was transformed with disgust for the second time that day.

"Shango, you can't be serious," she said in a worried tone.

"It's risky," Zaunix commented. "And complicated. You think we can just create a plague?"

Shango was still grinning, secretly admiring himself for the neat idea he had come up with. "I am sure Zorthan will be able to help us."

The Scyther was for a few moments, looking at the ground, thinking about it. "What's the plan?"

Shango started walking around the snow with his hands behind his back, crushing the flowers that had not been covered yet under his boots. "We lay the plague, burn the area so it seems dangerous and put warning signs around. The Judge and the Executor will be forced to transfer to another location, possibly in a location favouring us. From there, we improvise."

He could feel Tristana's stare on him, but he ignored her, focusing his attention on Zaunix' reaction, who looked up at him once he was finished. "The next execution will take place tomorrow, but time isn't enough - we'll have to wait for the next one, when we'll strike."

"Magnificent. I'll pay a visit to the execution tomorrow, learn where the next one will be taking place."

Tristana got in front of Shango's face again, flapping her wings furiously. "You can't do this! What if somebody walks in there by mistake?"

Shango looked down momentarily and drew a breath. "Then I will take full responsibility, and they will die in the name of liberty," he said quite bluntly, with his eyebrows raised and a look of undefinable innocence in his green eyes. His response shocked her, but she didn't continue it. They simply stared at each other intently.

"Wear your mask, Phantom," Zaunix interrupted them, "and let's go down... see if we can create a plague."

The Scyther turned to leave towards the woods, and Shango bypassed Tristana, following after him. The Victini caught up with Shango, lifting his hood sideways so she could see him.

"Down?" she asked, curiously, having almost forgotten the despicable scheme they were planning. Shango's white fur raced with the wind that blew inside the hood once the spirit had lifted his hood. He looked at her sideways, having a meaningful smile all across his face.

"Down the Well of Shadows."

Tristana let out another small cry and sat on his shoulder, clutching her head in awe. Shango couldn't help but laugh at her reaction; he raised his arm and scratched her chin with his claw.

"Don't worry, dear... Zaunix here will make sure nothing bad happens to us."

Apart from the snow being stepped upon, a sigh coming from Zaunix reached their ears.

***

The day after, before the next execution, Shango was walking through the streets of the city, cape racing with the wind and boots sinking deep into the ever thickening snow. Tristana was sitting visible on his shoulder, keeping him company as he rallied his thoughts about today's coming events. A group of Pokemon looked at them suspiciously, but they ignored them, continuing their way to the same square where the last execution was held. But as they bypassed the group, Shango's ears caught bits of their conversation.

"... grandmother Ela says she saw a hoodied Pokemon in the square yesterday."

"Grandmother Ela must be crazy."

"Look."

"That's interesting... what did they do?"

"She says he seemed as if looking for something... and he killed the survivors."

Shango could feel their eyes on his back the whole time, but his ears were soon out of range and his interest was diminished. Maybe he would go off as a bad figure for the city, but he didn't care at all. What he was doing didn't need to be praised by the public.

He glanced at Tristana, who swiftly grabbed his cheek's fur and pulled it playfully. "You know, Shango, Claire doesn't think very highly of you."

"Really?" he glared at the spirit, searching for any signs of jealousy; but he could tell she was telling the truth. Her smile was sincere and slightly apologetic, making him forget about the execution. Thoughts started torturing him - didn't the Countess consider him... enough?

"How do you know?"

"Well..." she started, unsure of how to word her thoughts. "She said something like, 'just another Hashashin gone'."

Shango kept this in mind, but said nothing regarding it. "What else did you two talk about?"

"Oh, you know..." she giggled. "Girl stuff."

Just then, Shango got past another group of Pokemon, which were apparently a waiting line at a Kecleon shop. All of their heads turned to him; eventually, someone's voice reached his ear.

"Look, somebody with a cloak..."

"Don't they say a hoody just wiped a squad of templars?"

"Dangerous people... I bet he's Stygian."

Shango mocked them for being as naive as thinking he couldn't hear them. Tristana interrupted his focused eavesdropping by pulling his cheek's hair again.

"See what you've done?" she asked teasingly, having a huge grin. Shango snatched her from his shoulder and started tickling her. She immediately started laughing uncontrollably and tried to shake off his strong hands, but to no avail. His breath became heavy from the effort of keeping her still, becoming steam as it came out.

The main road was finally seen, people walking slowly to the direction of the square; Shango thought that their sad faces were probably hiding a dead or soon to be dead (what was the difference, anyway?) relative of theirs, and that now they were walking a miserable, straight cobblestone path to bid them farewell. Shango silently promised them true justice as he subtly blended in the moving crowd.
​

***


"Welcome, welcome," the Sigilyph's psychic voice echoed in the minds of all the Pokemon gathered around the stone template where the vicious Rampardos was standing firm, the Sigilyph flying besides him. The falling snow was building up on everyone's shoulder, as they should immovable, only shaking with anticipation. Occasionally, a strong gust of wind would bent the crowd forcefully.

Shango observed the scene; it was just the same as last time, templars surrounding and protecting the Judge and the Executor, the prisoners held by more templars in the back of the template, except now there was a massive hole gaping in the ground right where the bodies from last night were thrown. Shango's green eyes narrowed as he fixed them on Judge Kayle in a deadly glare.

"More scoundrels were caught," the Judge said evily as if he was scolding a child. "The Judgement shall continue, by command of Chancellor Jericho Santaros, until this city is purged of all mischief! I am doing this for the greater good, for a better tomorrow..."

Shango's lips became a mocking curve, doubting he believed those words. Executioner Van Alsum slammed his foot on the stone template, drawing every one's attention. Small cries could already be heard from the crowd; the grins of the templars hinted what was to come, inspiring fear to the citizens.

"Let the Judgement begin," said Van stiffly, voice as hard as rock.

Indeed, the templars started bringing the prisoners one by one, each passing the template knowing there was no other way. Flying prisoners had their right wing snapped so they were unable to fly away; Tristana started shaking with the atrocities she was seeing and she quickly hid under Shango's cloak, pulling it tightly together so all view was sealed.

As the first desperate cries torn the air, both from the template and the crowd, Shango's eyes caught two shadows between the Pokemon. He turned his head slowly to see two Pokemon, a tall and a relatively short one in white hoodies. Their faces concealed in the dark, but their belts had the insignia of the Hashashin fastened onto them. Shango recognized the silhouettes of Crystal and Enzo, standing firm, staring at the template like ghost. He subconsciously put his insignia away from his red sash and patted his ears inside the hood so they weren't showing. He started moving towards the Hashashin steadily, gently pushing away anybody who stood in his way but always laying low in case anybody recognized him. The Phantom Dancer's mask protected his face from their piercing eyes, yet he stood in a safe distance so they would not feel his aura.

Shango! Tristana's voice popped into his mind; she had felt him moving, and she was peeking under his cloak. What are you doing?

"Warning them."

Shango noticed their hoods had slightly turned to his direction, but that did not hinder him. He kept a safe distance before speaking low so the people around wouldn't hear.

"I suggest you stay where you are," Shango's voice sounded alot different, which was what he was trying to accomplish. The mask was helping alot.

"And who would you be?" Crystal's feminine voice struck him, and he quickly reminded himself why he was hiding to prevent anything stupid from happening. Nightingale would instantly know it if he suddenly appeared even in the subconcious of their minds. However, he allowed himself a small grin as he enjoyed hearing his cousin's cocky voice again.

