A.N: I must preface this week's installment with a plea that any spelling errors be graciously overlooked. I have sprained my wrist rather horribly and the bandage keeping it from (evidently) disintegrating makes it very, very hard to type. But I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. Also, the request for teachers is still up. Yes, even if you have an OC already you can submit. And who said drama was limited to students?

X-X

It is impossible to understand ideas without understanding their opposite. There is no light without darkness. There is no sorrow without joy. There is no weariness without excitement. There is no hatred without love. There is, of course, no good without evil.

People, Orson knew, were just like that. It was the basis behind all of his beliefs. He knew that everything happened for a reason. No matter the wrong done to him, he held that it would make him better in some way, even if it took a very long time. There was no kindness without first knowing abject cruelty. There was no sweetness or happiness or humor without an understanding of their brazen, sword-blade opposites. It was because of this that he was a good person. He understood what a bad person was, an aspired to be the opposite. Sometimes, though, sometimes. Sometimes that copper hatred he refused to acknowledge, sometimes it got out and spoke things he was not willing to say.

"Well," he coughed, his throat constricted with the things that poisoned him. He frowned and placed his hand on his bouncing knee. "I'm positive that everything will work out just fine, just you wait 'n' see, if so you please," he declared, but his eyes watched the pedestal where Tommi was retrieving a thick stack of papers. There, in those white papers dyed black with entwined inscriptions, there his fate had been decided. The muttering that had rippled across the room like chains stopped as the grey-haired boy cleared his throat and tossed his hair to the side, peering at the page in front of him.

"Friends," he called, grinning, "Enemies. Frenemies. Those of you who listen exclusively to country music," he said, and paused, holding up the clipboard that set their paths, "In my hands I hold your futures. You will be matched up with one other person, as I have said. All those battling will have two pokemon. If you had more, we chose two for you. If you had less, we broke into several day cares and storage facilities and took one," he beamed, and chuckled when this was met with an astonished gasp. "Actually, we just asked your families to send one. Well, except there were a few we couldn't get in touch with. Then we did do all that stuff I said we did," he assured them blandly, before continuing, "You will hear your name called, and then a letter. Go to the corresponding table and receive the pokemon. You will have two minutes to memorize their moves before we send you on your way. An upperclassmen must, I repeat, must supervise any battles. Or I'll personally stake you with a desk lamp or something equally unpleasant. The battle will decide who takes their pokemon back to their dorm and who has to suffer the consequences. And I assure you, if you fail this test," he paused, and his soft eyes flashed iron, "There will be dire consequences."

Tarrow stood up and took the clipboard from Tommi, cleared his throat, and with his deep smoke voice began, "The first pair is one Ms. Kelly Link against a certain Mr. Steve Frendt. Table A," he paused and waited for the two to stand before continuing. Orson gripped his knee with impatience. There seemed to be no logic to how the pairs were set up. It wasn't alphabetical. From the looks of the people who had been paired up already, it was singularly diabolical. There were no notes of encouraged acknowledgement. Everyone was battling an unknown enemy, and it felt like flying blind.

Slowly the room dissolved into seven lines in front of a row of black tables, the only talking a hushed murmuring of pathetic dissent. Orson heard his name called, and it echoed in his ears like an eternal thunderclap. He stood and patted Jarel on the back, giving him an encouraging smile. He peered across the room and watched a slim girl unfold herself and walk towards the same table as he was headed. He grinned at her half-heartedly, taking his place in line next to her.

He did the gentlemanly thing and held out his hand. "Why hello, my soon-to-be opponent. I do so hope this ain't gonna come a'tween us, as I have not yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and should like to in the future. Name's Orson. Orson Leander Raymond, if you so please," he announced, shaking her warm palm. She smiled sort of shyly and replied, "Kratch. Uh, Kratch Farcett," she elucidated, and then wrapped her arms around her body, bouncing up and down on her heels. Orson grinned widely and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, Miss Farcett, I imagine I will treat your pokemon with the same, if not better, attitude that I treat my own. I assure you, they are in good hands," he promised, and she looked away, her ocean-mist eyes dark with brooding. She realized she had not reciprocated the thought, so she smiled sadly and stated, "Same here," and meant it. Orson grinned broadly as they reached the front of the line. "Don't you worry, Miss Farcett, everything will be alright," he assured her, and handed his trainer card over to one of the two upperclassmen behind the desk.

The tall, shorthaired girl took it from him with a practiced grace, as the short, chattering boy next to her fumbled with Kratch's. "I am Caen," she stated, as she scribbled notes onto a clipboard. She jerked her pen towards the boy. "This is Rhyme. If we are not here when you finish, find us and tell us the results of the battle," she instructed in a monotone to Orson, while Rhyme made a poem to tell Kratch the very same information. Caen sent the large boy a look, spearing him with her dark eyes, and he nodded to show he understood. She filled out a few more pages, then handed him a packet with information on the pokemon he was about to receive. Orson choked a little. The packet didn't have any sense of direction. The moves were all hidden within the eternal cramped writing, in between completely useless data, such as preferred food or habitat. He started scanning the pages desperately. He would temporarily be the sole proprietor of a Luxio named Lux and a Skitty named Skit. He glanced up briefly to Kratch flipping quickly through the pages, biting her lip. He refocused, praying he would find what he needed in the time allotted.

