By the next day, the members of Brawlers Mansion were really starting to worry.
When an hour had passed the previous night and Vick hadn't returned, Toshi had ordered The Shadow closed down and practically begged Lucario and his friends to scour the streets of Bullet End for her. None of them had needed telling twice, as by now she was like a sister to them all, but when six a.m. had come and signaled the end of their search party they had all come up at a loss. They had met back at The Shadow to tell Toshi the news; the poor club owner had burst into tears and ran out without looking back.
They spent an hour more at the bar together, half-heartedly helping Lucario tidy up the bar as the sun peeked over the dingy buildings across the street, re-counting everything that had transpired up to the point of her disappearance and mulling over where she might have gone. It wasn't until about seven a.m. that they had begun to make any progress, which was the moment when Falco, absentmindedly sweeping up stray bottle caps with a cobwebbed broom, suddenly recalled seeing Vick run out the door on the heels of a man in black clothing.
Lucario had spared no time in calling Toshi and describing the scene to him. Toshi, delirious with concern, had never seen the man in his life. Unsure of what to do next, the residents of the mansion had retreated to their home to consider the situation further.
None of them had slept since the night before last, and it showed. Kirby hadn't made any breakfast and barely had the heart to brew coffee for all of them; Midna, Falco, Meta Knight, Marth, Mewtwo, and Link all sat gathered around the kitchen table, mugs of long-cooled coffee untouched in front of all of them. The only movement came from Lucario and Wolf, both of whom were pacing the length of the kitchen silently with their hands behind their backs. Fox had left about a half an hour after they had come home from The Shadow—he had a job interview at Mushroom Kingdom's new Arspace facility, Black Sapphire.
For more than an hour, no one spoke. Around nine a.m. Falco kicked his chair out from beneath him, rose up and slapped his fists down upon the table, spraying the wooden surface with droplets of cold coffee. "Dammit! I can't stand this! I'm going back out to look for her and I'm not coming back until I find her."
"I'm in," growled Link, looking deranged in his determination.
"Give me a fucking gun, I'm gonna kill that bastard in black if he so much as bruised her," Wolf snarled, and for once Falco didn't argue; instead he practically tore one of the laser pistols from its holster on his belt and tossed it at the Star Wolf commander, who caught it easily and marched purposefully toward the door. Lucario was barely half a pace behind him, his eyes burning crimson—
-The front door barely missed Wolf's muzzle when it swung inward and Vick stepped into the foyer, beaming radiantly and arm-in-arm with the man in black clothes. Behind Wolf and Lucario, the others skidded to a halt, shock apparent on all their faces.
"Hey guys!" Vick waved at them with her free hand, the same ridiculous smile on her face; several among the group noticed that she was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing while at The Shadow. "What's up? Did we miss breakfast?"
And she walked in, reluctantly releasing the black-clothed man's arm to remove her shoes, as though nothing at all was different. The others continued to stare at her in amazement until she straightened, noticed their expressions, and clapped her hands over her mouth, her cheeks reddening at once. "Oh! I'm rude! Everybody, this is Wesker—Wesker, everybody."
She pointed out each of them individually and introduced them, but the man called Wesker did not acknowledge any of their names with even the slightest interest and none of them welcomed him. Vick was the only one who seemed not to notice the very palpable tension now permeating the room.
Um, Victoria…? began Lucario, timid and protective all at once.
"We've been through this. It's Vick."
Right. Well… where have you been? We shut down The Shadow, we spent hours searching for you… you didn't call or otherwise mention where you were going or when you would return. We have all be very worried. It was the first time any of them had ever heard Lucario speak to Vick in a less than passionate way, and she noticed the change in tone right away; she stepped right up to Lucario, her eyes pleading, though she was careful not to touch him, they all observed immediately.
"I'm sorry… I've been with Wesker. We've been… well, everywhere! And I'm sorry I didn't call, but I was nowhere near a phone, and I didn't think you would worry this much. I can take care of myself, you know." She ended with a wink, and Lucario forced a smile for her benefit. It took a conscious effort on his part to remember that his relationship with Vick hadn't changed in the slightest; it was Wesker he was taking issue with, so he had no reason to be angry with her.
Playfully, Lucario ruffled her hair. I'm glad you're safe. Contact me next time so I don't worry, hmm?
"Sure thing. What's up? Where is everybody?"
On a silent glance from Lucario, Link led the way into the kitchen while Falco explained where the others had run off to. Vick kept very close to Wesker, but he did not so much as look in her direction. Once they had gathered around the table, Midna put on a fresh pot of coffee; Wesker did not sit, as the others did, but contented himself with standing to the left of the floor-to-ceiling window. Vick stood as close to his side as she could without actually coming in contact with him. It was behavior that was quite unlike Vick, the strongest, most individualistic woman any of them had ever personally met; she seemed to revolve around Wesker, like a planet orbiting its sun.
There is an unusual presence about this man, echoed Mewtwo's voice in Lucario's mind, their conversation closed to the others. I have no rational way to explain this, but I sense that he is something more than human. We would do well to keep an eye on him.
Agreed. Already I do not trust him. Then, so that everyone except Vick and Wesker could hear, Lucario finished, We must all be ready. If he appears to pose any sort of threat, we must put a stop to it.
No one moved, or spoke, or made any other indication that they had heard Lucario say anything, but it was suddenly very clear—if Wesker gave them even half a reason, they would be all over him.
Not surprisingly, Wolf was the first among them to address Wesker directly. "So, Wesker… what do you do? You don't really fit the description of barfly, in my opinion."
Wesker's expression did not change when he answered. "I suppose you could say that I'm a scientist."
"Oh yeah?" Wolf was doing his very best not to sound defensive or confrontational, but Falco, who knew him best out of those present, took note of the way the mercenary commander's face tightened. Wesker's voice was smooth, silky, dangerous, and undeniably superior, and it had Wolf rattled. "What do you study? Chemistry? Biology?"
"Neither. I am a viral researcher."
The hair on the back of Link's neck was standing on end; it was as though he had been dowsed with icy cold water. "That's interesting. So, what, you study different viruses and try to find cures? For things like cancer?"
