Disclaimer: Don't Own Pokemon!

A/N: So basically these next 2 chapters will be intro for most of the main characters in this fic as well as helping to set the precedent and give you all a better idea of the type of place they are living in. Thanks for the lovely reviews from the prologue and hope you all enjoy!

Pokemon: The Psychic Wars

Chapter 1

The skies were eerily dark for the time of day.

Purple clouds filled the dark skies, blocking the sun's rays from spilling its glory upon the region. Smoke was a constant site over the Kanto skyline as it filtered up into the clouds, giving the sky an evil, foreboding look. The smells of destruction and death were a constant reminder of the times they now lived in and of years gone by where the regions had once been safe and prosperous.

The metallic smell of blood wafted over to the noses of 28 year old Ash Ketchum and 29 year old Brock Slate, each perched on separate tree branches, overlooking the wasteland that was once Pewter City.

"My home…"

Brock's eyes scanned the ruins of his once illustrious hometown, flames licking the smoldering buildings and blood smeared across the streets of the town Brock had once called home. Rubble littered the streets and the rocks that had once made up his proud gym had been reduced to smoldering ash. The remaining psychic energy sparked angrily around the landscape, sounding like the violent cracking of a whip mixed with the electricity of a thunder storm.

Wordlessly, Ash jumped out of his perch in the tree, his black cape swirling in the unseen wind, snapping furiously behind him. His hood was up, his own brown eyes lost within the folds of his cloak as he solemnly walked towards the city without a word to his friend.

Brock sighed, lowering his hood and jumping for the ground, his own cloak billowing behind him, as he made to follow his friend into the destruction that was his hometown.

Ash was already sorting his way through the rubble when Brock caught up with him.

"It's weird, being back here again, I mean. I knew this would happen sooner or later, but you always have this image of your home of how it always should be…of how it should've been," Brock's eyes shifted to the scene around him and couldn't believe that he had once called this place home. His words, however, were met with silence as he watched as Ash continued to sift through some debris near what had once been the pokemon center.

Kneeling down beside him, Brock saw what had caught Ash's attention.

He was a little boy, no older than nine, eyes open, but unseeing, mouth slightly agape with unheard screams, and a bloody gash across his neck that had left him partially decapitated. His eyes were a deep brown, with a mop of messy blonde hair stained with sticky, red blood atop his head. His clothes were ripped and he had a cracked pokeball lying in his limp hand, giving the impression that he had at least fought his attackers. It only caused Ash's blood to boil further.

Silently, Ash began to dig a hole with his hands, scooping the reddened dirt into a pile beside the boy's body.

He shouldn't have to do this; he shouldn't have had to be the one to bury this boy. He was young, too young. No one should have died this way; it wasn't supposed to be like this. Life was supposed to be worth living, it was supposed to be full of adventure and excitement, not fear and death. This wasn't how Ash wanted to remember the town in which he had won his first league badge.

"Here," Brock had come beside Ash and handed him a shovel he had found among the rubble and soundlessly, the two boys set to work digging the shallow grave.

Brock sighed aloud again as he continued to shovel the dirt aside, silently thanking his lucky stars that he didn't know the boy, but immediately feeling guilty afterwards. He didn't know the boy…his name would be lost to the ages, they knew nothing of his family background, of his true age, if he had any friends, if he attended school, what his interests were…or who the boy truly was. It saddened Brock to know that one so young had died, possibly in defense of his own hometown. The thought only deepened Brock's guilt. He had been Pewter's gym leader, he should have protected them, he should have – he should have done something, anything!

And a chilling thought entered Brock's mind…the killings, they would never end…not while Sabrina was alive.

The sound of metal striking dirt brought Brock back to the present and he shook his head of the thoughts. He watched as Ash cradled the young boy in his arms and closed his eyes, almost to look as if he were sleeping. Then, with his hand hovering just above the boy's severed neck, a light purple glow emanated from Ash's hand. The light entered the boy's neck and seemingly stitched the wound, though it wouldn't save him, unfortunately, he was beyond the realm of saving.