When Caen called his time, taking the packet from him, he wasn't sure he was ready. Kratch, meanwhile, returned her stack of papers with a certain confidence that made Orson singularly uncomfortable. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and felt the copper sting of self-doubt. He grinned shakily as Caen filled out some more papers, her keen eyes scrolling like nails across the black ink. She said something to the porter behind her, he disappeared, and she filled out some more papers. Orson just stood there and bobbed his head in a friendly manner, as if he had any idea what to do. Behind her, the sky had a particular sense of being both dark and light. Despite the cloud cover, it was still well lit outside. Orson snuck a look at his watch. It was almost five. He sighed. Supper was supposed to happen at five, but from the looks of things, he wouldn't be eating for quite some time.

The sprightly porter sprang back into place, handing her a fresh box of pokeballs, divided by neat little pieces of cardboard. She ran her long fingers over the box until she found Kratch's name and then handed him the two red and white orbs, sending him a look. "Of course," she said, "I am to remind you that, should any irreparable damage occur to the pokemon over which you are presiding, you will be held responsible. It would not be a good thing," she affirmed, and he nodded, tucking them into his belt. He looked up to Kratch bobbing her head to something Rhyme had said as she too gently put away what she had received. Caen cleared her throat and stated, "Tarrow will be overseeing your battle. Follow him," she commanded, before calling, "Next."

Tarrow appeared like blue mist, extending one hand to them empirically. "Challengers! Afraid of what might occur? Unsure of the outcome? No need to fear," he purred, and made a deck of cards materialize in his left pal. He shuffled them expertly and held it out to Kratch, promising, "One time only free offer," while she took the top one awkwardly. She glanced at it, furrowed her brow and showed him. He grinned. "Ah, the Chariot," he began, before Orson stopped him.

"I am sorry to interrupt, sir, as I am sure the card which the fine lady has chosen does indeed possess legitimate data on the outcome of the future, if you so please, but we do need to git a move on, as I would like for this debacle to be over as soon as possible," Orson supplied. Tarrow sent him a very irritated look, but then swirled in his blue robes, leading them out of the room, chattering to Kratch the entire time.

"You see, the Chariot represents victory, control, and an assertive sense of success. It's all in the Fool's Journey – which is, of course, a metaphysical representation of the path towards self-actualization. It is associated with the number…" he trailed off as they arrived in an open area. He sighed, clapping his hands. "I am afraid I do carry on, my dear, and I must address the task to which I was assigned. Challengers, take your places on opposite sides of the battling area," he called, and Kratch and Orson obediently trudged away from each other until it seemed an appropriate distance. Around them, other pairs were setting up, the large expanse of grass between buildings providing a perfect area to battle.

Kratch restlessly fumbled a pokeball into the air, and with a flash of red a happy little Lotad materialized before her, taking his battle position. Kratch bit her lip as he saw his trainer across the way and gave a little croak of confusion. He darted his black eyes towards the ball in her hand and let out a little sad chirp. Kratch wanted to cry as Lux gazed at her and let out a mournful, betrayed whine, as if she had ripped his heart out. Orson had a cracked smile on his face, as if he was looking for the good in the situation but it was getting hard to do. Kratch balled her fist as she tasted blood and knew she understood how he felt.

"Lux," Orson called out, glad the nickname was easy to remember, "Use Spark," he commanded. The little canine gave him a look, appraising him, and then twisted to face the Lotad, his black and blue fur glittering with charge. Kratch bit her lip harder and had to search before she remembered the little pokemon's nickname. "B-Bardo! Um," she paused and shook herself, regaining her confidence. She didn't have time to freak out like this. Lux was almost about to fire. "Use Bubble Beam," she hissed, and instantly a stream of bubbles rushed out of the tiny pokemon's maw, springing out to meet the oncoming river of electric. As soon as they touched, Kratch could hear the steam created hiss into the grey skies, but Lux had charged much longer than Bardo, and it showed. The balls of light darted like glass into the tiny creature, who simply closed his eyes and accepted it as if it was his duty. He looked up to the gently smiling Orson with a certain degree of hurt, and let out a chirp, as if he was asking if the nightmare was over it was time to wake up. Only Kratch heard, and she pressed her fingernails into her palm. What had happened to her certainty? Lux just shook his head at her and sat down, as if wondering why she had chosen to be an evil person, why she had chosen to trade him without asking for his consent. Kratch wanted to sprint towards him and hug him and promise to never leave him again, but Tarrow stood in the middle, watching the battle. He would stop her. The only way to get Lux back was to win. She had to, but her heart hurt like poison. She wanted to leave. She wanted to go home. She wanted to restart and never choose Frost School for The Exceptionally Talented. She wanted to return to her little green home and never think about battling or training again.

