Guest: ah! i'm so sorry, the weekly updates were my backlog. the past two chapters i've posted as i've finished them, hence the delay. starting after this chapter, i'll only update on Friday evenings EST, so if you check any time Saturday morning or after and the story hasn't been updated then that'll mean there's no chapter that week.
Following Darkrai is like following a shadow. Though it doesn't leave tracks, they can guess where it's headed, aided by how little it seems to care that it's being pursued.
Pikachu doesn't rile easily, but Darkrai's continued unwillingness to take it seriously is finally breaking through the barrier from curious to irritating. Ash spots the shadow sliding over an eave, points it out, and his starter's thunderbolt leaves a charred starburst on the building where it hits, then another on Darkrai's red collar while its lower half is still two-dimensional. Darkrai grunts and brings its hands together, charging a crackling blue shock wave.
Pikachu hisses, ears flat against its skull, and doesn't bother with getting out of the way. "What are you trying to do," Ash wonders while his starter absorbs the attack. It doesn't want to fight them, and it's not afraid of them. There's no obvious pattern in the route it's taken, circling back and cornering itself in dead-end alleys and every once in a while inviting itself into someone's house, other than that it's gradually making its way towards the Space-Time Tower at the eastern edge of the town.
He's confirmed what Brock said about it knowing only a few words and phrases, but he still almost expects a response. He only earns the unchecked murderous fury that Darkrai's been giving off since Ash first saw it in the garden (that fits weirdly against how many people Darkrai hasn't murdered), though, and one of the glimpses of other concepts that it frequently mixes in. He doesn't know exactly what concept. Translating pokémon speech has long since become automatic, but he tries to suppress the habit for Darkrai.
He can get an impression of what a pokémon means, but to actually understand he needs to put words to it. It's something he's working on – he's gotten past that stage with Pikachu, and he's trying to reach the same level with Piplup, who's by far the easiest pokémon to understand among all those Ash has ever met. He's so proudly honest that it's impossible to misinterpret any of what he says. Darkrai isn't Pikachu or Piplup, though. Ash can't understand it directly. Which is a problem, because directly is the only way he ever could understand it – the things it says are so scrambled that words simply slide off when he tries to paste them in. In the garden, he got as far as kill (possessive) going to kill nightmare not will die move bad dream gone hurt not hurt kill the leave before giving up with a headache and a deep-seated unease about the pokémon before him. He would still keep trying if it was useful, but he thinks it might take years of practice just to get anywhere close to parsing what Darkrai's saying.
A dozen illusory copies of Darkrai appear around Pikachu. Going by previous encounters, it's going to use them as a distraction for an escape. "We've got to stop it from running away," Ash says. Sparks crackle on Pikachu's cheeks, and he braces himself as he orders, "Discharge!"
The entire backstreet lights up. The indiscriminate attack takes out the copies in an instant. The real Darkrai crosses its arms in front of itself as a shield. Ash is far enough away that he only catches a few glancing bolts, which sting a little before settling into a dull itch that he ignores – he picks up electric burns every couple of hours usually, and this has barely higher voltage than a thunder wave. Pikachu's only going for paralysis.
When the last bolts peter out and Ash shakes the spots out of his vision, he sees that it's watching Pikachu with a new focus, visible eye narrowed. Up until they ran into Brock, they were just trying to catch Darkrai's attention so Ash could talk to it. That's probably what gave it the impression that Pikachu's so weak it doesn't even warrant an attempt to put it to sleep.
The rippling edges of its body haven't slowed; the paralysis didn't take. "Thunderbolt," Ash says. The instant Pikachu begins setting up the path in the air that the charge will take, Darkrai darts to the side, dark void growing between its claws. Pikachu jumps out of the way of the thrown amorphous blob, trusting Ash behind it to do the same, already coating itself with the power from the canceled thunderbolt. As soon as its paws touch the ground, it hurtles at Darkrai fast enough that it looks to Ash like nothing but a streak of yellow-white light.
