So, in 'celebration' of me getting back into writing this, I decided to put this on . Please note that there's additional formatting which can't be displayed here. If you want to see the version with alternate fonts/colours, search up Learnset on Spacebattles (the inability to link is irritating).
Anyway, please enjoy the story.
Chapter 1: Bar & Battle
Routine's a powerful force. Once something becomes a habit, it's easy to become trapped, continually choosing an objectively lesser path without even examining one's other options. Working a soul crushing desk job comes to mind. Even on a micro level, getting a pokémon into a mental routine's just as important as muscle memory when it comes to practising most attacks. Routine can compel individuals to do many things, both great and terrible.
In this case, it compelled me to continue eating dinner at the Kadabra's Spoon night after night, long after my primary motivations to do so had expired. Perhaps not the most impressive thing it had ever accomplished, but nevertheless. That isn't to say the place was inadequate, far from it. In fact, 'adequate' was probably the word that described it best. Neither expensive nor distasteful nor inconvenient. Just... Nothing special, especially for me. It was a pub, first and foremost, but I didn't drink. Could never stand the taste of beer or wine, really. The secondary attraction, after the promise of alcohol, of course, was that it was a licensed 'professional venue', which mostly meant that gambling on the matches was legal and handled by the establishment, as opposed to done under the table. Not the most glamorous way to make a living on either side of plexiglass, but an easy method to keep yourself afloat if you knew the 'game'.
I lost myself in nostalgia for a moment, pausing outside the door, as nights spent bilking the inexperienced and overconfident came rolling back. Perhaps there was a twinge of shame, buried under the wave of wistfulness, at the somewhat...Unethical nature of what I used to do, but if there was, it was no more than that. Most of the people I took to the cleaners were that special mix of arrogant, surly and stupid that was usually associated with the stereotype of "Pub Brawler".
The Kadabra's Spoon had been one of the places I'd first made a 'name' for myself and it still brought back old memories.
Still, nowadays, the existence of such an arena was more an annoyance than anything else. I had to eat with my back turned to the battle. Otherwise...It was like looking over the shoulder of someone of below average intelligence doing the newspaper crossword. In the same way there's that instinct to yell the answers at them and berate them for being so slow (don't tell me you've never felt like that at some point), watching for any length of time roused a niggling desire to walk over and give both parties some pointers, or maybe even start micro-managing, when it got really bad.
...It may have nearly gotten my nose broken at one point when I was unable to resist. Thankfully, Jim, the bartender and owner, stepped in and stopped me getting my head caved in.
It wasn't as if the place had an especially comfortable atmosphere either. Unlike most older bars, The Kadabra's Spoon had always been intended to have a battle arena as well, as opposed to the usual hasty installation, inevitably the result of an owner far too willing to sample his own stock. As a result, the place was all stonework and metal to ensure it didn't burn down, rather than the more traditional wooden floors I'd seen in many places like it. Of course, nowadays, health and safety required the arena to be enclosed to prevent errant attacks going off into the crowd, so most of those measures were obsolete. As a result, it didn't typically attract the gregarious type, nor those out on the town for a good time. Really, there were only two types of people who frequented the place on a regular basis. Battlers and punters. Nowadays, I didn't really fit into either-
"Oi, Alex, stop blockin' the door an' take a seat, will ya? Yer lettin' the cold in!"
I was rather rudely returned to the immediate present by the establishment's 'gracious host'. Of course, my umbrage didn't stop me from following the advice. It was good advice. As usual, I sat myself next to the counter, though far enough away from the taps that I didn't get in the way of the hard core drinkers.
"Yer usual, Alex?"
"Much appreciated, Jim."
Jim motioned to the girl at the bain-marie, who scooped out a plate of pasta and passed it over. I started on it with my usual gusto. Even as focused as I was on my dinner, it wasn't hard for me to discern that Jim wasn't quite his usual jovial self. His smile, normally sincere and just the slightest bit goofy, was stiff and forced. Between bites, I decided to probe lightly.
"So, how's the day been?"
Jim's gaze wandered over somewhere behind me as I took another mouthful of Boscaiola. His expression soured.
"S'been alright."
Restricted as I was by the food in my mouth, I gave him an inquisitive look in lieu of asking him directly. He exuded a long suffering sigh.
"Some chit's been tearin' up the arena."
I made the 'go on' motion with my free hand.
"She's been 'ere all day an' she ain't lost once, even though she ain't that good. Been pissin' off the crowd somethin' fierce. Bein' a real brat about it too."
I gave him the most unimpressed look I could muster, before swallowing.
"Not exactly the first time it's happened, Jim."
Jim shifted uncomfortably, stumbling over how he wanted to start his response.
"...It's not the same. It-Y'know. You ain't got the same definition of 'not that good' an' everyone knew you were showboatin' an' it weren't like you were pissin' off the crowd, just the guy across from you. This girl... She's just missin' the chain mail an' red hair, if y'know what I mean."
I finished another couple of bites of pasta as a certain mental image came to mind.
"She can't be that bad-"
Which is to say, 'She can't be that stupid'.
"-I mean... So you're saying she has certain views on pokémon rights? Doesn't make her automatically a Plasma sympathiser."
He gave me a flat, unamused look.
"Y'know, she's fightin' right behind ya. You could just take a look yerself."