Orson didn't think. He couldn't think. If he thought, it would taste like copper flower petals. It would taste like an empty ocean and forgetting to breathe. He lived to protect and he promised himself that sometimes it hurt to protect the ones you love. He drew a breath and murmured, "Alrigh' then, Lux, use Thunder Fang, finish him off quicklike," and the Luxio's blue jaws began to glow with power. He raced across the field, dodging the Bubble Beam sent his way, his black paws slamming into the grass so he could crash directly into the smaller creature, his teeth clamping around the Lotad's neck, sending vicious lines of electricity all around Bardo's body. The creature let out a deep, sorrowful croak that ripped Kratch's heart into shreds. Lux looked up and stared, confused, into her eyes. He whined, just once, and then dejectedly trudged back to Orson. Bardo let out a final shudder and fainted, and Kratch wanted to faint with him, if only to get out of where she was. She recalled him back into the pokeball, and fumbled for the next one, trying not to think about the way the Lux's whine sounded, like a tumble from a falling piano, like the final notes played before the grave is filled.

She didn't even realize what she was doing, but she knew that she'd let out Orson's next pokemon. His eyes widened as he saw who it was and the grin dropped off his face. The Teddiursa put one paw to her mouth and sat down, whimpering. She shivered at the sight of Kratch, mewling in despair. "Ursula," Kratch called, but it got caught in her throat. All she could see were Lux's lantern eyes, filled with quiet hurt. All she could see were Ursula's deep brown eyes, filled with shivering terror. All she could see were Orson's falling petal eyes, filled with uncertain, quaking horror. All she could hear was her heart and that one whine from Lux, that one helpless note filled with quivering finality, as if she had signed over her soul, her morals, her love, her everything for some stupid school, for some stupid battle, for her stupid pride. She couldn't hurt him. She couldn't hurt Ursula. She couldn't hurt Orson. She couldn't hurt anyone.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to hold her shaking in. "I forfeit," she murmured, and then repeated it louder, so that her crackling ember voice broke against the empty sky. Tarrow ducked his head in acknowledgement and held out one card towards the boy, claiming him the victor in a somber tone as if he took no pleasure from the action. Kratch recalled Ursula and miserably stepped towards Tarrow, plodding behind him as they made their silent way back to the cafeteria. Orson paused as he opened the door, and gave her a look she would never forget. "Thank you," he said, in a voice like the clouds across the sky. She just nodded and bit her lip until she tasted that familiar bittersweet metallic tang.

She slid in front of the line and reported the results quietly, handing over the two pokeballs. Orson got his back. She did not. He shook his head and held out his hand. "I cannot thank you enough," he murmured, and she felt like crying again, "I will not easily forget what you have done for me," he promised, before Tarrow led him away to wherever the victors got to go.

She chose an empty table and sat down, wishing her blood didn't leak with copper sorrow.

xxxxxxx

Nathan rolled the pokeball that was not his over his fingers like some sick ritual. He watched the red and white spin and wondered why his mind felt like it was being suffocated with snow. Across the field his Haunter materialized in that familiar red flash, and the deep buzzing in his head got louder, like someone was stifling his thoughts with downy-soft grey cotton. He coughed once and let out the Charmeleon called Pyro he had acquired. He clenched his fist as the pressure inside of his head pushed outwards with cruel fury. His nails bit into his palm and the blood that trickled across his knuckles made him think of nothing else but an open casket and a vase of white flowers. He wanted to be angry or nervous or upset but the thick droning in his head obliterated everything.

Nathan looked down. The pokeball that was not his was covered in his blood. When had that happened? He blandly wiped it off and pressed the button, letting out the other pokemon. He watched it appear. A Cubone. His name was Kota, Nathan knew, but it seemed unimportant. Nathan coughed and examined his palm. Yes. It was bleeding. The deep smoke fog in his head got thicker. He couldn't remember where he was or why everything hurt. All he knew was that the two creatures across the field made his heart twist like ivory knots. All he knew was that something was very, very wrong inside of him, and that he should care about it. He didn't. He didn't care about anything except the way his blood dripped in slow heartbeats onto the grass below. He loved that, somehow. The blood wasn't his anymore either. It was the Earth's. That felt right. He didn't deserve it. The smog in his head told him so.

Tobi faced Nathan and narrowed his eyes. His mind clicked through reels of information he'd recorded and gave the Haunter and Murkrow names: Keno and Akira. Everything was crystal glass sharp, like the edge of pity's sword. His brain fled through battle plans and strategy, but he knew it was going to be based on luck. He flicked through reels of his previous battles and wished it could be different, even though he knew it couldn't be. He didn't want to hurt his pokemon. He would make their ending as swift and painless as possible. If he did not win, he was certain the pain they would be in later would be much worse. It was all for them. In the back of his mind, in sepia, his memories twirled through all the times they had spent together. He hoped Pyro and Kota would understand. He did it for them. He did it for them. Nothing else mattered.

