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The Dark Type: War of Light	By : Manifest Destiny Category: Pokemon > Crossovers Views: 1904 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All �Pokemon� elements are owned by GameFreak, INC. and Nintendo. All �Green Lantern� elements are owned by DC Comics. No money is sought or made by this story.

Chapter List
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Prologue:
The Darkness Grows…
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There are prisons, and then there are chosen exiles.
Anyone with a slight grip on their sanity would likely call this place as a prison, if not hell itself.
Nothing works correctly, not even the gravity. Taking steps on certain parts of the land here can send you flying upwards, or at a ninety degree angle, or any other way you could think of. Plants grew here that thrived in the darkness, where no water ever reached their roots. Water flows any which way it pleases, sometimes with great force, and very often against the strange gravity. Large slabs of rock and earth float aloft this strange space. Some move on a course none can decipher. Others stay fixed. And very few tumble into the swirling abyss below. No matter where you are in this distorted world, it seems right below your feet. A vortex that threatens to suck you in and consume it all. A mirrored image makes up the sky above, from which new land masses, rivers, and strange plants spawn.
This world would seem repugnant to any sane man.
Cyrus, the former leader of Team Galactic, has long since been able to be called “sane”.
In this world, he is alone. He chose this fate for himself. He finds this life a better option to living in the “real” world. Cyrus had long dreamed of creating a new universe. An existence devoid of emotion. He planned to rebuild the world in the image of his idealism; a utopia without conflict. Thanks to the help of some choice individuals however, his plans failed. He despite his shortcomings, Cyrus believed he came out on top. No living creature exists in this space outside the real world save one; who rarely strays out of his own personal dimension.
“This world is perfect.” Cyrus talks not to anyone around him, but to himself. Staring out at the vast, confusing landscape, he finds assurance that no one can answer him. “Emotion is the spawn of all chaos. Fickle hearts scorned by love. Souls consumed by greed. Meaningless compassion. Free will…”
He walks forward to the edge of the cliff. Doing so takes a great deal of care; gravity pulls him five different directions in the few feet he crosses, but he has become accustomed to the strange physics of this place.
Looking down at the abyss below him, Cyrus suddenly feels something. A desire.
“The real world is in constant turmoil. If only I could have remade it in this image. It is too noisy. Full of emotional conflicts.”
It is too bright.
His eyes widen, looking around the rocky platform that he stood on. Cyrus was beyond feelings like fear; he was more curious. This was the first voice he had heard in a long time.
Emotion is chaos.
“Yes, it is,” agrees Cyrus. A moment later, he realizes he had just spoken to someone. Something else in this world. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere specific. It wasn’t a noise. It was in his head.
Life is pain. It speaks to him.
“Pain can be relieved. One must simply find the right medicine.”
In death, there can be no pain.
“Then death,” Cyrus says to the voice, “is the only proper path.”
Death…
A crack in the world, a tear in reality. A rift appears in the distance behind Cyrus. He turns around, staring into it. Pure darkness can be seen within. He can see the beauty in it. Stillness. Peace.
An object comes from the rift. So tiny and dark against the rift, Cyrus’ eyes can’t make it out before it is already upon him. A pitch black ring hovers in front of him. He can hear a noise coming from the ring. It reminds him of flies.
The key to peace. To the blackness.
Cyrus tries to reach for the black ring, but a force repels his arm. He looks down at his flesh, momentarily discolored. A sickly gray.
The Black cannot live.
“Cannot…” Cyrus echoes the voice. “Live?”
Staring at the black ring, letting its symbol etch itself into his mind, Cyrus then understands what needs to be done. He may feel no emotion, but as all living life does, he can be influenced by it. He can succumb to it.
The dead feel nothing.
Resigning to his fate—or perhaps making his own last choice—Cyrus walks to the edge of his rocky platform once again. He had found this spot long ago, when his exile began. Gravity went straight down, onto another platform that seemed to be in a fixed position with his own. He takes one look back at the black rift, watching close. The black ring buzzed noisily from behind, urging him. Anticipating the next move.
Cyrus looks out onto his perfect world again. Content with its image, and with the idea that soon, the real world would someday match its perfection.
He steps forward, fear long since banished from his heart. He fell.
The black ring buzzed and hovered in place.
He is ready.
[Flesh.]
The black ring zipped downward, through the rock.
[Cyrus of Earth.]
The bloody mess below got closer and closer as the ring sped toward its target.
[Rise.]
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There is a place that no one can see. A place that no one is allowed to go. Few are allowed to even know it is there. It houses the greatest terror the Earth has known.
Arceus.
Waiting atop Mount Coronet, he sits in a peaceful state. Waiting, not imprisoned; Arceus will be freed. One day soon, he hopes. In his prismatic cell, the Hall of Origin, the Original One waits.
One day, the world of man will pay for its crimes, and for locking one so magnificent as he away in this gaudy prison of diamonds.
Then, something touches him. From within his perfect cell nothing physical can reach him. Then how? The Original One stands, eyes open wide.
“Something has… occurred.”
But what? What could happen in the world below that could touch him all the way in his cage?
“An agent of the black…” Arceus sees that somewhere in his bright world, a dark shade has appeared. Tiny. But shadows only grow unless the light shines back.
But Arceus cannot do anything. Not like this.
“Life is in danger, and I am helpless?
“I think not!”
Humanity betrayed him, enraged and incarcerated him. But now, life must defend itself.
Despite being trapped within the Hall of Origin, Arceus is not without his own influence on the world, if only slightly. Exerting a great deal of energy, an energy pulse beams out of his prison, scattering across the planet and out into the solar system. Doing so lifts a veil he had cast long ago. Arceus didn’t want interference in governing and operating his world. So he hid it. Now it spun in space, exposed. Help would arrive to allow the beings of Earth fight the blackness that threatens all life.
“One last… resort.” The Original One’s power is drained. Tremendous energy was required to breach the walls of his prison. Once more…
A beam of white light fires up into the sky, piercing the ceiling of his entrapment. With the last of his energy used up the Original One falls to his side, exhausted. But not without hope. Hope that his efforts can help preserve life—all life—when he himself cannot intervene.
Where once this world was governed by him alone, ignored by the other such powers in the universe, now Earth would be the center of it all.
How he wishes he could see it all.
The War of Light.
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Above the planet, a streak of white light soars into space. It halts, twisting in on itself. A white sphere of energy hovers in the blackness, as if observing the Earth.
Something green zooms past the white orb. Blue, Yellow, Red, Violet, Indigo, Orange. For the first time in thousands of years, Earth will play host to the Emotional Spectrum. The new arrivals cross distances at dizzying speeds. On course for new bearers. New Lanterns.
The white orb observes these alien objects. Taking samples of the energy each one carries, the ball of energy shrinks and solidifies. Glimmering in space, a new white ring sets its sights on the planet below.
[Destiny awaits.]
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Next: Hell Hath No Fury!
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The Dark Type: War of Light