Chapter VIII: L.A.W.
When Damion returned to Kurt's house from Azalea's Pokémon Center his hosts waited in the living room to greet him. Kurt flooded the air with wisecracks. He asked about his and the deputy's conversation in addition to his time at the Center. As usual, Damion kept it vague, though he did mention talking to Clair. Kurt probed about his ties to the Blackthorn Gym Leader. Discovering it was a sensitive topic, the old man changed the subject to something the boy might be more inclined to talk about.
He retrieved the mystery Poké Ball Damion had asked him to inspect. Wonder leaked into the boy's face. He accepted the Ball from Kurt.
"Is this what I think it is?" asked the young Trainer.
"There's no way to know for sure," he replied. Poké Balls were a one-use item. The only way to know what kind of Pokémon one was able to catch was to test it. However, if it was thrown without success, the Ball shattered and disappeared forever.
If there was one person to discuss Poké Balls with it was Kurt. In his youth he was known far and wide for his custom Poké Ball services. Before the Poké Ball Factory began mass production some decades back, the Azalea native owned a string of shops across Johto where Trainers could purchase all types of capturing devices.
With the promotional help of his longtime friends Professor Oak, Agatha of the Elite Four and Ice-type Mahogany Town Gym Leader Pryce, Kurt's fame spread like wildfire. Alas, big business intervened, shutting down his operation after a short but successful stretch of years.
Today, Kurt continued to make special Poké Balls out of colored variations of Apricorns. He supplied visiting Trainers one Ball per day free of charge. Damion considered the old man's wisdom.
Skylar entered his mind. The symbol on her soft velvet hat had manifested into his hands, although it looked slightly different than the picture. Normally, from what he had seen in books, Master Balls featured a distinct trait that differed from the other mainline Poké Balls.
They had a white bottom half like the all the rest. Conversely, their top half was a regal purple color beneath two elevated, lighter-colored grooves on either side of a white letter M. This Ball had no grooves, which confused the boy. Did Giovanni give me a defective Poké Ball? he pondered.
The M was present, and it looked the correct color purple. Perhaps it was a poor counterfeit and, as a result, a cruel joke. But that made little sense. Giovanni told many lies in his lifetime, yet his gift felt sincere in the moment. Damion scratched his head repeatedly.
A Master Ball could catch any Pokémon it touched. It was the rarest Poké Ball on the planet. Team Rocket wanted to get their hands on this device to turn even the wildest Pokémon into obedient servants. They were not the lone criminal organization that tried to steal its blueprints. They simply were the first, and so far only, to follow through.
Amongst the crime community, Giovanni was a god. If it were not for his discovery of the Kantonian government's grotesque course of action, his influence could have altered the fabric of society.
Crime syndicates from all seven regions (recognized at the time) could have joined forces to divide and conquer with Giovanni at the helm. Yet he was double-crossed by a man with a curious plan of which no one had been told.
His direction of Team Rocket since Giovanni's imprisonment was timely and concise. This current version followed much quieter protocol. No video coverage, cellphone or broadcast, linked them to any recent crime waves. Many believed they dissolved entirely.
However, young Damion Harrison knew deep in his heart, before rendezvousing with his enemy, that Team Rocket had plenty left in the tank. At the top of the totem, breaking the law seemed too fun to go cold turkey. Like any addiction, it was a dead end dressed in the finest of threads.
What makes this new leader somehow different? The boy could not help but to attempt to decode Siegfried's villainous motives. His thirst for power and control must be similar to his predecessor, Damion assumed. Is there a method to his madness, or is he just a cynic?
"Got something on your mind, pal?" Kurt asked, snapping Damion's stillness. He thanked the man for satisfying his curiosity. They discussed means of testing the Master Ball to confirm its legitimacy. One sparked interest in both of them: Catch a strong Pokémon without battling it and release it back into the wild.
In order to accomplish this they would need to find a powerful Pokémon somewhere nearby – one that might take eight or nine Ultra Balls to catch. That would be virtually impossible, though, considering Azalea's surrounding Routes and the neighboring Ilex Forest contained Pokémon of merely moderate strength. Those Pokémon could be caught with a Great Ball at the most.