Nathan cracked open his mouth and barked, "Pyro, use Smokescreen," as if everything was all right, as if this was a normal battle. The red lizard turned and regarded him mildly, seemed to shrug a little, and followed the instructions. He lit a fire in the back of his mouth until it smoked fiercely, and let out the stream of thick spite. Nathan blinked and watched it fill the area. It looked just like what was inside of his head: sheer nothingness. Nathan watched and wondered what would happen if he lost. It didn't seem to matter anymore. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. It was as if he had chained a great beast and his subconscious was unwilling to free it. It was as if he knew that the moment his clarity returned, it would not be his blood spilt. But then, as soon as it touched the air, it wouldn't be anyone's blood at all.

Tobi responded instantly, although Nathan couldn't see it. His mind searched through files until he found Keno's moves. "Sneak through the smoke and use Lick," Tobi growled quietly, his blue eyes harsh with planning. Keno looked ready to challenge that idea, but Tobi stared him down. He had to be cruel because it was the nicest thing to do. Being unrealistically sweet or forgiving at this point was ill advised. He would take down Pyro as quickly as he could, and then Kota would follow. He would win and then he would take them home and nurse them back to health with his own hands, he would show them he loved them, he would let them sleep in his bed, he'd give them sweets and toys and make their favorite meals and regain their trust. He just had to destroy them first.

His ears echoed with the sound of Pyro's cry. He knew the noise intimately. That was the sound of his loved one's pain. The stealth attack he'd planned against his own heart had worked perfectly. He could tell. For no reason he could see, momentarily the constant reel in his head flickered into darkness.

Nathan watched Keno appear and run its poison tongue on the struggling lizard. He smiled a little. They were like two young children playing, except in the end the only person that was to blame, the only person that got hurt, the only person playing at all was Nathan. They were so sweet in their illusion. It didn't matter that some iron chain was loosening like grief inside of his body. It didn't matter that slowly, slowly, a thick black tail swiped across darkness inside of his mind. "Pyro," he called sweetly, "Use Dragon Rage," he sang, and suddenly from the red maw fire sprang like vengeance. It seared across Keno and burned away the smoke. Nathan looked down at his other palm. When had he cut into that one? And why didn't it hurt the way it was supposed to? And why did he get the impression that something, something important, had snapped into pieces and had blow away, like the petals in her hair the day she died? He remembered that: the way they'd flown like summer and left him, the way they tumbled like spun sugar into an open sky. He could feel them inside of his head. They stopped him from thinking.

When had Keno started to attack? Was that Shadow Punch? It glanced off of Pyro's skin like venom off of sand. He could see the mark it made. He felt something too, looking into his Haunter's eyes. It was guilt. It was betrayal. It was a satisfied horror that he was, in fact, staying calm because the alternative made him think of the blood dripping from his skin like petals.

"Use Dragon Rage again," Nathan said, but it sounded like nontoxic oil-based paint, like a slick of color almost recalled. Pyro did not listen. Pyro, Nathan figured, had more on his mind. Like not fainting. Like why his owner had shunned him in this way. Like what was for dinner. Or, Nathan thought, maybe he just did not like using the same move twice. Tobi's voice rang through his ears. Hypnosis. That was probably a bad sign.

Keno's mouth opened and silence hurtled across the grass. Nathan couldn't hear it, of course. The noise was far too high for humans. The brick-colored creature's light blue eyes began to drift shut. Now, it seemed, was as good a time as any for a nap. He curled up and promptly fell asleep. Tobi watched the process with a sick clarity. He had just put his own pokemon to sleep. Next he would eat away at the poor thing's life, one move at a time. "Nightmare," he commanded, watching as the Haunter carried out the order. He felt the impact in his chest. The nightmare inflicted whirled on repeat in his head. Pyro kicked and wailed but did not wake. Toni couldn't tell if he was happy about that or not. "Lick," he added, as the Nightmare continued. Quick. Easy. In sleep.

A pair of mist blue eyes opened and tried to understand. The lizard yawned, stretched, and without any sort of instruction let loose a torrent of inescapable fire. Keno let out a soft, horrible cry before fainting, his shifting skin burnt black. Pyro was kneeling, trying to breathe. It wouldn't take much to put him out of his misery. Tobi nudged the Murkrow forwards. She gave him a strange look, as if she wasn't sure she should disobey. "Wing Attack," he commanded, and she took to the skies like a black poison dart. Pyro made as if to dodge, but didn't move in time. His body hitting the ground made the same sound as Tobi's heart hitting his chest.

Nathan turned to the Cubone. "Ice Beam," he said, but instead the creature whipped a bone towards the foe. Akira didn't seem to mind. She dodged it and tried to fly away. Tobi whistled harshly at her and gave her a command. Wing Attack again. Nathan opened his mouth, but the attack from Kota was continuing. The bone sped around in the air, hitting Akira in her chest. Nathan thought that was funny. Out of everywhere, the place inside of him that hurt the most was his chest. Something was strangling under the weight of cotton apathy. Like vengeance, Akira descended from the sky, her wings beating Kota before she retreated to access the damage. Nathan blinked. She was fabulous. He wished he had gotten to battle with her before he handed her off to someone else. It was nice to know her moves though. Oh yes. It was all very nice indeed.

