. . .

So . . . There's no nice way to ease back into this after months of silence . . . but hey, guys, what's up?

I know, I know, where the fuck have I been? Well, I could tell you, but ultimately it'd just be a waste of everyone's time, and I'm sure you guys are more interested in what I have to give. Like this thing! This chapter, right here.

I want this to become a regular thing again, I really do. And I am going to try. For those of you had to wait so long, I am sorry. But here I am.

Let's kick this off again, yeah? :)

Interlude – White

Professor Samuel Oak was a very sensible man, he liked to think. Problems always had a logical solution, if one was of a mind to find it. As he'd grown older and his body more frail, he'd come to find using his mind was a far more valuable asset to him than anything else. And with his love of pokemon, the only logical course of action in his opinion was to become a researcher.

And he loved his occupation, of that there was no doubt. Studying the fantastic creatures of this world, aiding the youth as they set forth on their own adventures, and living vicariously through their triumphant stories was something he wouldn't trade for the world.

However . . . sometimes things came up that soured this almost-retirement of his. Things that rocked the boat. Things that could even spell disaster if left unchecked. The worst were always the ones where he was in no position to offer aid, the ones where danger was approaching and the best and only thing he could do was hope.

Such was the problem now, a problem solemnly delivered by one Professor Juniper.

Now, Oak wasn't particularly close to the professors of the other nations. Outside of their achievements and rumors of their character, he rarely had contact at all. But he was a sensible man, and sensible men are very good at building an idea from first impressions alone. And Professor Juniper most certainly did not strike him as an individual to construct such a grandiose story for the sole purpose of making a stir, as some of his colleagues believed. Professor Juniper had not cared for their suspicions, merely stating that getting the word out was far more important than their perceptions of him. A reason why Oak had not dismissed him as easily or as readily as others had.

But what a story, indeed . . . in truth, Oak was still having trouble swallowing it, so he could hardly blame some of his friends for their disbelief. But he'd lived long, and in that time, he'd come across many things others would believe impossible, insane even.

And seeing as a very dear and personal friend had been involved, he knew better than to close his ears to it.

As often as it tended to put a few extra gray hairs on his head, Ash always did have a nose for trouble.

The sun was setting by now, his lab and the hillock supporting it burnished orange under the fading light. A pleasant breeze stirred the grass as he locked the door securely behind him, and he cast his eyes out over the peaceful little town of Pallet. True to it's namesake, the town looked just like a picturesque little painting, stroked with colors of gold, amber, cream, and emerald. Chimney's were smoking, thin plumes of silver that stirred ever so slightly in the wind, and every now and again a flock of pidgey would take wing. Most would be indoors by now, settling down for dinner with their families, content and at peace.

It was so hard to imagine the darkness Professor Juniper spoke of. So hard to imagine that beneath all that beauty could be a monster capable of destroying it all.

He drew a shuddering breath, pocketing his keys quickly and squashing the thought before it could drag him to darker places.

Beside him, his long-time assistant Tracey glanced at him, frowning as he looked up from his beloved sketchbook, "Is something wrong, Professor?"

Oak gave the youth the best dismissive smile he could. He hadn't told Tracey yet. Or anyone, really. He wasn't sure if he should, "Oh, nothing at all. Just looking forward to a bit of food."

"Well, good thing Ms. Ketchum invited us for dinner then," the other commented, buying the lie and smiling in return.

"Indeed! Come, best not keep her waiting! Delilah isn't a fan of tardiness, and I'm not getting any younger!" Oak replied, kicking off down the well-worn path to the road.

He heard Tracey follow, papers rustling beneath the boy's fingers before he idly asked, "So, did you have any luck getting in contact with Ash, Professor?"

Oak frowned at that. He'd been trying for the better half of the day, wanting to hear the boy's side of the story, and how credible Professor Juniper's claim truly was. The other man had only told him about Ash's involvement, since Oak had a personal connection to the lad, and had even told him the location of where he was headed next. But everyone in Striaton must have been busy, because only Nurse Joy had picked up his call. It had been quite frustrating.

"No, unfortunately," he replied before Tracey began to wonder over his silence, "Honestly, you think he could make a little time for old friends!"

"Well, you know Ash," Tracey said, tone touched with fondness as he looked back to his sketches, "When he gets focused on something, or he's on an adventure, he can be a little one-track minded. But I'm sure if he knew you were calling, he'd drop everything to return it."

Oak swallowed back a sigh, keeping his tone conversational, "Yes, I'm sure you're right."

