Chapter 1

The breeze whistled sharply as it whirled across the sparkling surface of an ocean. A flock of Wingull shrieked raucously above, diving down into the waves to attack fleeting Wishiwashi beneath. The birds parted in a sloppy arc, revealing a gigantic island rising out of the water. The sea smashed into its rocky cliffs that encircled a large village, the buildings all tightly packed up the hill. Here, humans milled back and forth, talking amiably to one another. Beneath an oak tree just outside of the town, a boy leaned against the trunk and bit thoughtfully into the end of a quill pen. A leather journal was laid across his knees, and the open page stared back at him, completely blank.

He wore long brown pants and a short-sleeved green shirt, which seemed to be slightly tattered at the edges. His tall hiking boots clicked against each other as his legs crossed, and an astoundingly red fur cap was settled on top of his head. Dark black hair fell into his eyes, which were half-closed in tiredness. The boy grunted as he shuffled around a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot amidst the roots of the tree.

The pencil then touched paper, and he began to write, speaking aloud as he scrawled words across the tattered book.

"Dear journal... I saw a Staraptor glaring down at me from a branch earlier. I nearly jumped out of my skin! The two of us met eyes, and I was completely paralyzed with fear. I thought it was going to kill me for sure. Luckily, Dad came by and saved me from a slow and painful death. He shot it with his awesome bow... I saw the arrow go straight through its head and bury itself into a tree behind it. It was a bit gory, but I'm sure glad he did. That was unfortunately the good news- the bad news was that he didn't appreciate me 'wandering around the woods like a hungry Pokemon,' if I quote him right. He practically dragged me back home before chewing me out for a solid half an hour. I barely remember any of his sermon, but I heard the words 'irresponsible' and 'lucky' about a dozen times each. It stinks that I'm not supposed to go out of sight of my house. Sure, my dad is the chief of the whole village and has a lot on his plate, but does that mean he needs to keep me on a leash all the time? I get the whole thing about Pokemon. Those creatures are violent monsters who want to kill everything in sight. But, if I brought a weapon with me, wouldn't I be fine? Oh, nooo! I'm too 'young' to get a weapon yet, he says! Ridiculous. Well, the sun's setting, and I've got to go eat dinner. Bye for now..."

He finished up the paragraph of work with an elegant swirl of letters.

"Ash Erable Ketchum, heir to the island of Baku."

After finishing, he gave a soft sigh and closed the book. He stuck the feather into its binding and stood up, placing the item away into a pack hanging comfortably off of his shoulders. His soft brown eyes gazed fondly over the place he'd lived in his whole life. Sure, it was cooped-up, smelly, and often remodeled, but it was his home. Always would be, even if he somehow managed to move away. He walked into the village, gazing around at the freshly polished wood and newly placed stones that made up the walkways. Everything in his town was new. You seldom found anything older than a few months, and for a rather unfortunate reason, too.

He pushed open the door to his home smack in the center of the village, and the smell of warm soup hit him head-on. Sound nice? Well, his mother's soup was anything but nice. It was usually made up of chunks of Magikarp, moldy vegetables, and a broth consisting of Wishiwashi oils and water. Accompanied by holey bread and a glass of blended fish guts, it made a great meal if you'd been starving in a dungeon for several months.

He couldn't blame Mom for making horrid soup- it was all that was available. The only Pokemon that the villagers were allowed to touch were Magikarp, Feebas, and Wishiwashi, because they were all completely harmless. Other than that, the poorly-guarded fruits and vegetables were all that could be eaten. Only the warriors could do proper hunting- and you had to train for years to become one of those. The Staraptor that Ash's father had killed earlier had been quickly taken away to be prepared. Every scrap of its body was used in one way or another- the inedible bits used as fertilizer, the feathers stuffed into pillows and mattresses, the meat stripped from its body to be eaten, the bones turned into weapons of all shapes and sizes...

"Don't stand in the doorway and let in all of the cold air, silly! Hurry inside- dinner's ready!" the voice of his mother chided in a cheery voice, breaking him from thought. A kind smile crossed his features as he closed the heavy door and slid into his usual place at the table.

"Hey, Mom. Any luck fishing today?" Ash questioned curiously, taking off his pack and setting it under his chair. This was often the first thing he'd ask her after arriving home. He loved to hear her stories about a particularly feisty Magikarp breaking loose, or seeing the flash of a Gyarados in the distance and having to retreat up the slope with the rest of the women. But today, his mother's face only lost its cheer at the mention of fishing.