"That is of no importance," he finally said. "If you're planning on attacking, this isn't the right place."

"Do we share the same goal, then?" Shango was shocked when the shorter Hashashin spoke; the voice he had heard was not Enzo's, or at least that's what he thought at first... after a moment of analyzing his tone, he figured that the loss of his brother had massively changed the Ambipom. Now he sounded extremely serious and mature, almost scary. He felt sad for his friend; being sensitive as he was after Vincenzo's death, he woud be more easily manipulated by Nightingale and his ill ways.

"If you are here to kill the Judge and the Executioner, then yes," said Shango, noticing Crystal's red eyes glowing in the dark. As they both nodded, Shango could sense their doubts and insecurity - he guessed they were acting on their own consent. Nightingale was working for the Endarkened Ones, who put the Judge and the Executioner to work in the first place. He would never order the Hashashin to murder them, yet here they were.

"I have a plan," Shango informed them as quietly as he could. Momentarily, he feared that Tristana's heat would reach them. He subtly put his hand inside his cloak, pushing her to the side. "Only tell me when and where the next execution will take place."

The Hashashin glanced at each other, obviously in astonishment of the stranger's demanding tone. Nobody was talking to the Hashashin like that. Who would? Another Hashashin, maybe... but that didn't cross their minds at the time.

"Tomorrow, same place as here, same time," Enzo said slowly.

"We are the reason they changed locations," Crystal informed him, "they're afraid of us planning an assassination."

Shango put the gears of his mind to work, he knew his plan could be developed so it profitted from the Hashashin's influence. He lowered his head while he was thinking, but he did notice the Hashashin's hoods turning as if they were briefly glancing at each other.

"Listen how it's gonna be, then," Shango started, "I will make sure they change their location to the other square or the Cathedral. I will meet you there for further instructions."

"Wait just one minute," Enzo said abruptly, kind of reminding Shango the years of the rush and impulsive Enzo, "how are you gonna do that?"

A large grin formed on Shango's face, which was well concealed under the mask. "You'll see."

He turned around with grace, but Crystal spoke before he could leave.

"Wait... aren't you the one who--"

"Yes... I put them out of their misery an hour earlier," Shango interrupted her without facing her. With that, he walked away, to blend in with the thick crowd of the first lines.


***

Following their usual plan, Judge Kayle and Executioner Van Alsum were teleported away from the site as soon as they were done with their job; the templars pushed the people away, but Shango had the opportunity to hide in the shadows of an alley. Shango's prying eyes skimmed through the crowd, but when the square had finally been emptied, no trace of the Hashashin could be seen. He did notice some of the templars hiding in other alleys, probably preparing an ambush for the mystery Pokemon who put the condemned ones to eternal rest. Sending Tristana out for a scout, she counted thirteen Skuntanks hiding in the shadows, having their eyes locked in the square; two of them passed right in front of Shango, investigating the area, but he had latched onto the wall, almost becoming one with it and the dense darkness that floated around.

"Seriously, what's with all the Skuntanks? They stink!" Tristana asked, blocking her nose and burrying her face on his chest's fur. Shango glanced at the square to make sure everyone was gone before he answered.

"These Skuntanks are coming from the Tocan swamplands, where they really love the templars and dedicate every warrior of their to them," he explained and immediately took a deep breath. Raising one of his hands, he reached for his ears inside his hood and pulled them out through the holes on the garment. Whoever was the original Phantom Dancer, they had ears like his and these holes allowed them to stray out.

He didn't know how deep that hole where they threw the remains of the Pokemon who went through the Judgement was, but he did have something in mind to relieve them of their pain. "Tristy," he called her, pulling her out of his cloak gently enough and holding him in front of him, so their eyes were at the same height. Two pairs of glowing eyes, green and blue, could be seen in the alley if anybody looked. But the patrols over the square had ended now, only the sound of the gust ensuing.

"Yes, cutie?"

"I need you to do me a favour..."

"Another one?" she asked mercilessly, raising her eyebrow in a playful manner.

"If not for me, for them," he said impatiently, looking towards the hole next to the template in the middle of the square.

"Will it hurt?" she asked, biting her bottom lip. Shango caressed her cheek with his claw.

"Yes... yes it will hurt you."

Tristana slowly nodded, and Shango's smile grew. He held her on his hand, even let her climb on the tip of his sleeve and rubbed her ears a few times, relieving her tension. She suddenly looked up at him, her large eyes reflecting the Phantom Dancer's mask for a scary momentum. It was barely visible through the darkness, but her glowing blue eyes seemed to illuminate the alley slightly.

"Anything for you."

Shango smiled, knowing she could see through his mask, but said nothing. He raised his head, fixing his eyes on the hole; his boots crushed on the snow heavily as he walked through the square calmly. The gaping hole, about ten feet wide, kept getting closer and closer to him, and when he was on the edge, he took a peek at the bottom. The view wasn't pleasant, and he drew Tristana away from it before she could see; the hole was about thirty feet deep, darkness and snow starting to cover it as the sun had drawn out from the sky and the last remaining rays of light were covered by the racing clouds.

Shango heard sly footsteps from all around the square, multiple ones. He turned in time to see the Skuntank glaring at him evily; one of them walked forward. A boss, as usual.

"You can't save them this time," he said with a terrible grin on his ugly face. Some of them had noticed the spirit of fire the hoody was holding.

"That's what you think," Shango said in a steel tone that raised doubts amongst their ranks.

"Give us what you're holding, and we might let you live..."

Shango started laughing loudly, a charming, yet menacing laugh that echoed all around the square with an intensity completly different to the one of the raging snow's. The templars looked at each other, mildly confused, silently and foolishly wondering why he was laughing. The Phantom Dancer pointed at the hole besides him, his black claw extending from his sleeve.

"These Pokemon died for less important matters," he stated, a hint of a massive, brewing storm of anger in his voice. With no warning, he threw the fire spirit into the pit, who ignited into a flaming comet as it descended; moments after, an enormous pillar of flames was shot up the sky, having the size of the hole. The view seemed like a volcano erupting, only in a more constant flow. The elusive flames purged anything that was down there, literally, as the temperature was so high it could even melt bones. The ground underneath the square warmed up, melting all the snow in mere moments, the water becoming steam afterwards, forming a thick fog that veiled the Phantom's first movements. When the fog was carried away by the fog, six of the thirteen Skuntanks were already laying on the ground.

Shango sliced through their leader, slashing the face and the side before pouncing with blinding speed onto his next target, sinking his nether blades deep into the Pokemon's throat, twisting them and smashing his leg to force him to the ground. Abruptly pulling out his nether blades, he turned to the five remaining Skuntanks, immediately detecting the vibe of doubt in their faces. Blood was dripping out of his sleeves, his breath coming out as steam and his heart racing wildly.

"Don't bring the poisons, boys," one of the Skuntanks reminded his fellows, trying to keep his calm. He was probably informed of what had happened with last time's 'poisonous warfare'.