When the Psychic Wars had first started ten years ago, Brock and Ash had been recruited by the Elite Four to help lead and gather troops against Sabrina's forces. During their time in training, they had endured relentless weapons training, physical training, and pokemon training, though not the type of training they had experienced as kids. Instead, the pokemon were used in missions against Sabrina's forces, primarily involving reconnaissance and battling the psychic threats that continuously threatened the league's operations.

Psychic training was also a mainstay of the league's operations, for in order to defeat Sabrina, they needed to understand her powers and fight fire with fire. Both Ash and Brock had undergone intense psychic training, teaching their bodies to accept the psychic energies and, in turn, learning to release and control that power. Their teachers came in the forms of recruited psychic, dark, and ghost type pokemon, both wild and trained, and, though Brock understood the power and the arts involved in becoming a psychic himself, he could never achieve a complete balance…not like Ash had.

Ash had always had a deeper understanding of the new powers that invaded his body. He was able to bend and control the energies to his will and mastered psychic attacks almost flawlessly. He, however, refused to use his powers unless absolutely necessary. He had confessed to Brock once several years ago that he did not want to be compared to Sabrina.

At the start of the wars, both Brock and Ash had relocated their families to the league headquarters and had warned their friends of the ticking time bomb that was Sabrina just in time for the war to begin. Gym leaders from across the Kanto region were quickly recruited before Sabrina's influence could reach them, however, there were still a few of them who were unaccounted for…

Koga had seemingly vanished (whether he was dead, had turned to Sabrina's side, or was simply in hiding was unsure), but his daughter Janine had been a steady supporter of the league and was one of its closest allies. Her extensive knowledge on the makings of various poisons had been extremely helpful in eliminating many of Sabrina's forces, even if her own poison type pokemon were weak against psychics. She had made herself useful in other ways.

Lieutenant Surge of the Vermillion City gym had also vanished and was presumed dead under Sabrina's hands. League officials had swept every inch of his gym, now in smoldering ruins, and had found many of his own pokemon slain, including his prized Raichu. Strewn notes addressed to the Elite Four had been scattered across the remains of the gym, the words smeared in blood, stating that the gym leader's demise had come when he had refused to join Sabrina's forces and that his body had disintegrated in psychic energy. The notes also threatened the rebellion, stating that if they did not stand down, they would all suffer a similar fate.

Giovanni of the Viridian City gym and underground mastermind of the once feared organization known as Team Rocket had also disappeared without a trace. Many believed he had gone into hiding, especially after the disbanding of his organization, and would rise again after the wars were over. Even many of the former Team Rocket members, namely Jessie, James, and Meowth, had no clue where their former boss had gone and instead, had opted to join forces with the League's operations and made themselves useful with supplying intel and operation of their high tech equipment (for which they were known to be masters at in Ash's youth) as well as maintaining the dungeons and cells that many of their prisoners, namely spies that had been found snooping around the League's base, were kept.

And then there were Daisy, Lily, and Violet.

The triplets of the Cerulean City gym had been missing since the wars had begun, their gym practically abandoned, their pokemon gone without a trace. Extensive search efforts led by both Brock and Ash had come up empty and the search was forced to be called off. Lance, the leader of the Elite Four, had made the assumption that the sisters were dead, especially after what had happened to Misty…

Just thinking about his blue eyed, red-haired friend caused a frown to form on Brock's face and he knew that, because of what had happened to Misty, Ash would never be the same.

Brock watched in silence as Ash gently lowered the boy's body into the hole, never again to see the light of day. Both boys wordlessly filled the hole and, upon finishing, dug the spades of their shovels into the head of the shallow grave.

Ash and Brock bowed their heads in respect to the little boy that had lost his life.

"It shouldn't be like this."

Brock jumped at his friend's words, not expecting him to speak. It was rare for Ash to speak nowadays, unless he had to, and even when he did, it was always dark and foreboding, nothing like the young, boisterous, ambitious kid he had once travelled with.