Delilah's house was on the outskirts of a town that was already pretty rural, but Oak didn't mind the walk. The trees lining the road rustled overhead, emerald fronds shivering delightedly in the wind. Pidgey and other birds would twitter and sing as the sun set. From time to time, he could hear muted conversation from within the houses, and every now and again he'd catch a whiff of something tasty cooking. It was a lovely evening.

"Oh, Professor! Look!"

Oak turned around and Tracey's excited whisper, only to find that the boy had crouched down and was peering at something intently within the trees. Following his gaze, Oak saw something shift within the forest and caught a glimpse of a pair of ruby eyes glittering back.

It was a Ninetails, it's creamy fur flowing like silk down it's slender body, tails up and fanning out proudly behind it. Oak lifted an eyebrow, a curious hum leaving him as he crouched next to his assistant. What was it doing here? Ninetails were rare enough on their own, and they almost never came so close to human civilization without a trainer. It didn't leave the shelter of the trees, merely sitting and watching with it's bright, scintillating eyes.

"Can you believe it, Professor!" Tracey asked exultantly, scribbling furiously in his sketchbook, "A Ninetails this close to town!"

"Indeed . . ." Oak replied, with less enthusiasm than normal. This wasn't sitting well with him. Something about this wasn't right.

As if on cue, the Ninetails ears suddenly shot up, neck snapping to the left so fast his own hurt in empathy. The glint of it's eyes brightened, and Oak only just caught a glimpse of fear before it turned and leapt back into the forest, vanishing into the trees.

"Oh . . ." Tracey sighed, holding up his book with only a rough half-sketch of the pokemon to show, "Well, at least I got some of it."

Oak stood up, still frowning as he crossed his arms over his chest. It felt colder than before, "Yes, very good. Now come on, Delilah must be wondering where we are."

He normally wasn't so pushy, but for some reason, this part of town suddenly felt less friendly than before. Perhaps it was just his nerves in conjunction with Juniper's sudden call. He really, really hoped that was all it was.

Tracey was frowning now, puzzled as he got back to his feet. As he carefully flipped his sketchbook closed, he glanced around, "Hey, where'd all the pidgey go?"

And the boy was right, Oak realized. The pidgey were gone. As were the other birds. And the insects. Even the wind seemed to have lost it's voice.

At once, it struck him why this scene felt so odd now. Where once the world had felt alive, it was suddenly and inexplicably still. Too still, and so silent it felt oppressive, like every creature except themselves had been smothered down by some unseen hand.

Trying not to shiver, Oak tapped Tracey urgently on the shoulder, "Let's go, Tracey. Now."

"Huh? But-"

Oak had turned while the other was trying to talk, intent on being away from here as soon as possible. But he'd only taken a single step when the ground beneath his feet warped.

Like a mirage on a hot day, the air rippled and wavered as the scenery around them faded away into darkness, the temperature dropping so fast Oak's throat burned as he inhaled. Trees, houses, the road, all of it vanished and was replaced by a chaotic jumble of thorns and flowers that looked more like cut out flats of paper rather than true living things.

Oak stumbled back, bumping into Tracey as stupefied horror nearly overwhelmed his senses. This was no pokemon's work. Not even a psychic type could conjure this level of illusion so quickly.

Which only left . . .

"P-Professor Oak?" He heard Tracey whisper, sketchbook pressed to his chest like some flimsy shield, "W-what's happening?"

Swallowing, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his brow, he began to push Tracey back, "Tracey, listen to me. We can't stay here. We have to go."

Something moved just before him, black, twisted vines beginning to twitch to life within the chaotic swirl of false vegetation that made his heart stutter with fear. With one final, forceful shove, he shouted, "Go! Go now!"

Tracey didn't need to be told twice. The two ran like Oak hadn't run for a decade, putting as much distance between themselves and that creature as humanely possible. But this dark, twisting grove seemed endless, with twitching roots that grabbed at his ankles and barbed leaves that did a fair job of catching on his clothes and face. And he wasn't young anymore. Already, he could feel his legs start to weaken, straining to keep up with Tracey's faster strides. The heady, over-sweet scent of the place was doing him no favors either, so strong it was cloying. It was making his head swim the longer he breathed it in.

Eventually, despite every instinct telling him not too, he had to stop. He felt nauseous as he leaned against the stalk of a withered flower, and he silently cursed his age and all the maladies that came with it as his head pounded like a steam hammer.

Tracey noticed, skittering to a halt and backtracking quickly, "Professor, are you alright?"

"Just . . ." he panted, waving him off, "Just a quick break."

