Chapter 7

The (Battle) for Rastesia

Glade's shallow dreams were interrupted abruptly by a sharp prodding and the sounding of mutters in his ears. He sighed in exhaustion, feeling as if he had only fallen asleep a moment ago, and lazily pulled himself out of his dream and towards the irritable poking. As he did, the beautiful images of his dream were replaced with a dim, faint lighting, along with blurry arrays of colors as he eased his eyes open. The frost-bitten earth chilled him as he came to his senses, and after another unsure prod, he grumbled, signalling he had awoken. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his eyes resting on the horizon, the sun just beginning to peek over the whitecaps of distant crashing waves.

"Have you had a nice rest, sir?" A voice behind him asked. Glade rubbed his eyes and turned to him, a weak grin on his face.

"Nice isn't the word I'd use," He said to the Aggron, yawning, "More like sufficient."

The Aggron nodded, pausing before he spoke, excitement creeping through his stoic expression, "Today's the day, sir. I presume we'll be leaving shortly?" He asked.

"Have the last of them arrived?" Glade responded, and Arbos nodded, "Good. Has everyone woken up?" He asked, wincing at his sore muscles. Both his legs and arms were aching from yesterday, as did his mind. The adrenaline that came with the anticipation of today helped alleviate it somewhat though.

"Most of them, sir. They're anxious." He told him.

"Perfect. Announce that we'll be leaving shortly." Glade said, shivering slightly in the cold. He reached for his cloak. He grasped his shoulder as he reached and winced slightly, a shot of pain pulsing through him.

"Are you alright, sir?" Arbos asked, nervously. Obviously, he wouldn't want his leader to be injured in the slightest, least not today. Glade dismissed this though, cracking another grin as he shook his arms out and slipped his cloak on.

"It's nothing. Just a bit sore from last night's discomfort." He said, though Arbos looked doubtful, "Leave me now, and tell them of our departure soon. I'll be down shortly."

With that, Arbos left the Gallade, and his steady thud of footsteps fading from behind. Alone with his thoughts, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In an hour, they would be crossing through the other canyon into the fields of the southern peninsula. There, the plan was to set up camp and scout the top of the canyon for the best possible areas of attack for the Shadows had arrived. Glade estimated that their forces would arrive in full force in three days, so they would have to fortify quickly if they were going to get this right. Their enemy would appear with all the strength they could possibly muster, so even if everything went exactly according to plan, the outcome of the battle still remained uncertain. Hopefully though, the element of surprise and their the tight narrow entrapment the had lured the Shadows into would be enough to succeed and emerge victoriously. After that, they would round up any remaining fragments of the Shadows and dispose of them, cleansing Rastesia of their presence entirely and reclaiming the continent in one swift and calculated strike.

He breathed deeply, humming to himself to concentrate on warming up. He flinched as he straightened his cloak and his shoulder shot out in pain again. Grimacing, he placed his free arm on it and wrenched it backward, shifting it slightly back into its socket. He clenched his teeth as the pain ensued, but he quickly suppressed it with his mind. He performed a series of movements with it, and to his satisfaction, felt no more discomfort. Brushing the wet leaves that stained the cloak away, he trotted down the path towards the camp, the eager murmurs growing louder as he approached.

When he stepped into the vast plains, emerging from the forest, the entire camp went silent and focused their attention on him. Glade stopped and glanced at Arbos, who had a similar, awaiting look on his face, before surveying everyone who stood before him.

Their faces were mixed, to say the least. Their grittiness showing through from having camped out in the plains for nearly two weeks now. Expressions of eagerness marked many faces too, as sitting around and simply waiting, all while the Shadows mobilized and their previous' leader's killer roamed free, had given them an itch to get back into the action. Many were tired, especially those from the north, as their trek had only ended yesterday, having travelled nearly the entire length of Rastesia to get here. Uncertainty seeped through many of them as well, whether it be the wavering shake of their muscles or the darting of their eyes. However hard they were trying to stifle it from their leader from seeing it, they simply couldn't, and Glade couldn't blame them. From what he had told them so far, his plan seemed to be total suicide, trapping them to die at the corner of the continent, surrounded with no escape from the Shadows. The only thing that prevented them from bursting out in an exclamation of their doubts was their unfaltering trust in Glade. After all, every single one of his previous fifty-two missions he had commanded for the Order resulted in an astounding victory for him, a feat surpassed only by Aves. However strong their doubts were, they were all wise enough to see that there was much more to Glade's plan than what he had told them thus far, and they eagerly awaited his explanation.