Wesker actually laughed, like this was an outlandish hypothesis; the sound of his laughter was like dark music, sending a thrill of guilty pleasure singing down Vick's spine and a well of bile into everyone else's throats. "You couldn't be further from the truth. I engineer viruses and test them. I don't study existing viruses—I create new ones."
"That's fucked up," Midna blurted, and even Vick wasn't fool enough to dismiss the tension now mounting in the kitchen. "You CREATE viruses?! What the hell for?!"
Reaching one gloved hand up, Wesker re-adjusted his sunglasses with a bemused smirk. "I'm afraid that information is confidential."
"Do you test this shit on PEOPLE?!" shrieked Marth, looking livid and horrified all at once.
Vick looked excited to disprove Marth's swiftly-budding theory. "Actually, he told me last night that he's tested a few of the viruses on himself! Isn't that wild?!"
Listening to Vick talk about Wesker was like listening to a preteen girl gush about Justin Bieber, Lucario thought with the quietest of frustrated sighs. Er, yes. Fascinating.
"Let me see if I understand you correctly," Meta Knight began, trying to sound cordial but seeming monotone instead, his voice heavy with disgust. "Not only do you engineer viruses for your own personal designs, but you also test these creations on yourself? Isn't that potentially lethal?"
Wesker didn't seem to mind at all that the general atmosphere within the kitchen was one of blatant hostility; quite the contrary, he seemed highly amused that he had them so on edge. "Potentially, but I have highly receptive DNA. You see, my genetic material includes a very rare, highly sought-after gene that allows for the constant re-construction of my own DNA. At the company I used to be affiliated with, we called this gene the Tyrant gene. It is found in only one person out of every ten million."
Was Wolf's hand resting on the pistol Falco had given him? "What do you mean, the company you used to be affiliated with?"
Wesker's smirk widened. "It is difficult to keep a company from going under when all of its employees are dead."
No one was foolish enough to believe that Wesker hadn't been involved in the grisly murder of every single one of his former coworkers—it was implied in his sinister tone of voice, really—and the effect this statement had on all of them was instinctual and instantaneous. Eight pairs of feet struck the floor almost simultaneously, though Lucario's hand was upon the handle of the patio door before anyone else's, and then they were all racing out of the mansion, across the deck, and down the rickety wooden staircase into the rain-dampened backyard.
"Did all eight of them just challenge you to a brawl?" asked Vick, looking up at Wesker with both adoration and concern as Yami entered with Sonic on his heels. "All at the same time?"
"So it would seem." Wesker shrugged out of his trenchcoat and tossed it carelessly over one of the wooden chairs circling the table. "No matter. If they are curious of my power, I will show them."
"By yourself-?"
"You doubt me?" Wesker's gloved hand, resting upon Vick's shoulder, squeezed suddenly; Yami started and gasped, certain Wesker was causing her pain.
Amazingly, though Vick winced, her face was serene—almost as though she were blissfully happy. "Of course not. Just making sure."
Wesker started for the door. "Then come."
Vick bounded after him like an obedient puppy following its master; Yami and Sonic exchanged a curious glance (having missed most of the conversation) before trailing outside after them. Once outside Wesker descended the stairs slowly, leaving Vick to scramble up onto the roof with Sonic and Yami to watch the spectacle. The others were waiting for him, Link, Marth, and Meta Knight with swords drawn, Falco and Wolf clutching laser pistols, Midna's form enshrouded in shadow, Mewtwo's eyes cloudy-white with barely-contained psychic energy, and Lucario enveloped in a turquoise aura so bright it was almost blinding.
Pausing just twenty feet away from them, Wesker uttered a low, forbidding chuckle. "Look at all of you. You would think I had just killed your families."
This was an insult none of them were prepared to abide.
Falco and Wolf squared their stances and fired at almost precisely the same time, their over-developed trigger fingers unbelievably fast, but they realized their error at once—the moment Wesker smirked bemusedly and dodged every single bullet, his form simply winking out of existence for a split second and materializing in a different spot. Awed and terrified, it was a moment before either of them could fire again.
A moment was almost an infinite period of time for someone like Albert Wesker.
Faster than Sonic he was upon them, rushing Falco before the avian could so much as blink—it was as though he could disappear and then reappear at will, the only hint of him moving at all a slight blurry trail that he left behind him. And then Wesker struck, a graceful yet powerful move from a martial arts school none of them could name, a strike to Falco's stomach that sent the ace pilot careening backward almost fifty feet! He landed flat on his back, winded, dazed—
Wolf pivoted on his back heel and managed to squeeze off three more shots, adapting far better than Falco had; he anticipated that Wesker would move in one direction or the other to avoid the first shot, so the second and third laser bullets he purposefully fired to the left and right of the first. He had no choice but to watch, dismayed, as Wesker dodged all three with unbridled speed, clearly untouched.
And nonplussed. "Come now. Is that all you have?"
The Master Sword held aloft Link charged in, Marth flanking him with Falchion, and they struck simultaneously. Wesker sidestepped Link's stroke, which was clumsy, and literally caught Marth's blade with the palm of his gloved hand and tugged it from its owner's grasp with barely an effort. Weaponless, Marth tried to roll out of the way, but Wesker moved with him, faster than sight, driving his elbow into Marth's back and leveling him to the ground.
The moment Wesker attacked Marth, Midna vanished and Meta Knight unfurled his wings to aid Link, but it was already too late for the Hero of Time and he knew it. He managed to land a blow to Wesker's forearm with his sword before Wesker could regain his feet, but this seemed to have no effect at all; he rose up, shrugged, and shoved Link back using the same arm the sword had bit deeply into. Link pulled the sword free—blood gushed freely from Wesker's arm, though he seemed not to notice—but couldn't raise his weapon fast enough to block the kick to his chest that effectively cracked all the ribs on the left side of his chest. He slumped to the ground not far from Falco, each breath a near impossibility.
