Materialist
2.

Humans are not buried. Underneath the ground lies creatures of extraordinary power, those whom soar across the skies, breathe fire, of large teeth, sharp claws. Humans are not buried beside Pokemon. The very idea seems wrong and dirty. They are a separate kind, and, in a way, Pokemon are more sacred than mankind, so the Pokemon is preserved, it is given a burial of its own.

Whereas people are burned.

Their ashes are scattered, and the grieving is less of a pain than the grief over a Pokemon's fatality. The connection a trainer and Pokemon has is not only unbreakable, but it is thicker than blood––it is steel, incapable of being broken. Sometimes, the connection is so severely intimate, the death of a trainer brings their Pokemon to the end of their life as well. Pain is shared, emotion is shared, life is shared.

The day a trainer realises this connection, to the fullest extent, it's always a shock. Almost paralysing. For Dawn, the first time this happened she had only just begun her training. The moment her first Pokemon was attacked, to the point of falling unconscious, it had left her dazed; her sight was lost for a split second, the pain and shock had been so real. After a while, such a trauma becomes natural.

For Cynthia, that intimacy began before she even chose her first Pokemon. Unlike Dawn and Barry, and many other trainers, she didn't have the luxury of being offered three Pokemon to pick from. She had to venture out of the village, and search for one herself. The thing is, you can't train a Pokemon if there is no intimate connection. What Cynthia came to learn was that the Pokemon who was most aggressive towards you, the one who really tried to steal your life––that was the Pokemon you had to be with.

A Gible is a small thing, but they have sharp teeth, and are surprisingly agile. Even after successfully capturing the Pokemon, it continued to have a rather bitter manner towards her. In fact, it was hatred, and at that age, after everything, Cynthia felt mutual. Because if it weren't for this species, she would still have a family at home, and, in a way, she wondered if she would even be searching for a Pokemon in the first place.

It disobeyed her, nipped at her sometimes, even left its master's side. But it was a powerful creature, and a difficult one to tame. And Cynthia was and still is a woman who falls in love with challenges; puzzles that have to be solved. Most trainers who started around the same time as she were excelling brilliantly––their levels were awing, and the powers their Pokemon had learnt were beautiful.

But it had never been the levels, never been the power, that appealed to her. It took time, it took a lot of mistakes, it took gut and it took her sanity, and yet, somehow, Cynthia was the last one standing. A reserved woman, she was almost feared by her rivals. There was something incredibly intimidating about this tall blonde, who had a large, frightening dragon obediently by her side.

On first impressions, Cynthia is intimidating.

Really, she's the kindest of people; sweet and hospitable. The hatred and reluctance she might have expressed when she started to become a trainer doesn't linger anymore. Forgiveness has been her only escape, and it's given her more. No one has witnessed her lose her temper, yell or hurt somebody. Her actions are always considerate, always affectionate, always selfless, and it has given her a positive reputation within all regions.

Dawn does consider the irony though: how such a wonderful person can own such a horrifying giant of a dragon.

Perhaps it isn't ironic at all.

That dragon is the manifested form of her anger, her bitterness, that power she is supposedly immune to.

Her Garchomp relieves her from those ugly emotions.

'What would you do if you lost it?'

Cynthia looks up from her reading. She's researching the same Sinnoh myths, and each day seems to find more and more findings. 'Lost what?'

'Your Garchomp.'

Bless her innocence. Cynthia laughs lightly, and takes off her glasses. 'Well, I would be very upset, of course!' Her smile doesn't falter. Dawn believes her; she would be upset. It's not what Cynthia would feel, though, but what she would do. 'Why?'

Dawn blinks. She studies her, how her eyes appear blue in this light. How unkept her long blonde hair is; she loves that about Cynthia. Her untidiness is what makes her so superior. It is not a reflection of what goes on inside her head. Cynthia's thoughts are always focussed, always so terribly black-and-white.

The whole appearance makes her fetching.

'So, you would feel safe? Without it?"

Cynthia narrows her brows. She's more amused than anything else, and that's not exactly the response Dawn was seeking. 'You do ask me funny questions, you know?' She smiles, and it's beautiful. She returns her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

And that's all Dawn gets. When Cynthia returns to her work, Dawn sinks into the chair, observing her while she writes. The slight frown of concentration, how her delicate hand scribbles away.

Both look up when they hear the doorbell sound. Dawn slips out of the chair and proceeds to the door. Cynthia has undoubtedly returned to her research. Nothing can distract her from her myths.