Kota whipped a Bone Club towards Akira. She dodged it with stunning precision, and without any instruction she dove into a beautiful Pursuit, her black body like impermanent thread across the grey sown sky. She was magnificent. She belonged to no one. It was like his blood. He watched Kota fall and moved without thinking, recalling the pokemon before he could hit the ground. That was it. There was no fanfare. The upperclassmen presiding over their battle just nodded to Tobi and started to walk back. Nathan ran the blood-stained pokeballs over and over his blood-stained hands.

Something dangerous and soft love grey quivered inside of him. It sounded like a broken heart. It sounded like summer ending. It sounded like ice melting and the ocean freezing. It sounded like horror slipping out of a paper cup. It sounded like wings falling from the sky. It sounded like blood under fingernails and on palms and in the ground and escaping from wide red eyes and it sounded like a coffin being nailed shut. It sounded like bright, brilliant, sickening abhorrence, like quagmire treetop loathing, like a black feather resting inside of a clenched fist. It sounded like hate.

It sounded like Nathan.

xxxxxxx

Sage unleashed the Growlithe and Zangooze out onto the grass. The little fire one positioned his paws and let out a growl. Davion teetered over and smiled sweetly to the girl presiding over them. A warm blush spread across her face like quick death. He tossed his hair and grinned at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Sage wanted to puke. Or punch him. Maybe both, at the same time.

Davion reached out one hand to shake, and when Sage took it, he knew instinctively that something was wrong. In a singular movement, the better-muscled boy pulled down harshly and whipped one of his crutches around Sage's legs. Sage fell like a massive black tree, down, down, down. He was singularly furious as he met the ground. There was no way someone had just leg-swept him using a crutch. That was embarrassing. He could feel the bruises forming on his calf muscles. This was not a fun development for him. He considered model murder. It sounded fine to him.

Davion bolted for his pokemon. He gathered them up and let out a growl at the upperclassmen girl, who was going for backup. She paused and held out one hand, trying to stop him. "You know you forfeit if you do this," she called, and he threw a crutch at her head. It connected squarely to her temple and made the same sound as a book closing. She joined Sage on the green, helpless grass. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Davion lumbering away on one crutch and Sage rising from his position, black tar against the oppressive green, like a marionette discovering free motion. It looked so wrong that it felt like white sticky web in her head. To the sound of malice she exited consciousness.

xxxxxxx

"It's you," Mika hissed fiercely, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Izzy squinted at him before a look of recognition plastered itself on her face. "Oh! Mika," she acknowledged, and he glared at her. She couldn't see why. They hadn't talked in three days, sure, but it wasn't like they were dating or anything. She looked down to the pokeballs he held in his hand and considered glaring at him as well. It wasn't worth it, she decided, slouching away from him. Tommi, who was watching over them, reached out one slim hand, tossing his hair away from his eyes. "Hey, Sunset," he called, and she turned, waiting. She bit her lip. It wasn't that nice that he'd come up with a nickname for her. "Good luck," he said, and she smiled her tumbling leaf smile, taking her position.

She let out the two pokemon she'd temporarily inherited. A fierce, growling ball of black fur. An Umbreon, Izzy saw. Zulu, wasn't it? Then a Mankey. She tried not to think about the way their symphony in her head sounded wrong. Instead of crescendos there was a swooping sense of ending, of a tumble of chords like music played backwards. She tried to pet Zulu. She loved all pokemon, even fierce little tangles like him. He leaned away from her and growled cruelly. She withdrew her hand, just a little, on instinct, and he saw it. He knew he had the upper hand. Izzy cursed herself and cut her losses.

"Zulu," she hissed, with as much authority as she could muster, "Use Taunt," she commanded. He looked at her with what looked suspiciously like contempt. Inside of her mind, the wrong music played. She had switched from backwards classical to country. She felt Aster's presence in her head, but it was faint from distance and the fact she no longer had the pokeball. She hated it. She wanted to attack Mika, sword and all, and take him back. Her Shiftry left a feeling of confusion in her. He didn't bother making words. She understood and she hated that she did. She looked down. Zulu was glowing with a terrible velvet black power. He reared and brought his black paws down onto the ground, and his Dark Pulse rose to meet Aster. He raised his arms and glowed with blue. She recognized it. Protect. She sighed a little. She hadn't hurt him. She started to explain to him, in her head, what was happening. She hoped he heard. She hoped he understood. She peered at Mika, her eyes like brutal spears. He didn't seem to notice. That was probably due to the metal visor, though.

"Aster, use Grass Knot," Mika growled, his voice echoing through the armor. Harsh green vines whipped out from the creature and wrapped tightly around Zulu, like unforgiving chains. Automatically the black heartbreaker began to gnaw through it. Izzy flipped through her files until she found something he could use without moving. "Use Taunt," she ordered, and this time her voice was like falling glass. Zulu paused in his efforts and followed her command before continuing. Aster, in Izzy's head, made a tired noise. I win for you, he promised, and she gritted her teeth. How could she tell him to lose? No, he would make her proud. He felt that, and she felt his power whip around him. Razor Wind. That was smart: Zulu couldn't do anything yet. The vortex he created was making a tornado around him. The Umbreon was almost through the vines.