Midna lunged at Wesker from his own shadow, a serrated blade seemingly constructed from wisps of darkness clenched in her hand; Wesker moved, each step dizzying to watch, so quickly that he was behind her before she had even begun to drive the sword home, and wound his arms around her so tightly that she screamed aloud. Wolf fired, Meta Knight slashed at Wesker's ankles, and Wesker tossed Midna carelessly away from him. Several things happened, almost too quickly to perceive; as Midna stumbled away she took all five of Wolf's laser bullets to the chest and dropped like a stone, Wesker back-flipped over Meta Knight, and landing on the other side he struck Meta Knight's faceplate so hard that it dented and then cracked. Meta Knight collapsed, unmoving.
Wolf bared his teeth and snarled as ferociously as he could manage, retrieving Falco's other pistol and training both upon Wesker before firing with reckless abandon; laughing openly now, Wesker tirelessly maneuvered around each shot, leaving Lucario and Mewtwo with no choice but to dodge in return. Falco threw himself over Link, who was in too much pain to protect himself, and Marth deflected a few bullets away from Midna with his own sword—
Stop! Mewtwo bellowed. You fool! You will kill us all in your desperation!
Even as he said this a spray of sizzling bullets zipped toward Lucario, and with a flash of his glowing white-ice eyes Mewtwo erected a psychic shield just in time, absorbing all of the energy with ease.
Mewtwo's words were enough to give Wolf pause, though his animalistic snarl did not diminish at all; in the instant that Wolf considered the words Wesker was upon him, driving his fist into Wolf's shoulder and sliding it cleanly out of its socket before delivering a kick to Wolf's knee that shattered the kneecap with a sickening crunching sound. The only sound Wolf uttered was a growl of something that sounded like helpless frustration, and then he slumped to the ground.
Lucario and Mewtwo stood together in the center of it all, observing their delirious friends with disbelieving eyes, before training their identical expressions of hatred upon Wesker. Through it all, Wesker's only emotion had been cold, uncaring amusement; now he reached up to remove his sunglasses, sliding them meticulously into a pocket of the Kevlar shirt he wore. There was silence as the two Pokemon regarded their adversary and his startling ruby eyes, blazing with the intensity of an erupting volcano.
It falls to us to eliminate this threat, observed Mewtwo, his voice a low growl in Lucario's mind.
Lucario did not answer, and the two of them broke apart suddenly as though predicting one another's movements. Link watched them move through bleary eyes, one hand gingerly over his abdomen as pain wracked through his body, praying with every fiber of his being that Lucario's and Mewtwo's unusual powers would be enough to put an end to the man called Wesker.
Mewtwo struck first, extending one paw before him when he drew near enough to their enemy to land a blow, and a wicked set of blackened claws extended from his paw and tore through the fabric stretched over Wesker's chest. Four long lashes, bright with blood, became clearly visible as he moved almost imperceptibly away. Wesker followed, moving too quickly for the others to follow, but Mewtwo was a veteran fighter whose psychic powers always gave him an edge; they moved together, almost seeming to compliment one another, Wesker a blur of aggressive motion and Mewtwo doubling back with his claws extended defensibly—
Wesker never saw the aura sphere coming, so engaged was he in pressing Mewtwo for the advantage that he was oblivious to the fact that Lucario had drifted to his back. The glowing azure sphere connected solidly with Wesker's back, burning his trenchcoat away, searing through the Kevlar and scorching his back. Without missing a beat Wesker turned and trained his focus on Lucario, startling the Aura Guardian with his unwavering focus and unmatched intensity, and if their attacks had injured him at all Wesker didn't show it.
One of Wesker's gloved hands clamped down upon Lucario's throat and he hoisted him off the ground, cackling at Lucario's obvious helplessness and ignoring his feeble attempts to free himself; even when Lucario formed an Aura Sword with one of his free hands and slashed the weapon cruelly across Wesker's arm the other man didn't relent, didn't even slacken his grip until Lucario grew still and hung limp.
He was just tossing Lucario to the ground when Mewtwo attacked him with the full devastating power of his psychic abilities, a wave of pulsating violet energy that actually caused Wesker to stumble in his tracks. This moment of weakness was enough for Mewtwo, who fell upon Wesker at once and unleashed a pulse of purest blackness from his body. Everyone within fifteen feet of this blast gasped and shrank back, their minds reeling with black thoughts and their stomachs turning over with fear and revulsion—
Mewtwo didn't realize that his attack, while effective against everyone around him, had had no effect on Wesker until Wesker's form blurred and he appeared behind Mewtwo, driving his fist into Mewtwo's spine. The force of the blow was enough to jolt Mewtwo from consciousness and he collapsed facedown into the grass.
Seemingly in the same instant he appeared before Vick on the roof, blood seeping from several different wounds but clearly unfazed by them, and Vick scrambled to her feet with an impressed squeal as both Yami and Sonic cowered away from him.
"That was incredible!" Vick exclaimed, stretching up onto her tiptoes to kiss him, and although Wesker allowed her display of affection he certainly did not reciprocate it. "You were great!"
"Yeah," gasped Link in the yard, glancing around worriedly at his seven fallen comrades as one-by-one they came to. "Really great."
Yami couldn't help but stare open-mouthed at the group waiting for him seated around the kitchen table at Brawlers Mansion. With Kirby still away from their home and no one else within the house able to cook anything for such a large group it had fallen to him, the only one left in the household who wasn't sustaining an injury, to go out and get pizza. It was a sorry sight that met him when he returned.
Midna was reclining in the armchair in the living room, a multitude of bandages covering her chest beneath the thin ruby shroud she wore, her breathing slight as she rested; on the couch a few feet away lay Link, his tunic discarded at his feet and his abdomen taped up tight to support his cracked ribs. In the kitchen, the others had circled around the table and were clutching various alcoholic beverages; Marth was also shirtless, an ice pack secured to his back with a kind of flexible wrap to reduce the swelling around his spine. His head lay upon Falco's shoulder, who had already pounded two beers in the time that Yami had gone to pick up the pizza and was halfway through his third. Meta Knight had removed his face plate (a rare sight that none among them had ever personally witnessed), and his ebony face was expressionless beneath the patchwork of bruising that covered his right cheekbone; Wolf sat beside him, his arm bound to his side, his shoulder braced in plaster, one leg propped up on an empty chair and his knee locked straight in a partial cast. Lucario and Mewtwo leaned against one another, the former's throat swollen and tender with bruising, the latter's eyes fluttering closed at irregular intervals and a bag of ice taped to his back in similar fashion to Marth's.
