Resistance
"The Master had made an enemy of me, and he would know it soon enough."
Ambera – The Gold Division – Year 278
When Amos woke, he was surrounded on all sides by cold, brown stone. The room was small—a cell, more like, lit by a single flickering orange torch set against the far wall. He slowly got to his paws, looking for any kind of weakness or break in the walls, but they were smooth; the only hole was in the ceiling, far too high up for him to reach and too small for him to get through in any case. Based on the solid nature of the walls around him, he was forced to assume it was an air hole and little more.
How had he gotten here, if there was no way in? It must have been a Ghost-type, grabbing his unconscious body and dragging him through wall and floor and ceiling alike as though they were nothing. His stomach protested irritably that he hadn't eaten, only furthering his opinion.
They were no doubt monitoring him; he could feel a set of eyes on the back of his head, but whenever he turned he saw only more solid stone.
"If you were waiting for me to wake, then you must wait no further," Amos said.
Who are you?
The voice entered unbidden into his head, sent by a powerful Psychic force that he knew he could not block even if he tried. Nevertheless, on reflex, he threw up his mental wards, fangs bared, looking around even though he knew he would see no one.
Who are you, and how did you get in? He could feel the pressure beating at his mind, and he knew before long he would have to give in, but for now he resisted.
"Concerned for your safety protocols?" Amos nodded. "I would be as well, I imagine, were our positions reversed. But I do not think you have any need to worry; I did not ever 'get in,' as you put it. I only managed to get close before I was knocked unconscious."
Silence.
"I assure you, first of all, that I am no spy—"
Prove it. For all you claim you are not a spy, you certainly keep a tight hold on your mind—wards of a strength I've never seen in a Fire-type.
"I had a superb teacher," said Amos dismissively. "I am no spy: I am simply an individual who has lost his home twice: once to the ravages of time, and once to the Master. While I am unable to take back what cruel time has taken from me, I have every intention of making the Master pay for the lives lost in what used to be Willow Dun, a town in the east. I was born Norusephas, the son of Kheskearos, but I have cast that name aside: I am Amoscandar from over-the-sea, and I wish to join you in your fight against that tyrant who so arrogantly calls himself Ambera's Master."
Willow Dun? A pause. Willow Dun is destroyed?
"Did you not know?" spat Amos. "Have I come all this way to join fools? I grant you, Willow Dun was a small village, but I would have hoped that something as unsettling as the destruction of an entire town would not escape your notice—"
You misunderstand, Ninetales. Another pause. Surely you did not think all of our forces were contained in a single location? What you have found is only one of our bases, and Willow Dun was not under our jurisdiction but another's. The eastern division has always been slow in granting us news; doubtless within a few days we would have heard of the event.
"Within a few days?" Amos growled. "And after the deed has been done for a month? Your allies in the east are utterly incompetent and self-absorbed, then; it is just as well I found you and not them."
Anger surged against his mental wards.
Know your place, fox! The only way out of that room is through the aid of a Ghost-type, and I do not ever have to give that order.
"Yes, I suppose I did speak out of turn." Amos bowed his head. "I am sorry."
Would you drop your wards already? There is no need for all this expenditure of effort and mutual mistrust: simply let me inside your head and I will be able to verify your intentions.
"I am loath to let anyone inside my mind," said Amos gravely. "I have lived a long life: you will find much, and most of it you will not like. I have borne a great deal of tragedy in all my years, not the least of which was the destruction of Willow Dun. It is not for nothing I am called Burdenbearer."
Would you rather you stayed down there until your fire burned you to ash? Either let me in, or you shall die there. We are not in the business of taking risks, especially not with Ninetales.
"The reputation of my species precedes me, then," sighed Amos, lowering his head. "Unfortunately it is one we have well-deserved, but certainly you understand that just because a crop is bad does not mean every fruit is rotten."
Silence.
"As you wish, then," he said, lowering his mental wards and feeling uncomfortably exposed. Something forced its way into his head, and he flinched, still uncomfortable with the idea. It was like a stirring rod, or a whirlwind inside his mind, and it was nearly painful in a way he couldn't quite describe; it felt like memories and feelings and sensations were being disorganized and shuffled about, like his mind was being altered and, in a way, violated, and it took all of his self control not to throw up another ward and block the presence from his mind.
