A Note (12/16/08):
Lordy. I almost feel bad calling this a chapter after the monster that was number two. It's more a precursor to chapter four than anything, here to pass the time until I finish the next installment, the first draft of which is about 75% complete, by my estimate. Thus far, though, I hate it to death and beyond. It'll take some time before it's finished, and even more until I can rework it into something I'm at least somewhat satisfied with.
Not to fret, though; it'll be up soon enough. If there's anyone I know I can satisfy, it's myself.
- Boss Coffee
Chapter 3: Against the Immor(t)al
There was a veritable war room gathered in Ash Ketchum's tiny dormitory. Two skilled trainers, two pokemon Gym Leaders, the world's leading authority in pokemon research, his grandson, and his oldest partner all crowded in the pale white confines of the cheap lodging. Oh, and two pikachu. We can't forget them.
Ash sighed deeply, his head resting against the wall next to his bed as he sat at the foot.
"I can't win. I can't. There's no way."
"You have to!" Richie countered vehemently, throwing himself onto the bed to Ash's right. "You can't just give up after coming this far! It's the final match!"
"He's right, ya know," Gary said dully, leaning back against the the faux-wood headboard, an oddly distant expression on his face.
"Well what else can I do?!" Ash asked angrily. "This guy's a monster!"
"There is no such thing, young man," intoned the stately Professor Rowan, sitting at the small table, "as an invincible trainer. There is always a path to victory, even if it is not readily apparent. What do you think, Sam?"
"I agree wholeheartedly," Professor Oak affirmed from across the table. "I observed Mr. Croket's entire match, and while he is assuredly a top-knotch trainer, he is not unbeatable."
"We only saw one of his pokemon, though..." Richie said worriedly, shifting uncomfortably. "Even if Ash can take down alakazam, there could be five more just like it waiting in the wings."
"Well, there's that umbreon, for one," Brock commented from his seat on the floor, poring over several sheets of paper he'd printed out from Croket's League profile. "And it only serves to make alakazam more dangerous, from what I can see here. The final round allows substitutions at will, and judging from these sheets, Croket will take full advantage of that."
"Erm, Gary," Professor Oak propositioned his grandson, "you're the strategist here. How would you counter this pair?"
For seconds, Gary said nothing, just staring blankly across the room.
"...I wouldn't," he said finally. "I couldn't. No matter how smart I fought, I don't think I could beat this guy."
"Well, that's not the attitude to have, my boy!" Rowan crowed. "You've always struck me as such a go-getter. What's come over you?"
"Nothing," Ash muttered. "Nothing's 'come over him'. He's just come to the same realization I have: Croket is way too strong."
Gary shot Ash a covert look that made it clear that that wasn't what he'd meant, but said nothing further. Then...
"What the hell's the matter with you, Ash?!"
Everyone jumped at the sound of Misty's piercing shout. The girl looked positively livid as she tromped across the four feet of floor space between her and the bed before bending over at the waist to look Ash in the eye. As he tried and failed to recoil from his friend's fierce gaze, Ash could've sworn he could see fire in her clear, green eyes.
"What happened to you?" Misty roared in Ash's face. "Where's that devil-may-care attitude that used to annoy me so much? I'd just started to come to terms with it; don't tell me it's gone already! You should be bugging the crap out of all of us with your cocky bullshit, not moping around on your bed like some half-dead magikarp! BE THE BEST. BE THE BEST. POKEMON MASTER. BLAH BLAH BLAH. What happened to that, huh?!"
For several seconds, total silence reigned in the small room as everyone stared at Misty like she had three heads. Then, suddenly, the lull ended as an odd buzzing permeated the void, and it took everyone a moment to realized the noise was coming from Rowan.
His moustache was vibrating.
The noise increased to a crescendo, until at long last the elderly professor gave in to his funny bone and broke out into a peal of laughter, a deep, baritone guffaw that seemed both perfectly natural and horrifyingly absurd coming from the mouth of the regal-looking Rowan.
In natural order, Oak fell next, his own light chuckle joining his friend's booming laugh, and the rest of the room's occupants followed in short order. Even Pikachu and Sparky seemed to join in, adding their own, pokemon equivalent of human laughter to the mix.