Yami slid the stack of steaming pizza boxes onto the kitchen counter and reached into the nearest cupboard for plates. No one acknowledged his presence and every face was glum and unrepentant.
It wasn't until Yami started passing out plates to everyone that anyone spoke; Wolf was the first to find his tongue, which was unsurprising. "I fucking hate that guy Wesker."
"I hope he dies," drawled Falco, beak contorting into a snarl. "Soon. In a really humiliating way. Like choking to death on his own sunglasses or something."
Lucario lifted his head tiredly, his eyes weary but simmering with the same intensity. I might be prepared to abide his arrogance and brutality were it not for the fact that already, it seems, Victoria is far more involved with him than I would like.
This was a detail that the others hadn't considered; with groans of pain and protest they all turned in their seats to face him. In the living room, Link turned his head and Midna opened her eyes.
"Too involved?" echoed Meta Knight, his voice a slightly different timbre than usual in the absence of his face plate, somehow deeper and rougher. "How can she be? They met barely twelve hours ago."
Lucario glanced over at Wolf for help. The others found that the Aura Guardian was suddenly looking very uncomfortable. Wolf leaned forward with some difficulty, a grimace momentarily darkening his face.
"Look, we know Vick, and it wouldn't be far from the truth for me to say that we all love her, but let's not let the way we feel cloud the reality of the situation. Vick's a great chick, but the fact remains that she's, well—" Wolf actually broke off for a moment and shifted, casting around for the correct word to use. "—Easy." He held his hands up in front of him in defense when the others gasped in shock and outrage at his accusation. "Come on now, shut the hell up and listen to me! She's fantastic, but her standards are low, aren't they? After all, she slept with Ike…."
Marth was too tired and sore to even put up a protest to this remark; he instead settled for glaring venomously at Wolf, who merely shrugged as though he had only pointed out the obvious.
"Anyway," the mercenary commander continued, "at this point it's safe to assume that, well, in the nighttime hours that she spent with Wesker last night, they were doing to big nasty. That makes her very involved, like Luca said."
"And did you see the way she acted around him this afternoon?" Link chimed in from the sitting room. "She was like a rabid anime fangirl meeting fucking Inuyasha. It was ridiculous."
Midna snorted. "Inuyasha? Really? That's your go-to?"
Regardless of the way we feel about her actions, Lucario growled protectively, Victoria is in too deep already for us to solve the situation merely through conversation. I feel that we have no choice but to let things play out as they may, and assert our influence at a time most favorable to us.
There was a slight pause, only long enough for the others to consider just what Lucario was proposing; Falco was the first to catch up, and he leaned forward as quickly and vehemently as his sore torso would allow. "You mean, let her keep screwing that asshole?! Let her bring him over here whenever she wants, just so he can kick the shit out of us?!"
Lucario sighed, his face crumpling into an expression of utter helplessness. For now, it is all we can do. She is remarkably attached to him, considering the short amount of time that has passed. To destroy him now would be hurtful to her, and she will resent us for it.
Marth was the one to add the words that Lucario had carefully avoided. "Not that we could kill him anyway. All eight of us barely scratched him…."
It would take a force beyond all of us here to put a stop to Wesker, Mewtwo concluded. Lucario is right. For now, we can only abide his presence and defend Vick as the need arises.
There was not a single face that accepted this decision graciously—quite the contrary, all of them looked mutinous—but no one argued. In their hearts, they knew that every word Mewtwo had said was true.
They were halfway through their meal before someone spoke again—it was Link this time, in a tone of voice that suggested he was asking his question despite his better judgment. "You know, we don't have any proof… no one asked her… do you really think Vick slept with Wesker?"
Falco surprised them all by letting his arms flop down incredulously onto the table and snapping a skeptical glare in Link's direction, saying, "Oh come on, Link! Be serious! Did you even LOOK at that guy?!"
Midna scoffed in agreement as Lucario shuddered delicately and Marth's eyes slid slightly out of focus as he daydreamed; Link watched all of these reactions without understanding. "Yeah, thanks, I got a really good look at him while he was kicking our asses. What the hell does it matter if I looked at him or not? How he looks doesn't prove anything!"
"It proves everything," Midna argued, turning her head to regard Link. "Including the fact that Vick undoubtedly slept with him."
"How…?"
"Seriously," sighed Marth, shaking his head in disbelief and irritation. "Let me spell it out for you: he wears black leather, he's got a voice like a phone sex hotline, he practically oozes danger, and he's fucking ripped. Of course she slept with him. I kinda wish I could bang him myself, honestly."
"Me too," chimed in Falco whimsically.
"There's nothing worse in the entire world than an unbelievably sexy dooshbag," Midna agreed reluctantly.
Link shook his head stubbornly. "But don't you all see how dangerous that is?! She could get hurt, she could get killed! His power—"
We know, Link, Lucario interrupted wearily. We are all concerned, as you can see.
It was an effective end to the conversation; they all chewed their pizza slowly, thoughtfully, without speaking again until something very strange happened: a very loud clatter sounded from overhead, almost as though something very heavy had landed upon the roof and was now scuttling around. Several of them straightened into positions of alertness; all eyes were turned upward onto the ceiling, expressions ranging from curiosity to trepidation.
Their only clue as to what was happening was that, barely a half-second after the din began, a grin of shameless anticipation spread across Yami's face and he clenched one fist before him in victory. "Ah, at last—an opportunity at redemption!"
And without any further explanation he strode the length of the kitchen, threw the glass patio door open with rather more enthusiasm than was needed, and hurried out onto the back porch. Those members of the household that could readily follow after him—Marth, Falco, Meta Knight, Lucario, and Mewtwo—without exerting themselves too much did so at once.
Yami was standing in the center of the weather-beaten deck, his boots only a few inches from the topmost step of the wooden staircase, his back turned to the yard and his arms crossed over his chest; he had craned his head back to regard the roof, and the almost overbearing smile had not abated. The others followed suit and glanced up.
