Pokkén Tournament: RoRo's Bizarre Tournament
Rosho Rourio scowled, walking along a beaten path. A festive stadium was laid out far beyond the path, past tall trees and urban habitats. He passed through a bustling town as he moved along the path. People and Pokémon alike, all excitably fixated on the spectacle that was the tournament, stopped for a moment and stared at Rosho as his coat wavered in the breeze.
Unlike the others, Rosho towered over them, attracting lots of unwanted attention. Children stopped playing, gawking at the giant. He was not specifically one who easily put the height of a Wailord to shame, but at seven feet tall, he was certainly nothing to scoff at. His apparel was basic, a large black cloak, black pants, and a pair of boots under black hair and raring, brown eyes, a face still crisp with the blessing of youth. A Timburr toting a wooden log with one arm nearby stopped, stared at Rosho, and backed away. It was not specifically his height or appearance that attracted so much attention either, as he was still just bordering on adulthood. He also exuded a rather menacing aura. Quite literally, the word, "menacing" shakily dropped down beside him, which freaked out young children as a plus. As he made his way to the stadium, curious passerby walked over to the trail of "menacing"s trailing behind him, poking at the words. They fizzled, evaporating like water as soon as they were touched, frightening the others.
As Rosho approached the stadium, he grunted, staring up at the stadium's shining exterior. While daylight still covered the region, fireworks shot up, exploding with an almost unbridled energy, only rivaled by the cheers that went on in the stadium. Rosho sighed, walking into the entrance of the stadium, marked by a small crowd blocking the clear, clean doors. He pushed through the crowd, protests following him from the ones he had shoved falling short upon seeing him, though a few shouted in indignation. Those who answered with anger were promptly silenced by Rosho's glare, which was enough for the others to remain silent. Everyone cleared the way as Rosho entered the stadium, glaring at the front.
As he entered, the same "warm" reception he received outside was repeated inside, Pokémon and Trainers alike stared at him. At this point, he began growing a little annoyed. Still, if he wanted to participate in the tournament, he would have to deal with it. He pushed through a light crowd, towards the receptionist desk.
A cheery looking woman in a neat blue coat with a set of pants to match hummed to herself as she read through a computer, monitor, then turned to her desk to meet the next participant. "Hi there! How may I…"
Rosho glared at the woman, who did not say a word, just stared back. After a while, Rosho grunted, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small ID card, with his face glaring almost as ferociously as he was now. The woman blinked, attempting a smile as best as she could, though on the inside she was holding back drops of sweat with sheer willpower.
"S-So," She gulped, stretching her collar, "Mr. Rourio… What league would you-"
"The Platinum League, please." He spoke up, in a low voice.
The receptionist sweated in spite of herself. "E-Excuse me sir, but this stadium only goes up to Chroma-"
"Then the Chroma League." Rosho told her.
Nodding quickly, she took the ID card, placing it under a small scanner. The computer screen sitting next to her blinked, Rosho's face appearing onscreen. She scanned through his name and credentials, hardly believing her eyes. Achievements littered the white screen. Wins and losses were hardly anything magnificent at a ratio of one-and-a-half to one, but the amount of battles he had been in was certainly shocking. A number, condensed in all its glory emblazoned the screen.
"One million." She muttered, turning back to Rosho.
"And counting. May I?" Rosho asked, reaching out for his card.
She blinked, handing back Rosho's ID. He nodded in affirmation, turning, walking off in the direction of cheers. The receptionist quickly turned back to the monitor, registering him for participation.
Rosho stepped into a room. Trainers and Pokémon alike, garbed in their respective fashion, stood tall as they waited. A neat device attached to his ear, a microphone-like appendage sticking out of the side of the round mechanical marvel. While most Pokémon stood with their trainers, a Pikachu snuggling in the lap of a boy of Rosho's stature, a Chandelure bouncing around excitedly while its trainer giggled, attempting to catch the excitable animate object, Rosho stood tall, not a companion to be seen.
