A/N:
Double update because I feel guilty for my quarter-year absence.
No, I don't have Chapter 9 in store.
Hooray for weird chapter names that have absolutely no correlation to the chapter. Yeah!
Now… Presenting Chapter 8.
Chapter 8
Victory
Max ran through the hallways, ignoring the burn of guilt.
He had arrived on the scene just in time to see LeAnna leaving the field. Running a hand through his hair, Max frowned upon the realisation that he had missed at least a few battles. No matter, the black-haired teen mused, I suppose the results will become clear soon or later anyway.
Shoving both hands into the pockets of his jacket, he tried to prevent them from trembling. Was this feeling what people called being 'nervous'? Because if it was, he didn't like it. Not one bit. It felt crippling, paralysing, and was worse than a Stun Spore to the face.
A small jolt of electricity travelled up his hand from where it had come into contact with the Dusk Ball. The Rotom that was its occupant had returned before he had gotten to the courtyard where the battles were held, and was now having fun shocking him at random times.
It brought a weak smile to his lips.
He still missed having Butterfree around, but dreaded the moment when he would have to be on the battlefield without her - or against her, possibly. And with every passing battle that she did not appear, the possibility of him having to face her was just that much higher.
Was it worth it, really?
If he had to injure his best - and only - friend in order to progress through some stupid succession tournament, then what was the point of even coming here?
She would heal, sure, but the consequences of such an action would never go. Just like how he would never forget the end result of Cora's match, permanently seared in his mind.
"Contenders fifteen and seventeen, please enter the field."
The black-haired teen raised his gaze, only to meet a dark one full of mirth. Another glance revealed it to be Blaise, who stepped out confidently onto the field, flicking the Pokeball in her hands casually as she did so.
"Well, it's about time!"
A drop of water fell on Max's hand, and he blinked, looking down to see just what had transpired. But it was in the movement of lowering his head that he realised, from the continued drops that fell, that he was crying.
Why…
There should have been no reason for him to cry. He was happy, so very happy that he wouldn't need to face Butterfree on the field, so why was he crying?
A new challenger has appeared!
The Wax Witch, Blaise Candeloro VS Rhode Iilas
Let the battle begin!
With a flip of her auburn locks, Blaise strode onto the field. Tucking away the unlit candle on her staff, she gave it a few twirls before taking a stance. She presented her right side to her opponent, pointing the steel ferruled butt end at her opponent.
Rhode Ilias on the other hand, gave her tomahawk a few practice swings and expelled a long breath.
Both women stared each other down wordlessly for a few short moments before Blaise thrust out the staff at Rhode's face, who brought up her tomahawk to hook it, and would have succeeded, had Blaise not snapped her weapon back, her feint having succeeded, and then thrust low, into Rhode's right thigh.
This was followed by a loud, earth-shattering explosion as a volley of Shadow Balls met an unleashed Psyshock, with the Meowstic launching himself at the Butterfree moments later, a Power-Up Punch already charged and ready to let fly.
The battle didn't stop there. Levering her weapon with practiced ease, the Wax Witch swung it horizontally back and forth, hitting a quick left-right-left-right combo on the inner sides of Rhode's knees before snapping the staff up and smacking her between the legs.
Even as Rhode groaned in pain and her shoulders slumped, Blaise didn't relent. She pulled the staff back and shot it out again, darting it into the other woman's jugular notch, making her drop her weapon and clutch at her throat, coughing. In the meantime, a bolt of pure energy was thrown across the field, barely countered by the blast of sonic that was thrown up as a last-ditch defence. Yet even that was followed up a blade of shimmering green waves, as Rye slammed it down from above, effectively cutting off Butterfree's aerial escape and ending the match in a matter of moments.
Blaise spun the staff and hit Rhode on the crown of her head with the top end of the staff, sending her down on her rump. Only then did Blaise relax her posture, holding the butt end of her staff under Rhode's chin. "Do you yield?"
The other woman nodded, still trying to rein in her coughing. Blaise smirked, looked over at the Elites, pulled her staff back and then bowed deeply at all the other contestants, eliciting some applause at the flawless performance.
Rising to her full height, and with another flip of her auburn locks, the Wax Witch walked off the field.
"Ladies and gentlemen - what a splendid act by none other than Blaise Candeloro herself!" It was a Cheshire grin that had spread over Miles' lips, even as he gave the microphone in his hand a little twirl. "Of course, the Meowstic was nothing short of spectacular, but hey, trainers first and everyone else second!"