It slams into Darkrai's chest and bounces off, leaving the dark type reeling as electricity crawls across its body from the point of impact. Ash cheers, and Pikachu glances back to answer him with a bright cry.
While Darkrai's still shuddering, struggling to adapt to the paralysis, Ash primes a fast ball and tosses it. Darkrai vanishes as light into the pokéball's maw. The ball drops to the ground with a clang, shakes once, twice – Ash realizes suddenly that he doesn't have any idea whether fast balls work based on the pokémon's usual speed or if paralyzing a pokémon lowers the capture rate – and then the ball flies open and Darkrai reappears.
Ash doesn't need to understand it to tell that it's not happy with them. Under its glare, he falters. This is the first time he's ever gone after a pokémon who didn't want to be caught. He didn't expect it feel so dirty. Reminding himself that he's doing it for Darkrai's sake doesn't scour away the guilt. A pokéball shouldn't be a cage.
In Kanto, all of history before the Indigo League is called the Lost Ages. City-states rose when refugees from destroyed lands flooded into nearby settlements and fell when a steelix had a bad day. A battle between charizard could set a meadow on fire, and the droves of fleeing pokémon could overrun a settlement, clearing out their crops and eating through their stored food. Settlements waged battles over the slightest resources and territory, and especially for the eggs and young of useful pokémon. Pokémon colonies were destroyed entirely by humans, the pokémon killed and the forests burned and the swamps filled in and the earth salted, for preying on humans or for existing uncomfortably close to a settlement. Knowledge was lost so often that three separate empires in central Kanto, each separated by about three hundred years from the one before, all independently discovered gravity.
Six hundred years ago, a warlord said enough, and he issued an ultimatum: humanity would work together, with each other and with pokémon also, and those who refused would die alone. Through the bloodiest military campaign in Kanto that a surviving record exists of, Indigo and his four generals brought the region to heel under the iron fist of unity and friendship. They tried for diplomacy where they could, but the only state that surrendered without a fight was... either Cerulean or Celadon, Ash doesn't remember which. Anyway, Indigo's idea of diplomacy was to lay down the final terms up front and to declare war if someone suggested a wording change, which had exactly the results one would expect.
After the Unification, Indigo created the prototype of modern pokémon battling. His goal was always to create a new world where humans and pokémon wouldn't need to put their lives on the line to survive another day, and pokémon battling was definitely the purest expression of that wish. Ash recalls vaguely from elementary League history that historians argue about what his primary goal was, whether he did it more as a way to safely strengthen and train pokémon who could be used to better protect human settlements or if he did it mainly to improve human and pokémon relations. Ash doesn't know how heated the debate gets between historians, but he knows how bad it can be between trainers. When trainers talk about it, they don't bring up Indigo or the League. They don't need to. Their beliefs come across in how they treat their pokémon, and for people who are defined by their pokémon, that's all that matters. Catching an unwilling pokémon goes against everything Ash has stood for since the day Professor Oak handed him his trainer's license alongside the grumpy yellow rat who would become his best friend.
Ash brings out a standard pokéball, and Darkrai's gaze drops from his face to his hand. "Stop," it says, raising its claws in stuttering motions.
He judges the distance, imagines the arc of the throw, how much force to use. Then he tries to overlay the picture in his mind into reality. His arm doesn't move. Frowning, he rolls the ball back into his pocket. "There has to be another way."
Pikachu suggests knocking it out and stashing it in a dumpster until things blow over, which startles a laugh out of him. "We're not all thugs, Pikachu. I've got a better idea." He swings his backpack around and rummages through. Should be the third zipper down... Darkrai sidles towards the wall, but a warning shock from Pikachu puts paid to that plan. Darkrai growls and charges up a dark pulse in its hands. "Won't be a second. Keep Darkrai here!" It's not the third zipper down. Pikachu calls an affirmative over the sound of a thunderbolt intercepting Darkrai's sleep-inducing attack. "Ignore that, it'll be a lot of seconds. Tell me we didn't run out..."