Shango raised both of his arms in front of him in the battle stance of the Needlers; now that the circumstances didn't allow stealth during combat, he would proceed otherwise. The templars took this as a taunting motion and charged at him altogether. Bracing himself, focusing and putting Tristana out of his mind, he blocked the first hit and tumbled to the warm ground besides the Skuntank, slashing his side. The others didn't expect him to be so close in that little time, giving him the chance to bash his body againist one of them and launch himself at another one, stabbing him twice on his back. Right after, he launched an assault on all of the three templars, a storm of furious and swift but precise hits that they managed to block with difficulty. He had already received blows from his opponents, but in his haste, he had forgot to mind them.

The resistance provided was starting to diminish, as Shango's speed and strength outmatched theirs by far. Shango found the opportunity to stick his fingers into one of the Skuntank's mane and pull it towards him, step on his leg and shot an uppercut, slicing through the Pokemon's jaws. The other two templars stayed put for a moment, then started running towards different directions; Shango pounced on one's tail and slid under the templar, all of his blades and claws penetrating his opponent's torso.

Throwing the dead Pokemon away, he quickly got up, his eyes fixed on the fleeing templar. He was out of reach, and breath, unable to give chase; he briefly thought of removing his mask and hood and shooting a flamethrower, but he wasn't risking being seen. His nether blades disappeared from his vambraces with a subtle purple glow and a metallic sound. He thought it wouldn't hurt him if he let the templar leave, but next time he crossed his blades with the templars, things would be severly more serious.

Despite getting up, he kneeled again and grabbed hold of his back, feeling a deep scratch. His heavy breaths and gasps were coming out as steam in front of him, even though he was wearing a mask. His head spun from the adrenaline, but it quelled down over time. When he finally caught up to his senses, he looked around at the slaughter he had caused, the scent of blood filling his lungs fully. Something caught his attention; his eyes were fixed on a shining figure standing in front of one of the square's dark alleys. It was a beautiful Ninetail and Shango wasn't mistaking her for anyone else...

"Claire," he gasped, getting up quickly. Shango's heart continued to beat fast, not because of the fight he had just been through. She walked towards him, as if she was an illusion of grace and beauty, her gorgeous scent reaching him first. Steam emerged from the ground in her wake, her body's temperature was so high, Shango could feel the heat from afar. When Claire reached him, her fuming tails wrapped around him, subtly, engulfing him in a state of comfortable heat that kept the cold out. Shango was standing rooted to the ground, watching her irresistible smile that dilated his pupils so much, his eyes were entirely black.

"How would you know my name?" she asked in genuine suspicion, raising her brow. She had heard of him gasping her name... Shango scolded himself for his foolish mistake, but he had already thought of the answer.

"How could I not know the strikingly beautiful Countess of our city?"

Shango could feel his blood boiling in his head, as the heat ensnared him even more; her red eyes flashed, and for a moment, Shango doubted her existance. He shook his head, as if he was snapping out of a dream. The Ninetails was still in front of him, but he had almost forgotten about Tristana. She was probably in the bottom of the pit, still unconcious from the explosion she herself had caused; he shot a glance towards the hole, as if he could see the spirit from where he was.

"Is something troubling you?" her feminine voice filled his ears, forcing him to look back at her stunned for a second.

"Oh, I'm frightfully sorry for the mess, lady Claire," he said, looking around at the templars laying dead on the ground, slowly being topped with the falling snow.

Thankfully, his condition got better, though he was still hurting all over his body and his cloak was stained with blood. Now he was able to focus better and think more logically. Adapt with the new situation; he reminded himself he was not Shango to Claire right now. She was truly eyeing him differently now, he noticed of that.

"Why would you do something like that?" her voice was strangely full of admiration, instead of disgust.

"They wanted to play rough," Shango said simply. Claire only smiled in understanding.

"Hmm... what do they call you?"

"Phantom Dancer," he said quite seriously; he noticed the look she gave him, a look of recognition and appreciation, almost affection... the warmth of her tails around him had nothing to do with Tristana's. Her presence was enough to charm Shango, but he didn't feel like telling her; that would give her the edge.

"Well... I don't know who you are, or where you're coming from," she purred, looking at the ground, "but you sure know how to impress a girl..."

Shango momentarily wondered what the standards of this girl were, but his thoughts didn't develop further - he didn't care. He would kill an entire army if needed, to impress her... did he have this kind of thought before, or was it just him?

"I'm sure I can do alot of other things to a girl," he responded calmly; for a moment, he was afraid that he sounded much like his old self, but she didn't seem to notice. She only giggled charmingly.

"Why don't you remove that mask of yours, then?"

This was going at a dead end - he knew he couldn't take his mask off. But just at the right time, a buzz-like sound torn the air to signal the coming of the void. Zaunix appeared out of nowhere next to Shango, and Hector jumped to the square from a roof, running towards them; Claire's tails released Shango at the sight of the two. They quietly looked around for a moment, evaluating the scene.

"Woah," said Hector after a while. "What happened here?"

The Zangoose with the furious facial hair suddenly approached Claire, who was watching him carefully. "Evening, Countess, what're you doing here, if I may ask?"

"Nothing..." she said in a low voice, looking at Shango sideways, a seductive smile painted on her face. "Just having a little fun."

Hector seemed to ignore her, which surprised Shango greatly - he was flirting with the Countess a while ago, he would surely be disturbed with her words. But he only looked at him plainly.

"Don't tell me you went through all this trouble just to save some dead people?" he asked blatantly, but Shango ignored him; he simply nodded at Claire's questioning look and let out a sigh to tell her that he was really sorry for knowing Hector. Her response was a giggle, assuring him of their mutual agreement that Hector had interrupted something.

"Phantom," Zaunix called out to him, "we need to get going."

Shango jerked his head towards the black Scyther with his eyes narrowed, wondering how the Countess was not impressed by a fully mutated voidborn. Perhaps she knew him... questions needed to be answered later. The Ninetails let out a sigh, still smiling and looking intently at Shango. "I'll be going as well... I don't wish to be involved in the holocaust."

Shango watched her walk away, but she turned around for just a moment, to whisper that they would meet again; he was sure only he had heard her. Her scent remained in the air even after she was gone, Shango taking in as much as possible before returning to business. His worryness about Tristana rose again; he rushed to where the voidborns were standing, at the edge of the pit, looking down.

"Look at what you've done!" Hector said, smirking his eyebrows in a too similar way to Shango.

"This will attract attention," Zaunix buzzed; his voice had a stern touch, surprisingly.

"Tristy is down there!" Shango said a little louder than usual, staring at the Scyther. "Get her out?"

Zaunix shot him a strange look before flapping his glowing green wings, creating a buzz similar to his speech, and jumping into the hole. He was out in seconds, holding the spirit. Tristana looked lifeless, but Shango knew she had just passed out; he felt her body warm as he snatched her from Zaunix's dangerous scythes. As he shook some snow off her head and ears, she slightly opened her blue eyes, a peaceful smile forming on her face.

Hector crossed his arms, staring with a bored look at the spirit, and Zaunix sat on his ankles, his long feet making an extremely strange angle that was unknown to most Pokemon. Shango caressed Tristana, holding her on his hands to secure the heat that was radiating from her body.

"Put her in your pocket," Zaunix advised him, half joking. Shango looked at him to see if he was serious, then he realized his cloak had an inside pocket that was big enough for Tristana. She had now went back to sleep again, and he thought it was best to leave her that way; he placed her carefully in his pocket, making sure she was comfortable. He would thank her later.

"How about we get outta here, before we're forced to rub some faces to the ground?" said Hector, his feral voice loud and clear throughout the sound of the snow. "Not that I'd have any probs with that," he added, chuckling.

