The man's black hair was uncommon, particularly in this part of the world...and that wasn't even one of the reasons that he could never finish explaining how much he despised this region, called Unova. To the very core of his soul, he hated it. The air tasted wrong, the food was oily and disgusting. The very earth itself was ripe with garbage and rot, and it sickened him. The only bright side, he told himself, was that there was no way that things could possibly get worse.
Well, there were also a lot of Pokemon that he'd never seen before.
He would gladly trade the new-found creatures, however, just to be back home on that mountain of deadly conditions and unending frost. It was his home, and it was where he belonged...and he certainly didn't belong here. He wasn't a member of this culture of consumerism, this disreputable race of Unova people who accepted that life was easy and who lived like their partners were taken for granted.
Ho-Oh damn them all, he couldn't stand it. If it weren't for the fact that his presence was required here, for the Pokemon World Tournament, he would still be on top of that god-forsaken mountain. It was as silent, harsh, and unforgiving as he was; that was how he liked it, and how it would stay. It was what he would return to after this flashy parade ended.
He was hailed not as the Champion, but rather not hailed at all; here, by some bizarre sort of circumstance, he was a virtual unknown. He was a myth to these people, who didn't know of the existence of the "Legendary Battler." Here, he was just another trainer...and he would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy the non-scrutiny that they were giving him. It still stung at his overinflated sense of pride, however, to know that his fame hadn't reached every corner of the world. Even in Sinnoh, he was known; in hushed whispers and legends it may be, but they knew nonetheless. Nobody here had recognized him.
He was only twenty-five, but felt twice that age. The World Tournament was held once every ten years, and he had never participated; he'd been too young, or on the mountain. It just so happened that the once-a-decade World Tournament was to be hosted in Unova...because things just couldn't go his way. Or, rather, not entirely. He wasn't actually participating in the tournament, but was actually a mystery opponent for whoever managed to win through the whole thing. They had described his strength as entirely unrivaled, and it was a reputation that he would need to live up to. He doubted that he would have any trouble, however, as he'd maintained his perfect bout record of no losses or ties. Fifteen and a half years gone by, and he was only increasing his win streak.
Of course, there was always the chance that the tournament's victor would manage to defeat him. Perhaps he would finally lose...but he doubted it with a fair amount of severity. He did, after all, have a perfect record. He'd proven time and again that his reputation was well-earned, against several opponents whose caliber was supposed to be equal to or greater than his own.
"And, for the winner of the Pokemon World Tournament, we have a special surprise! A mysterious trainer has arrived to vie for the top spot of the tournament, but can our champion hold on?"
His door began to open, bright lights shining through the widening crack. It forced him to abandon his musings on the past, return him to the present, and make him focus on the task at hand. It was time for him to battle...time for him to show this world, one that had left him in the dust of the past, why they had once adored him.
Why they had once hated him.
Why they still feared him.
Hollow eyes stared blankly ahead as he reached the battlefield; the hushed silence that took over the crowd was perhaps the most satisfying thing that he'd ever born witness to. Absolute stillness prevailed over all that existed under the roof of the arena...the boy before him was eager and cocky, obviously a newcomer to the ranks of the Pokemon Trainers. Something in the back of his mind rose up, telling him that it would be amusing to watch the child squirm in the discomfort of defeat.
He tipped his hat up slightly, just enough to reveal his sanguine eyes, his vision was focused specifically on his opponent's face to make him uncomfortable; psychological warfare may not have been the cleanest way to fight, but it was like Team Rocket had once said: all is fair in love and war...particularly when his eyes had made even the international criminal mastermind, Giovanni, know fear.
His eyes were empty of feeling, hollow in their look. They were apathetic in their bone-drilling stare, and almost looked as though there was no life in them whatsoever. Very slowly, with absolute laziness and confidence showing in his actions, he reached into his bag and retrieved a pokeball; he didn't even care which one it was, since he already knew that his opponent had no chance of victory. Holding it out in front of him in a silent challenge, he knew it was his time...the God of Battle within raised his head and roared in defiance. This would be his grand finale, his finish; one last battle.
He would show the world.
He would show them all.
He, the King.
He, the Demon of Kanto.
He, the Champion.
He, the Pokemon Master.
He, the undefeated.
He, the unbeatable.
He, the silent.
He, the hermit.
He, the hero.
He, the myth.
He, the legend.
Red of Pallet Town