Disclaimer: I do not own the Pokemon franchise or any of the characters featured in this story save for those of Maecenas Octavian and Mycroft Williamson. The name "The Welzz" was originally created by Brian Jacques, as a fan I have merely borrowed it for Mycroft's Whiscash.
(Long Author's Notes to follow)
Finally and at long last, I have returned! I cannot apologize enough for how frightfully lax I've been with updating this story lately. As usual I do have reasons, though, the most outstanding of which are as follows:
Forensics tournament (many awards received, team in top 5%)
Musical: "Annie Get Your Gun" (relatively major role, opened to good success)
Two weeks of prestigious Writers' Studio (at least my writing, if late, will perhaps now be of higher quality)
All 736+ back numbers of "The Order of the Stick" (Best. Webcomic. EVER.)
General summer-type things
Food: new recipes to try, plus pizza
Bad spate of writers' block due to letdown from aforementioned awesome writers' studio
Long cruise vacation to various European countries
Bad cold
Soul of a procrastinator
So, I guess I was supposed to deliver this chapter by MAY, huh? Well, it's true that I didn't specify the year, so just regard me as being ten months early. Or not even that much, now, is it? And to make up for things, Third Charms: Part Three is the longest and most epic Pokѐtopia chapter yet. It's at least twice the length of any other chapter, important plot elements will be introduced, fierce battles will be waged, and in general this is the "hinge" chapter that begins broadening GotH into a more expansive work. Note: you don't have to read this in one sitting. It is kinda huge.
To recap the Practice Battle Trilogy:
Chapter 6: Opposite Attractions
Chapter 7: Double Visions
Chapter 8: Third Charms Part 1
Chapter 9: Third Charms Part 2
And today, the finale of Third Charms! Enjoy, and welcome back!
Varacei Alger, more commonly known to his friends as "Urya," was doubled over in helpless spasms of laughter, for the moment unable to speak or do anything but give further vent to his relieved mirth. Above and in front of him, the two Metagross were still locked into the position of collision caused by Carnegie's Zen Headbutt moments earlier. Across the field, Mycroft was immobile save for a slightly worried-looking but still highly composed frown and the slight motion of his coat blowing in the wind.
"Well…for reasons most likely best known to himself, Mycroft has, as far as I can tell, deliberately ordered a nearly ineffectual attack on Varacei's Ragnarok. We will, of course, have to see if there's a deeper motivation behind that or not…" Ferk looked about as confused as Varacei felt.
"A quite simple one, actually." Mycroft's spectacles caught the sunlight and suddenly shone pure gold; a grin of absolute mischief spread across his carefully composed features. "You see, I don't mind admitting that the frontal attack—lackluster as I must confess it was—served as a diversion. Order your Pokemon to move, would you?"
Varacei, who was struggling against the unpleasant sensation that the ground had recently fallen out from under him, complied with a hesitant shout of "Ragnarok, get out of there!"
However, all that followed his command was a roar of frustration from his Pokemon overlapping with a truly horrible screech of metal on metal that echoed out over the ocean long after the initial sound had died down. In an instant, Varacei saw the reason why: Carnegie's monolithic front limbs had locked firmly onto its opponent's side, keeping the burlier Metagross stuck where it was in midair. Ragnarok, whose face was only centimeters away from Carnegie's, wore an expression of pure malice, its ruby-red eyes seething with impotent rage, while in the face of this furious display Mycroft's Pokemon exhibited a look of mild academic interest much like that of its Trainer, who continued to calmly discourse on the exact details of his plan.
"While you were all pondering the absurdity of my latest command, and while Ragnarok was concentrated on repulsing that assault, Carnegie devoted most of its energy to holding Ragnarok in place. Once that connection was established, it remained only for the species' particular blend of psychokinesis and brute strength to keep it that way—an enviable position, as I'm sure you're aware. Carnegie, if you would?"
Mycroft had distinguished this last sentence from the rest of his speech only with a casual flick of his right hand, but the effect of this gesture on his airborne partner was much more dramatic. With a roar of exertion rivaling any of Ragnarok's bellows, Carnegie flipped its opponent around in midair and then hurled it like a half-ton discus. Ragnarok whizzed dangerously across the field in excess of 120 miles per hour, becoming little more than a blur of spinning steel, then hit the ground, skipped back into the air in a shower of gravel and salty earth, then crashed back down, rolled across the ground and came to an eventual halt about ten feet from the edge of the ocean cliff in front of which Varacei was standing, leaving an impressive trench ploughed deep into the terrain.
"And yeah, we've practiced that," Mycroft finished, for the first time in that battle dropping his debonair exterior and looking like he was having the time of his life.
Varacei's jaw dropped, and stayed that way.
Ferk, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to restrain himself from openly applauding. "Well!" he managed after a few seconds. "That was some truly impressive combo work going on there. It's a day of impossibilities, folks! First a move like that gets pulled off on the fly, and then on top of that Mycroft actually uses a colloquialism! It's plain enough to see that there's a lot more going on today than meets the eye…"
"You do me an injustice," said Mycroft with a mischievous grin, somehow managing to look more and less like a normal young adult than ever at the same time. "Some people in my social circle don't even deign to use contractions."
His breath heavy and ragged from shock and his heart pounding like a runaway Exploud in a bad mood, Varacei dashed over to his fallen Metagross, which was struggling to free itself from where it had been forcibly planted into the ground. Upon seeing its Trainer, Ragnarok adopted a slightly sheepish expression and finally managed to wrench itself loose, then remained in place where it had fallen, its four limbs sprawled and a disorientated look on its metallic features.
"We are not going to just let him get away with this," Varacei told his Pokemon through gritted teeth, the Ho-oh pendant he always wore around his neck tightly clenched in one hand. "Let's see….what can we…."
He snapped his fingers as an idea suddenly came to him. After a few more seconds of thought, Varacei nodded enthusiastically to himself, then stared directly into Ragnarok's eyes, the green and gold meeting bright red with piercing intensity.
"Okay, go." With that, Ragnarok was up and away, soaring back into the air with its eyes locked on Mycroft and Carnegie far below.
Next to the slimmer Metagross, Mycroft looked up at his opponents with interest, pulling the brim of his top hat forward to shade his eyes. "Ah, communicating by telepathy with your Pokemon now, are you not? Most impressive; no doubt I'll have to…GREAT GYARADOS!"
Ragnarok interrupted Mycroft by plunging suddenly to the ground, slamming all four of its clawed arms into the ground at full force, and unleashing a massive Earthquake, its fanged mouth open to its fullest extent in a triumphant roar. The impact of the attack was centered directly on the trench that Ragnarok had torn into the ground with its landing mere minutes earlier, which exploded with a resounding crack, sending clouds of dust and clods of turf flying into the air as the Earthquake continued, finally crashing into Carnegie and sending it reeling.