It was clear at once that the clattering they had heard had been caused by the massive creature that their eyes fell upon first, a hulking orange beast that stood on two stubby legs, balanced with a long, strong tail, and curled its powerful wings in close to its impressive body as they regarded it. It was a creature straight from their wildest fantasies, and though none of them made the obvious observation aloud it was clear that they were gazing upon a dragon—there was no other word for the majestic beast they now beheld. But the dragon was not alone—it had borne a rider who, despite the utter magnificence of his mount, still cut a far more impressive figure in comparison. His clothing was a very fine, dark blue material embroidered with rich orange-amber stitching, his boots worn but sleek and black; a black cape with a high collar rippled behind him, caught up in the light breeze that was all that remained of the previous night's brutal thunderstorm. His hair was like fire, both in color and appearance, but this did not make him seem unkempt or undisciplined in any way. But it was his eyes they would always remember, twin deep blue sapphires that shone with honor, respect, and confidence. He regarded Yami and Yami alone with the intensity of his stare, though to all who looked upon him he exuded his benevolent yet commanding presence, like a monarch appearing before his adoring subjects.
NEWCOMER: LANCE
(Pokemon)
"So," Yami spoke up after a time. "You have come at last."
The newcomer's head twitched, as though he were attempting to rid himself of an irksome fly. "At last? I received your summons only two days ago. I made for this place with all speed and without delay, as you so rudely demanded. Or have you forgotten?"
"You invited him?" Falco interjected, glancing from Yami to the man perched upon their roof and back again. "Why?"
"Simple," Yami began, his smile faltering a little in favor of a most bitter grimace. "To take his undeserved crown from him. To strip him of the title that, but all rights, should be mine!"
"Crown?" echoed Meta Knight confusedly. "Title?"
The man with the dragon mount tipped his head down to address Meta Knight directly; there was no hint of superiority in his tone. "This is merely a formality, and his pitiful attempt at showmanship. I own no literal crown—nor do I desire one—but a well-deserved title I have, and have held for many years, that Yami covets most dearly. That is why he has asked me here."
"Well-deserved?" barked Yami, looking affronted. "I suppose no one bothered to tell you that I'm the King of Games? I am the true heir to the title you so wrongfully claim! I am Yami, the reincarnation of the great Pharaoh Atem, and I challenge you!"
"This isn't a game," insisted the newcomer with passionate persistence. "This is my life. I am Lance, the Dragon Master, and in defense of my title of Champion I accept your challenge!"
Champion? Lucario repeated, awe in his voice and dawning comprehension in his eyes, but only Mewtwo heard Lucario speak at all and simply nodded once as though he had suspected as much all along.
The orange dragon that had borne Lance to Brawlers Mansion unfurled its powerful wings and beat them once, forcing them all to brace themselves against the gust of wind that kicked up as a result; Yami turned and fled, his boots pounding as he descended to the backyard, and from a hip pouch his practically tore a well-used deck of Duel Monsters cards and a strange rectangular object that fastened around his wrist. He slapped his deck onto the flat metal surface and the contraption lit up, multicolored lights flashing, casting Yami's figure into shades of blue and violet—
The scouter window clicked down over Falco's eyes and he studied the technological analysis readouts for barely three seconds before murmuring to the others in an undertone, "Yami's packing some technology that I've never seen before. Its origin is untraceable. They don't carry that sort of thing even on the Fringe."
By this time Link had trudged onto the deck supporting Midna, Wolf and Sonic both limping along in their wake, in time to see Lance leap upon the back of the orange dragon as the creature rose from the roof and soared down to land in the backyard opposite Yami. Once there, Lance dismounted and swept his cape back over his left shoulder, revealing several marble-sized, red-and-white orbs fastened to his black belt; he seized one of these between his thumb and forefinger, plucking it from its place on the belt, and as they watched the orb grew in size until it was about the size of a baseball.
The King of Games and the Champion squared off, the former's figure dulled by the shadow of a cloud passing overhead, the latter illuminated in a sudden patch of radiant sunshine.
From his metallic gauntlet Yami drew six cards; he perused them with a single sweep of his keen violet eyes before making his opening move. "For my turn, I place one card face-down, and I summon the Dark Magician to stand against you!" Yami then tossed a single card out in front of him, which landed face-down in the springy grass, and then a second, which whipped through the air as though caught in a vortex—
-A beam of brilliant light emitted from the front of the metallic gauntlet he wore, scanning the card as it spun end-over-end before him; the card vanished, seemingly into thin air, and in its place stood a humanoid figure draped in the raiment of a great necromancer. In its long-fingered hand it clutched a violet staff topped with a shimmering green stone, and it fixed its master's opponent with a stern-face glare.
"What the fuck?!" exclaimed Marth, stumbling back a step in disbelief, but no one could think of a single word to offer in explanation.
Lance folded his arms over his chest and held his chin high, matching the Dark Magician's glare with a sincere smile. "Pretty," he acknowledged, tipping his head politely, "but you always were predictable, Pharaoh. To battle against your Dark Magician, I choose… Altaria!"
He cast the red-and-white sphere to the ground barely two yards from Yami's Dark Magician, summoning the creature within from the flash of blinding white light that followed; when the flare had subsided they were afforded a glimpse of what Lance had called upon. It supported a cloudlike body with a pair of dreamy, sky-blue wings, and though it was much smaller in size than Lance's mount it was also clearly of dragon descent.
Necromancer and dragon sized one another up, ready to fight to the death at their master's slightest command.
"Go Altaria," commanded Lance in his regal voice. "Show this imposter that we are not afraid to protect what belongs to us."
The cloudlike dragon Pokemon pealed a battle cry like a bell tone and dove from on high, its spindly claws extended toward its prey, the picture of a perfect predator as it dive-bombed Yami's Dark Magician—
"Predictable, am I?" bellowed Yami, and sweeping his arm out wide he overturned the face-down card that lay at his feet in the grass. "Your Altaria has flown right into my trap… the Magical Hats!"