Cerulean Cave was far, far away. A select destination was its sole comparison. . . Damion saw it daily from his childhood bedroom. Mt. Silver cast a shadow over Blackthorn City, Mahogany Town (to the west) and Victory Road (to the east). It was Johto's most exclusive training ground. Political and corporate executives as well as Pokémon League Champions from foreign regions were allowed to enter freely. If one resided in either Kanto or Johto, however, one must collect all eight Gym Badges from both regions to be deemed worthy of entering.
Lance the Dragon Master gained special admission upon reviewed request. It was the meeting place of the two Senates. Kurt and Damion agreed that their Master Ball trials, if possible, would need to be worked out the next day. The old man grew tired an hour or so past sunset. After inviting him to stay the night, he showed the boy to his guest bedroom. Pillows, blankets and the whole nine (as Kurt described it) were laid out for Damion.
Accepting the boy's gratitude and bidding goodnight, Kurt walked to his master bedroom at the back of the house. Damion saw Maizie approaching with a tall glass of water in one hand and a not-quite-brown cylindrical bottle in the other. They were about the same size in her hands.
Damion deduced the bottle contained fruit oil. Maizie had mentioned oil options briefly while him and Kurt discussed the Master Ball. "Did you still want me to braid your hair?" she asked. Damion grinned and nodded as they entered the bedroom. The door remained open.
She instructed him to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed. He received a pillow to sit on and the tall glass of water.
"Here," she said, "it's always good to drink water before bed." She sat above him on the bed and undid his braids one by one. She started humming their shared tune.
"That song again, huh?" said Damion.
"You know it!" she said with a perky smile. "Never gets old."
"Amen, I hear ya. We should play it. Do you have speakers?"
"I do, but we probably shouldn't play music now that I think of it. Grandpa is trying to sleep."
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Wouldn't want to be rude."
"But we can just talk instead, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay, great. Hold on, I'll be right back."
Maizie zipped towards the bathroom where she searched for a sturdy comb or two. Damion stared at himself in the mirror screwed onto the closet door. She had loosened his hair well. The odor from the fruit oil gave off a clean and natural tang. It reminded him of better days.
His mother would braid his hair every other Friday. Seeing it puffed out like this usually did not faze him. Tonight it put a lump in his throat. He closed his eyes to see her face. He relished being an outlier in his age group. His mother encouraged individuality.
He found solace in observing the world rather than consuming it. Others saw him as disconnected from reality, an antisocial narcissist. On occasion that was true, but Clair kept him in check. The young Trainer understood his contemporaries to be more concerned with status than passion. They did not want to train harder than everyone else; they wanted to train as hard as instructed.
While his peers wished to be admired for taming dragons, Damion wished to combat the gaudy culture Blackthorn had adopted. Clair's Dragon Tamer Academy was an international phenomenon. She soaked up the glory with open arms. Although her advice oozed with insight, her vision was self-serving. He loved her yet did not entirely relate to her.
Fame and attention did little for him. Each time a Trainer defeated a Gym Leader it was published somewhere, either on the news or in the papers. Speculation circulated around who was the next great Trainer, who would be the next to challenge the Elite Four. The nature of this was harmless. However, Damion saw no correlation between amount of skill and number of Badges. Many would disagree. Perhaps even his parents.
His contempt towards fame caused him to never once challenge a Pokémon Gym. Damion loved defeating Trainers who constantly showed off their sparkly new Badges. He was always looking to prove a point, which made him rather unpopular in his community despite being revered for his talent.
He had many strong Pokémon in his Storage Box. Some for which he traded; most he caught in heated battles. Trainers were told that strong Pokémon would not obey without a certain number of Badges. Damion knew this to be false.
His peers were victims of a system that bred a formulaic attitude. Trainers were taught to be defined by numbers and things. On the contrary, those factors meant little when one was travelling on foot for countless days, leaning on instinct to survive.