When was the last time he used one? The time with Pachirisu, that's right, and apparently he didn't put it in the usual place afterwards, so where would he have...
He touches lacquered wood at the same time as Pikachu and Darkrai both stop moving. Ash looks up. Pikachu has its head tilted, ears angled to catch sound. People coming. An ear twitches. A lickilicky.
Alberto. Ash stares at Darkrai, feeling as if he's paralyzed instead. They can't let Alberto see it, but if they let it run away now, while it's debilitated, and someone else finds it before them – they can't let that happen either.
Darkrai takes Pikachu's stillness as a chance to sink into the ground. It seems like the paralysis applies to its shadow state, too; it's only reached the nearest wall's base by the time Ash's brain reboots and he says, "Hold it down!"
Pikachu sprints for it, penning it in with quick jolts, then leaps the last few feet and lands flat on its stomach atop the shadow, sprawled out to cover what little of Darkrai it can. A shock is enough to keep Darkrai still. Ash hurries over, picking up the broken fast ball as he goes and shoving it into a pocket, and Pikachu scoots aside to let him sit down, blocking more of the shadow from the view. "Sorry," Ash says as he sets his backpack on the silhouette's head. Darkrai might not understand, but it lets him feel better.
They try to look nonchalant as Alberto's group turns the corner into view. Pikachu's cheeks let out sparks every couple of seconds to remind Darkrai of the threat. Ash hopes Darkrai doesn't call the bluff, because it's not a bluff. A lot of pokémon refuse to attack when their trainers are in the line of fire. A lot of pokémon are not Pikachu.
Alberto's group stops to talk. Ash keeps expecting someone to mention how dark their shadow is, a normal shade while everything else in Alamos is muted, or the fact that it's moving, but the closest anyone gets is a question about whether they've noticed the melted popsicle they're sitting next to. The baron takes in the scorch marks scattered about, tells them not to try fighting Darkrai without backup, and then mentions the strange pokémon they've heard about that they're on their way to investigate. Meowth lags behind for a moment to ask if Pikachu's alright, what with the intermittent sparking, and accepts it when Ash answers that he's going to take Pikachu to the pokécenter to check it out. Nothing goes wrong at all.
Once they've gone, Pikachu climbs onto Ash's shoulder as he gets up. Darkrai peels off the ground after them and hovers in place, not making any move to attack or run. Its eye flicks in the direction the other trainers went, then back to Ash and Pikachu. There's a question in that. Darkrai probably doesn't expect anyone to answer, but Ash has never had a habit of following expectations. "There's something you're trying to do, right, Darkrai? You don't want to hurt anyone. You only fight when we force you to." He holds out the small lacquered box, letting Darkrai watch him twist the lid off. Anyone with a pokémon who can produce spores or electricity learns quickly that cheri berries are as important to have on hand as food and water. He takes out a dried red berry, shows it to Darkrai, then pops it into his mouth without any hesitation, though he struggles not to make a face at the punishing spiciness. He finds a large clump of them stuck together and tosses the whole ball to Darkrai, who catches it out of the air. "They're just cheri berries," he explains as Darkrai inspects the fruit. "It's for the paralysis."
Darkrai turns it between its claws for what feels like several minutes. Finally, it peels the individual berries apart and pushes all of them at once over its collar. Ash doesn't see any movement that might indicate chewing or swallowing or the existence of a mouth, but a second later its eye widens.
It's an interesting trait of pokémon that their tastes in food correspond to their natures. The most accurate sign of a major personality shift in a pokémon is a change in their food preference. Ash didn't know what it meant at the time, but he remembers perfectly the first time he saw Charizard, still a charmeleon back then, reject sweets, its old favorite, for bitter rawst berries it would rather have set on fire than eaten just a week earlier. These days he has the entire chart memorized thanks to osmosis from Brock. It doesn't surprise him that Darkrai enjoys cheri berries. He wonders how it feels about sour foods.