It was pretty obvious who he was talking about. The girl wasn't exactly the most difficult to identify. The splash of long, nearly neon pink hair was impossible to miss against the dirty brick backdrop of the arena wall. Jeans, a t-shirt and jacket; not entirely unusual for a trainer, though most probably not a local. If she was, she'd probably have the sense to wear something heavier. Driftveil evenings were most definitely not 't-shirt and jeans' weather, especially around this time of year. Light clothes were consistent with a trainer who had travelled directly from Nimbasa. They erred mostly on the 'clean side' of the spectrum for a trainer, which could mean a number of things. She might have been especially wealthy and could afford someone to deal with that kind of thing (unlikely, if she was visiting a place like this), she might've been new and simply hadn't had enough time on the road for her clothes to show it that heavily (unlikely, if she was winning so handily) or she might have just been an especially heavy neat freak. Or she might have just bought a new set of clothes. I set that train of thought aside as unproductive. Around average-ish height, maybe a little on the short side. I put her around... Maybe fourteen. She might have been older, but her figure and general apparel implied a certain youth and made accuracy difficult. Her stance was... Intense, but without purpose. 'Wound-up' probably described it better. Not the focused stare of someone gauging their opponent's pokémon, but like that of an especially avid fan watching her favourite sports team match evenly with an old rival. Both trainers were yelling something, but the murmur of the crowd, the distance and the plastic barrier made it too indistinct to tell what they were saying.
Her opponent was Tom...Tom Jenkins, if memory serves. I had seen him take the floor a number of times and I hadn't been impressed. I believe I was once told he worked on a construction site, usually. I could believe that, considering his pokémons' poor technique and his reliance on direct command. If one made the assumption he used his pokémon as part of his job, the pieces came together nicely.
Okay, so I wasn't very good at resisting the urge to watch. Morbid curiosity is a normal, human trait.
The Magmar on the field was Tom's, so the Absol had to be the girl's. Absol never came very far east, so I guessed she might have come through from Undella... Or she might have come here by ship. She looked a little foreign. Skin was a little lighter than your average Unovan, but she might've been from the southern parts of the region.
Again and again, the Absol threw Night Slash after Night Slash at the Magmar, keeping the fire type off balance. It really should only have needed one, but its technique was sorely lacking. A good swipe across the chest would've ended the battle there and then, but the Absol wasn't getting anything more than scratches and flesh wounds; striking at its target, rather than through. They'd sting, maybe bleed a little, but that would be it. Still, the fight was well in the grasp of the unknown trainer. Her pokémon's technique was sloppy, but at least it was making attacks. The Magmar was just letting itself get pushed around, unable to keep its bearings.
Ugh, no, why- That's not how you use Night Sl- No, you're meant to close, then charge the bla-You bleed energy by doing that; stop doing that. If you're going to keep striking, you charge it at the start of your swing and cut it at the end-
A slightly more solid hit sent the Magmar reeling, but rather than going in for the kill, the Absol fell back, glaring at her opponent angrily.
NO, that is NOT where you're meant to disengage, you keep pressing. You obviously aren't tired, so why on earth would you stop pressuring because your opponent fell over. Why? Are you trying to let him get back into this
Tom yelled something as the Magmar found its feet again, and the pokémon covered its fists in a veil of fire before lumbering back into the fray.
Ugh, why Tom? I knew you were bad, but that's just stupid. And bad training. Your pokémon just spent the last twenty seconds being used as a punching bag and you want it to go back into melee range ?
As usual, Tom hadn't identified his 'win condition' properly. An old and common problem that far too many trainers had. Hadn't accounted for his opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Or his own pokémon's, for that matter. The girl's was a little less immediately apparent. Managing to stop picking apart her pokémon's immediate mistakes for a moment and look what they meant in context, I started to put a couple of things together. Whilst in a battle, the pause and posturing was ridiculous, it would make sense in a 'protecting your territory/dissuading attackers' sense. Lack of proper technique corroborated the idea that it'd been barely trained at all, or trained especially poorly. Superfluous instincts were typically one of the first things to be dropped during effective training. I watched it continue to trade with the Magmar, easily evading its opponent's clumsy strikes. As a species, mid-range combat was Magmar's forte; it had neither the durability nor speed to enter the melee with a dedicated close quarters specialist like Absol, even if there hadn't been a disparity in condition and experience between the two. The fact that it seemed the Absol was the stronger individual made the decision all the more foolish.
"Only twen'y seconds o' watchin' her and she's already got ya grindin' yer teeth in rage."
I looked back at Jim, giving him a 'smile' that lacked any kind of amusement.
"Har de har har. Can't tell much about her, but she looks pretty green."
"Ha! 'Green' ain't got the same meanin' when yer the one tossin' it 'round, Alex. 'Green' can mean guys who've been trainin' for longer than you've been alive for you."
I put on my best arrogant smirk.
"I just call it like I see it, Jim."
We traded amused looks as the match drew to a close. It continued as it had, until the fire type had eventually just collapsed from exhaustion and pain. Not a clean way to end a fight by any means, but a common enough one nonetheless. For a couple of minutes, I was allowed some peace to continue with my dinner, before a poorly suppressed groan from Jim drew my attention again. His expression had soured, as his gaze focused on something behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find the girl approaching the bar. I kept my expression a neutral smile as she took a seat in front of Jim.
"That's another hundred for me, right?"
Jim grumbled as he passed over the money. She passed him her pokémon for healing and sat waiting at the bar. Since he seemed too irritated to do so, I decided to do the courteous thing, keeping my tone polite as I often did with strangers.
"Congratulations on your win, Miss."
She turned, her expression an excited grin tinged with a smugness born off the victory high, assumedly. She might've been naturally smug, but I doubted.