"This kid…he should be trying to figure out what his starter pokemon will be…he should be preparing for his pokemon journey, not rotting in a shallow grave," Ash stated, anger laced in his voice. And then, Ash unclipped his cloak and laid it upon the grave, smoothing out the edges almost as if it were a blanket covering a child. Then, he unsheathed the sword that was strapped to his side and, kneeling before the makeshift shrine, dug its tip in front of the shovels.

"She doesn't care who she kills," Brock whispered, though he knew Ash could hear him, "It'll never end, not until she's stopped."

Ash didn't respond and, instead, remained kneeling on the ground in front of the grave, his eyes boring into the little grave, unblinkingly, "What's the point? Innocents will continue to die."

Brock simply nodded and looked skyward at the swirling purple clouds above, "We continue to fight, no matter what," he brought his gaze back down to look at Ash's unmoving form, "It's what Misty would have wanted."

At his words, Brock could see Ash's shoulders shudder and his gaze waver for a fraction of a second. His young features visibility saddened and Brock immediately felt sorry for bringing up such a sore subject.

"Ash, I-"

"Shh! Did you hear that?"

Ash's eyes were already roving around the landscape and Brock followed suit, quickly yet silently un-strapping the daggers attached to the small of his back. Ash was already up, the sword that he kept on his opposite hip drawn and at the ready. The building up ahead and to the right had caught Ash's attention. The roof was caved in and the entrance to what had once been someone's home was half blocked by piles of rubble.

He silently stalked towards the opening, pressed his ear closer to the entrance, and heard a rustling from within, followed by fearful whispers and…crying?

Ash motioned for Brock to follow and the pair easily scaled over the rock piles, weapons drawn until Ash heard the unmistakable sounds of a baby's cries.

"Who's there?" Brock called out, "Please come out, we won't hurt you," he sheathed his daggers back to his back and slowly inched closer to the back of the home, where knocked over tables and chairs were being used as a sort of barricade. Ash, however, kept his sword drawn, eyes continuously sweeping across the tiny house, looking for some sort of ambush or threat.

"P-Please, don't hurt us," an elderly voice stuttered and from behind the tables came an elderly man in his seventies with short hair that was white as snow with a scruffy beard to match. He was thin and appeared to not have eaten in weeks, his clothes were ripped, and he was trembling just at the site of the two young men. His hands were raised in surrender, "Please, we'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt my family."

Brock raised his hands up to show that he meant no harm, "Please sir, we're not here to hurt you. We're with the rebellion…with the league."

A light seemed to spark in the man's dull blue eyes and he grinned in recognition, "Y-You're Master Slate, aren't you?" Brock nodded and the elderly man let out a visible sigh of relief, "Honey, kids, it's okay. You can all come out now, it's Master Slate!"

Out from behind the barricade came an elderly woman, probably the man's wife, with a tiny bundle cradled in her arms, and a boy about five years of age, his hand gripping the woman's dress in fear. The older woman had her long white hair in a braid down her back and, like the man, seemed very thin as well. The bundle she held in her arms, the source of the crying, was cooing contentedly.

"Oh, thank goodness," she exhaled, "We thought you were with Sabrina's forces. She and her assassin came tearing through the town this morning, destroying everything in sight," she refocused her gaze to the baby in her arms and the young boy beside her, "These are our grandchildren…their parents were killed in the attacks, killed by Sabrina. We're all they have left," and the elderly lady began to tear up as she continued to rock the baby.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Brock offered. They had all lost loved ones to this war, all of them senseless deaths, and all of them at the hands of Sabrina and her mysterious assassin, a trained killer that was known to be by Sabrina's side at all times. Little was known about the killer, except only that he rarely left people alive, "We're here to help. We'll take you back to headquarters; there are plenty of dorms still available."

"Oh, thank you so much Master Slate," thanked the elderly man, grasping Brock's hands within his own and giving them a solid shake, "We owe you our lives."

