Prologue
Beneath the hazy night sky, a gigantic city—perhaps the largest ever in human history—loomed like a silent behemoth. Sickly light from its innumerable streets and buildings flowed from the metropolis, illuminating the vicinity for miles around. In full daylight, the sight would've been awe-inspiring; dozens of massive spires reaching the high clouds, hundreds of sky scrapers clustering around their oversized cousins, all of which surrounded by a mile high wall of thick concrete and steel.
A thousand years ago, any traveler passing through this place could've marveled at the brilliant display of stars above at his leisure. Those days, however, have long passed into history, even into legends. Now, the air was always thick with acrid smoke and fog billowing from the numerous power plant and factory chimneys that adorned the ugly metropolis. Millions of its inhabitants lived and died believing stars only existed in fantasies. For most, it was their lot to live and languish in the darkness, toiling in misery, poverty, and oppression.
Such harsh reality, however, was currently lost on one particular man, sheltered deep in the higher levels of the spire. Neither did he care for such things nor did he even want to inquire further. As a member of the rich, ruling elite, the woes of the common people were petty to the man. For tonight, his depraved mind was instead occupied with a darker, more sinister ambition.
The fire burned brightly in the fireplace, warming a lone man lying leisurely in an opulent sofa. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, powerfully built with sharp facial features. His expensive black suit fitted him snugly, topped by a graying hair shaved in a military buzz cut. The man's sharp blue eyes were gazing intently into the fire, as if in deep thought. A large Persian was lying at his feet, its eyes closed and purring contently. Several lamplights revealed a luxurious room filled with expensive furniture and trophies hanging on the wall.
Series of loud knocks interrupted the man from his reverie.
"Enter," he called out in a deep, firm voice as he rose from his seat.
A muscular man in black suit entered and curtly bowed, his boss eyeing him coldly.
"So….what's the news?"
"Good tidings, Lord Frederick," the bodyguard smirked as he made his report. "Your brother breathed his last five minutes ago. My men are disposing his body even as I speak."
A cruel smile slowly crept across the Frederick's face.
"Excellent," he whispered, "everything is proceeding as planned, then?"
"Yes, milord. We are also, um, taking care of all the household servants who are refusing to change their allegiances. The metropolitan police, as well as all the major noble houses, have also sent word supporting your venture."
"And our lawyers?"
"They were….reluctant at first, but we managed to convince them otherwise. The proper documents have been drawn up, along with the proper signatures. The estate will be under your name by tomorrow morning, sir."
Frederick nodded with approval.
"You've done well."
"Thank you, milord," said the bodyguard, looking all too pleased. "The only problem that now remains to be settled is….your nephew."
"Don't make him out to be someone I should be caring about," Frederick snapped icily. "He is merely a fragile little brat who happens to be standing between me and what is rightfully mine."
"Then what do you want us to do with him?"
"What any man does if a little fly comes buzzing around his dinner table," Frederick replied in a frighteningly calm manner. "Get rid of him….and make it discreet."
"As you wish, milord."
The bodyguard bowed again before leaving the room. Frederick stood in place for a brief moment, silently savoring his moment of triumph. Then he turned around to gaze at the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece, locking his eyes with those of a man whom he had long come to loathe….despite their shared lineage.
"Oh, my noble brother," the man drawled, his mocking voice dripping with venom and scorn. "Shame you couldn't be here to witness and celebrate this wonderful evening…."
Frederick Caverell, the new count of Spire Septus, slowly began to laugh.
Elsewhere…
The door of the study flew open forcefully, sending several objects nearby skittering across the floor. At the doorway stood an old man in a servant's uniform, a panicked expression plastered on his sweaty face. A teenage boy who had been standing near the window turned around with alarm.
He appeared to be no more than about 16 years of age, whose jet black hair and bright blue eyes complimented his slender frame nicely. He was dressed in a simple dark suit minus the tie with a pair of black dress shoes. Any girl would've considered him striking, if not for his sickly pale skin that made him appear fragile and vulnerable.
"Wilbur? What's going on?" the boy asked in a confused voice.
"Master Nicholas!" cried the old butler while trying hard to catch his breath. "You must get out of here. You're in grave danger!"
"W-what do you mean? Just calm yourself down-"
"Your father's dead, young master Nicholas! And your uncle has revealed his true colors at last. His men are seizing the family assets and hunting down anyone who's still loyal to your father!"
Nicholas stood stunned, visibly shaken by the disastrous news.
"Father's….dead? I know he's been sick for the past week but this...? And Uncle Frederick! I-I must go to see him myself. Why would he ever-?"
"No, Master Nicholas! Your uncle has ordered you killed on sight! We MUST get away from here as far as possible!"
As on cue, the hallway outside was suddenly filled with crashing noises, raucous shouts, running footsteps, and ferocious barks.
"There's no time to waste! Hurry, young master. I think we can escape through the back door. If we're lucky, we may be able to make it to the lifts undetected, perhaps hide ourselves in the lower levels of the spire…"
Still dumbstruck, Nicholas nevertheless hurried out the room with Wilbur in tow. This can't be happening, he thought with cold fear gripping his heart. This can't be…. I'm not ready for this. I never was….and I never would be.
*Flashback*
"Look below us and tell me what you see."
Nicholas leaned closer to the large window and cautiously peered over the precipice. Miles below them, looking like small insects, buildings, roads, vehicles, and probably millions of invisible people sprawled across the land as far as eye could see, a dark grimy mass that made up the great city.
"Buildings, cars, smoke, the usual things….but those aren't what you had is mind, is it father?"