The laughter went on for some time, but by the time it died down, all traces of the room's former tension and gloom had died along with it.
"Thanks, Mist," Ash smiled, visibly more relaxed. "You're right. ...Even if you are totally out of your mind."
Misty grinned cheekily.
"Don't worry; I'll always be there to snap you back when you go all stupid on me. ...But try not to make this a regular occurrence, okay?"
Ash cocked an eyebrow.
"You got it. I'll never not be cocky little prick again, I swear."
The two aging professors chuckled as they observed the teenagers.
"Young love is a thing to behold, eh?" Rowan whispered to Oak under his breath.
"Now, John," Oak chided jokingly, "don't give them a hard time."
"I can hear you, you know," Ash and Misty announced simultaneously.
And with that, the group meeting quickly dissolved into casual conversation, dividing naturally into two groups. Oak, Rowan and Gary, sitting around the table, began discussing the subjects of their respective research. The "younger crowd" of Ash, Misty and Richie settled into their own conversational niche: pokemon battling. Brock lingered for a while in the battling group, but soon found himself drawn to the researchers' table.
The talking went on into the night, and before anyone realized it, it was nearing midnight.
"Ah!" Gary piped up suddenly, eyes on his Poketch. "We need to pack it in. You've gotta get some sleep, Ash."
Oak stood up, and Rowan followed him.
"I need my rest as well," the elder Oak announced. "I'm up in the box again tomorrow, and I'll need eight hours at least if I'm to suffer the company of that atrocious announcer."
"Hm. I wish I had such an excuse," Rowan joked. "Alas, I'm simply old, and need my sleep."
"Well, then join me in the box tomorrow, why don't you? By Arceus, I could use the company..."
"We should go too," Brock said, tapping Misty on the shoulder.
"Where are you guys staying?" Ash asked him.
"As Gym Leaders, we get all kinds of perks here," Brock explained, "including free lodging in the Village."
"Our rooms're way nicer than yours, too," Misty taunted.
Ash made a dismissive noise.
"That's not saying much. You couldn't find a worse room than this in a prison."
Amidst laughter, his guests said their goodbyes and filed out of the room, Gary, the last of them, closing the door behind him.
Ash got up to turn off the overhead light and tossed himself limply back onto his bed, still very much awake. Pikachu hopped up beside him, curling into his favorite sleeping position at Ash's side, and the boy stroked his friend's head absentmindedly as he relived the past day in his head.
The battle... Jeanette's words... Brock and Misty coming in out of the blue... Croket's incredible battle prowess... Misty's yelling... It all seemed rather crazy, but in the visceral soup of his ever-random thoughts, it was all starting to come together.
Ever since the beginning of his journey, he'd done his best to be the best, and he knew it, but even as he fought and trained and connected with his pokemon, he'd never bothered to take a step back and examine exactly what it was that he was doing. It worked, and that had been enough for him, but more and more, as of late, he'd found that just sprinting ahead blind was no longer enough. Ever since his first battle with Brandon back during Battle Frontier, he'd felt the burning need to look back on his journeys and experiences thus far and try to understand why he'd made it as far as he did. As much as he wanted to believe that he was special, as much as he wanted to believe that he was destined to be the best, he knew that there was something else empowering him and his pokemon that was, so far, beyond his understanding. In the few days before his match with Jeanette, he'd felt it eating at him, his desire to know, and the empty feeling he felt from not knowing. Not being cognizant of the source of one's own strength was a scary thing. Richie had given him enough of a reprieve to win the Jeanette match, but the urge had returned the second he'd witnessed the final moments of Croket's victory over tyranitar.
Luckily, Misty had been there to trigger the beginnings of an epiphany. Her outburst had caused Ash to recall a number of similar events in the recent past. Gary, psychoanalyzing him back in the lab the previous week, Jeanette, preaching on communication and understanding between trainer and pokemon, and Misty herself, yelling her head off about how he'd lost his way... As their words combined into one, cohesive thought in Ash's head, he realized that they'd all understood, consciously or unconsciously, the source of his strength better than he himself ever had. But now, he thought, a smile coming to his face, he was beginning to understand as well.