Damion vowed at the age of ten to become the first Pokémon Trainer to someday defeat the Elite Four without a single Gym Badge to his name. If successful, no one could question his talents or the talents of those who followed in his footsteps. From that day forward a child could not be told how to be himself, so the boy believed.
Maizie had been gone longer than Damion figured she would be. He searched for her near the bathroom but did not find her. A few steps later he spotted her gazing out of the kitchen window in awe.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
"See for yourself," she answered. He stood beside her and looked up at the nightfall sky. The Moon shone three-quarters red. Neither teen could explain this haunting hue.
There were reports of a red moon some time ago, perhaps years, though only a section of it wore that color. It was deemed as some kind of abnormal lunar cycle. Maizie took out her phone to snap more than a few pics.
"I gotta show Grandpa this tomorrow. He won't believe it!"
The two returned to the guest bedroom where Maizie finished braiding Damion's afro. She asked about his conversations at the Pokémon Center.
He filled her in on where he's from and to whom he was related. She loved Clair, as most young girls did. She noted that Damion was a part of a royal family in some regards. He rejected her claim.
The way he saw it, he had nothing to do with Clair's accomplishments. She was his legal guardian in the truest sense of the term. And now that he was old enough to make his own decisions, he decided their relationship would be mostly formal.
Pokémon Trainers could lead isolated lives. Many Trainers teamed up in small packs to make their journey less stressful. Damion had no such companions.
Nevertheless, he was the one to blame for that. He never knew the benefits of human friendship because he never let anyone into his life outside of family ties. He and Clair shared fragile moments over the years. However, those moments were infrequent.
He often talked to his Pokémon when loneliness lurked afoot. Due to Damion's guarded past, the conversation began to sour. He informed Maizie of his new friend Skylar. They made open plans during their talk on the phone. Damion did not know when he could find the time to see a movie with her, but he promised that he would.
She told him she missed him to which he responding with a thank-you. She laughed and labeled him as awkward. He did not want to lie to her. With all that had happened since their meeting, he could not honestly say that he thought much about her. Yet she was always in his head.
"So are you two gonna, like, date?" Maizie asked.
"I… don't know," he answered. "I haven't thought that far ahead."
"Well, I think you should. You two sound perfect for each other."
"Perfect, to me, means too good to be true."
"Don't be so negative! True love always survives."
"How many romance novels do you read a week? Because that's baloney."
"Oh, hush. Just because it's from a novel doesn't mean it can't come true!"
"I don't have much time for love. It just gets in the way."
"In the way of what?"
"Of being the best Pokémon Trainer I can possibly be."
"That's nonsense. You can bring Skylar on your journey with you. That would be super cute!"
"I will do no such thing. My path is for me and me alone."
"You really need to loosen up. Have you ever dated anyone before?"
"I had a girlfriend for three months when I was nine. But nothing since."
"Gee, what happened?"
"She wouldn't stop pestering me so I agreed to date her until I turned ten, the year I could carry a Pokémon."
"So, were you some kind of ladies' man then?"
"Yeah-right. Phoebe Rogers was the only girl who would even talk to me. Everyone else disliked my attitude."
"Oh. . . . Well, what ever happened to Phoebe Rogers?"
"No idea. Once I turned ten, Clair sent me to her academy."
Since his tenth birthday, Damion only showed love for his Pokémon. He never offered an explanation for his numbness towards human interaction. Everyone seemed to need it. He hated depending on anyone for his happiness. Inside an ancient Dragon Clan text he once read: "For the key to true happiness and wealth, look no further than yourself."
Wealth comprised of knowledge, love and experiences, he learned. Its value could not be measured or priced. Reality was the reflection of one's soul and how they chose to treat it. The Trainer figured sharing his youth with a woman would distract him from achieving his goals. Little did he know sharing his mind might have eased the pain buried deep within his heart; nevertheless it stayed tucked away.
Maizie bid the boy goodnight as she flicked off the lights and closed the guest room door. Damion lay staring at the ceiling, whispering into darkness. Alone in an unfamiliar bed, he brought out his friend to soothe his discomfort.
