Raidon Makoto
AMS Deathwing, Mirage Island
Hoenn
Affected RPers: None

Noah Ashfield's last words weighed heavily on Raidon Makoto. "I dunno about you, but while we were in there, I had a feeling we weren't alone. I made contact with the guy that Diabora referred to as Qinglong, and Diabora mentioned I was the seed of Qinglong the same way he said you were the seed of Zhu-Quiao, whoever the hell that is. Now, at first I thought it could have been just part of the dream, but then again, that wouldn't make sense. Qinglong actually helped me bail out of that dream trap, which would be total paradox if Qinglong was only limited to Diabora's dream itself. There's no damn way Diabora would have put in an exit guide in his own dream trap. That means somewhere out there, I owe somebody named Qinglong a beer."

Based on Ashfield's description, the dread lord of the Deathwing imagined this Qingling fellow as a bearded wise old man, preaching from some cave out in the middle of nowhere who invited unsuspecting souls to come on "spirit journeys" with him. However, Makoto quickly realized he had gotten ahead of himself and had written an entire story based on only a very small bit of data. What interested Makoto was this Zhu-Quiao character. He felt a voice in his head too--though this voice was warm. It burned, not with kindness, but with ambition. It felt like a shot of adrenaline straight to the commander's heart.

Celebi was awake now, floating around the Captain's quarters. It seemed slightly dispossessed with an almost awkward "I don't know what to do with my hands" feeling to be on board the ship. Makoto knew exactly why. He had been given a first-class ticket into Celebi's brain during the whole Diabora shitshow. Celebi had hoped to change its future and was not only proven wrong, but begat the future it feared all the sooner. This young and brash Celebi was caught up in a conflict that called a much older, wiser, and more broken Celebi to duty in billions of other parallel universes. It had no idea what to do about Diabora.

There was one part of Celebi's mind that it couldn't reach. There were memories--very painful ones at that--locked in what felt like a black box, waiting to be unleashed. Makoto hoped to play the part of Pandora. "Calm down, you look nervous."

<You're holding me captive aboard your... ship,> it replied, floating around the room as if it were pacing.

"You're the all-powerful Chronarch, I'd hazard that you can leave whenever you want. Methinks you know exactly why you're sticking around," Makoto flashed Celebi a wry smile and pouring himself a glass of Scotch. It was Laphroaig 18, a bottle initially bought as a gift for Norb Whitehall. Fat lot of good it will do him now in hell, the dread lord thought. "So, if we're going to be partners, I need to know a few things about you. You're privy to some very dark secrets about this universe. I'd hazard that you know how Diabora was made and who these Qinglong and Zhu-Quiao figures are." Makoto paused for a sip, shuddering when the liquid entered his mouth. The initial discomfort smoothly transitioned into a warmth that sailed down his throat, filling his chest with a fire similar to that of a lover's fingertips resting on his sternum mid-coitus. "Celebi, I need you to open that black box. It's the only way we're going to have a fighting chance against Diabora."

Celebi looked at Raidon Makoto horrified. <You want to know about the Psychic Wars?>

"So they have a name," he said, raising his arms in the air in a show of mock-affection. He quickly stiffened back up. "Exactly. Now open that black box before I burst with you again and pry it open."

The Chronarch sighed. It began, <It all started in a city called Axiom Nexus.>