As he felt his eyelids beginning to droop, Ash felt unusually content. He felt the gentle, reassuring push of Pikachu's breathing against his side, and felt more comforted by it than ever before. As he nodded off, words drifted almost unconsciously from his lips.
"Thanks, guys," he whispered to the dark. "I'll win tomorrow for sure."
---
On the other side of Trainers' Village, in building number five, room one-seventeen, the man known as Alan Croket was sitting at the tiny table in his own cramped quarters. The small overhead light was off, leaving the dormitory lit solely by the pale moon. His woolen jacket hung limply over the chair's back, but his black tie remained noose-tight around his neck.
Across the table, back against the room's only window, sat the shadowed figure of what appeared to be a young man, his elbows on the table and his fingers steepled before his darkened face.
He shifted his hands, grasping a silver cuff link on the left wrist of his dress shirt in long fingers. He twisted it in an casual manner - clearly a habit.
Croket frowned.
"Don't you ever switch off, Marco?"
"Don't you ever turn the lights on?" The young man replied icily.
"My apologies. I'm simply accustomed to holding meetings in the dark."
The twisting continued as Marco spoke:
"I trust everything is prepared, then?"
"Of course. The stage is set, and the players have all mastered their respective parts. Everything should go off without a hitch."
"Should? Should is not acceptable. What is the problem?"
Croket chuckled darkly.
"You sound just like your father, I wish he could see you."
"I do not wish to hear of my erstwhile father. How many times must I stress this? Now... What. Is. The problem?"
"I assume that you know of the Elites' presence."
"Of course. A new development, I trust, as I was informed only yesterday."
"Well? Does it not worry you?"
"They alone are nothing we cannot handle," Marco intoned, rising from his chair and retrieving a black vest from its back. "Should a true difficulty arise, I trust you to handle it. Good night."
With those parting words, the young man crossed the room and made his exit.
As the door clicked shut, Croket sighed, pulling a silver tube from his breast pocket. There was a pronounced sucking noise as he removed the tube's cap, breaking the airtight seal.
With a 'chink' of flint being struck, he lit his cigar and slumped slightly in his chair, exhaling a thick plume of bluish smoke.
"Ah,"he sighed, a bemused expression on his face, "the impertinence of youth..."
---
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS IT: THE FINAL MATCH OF THIS YEAR'S INDIGO CONFERENCE TOURNAMENT! HERE ARE YOUR FINALISTS! THE RED TRAINER- ALAN CROKET OF RAFFELESIA CITY!"
The perpetually calm Croket entered the stadium amidst uproarious cheers. Yesterday's clean sweep had elevated him from "skilled trainer" to "living legend" in the eyes of the fans.
"...AND THE GREEN TRAINER- ASH KETCHUM OF PALLET TOWN!"
Surprisingly enough, as Ash and Pikachu stepped out onto the field, the applause was just as great, if not greater than it had been for Croket. He was the underdog, and Kanto's native son, and that alone was enough to endear him to those in the audience. Though they cheered heartily for Croket, their souls lay with Ash. It was his victory today that they truly desired.
As the two trainers took their respective places at opposite sides of the large battlefield, the referee dictated the terms of the match.
"This is a full match, each trainer will use six pokemon with no time limit! Full substitutions are allowed! Red trainer, release your pokemon!"
Croket nodded to the referee, pulling a Poke Ball from within his jacket and tapping the release button, enlarging it to its full size.
"Let's go, my friend," Croket intoned quietly to the Poke Ball in his hand before casting it out into the field.
The ball split, and white light cascaded from within its confines, spilling out onto the dirt and shaping itself into a glowing, humanoid form. As the glow faded, the amorphous particles became the solid form of a lanky alakazam.
"Araaa-kazam!" The psychic-type shouted as he emerged. His voice came out as a wheezy growl, as though he were unaccustomed to using it.
"CROKET HAS ONCE AGAIN SELECTED HIS TRUSTY ALAKAZAM! IT'S ONE OF THE ONLY THREE POKEMON HE'S SEEN FIT TO USE IN THIS TOURNAMENT SO FAR, AND IT'S THE POWERHOUSE THAT WON HIM YESTERDAY'S MATCH ALL BY ITSELF! HOW WILL ASH REPLY?"