Clearing his throat, he spoke, "Good morning, all of you. I hope you've all slept well, for the day ahead of us will be a great change of pace from what it has been for the past two weeks." He announced, his voice ringing out uncontested, besides the few eager murmurs he heard at the mention of a change of pace.

"Today, as you already know, we will be crossing through the canyon and onto the Southern Peninsula. From there, we will set up camp and await the Shadows' arrival, which will be no later than three days, if I am correct." He said, trying to ignore the worried murmurs that sprung up at the mention of their foe's quick movement.

"We'll coat our claws red with their blood!" An enthused youthful sounding voice shouted out, followed by a wave of additional murmurs. While Glade appreciated the encouragement, he lifted an arm up for silence. A few moments passed and their murmurs died down, and Glade continued, eyeing the increasingly doubting looks that were cast his way.

"What I haven't told you, for reasons of security, is that I do not intend for us to camp out at the Southern Peninsula and await our demise, however glorious it would be. Instead, we will cross today, set up camp, and scout out the tops of the canyon, locating the best areas to descend and attack the unsuspecting Shadows when they arrive. This way, we will have the Shadows trapped in unfamiliar terrain, with nowhere to go but through us. Their numbers will put them at a disadvantage, as they will be clustered together, trapped between our divided descending forces, and be taken completely by surprise, suspecting that we'd be awaiting them at the edge of the Southern Peninsula. The battle will ensue, and we will triumph with a victory, having eradicated the Shadows from this continent with one fatal blow!" He announced, allowing for the following cheers and eager battle cries to follow. Once it had settled though, confusion was beginning to form on many faces, and finally one of them spoke out.

"Why haven't you told us this earlier, sir?" An old Gliscor asked, "Why keep this from us? We would've been much more... enthusiastic had your plans previously not been to simply sit and wait for our death in the Southern Peninsula, sir." He rasped, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Glade didn't flinch though, as he knew the Gliscor doubted Glade's actions ever since he failed to capture Rowan, allowing the Umbreon to escape the Order.

"Because," Glade said, stifling a smirk, "Had I, the multiple Shadow scouts that were stationed here would've known, and reported back to the Kingpin, telling him that we've devised a trap and to not fall for it. Instead, they've left our camp, satisfied and fully confident in reporting back to the Kingpin that the Shadows have a free hit on us, assuming we've trapped ourselves on the edge of the continent. I've played them into falling right into our hands."

At this, the crowd gasped, appalled that their wretched enemies had been among them, inconspicuous, and without any of them noticing. Some of the youthful turned furious, enraged that their own leader had allowed their sworn enemies so live in their midst, especially without even being told. Glade heard their empty, flustered mutters, but the approving nods of the eldest, and most doubtful of his abilities, was what put a grin on his face. Of all the Order members, he knew they would understand the pure genius in the move. Arbos caught his eye and nodded, impressed.

Just as he was about to adjourn the crowd and call over the Elites to discuss a few matters before beginning their trek, satisfied and ready to set out for the Southern Peninsula, someone shot out a question. It was one that Glade had purposefully not brushed up on.

"What if Rowan shows up? If he's heard what we're doing via the Shadows, he may come to finish us off."

The crowd went silent as they all turned to look at who uttered the words. Glade peered past as a gap opened and saw the Tropius, Floriff, standing there, unperturbed by their looks. She waited for an answer from Glade, and as there was a pause, everyone else's looks turned his way as well. He took a deep breath, silently cursing the Tropius. He himself feared what would happen if Rowan was to show up, and in all honesty, it was the one part of his plan he had left up to luck, hoping that the Umbreon would be too occupied or far away to arrive at the time of the battle.

He hastily scanned the crowd's faces, their looks growing increasingly anxious as each second crawled on. He stifled an amused chuckle, as they couldn't even comprehend his fears of the blasted Umbreon. Glade knew that none of them were aware, and he preferred to keep it that way, as if they did, the entire Order would break out into a frenzied panic. The fact that Rowan was with the most brilliant strategist, Aves, was ill enough, not to mention his recent and frighteningly swift acquisition of the remaining Crystals of Light. With this surge of purely raw, newfound power, Glade was able to outreach and contact the Umbreon's consciousness during a brief period of weakness, and after dipping slightly into the notorious Astren's mind, he hadn't been able to sleep well for the rest of the night, in shock of what he had encountered.

