PROLOGUE - BLOOD IN THE DARK
"Have a seat by the fire and warm yer bones, why on earth were ye out in this kind o' weather? Kyogre's enraged t'night."
A flick of the wrist signals the barkeep and with practiced form, the relatively youthful owner promptly taps a pint. Glass clutched in hand he weaves around the stained counter toward the traveler that only recently stumbled into the old tavern.
Hattigan's Bar, or Hattie's as the fishermen refer to it, is the only dump worth visiting at this time of night. Though no longer just a humble fishing community the floating Pacifidlog Town is known best for two things, Hattigan's Bar and the beer they sell, being renowned as the finest brew in south Hoenn. But despite the reputation, Hattie's has only been around for the past five years or so, since the water-rotted waste of space that used to occupy the area was refurbished by the early Michael Hattigan himself, the same barkeep now carrying a pint of ale to the shivering man by the fire.
"Take a beer and tell us what has ye spooked," the kind-hearted fisherman prompts.
The traveler's quivering hands eagerly take the honeyed brew to lip, downing an entire third in one breath sending drips of warm beer sliding down his stubbly chin, before his hands settle somewhat.
"I… I don't know what it was but I couldn't stay out there, not with that."
"Take yer time, there's no one here but the gents 'n I, but if there's some kind of beast lurkin' out there we need t' know."
Brow crumpling in confusion, his eyes turn toward the crackling fire as if it may have the answers roaring somewhere in the coals.
"It couldn't be that," he mumbles to himself, "those Pokemon don't exist and everyone knows it, except for those freaks at the Arceum…" As if trying to convince the statement of its truth the words trail off into the fire.
"Just tell us what happened and the gents n' I can figure out the rest,"
Muffled grunts breath around the room in agreement, some fishermen already hoisting on bulky sack coats at the anticipation of a hunt. Downing the last of his ale the traveler begins.
"It was up the way a bit, the storm came while I was taking pictures of the sea so I started for the town. Walking back I looked through the photographs and saw… something big, bigger than any ship or submarine or anything."
"Well let's see these pictures…"
"I can't, on the way I was jumped by someone, he had a Pokemon with him, they ran me down and destroyed the camera, I thought I was a dead man!"
"And how did ye get out of this predicament?" the fisherman accuses
"They, uh, disappeared after destroying my camera… look, I know what this sounds like-"
"It sounds like quite the tale yr spinning. I've been fishing these waters for most of me life and never seen anything quite like what you're ranting about"
"I'm just telling you what happened!"
"Did they have red hair?" Hattigan suggests from behind the bar, diverting his attention from the stubborn blemish he had spent the entire conversation trying to clean off his bench.
"What?" the photographer asked, taken aback from the sudden input.
"The person that ran you down, did they have red hair?"
A breath catches in the back of the photographer's throat, the fleeting memory ascending to the surface of his thoughts.
"Perhaps, he was soaked in a shadow the whole time, I thought it might have been from the sunset, but yes, like crimson"
"Cardinal actually"
"Hey?" the fisherman pipes, intrigued by the discussion between the newcomer and the usually indifferent barkeep.
"He goes by the name of Cardinal. I hear tales about him every now and then, mostly he said she said fabrication, but the stories that follow an appearance from this red headed subtlety are usually quite interesting." With a spray of a cloth, the youthful owner turns back to the stain, removing himself from the discussion.
"Well come on then" the fisherman expressed, "we've got a fish to hunt and a man to find if yer tale has a lick truth to it that is!"
With a roar of exuberance the crew of fisherman spill out the door of Hattie's and start along the bridges and buoyant paths, pulling the photographer with them.
The floating town of Pacifidlog, admired among the larger towns of Hoenn for its spirit. Any other provincial township would have drowned in the whirlwind of innovation, quite literally in Pacifidlog's case, but the stalwart fishery held and now gives place to a multitude of tourists. Despite its underwhelming nature, the floating town represents Hoenn's near symbiotic relationship with the water, the tourism allowing the town to revolutionise its identity and become the leading fishery in the state and one of the top in the country.
The mob of white torches and soaked coats weave through the town's pathways, passing the Pokemon Centre on their way to the gate of Route 135 before arriving at a precarious track, lacking a rail, steps or any other kind of assistance.
"It's not as dangerous as it looks, haha!" With a slap on the back from an ecstatic fisherman the crew begins the ascent of the trail. Despite the downpour, the photographer starts up the hill with a dry mouth, following closely behind the crew of fishermen.
"Just a little further Mr. Photographer, we're almost up the ridge. And be careful of where you step, it's a long way to fall in this weather!"
"You're all mad!" The Photographer's voice dissolves in the rain it can reach the fisherman. A hand offers help for the final steps to top the rise, pulling the fisherman to the plains that back onto Pacifidlog Town.
"By Thundurus' storm…" the bearded captain chokes.
"I was right, there was something in the water. By Arceus we're all dead!"
Flame and electricity burn in the distance, the wetland streams and marshes boiling from the onslaught of elemental attacks, telltale signs of a Pokemon battle. Trainers with their Pokemon dance, warring with each other and the savage tidal monsoon, nothing but pinpricks in the wake of the silhouette they contend in. A detonation of thunder splinters light through the clouds, illuminating the colossal beasts that challenge one another in the ocean's horizon.
"What are you all doing we need to run! Move, everyone MOVE!" the photographer cries, but his warnings go unheared.
"There's nothin to do, son. You live on the ocean long enough and ye learn what waves can be bested, and which ones can't."
"That's not a wave, that's a monster. If we don't run now we're-"
"The bridges are sunk, there's no way ferries could get through swell of this ferocity, what do ye propose we do?" the fishermen shouted, voice like an icepick and salty tears stream the photographer's face, mixing with the rain as he falls to the mud.
"Everyone watch-!" a broken wail fills the air as gloom obscures the flashes of lightning, shadows engulf the ragged crew.
"Oh fuck…"
The colossal beast impacts into the cliffside, fracturing the bluff before plunging into the sea and sending up a wall of ocean water. The rain pauses. Waves silence. Time lingers where catastrophe strikes.
"I'll take care of this." Before the crew of trawlers stands a figure, awaiting the desolation.
"Cerulean!" signals the character and through the rain, now pelting down as the wall crumbles, settles the humming Pokemon, Altaria. The ground rumbles, a guttural splitting as the bluff begins to disintegrate.
"Go. You need to move, NOW!" The figure orders. Steeling themselves, the men turn and run for town.
"Never thought I'd need to use this, guess the girl was right though," Cardinal admits. His callused hand grips the mega evolution stone bound in his silver necklace, blinding countenance shining from both he and the Pokemon.