Ash grit his teeth. He'd known alakazam would be up first; he'd come into the match expecting it, but up until the very moment of its release, he had been hoping it might be something else. Alas, it wasn't so. What could very well be the hardest single battle he'd ever fought was now before him.
There was no backing down now.
"Go, Tauros!" Ash yelled, hurling his own Poke Ball.
The Poke Ball ejected Tauros, who bellowed his own arrival as he took form on the field. The bullish pokemon snorted loudly, stamping his hooves and whipping himself with his three tails as he glared aggressively at his opponent.
"AND ASH PULLS TAUROS! IT'S THE MAIN SOURCE OF PHYSICAL POWER ON ASH'S TEAM; HE'S GOING TO TRY SMASHING THROUGH ALAKAZAM WITH FORCE!"
---
On the left side of the stadium, on one of the lower rows, close to the field, sat Misty, Brock, Gary and Richie. Professor Rowan was absent, having chosen to join Professor Oak in the announcer's box.
The four youths looked down at the field, bearing matching determined expressions. This was it, the moment of truth for they and their friend both. Today's match meant the difference between "Ash Ketchum, Champion" and "Ash Ketchum, runner-up", and though they wanted victory for their friend, of course, a championship win for Ash was somewhat validating for each of them as well. It was proof of something, of their own efforts, as well as Ash's.
Misty and Brock's endless coaching, Gary's loss to Ash, Richie's loss to Croket... Each of them had staked a part of their souls on the skill of the young man now standing on the battlefield. His victory was their victory, his loss their loss, and at that moment, each of the four wanted nothing more than to win.
---
"Begin!" Shouted the referee.
The moment the word left the ref's lips, the alakazam disappeared.
Ash's eyes widened.
"Tauros, kick straight backwards, now!"
The Wild Bull Pokemon reacted quickly, shifting his weight to his front legs and hefting his rear ones into the air, thrusting them out for a double kick.
The alakazam appeared less than a second after, directly behind Tauros, and caught two hooves in the chest for his troubles. The psychic-type, of a species not exactly known for physical strength and endurance, was thrown backwards by the blow, sailing a full ten feet straight back before hitting the dirt.
"WHAT REFLEXES! REACTING WITH A SPEED SUGGESTING TELEPATHY, ASH GUIDES TAUROS IN INTERCEPTING THE TELEPORTING ALAKAZAM! IT'S HURLED OFF ITS FEET BY A POWERFUL KICK! IS IT THE END ALREADY? ...NO! ALAKAZAM IS GETTING TO ITS FEET! IT DOESN'T EVEN LOOK INJURED!"
"Kazam," the Psi Pokemon chanted, levitating himself back to a stand. With a wave of his spoons, he dispelled the golden aura that had surrounded him at the second before the blow.
Ash clenched a gloved fist. Barrier. He should've known.
"I see you've been watching my matches," Croket called to Ash from across the battlefield. "That's good; preparedness is essential."
"Yeah," was all Ash could think to respond with.
In truth, he hadn't seen any of Croket's matches. Luckily, Richie had been keeping tabs on him, and, of course, had witnessed his battle style first hand, so he'd been able to supply Ash with all the information he needed. This included Croket's typical strategies, such as Teleporting directly behind his opponent and communicating with alakazam via its telepathy, negating the need for verbal commands.
"Unfortunately, that won't be enou-"
Alakazam disappeared again.
"-gh to beat us."
As Ash yelled for Tauros to dodge, alakazam appeared directly above him, about twenty feet in the air, eyes closed and spoons crossed in an "X" before his face. A gently pulsing orb of bluish-white energy materialized over the crossed spoons, and, his eyes snapping open, the Psi Pokemon slashed downward with both arms, hurling the Focus Blast at Tauros.
All Ash could do was watch as the fighting-type attack shot down at Tauros and collided with the rise of his back, smashing the bull off his feet and onto the dirt as dust billowed outward from the force of the impact.