Mycroft, who'd leapt into a defensive stance and thrown his hands in front of his face as the attack began, returned shakily to his feet as the dust cleared. "….stay on my toes," he finished his previous sentence at a mumble. His Pokemon, he could see, had taken a solid hit but remained standing. Ferk was standing near where the epicenter of the Earthquake had been, looking slightly shell-shocked in the same fashion as he had after the battle of the banquet but still mouthing "that was totally wicked." The battlefield had been divided neatly in half by what was now an impressive trench in the ground, across from which Varacei was regarding him with a look of defiant triumph. And most disturbingly of all, Ragnarok had vanished altogether.
The Trainer from Lilycove frowned and began brushing the dust and debris from his suit. He knew a true challenge when he saw one, and he also knew that he would be in for many more such surprises before the battle was over.
The nearly cloudless indigo sky shimmered with silent heat as the Trainer stepped out onto the concrete of Pokѐtopia's dock area with a brisk, decisive gait and paused for a few moments to scan the area. There was a teenage boy yelling at a Mamoswine out on one of the piers, a group of teenage girls were laughing and chatting to the Trainer's left, and a few sailors and civilians were milling about, but overall the waterfront was deserted. Most anyone who was anyone was in the main city, preparing for the tournament. For a moment the Trainer wondered just why [she/he] was not also engaged in a practice battle, but quickly banished the thought, reminding [himself/herself] of the extreme importance of [her/his] appointment.
With a brief, satisfied nod, the Trainer began walking again, crossing the waterfront in an efficient, diagonal path and ending up in the shadow of one of Pokѐtopia's skyline buildings a minute later. The colossal Toxicroak, gripping an office building in one ominous claw as always, seemed to leer down at the Trainer as [he/she] made [her/his] way over to where the second claw formed an escalator. With a barely perceptible nervous exhalation, the Trainer pulled a scrap of paper out of [his/her] pocket and entered the code hastily scrawled on it onto a waiting keyboard nearby.
With a hiss, the escalator efficiently returned to life and began moving once more, carrying the Trainer up the brute's left arm silently as [she/he] continued to stare straight ahead. Seconds later, the Trainer stepped off onto a landing where the escalator branched into two paths: one leading into the Toxicroak building itself, the other to the building held in its clutches. The Trainer took the second escalator.
Though now suspended at a truly dizzying height above the unforgiving concrete of the dock below, the Trainer stared straight ahead, unperturbed, at the door that [he/she] was slowly moving towards, as calmly as if [she/he] was on a terrestrial walkway, and with a gaze intense and steady enough that it seemed surprising that the door did not simply crumple and vanish under its force. Conscious only of the destination ahead and of the pleasant feel of the sun on [his/her] skin, the Trainer waited until [she/he] had arrived at the door. Steeling [himself/herself], the Trainer raised a lightly shaking fist and knocked in a precise sequence.
There was a pause, followed by a faint clicking noise, and the door swung open. The Trainer was faced with a tall man in a shiny black-and-yellow uniform, most of his facial features hidden by a reflective eyeshade. His resemblance to a lean, predatory wasp was unmistakable.
"_ _?" The man spoke the Trainer's name and again fell silent, without betraying any other sign of relaxing the military precision of his waiting stance. It was impossible to tell whether he was looking at the Trainer or not; he could have been watching a soap opera behind that eyeshade for all the Trainer knew.
Ordinarily the Trainer would've been amused by that thought, but the ominous tone of this encounter stifled any possible comic relief. Responding in kind to the cold efficiency of the uniformed man, the Trainer merely nodded and reached into [her/his] pocket, producing an identification card rendered in the same black and yellow as the man's uniform. Silver letters across the top of the card read simply, "the organization."
The man facing [him/her] took the card in a gloved hand and nodded. "Very well. You will be escorted to a meeting room for further discussion. Now, I hope you will excuse this liberty, but we cannot allow any outsider to ascertain any of the particulars regarding our defenses. Sleep Powder."
The Trainer, who had become suspicious of where the conversation was going a few moments ago, reflexively lunged forward, only to be met by a cloud of blue-green dust fired by the Vileplume that had been hidden in the shadows behind the uniformed man. "Nothing personal, you understand," the man added as the Trainer crumpled into an unconscious heap on the landing before him.
Nodding to himself in satisfaction much as the Trainer [herself/himself] had a mere ten minutes ago when approaching the building, the uniformed man tapped an octagonal device clipped to his belt, which momentarily glowed a dull green. Instantaneously two identically-uniformed men dropped out of the shadows on either side of him, as smoothly and suddenly as if they had simply come into existence from nowhere at that point.
"Everything under control, thirty-seven? Right, we'll take [him/her] from here."
37 held up a hand, then bent down and carefully returned the ID card to the unconscious Trainer's pocket. It was one of precisely three currently active on the island.
The door slid shut in perfect silence, and the giant Toxicroak building continued its unblinking stare out towards the horizon, as if listening to the faint music of the wind.
"Quite a show-stopper there from our very own VARACEI ALGER! I know from experience that it's, like, really hard to think on your feet after Mycroft's executed one of those mind-boggling little schemes of his, so his pulling off that kind of an Earthquake musta really taken guts. Not the kind that involves getting poisoned, mind you, that'd be capital-G Guts. Anyway, that Earthquake was the most crazy awesome thing I've seen since this one time back on the islands last summer when I was, like, in this tournament on Pummelo Island and my Probopass levitated this concession stand into the stadium and used the nacho sauce to…"
"Spare me the cheese-coated details, please," said Mycroft Williamson crisply, strolling across the battlefield with a rather damaged Carnegie floating along in his wake.
"As amusing as I'll admit that story sounds, Ferk"-Mycroft jumped neatly over the chasm in the center of the battlefield without breaking his stride – "I'm preparing my counterattack here, and I cannot multitask to the degree of planning a battle strategy and attempting to comprehend one of your stories at the same time. However, as long as this battle was my idea in the first place, I shall treat yourself and Mr. Alger to dinner after its conclusion by way of thanking you for your time. Feel free to regale me with all of your bizarre snack-related anecdotes then."
"I'm sure there's a reason you're using the plural," Varacei commented. "Mycroft, just where do you think you're going?"
"I hope you'll excuse me." Mycroft had completed his journey across the battlefield and now stood looking thoughtfully out over the cliff, directly across from Varacei. "As I'm sure you know, however, this arena has been suffering from a distinct lack of your Metagross lately. Since Ragnarok is my opponent, I mean to find it, and there's only one good place around here for a Pokemon of its dimensions to hide. I strongly suspect, therefore, that it is concealed somewhere along this cliff, lying in wait for an ambush."
Varacei grinned. "Well, what are you going to do about it? If you send Carnegie down to look for it, it'll fall right into the trap!"
"Yes, well. Fortunately, I have a more efficient means at my disposal to defuse the situation." Mycroft adjusted his spectacles in as dramatic a manner as spectacles could possibly be adjusted. "Carnegie, use Surf on the entire side of the cliff within range."
"WHA…um…Metagross can't learn Surf, you know, Mycroft," said Varacei, an uneasy feeling beginning to coalesce in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the last seemingly outrageous statement his friend had made. Meanwhile, Carnegie had turned to its master with a puzzled expression
"Nominally they can't, you're right. There is no possible way for a Metagross to make water appear out of thin air, and anywhere else this strategy would be completely impossible, but with the ocean being so conveniently close to us now"—Carnegie's eyes lit up with sudden understanding—"a little Psychic manipulation will be able to fabricate a Surf attack admirably. Carnegie?"
