A scant six were gathered this time around, all of whom had studied each potential foe. There were few friends left to banter with, few enemies left to hate: they had moved on or gone home and only one trainer from each region remained.
And Arceus.
Cyrus of Sinnoh was a bit perturbed by the collection of characters who faced him. Two pokedex holders, a gym leader who had stopped her region's own revolutionary team (not that Cyrus agreed with Archie and Maxie's aims, but the only reason Winona didn't despise him just as much was because of her unfamiliarity with his cause,) a champion, and Arceus almighty. He had a distinct feeling that, were this not an organized tournament, they would just gang up on him and beat him to a bloody pulp. But he'd have to win four matches regardless of who he faced or when he faced them; at least he wasn't fighting all fifteen contestants at once.
He had to win to have his wish granted, to remake the world in his image. Maybe he didn't have the distortion world or the lake guardians or hordes of fanatical minions to do his bidding, but he had his pokemon, and he hoped they would be enough.
As Cyrus looked up at the scoreboard, half of it was unsurprising: he had somewhat expected his turn to come. He just didn't expect it to be against Arceus. At least, not yet against Arceus: he knew he'd have to beat the God of Creation sooner or later. But he thought that meant the final. Not the first round. He wondered briefly why it had even been placed in the tournament: surely, even the greatest trainers would struggle against the creator of all things! And if Arceus – damned Arceus – pulled off the likely victory, the tournament would not find the greatest of trainers, but would only prove the futility of Man.
"You know, Cyrus," the god in human form began. "I, too, once sought to shape the world in my image."
"Save it," the human who sought to supplant God and bring forth instrumentality answered. "If you had done it right the first time, I wouldn't need to defeat you today!"
The two trainers stepped into their boxes; all of Sinnoh had once been their battlefield, but today it would merely be a stadium. A stadium which consisted of a narrow bridge about the width of a large pokemon such as Snorlax. And below and around it, a black abyss which extended far deeper than the eye could see.
The judge took pains to inform the trainers that, although falling at least ten feet into the abyss meant disqualification, the pokemon would be safe and the depth was largely for show. Neither showed much emotion in response, although both hurriedly adjusted their battle plans, for even Arceus, despite the legends, was not actually omniscient.
"Fly through the darkness. I will not fall to the trio of balance!" Cyrus shouted, speaking the word 'balance' with all the contempt he held for the world in general and Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf in particular: the sort of way a hero might refer to the forces of evil. "Go, Honchkrow!" A large black bird emerged with markings which recalled either a pimp or a classy gentleman, depending on who you asked.
"I thought you had studied better. Do you truly think the lake trio are the only pokemon I command? It's time for you to learn your lesson. Come out, Dialga." A metallic blue dragon the size of Kyogre or Groudon emerged, with lighter blue patches of scales along its body somewhat resembling veins, and a back, tail, and pair of ears covered in steel spikes.
"Really, a time pun? I thought you were above that, Arceus," Cyrus said, his voice filled with such disappointment that Arceus couldn't tell if he was joking. "Honchkrow, knock it into the abyss! Superpower!" With the mix of raw audacity and force out of all proportion to its small size that typified a superhero, Honchkrow dove into its foe and attempted to push it off the ledge with its wings, but Dialga held firm.
"You know, Cyrus. It'd be easier to fight a Murkrow trick and a young trainer who hadn't yet turned his back on the world," Arceus mused. "Let it be done. Dialga, Roar of Time!"
Cyrus clasped his hands to his ears and pushed furiously to block out the sound: it was certainly tempting to be restored to a more innocent, ignorant age, but he would not return to his past, not even to escape this present. Honchkrow tried likewise, but it was not so fortunate; it had wings instead of hands and internal ears, so it could not block out the warping, time-shifting sound.