"Thanks! Their pokémon were pretty strong, but they weren't enough to take us down."
A patently untrue statement, if I'd ever heard one. I didn't let my irritation at it, nor at her enthusiasm show. Some people were just naturally like that.
"So, I'm curious. Did you come through Undella on your way here?"
She blinked twice.
"Uh...No? I came by boat. I arrived in the harbour today. There was a- a mix up."
After a moment, I was able to place her slight accent.
"Ah, then I suppose you're from Hoenn. You got here from Lilycove, then?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, I got on the wrong boat. I was gonna go to Mossdeep, but ended up here instead. I'm here, making enough to get a ticket back."
I was immediately sceptical of her story. The only ships that went this way were the freighters and most docked in Castelia anyway. I was pretty sure they didn't even leave from the same docks. Still, I kept my opinion to myself. If she didn't want to say the actual reason, she could keep her secrets for now. I rather wanted to figure it out myself anyway. This was getting interesting.
"Well, unfortunately, Miss, you'll find that getting a ticket from here to Lilycove is a little difficult. If you want to go back that way, you'll want to either head over to the port in Castelia, or take a plane from Mistralton."
She frowned, as she considered this information for a few moments, before brightening up.
"Thanks...Uh... Who are you again?"
Feh. What are you doing, Midnight? Remember etiquette. Introductions are important and the person initiating a conversation should introduce themselves first.
I offered a hand.
"That was awfully impolite of me. My name is Alexander. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
A moment of hesitation, before she accepted the handshake. As usual, I just had to hope I wasn't being creepy.
"I'm Sammy. Nice to meet you too."
A slight nod of my head indicated my acknowledgement of this. Considering her apparent reluctance to speak of how she had found her way to Driftveil, I decided to turn the conversation back towards her latest battle.
"So then, may I assume you aren't particularly well acquainted with Magmar and the way it fights?"
"I still won, like, really easily. Why does it matter?"
I tried to keep the lecturing tone out of my voice. I really did.
"Still, you could probably have done so more efficiently. You could probably have taken better advantage of your match-up."
She rolled her eyes.
"Magmar's a fire type and my Eclipse is a dark type. They don't have any kind of advantage over each other.
Wait, what?
"That's not what I m-"
She ran over my attempts to clarify. Stunned by her ignorance, I just let her do so.
"And besides, I don't think about that kind of thing. It doesn't matter who I send my pokémon out against. Eclipse always crushes fighting types and bugs, and that proves it. It's not what the pokémon is, it's who they are!"
All thoughts of figuring out what her deal was were dropped. My mouth froze half open for a moment, whilst my brain doubled checked the information my ears had just provided it. For a moment, my brain considered the possibility that the girl had stepped out of a cartoon.
"My apologies, could you please repeat what you just said? I must have misheard you."
She gave me an infuriatingly self-satisfied grin, as, as if she were doling out some grand wisdom to a greenhorn fresh out of trainer's school. Like she was doing me a favour by telling me this.
"Me and my pokémon can take on anyone, regardless of what they send out!"
That wasn't repeating, but...
The only sign of my incredulousness was a slight narrowing of my eyes. I asked a leading question to confirm my suspicions.
"Oh, so I suppose that means you're one of those trainers who are completely reliant on heavy training and out-muscling your opponent then?"
As I expected, she recoiled almost as if she'd been slapped. Or I'd insulted her mother.
"Of course not! I don't torture my pokémon. Pokémon are at their best when you treat them with care and respect. Our strength comes from the bond between me and my pokémon. Training only hurts them."
It was at this point that things could've easily gone a different way. Typically, I like to think I'm a fairly diplomatic person. If I think someone is wrong, I smile and let them continue being wrong. I spent three years keeping my nose out of business of other trainers; I know what happens when egos clash. Even when I speak up, I try to play nice and avoid rocking the boat. This time, however, I was caught completely off guard.
"Are you serious, scrub?"
And this time, I just had to open my big mouth.
The girl fixed me with a pointed look.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"Don't worry ab-"
Mirth danced in his eyes as Jim rudely interrupted my back-pedalling.
"He called ya a scrub. It's pro-trainer speak fer 'yer crap and have no hope of bein' good'."
I instantly swivelled to face Jim, my expression some unhappy medium between annoyed and embarrassed.
"That's not exactly the dictionary definition, Jim."
Jim remained silently grinning. Our eyes met for a split second, before I turned back to the girl. I considered trying to explain further, but it was quite clear the damage had already been done. She was pretty mad.
"You think I'm a weak trainer? I've battled fifteen trainers today and I haven't lost once. How's that for weak?"
Whoop de doo.
At this point, hiding my disdain was rather pointless, so I decided to be candid. I raised a singular, unimpressed eyebrow.
"...And?"
She gagged on whatever she was about to say, apparently unprepared for my dismissal. I pressed further before she could respond.
"Before you go on, you're probably very good for your age. You just aren't exactly winning any awards for beating anyone here. Most of the regulars have proper day jobs."
She appeared unappeased. Actually, it looked like that had only made her angrier. It only occurred to me a second later just how condescending that sounded. In hindsight, I should've seen her next line coming from a mile away.
"Alright then, if you're going to talk like that, back it up! Put a hundred down and I'll prove that you're worse than a 'Scrub'."
A bark of laughter escaped me. Here she was, glaring angrily, attempting to get me into the arena over a measly hundred dollars. A trainer had to have some pride, but it was far more important to have a handle on it. Allowing it to control her like this was going to get her into trouble in the long run. Really, I was doing her a favour by educating her.