"NOOOO!" Varacei's scream of horror was eclipsed by another sound that quickly began to gain volume. The normal sound of ocean waves crashing against the base of the cliff suddenly faded to nothing, and an unnerving crackling and splashing noise stole over the atmosphere. Whirling around so quickly that his single Rainbow Wing earring smacked him in the face, Varacei Alger beheld a truly massive tsunami, foaming dark blue saltwater surrounded by a violet sheen of psychic power, slowly swelling up from the ocean below. When the wave had grown to the height of the cliff and its crest was on eye level with Varacei, Mycroft nodded to Carnegie and the wall of water rushed forward.
"Ragnarok, STOP THAT WAVE!" It was a command shouted out of sheer desperation and a burning desire on Varacei's part not to let Mycroft control the entire battle, despite the fact that he seemed to be very efficiently doing just that. It was not specifically directed towards any action on Ragnarok's part, and it certainly seemed unlikely to be able to stop the inexorable progress of tons of saltwater. Nonetheless, it worked.
The foremost spray of ocean water paused centimeters from the rock outcropping as the entire tsunami froze in place. A worried look stole onto Mycroft's face in counterpoint with Varacei's relieved grin (Ferk, meanwhile, still looked rather confused). With a tremendous roar, the entire gigantic wave, in all of its thousands of gallons, rose into the air and slowly twisted into a spiral, revolving like a titanic airborne whirlpool as, calmly, majestically, Ragnarok rose from where it had been concealed and hovered directly in front of the mass of water.
Mycroft turned and ran, dashing back to his original place on the battlefield with Carnegie close on his heels, to the accompaniment of an overjoyed shout of "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" from Varacei. Ragnarok gave a bone-shattering roar as the entire airborne whirlpool blasted out from behind it, headed straight for Carnegie.
However, the slimmer Metagross clearly had other plans. Carnegie stood its ground in the face of what looked like certain doom, its eyes glowing bright blue, and at the last second the huge bolt of water swerved past it, splattering the Iron Leg Pokémon's steely frame with no more than sixteen water droplets, and as Mycroft flung out an arm in his opponents' direction, the attack suddenly reversed direction and headed back for Ragnarok.
There followed one of the strangest battles Pokѐtopia had ever seen. Two Pokemon combatants, both shiny Metagross, stood completely stationary in front of their Trainers while thousands of gallons of ocean water twisted into one mind-boggling vortex whipped back and forth above the battlefield like some bright blue, megaton New Year's dragon while the two Trainers shouted encouragement and a referee discoursed thoughtfully on what seemed to be a completely unrelated subject.
"So if you just add a twist of oregano it counterbalances the sweetness of the ham and really plays off of the garlic and bacon to make the pizza even better. It's kind of a subtle change, but really makes a lot of difference…you can add a couple of basil leaves too, just make sure you aren't tying to pick a Carnivine by mistake. I remember one time, I think I still have scars from that…"
Ferk was shouting to make himself heard over the wind gusts created by the spinning vortex, but Mycroft still didn't hear him. The top-hatted Trainer was concentrating hard; he knew himself to be in a desperate situation. Ragnarok's strength of mind was stronger than Carnegie's by just a bit, he suspected, and with that would go just the edge in psychic power his opponents would need to finally wear him out and send all that water crashing down on his hopes of victory. It was one of the toughest situations he'd ever been in—he had ventured into completely unknown territory with his makeshift Surf attack, and with only one slight mistake the damage could be horrific, he could just as easily be the victim of what he had started, the rush of the vortex made communication nearly impossible, the pressure was intense, and on top of it all Ferk's chatter was making him hungry. Clearly, it was a time to think outside the box….
No sooner had Mycroft thought this than the solution was there, blazing into his head like a neon sign from Hioun City. He didn't waste a second. Literally holding onto his hat, the Trainer from Lilycove dashed out onto the battlefield and stood as close to Carnegie as he could, to increase his chances of being heard through the chaos.
"Carnegie, use Hyper Beam on that water."
His Pokemon complied. A massive ray of dazzling white energy shot from the Metagross' mouth and slammed into the vortex above them in a shower of sparks. The resulting amalgam of water and pure energy, its momentum doubled by the impact, flew straight as an arrow and, with an almighty explosion, slammed directly into Ragnarok, slamming it forcibly into the dirt and knocking it out instantly.
For a moment all was silence, punctuated only by the sounds of millions of individual rivulets of saltwater running down the cliff back to their rightful places in the sea.
Ferk was the first to speak up. "WHOA! Ragnarok is unable to battle, so the winners of the first round are Mycroft and Carnegie! That was awesome! That was epic!"
Varacei patted his fallen Pokemon on the head and recalled it. "Wow…" he was, for the moment, honestly unable to say anything more.
Mycroft chuckled, nearly as surprised as anyone else, and began fanning himself with his top hat. "Well…I should say that the first round does indeed go to me." Looking out musingly over the ocean, he was somewhat startled to see blue skies once more. The conditions during the last few minutes of battle had been so stormy; he had completely forgotten that, in reality, the day was a beautiful, sunny one. Mycroft's violet eyes slowly traveled across the torn, scarred, soaked and otherwise generally mistreated battlefield and came to rest on Carnegie, whose condition was rather similar. Clearly, his Metagross was no longer in any shape to battle. With a sigh, Mycroft produced his Pokémon's Timer Ball. "Truly unforgettable battling, Carnegie; I will definitely remember this one," he said, then spun the Timer Ball artfully on the end of one finger, recalling the Iron Leg Pokemon in a blaze of light. "Very well, Varacei, would you care to select your next Pokemon first?" Mycroft called across the field.
Varacei nodded absently, his mind racing. He had been shaken to no small degree by yet another of his plans backfiring in spectacular fashion, and was beginning to wonder if he was any good at competitive battle at all. Mycroft's genius strategies were giving him the uneasy feeling that he was out of his depth, and that his usual tactics would get him nowhere. In short, Varacei Alger was desperate to start the next round on his terms. After a few moments of agonizing hesitation, he finally decided on a Pokѐball and pulled it off of his belt.
"Why don't we throw a few surprises into the mix? Go, Jackson!"
A blaze of light appeared over the trench in the middle of the field and quickly resolved itself into a blue-and-white Porygon-Z floating upside down in midair. Jackson surveyed the situation unperturbedly, its head rotating 360 degrees, and then hurriedly flipped itself upright with an electronic beeping sound.
"Two shiny Pokemon; are you serious?" Ferk was leaning forward on the tips of his feet more like a spectator than a referee, already having whipped an expensive-looking camera out from somewhere or other on his person and begun taking photos rapidly. "Man, you've just gotta let me study your team after this is over!"
Mycroft was visibly surprised. "Oh, a second shiny Pokemon, eh? That's most impressive indeed; I only came by Carnegie after a considerable amount of difficulty. Just how did you obtain a shiny Porygon, may I ask?"