Conrad flashed before his eyes, young and vibrant as he had been when Amos had first met him, and then Lukas, Matthias, Irenes, and, further back, his mother and his siblings and his father—
-you see, my little snowb—
Your mother... commented the presence.
-You miss them, don't y—
…A human?
-You're tired, aren't you, Amos—
This is not Ambera…
-Norus? Nor—
Panic, and fear… What were you running away from?
-need another place, a place to start ov—
That same Luxray… This is not Ambera—surely you're not… from the east?
-Welcome, stranger, to Willow Du—
Another Ninetales…
-We sure hit it off, you and I, didn't we? And you hated me at first, too-
-fire, fire, all was noise and light and screaming and blood, he had to run, he had to flee, he had to protect the children, the town was burning—
"Must you dig so deeply?" he snarled, the images and feelings and memories opening up a wound in his heart that he had hoped to ignore.
Immediately, the presence withdrew, and Amos collapsed, breathing heavily and trying to reign in his emotions: he felt like he was only a single prod away from breaking down, and he could not afford that: not now.
I am sorry. The voice sounded uncertain. You… you do not lie. Your name is indeed apt for someone who has lived a life like yours.
There was another pause.
I was wrong to ever have doubted you, though you must forgive our security measures… very rarely has anyone gotten so close to our base without actually finding it. We had to make sure…
Amos said nothing, still lying on his side, panting.
We will provide you with food shortly, so you may regain your strength and a Ghost can come and free you from your cell. On behalf of the Gold Division, I apologize deeply for your suffering.
"You must apologize for nothing," said Amos in a low voice. "It is the Master who will apologize for my suffering, when I have finished with him."
True to their word, when he woke again there was a plate of food in the corner—meat and fruit, and plenty of both. Tiredly, he dragged himself over to it and began to eat. Almost immediately he felt eyes on him again, though different from before. He swallowed what was in his mouth and said "I thank you."
"You weren't kidding, were you?" He looked over his shoulder: a Gengar was leaning against the far wall. "You gave Alastair quite the scare when he looked into your mind…"
"I bear my pain well enough," muttered Amos. "I see no need for that pain to be spread. There is enough suffering in the world already."
"Yeah, I guess so…"
"A word of warning, Gengar," said Amos, looking down at the food again. "While I fully appreciate your nature and respect you for what you are, I will not have you interfering with my shadow or coming anywhere near my tails."
"Hey, friend, don't look at me." The Gengar sounded put out. "I know enough about your kind. My cousin messed with a Ninetales once: took him a couple weeks to wake up again."
Amos smiled slightly, though he made sure the Gengar could not see it.
"That wasn't you, was it?" asked the Ghost-type slyly.
Amos nearly choked. "N-no. Erm, probably not, I suppose, sometimes my memory, er, blurs together…" He had to hold his breath to keep from laughing. So this was what that fool Szeklein had been talking about. A cousin in a powerful position…
"Right." The Gengar didn't sound entirely convinced. "Anyway, whenever you've finished, I'm here to take you out."
Amos nodded, nearly shaking with suppressed laughter as he began to eat again. By the time he had finished, he was composed again, and by the time the Gengar had grabbed him and drug him through the wall into an open hallway, his face was impassive and unreadable again. Waiting for him was an Espeon, who bowed to him as the Ghost-type let go of him and he felt himself phase into physical reality again. He bowed in return.
"Alastair, I presume," said Amos, standing again.
"I am," said the Espeon.
"I am constantly amazed with the Psychic type," Amos muttered, grinning slightly. "For, with all due respect, a creature so small, you possess a great deal of power."
"You are formidable yourself," acknowledged Alastair, tail waving slightly. "Such a deep mind—and well-fortified. Your teacher was among the best."
"She would be honored to hear that, I am sure."
Alastair purred slightly. "Well, then, Amoscandar from over-the-sea… I welcome you on behalf of our leaders to the Gold Division of the Amberan Resistance. Your aid is welcome. If you will come with me, I will get you entered into our records and placed on a Team. You will begin work immediately." The Espeon cocked his head. "I trust there's no problem with that?"
"Hardly," growled Amos. "The sooner I begin, the sooner I have my revenge."
"Very well," said the Psychic-type, turning and gracefully padding away. "If you will follow me."
Amos nodded and swept after him.
Now it would begin. Now he would fight. Now the Master would know of his atrocities, and he would pay for every single one, if it took until his dying day.
Prepare yourself, monster. This is the beginning of the end.