"We're not going anywhere yet," said Zaunix; Shango raised his eyes from the pocket to look at them both.

"Zorthan was able to create a blight, Phantom," the black Scyther informed him.

"Out of 'waste'," Hector added, shifting his nose in disgust.

"Wonderful," said Shango, turning his back to them and putting his hands behind his back as he walked away from the hole. "Be advised, I spoke with the Hashashin," he instantly felt their intense stare and he proceeded to explaining his intentions to avoid conflict, "without revealing my identity. They agreed to aid us."

"You fool!" shouted Hector angrily. "They're in league with Nightingale!"

Shango stopped walking and turned to face them, the steel of his impassive mask illuminated with a weak beam of moonlight passing through the clouds. The snow had become rain now, falling onto the dead bodies around them and dissipating the snow that had covered them; the result was small streams of bloodied water creating a pool of blood when they met. Shango enjoyed the moment of the rain falling on his shoulders, feeling sympathy for Hector's ignorance at the same time. But before he could speak, Zaunix interrupted him.

"If Nightingale doesn't want the Judge and the Executioner out of the way, nor the Hashashin do."

Shango raised his right arm, his sharp claw showing. "I have known those Hashashin for five years now. Don't you think I'd know it if they were Nightingale's boot lickers?"

He took two steps towards them, lowering his claws. "Besides, what reason could they possibly have to be in the executions?"

Oversee them in account of Nightingale, was the answer countering his question, but Shango had faith in his friends. He suddenly felt a vibration from afar and jerked his body to see the bulky, dark figure of the Reuniclus.

"Ah, Zorthan," he said, walking towards him, his boots splashing in the pool of watered blood. He noticed the gel that Pokemon had as a body remained unnaffected by the rain; the raindrops simply ran down his body as if the surface of the gel was perfectly shaped. His monstrous veins had a purple substance flowing through them instead of a red one like last time, and his amber eyes were glowing black. Six barrels were floating in the air, following him.

"The blight's ready," Zorthan informed them with his metallic voice tearing through the rain, his laugh filling the square. "Made it from some medieval toxic waste I found down our Well, and some Raticate parts... I swear, that thing's real dangerous. Wait," he noticed the dead bodies around. "What's with them?"

"Shango decided to waste some more of his time on dead people," Hector said blatandly, crossing his arms. He didn't seem to mind the rain.

"And now we're wasting even more time," Shango said louder than needed, without looking at Hector. His green eyes flashed as they met Zorthan's. "Let's get this over with. Time is precious, doubly so on this occasion."

He walked away, leaving them in silence, only the sound of the splashing raindrops breaking it. Shango's eyes travelled from one road to another for any signs of templars. The job was soon done.

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 27: The Rifts of Life

The clouds had moved aside, allowing the first crimson beams of the morning Karnos to illuminate the city, and along with it, the square in which Shango and his allies had spilled the blight, poisoning the ground. The chemicals had changed its brown colour to black; under the crimson light, this monstrosity the voidborns had created fit the descriptions of the Dark Cult's 'World after the Cataclysm'. No snow could top the heat that was coming from the area and no smell could cover its horrible stench. Signs spread across the edges of the black scar, warning the first citizens to encounter them about the death that was lurking. The hours passed and the light of Karnos faded, replaced by the early morning sun; yet the square looked just as much horrifying.

Shango was watching over the site from a rooftop, sitting on his ankles. The slight breeze made his cape wave along with it, the slow topping on his shoulders as it fell at a slow pace. His cloak warded off any cold, thankfully, and the spirit he was holding on his hands had taken the form of a harmless flare; enough to heat his hands up.

Just as he thought he was glad Tristana wouldn't get to see this, she took on her physical form and opened her eyes. "Tristy," he muttered, still looking forward and smooched on her forehead. Her blue eyes searched for his, but he had them focused on some Pidgeys who flew right into the square, landing on the black ground. They chirped, unaware of the danger - they would soon be infected. Shango panicked, seeing them flying away; this way the whole town would be infected by the plague. How couldn't he had seen this? He suddenly hoped Zorthan was sane enough to create a not so lethal plague. As if that could be modified...

"Shango?"

"Hmm?" Tristana poked her chin in an attempt to make him look at her; but his eyes were fixed on the yonder, where the birds had flown.

"I'm awake," she announced, looking at him sideways in hope of attracting his attention. But his attention was still focused elsewhere. It always bothered her when he was lost in thoughts like that, and now that she couldn't see his expression, she couldn't determine what he was thinking of exactly. "I'm okay, thanks," she said a little louder than needed, clearly disturbed. Shango finally looked down, as if still lost in thought, but the spirit was looking away. A faint, kindhearted smile had formed beneath his mask.

"Goddess," he called out, knowing she was always flattered by the not too metaphorical adjective, "you did a wonderful job, you make me proud." Saying that, he gently run his two claws from her head to her back. The look he received was intense, but she wasn't angry; Shango was able to determine her feelings for him just by looking at her eyes. He quickly looked at the crowd down the street, feeling uneasy under her stare. The words she didn't speak then sufficed for the effect, but Shango was grateful for her silence at that moment.

The symbol of the templars struck out to him down the street - the black heart with the crossing blades. Templars were investigating the cause of the fuss. About bloody time, Shango thought, getting up from his position. Tristana flew off his hand to hover above his head; he continued to stared down the crowded street, tightening his fists.

"Come on, Tristy," he said in a low voice. He raised his hand, motioning her to follow with his claw. "We've got places to be."

***

Later that day, on another one of Myriapolis' rooftops, Zaunix, Hector and Zorthan were standing firm with their eyes skimming through the crowd that was gathering in front of the Dark Cult's Cathedral. The snow had now stopped falling, clearing the view entirely; a stone template was placed in front of the Cathedral and templars had begun taking positions all around the area.

They only looked away when they heard light footsteps on the stone of the roof behind them. Shango approached and stood by them, glancing at the crowd.

"It seems that they relocated," Zorthan noticed.

"You don't say?" Hector sat down and brought one hand to his forehead.

"Our plan has worked, gentlemen," Shango said, not forgetting the plan was purely his.

"How are we going to get to them?" Zaunix raised a scythe, pointing at the template. Shango's eyes were drawn to the highest point of the Cathedral's building, where the Aerodactyl-gargoyles were standing guard under the circular red window. A sword-like stone was tearing the sky apart above the window, accompanied with many smaller ones that made the building look like wearing a crown.

"Leave the Judge up to me," Shango said, still staring at the building intently. "On my signal, you and Hector distract the templars surrounding them. Zorthan will have to make sure the two teleporters are put out of commision before joining in."

The voidborns stayed silent for some moments.

"What of the Executioner? What will be the signal?" Zaunix was the most curious one. His questions amused Shango, who slightly grinned.

"You will know when it's time to strike. As for the Executioner... the Hashashin will take care of his fate. Take your positions before our game arrives."

"Hold on a minute," Hector protested, "why do you have to do all the planning?"

Shango turned look at him. "Because I'm the most capable one. Any more questions?"
​

After a silence that lasted only one second, Shango turned to the Reuniclus; he had taken his mutated form, red fluid flowing through the veins between his body and hands. "Zorthan, make sure you approach them from behind."

Zorthan's metallic chuckle made Shango cringe from its intensity. "I can make them stop existing by snapping my fingers, boy."