A ding could be heard. His device lit up, a pleasing electronic whir buzzing through his head.
"Rosho Rourio, you're up." A voice called from a set of speakers.
Rosho grunted. A chorus of cheers and encouragement, along with a few scoffs followed. Luck was wished, cries were cast, and the Pokémon waved with whatever appendages they could use. Rosho acknowledged them with a nod, stepping out of the room into a long hallway, a light at the end. As he walked, he could vaguely make out the noise of footsteps running up behind him.
"Hi, hi!" A woman spoke up, sighing, dusting off her vest and white shirt, sighing, "Sorry I'm late! Weavile didn't want to go without a snack!"
Rosho turned ahead, suppressing a smirk. Nia, the local advisor was an unbridled trainer, full of energy. As nice people go, she shares her energy through cheers. Though, Rosho felt somewhat irritated at times at her overbearing attitude. Still, if he needed to have an edge on the competition, she was the woman to have. Giving her a curt nod, he moved forward, the light at the end of the tunnel growing.
As Rosho entered the stadium, the cheering heard within could have deafened someone new to the Ferrum Tournament, but as a seasoned trainer, it was yet another Saturday. Rosho walked out onto the round, grassy field, ignoring the cries of glee from spectators. He stared ahead at his opponent. A rather cocky looking fellow in a green jacket and sneakers stared at him from across the field.
"All the good Pokkén players play at night." He greeted him.
Of course, being the middle of day, one could fathom that as an insult, or an alarm clock malfunction. Rosho smirked, nodding back at him.
"Show me your moves." He spoke up.
With the greetings over and done with, the crowd grew politely quiet, waiting for the Pokémon to take the field. The bloke across from Rosho pointed forwards. Dashing from the sidelines was a Weavile, its frigid claws and red feathers streamlined and sharp against its black fur. It halted, skidding to a stop next to the other trainer, the Weavile posing triumphantly, its arms crossed, laughing, the other trainer laughing as well.
"I can see they're raring to go. What about you, Rosho?" Nia asked.
Rosho smirked, giving her a nod. Nia smiled, staring at his cloak.
"How about you, Lucario?"
In a flash, as soon as that name left her mouth, Rosho collapsed. The audience gasped and murmured, then went silent of shock. Rosho discarded his cloak. His height dropped, when he stood up he was five feet, a few feet lower. However, the boost he was given was enough to raise him to at more than just seven. Underneath him, a blue canine stood on two legs, crouching, lifting Rosho carefully as it stood with a bit of a crouch. A black mark streaked across its face like a mask, covering its eyes. Blue fur, pointy ears, and spikes confirmed its appearance:
"Whoo. That was getting a bit tiring." Rosho sighed in relief, discarding his previous monotone voice for one a bit more energetic, "How are you feeling Lucario?"
The canine stood tall, allowing Rosho to slide down, albeit a bit unsteadily, landing on his rear. He scowled, stretching, Lucario glancing at him. He gave his companion a thumbs-up, dusting off his clothes. Luckily for the gawking audience, Rosho had on another blue jacket underneath his old black cloak. Speaking of said audience, Rosho took a look around, chuckling.
"Ah, never gets old." Rosho smiled, "Nice job keeping my entrance under wraps, Nia."
"Was it really worth it?" Nia asked with an eyebrow arched, though smirked regardless.
"Yes." Rosho answered simply.
The opposing trainer and Weavile just blinked at them curiously. Rosho quit his chuckling quite quickly, glaring across at his opponent. He flicked the device on his ear, the light buzzing rapidly. Lucario grinned, walking to Rosho's side, the two raising their fists in a synchronized effort, thrusting it out, provoking the two others with a light movement of their fists.
The other trainer grinned. He and his Weavile did the same, each side staring at the other eagerly. An electronic ding rang out the arena grounds. As the trainers stood at the side, they watched as the two of their Pokémon dashed towards one another.
