A/N: Finally, after having this idea in my head for way too much time (seriously, I can't remember when I got this in my head.) I finally have figured out a complete plot, and have finally have written this out. Now I just have to hope that others reading it like it as well, and hopefully like it and even review. Rated M for violence most of all. You might not understand this prologue fully, but all will be explained in the rest of the story (if you stay to read it :]). I hope you enjoy!

It might be pretty obvious, but I don't own pokemon.

Prologue

The wind blew the snow down the mountain.

This was a cold and ruthless mountain, allowing only the strongest of its pokemon inhabitants up its slippery slopes. Despite this, the tip of Sinnoh's tallest mountain was almost always desolate.

But something was off.

In the sky, unusual grey clouds poured their snow down through the mount, creating an odd circular formation of black and dark grey clouds, its center steady above the peak. This desolate place was no longer empty.

"You are wrong." A man said.

A boy lay face- first in the rock floor, the snow beneath him sloshed into colors of brown and gray. His hair covered his bruised face, sticking in sweaty clumps to his forehead, despite the biting cold. Slowly, his chest rose up and down.

"No, I was never wrong."

The boy forced himself up, body moving in jearky movements. He remained on his knees, eyes filled with sorrow to the brim, pleading, begging.

"You don't understand," The man held, his emotionless voice struggling to stay monotone. "You are young, and still filled with hope. You couldn't understand."

And in his shaking hands, a gun.

The boy gave a miserable laugh.

A weak smile crossed his lips, before tears slipped down his face.

A sharp pucturing sensation burned his lungs. Doubling over in a coughing fit, his blood sputtering onto the snow in thick blotches and onto his hands. Shaking, he looked up to face the man above him. A sad smile crossed his lips once again, blood down a corner of his chin.

"How could you say that?" He whipped the blood off with his forearm. "Every terrible thing, that I thought nobody was capable of, has been done to me." He wobbled to his feet. The man cocked the gun and lifted it up, pointed towards the boy.

For the boy to be lying seemed impossible. Dark circles seemed almost permanent around his eyes, his pale skin marked with blue and purple bruises, His hair matted with blood and specks of dirt. He stood, every muscle stiff and strained.

The man was supposed to shoot the boy, kill him and destroy all danger that might stand in the way.

But why was he hesitating?

A dreadful wail came from the dragon above them. In a floating airborne island machine, Dialga screeched, incapacitated. A terrible Monster, with no shape or form, neither liquid o gas, hovered over it. A smoky beast, intertwined in the floating island, somehow hurting the deity.

The dark haired boy pressed his hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. His vison seemed to take a swing, sending his head into swirls.

"Don't you see?" He ignored the feeling, teeth gritted together. He opened his eyes, looking up at the man.

He could almost feel the boy drilling holes into his eyes with that cold, desperate look.

"I should be in your shoes!" He turned to look down Mt. Coronet. Below them, tiny orange dots could be seen. Snowpoint City on fire.

He served his neck back to face the older man. "I should be the one who would encourage you the most! I should be the one that has lost all hope in this world!"

The wind wiped at his hair, almost sending him off balance. Another screeching, machine like scream was emitted from the deity. Besides it, on another airborne ship, was the gigantic Palkia, limp against it laser steel prison.

"Please," He stumbled forward. "You have to believe in me."

He grasped at the man's coat, his hands numb from the freezing cold, gloveless. The man dropped his gun from his shaking hands, his heart skipping at beat. It fell and slid down the snowy trail.

"Why? Why do you say this?" the gray haired forced off with one strong push. Knocked down once again, he cryed out as he flattened to the ground. This time he remained on his side, unable to get up. He inhaled in agitated breaths.

"You have no reason to believe in good. It's a trickery of emotions." He added, convince

Yet he had never been this nervous before, standing there, panting in heavy breaths. In his pocket, a silver orb that controlled the smoke monster above them.

"I do…" the boy croaked.

There was a strange moment, which Cyrus believed the boy in front of him. The wind whistled, icy cold between them, and blew the snow down to Snowpoint. He was reminded of his grandfather.

"I know that there is good…" The boy struggled, now shaking visibly, just only able to lift himself up. He slipped onto his knees.

"I can still see it; please, Cyrus…" There was so little fight left in him. "Tell me you can see it too, and stop this…"

He hadn't even realized it, but in his hand, the orb. Cyrus suddenly hesitated.

There was another type of scream above them. The smoke monster had stopped. Still, appearing like blood in water before it is mixed into the liquid, it remained. Somewhere from it, a strange moan-like scream:

"Uuuuuugggghhhhh…"

The boy screamed, covering his ears once more, a sob of melancholy escaping him. A sudden sense of failure overcame him, and he was broken.

"Oh Mew, please!" He opened his tear-filled large blue eyes, and looked at Cyrus. In his head, a voice telling him: you are scum, you are scum and you failed them all.

"Cyrus, you'll regret this, please." He could hear people screaming his name in the background, knowing they were too late. Behind him, he could feel another presence walking up to him.

"I know you must still see it." He supplicated, his hands coming to a place in his chest, where underneath his clothes lay a tattered ying-yang necklace.

"Cyrus?" Somebody asked, calm, from behind. The boy's breath hitched into his throat, heart jumping inside of his chest, deafening.

A storm started brewing above the tip of Mt. Coronet.

"Let me get rid of this nuisance for you," the silk voice of a younger man said.

The boy breathed out franaticly, closing his eyes. With one hand, he wipped his tears off his checks in swift repetitive motions. Lighting crackled. He had failed.

There was a clicking sound, and a loud bang.

His eyes shot open, and the boy fell forward, down on his face. He lay limp, a bullet hole in between his shoulder blades. Blood seeped free from a hole in his sweater's fabric.

Cyrus stood, eyes wide.

"Let's get to this, Cyrus." The other man said. A smoking gun was in his hand.

Cyrus turned his back to him and looked at the sky were the storm was developing, hesitation, for the first time, in his heart.

"So this is it." He spoke, his voice no longer emotionless. The other man furrowed his brow, surprised by the change in his voice. He sneered.

"There is no time left, we must do this."

The younger man lifted his hand to the air, another silver orb in his palm. The smoke monster cried in delight in its almost human moan. The storm cloud was now violent with lightning.

It started descending in a thin trail, towards the tip of the mountain.

Dialga had stopped screeching.

Underneath the boy, blood added to the stains in the snow. His eyelids fluttered, and hidden behind his hair, his eyes glowed like a two beams. Inside him there was an intense burning, is every essence screaming out in pain and failure, his emotions of fear and complete exhaustion were choking.

But now, there was more.

Above the three of them, and of all Sinnoh, the sky ripped open with a tremendous roar.