First, he saw Zav, alone, grinning warmly at him as light bathed around him. Glade couldn't help but smile back at him, the Jolteon's optimism and positivity seeping into him. Previously, he had felt nothing but hatred towards the Jolteon in conspiring with Rowan to escape his crimes, but now, all he could do was smile back. He didn't dwell on it too much though, as he knew that whatever was making Rowan weak at the moment, was bound to end soon. He dug down into his mind for more.

Next, he saw, of all things, a Ninetales. Glade was taken aback when he saw her though, as she appeared stunningly beautiful to him. His eyes rested on her, and he was breathless as her radiating warmth soothed all his worries, and he was amazed to see not a single imperfection on the entire Ninetales' body. Everything seemed to be perfect and flawless with her. Just being in her presence, the soft, sleek golden fur, the teasing grin she flashed, the serene swish of her emblazoned tail, and the fulfilling warmth that paraded him as he stood was enough to make him want to be with her forever, trapped in this endless cycle of content comfort. It took nearly all his strength to tear himself away and move on, diving deeper into Rowan's mind.

Aves jolted into his path, and immediately all sensations from the Ninetales faded, replaced by intimidation, challenge, and, to his surprise, hostility. Aves glared at him, huffing his distaste every few moments, yet not daring stray towards him. Here, Glade constantly had his guard up as he cautiously examined the Absol. He exuded intimidating power and unrivaled intellect, yet as he directed his intimidating gaze towards Glade, he couldn't help but feel one nagging feeling coming from the Absol. One that, no matter how hard he tried to stifle, kept clawing at him, to the point where it began to reveal the exhaustion and helplessness present in Aves' face. Fear. Pure, overwhelming, terrifying fear.

Confused by all this and growing rather uncomfortable, Glade pushed it aside and fought his way in deeper. By the time he stumbled upon something, he could feel his strength waning, and more importantly, the Umbreon's growing more and more powerful. He gasped as he slammed into the scene.

All around him, fire raged. Flames snapped hungrily at the night sky as entire three-story buildings were set ablaze. The crumbling walls around him crackled and shook as the heat crippled their structure, and the bricks fractured and threatened to collapse down upon him. He flinched. The warmth he felt from these wasn't comforting and tantalizing as that of which he felt from the Ninetales. No, this heat was terrifyingly uncontrollable and made you dread the possibility of it growing stronger and setting you ablaze. A desperate cry pierced the cacophony of distant shrieks, snapping flames and crashing rubble.

Just a few feet from him, Glade saw Zav, crushed under a pile of rubble that was set on fire. The flames quickly caught onto the Jolteon's fur and set ablaze him as well, and he uttered a spine-tingling shriek of pure desperation. Glade looked upon the Jolteon that lay crushed, incapable of anything, before him. He screamed out in pain and looked directly at Glade, a look of pure hope and trust in his eyes. He saw tears stream from his eyes, evaporating quickly in the heat. Zav reached out a paw, and the two of them locked eyes. Even with the indescribable pain Zav was enduring, he was awestruck to see the same positivity and unflinching optimism that shined through before, brighter than ever. Glade reached out his own, and as he neared the Jolteon, he felt the violent pulsing of the fire, the choking heat of the air, and the screams of those around him. He brushed against the Jolteon's paw, and一

"Sir?"

The Gallade blinked, and was brought back to the chilled plains that lay before him. In front, he saw thousands of nervous faces anxiously awaiting a response. Glade immediately remembered what was going on and responded swiftly.

"No, Rowan will not show. At the moment, he has done as much damage as he wishes upon us by killing High Order. If he has heard of our devised plan, he will let the Shadows take care of it, due to the fact that it seems fruitless to add to the massive force they'll be sending our way, all to massacre an utterly surprised and overwhelmed force. He's smart enough to not go picking fights until he gets the remaining Crystals of Light under his possession. He escaped us. He will not risk potential recapture." Glade said confidently. Luckily, the crowd bought it, and their worry melted away into determination to crush the oncoming Shadow force.

Satisfied, he ended with a rallying cry, motioning over the Elites as he walked through the remaining unpacked things from the camp. They followed him as he strode through the plains, heading towards the canyon that towered in the distance. Once he had gathered them in the front alongside him, he turned back towards the camp, whom, by now, had just finished packing any remaining stray items. He opened his mouth, letting his growing enthusiasm echo through his words.

"Let us proceed onward, to victory, to glory, and to the reclaiming of Rastesia from the Shadows!" He cried, turning forward to the canyon as the boom of cheers and rallying cries swept past him. He motioned to the Elites, and they started off, taking the first steps towards the future of Rastesia that lie ahead.