Umbreon appeared from his Poké Ball. He curled up in a ball atop the boy's chest. "I miss them, buddy," said Damion, stroking his companion's fur. He would not soon forget what Team Rocket did to his Pokémon, his family and to Maya. "First thing in the morning," he declared, "I will find a clue. It is my destiny." The Moonlight Pokémon purred as sleep crept closer.
The red moon popped into his head. What could it mean? He was no astronomer. Still, it had to have some kind of meaning. Do planets bleed? A million possibilities floated inside the boy's mind. Umbreon's purring vibrations brought his thoughts back to what truly mattered to him.
Damion cleared his consciousness, letting the night take him gently. He hoped for a therapeutic dream or that he did not dream at all. The blackness behind his eyes transitioned to a vision of himself sitting in a dark room.
He felt alone, until a figure shuffled towards him. Each step detailed the picture more clearly. He was in a row of seats. Sprawled legs retracted as the figure drew closer. A ponytail swayed back and forth till the seat next to his was filled.
Soft, smooth fingers locked into his. Skylar smiled, pulling her hair behind her ear. Time withered within her eyes. Soon the room revealed full of people, chattering and snickering they were. The slurping and spilling of sweetness hinted to the boy of his location. A giant flash of light appeared before them. The people cheered.
Skylar's grip tightened. Descending numbers flickered down from six. A film began. It was silent and without color. A mustached man ran for his life, his strides exaggerated and cartoonish. A haunting shadow enveloped his body. His collar jerked back. The frame captured a close-up of the villain. His jagged, overlapping teeth filled the screen. Wisps of smoke encased the scene.
"What's wrong, child?" the subtitles captioned. "I thought this was what you wanted." The villain tapped the screen, thus breaking the fourth wall.
"Good morning, Damion," a voice spoke. An immeasurable weight crushed the boy. He was once again in solitude.
The crowd disappeared. Skylar went missing. Only he remained. "Oh, how cute," the voice spoke again, "you still think you're dreaming." The boy's heart beat out of his chest. His mind raced, clinging to any sign of fiction.
What is happening? I control my dreams.
A drop of sweat felt more real than ever. So did the tapping on his forehead.
"Wake up, little boy, wake up. I said: WAKE UP!"
He gasped for air. What he inhaled tasted of dirt, sweat and flesh. The more he took in, the fouler it became. Darkness surrounded the boy. He flailed his shoulders in an attempt to force himself awake. Rugged leather straps constricted his movement.
This was no dream. He remembered this stench. He was covered in it just a few hours before. As tears dropped from his chin, Damion knew he had lost. He became the very thing he sought out to defend: a captive with no hope of returning home.
Soles knocked the ground in circles around him. A polite chuckle shifted more unpromising as the foreign footsteps came to a halt. Wintergreen breaths chilled his streaky tears. He was nose to nose with the one he wished to destroy, though he could not make out his profile. The room was blacker than black, most likely by design.
In times like these, Damion looked to his words for strength. Gaining a mental edge on his opponent carved a space for momentum to slip inside. At this moment, however, his mind was blank. He posed no threat to his enemy. Bested yet again, he never felt more like a child.
Helpless and overwhelmed, no amount of lip acrobatics could release him from his current predicament. He accepted defeat with open ears. After the boy's breath reached regularity, his adversary made his presence known.
"Do you know why Sharpedo is the most feared creature in the sea?" he asked. His tone displayed a sensitive masculinity. "Because when it strikes, you never see it coming." (Sharpedo is a shark Pokémon native to the Hoenn region known for its jet-like speed in the water and brutal bite.) "I, like Sharpedo," he continued, "have built a reputation without revealing myself." Damion panned his head towards his enemy's voice.
"Who are you?" the boy demanded.
"I am who you think I am, darling," the voice responded.
"Siegfried: rebel leader of Team Rocket?"
"Hm, sounds about right. There can only be one person feeding you my credentials. How is the old fool? Alive and suffering, I hope."
"He is alive and healing from his self-inflicted wounds."
"My source tells me he has placed his trust in you to stop me. Ha! If only he could see you now."
"How do you. . ."
"Know who you are? Mmhmm, I know a lot about you, young Damion Harrison. Brash, bold and handsome, you have been on my radar for some time now."