Max vaguely heard Samuel mentioning two more numbers, but it was secondary to the bug that had practically rushed over in a whirlwind and tackled him into a hug. "Thank Arceus. You did take care of yourself while I was with Witch-lady, right?"
The black-haired teen laughed sheepishly, as a powdered wing slapped his face in mock-irritation. "Yes, I missed you too. Nice to have you back." His brown eyes fixed on Reuben, who had offered some jellybeans to his Meowstic as what seemed like a peace treaty. Despite rejecting the sweets, it didn't take long for Rye to tackle his trainer into a messy hug.
That's… surprisingly sweet.
"Reunions aside," Samuel stated with the barest hint of a smile, "the next match will be between numbers eleven and nineteen." He paused for a few moments, before chuckling, almost as if at an inside joke.
Thomas Pique groaned as soon his number was announced. It couldn't be put-off forever, but that did not mean he liked being a puppet in this… whatever it was the League was playing at.
The fact that his opponent was cute was a small consolation, however.
Before stepping onto the field, he jumped on his toes a couple of times. Not enough of a warm-up, but to fuck with it. Now readier than he had been ten seconds ago, he approached the middle of the field, where Chikae whatever-her-last-name-was stood waiting for him, smile in place and Pokeball in hand.
Tom looked down at the ball in his own palm. "Look, I don't know what you are inside, and I sure as hell know you won't listen to me." The ball shook an imperceptible amount. Tom only felt a slight vibration, if that. "I'll make you a deal, though. I won't get in your way, and you don't get in mine. But we work on our opponents and get this done, okay? That way you can go back to your trainer and I can just get some much needed rest."
This time, the ball bounced in his palm. Tom chuckled. Alright then.
Tom tossed the ball up in the air, and with a flash of white light, a Chandelure materialised on the field. The raven haired man nodded once at the Pokemon, then at the lady to whom the dead and flaming candelabra belonged.
Creepy little piece of shit.
With a smile on her face that oddly reminded him of someone, Chikae gave the Pokeball in her right hand a casual flick. In a burst of white, both halves of the ball separated, leaving behind yet another yellow humanoid Pokemon. Only this time, it held what was clearly a spoon between its hands, and the red star in the middle of its forehead gave it away as a Kadabra.
A new challenger has appeared!
Thomas Pique VS Chikae K.
Let the battle begin!
"Well, I guess this is it." Leisurely walking up to the girl, Tom held out his left fist. His posture was relaxed. She hadn't seemed like a bitch, this girl, so he would treat this like a normal bout, no matter how it went.
It took a couple of moments for the pale haired girl to understand the gesture, but when she did, she beamed at Tom and bumped fists with him.
"Good fight," Tom told her, much out of habit, and then retreated back, all the while keeping his eyes on the naginata wielding girl.
She didn't attack outright. Chikae placed her left hand near the middle of the staff, thumb pointing towards the blade end, the other hand closer to the butt. Getting a comfortable grip, she raised her weapon over her head.
Well fuck me up, down and sideways.
The butt end of the naginata was pointed downwards and forwards, aimed straight at his face. Chikae grinned at him. "I'm all set~!"
Tom presented his left shoulder to the girl and started circling her, all the while considering his options.
She has a good stance. Hands are spread far enough so as to leave enough of the ass end pointing at me while still capable of serving as a strong leverage point. I fucking hate this bull shit.
She had range on him, too. She could just stand there and keep swatting at him until he couldn't dodge any more. Tom would have to close the gap and create any opening… at the risk of being sliced into ribbons.
Rotating on the ball of his right foot, Tom pushed off into a controlled sprint, pulling out his knife as he did so. He wouldn't even land a hit, he knew, but it would help to test the waters, at least.
As expected, Chikae thrust the butt end of the naginata straight at him, aiming for his left collarbone. Tom switched hands with the knife, holding it in a reverse grip so that the flat of the blade lay along the length of his forearm. This forearm he raised just as he came into range and braced himself.
The naginata's shaft slid against the flat of the knife and Tom pushed it gently to his left, never stopping his charge, not even blinking when a blast of blue fire shot by them.
Chikae, however, used this movement to swivel the shaft around, circling it over Tom's head and brought it around to bash his right temple in. Not wanting to risk flesh contact so early on in the match, Tom lowered his head and then his waist, letting the evil staff of doom fly over him as he dived into a roll. His plan had been to lunge for her midsection upon completing the roll, but that was not to be.
Moving with him, Chikae jumped back and as soon as Tom came out of his roll, swung the blade end of the naginata down on his head. Tom only had a fraction of a second to raise his knife covered forearm and take the brunt of the blow. His forearm rattled under the monstrous force of the downward swing and he clenched his teeth.
