A/N: This is a little story I made to try my hand at a battle sequence. Reviews are appreciated, because this is an experiment to gage YOUR reactions. Yes, readers, I'm talking about you.
Don't look too seriously into the premise of this one-shot-turned-two-shot. Like I said, it's just an experiment. The theory is to not make Pokémon battling a mystical experience through the use of vague excuses like magic, supernatural agents, or even energy, but more rational. Everything should have and explanation.
Comments should please be directed at my descriptions of the fight and not the setting or characters. Look for any interruptions in the flow, and give suggestions on how to improve it.
Lastly, please don't ask me who's fighting whom here. While I don't mention names, it should be fairly obvious.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon. Not sure if I would ever really want to. If I was ever offered to work for Satoshi Tajiri, Nintendo, or the Pokémon Company (extremely unlikely, of course), I'd settle for creative licensing rights. At least then I'd get paid. Until then, this is all unofficial and strictly for my own amusement. Well, yours too, if you want.
Warning: Chapter contains swearing (F-bombs and female dogs for those who want a laugh) and sci-fi violence.
This chapter covers approximately four pages and 1,609 words long (not including titles). Devour at your leisure.
Perpetual Struggle
Part One: Darkness
Focus. Align the "threads." Let his aiùa call to them. He could feel the power, teetering just on the edge of control, waiting to be let loose. That feeling of the philotic strings bending inward, forming a small gravity well that pulled at his paws.
Force is the essence of Fighting, what separates his type from the original Normal. Previous move adaptations were contrasted based upon how and from where the force is exerted. For this particular move, Aura Sphere, force is achieved not from his own physical strength, but that of his will ― his aiùa. By extending the dominion of his aiùa, his single guiding philote, his soul, he can manipulate lesser ones, albeit not to the degree a Psychic or Ghost could.
That is the essence of mass without matter, the force for a blow which can be struck without the need for physical contact; what the humans call a "special attack." The source of all matter in the universe was, literally, at the tip of his claws.
Still concentrating, he let loose another string. This philote was stronger than the others, 'though still not near as strong as his aiùa. This one would seek out his adversary and latch on, a guide for the swelling mass. It would need to be dead-on, for his opponent was shifty. She could manipulate philotes too, and her mastery was greater than even his. She could control the philotes of her body, even enough to drag her whole being Outside.
His opponent was darkness, of the Disaster line. She was a shifty adversary who used the shadows to attack with overwhelming ferocity.
But he was Spirit, a being of Aura descedency. There was nothing he couldn't find, inside or Out.
He let the mass formed without matter fly. Through his unique sense, he knew she was moving, trying to dodge.
Useless. The Sphere was already tied to her aiùa.
The yip in the darkness confirmed the hit. With his adversary down, he leapt forward, quickly closing the distance.
Had he been forced to rely on his vision he would have been dead long before he even got his bearings. The place was pitch-black, without a shred of light. Another time this would have worried him. Current circumstances, however, were keeping him a little preoccupied.
What he did know was of little help. From the feeling beneath his paws he knew that the terrain was rocky and tilted like a shallow cliff. The air carried a trace of humidity, or so his nose had told him. It wasn't stale, for he could feel the occasional breeze. He must be fairly high up as well, for the air was somewhat thin.
Perhaps he was on a mountain.
He dashed the remainder, his balance in check with each step. His target was just ahead, a little higher up, near the end of a ledge. He jumped, quickly drawing back his right paw, ready to throw forward, while aiming with his left. Force Palm, he's heard it called.
He cleared the edge of the cliff, now only a few feet away from his foe. The white canine was back on her feet, 'though still dazed from his earlier attack. He couldn't ask for better circumstances.
His left paw was mere inches from the nose of the white canine, occupying the entirety of her red field of vision. His footing secure, he twisted his body, adding more force to his right arm. The right paw was already moving forward, coming to crush the adversary's head into her neck, hopefully into her ribcage as well.
That's when stars burst in his vision, and pain exploded from his lower jaw.
The bitch just suckered me! That thought rang like a foghorn throughout his mind. She hit him before he could hit her! He staggered backward, head in paws, trying to recover from the blow. Too bad she didn't give him the chance.