"ALAKAZAM TELEPORTS INTO THE AIR ABOVE TAUROS! IT CAN'T REACT FAST ENOUGH TO DODGE FOCUS BLAST, AND GETS HAMMERED TO THE FLOOR! IT'S OUT LIKE A LIGHT!"
"Tauros is unable to battle! Alakazam wins!"
Ash cursed. That had hardly gone well. Still, Tauros had landed a hit, and that counted for something.
"Tauros, good work! Return." Ash commanded, recalling the Wild Bull. "Pikachu, you're up!"
"Pi-KA!" Pikachu cheered, springing out from behind Ash. He'd missed his chance to fight last time, and the battler in Pikachu was aching to get in the action once again. Nonetheless, apprehension was clearly visible in the electric Mouse Pokemon's bright, round eyes. Alakazam was freakish. This would not be easy.
But then again... that was the way he liked it. For all his diplomatic tendencies and clear, rational thinking, Pikachu was a prideful little thing. He would not show weakness. He would not show fear. Not since...
Since when?
Oddly, it was a question that the little electric-type found he could not answer. How long had he been travelling with Ash? When did this change come over him? Sure, he'd be adamant about his refusal to mutate into a ugly brown rat since the day he'd left the egg, but when did his personal strength become so important to him? Beating opponents. Winning matches. Badges. Leagues. When did it turn from "helping out my buddy" to "I'm going to win, no matter what"? Survival. Eating. Reproduction. These were the things that were supposed to be important to a Pokemon, not learning to split a log in half with one's tail.
And yet, there it was. Curious.
Still, now was not the time to ponder such things.
Pikachu dropped down on all fours and growled lowly at his mustachioed enemy, electricity sparking in his ruby cheeks.
"Oh-ho."
Pikachu's expression changed from determination to surprise in a heartbeat. It was in his head. The spoon-bender was in his head.
It was almost imperceptible, but the alakazam's eyes narrowed as he thought-spoke his next words.
"Yes... yes I am. Musing on the workings of our own low-powered brain, are we, little one? A word from the wise: Assuming that you will eventually realize what is going on in your head, you may yet find that the truth is not to your... Ah, pardon me. It seems that I am to crush you now."
With that, the alakazam snapped out his right arm, pointing the spoon clutched in his hand at Pikachu, who was instantly engulfed in a blue aura of psychic energy.
Ash cursed. Confusion. He was really growing to hate psychics.
"Pikachu, hit it with Thunder!"
Pikachu attempted to nod in response, and failed. He tried to verbalize his confirmation... and failed. In the end, he settled for doing nothing and tried blasting alakazam with Thunder.
As it turned out, the large release of electrical energy required so little actual movement on Pikachu's part that the attack was performed successfully, and a huge bolt of yellow lightning arced across the field toward the alakazam, leaving the tainted scent of burnt ozone in its wake.
"IT'S A LIGHTNING-FAST THUNDER FROM PIKACHU TO COUNTER ALAKAZAM'S CONFUSION, BUT IT SEEMS THE PSI POKEMON'S LIGHTNING-FASTER! THE ELECTRIC ASSAULT'S DEFLECTED BY ANOTHER CONFUSION!"
As the bolt of lightning twisted away from its target, Croket allowed himself a small smirk, a modest show of emotion, and transmitted one final, mental command to his pokemon.
A moment later, Pikachu felt an odd jerking sensation in the pit of his stomach, and before he or Ash could realize what was happening, the electric mouse was soaring up into the air, carried by Confusion's power.
"Pikachu!" Ash cried. "Thunderbolt it, quick!"
Still immobile, Pikachu concentrated the electrical energy in his cheek sacs into a single, refined bolt that hurtled from his body and toward the alakazam with even greater speed than the previous attack.
Once again, with barely a moment's effort on alakazam's part, the lighting arced harmlessly away from the psychic-type, hitting the edge of the diffusion field and dispersing. That accomplished, it turned back to Pikachu, ready to finish him off.
To the alakazam's surprise, however, Pikachu was gone.
"AFTER ANOTHER UNSUCCESSFUL ATTACK, PIKACHU IS RECALLED! WHAT'S ASH GONNA TRY NEXT?!"