Varacei grinned. "Just a lucky day at the Game Corner. I hope you're ready for this guy—he's a real spaz."
At this, Jackson whipped around and fired a crackling energy beam at Varacei, who ducked as if he were highly used to this sort of thing happening. The attack exploded against the edge of the cliff, and Jackson rotated back to its original position with a vaguely annoyed expression, its head levitating a few inches above its body.
Mycroft chuckled. "You aren't kidding, are you? I suppose that means it is time for a secret weapon of my own."
The refined man pulled an ordinary, red-and-white Pokѐball from his belt and stood there contemplating it for a moment, turning the sphere over in his palm and watching the reflected clouds whirl through its circumference. However, it wasn't long before the moment for action had arrived again and the ball sailed over the battlefield.
Mycroft indulged in a bit of a dramatic voice as the explosion of light began to resolve itself. "Welzz, come forth!"
The Pokemon appeared with impeccable timing a split second later. Welzz was a humongous Whiscash, its whiskers curling impressively above its head and its face rendered utterly blank by an expression of pure stupidity that would have made any Magikarp proud.
By this time, however, Varacei was well past the point of being surprised at anything Mycroft said or did. He merely gave a grim nod and ordered Jackson to attack.
Before he'd even completely finished speaking, Jackson launched itself into action, streaking across the battlefield about three feet above the ground to the accompaniment of a sharp whoosh of displaced air. Mycroft watched it go worriedly, noting how incredibly organic and unpredictable its movements looked compared to most members of the Porygon family he'd encountered in the past. He'd initially been planning to exploit the garbage-in-garbage-out literalism characteristic to the species for his strategy, but right now it seemed that that course of action would be on par with trying to predict Ferk.
Anticipating the dangers of letting his hard-earned momentum slip away while he overanalyzed the situation—a trap he found himself falling into all too frequently—Mycroft leapt into action. "Welzz, use Hydr…." He trailed off in surprise before finishing the command, looking at Jackson with a perplexed expression.
Mycroft had last observed his opponent's Pokemon still rocketing around the battlefield, what had looked like the beginnings of a Tri Attack crackling its way into existence around it. But for whatever reason, the Virtual Pokemon appeared to have then screeched to a dead halt, its decreasing momentum more or less completing its circuit of the battlefield, and it now hung in midair roughly twenty feet away from the Welzz, its head bowed slightly forward, its form totally inert.
Mycroft exchanged a look with his Whiscash that said something along the lines of Even for us, this one is going to be weird, then shot a glance at Varacei. He half-expected to see a look of hastily smothered triumph on the younger Trainer, a hint that this was all part of a plan as elaborate as one of his own, but instead beheld a slightly nervous poker face being swiftly eroded by something that looked a lot like panic.
"All right, then….go ahead with that Hydro Pump, I suppose," Mycroft commanded cautiously, staying on guard for an unexpected change in circumstances.
Within a matter of seconds, the attack that had been instrumental in winning Mycroft infamy in organized battling establishments the world over had been launched. The formerly innocuous-looking Welzz stretched its mouth to its considerable widest extent, anchoring itself to the ground with its fleshy, dark blue fins, and let loose with a focused, intense blast of cold, clear water that seemed a worthy echo of the great torrent from the previous round. In the blink of an eye the attack slammed into Jackson dead-on and knocked it backwards to an almost comical extent.
Varacei spluttered as the wind caught the water droplets thrown into the air by the impact and blew most of them, it seemed, directly into his face. Even without the impromptu cold shower, the Trainer from Lavaridge had been having no small amount of trouble catching his breath of late. It was not the first time that his Porygon-Z had gone completely inactive in the middle of a battle, but Varacei could see with awful clarity that it couldn't have occurred at a worse time for him than now. Infuriatingly, he knew that there was a solution, something or other that he'd done in the past to wake his Pokemon up, but, predictably, it was just eluding him at the moment. Grinding his teeth, Varacei slammed a fist into his palm—he could recall every last detail of his past few battles with Jackson, perfectly, except whatever it was he had done when it went into sleep mode.
"Oh, and Mycroft and his Whiscash launch a DEVASTATING blow! There's no telling what's stopped Varacei's Porygon-Z in its tracks like that, but this is obviously a golden opportunity for our friend in the tux. Still, frozen opponent or not, this really shows off that fish's marksmanship. That team of two has faced down an illicitly cloned Lugia in the past, and I'm told they didn't come out of that looking too bad, either. Still, there's no underestimating a P-Z and that special attack power they've got behind them and getting away with it…if the P-Z can move, that is."
Shut UP, Ferk, thought Varacei heatedly, barely repressing himself from shouting out the same sentiment for all to hear. And in as long as it took for that disparaging thought to occur to him, the answer flashed into his mind. How could he possibly have forgotten already, after all the trouble Jackson had given him in their last battle?
"Jackson, boot up!"
Varacei let out a hearty cheer of pure relief as his Pokemon abruptly snapped back to attention. The Welzz, growing more confident in its opponent's immobility, had launched a considerably sized Mud Bomb seconds ago, but even as Jackson's yellow eyes snapped open, it fired a timely Ice Beam that shattered the incoming attack only a few inches from impact.
Varacei flicked a few strands of hair away from his face, feeling giddy with relief. It occurred to him that as nerve-wracking as it had been, Jackson's more-bizarre-than-usual inaction would certainly have thrown Mycroft off as well. He hated to be too optimistic, but it seemed that his star was, at last, in the ascendant.
"Tri Attack."
Jackson, to Varacei's incalculable relief, sprang right into action this time, flipping deftly over in midair to avoid an incoming attack from the Welzz even as it began charging for a counterattack of its own. As quickly as the familiar fire-ice-lightning triangle had manifested in front of Jackson's nose, crackling with raw elemental power, it collapsed down to a harshly glowing central point so bright that Varacei, accustomed as he was to this move, had to glance away for a second, his eyes watering. He had just enough time to return his gaze to the battlefield, noting with satisfaction that Mycroft's eyes had widened in surprise at his customized version of Tri Attack, before the powerful, extremely dangerous nucleus of light was launched in a blur, searing its way through the air like a comet and leaving a pulsing afterimage fading behind it.
The Welzz deftly lunged to one side, stretched its mouth open hugely, and swallowed the Tri Attack in mid-flight … then rose several inches into the air, its heavy, meaty-looking body alight with inner fire. Mycroft winced and tugged nervously on a lapel of his suit jacket as his Pokemon glowed first a vibrant red, then a chill, icy shade of light blue. Due to its Electric resistance, the final burst of inner fireworks was diminished considerably and the Welzz collapsed back onto the grass in a heap, its usually magnificently-curled whiskers sticking straight out like lightning rods and its eyes even wider than usual from pure shock.
"And the momentum swings back over to Varacei! It's been one thing after another in this battle, I can tell you, and I wasn't expecting anything like that superpowered Tri Attack – and then Mycroft's Whiscash just going and swallowing it like that. I guess it seems to have dampened down a bit of the damage, and it was certainly quite a sight, but still … that had to hurt. Of course, this means Mycroft's probably going to retaliate with something all drastic and awesome – you knew from the moment that the ocean started flying around in the sky that this wasn't gonna be you typical battle – I'm on the edge of my seat, folks!"