She charged at him from the front, head raised, her jet-black horn poised to come slashing down. In his dazed state, he wouldn't be able to dodge.
So he chose to defend. Reflexively, he adjusted his stance so that his paws, which were already up nursing his jaw, crossed in a parry, the spikes on the backs easily voiding the blow.
His head clear enough to focus, the azule fighter pushed back and away, forcing the other creature to create some distance. But the ledge was narrow, so the distance wasn't far.
He was ready to work in close range now. Past training worked his muscles, and he assumed a new stance. Feet spread, and paws at level with his chest, he was ready to Rush.
The spikes on the back of his paws weren't just for show, they were a carbon alloy: very strong, and grew like fingernails grow on humans. They were extensions of his own skeletal structure, the cause of his unique typing. And it was time to put them to good use.
He lunged, the backs of his paws forward to deal the most damage. When he got close enough, he jabbed with his left, hoping to get her to cringe.
She wasn't there. There wasn't even a whisp of her.
At first he didn't understand. To give him credit, this has his first time fighting one of the species. What knowledge he had wasn't exactly useful in the split instances of engagement. That was what training is for.
This time she attacked from behind, her claws extended to rake his back. He could not have detected that, but then, Faint Attack was designed to be unavoidable. He yelped in pain as claw tore through fur and flesh.
Enraged, he quickly spun, trying to backhand her with a broad right swing, but she ducked under it. He growled, annoyed by the games she was playing. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a straight fight! At least then he could overpower her. At the rate things were going now, she would make mincemeat out of him before he could even catch her!
His swing was entirely concentrated behind his right arm. He should have followed through with his left, but the pain had distrupted the rhythm of his Rush. He needed time to bring it up and ready to crash down on his foe, time she used to lung on top of him, jaws aiming for his throat.
Seeing this, he instinctively leaned backward while trying to reposition his arm, hoping to bring it between her maw and his jugular. His carbon-steel bones could withstand even the force of a Crunch delivered from an Iron Snake. The muscle wasn't nearly so resilient, so he wouldn't be able to use the arm for a while, but at least it would heal. Eventually. Right now though, his life seemed more important than a couple agonizing weeks nursing a mangled appendage.
As it turned out, the backpedaling may have saved his life. His elbow, which was not yet in position, caught her along the side of her head and forced it the the side. She missed his neck, instead grazing the side of his head. He could feel her saliva smear across his cheek. Her horn, which was positioned on the top-right side of her head, nicked his ear, the blade sharp enough to cut it almost in half. Fortunately, he was too terrified by the situation to notice. In either case, he wasn't dead yet.
Of course, she was still on top of him. Fucking life wouldn't give him a break.
He quickly got his left paw under her and against her neck to try to keep her jaws and blade away. His right arm was still free, so he clenched that paw into a fist and brought it up in a hook. Fortunately, the distance was just right. The spike connected with the side of her head, blowing her off him. Now free, the azule canine then rolled onto his belly and pushed himself upright. He assumed the Rush stance, ready to counter whatever devious craft the ashen canine was ready to use.
But there wasn't any. The canny creature wasn't even on the ledge. He extended the will of his aiùa, searching among the philotes the form of his opponent.
She could just as easily be Outside. She had exercised this maneuver on him twice before. The most recent had been when she appeared behind him to slash and rend at his back, but the first time was back when the engagement began. It had been her opening move, the one she used to try to catch him off-guard when she started this fight. But that time he had been cautious, wary, struggling to detect even the faintest sign of life. He had just arrived in this strange place, and did not know what dangers it held. Just how did he get here anyhow?
He shook his head, clearing himself from such thoughts. They were questions for another time. He refocused that brainpower, concentrating on his current objective: finding and eliminating the threat.
The pattern of her aiùa was easily discernable amongst the rock walls. She was on another ledge, several tiers down. She appeared to be pawing her face.
He'd injured her. Good.
Wiping away the saliva she had left on his cheek, he bounded down to the next level. Darkness was no hindrance to him, not with his "aura" ability. No matter what the obstacle, he would overcome it. No matter the challenge, he would see it through. He was Spirit, strongest son of the alpha male of the Iron Island Eastern Clan. There was nothing he couldn't do.