Chapter 25: The Prince's Pride: Part 1
A thick layer of clouds blanketed Astraean and the surrounding area, which was a rarity for the area west of the mountains for the summer. From the south a cold wind swept over the town from a storm that ominously drifted in on the horizon, getting noticeably closer, like the bright orange glow of a distant wildfire. Weather like this had a tendency to infect the Pokémon with melancholy which everyone tried in vain to ignore. The gloom of the temperate storm was contagious. Most Pokémon remained indoors, being warded off by the scent of oncoming rain in the air. Children couldn't go anywhere out to play. Adults did only the bare minimum of errand-running that they could get away with. The older Pokémon, while still infected by this melancholy, would not be deterred by a mere storm like this. Storms from the old Meluja were much worse than this- apocalyptic, some would even say. But, most of them had friends and family that they stayed inside with anyways.
The Guild had no such luxury. Bad weather would not stop them, even if their Guildmaster was absent. Rhyperior took the helm in his place, and he would allow no gloom to slow down the agents of the law in these lands; such is the way it should be. The Guildmembers flooded out into Astraean and beyond when the sun was rising, shimmering sliver behind a thin layer of clouds, and when it reached its highest point and began to gradually fall to the west, now a faint glimmer behind the clouds like a gem in a shallow stream, they trickled back home.
It was somewhere in the early afternoon when Riley and company returned to Astraean after another successful mission. Their ride, the Arcanine that had taken the three to Churchwell roughly a week and a half ago, dropped them off on the usual spot in the heart of town. Rose thanked their escort, and Pyro behind her nodded in confirmation. Riley, eyes half-open, gave him a half-hearted wave (which was more like raising a paw in his vague direction, merely to acknowledge his existence). The jackal leaned over and fell off the Arcanine's tailbone, caught himself in a swooping, stumbling motion, and then straightened himself out and walked on towards the cabin on the hill. His teammates exchanged a brief worried, troubled look before wishing their escort a good day and following after him.
Through a short conversation between the Roselia and Charmander, communicated through nods and glares and subtle muscle twitching, occasionally mouthing a word for the more complex thoughts, the responsibility fell onto Rose to try and deal with their newest teammate. She stepped forward a bit, a mere two paces behind Riley, and coughed three times. Riley, not stopping, turned back to her with his half-open eyes. "Mmm?" he muttered.
"You're acting weird," she stated plainly. Beating around the bush would prove a waste of time and effort. "Kinda have been for a while. Are you feeling alright?"
Riley clicked his tongue in his muzzle as he thought. Not about the answer, for he knew that he wasn't, but rather about what to tell her. His phantom brother still lurked in the depths of his memory, taunting him of a life that was his own yet alien to him, but there was not much to be gained aside for sympathy, and he didn't need that.
However, there was another issue; one that Riley had been trying in vain to suppress. He had grown bored again. The jobs had become dull as he went through them, day after day, with such simple tasks. Fetching items for merchants or rescuing Pokémon who had mistakenly wandered into dangerous territory wasn't doing it for him anymore, at least at the level they were at. But telling them would invite ridicule. He could almost hear the Roselia scolding him. Damn it, Riley, you can't keep doing this to us. Last time you were bored you dragged us into a warzone. I'm not gonna enable you anymore. Something like that.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…" Honesty, he told himself. For the love of god, just be honest with them. Lying can only make things worse. Yes, but why would he be honest about a negative trait? It'd be like confessing that he used to punt infants like a football to them. Honesty doesn't always make things better. Maybe. Maybe. But, you already messed up, warned his thoughts. Riley, brought back to reality, saw the Roselia with the right side of her brow cocked up as she worryingly looked at him. You hesitated. The innocent don't tend to hesitate. Out with it already. He mentally sighed. At the very least, telling them would get his own voice off his back.
Riley proceeded his words with an audible, perhaps heavy-handed sigh. "Just a bit bored," he reluctantly admitted. The curious, concerned brows of his partners sunk to cover the tops of their eyes.
"Uh-oh," Pyro piped up.
"Again, huh?" said the Roselia testily.
Riley clenched his teeth together, yet kept them hidden behind his tightened lips. The things akin to fingers in his paws flexed into a fist before loosely falling back into place. "I know, I know. It's this whole thing again," he said quizzaciously.
"So," she sighed, "what does this mean for us?"
"I…" Riley paused for a moment. Had he heard her right? No immediate ridicule? He ran through it again… No. Nothing. Maybe a bit of annoyance in her sigh, but nothing that threatened to ruin their partnership. Yet. He shook his head and hesitantly gave his answer. "I don't know. Just started thinking it over," Riley said. "I'll get back to you on it when I have an answer."
The Charmander thought for a moment, mulling something over, before softly nodding his head. "We'll be waiting," Pyro said. He looked to think once again, debating whether or not to add something, and then shook his head and continued walking. An uncomfortable few seconds passed before the party pressed onward towards the Guild.
Awaiting them on the porch, as she awaited everyone else who climbed the hill, was Blaziken, rocking back and forth to pass the time. To Rose, she seemed different, and it was almost immediately noticed. Blaziken's pose would usually be different, but she could always be described with a single word: apathetic. It was the look in her eyes. Normally they were tired, careless blue pools in a golden desert, but now, as they reflected the ashy sky, they darkly gleamed with a distant interest in the southern storm. "Longing" might have been too far, but, it wasn't entirely wrong.
"Welcome," she absently greeted.
"Hello," said Rose hesitantly. Getting a read on the gatekeeper was a daunting task.
"Afternoon," Pyro said.
"What the hell…?" Riley muttered. His ears twitched, and his head turned so he could face the side of the cabin. Thwack. It was far, over a hundred yards or so, but clear to him. He flicked his eyes back to see that again, the attention was focused on him. "It's not just me, right? You can hear that too?" he asked.
Blaziken exhaled through her nostrils in a minimal laugh. "All day, I've heard it," she said. It sounded off again. Thunk. Clack. "But I can't do anything about him. Just gotta deal with it."
