They looked back at a sharp sound, which turned out to only be a quickly fleeing Ratata. From this lofty hill one could look over the whole town and see it spread from city limit to city limit. To the west sparkled the caramel-colored carnival; to the east stood the dignified and matronly Trainer School campus; along Route 31, Main Street through town, were the storefront offices, the smalltown-sized mart, a few gas stations at war, a beautifully painted Pokemon Center, the local newspaper, several small family businesses. From here the town looked so typically Johto-small, innocent, and harmless, like the backround in every Norman Rockwell painting.
But the two visitors did not perceive with eyes only. Even from this vantage point the true substratum of Violet weighed very heavily upon their spirits and minds. They could feel it: restless, strong, growing, very designed and purposeful...a very special kind of evil.
It was not unlike either of them to ask questions, to study, to probe. More often than not it came with their job. So they naturally hesitated in their business, pausing to wonder, Why here?
But only for an instant. It could have been some acute sensitivity, an instinct, a very faint but for them descernible impression, but it was enough to make them both instantly vanish around the corner of the church, melding themselves against the beveled siding, almost invisible there in the dark. They didn't speak, they didn't move, but they watched with a piercing gaze as something approached.
The night scene of the quiet street was a collage of stark blue moonlight and bottomless shadows. But one shadow did not stir with the wind as did the tree shadows, and neither did it stand still as did the building shadows. It flapped, climbed, moved along the sky toward the church, while any light it crossed seemed to sink into its blackness, as if it were a breach torn in space. But this shadow had a shape, an animated, dragonlike shape, and as it neared the church sounds could be heard: the scratching of claws against the ground, the faint rustling of breeze-blown, membranous wings wafting just above the creature's shoulders.
It had arms and it had legs, but it seemed to move without them, crossing the street and mounting the front steps of the church. Its leering, sharp eyes reflected the stark blue light of the full moon with their own jaundiced glow. The intimidating head protruded from hunched shoulders, and wisps of rancid red breath seethed in labored hisses through jagged fangs.
It let out a horrible cry and reared up on its legs, looking about the quiet neighborhood, the white, powerful jowls snapping a deafening crunch. It moved toward the front door. The dragon charged the door like a spear, but stopped dead before reaching its target.
Suddenly, as if colliding with a speeing wall, the creature was knocked backward and into a raging tumble down the hill, the glowing red breath tracing a corkscrew trail through the air.
With a cry of rage and indignation, it gathered itself up off the sidewalk and turned to face its attacker. The membranes on its back began to billow, enfolding great bodies of air, and it flew with a roar headlong at the mysteriously appearing, armor covered monster, closer and closer, vomiting up blistering fire-and into a cloud of black and purple waves.
The creature screamed and curled in its wings for protection, then felt itself being thrust about left and right like a ragdoll, caught in a concentrated earthquake.
The wings hummed in a blur as it banked sharply in a flying turn and headed for the attacker again, outrage burning in its throat, its claws bared and pised for attack, a ghostly siren of a scream rising in its chest. It exploded in over and over in outrage-
And felt its insides breaking and coming loose.
The armored monster slashed the dragon's wings in half, smashed his snout into his brain, stomped his knees into pointed, protruding bones and finally crunched its sharp teeth into his neck. One final scream, and the flailing of withering arms and legs. Then there was nothing at all except the ebbing stench of sulfur and the two strangers, appearing from their hiding spots.
The blond woman returned her triumphant Tyranitar and replaced the Dusk Ball on her belt.
"A dark Salamence?" she asked.
"It seems so."
"And that was one of the poorly made ones?"
"I've not seen weaker."
"No indeed. And just how many would you say are here?"
"More, much more than we, and more than just Salamence's. Never just Salamence's."
"So I've seen," the woman sighed.
"But what are they doing here? We've never seen such concentration before, not here."
"Oh, the reason won't be hidden for long." He looked through the foyer doors and toward the sanctuary. "Let's see this man of God."