It did not become a Murkrow chick, nor even a Murkrow, despite Arceus' command. What instead happened was a profound, painful disorientation, as it saw Dialga everywhere and nowhere, the arena before it was built and the arena after it had fallen; the enormity of a total perspective vortex in the middle of a pokemon battle.
It soon snapped out of it, not from any sanity of its own, but from the voice of its trainer piercing through Dialga's roar. "Mirror Move!"
Honchkrow's move, given the shape of its mouth, might have been more aptly called "Chirp of Time," but although the sound was dramatically different, the disorientation was the same.
"Pull yourself together! Dialga, you shall not lose to Time!" Arceus' voice was loud enough to fill the arena, but the exhausted pokemon was stuck millions of years in the past. It was lucky for it that its own attack prevented it from moving, for had it moved around even a few steps in the lush mesozoic fields it saw, it surely would have fallen to its defeat. It was injured, but so was its opponent.
The crowd was lucky not to hear it, for it would have caused mass hysteria, but they wished they heard it all the same: there was something profoundly disappointing about hearing pokemon commanded to roar and watching them take damage without actually hearing a note.
Reoriented in their own time, their energy returned, two pokemon faced one another again awaiting the orders of their trainers.
"That was dangerous, Cyrus," Arceus said. "The attack didn't just affect Dialga. Had it been just a little stronger, I can only wonder what world we would live in today."
"And I would welcome it!" Cyrus shouted with victorious elation.
"Don't be so stupid! There are far more terrifying worlds I could have made, worlds which you would despise even more," Arceus said sternly. "There isn't much better than the pokemon world out there, I'm afraid. And a whole lot which could be worse."
"From your perspective, but of course it would be, for this is your own creation," Cyrus retorted.
Arceus sighed. "Want to have a vote? I doubt Platinum, Diamond, Pearl, or anyone else would be all too happy with your dream. That said, I can't risk another Roar of Time, so Dialga, hit it with a Diamond Blow!" The great dragon opened its mouth, then blew a sharp stream of diamonds at the Honchkrow, slicing through its wing. The bird half-fell, half-dove onto the bridge at the center of the arena, then climbed up with its one good wing to at least continue the match, if not to counter with some devastating strike.
Cyrus was deep in thought, wondering just what kind of strike he could use. Superpower had failed to topple it, and a Mirror Move of that attack wouldn't do much against a pokemon covered in armor like Dialga. Roost could heal it, but it could just leave it vulnerable, depending on how well it worked. Which left one option.
"Honchkrow, Brave Bird!" It wasn't the ordinary version of the attack, but that was to its advantage. Instead, because it was grounded, its attack looked more like a Dodrio's Brave Bird or maybe even a Double Edge. Honchkrow ran up to its foe with suicidal speed, through Dialga's enormous front legs in order to ram into its back left leg. The great dragon lost its balance and fell into the abyss, but Honchkrow's own momentum had given it the same fate. With its pure black color, it disappeared within seconds: Dialga took much longer to disappear, but was disqualified nearly as quickly.
Cyrus smiled. He hadn't expected to still be in this match. But Arceus had to have more dragons where that came from: it probably could choose from any pokemon, but the six it had chosen this time almost certainly included Palkia and Giratina. And he had not been prepared to counter the dragons, for he loved darkness, not ice.
But he had a quasi-dragon of his own, and one who could fly as well! "Come out, Gyarados!" Cyrus roared as a giant blue and beige serpent with eight fin-like white wings on its spine emerged from his poke ball.
Arceus was unfazed. "Interesting. I have a water dragon of my own. I wonder which of us has a stronger one. Go, Palkia," This beast was robust enough in shape that Gyarados looked like a tiny waif in comparison, with four thick legs and a long neck and head which has often been compared to male genitalia. It was silver in color with various purple markings and red eyes which sat in its head in a way which recalled a robot. Despite its slightly larger size and enormous reputation, it shrunk back from the Gyarados, Intimidated by its appearance.