Incredulous though it seemed, the card with the magenta backdrop dissolved into the ground and split into four overlarge black magician's hats; not only that, but the Dark Magician vanished from sight the moment the hats sprang into existence. Lance barked a single command at the diving Altaria, which beat its wings furiously to reverse its momentum. The cloudlike dragon hovered several feet away, safe for the moment but stalled in its assault.
Yami threw his head back and laughed, idly drawing a card from his deck and tossing it to be caught in the vortex summoned by his metallic gauntlet. "Are you feeling lucky, Dragon Tamer? If you guess correctly, your Altaria will more than likely obliterate my Dark Magician. But if you guess wrong… well… let's just say the odds will shift into my favor."
Lance swept the line of interfering hats with a practiced, nonplussed gaze, before craning his head back to regard Altaria. "The choice is yours. I know you will not fail me."
Altaria beat its wings and opened its mouth wide; a beam of blue-white energy shot from its maw and tore through the hat on the far left side. Even from their considerable distance, the watching brawlers could feel the intense cold radiating from the blast. When the chilling ray had abated and the fog it had left behind had lifted somewhat, they could clearly see the Dark Magician laying frozen in the grass.
A furious-eyed Yami waved his arm yet again, this time recalling all three cards previously played from the field and sliding them into the empty tray on the reverse side of the gauntlet. He drew another card before fixing his opponent with a wicked smirk. "You always did have the luck of the devil, Lance. Sometimes I forget."
"Is this small loss you have suffered enough to dissuade you from this course? It should be clear to you that you cannot defeat me." Lance crossed his arms over his chest, looking inconvenienced.
"Fuck of a lot of trash talk coming from the new guy," Wolf rumbled to the others, studying the technological makeup of the Poke Balls fastened to Lance's belt and frowning at the information whirring fitfully across the surface of the scouter window.
"But he's backing it up, so what does it matter?" Link retorted.
"Twenty bucks on that guy Lance?" Falco offered, but no one answered him; already it was clear that Yami was in over his head and no one was foolish enough to bet against Lance.
"I sacrifice two monster cards in my hand to invoke the power of the Black Luster Ritual," Yami called across the battlefield—even as he said this he tossed two cards from his hand, both to be lost in the whirling twister kicked up from the gauntlet. "And using the Ritual's magic I summon the Black Luster Soldier!" From an extradimensional space stepped a massive armored figure, clad in black glass raiment and carrying a sword longer than the tallest among them. "Arm yourself, Dragon Tamer!"
Lance heaved a sigh, though out of boredom of the fruitless proceedings or frustration at Yami's stubbornness, no one could be sure. He held out one hand palm-up for the discarded Poke Ball to bounce back into, and Altaria vanished within its depths in a shower of white stardust. Replacing the now marble-sized orb he drew out another and threw it out before him, shouting, "Garchomp!"
It was quite a different dragon that took the offensive for Lance now, but a dragon all the same; it was lithe and quick-looking, with a lean body a violent purple color and scythe-like claws at the ends of its paws. It raised its scaly lizard head and roared at the black-armored warrior, exposing its razor-sharp jaws as it wailed.
"Black Luster Soldier! Attack! Use your superior strength to crush his dragon!" The armored warrior dashed forward, clanking with every step, its devastating sword held aloft as it charged in to obey its master's wishes.
Lance squared his shoulders. "Garchomp! You are the stronger! Don't shy away! Use Strength!"
Garchomp shrieked its almost otherworldly roar again and lurched forward, snapping its jaws, stomping to meet the Black Luster Soldier—
-They clashed in the center of the yard, burly swordsman and feral dragon, their foreheads crashing together and their arms shoving with all the strength they could muster. The onlookers gasped at the sheer strength of the two combatants, awed at the power their two seemingly-unimpressive comrades commanded on a whim, silently vowing never to judge anyone at face value ever again. Garchomp stalked forward one hard-won step, snarling and gnashing its teeth, bowling the soldier with the black glass armor backward until he sprawled upon the grass, and Garchomp was upon him in an instant, teeth flashing in the late afternoon sun—
"No, Garchomp," called Lance, taking a step forward and reaching one hand out toward the violet-skinned dragon that fought on his behalf. "Spare him. He is beaten and the Pharaoh knows it."
Amazingly, the ferocious creature heeded to Lance's command, leaping off the soldier's chest and stalking back to its master most obediently; as Lance stroked Garchomp's neck appreciatively Yami scowled and recalled the Black Luster Soldier to the graveyard deck on the reverse side of the gauntlet. He eyed Lance almost jealously for a moment, fingertips trembling upon the top of his Duel Monsters deck, before drawing one last card from the top of the pile.
Despite his two losses, Yami looked quite smug when next he looked up. "For my next move, I discard every card in my hand."
More than one brawler in the crowd gasped aloud; even cool and collected Lance widened his eyes a little at the bold proclamation. Yami dropped all of his cards to the ground except one; this one, he tossed far away from him, where it broadened and materialized into his last line of defense. "I summon the mighty Magician of Black Chaos!"
If they had been convinced that the Dark Magician was the most dreaded spellcaster they had ever laid eyes on, they now changed their opinions; the humanoid they beheld now was even more abhorred, and carried an even darker and forbidding aura of magic about its form. It narrowed its yellowed eyes at the Champion Lance and brandished a black staff in both hands, undoubtedly the source of its deadly magic. No one doubted that the creature Yami commanded now would be a formidable foe for every single one of them to face.
Garchomp dissolved into a cloud of violet mist; its Poke Ball shrunk in Lance's outstretched hand, and he calmly replaced it upon his belt. Pivoting on the spot he glanced over his shoulder at the waiting orange dragon that had tirelessly borne him the distance, to find it watching him with intelligent, understanding eyes.
"It falls now to you, Dragonite, to eliminate the last of Yami's minions," Lance bade it, his voice a wellspring of confidence, and stroking his hand once down the Pokemon's muscled neck he waved Dragonite forward into battle.
There were no orders to be given from either side. Each of the creatures that represented them now had followed them against impossible odds, and knew the true wishes of their hearts, and would freely and gladly sacrifice their lives for their masters.