"To what 'Folks,' precisely, are you referring, Ferk?" Mycroft asked in a rather absent tone, most of his mind clearly still occupied with strategy. "It's just the three of us here, as I'm sure you've noticed.
"Now, Varacei, you've really kept me guessing on this one; battling your unorthodox Porygon-Z has been an experience. I'm not really sure what course of action I should take from here…how about an Earth Power?"
"Whoa, hey now!" Not for the first time, Varacei was thrown off guard by his opponent's very conversational way of issuing commands. Before he could even decide whether to tell his Pokemon to dodge or counter, the Welzz had reared back onto its rear fins with a louder bellow than any fish had a right to and then slammed back down, sending searingly bright orange-golden streaks of energy lacing their way through the ground in a blur.
Paralyzed by the inevitable, Varacei still couldn't hold back a groan as Jackson suffered the direct hit he'd known was coming and went flying back into the grass, its head rolling to a halt about a foot away from its body. Crossing his fingers against the Virtual Pokemon entering another bout of sleep mode, he ran over to where it had fallen.
"Why does Porygon-Z not have Levitate? It's always floating, like, a foot above the ground! I mean, it's not like I'm not grateful for Download, but still … how does that even make sense?"
Varacei's stream-of-consciousness complaints trailed off as he knelt down, feeling the dampness of the grass soak into his knees, and looked with no small amount of concern at his fallen Pokemon. As soon as he had, however, it was gone. Looking up quickly, he beheld Jackson, who had apparently just shot up six feet into the air, levitating in place and audibly humming with annoyed determination, its sleek blue-and-silver body sparkling wherever it wasn't flecked with grass and earth. He caught his breath in surprise; very rarely had he seen his Pokemon looking this serious…
And then it was gone again, streaking bullet-like to another spot above the battlefield, where it abruptly decelerated back to hovering and remained stock-still in the air for a few moments. Squinting, Varacei noticed a liquid-like sheen of various colors building up in front of his Pokémon's nose, shimmering in and out of visibility in the windy air, before Jackson jetted off to another location some twenty feet away.
Across the field, Mycroft was wearing another puzzled expression as both his eyes and those of the Welzz tracked Jackson's seemingly random progress through the air. After a while, however, Mycroft turned away to take a closer look at the odd psychic fields that it had been generating all over the field. There was something about them that he didn't like, but to his intense frustration, he could not pinpoint for the life of him exactly what was amiss.
There was nothing for it, the refined Trainer concluded with a frown. "I hate to ask you this, Varacei," he called across the field, "but do you know exactly what it is that your Pokemon is up to?"
His opponent shrugged, looking nonplussed but not exceptionally concerned. "Ah, not really. He just kind of started doing that; I usually let him make up his own plans when he wants to. Jackson can be pretty unpredictable, you know"—"Yes, I did notice," Mycroft interjected—"so usually it tends to work out better this way than if I call every attack." He shot Mycroft a cheerful, self-assured grin, but the Trainer from Lilycove couldn't help noticing that it looked a bit fragile, like that of someone setting off for adventure, unsure if he would ever be seen again. "I guess we're both going to be surprised."
Mycroft adjusted his spectacles with an equally nervous air, reflecting that between Jackson and his own Welzz, it was becoming hard to say exactly who was controlling the battle by this point. He rubbed the side of his chin thoughtfully, for once at a total loss for strategy…then looked up sharply as Varacei let loose a sudden, triumphant shout.
In a dramatic change from his earlier nervous state, the Trainer from Lavaridge was now trying and failing to conceal a growing expression of stunned, thrilling glee. "Mycroft!" he shouted across the field, practically dancing in place from excitement. "I just figured out what it is that Jackson's up to. You are NOT going to like this one…"
Mycroft's frown deepened. His nasty suspicions had just gained a good deal more evidence, but he still couldn't tell what conclusion he was supposed to be reaching. I suppose, he mused, that the fields would be something defensive; they generally resemble those generated by Protect or Light Screen. I don't really see how that would come as such a pleasant surprise to Varacei, though…
Mycroft stole a glance at the Welzz, whose eyes were still silently following Jackson as it zipped through the sky. The sunlight reflecting through the shields in midair was casting a rippling glow on its normally dark blue skin, shading it to more of an aquamarine hue. The problem, Mycroft reflected, was that there was no one defensive move that cast that shade.
No one defensive move….could they be combined somehow? I still don't quite see the point of that; it would still be possible to work around multiple shields of that size. If that was Jackson's intent, why were they not packed closer together to form one massive wall?
With a squint, Mycroft slowly stepped back and surveyed the shields hanging in the sky, where the two titanic Metagross had been dueling not twenty minutes earlier. What was it about the placement?
And then he knew.
Mycroft Williamson's hands began shaking uncontrollably, and he felt as if the salty wind had the strength to blow him over; that his expensive suit was merely the rags of a fool. And the man of logic and planning was swept forcibly into an emotion he had not experienced for more than a year.
This, this was panic…
Alexandria de la Roche's purple sandals slapped rhythmically against her heels as she dashed across the cool, polished tiles of the lobby of her hotel, the Pokѐtopia Grand, headed straight for the videophone booths in the back corner. As she collapsed into one of the booths, the sudden movement flung her Chinchou, which had been clinging to her beret for dear life with its stubby little fins, somersaulting forward off of her head and onto the desk, where it regarded her in a disgruntled manner that suggested it was deciding whether or not to give its Trainer a rousing zap.
Alex was far too excited to really notice her Chinchou's irate, sparking condition. An exhilarated, radiant smile still stretching across her face, she punched out the well-remembered number for Vita Breeding Ranch and stared impatiently at the screen as it began searching for a connection.
Seconds later, the monitor lit up with the warm, familiar smile of Alex's older brother. Isaiah de la Roche looked much as he had when Alex had left for Pokѐtopia a week previously—dressed in a simple, functional ensemble, his white hair in uncombed disarray, his relaxed demeanor broken only by the intensity of his icy blue eyes. He broke into a grin at the sight of her. "Alex! Hey! How's it going?"
Alex looked as calm as she possibly could, considering that she had just received a shock of considerable amperage from her Chinchou. "Izzy. Good to see you."
He chuckled at this. "Chinchou get you again? Sorry about that. Right now I'm working with this Ampharos that has like the exact same personality—it's been a nightmare. Thank goodness for rubber gloves!"
Alex laughed outright at that, and the ice that she had been momentarily shocked into was broken. She immediately began chattering at high speed, filling Izzy in on the details of the past few days as quickly as her tongue would allow her. "Well, I guess you want to hear about Pokѐtopia, right? It's been completely awesome so far! They had this huge banquet dinner last night, I just got done with a practice battle with this guy from Mossdeep City, and—oh my gosh, there was a Regigigas!"
Her brother paused to absorb all of this information, finally doing a light double take at Alex's last sentence. "Whoa, a Regigigas? Wait, seriously?"