Shango smirked his eyebrows, as he wasn't used to being called boy. He momentarily wondered just how old this Reuniclus was; he barely knew anything about Zorthan.

Zaunix stepped between them to get attention. "I usually do the planning, but your plan seems good."

"Let's make it be, then. Free this city of the templar grasp."

With no more words, Shango lept forwards, tumbling to the ground and stealthily blending with the crowd. He could feel the people's anticipation and anxiety, but his was a different kind. With a slight move of his hand, he pushed his ears inside his hood to avoid being recognized. Eyes on lookout for the white hoodies, he stayed hidden until he spotted the Hashashin and subtly moved towards them; they had taken a position near the back of the crowd, where they were hidden by the shadows of the houses. From that point, they had perfect view of the Cathedral and its template. Typical of the Hashashin to be so calculative.

"Well done, shadow," Enzo said, slightly mockingly as Shango approached them. He ignored his comment.

"I will target the Judge and my... associates will keep the templars budy and silence the teleporters."

"Aww..." cooed Crystal in an expression of mock hurt, "all that's left for us is the Executioner?"

"Yes."

"How the heck are you gonna get to the Judge?" Enzo asked abruptly.

"From the Cathedral."

"But it's impossible to climb..." he muttered, without looking at it; they had studied well, Shango thought, and the thought had crossed their minds as well.

"Not for me."

"So arrogant..." Crystal said in a low voice, rolling her eyes; Shango could see through the darkness of his hood easily. "You remind me of somebody I know."

Enzo grabbed her shoulder softly. "Knew," he corrected her. Shango kept perfect calm, knowing they wouldn't be able to find out it was him.

"When the Judge dies," he interrupted them harshly, "you go after the Executioner. Understood? Great."

Before any of them could speak, he turned away and headed towards the house closer to the Cathedral; his cape waved behind him as a strong gust of wind blew through it. Moments later, he was on top of the roof closer to his target building. Of course, even the Pokemon with the strongest jump couldn't reach the Cathedral from there, but Shango had another route in mind; the route he took to follow Jericho and Desmondius inside the building a while ago: the rocky cliff.

Clinging onto the cliff, the thought of what he was going to do made his heartbeats faster. If he didn't execute this properly, he would die on the spot. He moved sideways on the face of the cliff towards the Cathedral with ease; climbing up at a point, where he would be able to jump to its tower with the bell. This time, didn't jump down, but he hung from the tower's sides before he dropped himself on the stone roof. In front of him, the circular swords formed the crown, tearing the air with grace.

"Pointless decorations..." he muttered to himself as he hugged the middle one, which was the highest. The sword was hiding him from the other side, where the crowd awaiting the execution was; he peeked at them a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He pulled himself up, hugging the sword and making his way up to its peak. It seemed as if he was close, but it always turned out that there was more to climb. The wind had gotten more vicious as Shango elevated, and the view from up there was majestic - he could see all of Myriapolis. When he finally made it to the peak, he balanced himself on his ankles with ease and looked around with curiosity outmatching his slight fear of falling from somewhere so up high. The clouds had almost covered that part of the sky, slightly veiling his view of the ground. But the clouds were soon carried away, revealing the ground. Lots of Pokemon had gathered around the Cathedral, staring at the template, where the Judge and the Executioner had started doing their job. Shango's keen eye detected the two white hoodies that had taken positions not too close but not too far from their target; Zorthan's bulky figure was briefly seen to the left, but Shango lost sight of him early. Zaunix was nowhere to be seen, and Hector was hiding behind the first line of the crowd, ready to pounce on the templar line.

His heart jumped as he noticed Pokemon on the roofs, and by taking a closer look, he could identify them as templars. Pokemon who fought from distance, mages no doubt. Shango cursed for not having predicted this - his plan was anything but flawless. The plague would cost some lives, but this precaution the Executioner and the Judge took could ruin their hole plan.

As he was thinking that, one of mages was swallowed into nothingness. He raised his eyebrows, fixing his eyes on the spot. It seemed completly empty, except a faint, distant purple glow of some kind of destructive energy was waving around. Zaunix. Shango took his eyes to the next mage, who was swallowed quietly into the void; before the body had disappeared completly, he was able to see a Scythe pressing againist a throat, silencing the victim. A grin spread across his face. He liked Zaunix.

A pile of dead bodies had started forming aside from the template, which was perfectly aligned with Shango's position; the Sigilyph's image resonated in his mind. Judge Kayle's psychic voice was reaching his ears, along with the cries. Also, a yawn came from his pocket; Tristana had woken up from her after sleep. He pulled her out gently, and she let out a squeal when she looked down.

"Where's the ground, Shango?!"

He stayed silent, now looking at the Sigilyph gently flapping his wings; Tristana looked down again, letting out another squeal.

"Don't tell me you're gonna jump!" she cried. He nodded quietly.

"Shango! You'll get yourself killed... Don't do this, please!"

But Shango wasn't listening. He felt the wind's direction, evaluated the Judge's movements on the template and braced himself. A strange calmness had overcome him, and he wasn't afraid anymore. He looked at the dark sky, the clouds, his green eyes flashing behind the mask of the Phantom Dancer. The moment was filled with nothing but concentration on his target, his mind being on a state of peace despite Tristana's continuous warnings. He took the leap in a sudden movement forward, his feet leaving the tip of the Cathedral's highest point; he spread his arms wide to prevent his body from rolling into the air. His cloak was racing behind him, cape opening wide like a torn parachute againist the wind, making him seem like a giant golbat. The ground, the template, the crowd, all got closer to him within seconds - he saw the Sigilyph turning around, sensing what was coming; Shango landed on him, his claws immediately sunken into the Judge's round body. Pushed to the ground by tremendous force, the Sigilyph died on the spot.

Chaos ensued right after - shouts and screams were heard from the crowd and the templars, psychic explosions, heavy steps. Shango shot himself up, eyeing the Rampardos who was standing beside him on the template. The two white hoodies climbed up from each side, ready to assault Executioner Van Alsum, but an explosion of darkness pushed them all back; the Rampardos had grown black wings, the wings Shango had seen in Jericho's fort. The power of the voidborns, right there, in front of him. Shango's eyes met with the monstrosity, and he instantly recognized a darkstar's vibe of power. Time had stopped entirely and he was drawn forward, not in the substance level but in the field of supernatural. A colorful, mostly black rift was descending onto the Rampardos from the sky, and Shango noticed that another one, his rift, was engulfing him. It had a massive black scar above his head and many more, smaller ones closer to his hood. He could feel that, inside these rifts, memories of a life were flowing with the present, and that the black scars were the connections of his life with the stone of destruction. The Executioner's rift was completly black, as if his whole life was filled with a darkstar. A thought occured to Shango, despite the halt of time that was shocking: this Rampardos had been created by the darkstar itself, made to destroy - that's why he was an Executioner.

Shango discovered he could dive into his opponent's memories, just like he had done with the Prophet of the Dark Cult. A whole life flashed in front of his eyes, it wasn't his and he could not relate to the images, but at a point (he wasn't sure when), he saw the figures of the Endarkened Ones forming a circle in what appeared to be the Wastelands of Stygia; Shango recognized the area from the grey sand. In the middle of the circle, the magnificent, dark glow of a floating stone radiated, engulfing the circle in its power. He could also see the Rampardos watching, as if Shango wasn't seeing this through the Executioner's own eyes. After that image, he noticed all the random images that flashed in front of his eyes contained the Rampardos - he was looking at his memories from a different angle.