Plus, I had my own pride as well.
"My apologies, but that isn't going to happen."
She simmered for a moment, before responding.
"Just as I thought. You're nothing but-"
"If you want to face me in a 'friendly' game, that's fine. We can take it outside and I can give you some pointers, but if you want to seriously fight me, we will not be playing with chump change. If you want to challenge me to a money match, I will be willing to accept a pot of anything between a thousand and ten thousand. Otherwise, as they say, 'take a hike'."
She froze, gears turning in her head. Fifteen wins at low stakes meant it was probably most of the money she'd won over the night. Maybe all of it. Some of the battlers refused to go above the fifty dollar minimum.
"...Fine! A thousand!"
An expected, but disappointing result. I suppressed a sigh as I reached into my wallet. Calling the 'bluff' of a trainer you had no knowledge of was the kind of move that straddled brave and stupid. Hindsight would almost certainly condemn it as the latter.
"Alright. Standard Stadium Group Stage rules; six pokémon on hand of which three are chosen as the battle goes. First person to have no usable pokémon loses. No trainer interference besides orders."
She nodded, her mouth frozen in an almost indignant frown. Jim gave me a smug grin as he took both our bets and passed her pokémon back to her. He then called out to the rest of the bar.
"Alright, everyone! Alex is gonna do his thing, so all bets are off till he's done! For anyone who's new here, if someone tries to sucker you into an under the table bet against him, don't take it! This is your only warning!"
The girl didn't speak as we made our way to the arena. She looked like she was starting to have second thoughts and that announcement probably had her rattled. An unnatural hush had overtaken the room. Not silence, but a definite reduction in volume. I could guess why. Usually, I was the villain. On the rare occasion I took to the floor, the bar rallied to cheer against me, without fail (bar Jim and anyone who had some grudge against my opponent). Today, however, it was the devil they knew, up against the devil they didn't. As much as some of them probably wanted to see me beaten, they probably wanted to see this 'young upstart' taken down a peg even more.
As soon as she'd challenged me, I had decided on Pow for my starter. Whilst he probably wouldn't make as much of an impact on the girl as my other pokémon, for he was young and still in training, he needed the experience in battle. Regardless of the calibre of opponent, he still needed experience with fighting other trained pokémon who weren't going easy on him. Well, for a given value of 'trained', I supposed. I rolled his pokeball around in my fingers as I waited for her to organise her belt. It looked like she was muttering to herself, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. I called out to her.
"Whenever you're ready, miss."
She shot me an annoyed glare in response. Finally, she settled on choosing the lone great ball on her belt.
"My name's Sammy! Stop calling me 'Miss'! And I'm completely ready. Just be ready to eat your words once I'm done."
It wasn't the first night that Eclipse had been forced to fight for her dinner. Most of her kind would cede a kill to the packs. When the howling approached, most would turn tail and leave the kill, lest they be punished for 'poaching'. She didn't let herself be pushed around like that and, eventually, they learned to leave her alone. Many moons had passed since then, but she still understood the principle. Tonight, the exalted one needed to borrow her power for more than just pride and, once more, she would prove her dominance. She'd fought again and again against enemies of all colours, shapes and types. Whilst perhaps they may have presented a challenge en mass, none were worthy of a 'fair' duel. Again and again, they fell to her blade with neither struggle nor fanfare. She wanted to tell herself that the latest opponent would be no different, but something about it made her stop.
More so than any adversary she had faced before, the small, rat-like creature before her made Eclipse feel uneasy. It didn't have the sheer bulk or size of the Hariyama or ghost creature she'd faced no more than a moon cycle ago. It didn't have the ferocity or unblemished hatred of the insect that considered her its rival. It didn't try to intimidate her with displays of power, like the many wolves she'd faced before meeting her trainer. It didn't even have the strange exoticism she'd seen in many of the enemies she'd already fought that evening. In the short time she'd been with her trainer, she'd stared down all manner of foes who any human would say she was destined to be beaten by; she was too weak, they had a type advantage, she wasn't trained well enough. She proved them wrong, time and time again. In the wild, she had become strong. Had to become strong. Had to learn how to fight those who were just as strong. All the same, there was something more to her latest opponent. As she awaited the word from the exalted one to begin the bout, she came to a realisation.
Staring down the rat, she had no clue what it was going to do or how powerful he was. Her eyes told her it was weak. Her mind assured her it was just another trainer's thrall. Instinct saw a small creature with paws and whiskers and reminded her of the weakness of the rats that hid amongst the tall grass; the weakness of prey. Yet, long ago, she'd found those senses to be misleading. Her triumph over the packs, when her instincts screamed at her to flee proved this. And her gut was telling her something was very wrong.
The other human said something Eclipse didn't care to listen to. The rat bowed, in a parody of human fighters, before taking a battle stance. She readied herself for the exalted one's mark, already knowing how to proceed.
"Let's go, Eclipse! Psycho Cut!"
That was the signal. She rushed forwards, already pushing energy into her horn. Long ago, she'd learned she could channel more than just her natural energy into the blade. By tapping into the same energy that she formed Future Sight with, she could strike down those who would shrug off her normal strike.