"Start things off with a Spacial Rend." Arceus ordered. "Make Cyrus know the consequences of rebuilding the universe." A searing pink light sliced through Gyarados' tail, leaving behind an enormous sickle-shaped hole through the very dimension in which they lived above the left side of the bridge. Cyrus barely remained in his trainer's box, leaning over in the hopes of getting a look as to what lay on the other side, but all he could see was light.
"Gyarados, outrage! And be careful not to hit that thing!" Cyrus shouted, pointing to the strange light: the tear in the space-time continuum. The Gyarados ducked under the cosmic void, then whipped its body headfirst into Palkia's leg, but the stouter pokemon, although its leg was bleeding, did not even flinch.
"Palkia, another Spacial Rend!" Gyarados nimbly dodged the attack, which was off-target and came to the right of the bridge, forming a strange, unearthly open ring around the center of the bridge.
"Cyrus. I thought better of you. You didn't really think that attack was aimed for Gyarados, did you?"
"Save it," the Galactic head answered angrily. "Gyarados still had to get out of the way. Now use Outrage – hit it head on!" Flying as straight as a missile this time, unable to thrash without falling into another dimension, the Gyarados rammed Palkia again, headbutting it with what little force it could muster with its small size and slow, careful flight pattern.
"Palkia. Finish the job. Gravity!"
"Gyarados, be careful! Land!" Cyrus shouted desperately, but his cry was in vain. Before the great serpent could force itself to the ground, it found itself pulled in two more directions, and unable to resist the countervailing forces gave way to one of the dimensional voids. "Return!" He shouted, firing a red laser from his poke ball, but the shot missed the thin serpent and he fell to his knees in tears.
"From the day my journey began with a Magikarp..."
Arceus laughed and suddenly understood. "No wonder you hate the world. Sorry about that one," the great god said, but Cyrus was too broken by sorrow to hear it. Gracefully, the silver-haired trainer returned to its true form, bounding through the void and retrieving an unconscious Gyarados in its mouth. "Those who rule that dimension understand that pokemon are my area of influence."
It was then that Cyrus stopped crying not only on the outside, as he had for a minute, but also on the inside, as he had for years. Arceus, who he so hated, had saved his first pokemon.
"So what will you do now?" Arceus asked. It was an open question regardless of which way he interpreted it. For the battle, he had three choices – only three, for he had never trained a sixth pokemon, although one was registered as a placeholder on the roster for the final battle if he made it that far. And with the way gravity was working none of those choices were very good: he'd be lucky to do so much as take down Palkia, let alone face Giratina when it came.
For the rest of his life, he had infinite options, yet no clue whatsoever which to choose. Team Galactic had been born not to fulfill his dreams, but to destroy the world and build a new one in its place. If this world was not as cruel as he feared, if Arceus was truly kindhearted... well, it certainly raised a lot of questions as to the future of his organization. Not that he was the only factor in this. Team Rocket had outlasted Giovanni's surrender, after all. The cultish group of universal revolution he had created was probably here to stay no matter what he said or did.
As for the battle, Crobat was a flying type and the Spacial Rends had changed that from a great advantage to a horrible peril. Weavile was both a biped and fairly small, so it lacked the mass to not be knocked off by any attacks his opponent tried. Which left one choice. "Houndoom, send Palkia to hell! Thunder Fang!" A great black dog emerged, a cross between the Church Grim and a one-headed Cerberus, covered in bones and snorting out flames. Lower to the earth than Gyarados, it felt the forces of the Spacial Rends, but held firm, slowly approaching Palkia across the bridge, mouth open and fangs crackling with lightning.
"Palkia, finish this match. Spacial Rend the bridge!" Arceus shouted, the Palkia grasped space with its hands and began to pull. Houndoom broke into a sprint and bit into Palkia's knee, and before it could strike, Palkia fainted and the world it had ripped apart was restored at once.
But it would be distorted once more.