The recent memories of the Executioner flashed, childs crying, streets and snow stained with blood, the crowd screaming and the templars silencing it; an intense wave of nether power rose into Shango's mind, forcing him to kneel and clutch his head. His eyes were closed to ward off the tension and he gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain on his head and on his right arm.

When his eyesight was restored, he quickly glanced at his aching arm, pulling the sleeve of his cloak down; it was entirely covered in liquid darkness, as if he had just touched a darkstar. He slowly raised his head to see the Rampardos fallen on the ground, no wings attached, his eyes turned white. The two Hashashin were standing at both sides of the template, stunned by what had happened; the liquid darkness had left a stain on the Executioner's rock head - Shango's claws had pierced through it as if it was made of paper. After about one second, the darkness dispersed into the air, leaving the red and white fur of his hand fully exposed. He quickly hid it under the sleeve, jerking his head towards the Hashashin in an expression of fear they could not see.

"Shango?" Crystal gasped, Enzo taking two steps back at the same time. Shango felt the heat of his body become one with Tristana, who had dove inside his cloak during his confrontation with the Executioner. But by doing that, she had slightly moved his sash, revealing the insignia of the Hashashin that was fastened onto it. Run!, Tristana squealed into his mind, and he quietly agreed, launching himself from the template and running straight into the screaming crowd. The Cathedral's bell was ringing like crazy, its sound travelling to all Myriapolis and echoing into Shango's ears, making him feel dizzy.

He bolted through the crowd, pushing Pokemon away from his way. He felt a stinging pain on his right arm and his mind was dazed by the events of this execution. Glancing behind him, he saw Crystal and Enzo chasing after him. He was aware that it was beyond difficult to shake an Hashashin, especially if you were a voidborn, so he went searching for Zaunix and the others; he eventually spotted Hector and Zorthan fighting side by side, but the templars outnumbered them by far - a sea of black had cornered them. Shango removed the mask and grabbed his hood, releasing a flamethrower. The stream of fire razed every Skuntank on the way, setting them on fire, making way for Shango to rush into the maze and go on a fury of swirling claws on the templars; thus creating an opening which Hector and Zorthan saw. Shango put on his mask again and motioned for them to hurry.

Then something weird happened. White stripes ran across the ground and the air, forming perfect cubes. Shango's movement slowed down greatly; he noticed the same was happening to everybody but the Reuniclus, who levitated towards him with incredible speed. Trick room, Shango could identify this move; it was being taught in the Academy of War as a technique of speed manipulation, mainly usable by psychics.

Hector was shot forward by a blast of psychic energy, being launched out of the trick room. Shango tried his best to get out of there as soon as possible, as the Skuntanks begun chasing them. Turning around, he faced the Hashashin who stood before them; he thought only a miracle would save them now. Not that the Hashashin were hostile, but if they found out he was alive, Nightingale would be getting word. Or maybe it was already too late; the Shadow Hunter would be able to infiltrate their memories and find out. Then an idea crossed his mind: what if that memory was erased?

He glared at the Pokemon in the white hoods, raising his aching right arm instinctively. Time halted once again, and two rifts appeared above the Hashashin's heads. Shango, familiar with the procedure now, dove straight into them, their memories flashing in front of his eyes just like what had happened with the Executioner. Most of the images were random and Shango couldn't grasp their meaning, but what he was looking for surfaced at once; he saw himself, a Pokemon of medium but strong build in a black hoodie; his sleeve was up, revealing his red and white arm with the two sharp claws extended. Shango kept the series of images regarding this memory in his mind, and with a single thought, he shattered them into pieces that were scattered all around their rifts.

He was abruptly brought back into reality, the sound of the bell and the screams of the running crowd filling his ears once again. The Hashashin were standing in front of him, as if struck by lightning. Shango thought he was sad he could not let them know he was alive somehow, but he steeled himself and ran away, following Hector to a road that was soon flooded by the templars chasing them.


***


The templars had lost sight of them momentarily, and as Shango was about to jump on a sign and from there on a roof, he was abruptly pulled into a dark alley by what seemed to be a furry monster. He fought back for a while, before the scent went right through his nostrils. Claire. He raised his head in slight complain to see a grand, reassuring smile on the Ninetails' face. He opened his mouth, but she told him to shush and glanced outside the dark alley; the templars bolted by, not even turning to look at their hiding spot.

"So, Phantom Dancer," she smiled at him, and he was immediately drunken by her charm; he was starting to think the power she had over him was bad, but at the same time, he didn't want to care. "Are you an Hashashin?" she asked in a carefree tone, her warm tails still wrapped around him. Shango's dizzyness all faded away, to be replaced by fuzzyness.

"No," he muttered, his pupils dilated as ever. Not anymore, he wanted to add, but the phrase didn't surface, thankfully. He had this paranoid fear that she could tell who he was by the pace of his heartbeats.

"What reasons did you have...?"

"I fight for freedom. Justice. Liberation," Shango cut her off, smirking for some odd reason, but she could see none of it. Her ruby eyes flashed and her smile, which seemed genuine, grew bigger.

"Intriguing..." she said in a low voice, pushing Shango againist the cold wall; she pressed againist his chest with one of her front feet. "And why is it that you're hiding your face behind that mask?"

The dead end again. Shango subtly tested the power of her tails, but he saw there was no escape. The only thought that crossed his mind, a crazy one, was to kill her on the spot. But was his identity really important to be kept secret? He would never kill a jewel like Claire. Besides, she was beautiful, and she was impressed... why not let her know?

"Because I'm supposed to be dead," he said, as his last chance of her letting go of the matter of the mask.

"Oh?" she leaned in, her snout entering his hood; he could feel her slow, hot breath on his neck. "Were you betrayed by anybody?"

The realization that she knew hit Shango like a tidal wave. He raised his hands and deattached the mask of the Phantom Dancer off his face; she had backed off a little, so she could see him whole. His expression revealed nothing but kept, unquelled fury. He saw no surprise in her expression, but a spark of success - the Countess was happy she was right. The silence that ensued between them was filled with tension, but Shango didn't know if this situation favored him or not. Thinking of it now, he knew nothing of the Countess. How she knew all this stuff about the Hashashin and the voidborns.

He grabbed her front foot that was pressuring his chest and put it away. "Are you happy now that you found out?" his voice was not filled with anger, it was as plain and simple and he could make it be. She looked down; Shango thought she was looking like a child being scolded at, but once she looked back at him, her expression was playful. She didn't seem to be affected by his anger.

"Why, Shango? How?"

"First," he said, raising his claw to point at her, "you tell me how you are so informed about the voidborns and the Hashashin."

She stared at him for a second, her face immovable. "I manipulate Desmondius," she said bluntly. The hint of brutal seriousness and honesty in her voice intimidated Shango. "He tells me everything about his connections with the Endarkened Ones."

Shango smirked his furry brows, his lips becoming a firm line. "Is that why you married him in the first place? Why do you want to be involved in all this?"

"I married him to quench my curiosity," she said, answering to both of his questions. "Now, tell me. Why are you hiding? Or rather, I will tell you. Oneiro is corrupted and wants out out of the frame."