"Wh…" Riley's half-open eyes inflated to life. He formed two fists that he stuck to his sides. "You're kidding me," scoffed Riley. "Kirlia's still down there?"
"Yyyyup," Blaziken said. Hurriedly the Riolu marched off to the side of the cabin and to the edge of the cliff. There Kirlia was, some many feet below and far off in the distance amongst the wanky stone pillars, dancing around a wooden post stripped of its bark that teetered back and forth.
"Son of a bitch…" Riley muttered through his teeth.
"Still leaving his team to their own devices, is he?" Pyro asked facetiously. Blaziken nodded. "Tch. Figures," he scowled.
Riley leaned forward over the cliff. An urge sprouted up inside him, blooming in frustration and anger and dying its petals a bright red, and Riley did not hesitate to snatch it. There was no time spent weighing his options. The idea was pitched, and he wildly swung at it, blasting it out of the park. All that was left was to ritualistically run the bases.
"I'm gonna talk to him," he said, eagerness breaking away his boredom. The distant longing melted away from Blaziken's eyes as they shifted over to the wall behind her, staring roughly where Riley's voice implied he was.
"Don't waste your time," Rose advised. "Kirlia ran last time. He'll do it again."
"Then why hasn't he already bailed?" Blaziken asked them. There was an uncharacteristic urgency in her at that moment, almost driving her to lean forward. She remained still, but her talons briefly flexed to clutch the arms of her rocking chair. "Kirlia's not stupid enough to think he's still hidden, I'd guess. He's not exactly being careful, is he? No ma'am, it seems he doesn't care much if a few Pokémon know." She paused briefly, flicking her gaze in Riley's direction, before returning it back to the ashy sky. "You'd be doing him some good to talk to him, if you ask me, boy. Though, I don't know if he'll see it that way."
"Mmhmm." Riley was listening, sure, but what was 'good' for Kirlia meant nothing to him. It was two things that made him want to. The first was a simplistic childish boredom, primal in its very nature, that demanded to be tended to. Riley did not protest, for the second reason was that this asshole had been neglecting his partners for the past six days. Buizel wasn't holding up too great these days, and adding Kirlia's behavior wasn't helping. The phrase "Playground Justice" came to mind. He uttered it, just above a whisper, and it brought a pleased grin to his lips to fully banish the boredom away, for the time being.
"...Nevermind, go on and waste your time," Rose retracted, and then muttered under her breath, "Lord knows there's nothing else for him to do."
"Think they're gonna duel?" Charmander walked up with his arms folded, studying the back of the Riolu from a distance. He considered Riley a friend, but there were moments like these where Pyro subconsciously associated him with the Wildies. Later on this would dig up to the surface levels of thoughts, and he would mull over the possibility that Riley could in fact be one of the Wildies trying to join civilization. It was a thought that did now, and would later, make him feel uneasy. But today he mistook the unease as the result of the weather, and chose to focus on the excitement of a potential duel.
Rose thought for a moment. "It depends. Do I think he's just gonna 'talk?' Hell no. Do I think Kirlia would accept it? May-"
A strong wind rushed in from the south, lifting the Roselia off her feet and dragging her into the air. Before she or Pyro could even react, Blaziken rocked forward in her chair, leaning forward without getting herself up, and shot her leg forward. Talons wrapped around the Grass-type's waist, pinning her in place as she stared with a stupefied look on her face. Her rescuer's attention was elsewhere, however: rolled almost back into her head, over towards the Riolu.
The cold gale, bringing with it blades of grass and particles of dust, had also taken Riley off his feet. He didn't struggle, he didn't even twitch, as he was pushed off the edge and began plummeting down below to the rocky field.
"Shit, Riley!" the Charmander cried. He broke into a sprint (what he was planning to do, he did not know, but it was his instincts that brought him into motion), and only made it two steps before he was stopped.
"He's fine," Blaziken assured him.
Confused, Pyro looked up to her. "What do you mean, 'fine?!'" he shouted.
"I mean, he's done it before." At this, silence. Even the wind died down. A bewildered Rose looked back to her partner, who in turn shared her bewilderment. Blaziken set her down. As if on cue, there was the not-too-distant scrape of metal tearing through stone, but still close enough to be grating to the ears. It lasted for one second, then two, then three, four… then stopped. No thump, and thankfully, no splat. "See? We would've heard something."
"When did he…?" Rose trailed off.
In one fluid motion, Blaziken left her rocking chair and stood towering over the younger Pokémon. She popped her back, then her elbows, then her knees, and finally her neck, each going off like firecrackers a few blocks over. "I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna miss this." On a day like this, after all, what else was she to do? Your job, Rhyperior might have told her. But she had ears. She could do her job and be entertained at the same time, could she not? She strolled over around the cabin to the cliff's edge, followed by the kids, and awaited the duel.
…
Burning. Over the last few days, Kirlia felt a burning within him. His muscles and joints were in agony, as if he were a prisoner of hell, tortured without rest. They screamed for him, fought against him, to stop, to collapse and catch his breath for a mere few minutes. With sheer will Kirlia kept them together, functioning as he so desired. He felt as though he were on fire, but he only took that as motivation to succeed. He was thankful for the gloomy weather, as it brought cool air to his hot pale skin.
With a deep, vacuous breath, Kirlia locked the dagger in place against his hand and lunged forward at the wooden post. Thunk. Steel carved through the surface, tearing through his training partner and removing a curl of wood. It fell onto the floor with well over a hundred others of its kind, some with bark, some without. He gritted his teeth, wind hissing between them as he panted, and fanned another burning flame: the will that kept him here.
The Psychic-type glared back at the wooden post. It was in fact his second one, as the first one had been stripped until it was barely more than a broomstick. To say he had 'lost count' of his cuts would imply that he had started counting to begin with. Kirlia had expected to get this down in no more than a day, two if he was slow, and yet here he was with no progress. Returning now would mean admitting defeat, admitting that he failed. He hadn't yet. This hell was not too much for him. He could take much more, and would if he had to.