"We don't have time!" Tracey said, frantic, "Come on, lean on my shoulder! We have to keep going!"

As now was not the time or place for pride, Oak relented and accepted Tracey's help. But even with that, their pace was slow, a slogging crawl it felt like. It was only made worse by how Oak felt like they were constantly being watched, a cold prick at the back of his neck that never quite disappeared no matter where they went.

Is this what a Labyrinth is truly like? he wondered.

"Where's the exit?" Tracey murmured, scanning, searching, looking only one step away from desperation, "There's gotta be an exit!"

Oak frowned again, a deep one filled with melancholy. If Professor Juniper had been correct in all of his data . . . then the only way out was by fighting and defeating this place's master. Something he'd called a 'witch'.

Oak . . . did not want to contemplate their chances of victory against such a monstrosity. Not against something as powerful as this. But he didn't want to just lay down and die, either. But what could they do?

The black, paper petals above them rustled suddenly, and both froze, eyes shooting to the offending frond. But it was still now, as if it had never been touched.

It came again, this time from behind. But when the two spun to face it, the grove was still.

Again, another direction. Then again, and again, and again, until the sound was coming from everywhere, rotten petals spinning free and crumbling to dust as they touched the ground.

"What's happening?!" Tracey shouted over the noise, hand going to his belt.

"Something not good, I know that!" Oak replied, wishing he hadn't forsaken his pokebelt all that time ago. If ever he needed his old friends help now, this would be the moment.

All at once, the rustling stopped, every oversized shoot going stock still with nary even a tremble, like they'd never been shaking at all. Oak and his assistant held their breath, almost as still as the plants, every muscle keyed up with nervous anticipation.

In the corner of his eye, Oak saw something twitch.

Without thinking, he immediately pushed Tracey to the side. At the same time, something hard slammed into his shoulder with enough force to knock him to the ground. His vision went black, ears ringing and shoulder flaring with pain, and he wasn't sure how long he lay there until sense returned.

Tracey was next to him, crouching near the floor and shouting, but to Oak his mouth was moving soundlessly. Blearily, he looked and found that Scyther was in front of them, lashing his blades out and deflecting the black roots that had snaked around them, silvered arms cutting true. But he couldn't stop them all, a new wound appearing on his shiny green carapace with every minute that passed, growing worse as his stamina flagged. All around it seemed they were hemmed in by a living net, the papier-mâché vines working with a mind of their own.

Hissing through his teeth as his shoulder throbbed, Oak pushed himself upright, ignoring Tracey's silent protests as he looked for any possible escape they could make.

But there was none. There were only vines and flowers and blackness.

He saw Scyther get thrown back towards them, jaw open in a voiceless cry of pain, hitting the ground with a violent crash. Tracey scrambled towards him, mouth moving but making no sound as he crouched beside his friend.

The vines writhed, churning like nest of arboks before each and every one snapped out simultaneously, thorn-capped ends blood-red and barbed and heading straight toward them.

White streaked his vision, as bright as pearls and as sharp as diamond, criss-crossing before him like cat scratches over black vinyl. Before he could comprehend what was happening, the oncoming branches suddenly broke apart into small, sundered pieces that fell harmlessly at his feet. The whole grove seemed to scream, and this sound he heard, an unearthly wail that set his teeth on edge.

There was a flash of red as Tracey recalled Scyther to his pokeball, right as more vines began to rise up from the shadows.

"Tracey, get back!" Oak shouted, finding his voice again.

The boy whirled around, feet scrambling as the vines lashed in the air, a cyclone of thorns and petals that whipped dangerously close to his face. And then they were falling again, cut clean through by a blade Oak could not see.

"Oh, hush now. This is not a creature to fear, but to pity."

The girlish voice, as high as a songbird's and no less sweet, caught them both off guard.

"W-who's-" Tracey started, head bobbing back and forth as he searched for its source.

"Just who you needed. Now stay still, I have to see to a soul that needs saving."

In the span of a single blink, a figure landed in front of them, robed in a snowy white dress that seemed to glow like a halo in the dark. Around them, the vines seemed to hesitate, as if they were afraid.

Then they were surging forward, a tsunami of black, writhing tendrils.

The newcomer, a young girl, clapped her slender hands together, a noise that rang louder than everything else here. Around her, the air warped and twisted, and a line of black, translucent handguns materialized into being. Their bodies held no shine, as ethereal as ghosts and just as otherworldly. But when the girl snapped her fingers, the shots that rang out, and the pulse of black light that erupted from their muzzles, was no less real than anything else that was happening.