Fuck it.
Bringing up his right hand, he jabbed his open palm into his left wrist, angling the forearm sharply. The blade of the naginata slid along this slope and hit the ground immediately beside Tom.
Every instinct in his body told him to grab the staff and use this opening to his advantage, but Tom found that his left forearm was shaking violently, unable to move. Not wasting a second, Tom rolled back twice before rising to his feet, slapping circulation back into his left arm.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lone Chandelure facing off against five or so Kadabra - no doubt, Double Team had been used. Violent explosions shook their side of the field, reminding him to quickly return focus on his own battle.
Chikae had by then readied herself in the high ward again. She smiled at him. "You okay?"
"Just fucking peachy."
"Good! Come at me anytime you're ready, okay?"
Tom smiled wolfishly at her, the adrenaline finally hitting him and taking the pain away. Oh, you can fucking count on that one.
Now… If I stay at a distance, I'm fucked. If I fail like last time, I'm pretty fucked too. I need to grab that shaft. But how?
Tom circled Chikae just outside the reach of her naginata. She would need to take a passing step forward to reach him. He would have to coax her into taking that step. He had an idea as to how he would go about achieving that. May or may not work. Still, better than just moving around and doing fuck all.
While circling Chikae, Tom switched hands with his knife again, opting for a regular sabre grip. He felt Chikae's eyes on his every move. He waved the knife side to side and saw her waist sway with the motion ever so slightly. Coiled and ready to react. Good. He flashed her a wild grin.
Then dropped the knife into its sheath on his right thigh.
Chikae's stance stiffened slightly and she blinked in confusion. The opening only lasted a second at most, and Tom used it to lash out with a lazy front kick, raising his left leg and thrusting out his hips. It had no chance in hell of connecting, but it really wasn't what he was aiming for.
His previous action had made Chikae miss a beat. It was unexpected and her brain had taken a while to comprehend the non-threatening gesture while she was fully primed for a fight. So he had given her a target to lash out at, and she had done so purely out of reflex - she had reacted to movement.
The ass end of Chikae's naginata shot out again, but instead of thrusting into his foot - at which point he had intended to grab it after retracting his foot - the shaft whirled around his leg, pushing it out of its intended trajectory. The girl then pushed the shaft under Tom's extended shin and levered the limb upwards, so that his foot pointed harmlessly at the sky, forming a near straight angle in relation to the rest of his body. Tom grimaced as a mild pain spread along his crotch.
Always hated doing splits, but fucking shitbiscuits, they came in handy today.
Now that the ass end was in the air, what would follow was another downward swing from the bladed end, and sure enough, Chikae soon disengaged his leg to bring her weapon on him again.
This was what Tom had been hoping to make happen.
As soon the shaft left his leg, he brought it down by snapping the muscles on his thigh while simultaneously rotating on the ball of his right foot, wrenching his body out of the way as the naginata came down, slicing the air in front of him.
Chikae looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, but couldn't change the weapon's trajectory to cut at his legs until the momentum from the swing lessened somewhat. Tom took this opportunity to shrug off his already unzipped jacket and flung it straight into the girl's face, even as she was preparing to level the naginata for a thrust to his midsection.
His actions elicited a muffled squeak, and Tom took a passing step to his left, so that the naginata was now to his right, and grabbed onto the staff immediately below the circular handguard. Snatching a pole-weapon from a blinded girl seemed like an easy enough task, until Chikae took one step forward with her back foot, turned the whole weapon around, and smacked him on the left temple with the butt end.
Fucking fuckity fucknuggets!
The motion had wrenched the naginata out of Tom's grasp, and the hit had disoriented him, and sent him back a couple of steps.
Chikae tore off the jacket from her face and flung it away. Her eyes now locked on target, she took a step forward and swung the blade down diagonally across Tom's torso, cutting him from the right collarbone to the floating ribs on the left side of his ribcage.
Tom grunted and shuffled backwards a bit more. The burning pain spread like wildfire to all corners of his body, but it also brought him back to his senses, just in time to see Chikae attempt a thrust at his chest.
"Pain Split!"
It was then that everything slowed down around him for a brief few seconds. It happened every time he was at the goal and some prick was about to attempt a penalty.
This is kinda like that, Tommy boy. Just instead of a football, you've got a fucking fuckass blade that's gonna turn you into a skewered kebab coming at you. No pressure. Absolutely none at all, nope.