Risen could barely keep himself composed, and he made no effort to restrain them when instances of passion escaped the sealed bottle of anticipation that was the crowd. Exhilaration coursed through his blood, warming him from the morning frost with a newfound sense of invigoration. An excited shiver escaped him as he stepped onto the smooth packed sandstone of the canyon. He glimpsed up, his breath taken away as he observed the massive walls of jagged sun-baked rock. He peered at the peaks of them, envisioning himself poised, and ready to strike through the hearts of his sworn enemies that would lie below, unsuspecting of the full-on assault that would occur in three days time. Soon, the barren, drought-stricken land would be flushed with a drink of vile blood, and the plants of the murderous would sprout, laying as an immortal reminder of the day the Order reclaimed Rastesia from the grasping claws of the Shadows with one fatal strike. Soon, their reckoning would be upon them.

He grinned at the thought, untroubled by its morbidity. He had no remorse for the Shadows. Their terrible fate that awaited them was more than justified, for what they have done with their cowardly, bloodstained claws. He would make sure their debts had been paid.

"...up there, and from the landing that's on the east side of the Southern Peninsula, at the northern face of the landmass. We'll station posts there, and I'll send out all our water types to guard the passage until the moment they're needed for the assault, just to make sure they don't launch a waterborne force upon us. I'll be able to lead any harmless scouts towards the decoy camp with telepathic signals, only for them to report back and ensure that we've ensnared them in our trap. I doubt the Kingpin will be foolish enough to send in any armed forces before their main force moves, but if they do, they must be captured and brought to me. I will have to modify their memories before they can be sent back to their main group." He overheard Glade speak, pricking his ears.

He grinned smugly at this tidbit he had extracted from his leader. He was still a bit sour that the Gallade had insisted on keeping him and Jaresk close to him, where he could keep an eye on the two. He felt ashamed and hurt that the Gallade would ever think he would do what the blasted Umbreon did. Shortly after the commotion had settled from the murder of High Order, he had spoken to the two of them in private. Risen knew he was aware they posed little threat to the Glade physically, as he saw to them without any other guards, and the Wartortle was well aware that he couldn't, not even in his dreams, ever best Glade in a fight, even with Jaresk at his side.

"Please take this as no offense, but I must keep a watchful eye on you two from now on. Our leaders have been murdered by the treacherous Astren that lived amongst us all this time, and he has fled with his guardian, Zaverose, and perhaps the most brilliant strategist Rastesia has ever seen, Aves." He remembered the Gallade telling them, his fiery rage faltering slightly to the sorrowful drip of losing the Order's best mind. He and Jaresk had made no objection, and didn't even risk a glance at one another.

"You two were quite acquainted with the Jolteon, and, obviously, he the Umbreon. I have already skimmed over your minds and found nothing of treachery, but understand that I still must have my worries. The Order cannot lose another leader, and you two pose a potential to betray the Order, as your friend Zav has. I understand that it is likely you do not, but such a risk to leave you without surveillance is a risk nonetheless, and any risk is to be utterly avoided at a time like this. Please condone my actions, for if you don't, I fear imprisonment will be your second best fate I can offer." Glade had said to them, his grim seriousness having shone through his last sentence. Risen remembered a coldness sweep through him when he heard his finishing, icy tone. He didn't dare wonder how long he'd last if Glade ever wanted him dead.

From then on, he had been subjected to daily checks of his mind from the Gallade, none of which were ever too horrible. If that were it, he would be barely bothered. Of course, his previous friendship with Zav had pitted nearly all the Order members to shy away and refrain from affiliating with him. Everywhere he went, everything he did, was almost alone. Apparently, having a murderer's accomplice as a friend didn't settle well with others.

However terrible it was, he wasn't completely alone at least. Jaresk was always with him in almost everything he did, and for once, he found the nagging little Squirtle that was his younger brother not so annoying, and instead relished the companionship he gave him. He had half expected Clisen to shun him as well, and he couldn't have blamed him if he did, as, to his dismay, he wasn't sure what choice he would make if he and his brother were switched in place.

He grinned down at his little brother, proud of the choice he had made. He promised he'd give Rowan what he rightfully deserved, and defeating the Shadows would not only free their continent of their grasp, but also bring him one step closer to the murderous Umbreon.

"I can taste redemption in the air, Risen. Only time stands between us and our enemies now." Jaresk murmured to him excitedly. The Wartortle grinned at the Quilava and nodded in return, noticing the fire on the pokemon's back twice the size it was normally.