He entered a stance like that of his father as he tried his best to remember his movements. Heat had a way of making images waver and shimmer, and the pose Gallade had struck was warped in his mind. His left foot was put forward, and his right just behind him. The right hand that brandished the blade was cocked back, pointed at the mutilated post, whilst the left was held out for balance, as well as defensive purposes. Kirlia took another breath, and then he was still. Absolutely still. "To defy the nature of a blade," he whispered. His own voice was hoarse, almost repulsive to himself, and yet he didn't notice.
It was four cycles ago when Gallade first showed him the technique, the day after Kirlia had evolved. He had asked his father when he would evolve again to become even stronger. In time, Gallade had answered. Kirlia didn't like vague, dismissive answers like this, so he protested. Gallade gave in, thought for a moment, and gave him the dagger from the chest. It was a simple steel blade, light but sharp, and came in a tight leather sheath. This, said his father, was given to me when I evolved for the first time by my own Guildmaster. It was to prepare me for the swords that would soon be a part of me. It's dangerous, but I know you're smart enough not to be careless with it. Kirlia was listening carefully, but simultaneously he had been admiring the weapon granted to him. Immediately it felt like the blade had become a part of him, and Kirlia felt whole.
It will be cycles from now, but eventually you'll become skilled enough to learn Blunt-Point. Kirlia cocked his head to the side. There was a wistful look in his father's eyes as he reached over to a blank sheet of paper. Watch, he said, and picked the piece of paper up. He set it loose in the air, and slowly it fluttered back down. Suddenly he struck the sheet in the air with a thin pop, and it crumpled around the tip of Gallade's blade, binding it tightly. There was no cut, no hole, no puncture of any kind. Merely paper which, as Gallade removed it like a boxing glove, was covered in crevices and faults. Kirlia stared at it in confusion, and the Guildmaster grinned. Miraculous, ain't it, he said. To defy the very nature of a blade…
He dropped the piece of paper for Kirlia, who caught it in his left hand. Indeed, it was real. You're impatient and naive if you think I'll let you evolve right now, his father told him. Since before you were born, I had a Dawn Stone ready for you. It was a fifty-fifty shot you'd be a boy, and another fifty-fifty shot that you'd wanna evolve into a Gallade, but… I had a feeling. The smile faded away into what Kirlia thought of as a kind of hopeful pride. It was the look that would accompany the speech all fathers gave when telling their sons about the torch they will one day pass on. When you've become skilled with a blade, I will teach you Blunt-Point. Or send you to be taught. I cannot say. When you've mastered it… only then will I give you the Dawn Stone.
Four cycles felt like so long ago, like another life before he had been reincarnated with steel in his hand. Certainly he was skilled with a blade by now, anyone who doubted such would soon find out, so this technique- this Blunt-Point- should be within his grasp. The motions of it were familiar to him, for he had seen Gallade strike just so many times before, so all that was left was to successfully strike a solid blow. And so, in his father's stance, he lunged forward with the blade.
Thunk. Another curl of wood fell off and joined the carpet of slivers. Another failed attempt fanned the third fire within him, burning close to his will: anger. It was a fire that had branched from his will, or perhaps it was the other way around, and continued to compete with its sibling. His blood boiled from their combined heat, and Kirlia pressed his teeth together as he tried not to grimace.
A cold wind blew in from the south, stirring the dust and the sand and the curls of wood into the air. It was pleasant against his skin, soothing the fire in his muscles. He took a deep breath of this wind, rushing around him and through the warped stone pillars like rapids, and felt a bit revitalized. Kirlia slid in the stance of his father to try again. Perhaps the angle was off, or he was approaching wrong, or he struck too hard. His only guide was a few memories distorted in his exhaustion. Each curl of wood was another tally that marked another combination of variables that failed. Even though they were carried away, skittering along the ground like a pack of Rattata on rocky soil, Kirlia would not forget the lesson each of them had taught him. So he tweaked his recipe and lurched-
Metal screeched against stone somewhere behind him. The Psychic-type's eyes jolted open and his hand gripped his dagger tight as he twirled around. There, along the cliff where the Guild's cabin was perched, a blue shape with a splash of vibrant red plummeted down as he left a scar in the face of the stone. He recognized it instantly as his third flame swept to life, overshadowing its sibling, as Riley absurdly dropped from the sky like he thought he was a warrior sent from the heavens.
The scrap of metal broke off in the wall, and the blue figure tumbled down to the barren ground with a soft thump. Riley caught himself on his feet and hands, held himself for a moment, and then glared over at Kirlia. In that instant, Kirlia knew for a fact that Riley was here to fight.
…
As Riley hit the ground, catching himself on his feet and his hands like a cat, he paused. Consciously he didn't know why, he felt perfectly fine, but it was a little part of him in the back of his mind, awakened by Rose when she ranted to him on top of the clock tower. A fall like that should've crippled you, it said. Yet here you stand, not a scratch on you. How's that?
He wasn't listening to himself. From the moment he landed, perhaps a bit before then, Riley could feel the intense discontent in Kirlia's glare before he even saw the Psychic-type. The feeling was mutual, and it was good to know, but he had expected that from the moment he grasped onto the idea.
Riley stood up to face Kirlia, and found that the boy's eyes were just as intense as they felt. Even from this distance on a day as dull as this, they gleamed coldly like stars observed from upon the mountain tops. His mouth was a faint line, no scowl, no smile, merely the crease of disgruntled diplomacy would be all the intruder would get. Riley matched them, one for one, and walked forward through the barren rocky field.
Kirlia spoke first, shouting into the wind. "What do you want?" His voice was alarmingly dry and weak, revolting to his own ears, but there was nothing to be done.
"To talk," Riley answered. It was true, technically, regardless of how it would end up. The cold wind stopped blowing, and the ashy sky above stirred and shifted.