Their visitor is a fairly young gentleman, wearing jeans and a top. Dawn is surprised by his accent. 'I apologise for disturbing you so late. You must be Dawn, correct?'

'Yes.'

'I was wondering if you would agree to a battle with my friend. Tomorrow? Mid-afternoon?'

It has been a while since Dawn has been invited to a battle. She smiles crookedly, 'And who is this friend?'

The man grins. 'An aspiring Champion. Perhaps you could teach him a couple of tips?'

Dawn squints. She doesn't need much time to think about this. In fact, Dawn already knew her answer before he had asked.

'Let him win a round.' Cynthia kisses her cheek.

'I'll have to go extra easy on him, then,' Dawn mumbles.

The following morning, and the two are ready to part ways. Dawn has her battle, and Cynthia has a meeting to attend. About what, Dawn is not privy to, but she has a hunch she wouldn't be interested anyway.

Arriving at the Elite Four building, curtesy of her Togekiss, Cynthia proceeds for the entrance, but a large, yet gentle hand rests on her shoulder. Stunned, the Champion swivels around, and, for a moment, she's sure she has gone mad. Because there isn't any possibility, none in Hell, that this man could be facing her.

Yet he is.

And he is very much alive.

Cyrus is thinner. He has cut his hair short, and facial hair has started to grow. He looks older, tired around the eyes, and suddenly his humanity, the amount of emotions which pour from his dead eyes, is close to disturbing.

'Hello.'

Cynthia composes herself. As much as she wants to hate this man, she won't allow herself to. Conscious of her Garchomp growing agitated within its Pokeball, she steps past him, until his back is facing the building. Cyrus is unblinking.

'I was hoping for a chat.'

'Hoping? I didn't think you the type.'

Cyrus smirks. 'Where is she?' Cynthia knows who he is referring to. The same she who not only destroyed his future, but his life as well. The smirk drops, and a burning hunger rages in his irises. It's scary, how dark this man can look. As if all the light has gone from the world, and now only misery is left.

'You survived.'

'Try not to sound too pleased.' Cyrus pauses. 'Would you like to know the story?' He glances at the Pokeballs strapped to her belt. Flicks his gaze to her eyes. 'Or, shall we return to old times? Only, this time around, I will crush you.' He steps forward. 'I will rip them apart, feed their limbs to my hounds, and I will burn you alongside them. Then you will know how it feels: to lose everything precious.'

'You still have not learnt your lesson. I'd pity you, if you weren't so pathetic. Battle isn't about who wins; it's not about the money, and it certainly has nothing to do with vengeance. You can take your threats elsewhere. I could not be any less interested.'

He grabs her hand. Cynthia yanks it away.

Cyrus chortles. 'I remember you when you were so little. Do you remember me when I was a child too? We wanted to rule the universe. Be Kings. Back then, you had a lot more spunk. You actually felt something, and you weren't lying behind this ridiculous facade that you wear all day. Don't tell me you've forgotten the reason why you became a trainer.'

'To irritate you endlessly, of course.'

'You humiliated me.' Cyrus's face turns cold. 'You became Rowan's favourite, and I was forgotten about immediately. Why do you get all of the glory? I loved Pokemon, I saw myself as a trainer, but you? You were provoked by your anger, your guilt. Why do you think I tried so hard to rid those emotions? They're useless.'

'You weren't getting rid of them; you were avoiding them. That's how scared you are. You're so scared of being controlled, you could think of no other way but to destroy the world entirely. Even ending your life along with it. That doesn't make you wise, it doesn't make you powerful. It just makes you weak.'

Cynthia holds his gaze.

'It's sad, how you are incapable of embracing emotion––it is so wonderful.'

He scowls. 'Don't start lecturing me.' He unclips one of his Pokeball, and stares at the red and white sphere for a while. 'Have you heard the latest? Trainers are being recruited by the day, told to preach a message. Trainers are abusive, cynical monsters and must change their ways. Pokemon must be treated with respect.'

A laugh. A cruel laugh, which sends a shiver up her spine.

'You'll be amazed, Cyndy. Who knows who my next apprentice shall be? Your lady love might be curious to find out more. Don't you think?'

It's the nickname he uses which makes her want to retch, but the next thing he says––Cynthia holds her breath, bites down on her tongue. He can mock her, he can fight her, but to use Dawn, to even think about Dawn, then that is pushing the limit.

'Then what?' He continues. 'Will you and her become enemies? Like you and I?' He smiles. 'Actually, I think my powers would double if I had somebody like her on my side. The young are so easy to manipulate.'

Cyrus stares at the Pokeball.