Nicholas looked up at the tall man standing next to him, a split image of the boy except he looked more tired and spent. Wrinkles formed deep creases across his face, while dark circles formed under his eyes. Still, the eyes themselves still burned brightly, as if they held a secret dream only he could know.
"No, it's not," Hollis Caverell, the 75th count of Spire Septus, solemnly shook his head. "Far below us, my son, lies the mass of people stricken with poverty, ignorance, and despair, struggling everyday to survive. The worst thing, still, is the fact that nobody above them cares about how they live. None of us did—we, the supposed 'better men,' simply lolling about in our wealth acting as if we truly earned it ourselves. And we scheme and plot all the time to expand what we have already have plenty of, all for the sake of our egos and at the cost of untold lives."
"That sounds horrible," Nicholas murmured. "Is that why you've been establishing all those charities and welfare programs down below?"
"I've done all I could, Nicholas, and I'm still very afraid," sighed Hollis. "Afraid that even that will not be enough. The corruption grips this city in an iron fist, while the money and power are making us nobles less and less of human beings each passing second. I desire change, but to make one requires a power that I do not possess….I fear that perhaps in time, the only salvation for our city will come in the most drastic and most violent form."
A moment of silence passed between father and son. While Hollis calmly looked on, Nicholas on the other hand looked quite nervous.
"Father," Nicholas asked hesitantly. "I, too, am eager to keep your legacy alive when I grow older and wiser. But….I'm also afraid. Why, with my condition, how could I ever hope to keep this enterprise going? I-I don't think I can ever have that kind of strength and resolve you have…." The boy quickly looked down in shame. "I'm sorry, father."
His father's response was quick, but gentle. "Remember the words of our house, Nicholas?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
Nicholas recited the one sentence he knew all too well by heart. "The future is ours."
"Your uncle would have us believe that it is telling us to go out there and seize all the glory and power for our house. The truth is different, Nicholas. The future is indeed ours, but no one person will hold onto it forever. For each generation to come, the future is theirs to make of, to see and fulfill whatever dreams they may have. Our house must live according to that ideal; not power or glory to be had, but hope and possibilities."
"Nothing is set in stone, son. So don't let your present circumstances dictate your life. Your life is what you make of it. Remember that."
Nicholas slowly nodded, desperately trying to process what had been just said to him.
"I will, father. I most definitely will."
*End Flashback*
Rounding the street corner, Nicholas doubled over as he was overcome with a violent fit of coughs. Wilbur stood over him with a worried expression, trying best to hold up his young master.
"Master Nicholas, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Wilbur," Nicholas gasped as he composed himself. "It's just….I've never ran this much before."
"Yes, but we can't dally here. The lift is just ahead of us. Only a couple more blocks…."
Several balls of fire suddenly came flying, bursting around them in a shower of sparks as they hit the concrete pavement. Nicholas looked up to see several men rapidly running towards him, flanked by a pack of ferocious looking Houndours.
"Hurry, this way!"
The pair ducked into an alleyway, swiftly losing themselves in the debris of junk cluttering the path…..
"Here we are, young master. The lifts to the lower levels."
Ten minutes later, Nicholas found himself in a wide deserted plaza, ringed by enormous lift tubes that extended from the concrete ground all the way into the ceiling high above. Due to the late hour, there was no one by the surrounding vicinity to witness their escape. Wilbur proceeded to fiddle with the main control board while his master enjoyed a brief rest.
"The closest lift is only few levels below us. It will take a few minutes to get here, so in the meantime-."
Wilbur slung around from his back a small knapsack he had been carrying.
"I've managed to put together an emergency kit for you," Wilbur thrust it into Nicholas's arm. "Some food, spare clothing, little money and the like. Nothing too fancy, but it will keep you going while on the run."
"This doesn't look enough for both of us," Nicholas said looking over the pack. "Where's yours?"
The old butler simply grinned. "Oh, don't worry about me. I've already got mine stashed away somewhere safe…."
The lift was only a level below now, with less than a minute left before it reached them. Would it get here fast enough for a clean getaway? Nicholas anxiously looked down the empty street for any sign of their pursuers. Beside him, Wilbur suddenly cleared his throat.
"By Arceus, I almost forgot! Just one last thing," the butler reached into his jacket and withdrew a spherical object. "Your father meant for you to have this on your birthday. Fortunately, I've managed to sneak it out before anyone else could get to it…."
Nicholas gaped. Held out in the butler's hand was an ornate minimized pokeball, colored black with silver trims. The seal of House Cavarell, a silver eight-pointed star, was engraved on the top.
"I don't know which pokemon your father has chosen for you, but I'm sure it will protect you well in the days to come, young master."
Nicholas numbly accepted the pokeball and pocketed it securely in jacket. Behind him, the lift finally rose up before them with a welcoming bing, its spacious compartment thankfully empty of any other occupants. Wrenching open the metal screen door, Wilbur hurried Nicholas in, pausing a bit to press some buttons. Then, to Nicholas's horror, the butler stepped out of the lift closing and locking the screen behind him.
"Wilbur! What are you doing?"
Nicholas's fearful stare was met with a warm reassuring smile he had known and trusted for all his life.
"Doing my duty, master. I may be old, but I'm no pushover when it comes to Pokemon battles. I will hold those ruffians here and buy you as much time as I can."
"No! You can't do this! Wilbur, as your master, I command you to stop this madness!"
The lift gears began to groan and creak, however, and Nicholas could only watch helplessly as he slowly began to descend out of view.
"Be safe, Lord Caverell, and farewell. It has been my great honor to have served you."
The last thing Nicholas saw before the lift plunged into darkness was his butler slowly turning around to face the newly arriving pursuers, his hand pulling out a pokeball from his belt.
R&R!