Alex nodded excitedly. "It was Tower Tycoon Palmer's. He did the opening ceremony for the tournament and had it blow up this skyscraper into a bunch of fireworks. It was, I don't know how to…." She exhaled slowly. "Just completely amazing. I'll have to send you some of the photos."
Izzy grinned. "Sounds good! Hey, you mentioned a practice battle. What went on? You win in five moves like usual?"
Alex chuckled ruefully. "Well, not exactly…everyone was doing practice battles today, since we basically have a day off before the tournament starts officially, and this guy named Xavier challenged me to a battle this morning. It was…kind of exciting. It's been a while since my last professional battle, and I found out quickly that I was sorta getting out of practice just hanging around Vita all the time."
"Hey!" Izzy chuckled in mock indignation. "Raising the Pokemon with care is so much more important than going out and letting some stranger with a team of behemoths beat them up, and you know it!...so, the battle! What happened?"
Alex gave an uncertain grin and pushed her hair back from her face. "Well, in the end it wound up as a tie. Xavier's that guy with the radio who coordinates his attacks to music—remember, we watched that battle of his on TV last year—so I used Kirls to psychically change the station so it would match with Aron's attacks. And darn it, that was loud!"
Isaiah's grin deepened—it was a look Alex knew well, a sure sign of her older brother's long-abandoned passion for battling rising back to the surface. "Wow, I wouldn't have thought of that. You can really be pretty clever sometimes, Sis…so what made it end up a tie?"
Alex suddenly looked a bit guilty. "Well, it was all going really well until he sent out a Scizor."
The bang as Isaiah leaped up from his chair was loud even at Alex's end. "Oh jeez, NO! And on your first day there! What are the odds? Are you okay!"
She sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine now. I just kind of panicked, like usual, and it knocked out Rose before I even knew what was happening. I've got to find a way to get past that weakness, though!" Alex's voice was afire with a kind of frustrated vehemence. "What am I going to do if someone uses a Scizor against me in the tournament? It's not like they're just going to call a draw because I got attacked by a Scizor like seven years ago. We all have our problems—this one is mine, and I have to solve it somehow."
Isaiah winced. "Well, I can kind of see what you're saying. Just…be careful. Okay?"
Alex nodded. "Of course."
Her brother brightened, and his eyes lit up with excitement as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Hey!...I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but…do you know anything about what's going to happen after the first part of this tournament?"
Puzzled, Alex retrieved her copy of the rules from her shoulder bag and paged through it. "Umm, it says there's going to be a "qualifying event" to determine who battles who in the Tag Battle round. That's pretty much all they tell you…why?"
Isaiah's expression took on a rather conspiratorial air. "Well, again I don't want to say too much, but they asked me to help with organizing that part of the tournament. I can definitely tell you, it's going to be…interesting. I don't think it'll be anything like whatever you're expecting.
"I've had a look at some of the statistics for this tournament. It really is huge, eh? Thousands of entrants…I hear there are even Trainers there from Orre and Isshu."
Alex's eyes widened. "Whoa, really? All the way over there…those guys have to have some dedication to take such a long trip, whoever they are. Maybe I'll get to see some Pokemon you can't find back here! I've heard all sorts of weird rumors about the Pokemon they have over in Isshu—ones made out of garbage, or that can change with the seasons, or something like that."
Isaiah's loyal Nidoqueen appeared behind him and stood there expectantly, a meaningful look in its serious blue eyes. "Oh, hey, speaking of which, I should go. I've got an egg that should be hatching in a minute or two here—it's a Tsutarja I'm breeding for a client."
"A Tsutarja?" Alex asked in surprise. "That's the Grass starter for Isshu, right? I didn't even know Vita handled them."
Her brother nodded. "My client is this aristocrat from Hioun City who wanted his kid's starter Pokemon to be born in Johto for some reason. It's a pretty expensive commission—I might finally be able to build that addition."
Queen tapped Izzy on the shoulder, looking like she wouldn't hesitate to step up to a Mega Punch if her owner didn't get going, right now. "Oh, jeez, sorry, I really have to go now. I'll try to call you back tomorrow!"
Alex grinned, happy to see the familiar sight of one of Izzy's Pokemon dragging him back to work. "Okay! Love you—'bye." The screen went dark.
The elegant marble lobby of the Pokѐtopia Grand reverberated with footsteps and conversation, the only patch of silence being the corner where Alexandria de la Roche and her Chinchou sat looking thoughtfully at an empty videophone monitor, thousands of thoughts competing for their attention.
The last puzzle piece had fallen into place, and Mycroft Williamson could see with a wretched clarity exactly what fate was about to be visited on his Welzz and, seemingly, his previously secure chances of victory. A small, traitorous part of the back of his mind could not help objectively, perversely admiring the sheer brilliance of Jackson's plan, and noting that beneath its spastic exterior there was a powerful, dangerous strategic mind unlike any the trainer from Lilycove had previously encountered.
For the most part, though, his brain was frozen in the same searing, initial chill of the panic that had befallen him, the immutable truth of what was about to happen reverberating endlessly through his head as though it were a hall of mirrors. And that, he knew, was the greatest irony of them all, for a hall of mirrors was exactly what he faced.
Yes, Mycroft understood it all at last, as clearly as though he had come up with the plan himself. Jackson's peculiar psychic fields had never been intended to be used defensively at all. Rather, they were set up at meticulously calculated angles so that an attack – a Hyper Beam, most likely – would be bounced back and forth between them on the same principle as a laser, its power gaining exponentially with each reflection. Finally, its power amplified more than any number of Nasty Plot boosts could possibly render it, the dreaded attack would slam straight into the Welzz. There would be no resisting it and no dodging – in normal circumstances, Hyper Beam simply did not miss.
Varacei, having observed the chill of realization deepen on Mycroft's features, was no longer attempting to contain his glee, knowing the first irresistibly sweet taste of victory at last … and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Jackson was drifting into place. It was now or never … But for what? Mycroft asked himself. What can I do?
And then, deep within the soul of the tall, refined man, a small but brilliant spark of something long-forgotten rekindled itself. A thrilling dawn of hope shattered at a stroke the dreadful chill that had gripped him. An exhilarating, fiery rush of pure spontaneity flooded through Mycroft's being for the first time in ages, translating itself into a clearly defined plan in an instant.
Mycroft Williamson was still very likely to lose this round. His opposition had not changed, and his chances of victory remained second to none. But he knew that he was going to try, all the same.
"Welzz, that one!" Mycroft shouted, throwing out an arm to indicate one of the psychic mirrors, one that was parallel to the ground and which would reflect Jackson's attack upwards. Simultaneously the infamous rumbling, searing zap of a Hyper Beam being launched rang out in the waiting air.
Racing against time, the Welzz dashed forth, propelling itself forward as fast as its blunt fins would allow, while a deadly, dazzling light show shot through the air above it. In seconds it had arrived at the critical mirror and then done what it did best: shoved the entire thing into its gaping maw and then swallowed. This done, it hurled itself bodily out of the way just as the rush of light approached …
Mycroft, Ferk and Varacei all closed their eyes and braced themselves for the impact. The explosion shook the ground with the force, it seemed, of Groudon itself in a cranky mood, and echoed deafeningly into the air along with an odd, heavy rushing sound like something collapsing.