Brock nodded and smiled at the elderly couple.

"We should be going, it's getting dark and we don't want to be wandering around in the dark," spoke Ash, who was peering out of the windows of the home, sword still drawn.

"He's right, we need to go," Brock said, picking up the young boy and leading the way out of the house. The elderly woman followed, with her husband not far behind, however, he stopped in front of Ash and placed a hand on his forearm.

"You're Master Ketchum," it was more of statement than a question and he didn't wait for a response before continuing, "Thank you son, for everything you've done for the league, for this rebellion."

If Ash was surprised by the older man's comments, he didn't let it show. Instead, he simply nodded and repeated, "We need to go."

"Ash! You need to get out here!"

At the urgency in Brock's voice, Ash slipped by the elderly man and ran outside, blade raised for battle. Brock was standing in front of the family, a protective arm shielding them. The pokemon that had raised the alarms was snarling ferociously at them, the golden circles around its ears, tail, and on its forehead and legs glowed fiercely as its fur bristled in anticipation.

"An Umbreon, you think it's one of Sabrina's?" asked Brock, directing his question to his friend.

"No, she wouldn't waste her time with a dark type, especially since they're strong against her psychic types. It's probably wild, possibly gone mad from the psychic radiation surrounding Pewter," answered Ash, his eyes never leaving the agitated pokemon and silently cursing himself for leaving Pikachu back at base, "Brock, you need to teleport them out of here now."

"Are you crazy?! You know how much I suck at teleporting," responded Brock, his eyes following the circling pokemon as well.

Ash grunted in response. Brock was right. The last time he had tried teleporting 10 feet he had found himself face to face with a naked Master Agatha in the women's locker room. It wasn't a visual Brock was soon to forget nor did he want to repeat.

"We'll have to kill it," was the response, to which Brock nodded, "Get them back in the house."

Brock ushered the family back into the safety of the house, instructed them to barricade the entrance, and rushed back outside to assist his friend. Detaching the polearm that was strapped to his back, Brock slowly circled to the opposite side of the pokemon, surrounding it. Ash had already wielded a second weapon, his dagger that he always kept strapped to his thigh.

The Umbreon, sensing that it was surrounded, growled in madness, its eyes glowing an eerie red.

"Breon!" it attacked, rushing first at Ash and executing a powerful quick attack, to which he narrowly dodged by rolling out of the way. By the time the pokemon had realized it had missed, Ash was already back on his feet. Digging his foot into the ground, Ash spun, flinging his dagger in the direction of the Umbreon, just barely glancing its tail as it performed a dodge.

The Umbreon's tail oozed blood as a result of the dagger's hit. Snarling, it swiveled on its front legs and began to kick up dirt into a powerful sand attack, blinding both boys from seeing one another as well as their adversary.

Ash covered his face with his arm, shielding his eyes from the sand that threatened to blind him. He could no longer see Brock or the Umbreon and was about to call out until he heard an audible scream.

Brock!

Ash was off, running head first into the sand storm, listening for signs of a struggle. He heard a violent scraping noise to his right and launched himself in that direction. Several meters away, Umbreon had Brock pinned to the ground snapping ferociously at his face, the only thing standing between them being Brock's polearm.

Ash immediately jumped into action, pulling the Umbreon by the scruff of his neck and throwing it into the air, receiving a surprised 'Umbreon!' in response. Without missing a beat and before the pokemon could retaliate, Ash followed the Umbreon's path in the air and made a slashing arc with his sword, resolutely separating the Umbreon's head from its body.

Sticky red blood rained down upon the two boys for several beats before the two sections hit the earth with a thud, the head rolling away leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Sheathing his sword, Ash turned to Brock and offered him a hand up, "You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," answered Brock, taking his friend's hand and dusting himself off, "Just a few scratches; that thing came out of nowhere."

Ash nodded, staring at the severed head as Brock reattached his polearm to his back.

"Coast is clear, you all can come out now," called Brock as the elderly couple and young boy stepped carefully from their home.

