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It felt like his body was being lugged to its death, abstract, unspecific, but thick with the taste of a bland, unflattering reality. His fingers, on hands bound by their wrists behind him, scratched at the tiles, seeking purchase less out of practical desire and more out of petulance. His breath struggled against his chest, eyes tense, uncertain whether to squeeze shut to suit the strain of instinct or to stay open to glare at his captor. A thin spatter of dark spots framed his vision, ring of the collar of his shirt taut against his throat, and his scalp burnt like a light fire. His legs angled awkwardly, perhaps hoping to twist themselves into a shape that would finally be the wrench in the works despite their bindings, but the world was having none of that.
Distantly some part of Dakarai that considered itself rational felt this struggle was a depressing waste of energy, but he'd never quite been able to convince himself of that in the past, and it didn't look like he was starting to change his mind now. Instinct had saved him time and time again.
Of course, normally, he wasn't being dragged to his death by a sociopath, either - or whatever it actually was that was occurring. Perhaps he'd be calmer if he knew for certain that this man was just going to put a bullet into his brain. He could deal with the notion of getting each individual limb meticulously removed, too, as long as it was announced beforehand. This secrecy wouldn't do. It just served to remind him of the weak-willed twits that had tried so desperately to bully him back in Njoty - they had loud barks, but no bites - which only threatened to make him complacent. This was no time to be naive and he was acutely aware of that.
A moment later, his lungs announce his soft impact with the ground with a deflating huff, a few strands of hair just long enough to get into his eyes pricking at the sclera, making him blink extensively, writhing across the tiles in a futile attempt to dislodge them properly. Then his gaze snaps up to his captor, spine having rolled against the ground and now nuzzling against the tiles, attentive death glare latched on him for a moment, hoping to see what he might produce to harm him, a blade, a weapon, anything, but the jerk's posture and expression are firmly expressing that his attention is elsewhere, and Dakarai N'Sehla's gaze leaps in generously spaced saccades to follow his line of vision.
Neck stretched, gaze cast up beyond his fallen position, past his hairline, Dakarai sees a rainbow's worth of vaguely reptilian, vaguely mythological creatures just past the edge of an altar of some sort. Panting steadily, he takes that in, a numb stupor gnawing at his perception like a mild feverdream as he tries to make sense of what his senses are reporting.
They're certainly not moving very much, so he might not put it past them to be statues and all illusion of motion existing solely in his dizzied, disoriented, adrenaline-soaked mind. If he's meant to be a sacrifice, though, surely there would be more… ritual? On the other hand, he wouldn't know, he's never been a sacrifice before. This is it? It feels like it should be filling in a blank. His gaze darts back to his captor, to equal parts nervous and defiant - an awkward mixture - but the posture is the same as before… and Dakarai himself is far too busy panting, still, to be outright asking a question just this second.
All of the creatures across from him appear to be watching him with some interest, though that could, a part of him points out, be just a trick of his mind. After a few moments, the third from the left - a large, reptilian figure with cream-colored scales and a long, flowing plume of fiery feathers, wreathed in a warm glow - breaks any delusion Dakarai might have that these were simply colorful statues, walking towards him without haste. It pauses perhaps a meter away, expressive eyes studying the human's form for a long moment, then shifting its gaze up to the gym leader, silently confirming that yes, this is indeed who they're expecting.
And then, something impossible happens. ~Dakarai N'Sehla.~ The words aren't spoken, but formed in his mind in a voice that is definitively not his own. At the same time, the creature's gaze shifts back down to Dakarai. It's talking to him. ~You have been brought here, before the Legendary Council, to stand trial for the numerous crimes you have committed.~
There's a long pause, giving that thought and its implications suitable time to sink in, before the voice in his head continues: ~The charges you face are as follows: Multiple counts of forcing pokémon into battle against their will. Multiple counts of violently capturing and enslaving wild pokémon. Multiple counts of emotional abuse towards pokémon, in addition to those covered by the aforementioned charges. Multiple counts of physical abuse towards pokémon, in addition to those covered by the aforementioned charges.~ There's a pause there, the luminous being wearing a thoughtful gaze before turning to the gym leader. ~Am I leaving anything out?~
Pokémon.
He's looking at pokémon.
The realisation peels the warmth from his head and shoulders in a single motion, lapping at his collarbone as the seed of nausea, spawning tendrils to lash lightly at the frame of his innards, unsettling them. A knot of very gentle flavour of horror twists itself into the fibres of his neck, light in application, but no less constricting and absolute. He breathes steadily, but in his mind's eye, he's forgetting it altogether. The words spoken don't parse, but hardly have to. He's made a terrible mistake, a grave, unforgivable error in judgement. The past two months unravel as a narrative in his skull, revealing a consistently missing thread of information. The whole picture is a shock to his system, mercifully cutting what might otherwise be an instinctual reaction - a desperate, hollow, insane cackle - short before it can even surface.
The second thought - grovelling for mercy desperately - simply results in his eyes closing to hide his raw annoyance with himself. The visceral urge to survive flaring up impotently within him sputters and dies before it's half-formed, dissolving into the numbing, overwhelming haze of shock, that soothing disconnect.