Ferk Ramalo was, somewhat predictably, the first to open his eyes, and immediately choked out a stunned, "I don't believe it." Mycroft had succeeded: the Welzz was lying flat on its back, conscious though looking really, really dazed, mere inches from where the errant Hyper Beam, deflected from its course by the whiskers Pokémon's timely intervention, had punched a hole more than four feet in diameter straight through the cliff, through which could be seen the sparkling ocean far below.
"Well!" Ferk said, still taking all this in. "I don't think I've ever seen an attack quite that powerful, and I am stunned that Mycroft was able to avoid it. Seriously, I … I just don't know what to say. Except that that was EPIC."
"Erm, Ferk? Varacei?" Rather than being exultant at his fantastic escape, Mycroft instead looked rather concerned. "Perhaps the two of you could do me a favor and walk over this way. What with that trench we put in the ground earlier, thanks to the Earthquake, and now this" – he indicated the still-sizzling hole in the ground – "that entire outcropping is liable to collapse without notice, and if either of you were still standing on it when that happened, well, that would be …" he paused thoughtfully – " … let us say, unfortunate."
The other two Trainers simultaneously cast a nervous glance at the ground beneath their feet. "Oooh, good point. Yeah, let's do that," said Varacei quickly, and he and Ferk painstakingly made their way back to safer ground, both looking as though they expected the turf to explode out from under them at any moment.
Mycroft breathed a visible sigh of relief, and the color returned to his face. "Excellent. Perhaps we should resume battle down on the beach below the cliff. In addition to being safer, I wouldn't mind a change of pace … and besides, we've chewed up this arena pretty well."
What a fight, yeah," Varacei agreed, nodding feelingly. "That sounds good, just … HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"
For the Welzz, who had apparently been waiting only for the humans to get to safe ground, had suddenly galloped forward, leapt into the air, and seized Jackson in its jaws. The two tumbled into the hole in the cliff and soared downwards, the Whiscash's long golden whiskers streaming magnificently back in the wind, and with a tremendous splash they were gone.
All three Trainers gasped and ran to the edge of the cliff, just in time to witness the Welzz surface and swim exhaustedly to shore, spit out an unconscious Jackson, and then pass out itself. The second round was over.
"You know, by this point I'm starting to get an uneasy suspicion that we're getting more exercise in this battle than our Pokemon are, here," Ferk Ramalo muttered, as he, Mycroft, and Varacei finished carefully picking their way down the cliffside to the beach, where the battle would at last conclude. All three of the Trainers, having reached solid ground, cast thoughtful glances at the new arena. Fortunately, the tide seemed to be out for the time being, and the beach was bathed in a harsh sunlight where it was not shadowed by the cliff above it. Smooth sand dunes laced with a hardy, leafy vine of some sort greeted them at the end of the cliff path, giving way eventually to damper, harder-packed sand and the rolling waves. Varacei nodded absently, drifting over to the spot where Jackson and the Welzz, both of them still unconscious, lay on the damp sand that sloped gently down to the waves.
"It's been crazy, has it not?" said Mycroft thoughtfully, coming up behind him and studying the two sand-crusted combatants with a distant air. "I'm no stranger to double knockouts, believe me, but this one has elevated that concept to ridiculous extremes."
Varacei nodded with a wry chuckle. "Yeah, I really don't know who I should blame for this. Both of our Pokemon did some pretty stupid things, but I guess it all worked out in the end…sort of.
"Well," he continued, brightening, "only one more round to go before the winner is decided! You nervous?"
Mycroft groaned, his violet eyes raised to the heavens in exasperation. "Only as to whether all three of ups will survive to see this battle end. I must honestly say, Varacei, that when I challenged you to this competition, I was not expecting anything of this caliber. It's safe to say you've taught me a thing or two today." He recalled his Whiscash and turned the Pokѐball over in his hands pensively.
With Ferk refereeing and announcing, however, no silence was destined to last for long. "Ladies AND Gentlemen! WELCOME to the final round of the riveting, pulse-pounding matchup between VARACEI ALGER of Lavaridge Town and MYCROFT WILLIAMSON of Lilycove City! Breathtaking clashes have met innovative strategy like never before today, and all that remains now is our STUNNING CONCLUSION! Mr. Alger, Mr. Williamson—ARE YOU READY?"
The effect of this speech was diminished somewhat by the fact that Ferk, worn out from shouting, broke into a severe coughing fit as soon as he had finished speaking. Mycroft and Varacei's eyes met, both of them wearing "Oh, Ferk" expressions, and a second later the two of them had seized the final two Pokѐballs and hurled them out over the sand. Light erupted onto the beach as the Cherish Ball and Mycroft's trademark Luxury Ball opened to release their inhabitants.
Gawain, Mycroft's trusty Gallade, stood ready at his side, its streamlined, green-and-white body blazing in the summer light, its shining, bright red eyes narrowing with focus as they beheld Varacei's champion: the tough shell, muscular build and steely cannons were all the hallmarks of a truly fearsome Blastoise. And once more, the tantalizing thrill of a battle about to begin filled the air.
"Let the battle—cough!—BEGIN!"
The fiery dedication that had descended upon Mycroft in the last round was clearly still present. "Leaf Blade, and dodge around to stop the counterattack," he ordered immediately, his wiry frame tense with concentration.
Varacei wore a sly grin. "Mazu, why don't we try the Aguabala?"
The Gallade responded instantaneously, giving clear evidence to an understanding between the two as powerful as that between Varacei and his Metagross. A piercingly bright spark of green light glittering at the end of its bladed arm, Gawain dashed forward, scrambling through the sand as quickly as it could, then suddenly jumped to one side to avoid a sudden blow from its opponent.
That counterattack never came. Aiming its high-pressure water cannons directly at the side of the cliff before it, Mazu fired a Hydro Pump and rocketed backwards in an equal but opposite motion. The burly Blastoise crashed into the breakers, skidding on the edge of its polished shell, and vanished into the sea, leaving only a smooth dent in the sand to mark where it had gone.
Mycroft frowned. "I hope you aren't planning to evade Gawain by having your Blastoise hide in the ocean indefinitely. There's really no point in avoiding the battle altogether, is there?"
Varacei smirked. "Oh, don't worry, Mycroft. She'll be back…soon."
And with that, the ocean exploded.
With a look of delight in its own power suffusing its bulky features, Mazu burst out of the waves about a hundred feet from shore and rushed forward, propelled by a full-fledged Hydro Cannon. Gawain leapt out of the way and stood to one side, nervously surveying this new development.
Moving closer to shore by the second, Mazu tucked into its shell and began to spin, erratically skipping over the waves like a massive stone, water still gushing from its cannons. As the bursts of water tore into the sand, however, they froze instantly, apparently having become Ice Beams at some point. In seconds, Gawain was ringed in sharp chunks of ice, and when the Blade Pokemon attempted to move it found its foot tangled in some subterranean root. Before the Blade Pokemon had even time to realize its bad luck, the next Ice Beam hit it head-on, gluing it to the spot, where it glowered helplessly at the approaching Blastoise.