"Luck's probably the last thing I'd use to describe today. I lost my fishing rod and my basket, which, mind you, had three pretty large Magikarp in it. It'll be awhile before I can have new ones made."

"What happened? Did you just slip?" he asked. She swallowed, pushing a few strands of her auburn hair behind her back.

"No, oddly enough. I was walking along the rocks near the beach when it happened. Some weird shadow in the water below startled me, and I dropped them both as I was walking across the rocks. The fishing rod floated off out of reach, but I saw the basket get yanked under. It was terrifying. Then I saw it pop up again... without any fish. Then it also drifted out of range."

The boy's eyebrows shot up. This was new... his mother was usually so calm and collected in situations like that. He would have expected her to just use a large stick and at least pull the empty basket back or something. He twiddled with his fingers as he spoke again, his face glued to the cracks in the wooden boards of the table.

"That must have been a really big shadow to scare you like that. Do you think it could have been a Gyarados or something?"

His mother's soft, almost crazed laugh startled him. He looked up sharply, seeing her grip a wooden stirring spoon in her hand tighter.

"No, Ash. That was not a simple Gyarados. That thing was a true monster. It took almost all of our baskets, fish, and rods, and still somehow managed to get away with a few other random trinkets as well. That isn't like the Pokemon around here. There are the occasional raids on our village, but those are all in the dead of night when we're off-guard. This one approached us right out in the open. Like it wasn't afraid... at all."

"Dad's going to take care of it, right?" he queried, his visage hardening.

"I'm going to tell him about it toni-" his mother began. The door flew open, interrupting her mid-sentence, and Ash's father tromped in noisily.

"What a day! I get bombarded by a group of villagers wanting advice, kill at least a dozen flying Pokemon, drag my disobedient son home," he glared with deep brown eyes at Ash for a moment, "and to top it all off, lose Thunder Blade!"

Both mother and son gasped in shock. The first three things were normal occurrences around Baku, but they were horrified to find out that the chief no longer had his prized weapon- the Thunder Blade.

The Thunder Blade was an axe- a mighty weapon with a stout oak handle and a double-edged iron blade. For the most part, it remained his weapon of choice, only being changed out to receive a quick sharpening or a gloss of its wooden grip. Its edges were tinted yellow, thus earning it the nickname that all Pokemon and villagers alike had come to fear. Nobody knew exactly why it was yellow, though. Some theorized that he had murdered a Zapdos in only one swing, and its bright color had bled into the metal and tainted it. Others thought he polished the iron with the blood of the stars. There were many crazy surmises, but Ash was fairly certain that it was just rust.

Anyhow, this fact was not putting his father in a good mood. Every part of him seemed to bristle with rage as he slumped down into his place at the table, next to Ash. The boy looked away, not quite wanting to stare his father in the eye.

He was an intimidating personage, no doubt about it. His usual attire consisted of a heavy fur cloak wrapped over his shoulder, a chainmail tunic set over a plain green shirt, brownish pants, and fur boots. Around his thick wrists were metal bracelets with a spike poking out of each one, and a bandolier slung around his chest was adorned with all sorts of trinkets, daggers, poisonous bombs, and other frightening materials. His official chief name was Bjark the Fierce, and he certainly deserved the title. Legend said that when he was but a little boy of four, he gouged out both of a rabid Mightyena's eyes with a spoon. Did the village believe it? You bet they did.

Bjark's obsidian black hair was plastered down with sweat, and he groaned in relief at being able to sit down at last. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the relaxation that he so rarely was allowed to have.

"It was a hard day for all of us, dear. I made your favorite soup!" the boy's mother smiled brightly, ladling the thick substance into wooden bowls. One of them was pushed before Ash along with a spoon, and he made a face. Upon seeing his father's frowning visage, however, he quickly contorted it into a somewhat happy look.