The elderly woman buried the young boy's head within the folds of her dress, saving him the horrors of looking upon the decapitated pokemon. The elderly man only looked at it with pity.

"It appears you've saved us again. We can't thank you enough," he smiled, bowing to the two of them.

"Don't mention it, but we should really get going," Brock responded as Ash picked up his discarded dagger, wiped the blood on the ground, and reattached it into its holster on his thigh.

He walked back over to the group, not giving the severed pokemon another look, and teleported them back to base.

Brock never liked the sensation of teleporting and it was only evidenced by the pounding sensation in his head and the feeling of spinning that made his stomach do flip flops. And after what seemed like forever, the sensation stopped, leaving him only slightly breathless and a little dizzy. Opening his eyes, he looked around and noticed that the family he and Ash had rescued were also feeling the side effects of Ash's teleport ability.

"The effects will pass," came Ash's raspy voice to the unasked question.

The group was standing in a darkened cave, the only light source being from the mouth of the cave where a waterfall could be seen rushing overhead, sealing the entrance from view. What was seemingly a dead end, was actually a fake rock wall and secret entrance leading into league headquarters.

"Where are we?" asked the elderly man, scanning his new surroundings in awe.

"At a secret entrance on the other side of Victory Road. Only league officials know it's here," answered Brock as Ash unsheathed his sword once more and made a series of tapping sounds, scraping the tip of the sword against the rock face, "There's a psychic barrier in place that prevents anyone from teleporting into or out of the base."

Out of the rock wall came a hand pad, to which Ash placed his own palm against. A series of beeping sounds resounded and several lights flashed. An electronic voice spoke, "Welcome back, Master Ashton Ketchum."

The rock wall separated at once, making a grating noise as it did so. Ash entered the base without a word, the group following him in silence.

White tiles lined the clean floors with white walls to match, while various framed photographs and artifacts lining the immaculate hallways. Unmarked doors on either side lined the corridors, with varying pathways leading off into different directions, making the base seem like an endless maze of doors, paths, and walls.

Ash stopped at a fork in the corridor, where the hallway split into 3 different directions.

"Brock, why don't you show them to their rooms and then direct them to the cafeteria," instructed Ash, not turning around.

Brock nodded, but before he could lead the elderly couple and children to their new homes, they continued to thank Ash profusely for his help and for saving them from certain death. Ash could only nod, until the little boy, who had been all but quiet, tugged on Ash's sleeve.

Ash looked down into the little boy's eyes and saw what appeared to be fear mixed with an incredible strength that he never knew one so young could impart. It caused Ash's hard gaze to soften slightly as the boy seemed like he wanted to say something.

"Sir, I wanna fight for the league and save people and stuff…when I grow up, I wanna be just like you."

Ash's gaze faltered at the boy's words and he immediately felt a rush of emotions he hadn't felt in a long time, assaulting his mind and making him remember that innocents looked up to them. They were scared, they weren't sure what each new day would hold…and it saddened Ash to see this little boy looking up to him in awe, when he was nothing more than a fighter, a killer.

Since when had they become more comfortable handling weapons than pokeballs? When had they changed into seasoned warriors? When had they made the transition from innocent teens to hardened killers?

"Come on Phillip, let's leave Master Ketchum alone. I'm sure he's very busy," smiled the elderly man, shuffling his grandson away and throwing another silent thanks Ash's way.

Ash watched their retreating forms down the long hallway, listening to their aimless chatter as their forms got smaller and smaller.

And then he was left alone with nothing but the silence and his thoughts as his only companions. Their footsteps had long since ceased, but Ash continued to stare in their direction, glued to his spot, unable to move.

He just couldn't get those words out of his head. That little boy, who should know nothing about this new world they lived in, but was experiencing it first hand, had wanted to fight. At such a young age, no child should be subjected to such violence, such fear…such death. It just wasn't right, nor was it how it should've been.

When I grow up, I wanna be just like you.

'No kid, you don't.'

To be continued…