Shango nodded slowly, subconciously raising his hand to shove his ears out of his hood's holes. Her beautiful smile had calmed him down greatly, despite the subject of the conversation. He felt fuzzyness overcome him again, the heat returning to his body.

"You know..." she started saying, having a cute, seemingly innocent expression, "speaking of Desmondius... he has been harassing me. I think he has found out about my intentions, dear Shango..."

So, that's why she wanted me to 'take care' of him... why not, after all? He's a member of the Endarkened Ones. He would die sooner or later.

"I never knew you could pull off such moves," Claire continued, referring to the Phantom Dancer's achievements in the executions. She blinked her eyes seductively. "Surely, somebody of your class would never fail such an easy task."

Shango didn't want to admit it, but her words made his chest inflate with pride; if she was really admiring him, he was on the right path.

"You know what," she spoke, before he could, "let us discuss this... elsewhere. It is quite cold in here."

He threw her a look of doubt, thinking there was no way she was cold. But he didn't complain, only smiled slightly infatuated and let her take him away from the cold alley.

 

[Ray Maverick]

Chapter 28: The Assassin's Amour

​

They were at Claire's villa, sitting on one of the many living rooms. The Count was apparently away; only the Chandelure seemed to be in the house. Claire was sitting gracefully on a huge red cushion, and Shango on a blue one. He was feeling uneasy at first; the Countess' home didn't seem welcoming, at least this part of it. And the scratches he had suffered last night were aching him, not to mention his cloak was slightly ripped on these areas. It bothered him insanely, it seemed as if he had defiled the sacred cloak by allowing his enemies to hit it. Claire seemed to notice his uneasiness - that's why she had sent the Chandelure to go find some wet tissues and sewing equipment. Shango was forced to remove his cloak and give it to the ghost in order to fix it; he felt helpless without it, and the feeling was intensified with Tristana's absence. But he didn't mind, as long as he was close to the Countess.

Shango was now looking at the form of the beautiful Ninetails, wondering what she was thinking. She had turned her head upwards, as if she was enjoying being looked at. Her enticing smell was tickling Shango's nostrils; he moved his cushion a little closer in order to get a better whiff.

"The Count is away," she said in a low voice, letting out a sigh; but she was smiling. "He will be away for some time..."

She got on her feet, Shango staring at her determined face in awe as she approached him. Her figure was massively overwhelming; she cuddled around Shango, her tails wrapped around him. They looked at each other intently, the Countess having a challenging smile on her snout. He'd swear he had fever, his head was that hot and dizzy from the moment. His heartbeats rose as he ran his claws through her soft fur and looked deep inside her dazzling red eyes.

Suddenly, the Chandelure emerged from the floor next to them, the ominous purple light of its candles filling the room. Shango's cloak was floating next to the ghost, as if someone was wearing it; it looked polished and new, somehow. Multiple wet pieces of cloth were placed next to the cushion they were sitting on, and the cloak was sent flying againist the couch, where it landed softly.

"Thank you," Claire said to the ghost with a grateful smile. It simply nodded and sunk into the floor.

The Countess faced Shango, her look alone reassuring him that the ghost would keep anything a secret.

"You look gorgeous, Claire," he whispered, unable to hold his comment back. He needed to be honest, after all.

"Really?" she asked, blinking her eyes in a cute manner; but she knew already. Shango dared to stroke her neck's fur, and she let him.

"Mhm. It's such a waste that you have married Desmondius..." he whispered, bearing a dangerous, menacing smile that was identical to Claire's.

"Ah, but he will be dead, soon..."

Claire put her head on his shoulder and sniffed on his neck; he ran his two claws through her mane again, from her head to the base of her tails, causing her goosebumps. She giggled and they looked at each other again; Shango thought it was great, planning the murder of her husband. Such thoughts weren't according to his character, but Claire had drawn him to a far away land. He would make her his, claim her by sending the Count to the other world. It seemed like an exquisite trade, and he was able to tell that was exactly what Claire was thinking of. Suddenly, great lust filled him, driving him into a storm of emotions for the Countess.

"Until then..." he whispered, kissing her neck, descending on to the mane on her chest...

"... we shall be together," she completed his phrase, closing her eyes and letting out a small sigh, letting herself drift off to the tempest of... love?


***


Shango woke up in a sea of tails, a comfy and fuzzy bed, proof that the long last night wasn't merely a dream. The assassination of the Judge and the Executioner seemed like a distant, unpleasant memory; he didn't even care about the voidborns looking for him. All that mattered was Claire, and she was besides him. How easy it would be to just remain there forever, staring at her cuddled up on him. Forget about the Endarkened Ones and let them rule the world - they were mortals, after all, they were bound to die some day. The role of the Phantom Dancer could be taken on by somebody else, easily...

Shango shot himself up, shaking these thoughts off his head. He rubbed his face with one hand, looking at the couch where the black cloak, his boots, the mask and his sash were left. Leaving Claire's furry tails, he headed over to the couch a grabbed his garments. He quickly tied the red sash with his insignia around his waist, wore his boots and put his cloak on, but before he could wear his mask, Claire raised her beautiful head and he turned to look at her.

"Going somewhere?" she asked in her most feminine voice that amused Shango to the point where he was smiling greatly and slightly apologetic.

"A thousand pardons, my Countess," he said in a formal manner, taking on the face of a gentleman which was profoundly funny, causing her to giggle. "Duty calls!"

"You weren't that much of a gentleman earlier..." she said, a seducing smile spread on the sides of her snout.

"You didn't want me to be," he countered, with his own charming half-smile. They both laughed and exchanged lustful stares; until Shango wore the mask of the Phantom Dancer, which latched onto his face's fur easily. Claire shot him a sad look.

"I thought we had made an agreement," she said, looking up at him as he walked past her. He turned around and kneeled in front of her, raising her chin with his claw and tickling it slightly.

"All in good time, dear. I have to make sure my allies are alive and well."

She positioned herself better on the huge blue cushion and stared into the brimming green eyes that slightly illuminated the steel of his mask.

"Do you really have to go?" she cooed, as if she was a teenage girl. He only smiled in response and stroked the side of her snout, before he left the room with light steps.

***
​

Shango walked in the dense darkness of the Well of Shadows; the center of the pentagon was lit by the otherworldly grey light, the Rhydon statues around giving off the feel that they were alive. But there was another source of light, a vivid red one; Tristana was flying about in the middle of the pentagon as a flare, above Zaunix and company. They had all layed flat down on the cold stone, except the Scyther, who was sitting. Shango walked over them, wondering why they would be sleeping like that. He noticed Hector and Zorthan were on their normal formes, before Tristana took shape and screamed his name. She dove downwards, right into his hood.

"I was worried! What happened?! They forced me to stay here..."

Tristana's loud voice echoed in the round chamber, waking Zaunix up. The voidborn opened his eyes abruptly and got on his feet; Shango pushed Tristana out of his face.

"Shango," Zaunix exclaimed, "well done. And I see you've learned how to infiltrate minds..." Shango raised his eyebrows, thinking Zaunix seemed to be fully awake as if he was never sleeping. And judging by his loud voice, he didn't care if Hector and Zorthan were sleeping.

"You mean those rifts?"

"Yes... the 'rifts of life', as our archaic mentors put it. Now tell me... where were you?"

"Nowhere where it would concern you."