'As are these things.' He throws the ball up into the air, and from within it escapes a flash of red. A Pokemon heavily lands between the two of them, and Cynthia hears the roar first. A Garchomp scrapes its claws into the earth, and watches the Champion with impatience. Cyrus is laughing. 'I thought I'd take a leaf out of your book! Let's see how they get on, shall we? I'd be careful. This one is quite extraordinary.'

Now Cynthia is aware of her Garchomp's fury. It is desperate. Cynthia reaches for her Pokeball, and hesitates. If she were to walk away, Cyrus would consider that a victory. Technically, as far as Pokemon battle law goes, it would be his victory. Cynthia could surrender, or she could take him up on the challenge.

How can she refuse?

When her Garchomp hits the earth, its roar is ear-splitting. The other Garchomp roars back, and both dragons rise onto their hind legs. They spread their wings, and Cynthia's Garchomp exhales fire from its nostrils, stamping its foot in protest. Cyrus folds his arms, eyeing Cynthia's dragon with admiration.

'Dragon against dragon. A fatal collision,' Cyrus grins. 'I have wanted this for years.'

Cynthia is quiet. She watches the man, and her senses are going wild; she can feel, hear her Garchomp; its anger, its breath, its hunger to pour blood. It is Cyrus who orders first. An attack both she and her Pokemon expect.

Its Dragon Rush is powerful, and its rage pierces her Garchomp's stomach. Cynthia holds her ground, watches as her Garchomp lets out a cry, but maintains its balance. Unlike Cyrus, Cynthia doesn't say a word.

Voicing her orders are not necessary.

The Garchomp just knows.

Fire bursts from its mouth, and the entire arena is lit up; flames dance between them, and travel up the opponent's Garchomp. It exclaims, flaps its wings, and struggles against the pain. The fire is persistent and eats its flesh. Cyrus curses under his breath, and orders his Garchomp to dig its teeth into Cynthia's Pokemon.

But his order is far too delayed.

Battling is a race. Cynthia takes advantage of the Garchomp's recovery. Her dragon soars forward, and slashes its claws into the opponent's stomach. It returns again, swiping its fist, and Cynthia can hear Cyrus yell out.

'Earthquake.'

The ground splits. Cynthia is left unharmed while her Garchomp breaks the earth, and Cyrus exclaims in horror at the sight of his dragon perishing into the quake. Then something happens Cynthia could never be prepared for. Without a warning, without even a second's hesitance, Cyrus releases another Pokemon.

The Articuno doesn't wait for orders. It flaps its wings, and a storm of ice is sent directly towards her Garchomp. Cynthia considers Flamethrower, to melt the ice, but her order is delayed. Her Garchomp is pelted by the storm. It scrunches its eyes shut, and the temperature decreases at a phenomenal pace.

Cyrus breathes, rolls back his shoulders, pleased at the sight. Cynthia watches her Garchomp struggle, it winces and growls at the pain, and she can feel it weakening. How its legs buckle, its wings seem to give out. Cyrus clenches a fist, 'Ice Beam!' A wave of ice is shot towards the Garchomp, aimed at its head.

The Garchomp roars, flaps its wings, restrains against the ice, and suddenly it jumps up, wings spread. Cyrus widens his eyes at the sight of this monstrosity, how elegantly it glides through the air. Then, it descends at a frightening speed, smacking into the Articuno. Both Pokemon crash onto the ground, and earth is showered everywhere.

By the time the dust has seperated, Cyrus is just in time to witness the Garchomp dig its teeth into the majestic bird's neck. It leaves a mark, and the Garchomp immediately lets go as soon as the Pokemon faints from exhaustion.

The Garchomp lands beside Cynthia, and huffs. Smoke escapes its nostrils, and the Pokemon falls onto all fours, ready for more.

Cyrus is in awe, but he manages to maintain a relaxed expression.

'Well done, my friend,' Cynthia gently rests a hand on the Pokemon's forehead. It growls lightly, but continues to glare at their opponent. Cynthia looks at him, expression unintelligible. 'You still have a very long way to go.'

It is an insult, a harsh one, but Cyrus accepts it in good humour. He returns his fainted Pokemon, and cocks back his chin, eyeing the two.

'I almost envy you,' he mumbles, 'I envy how much in denial you are.'

Cyrus releases a bird Pokemon, climbs onto its back, glances at Cynthia once, before disappearing into the skies. Even when he is far gone, Cynthia doesn't return her Garchomp just yet. She's trembling slightly, and she's not trembling from the adrenaline. Cynthia has been doing this for too long.

It's something else. Something closer to home.