The Magician of Black Chaos twirled its scepter effortlessly in one hand, conjuring a massive orb of crackling darkness from the arcane relic and launching it from the head of the staff. Dragonite beat its mighty wings several times in rapid succession, whipping the light breeze into a gale around them with enough force to drive the sphere of dark magic off course. Undeterred, Yami's mage thrust its free hand out before it, an open spellbook balanced in its palm—
A devastating crack of thunder rent the sky and a bolt of lightning streaked through the clouds, splitting the ground between Lance and Dragonite. The bolt was near enough to knock Lance from his feet and strong enough to jolt Dragonite off-balance, an opportunity that the Magician of Black Chaos was quick to capitalize on. It twirled the staff again, launching yet another sphere of darkness at its unsuspecting adversary—
Dragonite opened wide its maw and bellowed its strange cry, emitting a beam of some kind of wild energy that lanced through the orb, dissipated it, and struck the Chaos mage square in its narrow chest. The force of the blow sent the mage flying backward, past Yami, to collapse into an unmoving heap in the grass. Falco and Wolf both shuddered at the power readings on their scouters, then gasped aloud when Dragonite's beam peaked in strength and shattered both of the delicate windows covering their eyes.
"Dammit, these things cost a fortune," complained Falco, removing the device from the side of his face and tossing it to the deck at his feet, where what remained of the superior technology crackled uselessly.
"For you goody-two-shoes Loyalists, maybe," Wolf snickered, rolling his own scouter over in his hands bemusedly. "Separatists can get these things a dime a dozen on the Fringe, if you're in deep with the black markets."
The avian took a moment to rummage in a velcro pouch of his flight jacket before producing a single silver coin and flipping it to Wolf, who caught it effortlessly. "Buy me one then, but don't ever tell General Pepper I did a business deal with you or I'll get demoted again."
The prospect of Falco cooling his heels during the next inevitable Lylat War seemed to entertain Wolf's fantasies for a moment, but then he shrugged nonchalantly and tucked the coin into a pouch on his belt for safekeeping. Below, Yami was bent over the Magician of Black Chaos; using their strange energies, Mewtwo and Lucario could hear the Pharaoh's reincarnation pleading with his dark mage to rise and keep fighting.
"Let it rest," Lance called from across the backyard, patting his Dragonite's flank lovingly as the beast returned to his side. "You've been soundly defeated, Pharaoh. Will you stop badgering me now?"
Yami, his head bowed and his slender shoulders twitching with despair, did not readily answer. Accepting his silence as acquiescence enough, Lance held up an empty Poke Ball at the Dragonite's eye level; amazingly enough the great dragon nudged the center dial with its snout before vanishing into the depths of the orb. Securing it to his belt, Lance strode across the lawn and up the stairs to join the other brawlers; upon reaching their level, he actually dipped a bow.
"I apologize," he began, straightening and offering them all a smile of utmost sincerity. "I have a bad habit of letting my sense of honor interrupt my manners at times. I should have introduced myself to you first—after all, this is your home, and I am only a guest. I am Lance, called Dragon Master, by some. I hope you don't think me rude."
Several heads swiveled in Link's direction. It took Link a moment to remember that it had been his idea for them to gather here from the very start, and that many of them regarded him as their undisputed leader. He weaved between Midna and Wolf to offer Lance his hand in greeting. "No way! I'm Link, of Hylia, called Hero of Time, by some. It's good of you to have come! Half the reason we're all here is to try our hands at battling in as many different styles as possible. And damn… that sure was something! Been training Pokemon long? Just the other day Mewtwo was telling us about…."
But whatever Link said next fell upon deaf ears; Lance's eyes had slipped a few inches past Link's face and fallen upon Mewtwo and Lucario, their hands joined and their eyes on one another, the pose they usually assumed when they were having a private, silent, psychic conversation. Link's last sentence tapered off lamely as Lance's hand reached ever-so-slowly for his belt, where his fingers grasped an unused Poke Ball and readied it to throw.
The throw was expert—it could have been a professional baseball pitch for its accuracy and speed—but it never found its mark; it was six inches from Mewtwo's chest when the psychic Pokemon's tail whipped up and slapped the ball away. It sailed over the porch railing and bounced through the yard before rolling to a stop near the lake's edge. Lance blinked confusedly, clearly taken aback, and Mewtwo snapped a highly-affronted glare upon the Dragon Master.
How rude, snarled Mewtwo in psychic speech, and several of the brawlers laughed, both in reply to Mewtwo's words and Lance's dazed expression.
"I might as well warn you now that M-2 and Luca aren't up for catching," laughed Link behind his hands. "They're here to fight, like us!"
Lance's hand twitched toward his belt—presumably to take up yet another unused Poke Ball—but somehow he resisted the urge and clenched his hand into a fist. A kind of longing had glazed over his sapphire eyes. "But… that Mewtwo… it's legendary! Here it is completely by sheer happenstance and you're saying you won't allow me to capture it?"
You can have him over my cooling corpse, promised Lucario in a deadly voice, and Mewtwo smiled the strange eyes-only smile that the two of them had long since perfected and dropped an appreciative paw down upon Lucario's shoulder.
"Then at least allow me to challenge it to a formal battle," Lance said, his voice yearning now.
"Maybe some other time," Link broke in quickly, seeing the fury in both Mewtwo's and Lucario's eyes.
"What do you mean when you say that Mewtwo is legendary?" asked Meta Knight curiously, and Lance's eyes doubled in size.
"Surely you don't mean to imply that you are unaware of Mewtwo's value?" said the Dragon Master in an incredulous tone. "You must know that it is the only one of its kind!"
All eyes were upon Mewtwo now, who, if possible, was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Must've slipped his mind," snapped Marth in disapproval, and Mewtwo looked away guiltily.
"Does the same go for Lucario?" put in Midna, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Is he the only one of his kind too?"
Lance shook his head, though he regarded Lucario with no small measure of reverence. "No, there are other Lucario in the world, but they are quite rare and very difficult to obtain. They tend to be very strong-willed, unbelievably stubborn, and possess overwhelming strength. Though I have heard that trainers who are fortunate enough to obtain one find themselves with an unwaveringly loyal partner."