"So it does, Jaresk." He replied, letting the steady thrum of steps fill the silence. Soon they'd be able to prove themselves to their peers that they were of uttermost loyalty to the Order, and would stop at nothing until the curse of darkness that loomed over Rastesia, whether it be the Shadows or the Astren, was annihilated for good. He closed his eyes as he walked, and let his visions of glory fill his mind to his delight.

Not a moment passed though until a small tug on his arm flickered open his eyes. He glanced down at the Squirtle, and saw he was looking up at him with determined eyes.

"You will beat them, won't you?" He wished, a longingness present in his eyes. Risen nodded determinedly, grinning down at his brother.

"The only death that can await me that day will be that of drowning in their blood." He told him, and his brother nodded satisfactorily, though Risen still sensed his discontent. He knew the Squirtle wanted to fight, but he was far too inexperienced to. Luckily, He had convinced Glade to spare his brother from fighting, as many others his age still were among the ranks that would participate. Nearly all age groups were to be involved in the battle, and spared only were the ones so young they could barely talk. Glade was reluctant to use the group of his brother, but he realized they were necessary, at the very least, to intimidate the Shadows by the mass amount of them. Number wise, they were already at a disadvantage. Any chance to even that up could not be passed up, not in this important of circumstance. If all went well, they wouldn't have to even see the battlefield for very long, as they would be the last to join, and by then the worst of the fight would be over.

A few moments passed by, and soon the canyon walls began to retreat away, opening up to a large, shallow depression that lay in the center of the pass. Here, the canyon walls bulged outward, snaking around the crater until resuming a tight, straight stretch away from the crater, opposite of where they stood, in which, to Risen's delight, the plains of the Southern Peninsula were visible. The depression itself was rugged, and only dipped the slightest angle down, and was only really noticeable by the shadows the edges cast upon the center as the midday sun beat down upon them. In the middle lay a small, shallow hill of packed, coarse dirt. The depression was rugged compared to the packed smooth texture of the rest of the canyon, as if Arceus had tapped a hoof down into the ground.

They didn't hesitate, and descended. Risen heard Glade's excited murmurs to the Elites as he glanced around the area. He understood. It was here they would cluster around atop the canyon when the day came, as they could trap the Shadows on either side of it, and would have them bottle up in an area not too tight to restrict their combat, but not too wide to give the Shadows their advantage of pure numbers. Better yet, they would be able to reinforce the entering passage, as to force anyone that made it through the opposite passage to be forced onto the Southern Peninsula, where they would be trapped as well, and have nowhere to run as the Order closed in on them. If that happened, hopefully they would have taken care of enough Shadows to give themselves the upper hand in regards to numbers.

He glanced atop the canyon ridges, squinting as the sun threatened to blind him. All he saw was the blurry black silhouettes of the jagged tops of the canyon walls, and it was hard to tell anything else. Picturing himself up there soon, peering down upon their unsuspecting enemies before descending with an ear-splitting war cry, was all too exciting for him, and he couldn't help himself from a broad, excited grin that formed. Equally excited murmurs were all that filled his ears as they approached the center mound.

That was, until the deathly shriek cried out.

"Look! L-Look atop the cliffs! T-The silhouettes!" Someone cried out behind him. The voice pierced his thoughts like an icicle, and he blinked, confused at the dread in her voice. Pokemon began to murmur around him, and along with them, he peered at the tops of the cliffs, squinting as the sun threatened to fry his eyes.

At first, he couldn't see anything, but as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, and the cliff tops turned from fuzzy blurs into defined edges. To his dismay, the rocks atop seemed to be multiplying, springing up next to one another, as if they were rising from the earth.

"What's she talking about?" Jaresk muttered to Risen. He was barely able to hear him, as the murmurs around him had grown into worried remarks. A growing sense of dread festered in him as he peered closer to see the obscure silhouette shapes turn into figures, standing still atop the cliffs, peering down at them as more and more appeared in a seemingly endless stream.

"I… I don't know…" He struggled to reply as realization ebbed at him. He knew who the figures were. He wished he didn't.

Instinctively, he yanked his brother to his side, much to his protest. Risen didn't hear him though. All he could see was the rows upon rows of figures that bordered the cliff top. Everyone around them was beginning to panic, and he could hear the rapid breaths of the others around him as, they too, began to realize their misfortune. He could feel himself shaking, and he struggled to keep his body under control. When he did so through, his emotions he was fighting so hard to stifle, in fear that they were real, seeped through. A single word escaped his face, petrified as stone as a million perilous thoughts raced through his mind.