Zaunix looked at him, tilting his mutated head with the huge sharp fangs extending out of his mouth. "The Count has gone missing," he informed him, as if he knew of exactly where he was. Shango wondered if he had slipped into his mind, but he felt like nothing of that sort had happened. Zaunix had just seen Claire pulling him into the alley.

"What do you mean, he's gone missing?"

"One of my contacts saw him exiting the town early this morning."

"And?"

"He hovered over the lake and just vanished."

"We will be targeting him once he returns. Until then, let the others recover from their wounds."

"I see you had yours taken cared of."

"Yes," Shango said, tilting his whole body and smiling in the remembrance of Claire gently pressuring the wet tissues againist his scratches. "Any news on Jericho?"

"He's locked himself up in his fortress in Ionia... I reckon it is impossible to reach him. Over one thousand are guarding the palace. Not to mention he has passed a law of hoodies and cloaks."

Shango stayed silent. All this was simply a test for his patience, patience which he was taught by the Hashashin.

"Are the Hashashin safe?" he asked, concern obvious in his voice. Zaunix took a moment to answer.

"Yes."

"Good," said Shango, looking down at the grey stone. One of Zaunix' scythes landed gently on his shoulder; bringing a strange feeling to Shango, the feeling of the deeper connection of the voidborns. Tristana was sitting on his free shoulder, biting her bottom lip and looking innocently at the Scyther.

"You did well in erasing their memory, Phantom," he buzzed.

"The world is better off without Shango," he commented jokingly in a low voice, without smiling at all.

"Ah! On the contrary! You freed Myriapolis of great evil!"

"You seem so content in this victory, forgetting that it is ours, and not mine."

"Spoken like a true brother... I am surprised you have shown such devotion to us so far, Phantom. We don't look like the good guys, now, do we?"

"We share the same cause, Zaunix. Looks matter little. I may look scary to a child, but to my Tristana here I am the most adorable Pokemon," he said with a grand smile, raising his hand to scratch the spirit's chin with one claw, still looking to the voidborn in front of him.

"I see your point."

"And I still can't understand why you were sleeping on the floor like this," he said, glancing at Hector and Zorthan laying on the floor. It was extremely strange, seeing a Reuniclus fallen to the ground.

"The Imperatores wouldn't put any beds down here when they made this place..."

"Let me sleep elsewhere, then. I don't think I'll ever be in the mood of hugging the floor."

Zaunix started laughing, though it sounded horrorful, a pestering buzz to Shango's sensitive ears. Tristana let out a laugh as well but, knowing Shango, she got serious and started rubbing the tip of his ears.

"I'll go get some air," said Shango, letting out a sigh and turning around to exit the Well.


***


The following days passed like a blur to the voidborn, who were carefully scheming the Count's death. However, he had vanished from town and the news had spread all around real fast. Meanwhile, Shango was visiting the Countess alone every day for about a week, keeping her company and forcing any curious citizens out of the manor when needed. He had told her of what Zaunix' contact had said: that the Count flew over Acheloos lake and disappeared in the darkness of the night, just like that. Despite their search for the Count, Claire seemed little concerned about finding him; Shango assumed she believed that he wouldn't come back ever again. She had expressed that opinion to Shango the last night they were together, when she was proven wrong...

"Where do you think he's gone, then?"

They were cuddling with each other on the very same living room they sat on the night that followed the assassination of the Executioner and the Judge. Shango was stroking her shiny fur, and she was pressing againist his chest with her front legs.

"I don't know... he's never been away for so long. He's a ghost after all," she said the word with a hint of disgust in her voice, "he travels quickly."

"Well I know I'm glad for his absence," Shango said with a cheeky smile, bringing his hand on the back of her head. She smiled back and Shango knew she understood him fully. The time he had spent with her the past week made him realize they had alot more in common than what he'd initially thought. He came to admire her noble qualities, her intelligence and class; he found out that she was impressed by the display of power and he often showed off. It wasn't exactly according to his personality, but it captivated her, so why not? It was the first time he found somebody so identical to him, yet it had become clear that Claire was his ideal partner and match for him. Shango was overwhelmed with happiness every time he laid his eyes upon her; now he wasn't captivated only by her physical charms.

They were staring at each other intently, as if their eyes couldn't feast enough of each other. They did this alot, Shango had noticed. This particular moment was one of Shango's favorite, as he could easily predict how things would develop right after. He laid back on the cushion and relaxed himself, feeling happiness fill him entirely... but suddenly, the air turned cool; he perked up his ears and turned to the right, into the darkest corner of the room. He slipped away from Claire's grasp and shot himself up from the cushion, still staring into that specific spot. He felt a presence, filled with rage, doubt and viciousness.

Two red eyes emerged from the wall, the faint light from the candles on the walls giving an outline to the Gengar; Count Desmondius was standing in front of them. He looked much more intimidating than the last time Shango had seen him. He had lost his creepy smile, which was replaced by a firm line of sharp, white teeth.

"So much for your devotion," the Gengar's spiteful voice echoed around the room; he was facing Claire, who got on her feet with a stone like expression on her face.

"What, did you think I'd live happily ever after with somebody who desires to rule the world?!"

Shango glanced at her astonished; he had never heard her scream before, nor that particular tone of hers. Something had disturbed her usually calm and peaceful attitude - a wave of surpressed anger. Count Desmondius was simply staring at her, but his own anger had diminished; he was weak. Shango realized that he was but a pawn in the game of the Endarkened Ones. Nothing but an unimportant member that would help the great monarchs gain full control over the regions. He was oblivious to their greatest of plans, possibly because his heart wasn't as merciless as some others...

"Did you think it was fun, hearing all of your stories?!" the Ninetails snapped furiously again.

"So you were faking, then..." the Count said in a low voice; Shango saw spite was filling the void anger had left. He thought of it best not to interfere with the two.

"You are pathetic," Claire stated in a calm manner. Count Desmondius remained stunned, his red eyes widened in anger and surprise. He slowly turned to face Shango.

"And who are you?" he whispered menacingly, then the spark of recognition flew across his eyes. "You... you're an Hashashin... Shango Maverick."

"Irrelevant," Shango commented, covering the distance between him and the ghost with one single leap. Darkness formed on his right hand, and before the Gengar could react, Shango stabbed his ethereal body right between the eyes. The Count let out a horrible scream and started to disperse into a black fog.

"Ah... no," he wheezed and coughed. His eyes turned blue and a massive wave of darkness that looked like his hand was shot at Claire, engulfing her. Shango's eyes widened in fear and recognition of the technique: destiny bond. Before he could blink, Claire had been completely covered by liquid darkness and he could not see nor hear her; he turned to the dispersing Gengar next to him and grasped his light round body tightly. The blue eyes were locked at him, his weak but vengeful grin brimming on his face, until it vanished into nothingness, along with the rest of his face.

Shango ran over to the cloud of darkness, fear veiling his judgement, and shot his right hand right into it in search of Claire. But soon, the cloud dispersed into nothingness, just like the Gengar; no sign of the Countess was left behind. She had vanished on the spot. Shango kneeled on the floor in hope of finding anything, but he knew it was all in vain. Ghosts or their powers left no trace on the physical world.

"No..." he whispered, unable to grasp what had happened. His eyes watered from sadness and anger that filled his heart as suddenly as Claire had disappeared. She was gone, and if the thought that he had been unable to do something about it would torture him for many years to come; the sweet memory of the noble Countess would haunt him in his sleep.