When it was clear that Lance was not mocking him, Lucario actually turned a smile the Dragon Master's way and nodded once to acknowledge the compliment. Link patted Lance on the arm as Falco slung an arm around the shorter man's shoulders.
"Well," the avian began playfully, "I'm famished. Say, Lance… I don't suppose you know how to cook?"
It was about eleven o clock in the evening when Pit, Blaze, and Kirby finally returned to Brawlers Mansion; the other residents of the house were still awake, of course, gathered together in the sitting room and chatting over the low droning of an old science fiction movie. Pit took one look around at all of the bandaged appendages and bruised faces, allowed his eyes to hover on Lance (whom he did not recognize) for a moment, and planted his hands on his hips.
"How long were we gone?" he asked confusedly. "Who beat the hell out of you guys? And who is this?"
He leveled one finger in Lance's direction. Lance frowned, but only until Blaze laid one hand upon the angel's arm and forced his hand down to his side. "Don't be rude. Clearly we have yet another new guest." Blaze snapped her golden gaze upon Lance, who cleared his throat delicately before introducing himself.
"Remember that guy dressed in black that Vick ran after last night at The Shadow?" Falco explained, as Pit sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall and Kirby scurried into the kitchen to whip up a late-night snack for everyone. "She brought him home this morning. He threatened our mothers. We stepped up. He bitch-slapped everybody."
"That's the short version of the story," Marth chimed in sourly. "In the long version he bitch-slaps everybody, and then stomps on our nuts."
"Or proverbial nuts," Midna put in.
Sitting in the center of the sitting room and looking quite confused, Lance opened his mouth to ask a question when Lucario interrupted him by answering, Yes, it is always like this here.
"Fair enough," chuckled Lance, and he settled back to watch.
Pit turned back to Falco. "So that guy in black did this to you? Er… why, exactly?"
Rolling his eyes Falco launched into the story, with the others chiming in every so often to add key details he had forgotten. When it had been told, Pit's eyes boggled. "Eight-on-one, and you guys LOST?! Man… who the hell is this guy Wesker?"
"We don't know yet," growled Wolf, sprawling out flat on the floor and glaring up at the slowly-rotating blades of the ceiling fan. "But if he values his life, he'd better not show his face around here ever again."
There were seventy floors to the tallest skyscraper in the Mushroom Kingdom business district, and the topmost floor was an executive landing only that required a special key, for both staircase and elevator access—a key which, naturally, Albert Wesker had in his possession. He marched straight for the staircase on the right side of the empty, dark ground floor lobby and dashed all the way upstairs to the locked door to floor seventy—he never bothered with elevators, as he was much faster than modern technology. The key turned easily in the lock—too easily. He removed the key and frowned as the door swung open. Unlocked already… his business partner had beaten him here. Though the hallway here was polished and tiled his boots made no sound whatsoever on the hard surface; he paused with his black leather-gloved hand upon the knob of the executive office, the only room on floor seventy. It was two o clock in the morning.
There was a man waiting for him on the other side of the door, standing in the precise center of the office with his back turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the business district; his face was wreathed in shadow, but Wesker's superior eyesight took note of every feature. It was a face he had seen many times quite recently—it was a face that unsettled him, a feeling he did not enjoy.
"Did you make it to the mansion?" drawled his business partner, his voice bored, as always.
"I did." Wesker closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed, perfectly at ease. Though it was dark, both outside and in the office, he did not remove his sunglasses.
"And did you… observe… the riffraff gathered there?"
"I did rather more than observe," Wesker corrected. "I battled eight of them."
"And of course they were no match for you." His business partner was simply stating the obvious; Wesker liked that about him. He never mixed words and he always got straight to the point.
"Of course. Another newcomer joined them today, but it matters little. Their numbers could double, triple in size, even, and they would still pose no threat to us. When the time comes to eliminate them the task will be all too easy."
His business partner was pleased with this assessment—it was plain to see in the depths of the tarnished yellow-gold eye that was not hidden by the pale blue hair obscuring half his face. "I thought as much. None remain that could oppose us. These so-called 'brawlers' will fall with barely a fight. It's hardly a scenario to get excited over."
Wesker's crimson eyes flashed behind the depths of his black lenses. "Actually… there is one yet that might cause us a little difficulty."
As quickly as the pleasure appeared in the yellow-gold eye, it now vanished. There was a steely edge to his partner's voice now. "What?"
Wesker actually hesitated before answering, though not out of fear—he simply wasn't quite certain just what to say. "I have not met him, nor even seen him. I have only heard whisperings of him, though every word spoken was outlandish and, if I am not mistaken, farfetched. The claims that he exists at all may be false. Of him, I know only this—he calls himself the Traitor, or Judas, though neither of those titles does he claim as his true name. By all accounts, he is unstoppable. If he were to join the brawlers…."
Wesker trailed off, expecting his business partner to pick up his train of thought and dispel the rumors, mildly surprised when the yellow-gold eye closed and only reopened when it seemed more composed.
"The Traitor, the Judas, does exist," confirmed Wesker's partner, his face a little too idle, a little too collected. "I have seen him once with my own eyes, though it was from afar; I do not know his face, only his reputation. He kills without thought or reason all who cross him, and he allies himself with no one. Even if the brawlers recognized his obvious talents, they would never join forces with him. He is too volatile, too bloodthirsty, for their good natures to abide."
"Will he not join us?" asked Wesker, though he was sure he already knew the answer.
"No." This was all the answer his business partner gave him, and no other explanation followed.
After a time, Wesker shrugged. "I am not concerned. No help great enough to thwart us will come to aid the brawlers. When the time is right, they will all die. I am certain of it."
"As am I," his partner agreed, his voice emotionless, and they would speak no more that night.
But outside, unnoticed by either of them, a tall and slender figure clothed all in black stood as still as a statue upon the corner of the seventieth story. With his keen hearing, he had heard every single word. He paused a moment or two longer at his perch, listening carefully as their line of conversation changed course, until he was absolutely certain that their words no longer held any interest for him; then and only then did he leap from where he stood, vanishing into the pitch black dark of the nighttime hour with only a swishing of his long-trained overcoat and a careful hand steadying the wide brim of his hat.