Now only feet from its opponent, Mazu popped its head out of its shell and promptly began to glow with the beginnings of a Skull Bash. Mycroft watched helplessly, aware of the terrible momentum behind the combination.
In the last possible seconds, Gawain, looking truly afraid for the first time, threw out a fist in another Leaf Blade and closed its eyes. In a rush of saltwater and inertia it was over.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what even happened there? That was an amazing combo from Varacei and his Blastoise…could this be?..."
Mazu had clearly been struck by Gawain's heroic last-minute attack, and had been bowled over into the dunes, looking winded. But the Gallade was stretched out in the sand, the waves washing over its unconscious form, a peaceful expression on its face.
"And that," said Varacei in smug triumph, "is the Aguabala."
Mycroft recalled his Pokemon without a word, then slowly turned to Varacei. "Now, that was a combo. My congratulations to you…you've very nearly defeated me altogether."
His opponent chuckled. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how unlikely it was that that thing actually worked. At least seventy percent of the time, the other guy sees it coming and knocks Mazu halfway back to Kanto…but it's awesome enough that I keep on trying. Looks like luck is finally back on my side!"
A puzzled expression suddenly descended on him like a small cloud. "Hey, wait a moment…whaddayamean, nearly defeated you? I just knocked out your last Pokemon!"
Ferk nodded. "And it was, you know, a three-on-three battle…just saying…"
Mycroft allowed himself a subtle smile. "Well, yes, but if you'll remember, there was one of my Pokemon that you never knocked out at all." And with that, the Timer Ball was in his hands.
Varacei paled, the memory of the first round returning to him in a flash.
In a burst of red light, an injured-looking Carnegie expanded onto the beach, casting a long shadow in the late-afternoon light. "And now," said Mycroft Williamson, "It would seem that after all of the high strategy and clever tactics of this battle, the victory will be decided, as is so often the case, based solely on speed."
He took a deep breath and gave what he knew would be his last command of the day. "Carnegie, Hammer Arm."
His Pokemon roared and rushed forward, one of its two-hundred-pound limbs stretched to its fullest extent. That sight was Mycroft's last before, in the immensity of the moment, his world dissolved into a pulsing blur. Lost to him was Varacei's answering command, Ferk's shouted narration, the vortex of sand that surrounded the two Pokemon as they rushed toward each other, each only thinking of defeating the other and winning itself and its owner honor and glory. He only listened for the impact, and he was not kept waiting long.
CRASH!
And the sunlight gleamed off of silver and gold as Carnegie returned to him, triumphant at last.
Ferk gasped. But after a day full of shocks and thrills, it did not take long for him to find his voice again, and the final announcement rang off of the cliffs over the ocean. "Blastoise is UNABLE to battle—Carnegie is the winner, and the match goes to MYCROFT WILLIAMSON!"
The two contestants breathed a long sigh more or less simultaneously, then met and shook hands. "An excellent battle, Varacei," said Mycroft warmly. "I feel most privileged to have made your acquaintance."
His former opponent was smiling broadly, looking no less exhilarated for his loss. "Hey, call me Urya. All my friends do."
Mycroft wrinkled his brow. "Why?"
Ferk cleared his throat. "Uh, Mycroft, did you say something about treating us to dinner after the battle? I seem to recall…"
Mycroft Williamson cast a glance at the brilliantly setting sun. "You wouldn't let me go back on that particular promise, Ferk, would you? Well, it seems to be getting on to dinnertime, and you'll both be happy to hear that I am a close friend of the manager of Fire Blast Steakhouse here in town. I can secure us an excellent table in the time it takes us to walk there. Shall we?"
The three walked off, leaving a cliff that looked like the site of a bomb test behind them, thoughts of strategy and tactics effortlessly melting into dreams of peppercorns and sirloin, as the sun set on the last practice battle of the day.
Later that night, on the waterfront of that great city, the lights of a Regigigas-shaped building shone through the shimmering fog of a balmy tropical night, pulsing softly in rhythm with the waves roaring in the distance. Within that building, a computer programmer working with the tournament, unknown to all but his colleagues and friends, was a keystroke away from completing a momentous task, though one for which he would go almost totally unrecognized.
He paused for a moment to glance thoughtfully at the screen. He had only to hit Enter, and the next day's battle schedules would go online, effectively beginning the tournament. The photographs of the Trainers all stared back at him—such determined faces for people so young, he mused. Maybe I shouldn't have gone with the indoorsy career, after all…I can't help but wonder what it must be like to be that passionate about something. There was an odd wistfulness to one of the first competitors, though…
Indulging in his little bit of theatrics despite being virtually alone in the room, the programmer stepped back and slammed the Enter key down with a flourish. A brief hum of his computer's fan, and it was done.
Rising fully with a groan, the programmer whistled to his pet Ariados, which had been napping in a corner, and wearily pushed open the door, heading outside as quickly as he could with the magenta arachnid scuttling faithfully behind him.
Seconds after he stepped out into the windy air, he heard a sharp bang, from which direction he couldn't say. Pausing for a moment, he concluded that it must simply have been some kids having a late Pokemon battle and strolled off for his apartment.
He was far too far away to have seen either the Toxicroak building rocked by a flash of light, and the dim shape of a human on a Pokemon drifting away from the impact, deeper into the city, or, miles away, the edge of an ocean cliff finally giving way, as if in sympathy, and roaring down to the hungry waves below.
The palm trees continued to toss in the wind, the many secrets of the island hissing through their fronds and out into the dusk.
Well, at last it concludes! Hope you enjoyed it to the fullest, also hope you're still awake. I assume all of the drama and explodey parts were sufficiently stimulating to keep you conscious! Character credits, before I forget:
-Varacei Alger—"Urya," now—Startix, Master of the NoLess
-Mycroft Williamson, computer programmer—myself
-Ferk Ramalo—SilentlySnowing
-Alex and Izzy de la Roche—nellchan0013
-The Trainer—oh, don't you wish you knew!
On that last note, I suppose I don't have to tell you that that scene will be VERY significant. I hope I conveyed the ominous mood adequately. Ahh, Kingdom Hearts stole my "the organization" name, or vice versa…but HA, mine is in cool lowercase!
I couldn't resist teasing a little Pokemon Black and White there…as you can see, due to its being far away geographically it won't play a major role in the story, but you can expect a few little surprises. And if you give me a character who plausibly owns one of those nifty new 160-odd Pocket Monsters, I will accept them!
I hereby promise to you, with my profound apologies, that I will never let a chapter go this late again. You all deserve more than that for your dedication, no matter how busy my life gets, and you'll be happy to hear that I'm already well underway with Chapter 11. Despite the delays, I hope that the Practice Battles double trilogy was everything you could've hoped for!
One more note: I may be starting a webcomic next summer. Look out for that one! Just to keep you posted there.
And this is a whopping THIRTY-SEVEN pages in Word…my favorite number, as luck would have it.
Maecenas out. Thank you all, and stay tuned!