The other human called something again as she approached, but the rat remained still. As she brought her blade down, the rat shifted slightly, evading the strike by the smallest margin. She pushed forwards and swung her head back up, expecting the familiar resistance as it bit into flesh and then perhaps bone, but again, the rat flowed around the strike. Rather than continuing, she allowed the energy to dissipate and lunged forward, fangs beared, expecting her sight to aid her in pinning down the rat. Again, she missed as it ducked around the blow. Frustration building, she struck again and again, with fang and blade and claw, each more reckless than the last. She could feel the exalted one's concerned gaze on her back as her strikes continued to be evaded.
It was toying with her.
She lunged, this time as much to distance herself from her foe as to attack. Once again, her claws sailed over her target. She landed and immediately turned to watch the rat, more hesitant than she'd ever been. It made no attempt to chase her down. It just remained in place, it's fur unmarred and its breath still controlled and even. She took a moment to calm herself. It didn't help. Beneath the anger, all she had was uncertainty and doubt. Oh, she'd been pressured before. Been hurt. Been down in a fight. Even beaten, once or twice, by the lizard. But this? It was like trying to pin down sunlight or trap a breeze. Like nothing had been gained by even trying.
"Come on, Eclipse! Let's try it again. Psycho Cut!"
She wouldn't let the exalted one down. She might not have been able to land a blow, but the rat hadn't thrown a single strike either. Perhaps its entire strategy was to wear her down? Even if it was fast, she only needed a single decisive hit to finish this. Again, she rushed in, still faster than before. She put her all into this one strike.
She hadn't paid any attention to the rat's trainer before then, but his final words of the match would be etched into her mind for the rest of her life. They were neither loud, nor contemptuous, but were all the crueller for it. The words went beyond confidence or bravado; they spoke of a certainty of victory, as one might speak of the rising of the sun or the ebb and flow of the tide. Words that brooked no contradiction.
"Let's finish up, Pow. Force, Force, Break."
CRACK!
The first strike shattered her charge as a spike of red hot pain went right through her gut and drove the air from her lungs. She hadn't even seen the rat get inside her guard, let alone perform the attack. A second or so passed and she nearly crumpled from the hit, right there and then, but before she could even think past the pain, a second blow came to her jaw, sending her spinning. She tried to blink away the black spots that'd formed across her vision, but finally, one last unseen strike to the side of her neck robbed her of all consciousness.
The Absol skidded to a halt, the momentum imparted by Pow's Brick Break bleeding away against the concrete. It was evident that Pow needed more experience outside of drills and sparring against Dirk and Lord, since I could already see where the cracks in his form were appearing. He was playing too close to his opponent's attacks when using Detect; if an opponent put on an unexpected burst of speed, or was able to suddenly increase the size of the attack, he'd be in serious trouble. He also was far too slow when linking his attacks together. There'd been a sizable delay between each strike that hadn't manifested when he did the drills. Obviously, I'd need to put a little pressure on him when doing those. Maybe start switching up the order of attacks with his strike drills.
A moment of horror crossed my opponent's face as she watched her pokémon's swift demise. She stifled a wail, before attempting to rush over to help it. I cleared my throat.
"Ahem."
She looked up towards me, distress obvious in her eyes. I remained unmoved.
"Miss, this is a battle by stadium rules. Return your pokémon and continue, or forfeit."
She stood there for maybe twenty seconds, looking between me and her pokémon. She smothered whatever emotions she was feeling with a dose of anger at me and returned the Absol. Of the two normal reactions a new trainer had to such an event, anger was preferred over a breakdown on the spot, but neither were particularly helpful to the trainer's chances of victory.
"You'll pay for that, you-you monster!"
Petty insults? Really?
"Payment will be determined by who has the last pokémon standing, Miss."
She agonised over choosing her next pokémon. A full minute passed before she finally decided on an unmarked great ball. I was tempted to prompt her after the first thirty seconds, since that would constitute stalling in a proper match, but I was feeling charitable. Not charitable enough to not crush her, though.
"Okay, let's go, Flutter! We'll avenge Eclipse together!"
60:30:10 chances for Beautifly, Dustox and Masquerain.
My guess was validated as she threw the great ball and released her Beautifly. My senses immediately registered a couple of abnormalities in this specific individual. The slightest of rasps in its voice as it announced its name. The barest fading of the colours on the wings. Irregular wing beats.
Interesting.
Pow remained focused on the battle in front of him, as I expected of him.
The round was a quick, unpleasant affair, as they often were in such circumstances.
"Flutter! Use Giga Drain!"
The bug type's flight was leisurely and unhurried, but it kept at a height well above the point that Pow could jump without exposing himself to a counterattack. Unfortunately for it, I had taught Pow a couple of ways to deal with such tactics.
"No sense dragging this out, Pow. Stone Edge."
Pow's paw glowed as he slammed his fist into the concrete. Shards of stone erupted from the ground, spraying through the air. Even against an actual person, Stone Edge was liable to cause some serious cuts and scrapes. Against a weaker pokémon with a double weakness to rock, it was backbreaking. A moment of surprise passed across its face in the moment before the attack was upon it. A moment later, the Beautifly spiralled slowly to the ground, its wings shredded and eyes unfocused. It was returned without a word. I smiled absently at how far Pow had progressed with his use of Stone Edge. He'd resisted learning it at first. Thought it was a waste to learn something that was so situational and had little to no use in a duel against another fighting type. Thankfully, he hadn't protested too much. It still wasn't anywhere near the ground shattering rain of spikes that Press could produce, but it was spectacular in its own way.
I'd expected another response from my opponent, but as I took another glance at her, she was silent again, already with pokeball in hand. However, she stopped before throwing it, eyes screwed shut. Possibly on the verge of tears. Her hand reached for another pokeball and simply stood there for some time, clutching both and otherwise unmoving. There was some story going on behind this. The conflicting emotions that danced across her face were proof of that. Anger. Regret. Resignation. What it could mean, I wasn't sure.