It hit like torment. For a moment, Izzy couldn't even see the tiny creature. All she heard was his cry. She felt nothing but sheer, inexplicable guilt. In her head, she knew Aster wondered if he had done well. She congratulated him on a fantastic job. She told him that she was glad he was so strong. They'd practiced hard for it. Aster hummed a little. Anything for her.

When the debris cleared, Zulu was free of his chains. Without waiting for instructions, he bolted across the grass, his jaws glowing. He latched onto Aster, his Crunch spreading sticky purple pain across the larger pokemon's skin. He then trotted, satisfied, back to Izzy, facing his opponent with a growl. It was at this point that Aster flung another Grass Knot towards the unsuspecting creature. Zulu went down with a whine. It echoed in Mika's armor like a dissolving rainbow: so full of grey green sorrow.

He called something to Aster, who ignored him completely. Mika frowned. At least he was winning, though. That was ok, he thought. Aster was pulling power to his center. Mika could feel it. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Zulu, poor, fierce, loveable Zulu, was doomed. He could tell.

Aster let loose a single, thick beam of white power. Solar Beam. It engulfed the trapped Umbreon. Everyone knew the outcome. Izzy was kind enough to recall him before Mika could see the damage. He knew it was bad. He had heard Zulu's call, like pain ripping out across the sky. His Mankey was next. Aster was already calling up Razor Wind. Mika looked up as if divine intervention would keep his pokemon safe. Mankey was already tumbling across the grass, meeting Aster's body with a swift Low Kick. He was quick enough for a nice Scratch, too. But he was close. Too close.

Like Butterfree wings made out of venom, an impenetrable Razor Wind picked up Mankey and threw him like violence incarnate against the ground. He bounced, his blood staining the ground. Aster, in Izzy's mind, was a feeling of questioning pride. It had taken him one hit. Why was she so sad? She shook her head and quietly thanked Mankey, recalling him.

She promised Aster he had done fantastically, and then walked away from her shadow. The music in her head had stopped. Instead, there was only the echoing sound of her betrayal.

xxxxxxx

Will was grinning. Lucario had just told a joke. Even in another trainer's hands, Lucario was more or less his bother. Will cracked his knuckles and tucked his hair behind his ear, shifting his shoulders. "Let's do this," he purred. Jarel, across the way, just sort of awkwardly patted Lucario on his head. Jenna, his Larvitar, was growling playfully at him. She was too young to understand what was happening. Will seemed nice to her and everything, but she just assumed it was a nice little battle before supper.

"Well then, my dear fellow, feel free to take the first move. No pressure, mind you, but I heard there is pasta for dinner tonight and I skipped lunch. So. Whenever you're ready," Will said, offering one hand and bowing a little. He wasn't worried. He didn't know why.

"Aura Sphere," Jarel grumbled, and with an assurance of practice, a ball of light formed in Lucario's paws. He pushed it out away from him, sending it spiraling into Jenna. It hit her tiny chest and sent her flying into Will. Her hard body slammed into his ribs. He felt several unpleasant cracks. The smile dropped off his face. He felt Lucario's panic instantly. It was one thing to injure another pokemon. It was completely different to injure one's owner. Will coughed. He could tell at least one of his ribs was broken. Larvitars do not have very forgiving bodies. Will grinned shakily and nodded when Jarel inquired after him. "No worries," he promised, "I don't actually need ribs to breathe or anything. Not that I need to breathe or anything," he paused and sucked in a large, painful breath, "I just like how the air tastes, is all."

"Jenna, Rock Slide," Will said, wrapping his arms around his torso. Automatically the little thing followed orders. Something, though, something was bothering Will. Lucario did not try to evade the attack. Lucario didn't move at all. He was silent in Will's head.

Then Will heard it: the cloud-soft deep chocolate rumble of his best friend. I hurt Will, was all he said, his eyes closed as if he was in a deep amount of pain. Will shook his head. "Nah," he replied, blasé, "I think that might have been the rock hurtled at me at a bazillion miles an hour," he murmured, knowing Lucario would hear. I hurt Will, he repeated, in a voice like a guilty reverberation.

Jarel suggested a move. Lucario didn't budge. Will, despite this, had already blurted out Jenna's next attack. She lunged forwards and sank her teeth into Lucario's blue skin in a perfect Bite. Will felt Lucario's pain like it was his own. It rippled throughout his body every time he drew a breath. "There," Will coughed, "I hurt you, you hurt me, now we can all go home and knit or something. I forgive you, although you didn't actually do anything," Will stated, because Lucario had gone suspiciously silent, the only response something close to a sigh.