"I have shown you destruction. Now I shall show you your foolish, unworkable dream. I have sealed it away, but I bring it out for moments like this. Giratina, go," A pokemon with a vague resemblance to a Gyarados in shape emerged, but this pokemon was a ghost with a grey body, golden spiked head and neck armor, black and red stripes, and eight black tentacles which distorted reality as they moved.
Cyrus sighed. "You have done no such thing, nor will you. Even you can not peer into my mind; Giratina will create not my dream, but your nightmare. If I let it. Houndoom, Dark pulse!" It was difficult to see the attack against the night sky and the black abyss below, but the way Giratina's silver head had turned dark as it was knocked to the right and shrieked in pain revealed that the attack had made contact.
Arceus nodded. "Solid logic. Though many have sought to use logic to disprove Me outright, so I suppose just being told I'm wrong is a step up. Very well then. Giratina, Shadow Force," the God spoke, and the great dragon disappeared.
As the crowd asked what kind of attack consisted of disappearing and booed their Creator and his undead creation, Cyrus understood exactly what was going on, and he did not fear it. "Houndoom, Nasty Plot," he commanded, and Houndoom rubbed the surface of the narrow bridge with his paws, sketching out something malevolent in the ground.
And then Giratina materialized – not before him, but inside and outside him, Houndoom howling in pain as their two existences themselves collided, then running back towards its trainer, more spooked than injured by the attack.
"Dark Pulse!" Houndoom spun around to face the dragon, then spat a vortex of black light into the great god's face, engulfing it in darkness. And as it did, Cyrus began to wonder. Perhaps Arceus did not have the power to rule the world effectively. Perhaps he really could do better. Perhaps his dreams were truly his to grasp.
And then he heard the crowd.
"Get up, Giratina!"
"You can do it!"
"Don't let Team Galactic rule the world!"
"We love you Arceus!"
Many more shouts of that nature came, too numerous to name and not all of them from the Sinnoh section, although the loudest certainly were. He wanted to rebuke them – to shout about how they were fools and how even they would benefit when he remade a world of peace and harmony. But as far as they were concerned, they were already living in utopia. Instead, Cyrus froze. He was wrapped into a crisis of the will at the worst possible moment for his cause.
And then Arceus spoke his final words of the match. "Dragon Tail."
Perhaps, given orders, Houndoom could have done something. Instead, the loyal dog froze, lacking the independence of thought to even jump without a trainer's command, and was swept off into the abyss.
Two healing machines appeared next to Cyrus and Arceus as if through magic (and perhaps it truly was) containing the poke balls of Honchkrow and Houndoom on one side and Gyarados on the other. The abyss disappeared as suddenly as it had revealed itself, and an ordinary field replaced it. Arceus recalled Giratina and two trainers walked across where a bridge had stood to shake hands, still acting as though the whole stadium change was an elaborate optical illusion.
Cyrus held out his hand, not knowing what to say. Had he failed? Had he been awakened? Or did he merely need to grow stronger? Arceus offered no answer – not in that way, at least. "You're a skilled trainer and a skilled leader, but I have not seen your creations. I wonder if you truly could make a better world... show me, if you can, for I do not understand your goals."
Once, he would have jumped at the offer. This day, Cyrus merely accepted a handshake; what Arceus had not already rejected Cyrus himself was beginning to question.
"You would not be the first to persuade me, if you did," the God whispered as the two crossed paths, heading forward to each other's entrances – their exits. "Long ago, a bug collector from Kanto did just that – what was his name again, Satoshi?" Arceus mused, recalling a forgotten world, another dimension, a time so distant that even God had begun to forget.
And then Arceus departed, lest the people go overboard in response to some action, inadvertently changing human religion as the world knew it. And Cyrus – sure to be Cyrus the Great before long, the man who challenged and touched Arceus and survived – departed for Sinnoh and a long search through his own soul. And the soul the world possessed, the soul of Arceus and that man named Satoshi, the soul reflected in so many pokemon.