What's going on inside that head of yours?
VS: Well? Are you willing to end this farce, Sammy?
Her reply was slow and reluctant, as she continued to stand there, the two pokeballs still in her hands.
VS: This meaningless act of rebellion... You're only hurting yourself with it. Let me help you.
Hesitantly, she returned the first to her belt.
"...Okay."
SM: Fine. You win.
She took a deep breath.
"You think it's fine to hurt pokémon like that? You think that we're just going to let you get away with this? I'll show just what happens to people like you!"
VS: Follow my lead.
She couldn't stop herself from cringing as she threw the pokeball.
"Let's go, Riolu!"
I blinked, slightly nonplussed. Her previous two pokémon had been given especially uninspired nicknames, but for her latest to have none at all... Something was up. From the defeated expression that had crossed her face just before she made her choice, my first thoughts were that this pokémon wasn't hers. That some other, stronger trainer had given it to her and this was her last resort. A quick glance at the pokémon itself didn't fill me with confidence in its ability to compete. Its stance was loose and undisciplined.
"Up for a third round, Pow?"
The Mienfoo looked over his shoulder and gave me a curt nod. I returned it in kind.
"Alright. Whenever you're ready."
"Riolu, attack it with Quick Attack and Feint!"
A word from its trainer and the Riolu was immediately upon Pow, striking out with a flurry of punches. They weren't particularly well formed and Pow was able to keep ahead of most of them, but, as I watched a glancing blow send Pow skidding back, it was obvious there was a deceptive amount of power behind them. It continued the assault, without letting the pressure up.
"U-Turn and back off, Pow!"
"Don't let up, Riolu!"
The strike incorporated into the backwards somersault allowed Pow a little breathing room for a moment, but no more, as the Riolu shrugged the strike off and continued to chase him down. Watching it move, my brain started bring up objections to what my eyes were seeing. Little discrepancies, like how it was moving slightly further than its stride, and that the strikes Pow was landing weren't displacing his opponent as far as they should have, if I only took mass into account. Things that your standard bystander wouldn't pick up. My frown deepened as Pow began to visibly tire, worn down by the relentless blows. I retrieved his ball and returned him.
"Wha-You can't-!"
"I am ceding that round, Miss. I accept that Pow would have inevitably lost and I am ending it now."
Her expression was more than a little wary, but she nodded. I hadn't quite pinpointed why this Riolu was so strange. Maybe it was receiving outside help from something? I couldn't tell yet. I retrieved the ultra ball second to the right on my belt.
"Come on out, Lord."
He emerged onto the arena floor with a great crash and let out his typical roar.
"NIDO-KING!"
He then stopped for a moment, as he observed his opponent. He turned to me with a questioning look, which I answered with a shrug, a nod and finally by pointing back at his opponent. He returned his attention to the Riolu, still rather puzzled. At the behest of an unseen signal, both pokémon sprung into action. Which rather annoyed me, as I most certainly didn't want Lord to rush in.
"Lord, keep your distance and get it with Ice Beam."
"Nido!"
Lord stopped and, for a moment, charged his fist with icy energy, as his opponent sped towards him.
"Deny the advance."
At my order, Lord made sure to aim to ensure the Riolu could not longer continue its charge, forcing it to swerve to avoid the beam. Lord was still unable to quickly change the beam's direction without cutting its power or losing the attack completely, but he was able to keep his opponent on its toes. Unfortunately, the Riolu finally managed an opening.
"Riolu, use Sky Uppercut!"
Wait, really? Sky U-
"Lord, repel with Flamethrower."
Thankfully, experience allowed my mouth to ignore my brain's stunned bafflement and give the order for Lord to defend himself. Immediately terminating the ice attack, Lord spat a gout of flame at his opponent, as it tried to get in close enough to strike Lord with a leaping punch to his chin. Instead, it was knocked over. A split second later, it had sprung to its feat, fists up in that same loose stance it began in, none the worse for wear.
"Lord, Ice Beam again."
"Riolu, get it with Hyper Beam!"
WHY?! RIOLU CAN'T LEARN HY-
Whilst Lord might have fired his attack first, the second beam cut through the first and slammed directly into Lord, knocking him to the ground. It continued to fire into the plexiglass behind him, visibly warping the material. Laid out on his back, Lord let out a groan, before completely losing consciousness. I returned him, not entirely uncertain of what to say.
"Well then..."
I stood there for a couple of moments, eyes closed. In my head, I replayed that last exchange a couple of times, knowing I'd failed Lord in my capacity as a trainer. Even prior to my hiatus, it'd been a long time since I'd failed in such a way; I'd lost due to being out-planned, or out-trained or simply having a bad match-up against my opponent, but I couldn't remember the last time where I'd allowed a pokémon under my command to be defeated due to a incorrect evaluation of my opponent. Whilst it would be easy enough for me to put it down to some kind of deception from the pokémon in front of me; that this was obviously no Riolu, I had still failed to properly gauge its strength. I put it aside. Perhaps my edge had dulled over the past year, but for now, I certainly didn't have time to berate myself. Twenty seconds had passed since Lord had been knocked out and I had a battle to win.
Opening my eyes again, I looked across at the girl. Over the last two rounds, the smug, self-righteous air about her had returned. Behind the plexiglass, the crowd had been riled up.