"Shadows…" He whispered, as if the word were a curse. Jaresk hadn't looked, for overhearing the increasingly voluminous murmurs around them and fearing they were true. The Quilava's breath escaped him, and he glanced up, his face tense and stricken into a hard stare. The fire on his back nearly extinguished.

"S-Shadows! The Shadows are here! They've come to slaughter us!" A voice stricken with fear screamed out. Luckily, he had covered his brother's ears, but it didn't stop the shiver of dread that snaked down his own spine. In his eyes, all his previous visions of glory and triumph had shifted completely into ones of terror and despair. The hero that stood over his defeated nemesis now had fallen utterly to his opposition, incapable of anything. The sweetness of victory had turned sour, and now the stinging bile of defeat took its spot. Cheers of triumph distorted into cries of the slaughtered.

Arceus had damned them.

The crowd began to dissolve into a frenzied panic, unsure of how to face what lay before them. The Shadows remained motionless, though their cold stares and malicious grins never faltered. Risen caught Glade raise an arm, and as if it were magic, all screams silenced and everyone focused their attention on the Gallade. He was still looking forward, towards the other side of the depression, and his cloak covered all but his head.

It was then that Risen felt his fear and terror harden into determination and grit. The waning flicker of hope that dwindled within him caught fuel at the sight of the calm, reassuring Gallade. In an instant, his previous excitement had come back tenfold in the form of the raging spirit of battle. They weren't doomed yet. They could fight.

They could win.

Glade will lead us through this Risen thought, narrowing his eyes as he crouched, ready for battle and awaiting Glade's command. He glanced around, and noticed everyone else felt the same as he. Incredible, it was, how simply a lift of the arm from the Gallade could invoke such a response.

The Elites clustered around Glade, surrounding him on all sides as they glared up at the cliffs, growling.

"I'll fry every one of them down to the ash they spawned from," an Arcanine growled, "Awaiting your orders, sir."

There was a tense pause, where everyone was ready to jolt at the slightest utter from their leader. Instead, the still silence persisted, petrifying them in their spots as the inevitable bloodshed was delayed for a few, stretched moments. Glade was still in his spot and hadn't moved his arm.

Arbos glanced back at him, "Sir, you must give the command." He told him. Nevertheless, Glade remained still.

Everyone held their breath. It was as if the entire planet refused to revolve until Glade had spoken. Slowly, he stretched his arms back, and pulled the hood of his cloak over. He gazed up atop the cliffs, and extended his arm towards his enemies for a moment.

A yellow blade seemed to extend from his arm in an instant, and before Risen could even react, he stepped towards Arbos and drove the blade cleanly through the Aggron's armor and body, tearing through his heart and muscle. He gasped, but no words escaped him as he collapsed to the ground, the first blood of the battle pouring out onto the ground, soaking it in red. For a moment, everyone remained still. The calm before the storm.

And Arceus, a storm it was.

One, two, three, four, five, six… Clisen counted in his mind as he saw the Gallade strike down the pokemon around him. He moved so fluidly and quick, effortlessly lunging and slicing cleanly through anyone with his yellow blade, that it was only once the sixth pokemon fell that the others gained enough sense to defend themselves from his relentless onslaught. They were bewildered, and they never lasted more than one or two blocks of his edge before falling from a fatal strike, and any attacks they threw his way were easily dodged or deflected, regardless that he was outnumbered ten to one. A jet of fire streamed at him, and to Clisen's bafflement, the Gallade struck the center of the stream with his blade, turning it's glow to a red-hot color. The jet split and separate around him harmlessly, and once his attacker, and Arcanine, had stopped, he lashed the red-hot blade out, spewing a barrage of flames at the pokemon, much to his dismay. Two Elites had edged behind, thinking he hadn't noticed and was occupied, and were only a few feet away when they attacked. Glade, however, ducked underneath one, spearing their underbelly with his blade. The other he rolled to the side of and whipped an astounding arc of dark purple at, colliding with his attacker along with three others, rendering them immobile.

The Gallade was unstoppable, but the frenzied swarm of those around him prevented him from seeing him fight anymore. Some of their eyes darted around in panic, scrambling towards either exit from the canyon. Some of them surged forward with ferocity and joined the fight against either Glade or the thousands of Shadows descending from the cliff tops. Some just stared blankly at the scene around them, anchored to their spot as other pushed around them. Clisen was much of the same, staring blankly at the waterfall of darkness cascading over the cliff towards them, filling the canyon in a pool of black and red.