Kirlia laughed. "Awfully flashy if you just wanna talk," he mocked. "Trying to impress me? Or were the stairs too far for you?" At the word 'impress,' he remembered Riley's partners. Briefly he glanced up to the top of the cliff, where he could see the top of Blaziken's cream-colored crest of feathers, as well as the two small Pokémon that had taken Riley in peering just over the edge. I see… he thought.
"The shortest distance between two points. 'Cause I wanna cut straight to it." That, as well as the thrill of the fall. His grin mixed with a grimace to form a smile that brandished his canine fangs like a small arsenal. "Do you know how long you've been here?"
"Yeah. Why do you care?" Kirlia scoffed.
"Because your partners care," Riley answered. "You haven't been going with them lately. No, you've been too busy working the pole to hang with them."
"So what?"
"'So what?'" Riley threw up his paws. "Don't you care about them?"
Kirlia shut his eyes, shook his head, and turned around as a short, exasperated sigh escaped him. "I'm not having this conversation again. Especially not with you," he claimed. "Go away. I can't practice with someone like you breathing down my neck."
"Screw that," spat Riley. "That's not gonna get me to leave. We both know that."
"Go. Away," Kirlia insisted. "This isn't any of your concern."
"What is, your stupid training?" he scoffed. Riley was carefully studying the Psychic-type, and to his pleasure, he noticed that Kirlia twitched at his remark. His head tilted to one side, and the fingers on his left hand flexed into a fist briefly. That was when Riley realized that, to turn this in his favor, he had to provoke Kirlia. Thanks to the excursion into the desert, and being caught and scolded by their Guildmaster, he knew just where to aim.
The Fighting-type quickly took a breath while he put on a smile, far brighter and more mocking than he had felt. "Oh, I get it!" he shouted after him. "You're here to train to be a better swordsman, aren't you?! Trying to make your dad proud!"
Kirlia froze in place. The dagger slid out of his hand and clattered on the ground. Another cold gale blew in from the south, picking up dust and pebbles and carrying them across the barren field. Kirlia's emerald hair, thick and short and dirty, violently flickered in its wake. Riley's scarlet scarf, perpetually sunbaked, trailed out in front of him and danced in his path.
Slowly, Kirlia turned around. His fists were clenched and his teeth bared. The third fire had consumed him, engulfing the other two flames in its ugly radiance. Riley did not falter. Their glares locked, eyes red like a beating heart clashing with eyes red like welded metal. The unplaceable emotion witnessed in the desert had resurfaced on Kirlia's face, somewhere between rage and grief, bringing an odd shimmer to his complexion that made his glare quake.
"You have three seconds to take that back, and run," Kirlia patiently explained. It was painfully obvious that it was a great effort for him not to immediately lash out.
For an instant, Riley felt a flash of fear. The rational part of his mind had suggested taking him up on that offer. After all, Kirlia too was stubborn, so changing his mind would be next to impossible. And yet he didn't listen. It was a part of some half-baked plan he had formed on the spot and, to him, made some sense, and from the intensity in Kirlia's glare, it seemed to be working. In less than a minute he'd have the Psychic-type right where he wanted him.
While this was true, it was not the only reason. For as scrawny and fragile as Kirlia appeared, he was anything but. Kirlia had been an Explorer since he was first capable of fighting, and even at his age, he wasn't too far behind the more hardened Guildmembers- Veterans, they were called. Riley didn't know all of the gossip surrounding him. He didn't know that the younger members, his peers, would think of Kirlia as a young vet. His elders regarded him cautiously, not for his strength, but rather for his instability. Riley's ears were sharp, but he hadn't bothered to pick up any rumors. They mattered not when Riley already knew what Kirlia was: dangerous. If he pressed too hard, Kirlia might snap and cut him. One of the few thoughts that had been in Riley's head ever since he woke up in this world was this: there is nothing stupider yet more thrilling than walking the razor's edge. The passionate contempt in Kirlia's eyes made listening to the rational voice impossible; he would beat his will into the son of a bitch one way or another.
"Don't bother counting," Riley told him. "I didn't come here just to walk away at empty threats."
"'Empty?'" Kirlia cocked his head to the side. A coy smile emerged on his lips. "Do you not know what that word means? Or are you just daft?"
The Riolu grinned back at him. He stopped walking, raised his left hand, and pointed accusingly at Kirlia. "Do you expect me to be afraid of a swordsman who uses his flashy tricks more than his sword? I always see you using those damned Psychic moves. Do you see Gallade relying on all his gimmicks?"
Kirlia took a quick breath. He bent down, picked up his dagger, and pointed the tip of the blade at Riley. "I tried to give you a chance," he said. "Riley, Riolu of origins unknown, I challenge you to a duel."
Internally, Riley was eagerly screeching. He had to hold back a beaming childish smile. He was in the car to his own version of Disneyworld, and he could see the spires and fireworks in the distance. Externally, he nodded his head and grinned. "I thought you'd never ask," said he. "Want to make this more interesting and put some stakes on this?"
"It goes without saying."
"Heh. Alright. When I win, you have to crawl back to your team with your tail between your legs, and apologize for being an asshole to them. And they can't know you were forced to. Just get what's coming to you," Riley explained daringly. "Sound good?"
Kirlia was silent for a moment. Only a moment. There was a malevolently playful grin in his eyes as he smirked at the Riolu. "Plenty good," he answered. "And if I win this duel, you have to leave the Guild in its entirety. Leave for wherever your home is- if you can even remember. I won't even use my flashy tricks, if they concern you so much."
Riley was also silent for a moment. For many moments. The pleas of the reasonable part of his mind did not fall on deaf ears. Run out of here, you idiot! What're you here for? A fight? Partners that not even Kirlia cares about? It's not worth it! Bail! Bail! Such words were short and panicked, but they did resonate with the main part of his mind. The Guild was the only home he knew, and he did love the jobs that came with it. They were growing boring, sure, and yet there was great potential in them. There was nothing else he'd rather do. Being banished over a duel like this… wouldn't happen. It was another part of him, somewhere latched onto the front of his adolescent mind, that assured the boy. You'll kick his ass. You won't have to leave the Guild behind. Not because of an arrogant prick like him.