Fuck. Well done, Dakarai, you've stuffed up, and the collateral damage is obscene.
Sanity cradled by the disconnect, it is unmistakable that this isn't personal. He's not on trial here. The person he was twenty eternal seconds ago, however, entirely is, of course - and it was easy enough parading him before his execution squad. Like any game, it simply required some focus, but that's not beyond him. The chill eating at his spine, the panic about the consequences, about pain and death and dishonour and ridicule, only fuels his desire to be professional about it.
His captor seems significantly more engaged with the creature speaking than with the bundle of unlikely misery crumpled on the floor, of course. “Creation of a weapon purely with wilful intent to further the aforementioned,” the gym leader comments, drily, a light but resentful and dismissive shrug touching his right shoulder.
For a moment, Dakarai marvels at the situation. If he were less… involved in it, he might be awed and enamoured by the whole scenario, but he sadly has no time for that. The smile forms on his face regardless, only to twist into a practised smirk, his spine arching lightly as he rids himself of some inner tension and jitter by translating it into a single smooth motion. His gaze angles itself to the luminescent raptor. “That's adorable,” he comments, a predatory delight in his voice. “And what do you intend to do about it, exactly?” he asks, pronouncing the last word with an exaggerated clarity, each syllable crisply apparent, curiosity glittering in his eyes. “You're impotent to change the past. These things have happened; you can't undo them now,” he observes, tone light, but all the more condescending for it. “Sure must suck to be you,” he appends with the slightest hint of pity.
A grimace distorts the raptor's features; he knew there was something he'd been forgetting and now he recalled why. The sheer notion that anyone could want to build such a thing was repugnant in a way that the other, sadly more common transgressions didn't quite stand up to. ~Noted,~ he replies with a nod.
The raptor's thoughts are interrupted by the commentary from the accused, teeth bared and eyes glaring in rage, the glow from his scales intensifying. He'd dealt with humans who didn't know their place; this individual was either utterly clueless as to who he was addressing, or had absolutely no empathy for those he'd harmed - and he was quite heavily leaning towards the latter. There's a sharp inhale of breath, followed by a low hissing as it's slowly exhaled through parted teeth. Dakarai would live to regret those words, he reminds himself. This trial would ensure it. On the other hand, that attitude is desperately crying out to be taken down a few pegs, and if he simply backs away now that would send all the wrong messages.
~Were you paying attention when I said 'trial'?~ the Legendary responds in a venomous tone, taking another two steps towards the human, looming over him. ~Or is that concept unfamiliar to you?~ One massive forepaw comes to rest on the human's chest, applying enough force to keep him pinned. ~The purpose is not to undo your actions; it is to ensure that justice is carried out for them. And as for what we intend to do, your sentence will be announced once the trial is concluded and we have determined the appropriate punishment.~ There's a brief urge to add something along the lines of 'Is that clear?', but he's decided that giving this human more opportunities to speak than are strictly required is probably unwise.
The creature's gaze swivels up to the gym leader, expression stony. ~Arbiter, you may call any witnesses you wish to have testify.~
“Oh no, I heard you,” Dakarai comments, just a peg short of eagerly, smiling with an alien serenity. “It just seems like a futile bandaid. I can't imagine it's satisfying, given the damage is already done. But you can have your fancy ritual if it makes you feel better, it just boggles my mind that it would.”
Dakarai's human captor meanwhile curls the fingers of his left hand into a controlled, tight fist, the segments of his digits snugly fitting against each other. He's closed his eyes, leaving those two symbols of tension and displeasure to stand out as an oddity amongst the calm his body language is otherwise expressing - then he glances down with a cold, cutting stare. A moment later, the heel of his right boot sears the structure of its sole against the edge of Dakarai's jaw, half as if he might intend to pin his head to the ground by forcing his cheek onto the tiles, but it's really more of a punishing kick. Half-heartedly, his weight sets down against his foot a moment later, casually imprinting the patterns of his footprint on half of Dakarai's forehead. It's not painful, but it's far from comfortable. “You will speak when it's your turn and not a moment sooner,” he comments in a way that could easily pass as dispassionate, but is full of a restrained resentment.
His survival instinct was getting in the way. “…when is that?” he asks, the most defiance he quite manages to muster. There was something about 'why should I respect your rules if you don't respect your own' somewhere in the depths of his head, but the relevance of the gym battle's premise had already been deconstructed, and he could only half-heartedly use that as an argument.
“Not now,” the gym leader comments with a dark amusement, briefly wiggling his heel, but the motion is gentle, full of deliberate restraint.
He maintains his stare at Dakarai for just long enough to convince himself that the pitiful excuse for a human being was genuinely shutting up, rather than just temporarily stunned to silence - then he glances at Solalon. “For the moment I'd rather skip that part, perhaps get back to it if it turns out to be genuinely necessary - I think his pokémon have had enough undue stress already,” he comments, composure in no way betraying that he was still firmly planting a heel against Dakarai's face.
✘ IN PROGRESS