Jarel, in his pine needle voice, told Lucario to use Psychic. The blue creature adopted the pose, one forepaw against his head, his black hind paws steady against the ground. Will smiled. All was well. He'd fixed whatever had hurt Lucario. "Jenna, darling, do use Rockslide," Will offered, and Jenna sent him a look. No, it looked like to Will, no she would not use something of normal effect when she had a super effective move waiting for employment. She raced across for another Bite. She was probably smarter than him, Will figured, although she did owe him several ribs.

It wasn't Psychic, Will realized, far too late. It was Swords Dance. It wouldn't damage Jenna at all. I love Will, Lucario promised, like a velvet waterfall. I hurt Will. I hurt Will. I love Will. He closed his eyes as the Bite settled into his blood. Will cried out, "Fight back! Fight back! What are you doing? Please…fight back," he murmured, as in his head he felt Jenna sink her teeth in a third time, and then a horrible emptiness. He closed his eyes and heard his best friend being sucked back into oblivion wrapped in red and white. He didn't smile at all. There was nothing to smile about. In a fight that had been fair, it would have been fine. But Lucario had taken damage for an imaginary wrong. It bit at Will like soapbox poison. It was all his fault Lucario was so hurt. All his fault.

He heard Scizor appear and before he could open his eyes, heard him use X-Scissor. It was quick, clean, painless. Will recalled the fainted pokemon and replaced her with Smeargle. Giorno, wasn't it? Will sighed. Scizor was already rushing across the field. Everything felt dull and humorless, and instead of his ribs, all Will could feel was his heart. It seemed to have stopped. Will wondered if that was strictly healthy.

"Use Focus Punch," Will commanded, and it sounded like a real trainer, like someone hardened through battle. Will hated his new voice instantly. It sounded like oppression.

In Jarel's head, the whole exercise only seemed to prove a point. You had to hurt the ones you loved. He had hurt Jenna. He didn't mind the pain it was causing him to watch Smeargle take the Toxic he had just ordered. It felt like waking up. It felt like breathing. It felt like the way people looked at him.

"Signal Beam," Will said, in his new split monotone. It tasted like copper filings and iron chains and chewed wires and forgotten birthdays and unremembered nightmares. He knew Giorno was poisoned. He knew it was bad too. His newfound horrible emptiness, where only his voice lurked, did not in any way care. It just was. Will was most likely going to lose. He thought that was funny, that he was losing. It seemed to him, the moment he had started winning, that he had lost everything important to him and it was all his fault. He wished he hadn't made a pact with Death. He wished he could actually talk to Death like he said he could and have Death take him away in his glittering stardust chariot. They'd be best friends, all three of them. It would be nice, except all the cookies they ate would taste of moss and all the biscuits of lichen. And every time Death sneezed, a plague would start. They'd have to put an end to that, of course. Maybe introduce some allergy medicine.

Had he been battling? It was like flying on autopilot. He reviewed. The Signal Beam had missed. A well-aimed X-Scissor had driven straight into Giorno. The poor thing had been badly wounded from the Toxic attack. It had fought back with a weak Focus Punch. It had met that singularly horrible move X-Scissor again. Will had recalled him as he fell.

Inexplicably, Will began to laugh, like cobwebs in the air.

xxxxxxx

Yuki smiled at the dark girl in front of her. "So you're Grace?" she asked, a little nervously. The brunette nodded and held out her hand to shake. By her side, Yuki's Dratini and Cyndaquil were sending their owner very hurt looks. She tried not to notice. It was better that way. And she had to be happy. She just had to be.

"Don't worry," she sang, watching the way Grace's Butterfree clip caught the sun, "I'll take good care of Tabbot and Serafina," she promised. The Houndour stood proudly, while Tabbot just shifted until he was lying down. Yuki couldn't help but feel a little panic. Serafina looked like she would battle in an instant, if you gave her the chance, but what if Tabbot wouldn't move at all? Yuki absolutely could not lose. There would be horrible, terrible things if she lost.

Grace nimbly padded to the other side of the field, waited for the upperclassmen to signal the beginning of the battle, and promptly sat down. "What are you doing?" Yuki laughed. It seemed like an incredibly childish thing to do. "I won't make Tab fight," Grace yawned, "I don't care about any stupid rules or whatever."

The Dratini, Ryu, seemed to agree with her philosophy. He curled up sleepily, watching her. Yuki laughed. She sat down too. "Oh, me neither," she agreed, "I don't know who thought this would be a good idea. I know Flare probably wants to fight, but I can't stand to see him hurt," she stated, and Grace grinned. The brunette crawled closer and Yuki followed her movements so that they met at the center, giggling. "I don't see why we didn't just walk," Yuki pointed out, and Grace shrugged, pulling up the grass. "Did you know," she stated, "That the white parts of grass are eatable?" Yuki laughed and shook her head.

Their upperclassmen sighed and checked the wrist where he was sure he used to have a watch. He frowned. "Look, if neither one of you are going to battle, then you both forfeit. That means no winners. You understand that, right?"

Grace nodded and ran one hand through each of her pokemon's fur. The sweet love she had on her face made Yuki think of a song she couldn't quite remember, so she just hummed it. For a moment, trapped in time, neither moved. Grace leaned and kissed her Houndour on the nose. "I'm sorry I haven't used you in so long, Fina. I love you, I do," she murmured, "I won't leave you like that again, ok?"