Ash tapped the release button on a familiar, lightning-marked Poke Ball, and, in a stream of white light, Pikachu was released from the confines of his spherical, red-and-white hell. As he emerged onto the turf next to Ash, he shot his trainer a throughly disgruntled look, followed by a modest squeak of thanks.
"You're glad I kept this now, aren't you?" Ash queried jokingly, tossing the ball to himself before clipping it back onto his belt. "Okay. New tactic! Let's go, Charizard!"
Feeling a sudden swell of nostalgia, Ash twisted his cap backward and kicked up his left foot before pitching Charizard's Poke Ball into the field as though it were a metallic baseball.
"IT'S CHARIZARD, FOLKS! EACH TRAINER HAS FIELDED THEIR TOP BATTLER! THIS IS SHAPING UP TO BE THE MATCH OF A LIFETIME!"
As Charizard emerged, Croket, near imperceptibly, smiled.
I've been waiting for this...
"Fight at your peak, boy!" The woolen-suited man shouted across the open field at Ash in what might have been his most expressive tone ever.
"Oh, we will! Don't you worry about that!" Ash yelled in response, the very sight of his prize fighter restoring his confidence to its utmost level. Charizard, perfectly in tune with Ash's mood, let out a defiant roar of his own.
"Charizard, Flamethrower!"
The dragon reacted quickly, thrusting his horned head toward the alakazam, his jaw agape. The Flamethrower shot from his throat in a concentrated stream, quickly closing the distance and striking, dead-on, the spot where alakazam was no longer standing.
"Damn telporter," Ash growled. "Behind! Get 'em with your tail!"
Charizard whirled, intending to swing his tail in a full 360-degree arc for a max-power hit, but only got halfway there, as alakazam appeared, not behind, as Ash had predicted, but directly in front of the Flame Pokemon.
The lucky tail swing collided with the Psi Pokemon's right side, and he was bowled over by the blow's power. Looking rather annoyed, he halted the momentum of his fall and levitated back to his feet, once again dispelling a Barrier. Not even pausing, he continued to float, drifting backward without actually moving, his feet less than an inch off the ground. The motionless gliding of the psychic was oddly perturbing, and it distracted Ash from commanding Charizard long enough for alakazam to begin his next offensive. Crossing his spoons once more, the wily pokemon pushed his psychic energies through his favored talismans and outward, manifesting them as physical force. Streamers of psychedelic colors spiraled outward toward Charizard, congealing into a more focused beam as they went.
"ALAKAZAM DODGES FLAMETHROWER, BUT GETS TAGGED BY CHARIZARD'S TAIL! BARRIER SAVES IT YET AGAIN, AND NOW ITS GOING FOR A PSYBEAM!"
Charizard froze, surprised, but Ash's sharp command rang clearly in his ear:
"Counter with Dragonbreath!"
The Flame Pokemon growled affirmatively and began charging the attack. Strange, greenish-yellow fire began licking out from between his clenched fangs as the powerful dragon flames built up in his mouth. Charizard flexed his neck muscles experimentally, feeling his throat contract along with his sinewy neck.
"Charizard, now!" Ash urged.
Not yet, said a voice in the dragon's head. The pressure is not enough.
The Psybeam was close now.
Charizard's tightly shut jaw shook, his neck bulging in a pulsing spasm. "Like the heart of one's prey a moment before death," was the Charizard conventional wisdom. This was it. A perfect Dragonbreath.
His jaw snapped open and a high-pressure blast of dragonfire shot out like an iron ball from the mouth of a cannon. A huge, rushing sound accompanied the attack's release as the stream of draconic flames came together, seemingly spontaneously, to shape a massive, whirling orb before blasting off across the field.
The powerful Dragonbreath smashed into Psybeam, scattering the colorful attack as though it were nothing. At full power, the attack was strong, and the dragon fire it used had the unique property of affecting nearly every substance as though it were dry wood. Still, it was not without flaws. It was slow-moving in comparison to other fire-based attacks, and a simple matter to dodge.
"DRAGONBREATH BREAKS PSYBEAM! IT'S HEADING FOR ALAKAZAM!"