"Don't talk about me that way."
"I will talk about you in any way that I please. I'm in control now, child! Zip your lips and pay attention."
". . ."
"Thank you. Now, I realize you must be a little lost. So I will fill you in on how you got here."
A few hours before dawn, Team Rocket ninjas broke into Kurt's home. With chloroform-dipped rags and thick smoke they knocked out each resident. They then stole the Trainer away after stunning his beloved Pokémon with electric nun chucks.
As he lay unconscious, the ninjas removed the layers of waste piled atop Slowpoke Well's underground cellar, one of many the Rocket Boss demanded be dug. Once finished they awaited further instruction. Siegfried joined his soldiers inside the well and paid them what they were owed. They strapped him into his restraints, leaving Siegfried alone to greet the waking boy.
Tim's threats were valid. He and Penny left the jail less than eight hours after their detainment via legal loopholes. Siegfried's immunity spread to all of his underlings so long as they were fulfilling the agenda of the two Senates. Team Rocket was hired to instill fear into the public – with it came social obedience and civil unrest.
They performed bombings, lootings and kidnappings disguised as various groups to keep the blues on the news. Constant terror incentivized an aggressive police force. Without the proper knowledge on the subject, officers were rewarded for profiling. This created a cycle of justified injustice. The department was torn, but when the time came most followed orders, clinging to the duty of their brotherhood.
To distract the masses from the depressing truth, television stations highlighted weekly cash drawings and department store discounts. The top stories consisted of violence, ping-pong reveals and cute Pokémon videos. Every so often they updated the total number of Legendary Pokémon remaining in the wild.
Under the Legendary Registration Act, Trainers from all over were encouraged to capture and register the beasts of legend. By law, once captured, a Legendary Pokémon must be taken to a designated facility for its Poké Ball's data to be encoded in the name of scientific research.
In reality, the Legendary Pokémon's DNA was rewritten to include a tracking device that could be controlled by a panel owned by the powers that be. If necessary, the Pokémon could be fully paralyzed at the press of a button.
Of the 48 known Legendary Pokémon, 29 had been captured and officially registered by skilled Trainers and crime bosses around the world. They were simply outnumbered by the billions of poachers and the accuracy of global positioning systems. Siegfried was the only member of Team Rocket with such Pokémon. He knew his henchmen could not appropriately handle their power. Legendary Pokémon only obeyed those with courageous hearts, despite the nature of their actions.
Siegfried did not want to force his Legendaries to join him. He instead chose to share with them his plan to save the world, as he described it. His respect for all Pokémon was rivaled by few. With the help of two Mythical allies, he recruited an important figure in the Legendary Pokémon class. After learning the Rocket Boss's vision it joined his effort, hoping others would eventually follow.
The confidence behind Siegfried's words was like none the boy had heard. It was as if he had already won. Water splashed from left . . . to right . . . to left. Siegfried described his ties to the Senates as he paced, and how he used his immunity sparingly.
"Too much power gets you killed," he claimed. "Just enough power gets you rich."
They planned each act of terror with precision. Nothing could be traced back to them. In the eyes of the public Team Rocket did not even exist. But the boy already knew this. He was not interested in corruption or money scheme intel. His brain overflowed with lies. He only wanted to bring the girl home.
"That's enough!" cried Damion. "I don't care about your glory stories."
"It's rude to interrupt," Siegfried warned. "Remember, child, I'm in control now."
"Since you're so smart, you must know why I came for you."
"Indeed I do."
"Then tell me where she is. I will return her home and ignore everything I know about you."
"Life is never that simple, my dear Damion. I can't risk you having a change of heart, now can I?"
"Tell me where Maya is!"
"Hahahaha!"
"Where is she?!"
"Oh, calm down. I'll tell you exactly where she is."
"Tell me."
"I took her away."
"To?"
"To the same place I took your parents."
"The Dragon's Den?! You filthy anim-"
"No, no, no, no, you foolish boy. Not to the Dragon's Den."
"Then where? Where did you take her?"
"I took her to her grave."