Tom swivelled on the ball of his right foot, turning his body sideways so that the blade thrusted harmlessly into the air in front of him. Before Chikae could twist the blade and try to decapitate him with a swing, Tom pulled out his knife and rammed the wooden butt end of it into the only vulnerable spot; Chikae's left wrist, which was now directly in front of him.
Lead arm neutralisation: Check.
The pale-haired girl grunted in pain as her grip on her weapon loosened. Tom followed it up with a backhanded hammerfist to the bridge of the girl's nose, again clubbing her with the butt end of his knife.
Disorientation: Check.
Her eyes teared immediately, even before the pain registered. Before she could blink away her tears, Tom went downstairs, bending low and smashing his left elbow into the her right femur, directly above her knee cap. Then he went down on his right knee and rammed his right elbow into her left calf from behind.
Yet another blast of fire ravaged the field, this time shaped by Psychic to avoid the duelling humans. With a muffled groan of pain, the girl went down on her knee, supporting herself by digging the butt end of the naginata into the ground.
Fucking up vertical base: Check. Time to end this, then.
Tom rose to his full height and positioned himself behind Chikae, placing his left palm beneath her lower jaw and tilting her head back up, thereby exposing her throat. He had wanted to place his knife there and force a submission, but before he could do so, Chikae stabbed the butt end of her weapon into his gut, then again into his solar plexus, making him grunt in pain and take a few steps back.
Chikae turned slightly, using her naginata to rise to her feet. Her left shoulder faced Tom, who dropped his knife. This ends now.
He didn't even wait for her to attain a vertical base. Covering the distance between then, Tom placed his right palm on the back of her head, leapt off his left foot, crossed his right leg over her chest and the left shin behind her already hurting knee before twisting his body clockwise, taking Chikae down to the ground with him.
His right hand stopped her head from smacking into the ground, but it also acted as a leverage point when he pulled his left leg out from under her and placed his right shin across her throat lightly.
"Please yield." He didn't like they way he bled all over her in that position.
Chikae, who had been taken quite by surprise at the sudden takedown, blinked. Then with a sigh, she nodded. "I yield."
"Oh thank fuck," Tom muttered before rolling off of her and collapsing on the field beside her, chest heaving. The cut, though somewhat shallow, stung with every breath.
"You fought dirty, though."
"Please. I brought a fucking knife to a glaive fight. Of course I'll play dirty."
The pale haired girl sighed and turned her face to look at her recent foe. "That last takedown… you guarded my head."
With a grunt, Tom sat up. "So I did," he said and rose to his feet slowly.
"Why?"
"Old habits die hard, I guess," he said and offered her his hand, which she took to get up. Once on her feet, she smiled at him.
"Thought you didn't give a fuck?"
"Not giving a fuck doesn't mean being an indifferent prick," he said as he bent to pick up his knife, just as Chikae picked up her naginata. Tom slid the blade into its sheath. "If you want the whole lecture, find me in the hospital later tonight. Now where the fuck'd you throw my jacket?"
She snickered. "It's a gone case."
He didn't quite comprehend it until she pointed it out to him. The jacket lay over the flaming Chandelure, which was on top of an unconscious Kadabra. Needless to say, the end result was clear, and the jacket too was on fire.
"Oh come the fuck on." Tom huffed. "It was a perfectly good, serviceable jacket."
Lundstrom chuckled eerily. "Well, I'm not going to apologise." He waited just long enough for the flaming jacket to completely burn to ash, before shaking it off - and just to rub it into someone's face, left the ash there on the floor. Of course, he could have chosen to not obliterate the jacket entirely - leaving it just a little singed instead - but hey, the human deserved it for being rude!
"Creepy little piece of shit, am I?"
The male groaned, before tossing the Dusk Ball back to the Witch. "You owe me a new jacket, lady!" He shouted, before storming off the field. Now where did that oversized lizard go…
Chikae could only laugh.
Samuel cleared his throat, no doubt asking for the contenders to maintain decorum, but it went unheeded. With a long-suffering sigh, he announced the next two numbers - "Fourteen and one."
Silence.
"I repeat: the next match will be between numbers fourteen and one."
A new challenger has appeared!
The Icy Observer, Alister Lewis VS Alastair Matthews
Let the battle begin!
It began suddenly - all too suddenly.
The whistle of metal cutting through air was cut short by several sharp clangs and a rather loud swish and a whirr, before the blade of Alister's weapon hit the ground with a thud. The pale-haired teen still maintained a steady grip on the reinforced handle of his weapon, however, as compared to his dark-haired opponent, who kept a loose touch on his weapons of choice.