The alakazam began Teleport, and then several things happened in rapid succession. As he teleported away, and the ball of dragonfire passed harmlessly over the spot where he'd been standing, Ash shouted for another Flamethrower. Charizard complied, quickly firing a thick stream of fire straight after the Dragonbreath.
It was a lucky shot.
Alakazam warped back into existence directly behind the Dragonbreath orb, and the Flamethrower hit him dead-on in the stomach. A last-second Light Screen, molded like Exeggutor's, repelled the attack, but the Flamethrower also had the unfortunate effect of throwing alakazam backwards and into the rear of the slow-flying Dragonbreath attack.
Pinned between dragonfire and Flamethrower's superheated stream, the Light Screen shattered. Charizard's two attacks made contact, followed by a huge explosion as Dragonbreath reacted to Flamethrower and almost seemed to pop like a balloon. A giant balloon. Made of plastique.
As waves of force and fire cascaded around the battlefield, Croket roared something indistinct over the din, and the announcer roared something indistinct over Croket.
"-BLAH BLAH BLAH AMAZING! BLAH BLAH INCREDIBLE BLAH BLAH BLAH!"
Dust from the dirt field filled the dispersion barrier, obscuring the battlers from the onlookers' view. Occasionally, a spurt of flame or blast of force would collide with the anti-energy field and scatter, giving some audience members a lightshow, but nothing could pull their attention from the field now. Somewhere inside the tempest of dust that was the barrier, they were certain that the battle had been decided.
---
Up at the head of the stands, beneath the giant stone bowl bearing Moltres's flame, one man watched the proceedings below with particular intensity, his hazel eyes glinting under the brim of a black golf cap. Absurdly for the summer season, he was swathed in a heavy, brown overcoat that covered him from head to toe, and sweat rolled in heavy beads down his handsome face.
Lord, maybe the old bag was right... it's sweltering out here... What a move, though... Dragonbreath and Flamethrower, I'll have to remember that...
---
On the field, the brownish screen of dust was finally starting to settle, and Ash ground his teeth impatiently as he peered worriedly into the arena. Charizard could handle himself in a tangle uncommanded, there was no doubt about that, but against a psychic opponent, there could be trouble.
On the other side of the field, Croket had once again adopted his arms-crossed pose. His strong jaw was set, his eyes uncharacteristically hard.
Visibility returned at last, and the scene before the two trainers was not quite what either of them had expected.
Charizard and alakazam stood toe-to-toe in a position of absolute standoff. Charizard's right hand was curled tightly around his opponent's neck, deadly claws threatening to remove the Psi Pokemon's throat at any moment. Alakazam, likewise, pressed his spoon against Charizard's long neck, a long, curved blade of purpleish psychic energy extending from the utensil in a potentially decapitating Psycho Cut.
"IT'S A DEADLY STANDOFF!" The announcer screamed. "NEITHER TRAINER SEEMS TO WANT TO MAKE A MOVE!"
"This is a dangerous situation," Professor Oak said anxiously. "One false move, and we could have a fatality on our hands."
So, this is the extent of their abilities... Croket smiled darkly, satisfied that his earlier analysis of Ash's strength was correct.
"Tzu," he at last addressed his alakazam by name. "That's far enough."
"Zamu," the psychic-type affirmed, removing his spoon from Charizard's neck.
Charizard, in response, clenched his fist for the final blow, expecting a satisfying crunch as he finished his opponent off, but none came. In shock, the Flame Pokemon realized that he was completely immobilized.
"Charizard!" Ash yelled. "What are you doing? Tackle it, now!"
"Your charizard has been Disabled," Croket informed him. Even from across the field, without so much as shouting, the man's deep, commanding voice reached Ash's ear. "It cannot move, I assure you. Now, then... this is as good a time as ever to inform you that my offer still stands."
Croket reached into his jacket and removed another ball, enlarging it. Unlike the standard variety, this one was matte black with odd, spiraling, grey ridges swirling around the outer casing. A bold, stylized, red "R" adorned its upper half.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ash as he realized what it was that Croket was holding.
"That's a Dark Ball! You're-"
"...Not 'Alan Croket'," the grey-suited man interrupted, finishing Ash's sentence and hurling the Dark Ball into the air. "Go, Articuno!"
And then all hell broke loose.