Riley believed it. He whispered the phrase himself. "Not because of an arrogant prick like you." The gale stopped. Dust settled, and the curls of wood were now far away. The post, too, had been knocked over and rolled some thirty yards before colliding with a warped pillar of stone. The trail of red fabric draped down to Riley's knee, where it rested in a gradual sway. Even on this dark day, clouds above now darker and the preluding scent of rain hanging in the air, its hue of red was more vibrant, more otherworldly, than it had ever been. "You've got yourself a duel," Riley exclaimed. He formed a fist in his right hand and pounded it into the palm of his left. It stung the pad of his paw.
And thus began what Kirlia would mentally dub The Incomplete Duel.
…
Duels were a thing of unknown origin, predating the records of history in every civilized land. The northern deserts of Implentur, the eastern mountainous lands of Baltre, even the savage Makoto to the east had the same dueling rituals. They were a noble practice known to any warrior, no matter what they called themself in the land they came from. Since Meluja previously had no warriors, the first Guildmaster Garchomp had introduced it to his own kids not long after opening up the Guild. And of course, as children do when they see something cool, they unknowingly bastardized it.
The rituals of a duel had been thought-out and were sacred for many. Duels were not declared lightly. Losing one would be offering your life into your opponent's hands, and if they let you live (which they often did, for killing a fellow warrior was frowned upon), it would still heavily ruin your reputation and your rank. In the Guild, the word "duel" would be evoked improperly at least once a week. Glorified sparring matches, Blaziken would mutter under her breath. It was not too long ago that she had been a knight herself, dueling with her captain. Now even the word- just the sound of the word felt so noble, so proud, so graceful, so powerful- meant little to her. This match, what Kirlia would dub The Incomplete Duel, would be the only true duel she had seen in the past four cycles.
Riley picked up the ritual quickly after a short explanation. He and Kirlia stood sixty yards apart from one another with their eyes locked. Kirlia, holding an Iron Thorn in his left hand, dragged it behind him as he began to pace to his right. Riley did the same, scraping the twisted piece of metal against the stone and leaving behind him a trail of gray on the reddish tan ground. Step by step, their paths formed a messy curved line that would be the boundary. Until the duel was resolved, neither participant would be allowed to leave. Fighting must remain in the boundaries. It was a conflict solely for them, fought in boundaries made solely by them, and was essentially a quarantine for animosity until they got it out of their system.
The arena was half-formed now. Two quarter-circles opposite each other were gradually being expanded in a methodical waltz. They mirrored each other, stepping in unison, etching in unison, glaring in unison. Riley clenched his fist as his heart pulsed in his chest. Anxiously he swallowed with the naive nervousness of a boy going on his first date. Kirlia's heart also pulsed, but there was no nervousness. His other hand brandished his dagger tucked into his sheath (Audino will talk my ear off if I give you to her bruised. Cut and bleeding? She'll put me in the bed next to yours, he had taunted) and was absolutely, patiently, still. No, his heart had beat out of anger and exhaustion and will. His heart was beating wildly because his blood was boiling, boiling from the three fires that still raged inside him.
Two trails connected with one another, the start of one meeting the end of another. Dark gray paths formed their ring, their inescapable arena. The very instant Riley's Iron Thorn completed the circuit, he tossed it aside and dashed forward. Kirlia threw his own and gracefully ran to meet him in the center. There was a brief moment of calm but tense silence, a respite between the scraping metal and the clashing of the boys that wore the hats of soldiers and officers. It was the space between the rumble of drums and the explosion of strings and winds that form the orchestra, a moment filled with anticipation and eagerness. Eagerness, to put that arrogant prick in his place. Eagerness, to be rid of that furry pest that wanted so badly to be some kind of hero. Eagerness, to watch the duel between the Guild's princeling and the wild rookie. Eagerness, for violence, as all duels had begun throughout history.
In the middle they met with a bone-rattling collision. Riley threw himself forward with his fist launching out in front of him, which Kirlia caught on the hilt of his dagger. It did not shatter, nor even crack, but merely remained still as he resisted being forced backwards. There they stood for but an instant, glares still locked as they pushed against one another, until Kirlia took the first move. He struck Riley's wrist with his offhand and swept the fist to the side. The Riolu pivoted in the direction of his misdirected arm, twirling around as he conjured an Iron Tail and swung it at Kirlia's head. Kirlia raised his left hand to catch and redirect it, but he had underestimated the force within the Iron Tail, and his arm buckled back as he staggered backwards. Riley spun back around and lurched for him. His left fist swung forward and crashed into Kirlia's chest, and the Psychic-type started to collapse and sprawl out on the floor.
Time seemed to freeze. Kirlia was suspended in the air, red eyes open and mouth hung ajar in a pained grimace, and those few frames in time stuck with Riley. To his dying day that fraction of a second would make him smile, for that was the fraction of a second that Riley could see genuine surprise on Kirlia's face. In the blink of an eye Riley had managed to force it into Kirlia's head that this would not be an easy victory. Indeed, he would have to actually try.
Kirlia was in motion the instant he hit the ground. He curled his body tight, rolled back, and vaulted up to his feet. Riley leapt forward with his fist leading the way, but Kirlia easily stepped out of the way. His offhand snatched Riley by the wrist and yanked the Fighting-type to him, and his main hand thrusted into him. The tip of the dagger, made blunt by the leather sheath, jabbed into Riley's chest, and twisted it. Air busted out of the Riolu's muzzle as he bent over the weapon, stunned. Quickly Kirlia withdrew the dagger and shot it forward, and then once more, giving Riley two more marks neighboring the first. The fist loosened up and retracted to Riley's chest. Kirlia took a step forward and grasped the Riolu's neck with his offhand, and again their faces were inches apart. The eyes of the princeling glared into the eyes of the wild rookie for a moment, but nothing was said, and Kirlia forcefully pushed the Riolu away. He collapsed onto the stone.