"Ah, wonderful. You truly are an amazing cook, Delia," Bjark bowed his head slightly, before engrossing himself in slurping up the entire bowl in one go. A chuckle escaping her throat, she herself began to spoon the broth into her mouth. Ash swallowed hard and tucked in. Long story short- it was horribly gross. But it was edible, and that alone was enough to make him eat it. Before long, they'd all finished dinner, and the boy felt exhaustion pulling his eyelids down. His mother, Delia, noticed this and immediately took action, scooping him up into her arms. He was about to object, but he decided to let his mother enjoy being able to pick him up for awhile longer. She made her way up the stairs without much trouble, and he wasn't surprised. Ash was terribly skinny for his age, a truly pathetic excuse for an heir to a village throne, especially considering his father was a viking. He felt himself be gently placed into his scratchy cot in the loft, and she then placed a heavy fur blanket over him.

"Thanks, Mom," he finally managed, yawning loudly. Delia chuckled and brushed his hair out of his face. A kiss was planted onto his forehead.

"Of course, my little warrior. I'm going to talk to your father about that monster, now, okay?" she murmured. Then she was gone, clattering down the tiny stairs to the little room below. Despite being the chief, Bjark refused to be treated like a king. He lived in the same houses that the normal villagers lived in- one small room that served as a living room, dining room, and sleeping place for the adults, a small room in the back for a restroom, and a loft that could be used for storage or as a living quarters for a child. In this case, the loft served as both. Weapons and trash were piled all around Ash, and he'd grown used to smelling hay or wood or other unfamiliar things when he went up there. Sometimes a Rattata would scurry by, and he'd immediately stomp on it with his boot or throw a crate on top of it. Then he'd discard the body over by the butcher, who prepared all the hunted Pokemon. It sometimes took days for the air to stop reeking of blood after that- it sickened him quite often.

He felt himself drifting off to sleep, and eventually, he let his dreams carry him off to a world of freedom, where no fathers lurked right over his shoulder and the soup actually tasted decent.

Two Pidgeys were stomping on Ash's chest. Both of them looked angry and ready to kill him. They pecked and poked at him, digging their claws into his side and shoulder. Their chirps were deafening, and the boy struggled to fend them off. The twitters and cheeps were almost forming words...

"Ash! Ash! Wake up!"

The phrase was continually repeated, and he struggled to say anything or do anything. And all the sudden, he was wide awake, and the terrified face of his mother stared down at him.

"ASH! The alarm's been sounded! GET UP!" she practically roared. With a yelp of horror, Ash felt himself get dragged out of bed and land with a thump. He just managed to yank on his boots before his mother shoved him down the stairs.

"Go! Go! Go!" he could almost hear her heart pounding wildly, and panic forced Ash to speed up. His dulled senses quickly awoke, and adrenaline shot him forward. He slammed open the door and came outside to a world of madness. The huts were aflame, the ground was covered in webs of cracks, and Pokemon were running rampage. A raid! He'd been through at least a dozen, but this was one of the worst he'd ever seen. He jumped back just in time to avoid a searing streak of fire, and upon looking up, he saw a Houndoom staring down from a burning house with murder in its eyes. It tipped back its head and released a lusty howl, and both roars and screeches echoed back from other Pokemon. He looked up, and noticed that his own house was on the verge of breaking down. Fear surged through him. His journal!

Ash ducked past his furious mother and hurried into the burning house without a second thought. Smoke burned his eyes and throat, but he shoved a chair to the ground and grabbed the leather sack containing his precious journal. But when he turned to leave, he saw the doorframe collapse in a burst of embers. Horrified, the boy spun around and ran up into the loft. The boards creaked dangerously beneath him, and fire licked at his boots, but he merely raced across the ground, his focus set on one place- the window in the opposite end. Moonlight streamed through it, teasing him to come closer, and he turned himself to the side and jumped.

His shoulder smashed the precious glass frame in the window, sending shards everywhere. In that moment, Ash thanked Arceus that his house was so small. The loft was only about ten feet up, and so he merely rolled when he hit the ground. Everything stinging painfully, he forced himself to his feet and took off for the one place where the villagers had been trained to go- the vault. It wasn't actually a vault, more of a large hole in the ground, but no Pokemon could get in no matter how hard they tried- the door was iron. He was almost halfway there when the ground exploded beneath him.

He crashed to the ground, feeling his chin smack into the hard cobblestone, and looked up to see an Aggron staring down at him. Its irises were narrowed down to tiny slits, and it growled deeply in its throat.

"H-hi?" Ash smiled stressfully. No such luck- he saw the monster throw back its entire body and come down to crush him. His eyes squeezed shut, and he prepared for death.

NOTE: The cover picture is not mine. It belongs rightfully to Kivwolf. :)