Perish Song
You say that we are wicked beasts. That we are symbols of death in every way.
That we are the cause of suffering and disasters.
That we should be run out of our homes, just so that you can live in peace knowing that we, a species as old as the Ninetales, have gone from your land.
Land that was once ours.
It was we who moved our territories so that you could farm and survive.
It was we who guarded your young from the Houndoom that wished to harm you for harming them.
It was we who calmed the ghosts and the creatures of the night when they had suffered under your prejudice.
But do care to listen to us, we who have sacrificed our homes, our night-time hunts for the few survivors of our kind, our standing in the world of the night. To ensure your survival.
No.
Never.
Never have you ever cared to listen to us.
Even when we have done so much for you.
We have saved your lives on so many occasions, and say it was all luck that you survived both the disaster and the Pokemon attack.
But when have you ever been attacked by any of the night creatures?
You hate us even when we have done you no harm, and yet you love the poison types that take lives from your kind like the Beedrills.
We have moved our territories even now to please you. From our homes on the shores of oceans, to the dry plains, then to our shaded forest, and now, to here. Our mountains.
And we will not move again. We are tired of moving. You have no need for this land.
There is no fertile or flat soil. No flat land for homes or cities.
So why do you want our last home?
For the sake of having beaten us at last? To force us into the deserts where we will overheat with our thick fur?
To finally have the satisfaction of killing us?
There are less than one thousand of us left.
We have to wander these mountains for years until we meet another of our kind besides our mothers,and fathers, and siblings.
And no one cares.
Not the professors who are too busy with their research and watching the other Pokemon. The rare ones, the common, the smart, the dull, the interesting, the revered, but never the feared.
What have we done wrong?
Have we harmed you in some way?
Haven't we sacrificed enough?
Why do you hate us so?
Is it our habit of appearing to warn you of disasters?
Is it our fierce looking black blades?
Do you even really care?
Why do you want our lands?
Do you really want us to die?
But we will stand against you. Against your attempts to drive us away. But for tonight, we will sing our songs, our songs of live and love and of death and hatred. Love of each other. And hatred of you.
And who are you to decide, whether we, the Absol, survive or perish?