Silently, both contenders stepped onto the field, gaze never leaving the other.
Broken halves of throwing knives fell to the ground with a cacophonous clatter, but it didn't take long for the magician to pull more out from seemingly nowhere. With lighting-fast movements, one blade became two, then four, then eight - multiplying as soon as they were fired off; there could be no doubt that Alastair had great skill with sleight-of-hand.
Still, a hack and a slash quickly cleared the air of flying projectiles. The pickaxe in Alister's hands gleamed oddly, almost as if the sharper end of the blade was coated with a clear substance that somehow made it even sharper than before. It was just a pickaxe, but for it to slice through several throwing knives with ease… surely that alone spoke volumes?
A simultaneous clash showed the blades of both the Gallade and Doublade locked together, neither Pokemon giving an inch. Pale violet light exploded from the sudden sphere that formed between green blades, only to be stifled by the pulse of dark energy that swallowed it - but it couldn't be contained, and exploded in a blinding blast mere moments after.
Spheres and blasts of energy were conjured and launched at each other, causing the air to be thick with charges. Blades would clash for a few moments, before both parties separated, putting a few feet of distance between them in order to either deflect or cleave the special attacks in two.
Darting forward, his blue cloak billowing around him with a swish as he did so, Alister slammed his pickaxe down in a forceful slash. It would miss, he surmised, and the pale-haired teen's prediction came true as Alastair leapt backwards, firing off a handful of knives from the close proximity as he did so.
The cloak saved him from anything worse than a few shallow cuts, for which Alister was grateful. It also masked his movement of switching his two-handed grip on the pickaxe to a one-handed grip, mere seconds before he flung his now-empty right hand forward.
A knife shot past, leaving a clean slice on his palm, a pained hiss escaping his lips from the stinging of the wound. Still, he had bought himself enough time. Even though Alastair brought forth more knives by the next moment, it was already too late.
The pickaxe in Alister's left hand was swung horizontally with reckless abandon, leaving a blossoming trail of dark red on Alastair's torso, the dark-haired teen falling heavily to the ground. At the same moment, with a particularly loud clang, the Gallade was flung back by several tens of feet, slamming bodily into a reinforced concrete wall. Turning its baleful violet gaze upon Alister, the Doublade made to attack, only to pause as the announcement signalling the end results of the battle was heard.
"Despite Gallade's loss, Alastair triumphs- wait. No." Miles grimaced, not liking his mix up of the similar-sounding names. "Alister Lewis Little triumphs over Alastair Matthews, because the trainer's loss is an automatic disqualification for the Mon. There."
That's a tad harsh, isn't it? Max winced. To disregard the Pokemon's win if the trainer lost…
If that was the case, then why were the Pokemon even here in the first place? Did their presence hold any importance at all?
Was victory the only thing that mattered?
Max didn't know. But one thing he was definitely certain of.
I don't want to find out.
His musing was interrupted - yet again - by an announcer. This seems to be happening very often today…
"Chop chop, people; it's dinner time!" Miles yelled into the microphone. "The last two battles will be conducted after dinner, and that'll be it for the first round!"
"Already?" came the question from a few people, but Samuel simply shrugged, choosing instead to lead the way to the dining hall. Ampere flicked a paw in what could have been agreement, but honestly, who could tell?
"Nervous?" Butterfree asked, the small fluttering movement of her wings tickling his neck and face. "Your battle's next, isn't it?"
Max nodded. "At least I don't have to battle you." The relief in his voice was very much audible, and earned him a whack on the head from one irritated Butterfly Pokemon.
"Let's just get going already."
Characters:
Max Rogers and Butterfree (Butterfree) - blazelight790
Blaise Candeloro and Lundstrom (Chandelure) - Heir of Heart
Thomas Pique and Lucien (Charizard) - Wolfang1011
Alister Lewis Little and Carol (Mamoswine) - Heir of Heart
Alastair Matthews and Conrad (Medicham) - MetaRaven135
Miles Fletcher and Rosalina (Clefairy) - SDproductions
Samuel Troy and Ampere (Ampharos) - Imagination Heaven
A/N:
Blaise's battle and Thomas' battle were both written by Wolfang1011. Many thanks!
Also, two battles left! But there's still the little issue of the after-effects of the poison to deal with… or is there?
(As a casual note, chapter names might not have anything to do with the chapter. It's been that way from the very beginning, though. Hehe.)
Until next time, ciao! (O u O)/
Next time on Crossroads: Electrify