Lucario's palms glowed ever so slightly, and Weavile's claws caused a chill to ripple through the air. With a flick of its claws, Weavile slashed forwards, a collection of miniature icebergs planted all throughout the stage. Lucario grunted, leaping over them, releasing a crescent projectile with a kick. The wave of the kick's energy disorientated the Weavile, which stumbled back, hissing. It retaliated with a quick slash of the claws. As Lucario landed, he barely blocked the attack with its palms.
"Now's our chance!" The other trainer yelled.
Upon hearing that, Weavile grappled Lucario's arms, pulled it forward, then sped around it swiftly, delivering a chop towards Lucario's back. Upon the impact, Lucario staggered slightly. Oddly enough, a distance away from the field, Rosho seemed to stumble a bit as well.
Nia grimaced, silently observing the fight with a frown. "Rosho… You're so in sync with your Pokémon… But don't you think you may be too in sync? Goodness, they're almost like they're a part of you sometimes…"
Rosho bit his lip, regaining his posture. Lucario brushed its mouth with its paw with a swipe, frowning. Weavile smirked, leaping up into the sky, ice forming in the middle of the air. Lucario blinked, dashing clear out of the way, hopping back. An icicle dropped, shattering as it hit the ground, Weavile following after it. Lucario reached at its back, a spear of light glowing. Weavile blinked, skidding to a halt. Lucario jabbed ahead with a bone constructed of light, smacking Weavile multiple times. Weavile was launched backwards, hitting the dirt with a groan.
"Nice one." Rosho commented, Lucario smirking at his comment.
Weavile shook its head, leaping back into the fray. Lucario raised its palm to strike back, deflecting Weavile as it launched itself towards Lucario, claws at the ready. Lucario knocked it back, though the feathered fury hardly wished to be taken out. It was a blur, cutting at the azure canine. Lucario blocked each attack in succession, though it looked more and more tired with each attack.
Rosho grit his teeth. The other trainer smiled.
"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that this was your first match." The other trainer spoke up, "Your entrance was pretty neat and all, but if you keep blocking, that'll just give Weavile an opportunity to whittle your health down."
True to his world, Weaviles claws seemed to wear down Lucario with each strike, though the canine persevered.
"And if you keep your block up…"
Weavile dashed behind Lucario again, grabbing the canine, slashing upwards, launching it into the air, where it landed elsewhere on the field, grunting.
The other trainer's eyes beamed. "We've got this in the bag! Finish 'em off, Weavile!"
Lucario started getting to its feet. Weavile advanced swiftly, claws quickly growing to a large, dangerously sharp size. As Weavile raised its claws, Lucario glanced at the smaller contender, its eye glinting.
"Rather hotheaded, aren't you?" Rosho whistled, his eye glinting as well, "What next, I suppose you'll yell, 'Fury Swipes' or something?"
"Weavile, Fury Swipes!" The other trainer yelled, triumph sparkling in his eyes.
"...Huh?!"
Lucario launched its palm into Weavile's face, the paw glowing with a yellow energy. Weavile's claw faltered above its head, its eyes growing wide as Lucario began its counterattack. The stadium was on the edge of their seats as the forces collided.
-To Be Continued-
AN: Or will it?: Hi there! In case it wasn't already obvious before, this is a parody of a certain series combined with Pokkén I thought up one day. I don't think I'll make it into a series, but hey, I sure had fun making it.
Thanks for reading, this is ThePizzaLovingTurtle, off to train a Blazikenshiro, see you.
From a dimly light room, a spectator observed the match from a large digital screen. As the Lucario and Weavile traded blows, they noticed something about the Lucario. As it blocked each blow, its eyes tracked the claws as they swiped to and fro, holding its block. Its paws were steady, its stance was strong, and an aura of a fearsome tactician was in play here. So, when Lucario had just about landed the counter-blow, it all came together.
The spectator smirked. It began walking away. It walked away, a vague outline of four-arms following behind it, stomping echoing throughout the room.