He felt someone grasp his arm and pull him forward, "Don't let yourself get separated from me." His older brother Risen told him, yanking them into the stream of fleeing Order members. He could barely hear them over the terrified shrieks that filled the air, which smelled of freshly spilled blood.

He glanced back to see Jaresk following close behind. The Quilava's back flame had grown twice the size it was before, and he caught Clisen's eye, giving him a silent, reassuring nod. Behind him, he spotted the first Shadows touch down into the canyon, clashing immediately with the nearest Order members. they pushed forward slowly at first, suffering minimal loss as their wave of darkness overpowered the struggling force that dared fight a battle they would only lose. Once they had gained ground though, and gained their advantage of sheer numbers and entrapment, they quickly pierced their way through the fortified lines, dividing and utterly destroying any Order members they found, either overwhelming them as they hopelessly fought the endless wave of enemies off, or executing any that dared plead mercy at surrender.

He only now noticed his legs carrying him from underneath as he glanced back forward, and they neared the entrance to the depression. Shadows had already descended and set up a thickly fortified force to prevent anyone from escaping. However, it seemed they underestimated the Order's forces, as the fleeing members clashed with their foes, and soon Clisen could see a gap appearing. The cliff walls around them streamed black with reinforcements descending fast, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the gap had been refilled.

The fighting was so close to him now, that he had to duck at instances to avoid a dodged stream of fire, or skid to a temporary stop as a thick beam of purple light shot past them and blasted into the crowd behind. The few Shadows that pierced the outer force early enough to reach the inner members were quickly struck down. Risen had killed three by the time they were three quarters a way to the gap, and Jaresk had blasted a Shadow full of fire when it had leaped onto Clisen, trying to tear his throat out. The Shadow had hissed and leaped off him in a burning frenzy, only to have his skull cracked by his brother's shell and fall limply to the ground. Risen wasted no time with words and yanked his brothers to his feet, starting out again, eyes sticking to the gap that threatened to close from the everlasting stream of Shadows.

They were only feet from it when they were assaulted by two Shadows, one a Galvantula, and one a Fletchinder. The Galvantula immediately went for Risen, and the two of them grappled onto the ground, snarling as they fought to pin the other. Jaresk had hooked a claw into one of the Fletchinder's wings and pulled it down to the ground, receiving a deep cut from his foe's claws as it frantically raked at him. Jaresk pinned his enemy down, and blasted a mouthful of fire straight at her, but she quickly pecked at his leg, causing him to buckle and miss his shot by only a hairs length. The two of them tussled on the ground, tearing at each other, not able to gain an advantage over the other.

Clisen, unable to move, looked back, and to his horror, saw his brother gasping silently as the Galvantula sank his fangs into his leg, sending a paralyzing surge of energy through the Wartortle, rendering him immobile. Quickly, he used this time to pin the Risen down, and aimed a lethal lunge of his fangs at the Wartortle's throat.

Not stopping to think, Clisen blasted the fiercest stream of water he could muster at the Shadow. It did little more than push him, but it bought his brother some time, as the Galvantula now trained his eyes on Clisen, snapping its jaws irritably. It leapt off his brother and darted towards Clisen, who was backstepping frantically. The Shadow lunged out, pinning him easily, and bared it's intimidating jaws before craning it's head back, aiming straight for his throat. Clisen cried out, and Risen yelled out to him, unable to move still. He closed his eyes as the his foe snapped his head forward.

Just in the nick of time, a scorching heat rolled over him and slammed directly into the Galvantula, setting him ablaze and shrieking as he staggered off Clisen and retreated back into the surging crowd. Clisen looked back to see Jaresk struggling to stand, smoke slipping from his mouth. Not a moment after though, the Fletchinder appeared behind and jabbed it's beak into his shoulder, and he howled in pain, doubling back as he rolled on the ground, wrestling with the foe. Clisen staggered to his feet, wincing as the burns he got from the splash of the fire blast stung. His brother, who wobbled on his feet, his fading paralysis still lingering, grasped his arm and began forward, passing through the gap, shortly after breaking into a dead sprint once he was able to.

"What about Jaresk?! We can't just leave him, he saved me!" Clisen shouted. Risen didn't respond, instead just keeping his pace, gripping his brother tightly as if he was going to tear himself away. The squirtle looked back at the Quilava, but saw only the gap they had squirmed out of shut by a wave of Shadows.