"Dead," stated Kirlia frigidly. He lowered the dagger to his hip and stepped back, glaring down at the Fighting-type with an icy glare. Riley coughed hoarsely as he pressed his paws against the points of impact. He opened his eyes and shook his head.
"N… Not quite yet." Riley sat up and got back to his feet. "You got me good." He was smiling now, wiping at his muzzle and inspecting his paw. There was dirt but no blood. He flexed another fist and pounded it into the pad of his left paw, and again Riley brandished his grin. Kirlia did not move in the slightest. The Riolu dashed in with a Quick Attack and swung another clenched fist. His target gracefully stepped to the side with his dagger drawn back. Riley twisted his body in the air as he dashed past Kirlia.
How did he do it again? Riley thought from a part of his mind that was neither the deep crevices or the rough exterior. Hands were flat, and then his wrists went… something like… The dagger darted towards him, and he grabbed the fragmented thought as it was printing. Riley brought his paws back behind him and placed them flat on the ground. As hard as he could he pushed off the ground, launching himself into the air tumbling in a blur of blue and black and red.
Riley landed on his paws not far from where he jumped, and the instant he was grounded, he burst forward with yet another Quick Attack. A punch caught Kirlia between his strides and sent him staggering backwards. An instant later and Riley was upon him again, swinging his other fist up into the Psychic-type's jaw. His teeth banged together with a crack that echoed in his head and drowned out all conscious thought. Kirlia was lifted into the air, unable to move himself, unable to feel himself, as a memory flashed in his head. It would only grow into a memory later, but when his fist connected with Kirlia's jaw, Riley heard a phrase in a language he did not recognize. Saisho wa guu, or something weird like that. It's definition was lost on him, but he knew what the spark of a memory wanted him to do.
The jackal lowered himself to spread his feet apart, entering a stance he felt was probably right. He put his left hand forward, paw open, and clenched his other fist near his hip. Deep breath… The aura in him flowed around him, caressing his fur with its warm touch like a summer breeze, as if it was a material object instead of an eldritch essence he neither could nor cared to understand. This energy (calling it something as simple as aura was probably bastardizing its actual nature, but it hadn't stopped anyone before or after from calling it so) swelled around his fist, curling around it, and it was ready. When Riley first used this move on Breloom it had taken seconds to prepare itself. Now, not even a full second passed before it was ready.
The Force Palm exploded into his opponent's stomach and dug into the pale flesh. Spittle sprayed from Kirlia's mouth as he was shot backwards. His attacker, the wild rookie, just stood there behind that blooming astral flower of aura.
Riley beamed as he looked down to his paw, where wisps of aura were melting away in front of his eyes and returning to whatever reserve they emerged from. He could still feel the echo of the impact on his knuckles, and he relished it. This was a similar experience that many young warriors of this world had undergone when testing their own limits. To experience one's own power often brought out a shameful glee. But in his own world, this feeling would be treated so lightly. In his own world, it would have been diagnosed as arousal.
On the other hand, there was Kirlia, splayed out on the ground with his head and chest outside the bounds of their arena. His throat was a blazing desert from which he could only form dry gasps. His mind, too, was nothing but golden dunes that went on forever. Everything was warped by the shimmering heat. All there was to see and feel was fire. His burning body, and his burning will, and his burning anger… they consumed him.
With a dry roar, Kirlia struggled to his feet, and gripped his weapon fiercely. Across from him, Riley stood grinning in childish excitement at his fist, which regularly clenched and unclenched to grasp and relive a wraith of its strength. Kirlia took a short, wheezing breath that hissed through his teeth, and when Riley looked back up to him, Kirlia was upon him. With a few leaping strides he had closed the gap and jabbed his blade into the Riolu's chest. Riley reeled back, but Kirlia's offhand lurched forward and gripped into his neck with the ungiving force of a Crawdaunt's claw. There was another jab, and another, and another, and another, digging into his ribs and his gut in a random spread. He hadn't even bothered counting. He just went and went until Riley had broken out of his grasp, staggering backwards and crumpling up on the floor.
"D…" Kirlia stole a gulp of air and, once again, stepped back. He stared down at Riley, who gasped and coughed with his arms clutching his torso as he writhed in the dirt. "Dead," claimed he, standing absolutely still.
The first droplet of rain struck the top of Kirlia's head, prompting him to look up at a sky now consumed in ashy gray. Friends of the droplet were following in its stead and plummeting to earth. One by one, dozens of them, hundreds of them, thousands of them plummeted down in the first major rain of the season. It was gentle at first, as it always is, but within seconds it had grown to become a chorus of toneless drums. And it was joined by an inexperienced singer: the laughter of the Riolu. He was clutching his stomach as he rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air and raising his snout to the sky.
"Holy hell, I must've hit you hard," Riley chortled, shaking his head and casually pulling himself to his feet. He brandished his grin again. "You seem pissed. Did a-"
"This is a duel, fuckwit," Kirlia spat, raising the dagger. "Shut your trap and hit me."
Riley clapped his fist into his wet palm. "Fair 'nough."
And so the dance continued. Kirlia elegantly waltzed around him and kept to his form, thrusting the sheathed blade precisely and tactfully at his opponent. Riley bobbed between them the best he could to stay on him and throw a fist whenever he had the window. Jabs were exchanged, but now they did not signal a break in the performance. They were not delivered in groups and sealed with one climactic attack. It was a proper dance where blow was countered with another blow with no respite for either dancer.