"Come on, Alex!" "Stop playing around and crush her!" "Show her your Smile!" "Break the snotty brat!"
Not your typical cheering...But I suppose they're on my side, this once.
"I suppose this is where the gloves come off."
The girl seemed unimpressed by my declaration, but it was really for my own benefit, rather than some kind of warning. Off my belt, I grabbed the ball furthest on my left. Unlike the others, this one was starting to show signs of weathering, all covered with scratch marks. Out of habit, I rotated the ball around in my hand for a moment, before tossing it at my feet.
"Come on out, Don!"
From his pokeball, the first pokémon I'd ever caught emerged. He landed heavily on the ground, wings already out, in a mocking imitation of how Shiv liked to emerge. I rolled my eyes at his usual antics.
"Enough with the comedy act, Don. It's time for the real show to begin."
He immediately straightened up and took to the air, wings flapping slowly.
As the two pokémon sized each other up, neither combatant looked particularly concerned over their respective opponent. The Riolu's stance was still as loose and dismissive as ever, his face a mask of disdain. On the other side, though his wing beats kept a lazy tempo, the Honchkrow couldn't help but grin in anticipation. Months had passed without a worthy fight.
Behind him, Don could hear the boss calling his standard pre-fight orders. Stadium style battle, keep it nice and clean, yadda yadda yadda. Something something 'Don't underestimate', etc. He didn't need to go through it all, but the boss was nothing, if not a creature of habit. Really, Don didn't bother listening too much to what the boss was saying. Most of it was for appearances. You didn't survive the murder if you didn't have a little nous, and the old hag hadn't raised no fools. He fought smart and the boss knew that, which was the basis for their working relationship. If the boss sounded desperate, you acted immediately, or you got your feathers stripped. If the boss sounded mischievous, you listened up and trusted he knew what he was doing. Otherwise, Don trusted the boss to be his second set of eyes and ears, and the boss trusted Don to not rely on his slow as cold treacle commands.
Anyways, with the humans gas bagging, Don was left waiting for the fight to start. This wasn't a stadium, so he was pretty sure nobody would mind if he struck up a little conversation with his opponent. Nothing like a little banter to get into the spirit of things. The boss couldn't begrudge him that.
["You ready for yer medicine, friend?"]
His opponent seemed briefly irritated. Either he'd accidentally hit a nerve, or hit opponent wasn't one for pre-battle talk.
["Do not call me 'friend', Honchkrow."]
His grin widened.
["Ain't you a right ball o' sunshine. Who do you think is fallin' for your act anyway, friend?"]
["...I do not know what you are talking about, fool."]
["Hah! 'Fool'. 'Do not'. Dunno if I'm meant to laugh or cringe. Ever even heard a fledglin' fighting type talk? Half of 'em woulda been usin' 'birdbrain' as punctuation. Other half woulda had ta ask what 'medicine' meant. Ya talk like ya had a stint at finishin' school. Lemme give it to you straight, friend. You can fool a bunch of people, but you ain't foolin' me."]
That shut the knucklehead up. Wait, no, spoon bender was the right slur to use. Didn't matter in the end. After he was done with the brat, they'd be calling him 'Mincemeat'.
Unlike his opponent, Versailles had other more pressing concerns than the inconsequential battle in front of him. Finally, this was the opportunity to reverse the damage that losing to his counterpart had caused. A chance to repair the trust Sammy had in him. Already, he could see how to leverage this, especially considering how easily the Absol had fallen. Admittedly, to be forced to rely on him for this victory would hurt his charge's self-esteem to some extent, but that was something easily fixed. Repeated future victories would allow her to regain her confidence in both her own skills and in him. Not only that, but it would prove that singular loss was the exception, not the rule.
Additionally, it would show her the flaws in following the Absol's philosophy and put her back on the path she should have been following from the beginning. Allowing the dark type to have her ear was an error he would not be making twice.
A call from each trainer and both pokémon surged into action.
Having been focused on his opponent, Don just assumed the boss had called for a burst of dark energy. Not to hit his opponent, but to disrupt any type of clairvoyance the brat was using. Plenty of Psychics liked to try and get around his type immunity to mind-reading by reading the environment. Hadn't worked in a long time, though. Sure enough, for the half a second after the weak burst of energy diffused into the arena air, it looked like the bottom just dropped out of the spoon bender's stomach, before he realised how stupid he must've looked and picked his poker face off the ground. The brat leaped at him, paw drawn back. He would've had to be pretty stupid not to notice the mist congealing around the strike and Don was having none of it. With a speed built on years of practice, Don threw foreign energy into his wings and, in time with the beginning of his boss's command, sent a gust of searing hot wind into the spoon bender's face. Recoiling in pain, the brat's momentum died and he dropped to the ground. Another wave struck where he'd been lying, as he narrowly picked himself up in time.
Unwilling to let him start returning fire, he dove to take the fight in close whilst he still had the advantage. Fast though the kid might've been, he wasn't outrunning Don with his stubby legs. Their eyes met as the spoon bender, obviously unused to fighting with his senses dampened, looked over his shoulder. Again, icy energy built up in his target's paw. Over the brief couple of seconds the chase lasted, Don could read the brat's thoughts going through his little head; the question, the brief hesitation, the resolution, then the choice to stop holding back. Wouldn't help him. Spoon benders might be good at stopping some guy from plucking their thoughts out of their head, but most of them weren't so good at guarding their eyes. The brat kept throwing energy into the attack, visibly wasting energy like an amateur.
