Pokemon: Cunning and Brutal Version
Chapter One: To be the very best, or at least better than Stonekraka, the runty git
Gozlobba skulked through the depths of the Mork's Rhyhorn, the space around him uncharacteristically silent for an Orkish Space Hulk of such size. The only sounds were the splashing of his boots through puddles, the hissing of an overpressured valve, the rumbling of the colossal engines that pushed the ship through space, and the occasional cry of a Pokemon or, rarely, one of his fellow aspiring trainers. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that quiet, but by Orkish standards it was almost unnerving.
Runtherd Surkoya had sent his "class" into the neglected holds of the hulk with one instruction; come back with a Pokemon, or not at all. Each Ork was given one pokeball of dubious quality, hand-carved from an apricorn, the most accurate map of the area the grots could be bothered to find, in case they needed kindling or a snack, and whatever weapons they could manage to sneak into their packs. In Gozlobba's case, that meant his favourite choppa, at least 5 stikkbomms, and a slugga he nicked off of Bronzfist.
Due to this part of the hulk receiving very little in the form of maintenance, it was no surprise that hardly any of the lights worked, meaning that Gozlobba couldn't see his nose even if it hadn't already been stolen by the Painboy as "Kompensayshun fer a job well dun", nor could he see the corpse in front of him until he had already tripped over it and crushed a Wimpod that was nibbling on an eyeball.
Sputtering curses and insults through a mouthful of bilge water and pureed bug type, Gozlobba pushed himself off the ground, and turned, growling, to the prone figure behind him.
"Oi! Watch where yer lyin', ya…" His voice trailed off as he noticed that the Ork behind him was A: someone he dimly recognised as Skartoof, another trainer, 2: was missing his head, both arms, and most of his internal organs, C: was burnt and covered in dirt, despite being in a flooded room on a spaceship, and The One That Comes Next: still had most of his stuff!
While Orks are not the most empathetic, moral or intelligent species, most of them do have enough self-awareness to realise that a dismembered corpse in a place a dismembered corpse should notably not be would raise some form of caution and perhaps something resembling concern. However, as a Deathskull, Gozlobba was more focused on the "No one's looted the body yet" part than the "He hasn't even gone cold yet and something's growling at me" part. He didn't even like Skartoof that much anyway.
But before he could indulge in the time honoured tradition of grave robbing, the growling noise that he was vaguely aware of rapidly increased in volume and was suddenly coming from almost every direction at once.
The water around his feet was beginning to bubble and boil, the air around him becoming thick with steam.
Countless fires roared into life, illuminating the chamber, and revealing a horde of Numel and Camerupt, led by a single gigantic specimen that was staring directly into his soul.
If you asked an Ork about winning and losing, he'd say that Orks are never defeated in battle, as they either win or weren't really trying. And then he'd punch you. Gozlobba mostly agreed with this philosophy, but he'd also argue that getting incinerated by 50 pissed off, lava-spewing camels wasn't technically a battle.
With that in mind, he turned and ran, briefly stopping to grab a handful of Skartoof's stuff, and legged it back down the way he'd came.