They kept their pace up for two whole hours, panting heavily, both of them on the verge of collapsing. They hadn't dared look back, seeing as they were the only ones who had escaped the same way they'd come. Risen was smart enough not to flee towards the other exit, as it would've only delayed their inevitable death as they stranded themselves on the Southern Peninsula. Instead, they had made their way all the way back through the snaking canyon, crossed the plains, and now had arrived at the edge of the forest that stood at the base of a hill. Their legs burning, they climbed the hill before them and collapsed when they stumbled into the shade of the trees, the only sound being their gasping.

Clisen rested his head against the roots of a tree, glancing with half closed eyes at the canyon. All noise from it had ceased, which meant that all the Shadows' opposition had been extinguished, save for them and the stray pokemon that had escaped onto the Southern Peninsula. He guessed they were being hunted right now, and that they would only have a few minutes to rest before they would have to continue running. To where though, Clisen had not the slightest clue.

Risen, answered that for him, "Rowan… We need to find Rowan…" He uttered, barely able to talk between breaths, "Glade must've… killed High Order… and framed him for it…"

"Well, I can't say you're wrong."

Glade stepped into view, directly from the very tree Clisen rested against. Yelping, the Squirtle scrambled away towards his brother, who struggled to his feet, gasping for air still as he leaned against the tree. Glade eyed him amusedly.

"You… you traitor!" Risen spat, but Glade only chuckled malevolently. He idly stepped towards them, his yellow blade sheathed under his cloak, which was splattered with blood stains, none of which were his own. Clisen was silent except for his uncontrollable, rapid breaths.

"How could you betray the Order like that?! How could you damn the very continent that raised you?! You've doomed us all, damn you!" Risen cursed, letting his emotions run. His guard went down, as he recognized if Glade already wanted him dead, he could've done so already and saved his ears from the Wartortle's spiteful jabs.

There was a pause, where the only sound was Risen's raspy breaths, before he shouted out in anger, "Damn you, Glade! Damn you and your entirety!" He screamed, Glade remaining unmoved entirely, "You could've saved us all! You could've been the hero to bring down the Shadows, surging alongside the Astren for Arceus' sake! But no, you murdered our leaders, cast him out, and slaughtered the very pokemon you fought alongside!"

Tears began to roll down Risen's eyes as he slumped against the tree, burying his face in his arms. Glade still showed no signs of reaction, other than a slight, evil, satisfied grin. A long silence prevailed where the only sound was Risen's dismayed weeping, and Glade stood as if he awaited a certain word to be uttered. Risen mumbled it through a grief-stricken voice, barely audibly enough for him to hear.

"...Why…" The word escaped him, and Glade grinned.

"That," Glade responded, stepping forward. Clisen inched back. "Is not for you to hear." He said, unsheathing his blade. The strands of sunset that leaked through the canopy overhead shined off the blade, and it pulsed hot with energy.

"Not even the ears of the helplessly slaughtered by a cold-blooded traitor?" Risen muttered coldly, rising to his feet.

"Not even the ears of the dead." Glade answered, and Risen huffed, grinning maniacally.

"Once I'm in Arceus' domain," Risen spoke, blood oozing from his multiple cuts and scratches, "I'll enjoy watching Rowan bring you to your knees, you coward." He spat.

At that, Glade lunged out quickly, Risen not even able to raise his arm fast enough to block as the blade struck through him cleanly, and thudded against the tree. Risen gasped, looking Glade right in the eyes as his threatened to close. With a spiteful gasp, he spat a mouthful of blood in the Gallade's face, and Glade winced, grumbling in annoyance as he yanked the blade out. Risen collapsed onto the ground, his blood drunk eagerly by the grass as it spilled over the forest floor.

Clisen screamed out, but before he could get to his feet, Glade had darted over him, immobilizing him with his free arm. As Clisen squirmed and shot a blast of water at Glade, of which he easily avoided, the Gallade looked down at him, a somewhat pitiful look on his face.

"I do not wish this upon you," He said, sighing, "but it must be done."

And with a swift flick of his arm, the blade had swooped cleanly through him. It was painless, as everything went black in an instant, and all sensation cut off immediately. He was only left his thoughts for the few moments his consciousness clung on. He saw the Umbreon, for the first time since the murder of High Order, in a positive light, a determined look in his eye. Behind him stood Aves and Zav, both facing the sea of darkness that surrounded them, crouched and ready to fight until their last breath. They were bathed in light, one that was a thousand times brighter than any he had seen before, any despite it's utter puniness compared to the endless ocean of black that lurked around, looked utterly unbreakable. His eyes rested on the Umbreon. A final thought escaped him before his consciousness slipped.

He will prevail... He must prevail...