Upon contact, the orbs of light burst out in loud, incendiary explosions that scorched the vines away, leaving a hollow space where they had been. But even now, Oak could see more were already growing back in their place.

But the stranger was ready. With a graceful spin, black light wrapped around her hands before extending out and warping into the form of a ghostly axe, transient edge cleaving clean through the mass as easy as a knife through butter.

Within the heaving mass, Oak thought he saw something red glimmer.

"Ah. There you are," the girl said, a smile in her voice as she dismissed the axe, "Come now. Once this is over, you'll feel a lot better, I promise."

The glowing thing seemed not to care for her words, vanishing back within the gloom as more vines cracked out like whips. The girl easily dodged them, dancing around their attacks as elegantly as a swan. The feathers fletching her sleeves and skirt led credence to such an image.

With every turn, she would summon another weapon, here a sword, there a musket, and still a chain, slicing and rending and tearing down the grove's defenses one piece at a time.

The vegetation screamed again, and this time, the glow at it's heart was pulsing brightly, visible and with no where left to hide.

The girl's back was to them, but Oak could hear the smile in her voice, yet her tone was touched with pity, "There, there. It's all over now."

She held her hands up again, but this time, instead of phantom shadows, white light surrounded them. It ran like oil, blurring the air like an old scar on skin or a wet mark on a photo, before it burst out in a halo of diamond radiance.

With an easy twist of her wrist, the girl caught the newly created and very solid scythe and braced it against her shoulder. Its curved blade was inlaid with beautiful scrollwork Oak couldn't read, its staff as white moonlight and varnished in pearl.

The girl jumped, and before the creature could react, she brought the scythe down on its heart and cut it clean in two.

The scream it gave was so wretched it hurt to hear, Oak clasping his hands over his ears as the whole world around him seem to sunder to pieces beneath its rattling cry.

And then he was sitting on the ground surrounded by trees and houses, the wind stirring his hair as gentle moonlight cast the town in soft, pleasant shadows.

"Professor! Professor, are you alright?!"

Oak glanced at Tracey, the poor boy looking haggard and exhausted, and he felt a flush of pity for him. Swallowing, he replied, "I'm . . . alright. Or, well, I'm at least alive . . ."

Tracey sighed in relief, "Thank Arceus . . ."

Oak felt his shoulder throb again, and with a wince, he reached over and gingerly touched the aching spot. The back of his coat felt wet, and when he drew his hand back, red liquid was coating the tips of his fingers, looking shiny and black in the dark. Oh dear . . .

That was when white light bloomed beside his head, and the pain began to melt away like snow beneath the sun. With a start, he spun around to find the stranger who had saved them was standing behind him. She was obviously young, her skin fair and smooth with hair as white as the moon and eyes as bright as aquamarines. The strange white garb she'd been wearing was gone, however, replaced by a purple sun dress and black shoes. In her hand sat a white, nearly transparent jewel girdled in gold, the object that was casting the strange, healing light. Ordinarily, he'd be quite curious. But now, he was only tired and drained.

When she was satisfied, the girl leaned back, "There. All fixed up."

Tracey was staring, mouth agape, "How . . . h-how . . . ?"

The girl only smiled sweetly as she laced her hands behind her back, gem clasped between them, "A magic trick! Do you like it?"

The two of them only stared in reply. But as he looked at her, Oak began to recall another piece of Juniper's story. One involving the reason why he and his colleagues had survived their ordeal. But never could he have imagined that he would meet one himself.

Without meaning too, mouth moving for him, he whispered, "You're a Magical Girl."

She looked at him, and something shined in those blue, blue eyes as her smile widened, "I am."

Professor Samuel Oak had only just met this girl. She'd saved his life, and the life of his assistant. With powers he couldn't understand, she had destroyed a creature that had no place in any world outside of a nightmare. So as a sensible man, he was understandably grateful, and should verbalize that as thanks.

However, he was a sensible man, and sensible men are good at building an idea of someone's character through their first impressions alone. And something in her eyes and something in her smile made him hold his tongue.

The gem in her hand shifted and changed, transparent white light wrapping around her finger before solidifying back into the shape of a beautiful gold ring. Pressing her hand to her chest and wrapping the other behind her back, she bowed courteously and said, "My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Arata. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It's been so damn long that I'm sure a lot of people have gotten why her having a scythe is significant. But have no fear. Simply refer back to Chapter one, Ash's dream.

Here's to trying again, folks. Let's not have me fuck it up this time.