Half a second before it fired, he was idly aware of the boss's voice. He already knew when to evade; could tell how far he was done charging it. That half a second passed and-
"-KROW!"
A burst of profanity escaped Don as he was sent spiralling off course. Though he dodged the beam itself, he'd cut it too narrow. Remembered too late. Ice beam always extended at least half an inch past the edge of what you could see. Was based on the power. He'd taken a glancing blow to his wing, which may as well have knocked him clean out of the air. His foe always already rushing to meet him as he abruptly landed. Half a second to grin (Ain't gonna lose up close to no spoon bender), and they were on each other. The two blurred with movement as they fought in close quarters. Paws of ice met feathers of steel. Beak and knuckle clashed and clashed again. A punch went through his guard (Just a bruise). His beak scraped across flesh, leaving an angry red gash. Then-
"DON-!"
There!
Another gust of burning air was thrown, timed with the boss's yell. The heat returned feeling to his wing and caught the brat as he wound back for a punch.
Caught unaware, Versailles floundered as he was swept off his feet. It took him a couple of seconds to stop the tumble and get his feet under him once more. Now, he lifted what restrictions remained, as victory became the priority. Damage control came later. Couldn't lose this opportunity. Faster, the foe closed, kept at bay by a burst of stars. A pause in the action taken to heal himself, forfeiting the initiative and what distance he had. Again, he was upon him, though slower and more cautious. An errant Thunderbolt veered off course, as the bird struck before he'd drawn a bead. Talons raked his face, tried to gouge his eyes. Another burst of lightning forced his foe back, buying him another two or three seconds. Healed. Easier when not hiding it. Another thunderbolt missed, as his foe wheeled around him. He pivoted to watch, but for the briefest of moments, his eyes lingered.
Without his dictation of her orders, Sammy stood stock still, unable to follow the battle. Still, salvageable if he was care-Distracted for a second by his thoughts, unused to the pressure, a blade of air caught the edge of his shoulder. Desperately, he returned with another ice beam, that seemed almost on point, until his foe jerked back, changing directions at the last second. He maintained the beam for two or three seconds, unable to catch the enemy, but keeping it at bay. Another few seconds bought with the onset of an unfamiliar weariness, he healed himself, but when he looked up a moment later, the creature had disappeared from view.
Where-?
Twenty years ago, back when I was very young, they used to say that the theoretical ultimate Flying type move could never be achieved by a mortal pokémon. They said, if you trained a pokémon for its entire life, you might get the charge down to twenty seconds. Still far too long to be usable in direct combat and even if you could, it'd only ever be useful where you had enough time to slow down afterwards. If there wasn't, or if the energy field it surrounded itself with was flawed in any way, they said the pokémon would rip itself apart against the very air itself. This was back when trainers didn't even realise there were two 'imperfect' versions of the attack. More, if you experimented with it.
First off, there was the 'natural' version. Sky attack was a mostly useless light show that left the user a sitting duck. If you allowed for a bit of a power drop and trained them to disregard most of those survival instincts that came along with the attack, most bird pokémon could pull the attack off with maybe a four or five second wind-up and they could do it on the move. That was the second 'imperfect' version. What everyone used as standard. What everyone called 'Brave Bird'. If you still dropped the checks and balances, but kept the charge, you could amp the power further, though that wasn't much more than a party trick. Releasing the energy early was pretty desperate and horribly wasteful, but it could get an attacker off in a pinch. If the user managed to get the target in some kind of grapple, the attack could cause incredible injury to both parties. A tailwind made small improvements, as did tucking the wings in at the point of impact (though this should never be attempted without a lot of experience and practice). And, something I'd found out inadvertently, if you had a pokémon start the attack in the middle of a dive, so long as you didn't crash, it added power and shortened the charge to just over a second.
And, if you had it practised well, you could shorten it further.
"Don! Brave Bird, Close Variation!"
He might've been winning, but Don needed to end this quickly. Whatever the "Riolu" actually was, it had easy access to some kind of self-healing. Probably recover. It might've been tiring, but without the persistent injuries, it still had speed and power, whilst Don had lost speed to that injured wing. Don might've technically been in better shape; he was still moving with purpose whilst his opponent was starting to make errors, but a war of attrition could end in an instant if he took a hit. And the idiot might've just done it as well, considering how lax he was being. If he thought he wasn't getting a stern talking to at the review tonight... Well...
Of course he knew.
Looping out of the immediate sight of his opponent, by the time he was on his way down, Don's body was completely obscured by the energy he was exuding. Diving in from behind his target, he levelled his body parallel with the ground, then-
BANG
Like a gunshot, the bird struck through its target, sending a sickening crack throughout the arena. Whether it was the sound barrier or the sound of breaking bones... I wouldn't spoil the story by telling. In a feat of aerial skill just as impressive as the initial burst (if not more so, if you knew how much time it took to perfect it), Don stopped mere millimetres away from the barrier. Through the centre of the arena, the concrete had churned where Don had passed. In the wake of the destruction, lay...
Lay...
If this had been another place, my jaw would've dropped. There, in the 'ruins' of the arena (as Jim would later call it), was an unconscious Mew.
I should have been losing it. If it had been elsewhere.
But this was the arena. My element. I had seen many an amazing thing standing in a spot just like this. Regigigas, Darkrai, Latios and every minor bird and beast there is. What was this, but another addition? An unexpected one, certainly, but not the greatest impossibility I'd ever seen.
My poker face cracked slightly, as I was unable to resist a smirk laced with curiosity.
Interesting.