She scratched Tabbot right behind his ears, the way he liked it. She put her forehead to his and closed her eyes, as if communicating psychically. She drew a breath and stood up, wiping her hands off on her black jeans. She was covered with white, red, and black fur. She grinned at the sight of it.

She helped Yuki up and held her hand. "I think," she postulated, "You and I are going to be fabulous friends," she sang, and Yuki smiled. The upperclassmen just rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. He looked down. Hadn't he been wearing gloves?

They entered the cafeteria and turned away from the sight of other people walking away from their pokemon. Grace slid in between Nathan and a cute boy she'd never seen before. She introduced everyone to Yuki, and then addressed the matter of Nathan's hand. She had a sweet sort of smile on her face despite the fact that most of the room, holding only half of the freshmen, was thick with disappointment. Everyone missing had won. Their absence stung like broken hearts.

"Darling," she sang, "The blood rituals are not for two more days," she said, and produced cleaning wipes and bandages from nowhere, wrapping them expertly while explaining that her father was a doctor. Nathan felt the sting of the cleaning agent on his cuts and didn't say anything. He didn't know why. "Izzy, you know Nathan," Grace guessed, and Izzy nodded. She was sitting on the other side of the writer. He smelled like grass and a familiar darkness. His eyes were like wandering ice. She wondered why he smiled at her so sweetly.

"I am Will, by the way," said the boy Grace had never met. She grinned and held up her blood-stained hands. "I would acknowledge the meeting," she noted, "But I've been out slaughtering tiny window elves, and their blood is caustic to all but the True Heir," she stated, blasé. Will smiled and it felt strange. Something was returning to him. It felt like reason.

He leaned across the table to see Nathan's hands better and saw Izzy. Her hair sparkled like morning sunshine and forgetfulness. She grinned at him briefly, before glancing back to Grace's efforts. The small girl had produced more antiseptic cleaning wipes, and was washing her hands with them. This was followed with an antibacterial scrub. She threw out all of the wrappers she used and slid back down as if producing first aid kits from nowhere was normal. A lot about Grace was not normal, Will thought, and couldn't tell what he felt about that. Everything inside of him was still mixed up. Mostly he felt horrid anticipation. Someone was going to come and tell them the price for losing. Someone was going to tear him down farther than he was. He wondered if that was possible. He seriously doubted it. He wondered if he should tell her about the broken ribs. Maybe she could fix that. He wondered why he didn't want his ribs fixed. Maybe it was because the pain reminded him how horrible he was. That, Will figured, or he was developing masochism.

Nathan thanked Grace and stretched his hands, seeing how far his white chains stretched. "You should see the nurse, you know," Grace chided, and then Tommi was up on stage, shuffling papers. He cleared his throat, but it wasn't necessary. The room was already silent.

He looked at them and gave them a sweet, slow smile. "My dear, dear, dear freshmen. Congratulations. You have passed this test. Your pokemon will be awarded back to you, fully healed. As such, we have arranged a feast. Eat up, you lucky losers. You've passed your first examination at Frost School for the Exceptionally Talented, and trust me, that is no small feat. Enjoy your dinner," he said, in a voice like an opening present.

Joy spread silver through the room, in glorious green glass hope. Even if it was a lie, it rang like impossibility in the minds of those who wished it into truth.

X-X

A.N: I am super-duper sorry this is so late, but finals made my brain slow and sticky. It would have not been a good chapter. Thank you for the patience and outpouring of love. You all made me blush each time I got a review, which I imagine would be funny to watch.

A few notes: While pokemon battles are a ton of fun, I believe they are wholly fictional and the creatures are in no real danger. But in real life, animals get pitted against each other every day. To see how you can help contact:
-The Human Society (USA)

-People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (I promise they are not all crazy)
-Or, if you suspect abuse of any kind; The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals

Also, I make a reference to "The Fool's Journey." If you are curious in things like the Tarot, I highly recommend investigating it. I had to while I was writing a story for my friend. That story is fifty pages long.

If you feel this chapter has wronged you in some way ("but I should have won/lost!") a lot of math, research, and honest hard work went into it. If you are uncertain of the veracity of my results, just contact me and I'll explain why it ended up the way it did. Also, I'm sure this twist sounds contrived, but like everything there is logic behind it. :)

Thank you, thank you, thank you, all of you who reviewed :) I love you all so much and am humbled to use your characters. I was thinking of doing something for my 50th review, since I clearly have a thing about milestone numbers. I'm not actually sure what this would be. So. :P

Oh and important note: I am red-green colorblind. While I try to keep descriptions of a pokemon as close to to the truth as possible, sometimes I cannot find in words the color of the small things, like the eyes or wings or whatever. If at any point you notice a mistake, please please please message me and inform me so I can fix the error in later chapters. :)

Thank you for reading the Seventh Chapter of The Frost Experiment. I hope you enjoyed it.

Take care.