"Whatever you're doing, we can help," he says. "Three people working together's gotta be better than going at it alone."
Darkrai stares at him. "Help."
"We'll help you," Ash assures. He keeps his hands open at his sides so Darkrai can see his empty palms. It's generally good practice when interacting with a shy or wild pokémon to let them always know where your hands are. Since he's thrown an unwanted pokéball, he has even more reason to ensure he's transparent about his actions.
"Are you talking to me?"
Ash looks over its shoulder, shocked that he's missed someone else standing behind it. It takes him a moment to realize the street's empty. Or, wait, what if there's a ghost or latias or something hovering invisibly –
Pikachu catches his attention and asks for a translation. Slightly abashed that he forgot about that issue, Ash repeats what Darkrai said. Pokémon understand the meanings behind the words, not the sounds themselves. Since the meanings Darkrai projects are practically indecipherable, Pikachu only heard some nonsense noises in its head.
After a moment of thought and a considering look at Darkrai, Pikachu points out that it's probably not accustomed to "help" being said to it. If most of the phrases it knows are along the lines of "stop" and "get out", it might only know "help" from context like "Help! It's a darkrai!"
Unfortunately, that makes much more sense than a surprise latias. "Yeah," Ash says. "Yes, I'm talking to you, Darkrai. We're going to help you."
Its gaze shifts, wary, to Pikachu, who does its best to look innocent and harmless despite being nothing remotely of the sort. Ash is pretty sure Darkrai doesn't buy it. "Help me."
"Yes."
"Yes," it echoes. It clenches and opens a fist easily, no lingering traces of paralysis remaining. Then it turns away, scanning their surroundings until it spots something that catches its eye. It drifts over and says, "Look."
It's pointing at a doormat.
"Huh?" says Ash.
"Look," it says again, insistent. Its claw moves, tracing the shape of the first letter into the air. The mat reads WELCOME. If it can't talk, then it definitely can't read. It likely doesn't know that the colored shapes in the straw mean anything at all.
Shapes. That's all it sees when it looks at words. It's showing them the shapes of the letters. Which means it's... um...
"Pika?" Pikachu asks, just as lost.
The only things Ash can think of that are shaped like letters are – wait. Wait.
"Pikachu," he breathes, "buddy, you remember Molly, don't you?"
Pikachu looks at him, expression utterly blank. Then it blinks. Looks at Darkrai. Looks at the doormat. Looks at Darkrai. Looks at the doormat. "Chu," it swears. Ash flicks the side of its head.
While they were traveling the Johto gym circuit, they met a girl, Molly Hale, who accidentally allowed a whole host of unown to bind themselves to her. It was an ugly situation. Molly has a good heart and Ash genuinely likes her, but he doesn't enjoy remembering what happened in Greenfield. The power to freely manipulate reality isn't something he would trust anyone with, even a little girl who only wanted her parents back. There were far, far too many close calls. Professor Oak was quietly ecstatic about it once everything was resolved, though. Before that incident, about all anyone could say with certainty about the alphabet-shaped pokémon species was that they exist sometimes and that they don't really seem to do much with that existence. Finding out that they can manifest any wish into the physical world when they're gathered in enough numbers was utterly unexpected, to put it mildly. Way, way, way too mildly. They didn't have any limits to their power as far as Ash could tell. Compared to Greenfield, Alamos is as tame as it gets. A spot of fog? Some ghostly apparitions? The unown in Greenfield created a second Entei. "You're looking for unown," Ash says. Everyone else in Alamos has been going after completely the wrong pokémon. "We got it. We understand. We'll help you."
Almost hesitantly, Darkrai sinks into the ground. The shadow starts down the street, gliding at a slower pace than Ash knows it usually takes. Ash jogs after it before it can decide to change its mind.