The duel was all Riley had hoped for and more. The Wild Pokémon could hit hard, but even someone like him had enough skill to deal with most of the Pokémon he had encountered in the dungeons without much effort. Here he had finally found a match with an opponent much more talented than he, an actual trained combatant, and he couldn't be happier. This was what he had been craving. Every jab that hit the Riolu was euphoric in its pain. Every punch that he threw back at him sent a shiver down his arm and left Riley yearning for more. The duel had become a game, if it ever truly was a duel in the first place. Even in his head, his thoughts had been replaced by music. Shredding guitars played alongside violins and drums in some awesome hybrid that puppeted him around with the sheer power of hype.
It shouldn't be surprising that later on Riley would dream and relive the match, but he would never remember it clearly. When one combination of attacks ended, the two would suddenly jump to another part of the arena and continue fighting. In a way it was like watching a corrupted video file, although it did provide a different show every time it was viewed. Even when he was living through the duel, in some strange way, it felt like he was rewatching it, but he never noticed it. Excitement has a way of eating away that nagging feeling of deja vu.
Kirlia stepped back and swiped at his opponent's head in two quick slashes. The first grazed his ear, and the second hit him square in the muzzle as Riley lurched forward. Aura again swelled around his fist and expelled itself in one astral burst as his palm connected to Kirlia's chin. The Psychic-type staggered backwards, but managed to keep his footing just in time to catch an oncoming Iron Tail from his greedy opponent. He blocked it with his dagger, giving him just enough time to step fully out of the way and punish him.
The memory cut.
Now they were on the edge of the arena next to the discarded training dummy, caught on the warped stone pillars. Kirlia dodged a fist and gripped it by the forearm, yanking Riley towards him. Two quick jabs of the dagger caught Riley in the gut. The Riolu squirmed to get free, but to no avail. Kirlia cocked his arm back and bashed his elbow into the side of Riley's head. Dazed, his opponent collapsed onto the wet ground. "Dead." Kirlia cracked his neck, and the dance continued without hesitation.
The memory cut.
They were in the center of the arena now. Riley ducked under one of Kirlia's thrusts and dashed forward with a Quick Attack. His knee drove into Kirlia's chest. Something snapped as it dug in, forcing the air from his lungs and fogging Kirlia's vision. A beaming Riolu then formed an Iron Tail and flipped in the air, crashing it into the top of Kirlia's head and spiking him to the ground. There Kirlia laid, gasping and choking on the rain, as he struggled to regain his strength. The echo of the impact still rung through the Riolu like an aftershock, and he savored it. The feeling was orgasmic.
He was about to taunt him, but Kirlia roared before him. His first fresh gasp of breath was expelled in a wrathful battle cry as he threw the sheathed blade into Riley's chest, pushing him off his feet. Kirlia scrambled to his feet and caught the dagger on the rebound and attacked again, and again, and again, and again, finishing the flurry off with a kick to Riley's snout. He recoiled, clutching the tip of his nose, but his grin did not fade.
The memory cut.
Back to the center, more or less. A repeated series of thrusts swarmed at Riley as Kirlia pressed forward. The wet leather sheath lunged forward and retracted in a blur. Every time the jackal stepped to the side, he would be caught by a firm stab to his shoulders, or his arms, or his torso. They were not attacks to Riley, but merely a means to toy with him, to keep him in line like a dog nipping at his heels. He glared forward, teeth bared, into the cold, unrelenting face of Kirlia. So this is the game now, is it? he thought bitterly. Alright. I know just how to play this one.
Riley dashed backwards with a Quick Attack. Kirlia lurched to follow him, but took not more than a single step before his offhand grasped the trailing end of the scarlet scarf. Even when damp it was warm. The jackal abruptly froze in the air as the fabric constricted around his neck. Its heat was suffocating him. He crumpled on the floor, gasping and choking, as a wet ball of fur. Even then, perhaps more than ever, the scarf was soothing to him.
Between his coughs, the scarf further tightened around his neck as he was lifted off the ground. Kirlia had anchored himself in place and yanked with both hands. He whirled him around in the air like a flail, like the pebble of David, increasing in speed with each lap. One, then two, then three, then four, until it seemed more as if Riley was soaring on his own and Kirlia merely guided him like a kite. Kirlia bared his teeth and swung it above him to his momentum in an upward arc and crashing the Riolu into the ground. The thin layer of water splashed out. Riley could feel stone shifting and cracking under him as he writhed around clutching his throat. Desperately he forced one paw between his neck and his scarf, granting him a thin passage of air. He gasped, filling his burning lungs with air. Pain reverberated through his body. For a few seconds he couldn't feel his legs. His entire being felt numb.
The memory cut.
Still in the center. Kirlia kept him at a distance with his lunge-and-press and pushed in towards Riley's space with a flurry of thrusts. Riley weaved between them to the best of his ability, managing only to be grazed by most of them, but he still hated the feeling of being toyed with.
"Screw this," he spat, jumping backwards as far as he could manage with the damp trail of his scarf clinging to his chest. The Riolu raised his tail behind him and transmuted it into an Iron Tail. In turn, Kirlia took a single step back and entered the stance he had taken when practicing with the wooden post, the stance akin to his father's. For an instant, neither moved, and instead only locked eyes as they challenged one another. Only for an instant.
In a blur Riley closed the distance with a Quick Attack. He was soaring through the air like a bullet, pivoting just before his jump to swing the Iron Tail at Kirlia's left side. Kirlia grit his teeth and pushed himself into the attack to counter with his own force. Only, when he made contact with the Iron Tail, the metal coat seemed to melt away in the rain, and he only caught a limp tail. Kirlia pushed himself too hard in that direction and stumbled out of his stance. Riley whirled around in the air and swept at Kirlia's legs, bringing the Psychic-type to the ground. He tried to get up, but was swiftly pinned as the Riolu landed on top of him and straddled his waist.
When the first fist fell into his chest, hitting his helpless opponent, there was something bittersweet about it. The punch itself did not give him the same satisfaction, the same shiver as the force's counterpart ran back up his arm. Hitting a downed enemy just wasn't the same. But, it was still sweet. As the second fist fell next to the first it served only to cement this in Riley's head: he had earned it. He'd brought the arrogant prick to the ground and took complete advantage of it. Each one stroked his ego further. Two punches became four, and then became eight, until they were pistons, falling upon Kirlia like the rain. Dark bruises formed on his pale skin. Riley could feel ribs cracking and snapping under his knuckles. It was only when he felt his own muscles burning that he stopped. Riley locked his paws together and focused his aura around them. Proudly he raised them above his head, fangs bared and eyes ablaze, and slammed them down into Kirlia's stomach. It seemingly caved in. The subject squirmed under him.
The jackal jumped off of him and panted heavily as he watched his opponent. Kirlia was quivering in the thin puddle of rain, uttering gargled gasps as he struggled for breath. He turned his head to the side and spat a sickening brew of blood and vomit. He gasped, then croaked, then growled, and grasped his dagger firmly as he pulled himself to his feet.
"Dead," Riley smirked.
"F…" Kirlia shook his head and began lumbering forward. "Far from it."
The memory cut.
The dance brought them to the near edge of the arena, exchanging harder, more compact blows. Kirlia took a punch to the jaw and the chest. Riley received a jab to the gut and the throat in return. Even they knew from their movements alone that the end was near, and that was fine. Both of them were burning, muscles and wills alike, and the unrelenting weather only stoked the flames.
Riley gathered aura around his left paw and lunged forward to his opponent. As it bloomed outward and forward, Kirlia deftly jumped back and cocked back his dagger. With two graceful strides he was upon Riley again and driving the tip into the center of his chest. The Riolu was knocked off his feet and nearly fell on his back, but he caught himself with his paws and flipped himself upright again. He stood on the tips of his toes, gently bobbing back and forth with his fists held in front of him, but abruptly stopped when he realized that Kirlia was not approaching.
The Psychic-type closed his eyes and took a deep, meditative breath. With slow but steady movements, he gripped the hilt of his blade in both hands, one wrapping around the other, and held it out in front of him. When Kirlia opened his eyes again, the fire in them was no longer raging. They just glowed with heat like molten metal tamely sitting inside a mold. Wordlessly, Riley nodded and entered the mock-stance he had taken earlier, hips lowered, feet spread, one paw held open in front of him and the other closed at his hip. Again the aura ebbed and swelled around it until every drop of it was loaded in the chamber, compacted into his veins and his muscles. The toneless drone of the rain surrounded them. Far away to the south, the sky rumbled with a crash of thunder. Neither of them knew exactly what they were waiting for, but it wasn't long until it came and signaled them.
The two sprinted towards each other. Kirlia held his dagger in front of him, hilt against his shoulder and tip pointing forward, following behind his weapon as it lead him on his elegant charge. Riley ran in with his fist dramatically held out behind him like a grenade, and held it with none of the tact and care that such would deserve. The space between them was closed before they knew it.
With all of his strength, Kirlia thrusted his dagger forward with his signature serene savagery, aiming exactly where the Riolu's head was supposed to be. Only, it wasn't. Riley ducked down and vanished in a blur with a Quick Attack. He came to a skidding halt immediately behind Kirlia, who had thrown himself with his attack, and threw the loaded punch. Kirlia turned his head, mouth ajar and eyes stretched open, to just catch Riley out of the corner of his vision. He could see the charged punch barreling in as its wielder smugly grinned, eyes blazing, with one thought written upon the Fighting-type: Here you go, you arrogant princeling! This is what you get! Kirlia clenched his teeth, and decided that he wasn't going to lose because of a trick like this.
Kirlia flicked his wrist, and Riley abruptly froze in the air as he was clutched in his Psychic. He was pushed off his feet and thrown backwards spiraling uncontrollably. His fist grazed the wet ground, and the aura within it exploded outwards with droplets and chunks of stone. Riley skipped along the thin puddle far out of the boundaries of their arena, came to a screeching halt, and then laid sprawled out in the rain. Kirlia himself almost fell on his back, but had just managed to catch himself. Both of them were panting heavily.
"Get up," ordered Kirlia through his teeth. "I'm not done with you, you bastard."
To which, Riley snickered. It was tamer, much tamer than he had been moments ago. "Yeah, you are," the boy told him.
Instantly the dagger was raised and aimed at the Fighting-type's smirk, determined to carve it off. "Not by a long shot. Get back in here so I can finish this already," he growled, shredding his throat in the process.
Snickering turned to chortling. "Don't you get it?!" Riley taunted. "I just broke your jaw, at least! I won!"
"Are you blind? You didn't even touch me," Kirlia spat. "I pushed-..." Silence. Riley flashed a tamer, mocking grin and shook his head in disappointment. The dagger fell out of Kirlia's hand and clattered on the ground. All the resentment in Kirlia's face flickered out and died in a matter of seconds. His eyes were empty, his mouth was cracked open like an infant's, his bruise-covered face was expressionless. "I… pushed you away…" he murmured.
The Riolu sat himself up and went in for the killing blow. "But you couldn't get past your gimmicks, could you? You've been training your ass off for a week, give or take, and look at where it's gotten you."
"Pushed… no…" The Psychic-type raised his hand to his face. His nails raked his pale skin, leaving thin cuts along his cheek. He was seething. "No… Damn it…!" Something escaped between his breaths that was either a hiss or a sob.
Riley wore an exhausted, content smirk as he sat back and watched the product of his labor from afar. At last, Kirlia was broken, and victory was his. It was a victory whose aftermath was more satisfying than if he had landed the punch on his jaw. Here he got to see a prideful man come to terms with the fact that he had not only lost, but had admitted mid-fight that he was inferior. Riley laid down and closed his eyes, no longer caring what happened now that his strength was gone.
The last thing he remembered was Kirlia's piercing roar, a sharp increase in gravity, and a loud series of crunches and snaps before he was swallowed by the writhing blackness. Finally the memory ended.