The boy's screams could move a mountain, though they fell on deaf ears. Tears, snot and spit collected under his chin. This pain was failure; this pain was sorrow. Damion's faith in destiny died with those words. He spazzed and shrieked, losing complete control.
His mind's sole focus was generating figments of his hands wrapped around Siegfried's throat, squeezing until it popped. Anger gave him no comfort. The darkness fed off his depression. His spirit sunk to new depths. When Damion's cries had depleted, Siegfried took the open floor and did not let go:
"Are you finished? Ugh, you're giving me a headache. I told you to listen, but you refused. I know what you're thinking. No, I didn't have to kill her. I admit it was cruel. But how else could I prove to you the lengths to which I will reach to fulfill my destiny? This whole time you thought you were the one chasing your one true purpose. But you were wrong.
You are a side effect of my destiny, not the other way around. I am the chosen one. Just because you visited a special Pokémon you thought you were the hero, didn't you? So naïve you are. What else can be expected from a child other than self-centered incompetence? Yes, I know about Mewtwo. I see you have softened its heart. Good job, buddy! Gold star! Hahaha! Oh, what a waste.
You see, destiny belongs to me, young Damion Harrison. No amount of friendship can save our race. We are lost. I knew this at a young age. That is why I was visited. At six years old I saw the Earth as the most beautiful thing to ever exist. Material possessions; toys, clothes, friends; they never were as sacred to me as the planet on which we stand.
Nothing held me quite like a warm breeze. I would have rather lived outside than lose my mind in the formalities of society. I drove my mother mad. Due to my outcast image she had no one to brag about. I was her only child. I was the weirdo caressing blades of grass and making dresses out of leaves, fruits and flowers. If it was living, I wanted to know it. Yet there is no business in appreciating the world as a gallery.
So, to please my lonely mother, I immersed myself in the world of beauty. I made skin creams entirely from Honey and Berries and tea leaves. My all-organic dresses made the cover of Evolve Magazine. By the age of 12 I was a worldwide prodigy, designing fashion palettes for region elites under an anonymous alias. Fame meant nothing to me.
I decided that the only way to make real money was to be as far away from the spotlight as possible. A life of crime suited me well. In the shadows I could be whoever I wanted to be. In Giovanni's shadow, however, I could not. I realized I was living in an idea from a mind other than my own.
If I wanted to change the world, I had to take center stage. The night before I designed my first product I was visited by the most beautiful creature in the universe. After an evening of arguing with my mother about the meaning of life, I went outdoors to blow off some steam once she fell asleep. The Moon was full that night. Something was drawing me to it. I made it my north and followed its call.
Yoo-hoo! You still with me, boy? Mmm, yes, your bone structure is exquisite. Don't distract me! Anywho, I reached the hilltop about two miles away from my home. A red speck appeared on the Moon's surface. It grew and grew, coming straight towards me. I braced myself for the end, but the Pokémon's landing was more curious than insidious.
Every thought I had I knew it could hear. It wanted to meet me. Of all people, a kid from… Me, of all people! My heart was pure, it told. As a virus contracted in outer space, its resilience is unmatched. It takes one to know one, you know?
We shared a common view of the world: Pokémon belong to it and it to Pokémon. For years we met when the Moon was full. To this day it teaches me great wisdom. It shows me my enemies. It lights my way to freedom. I will set this planet free.
So, you see, I had to stop you in your tracks. Now is the time. You should have continued your indifference. You could've found yourself a sweet girl to settle down with before our judgment comes. Saving the day won't save your skin. We are all doomed. But that's not where our story ends.
The sickness that is the human race has hindered this planet for long enough. Soon I will close the curtain on our existence. But not before I give the Earth one last show. A tournament will be held a month from tomorrow in my name. Well, not my real name, but you understand. My employers wish to compile rare Pokémon in one location.
As the first tournament to allow the use of Legendary Pokémon, Trainers from every edge of the globe will flock. I am supposed to stage some kind of terrorist thingy – blah, blah, blah. I am through taking orders. My time has come to fulfill my destiny of leading the human race into the next eon!
I know what you're thinking. "But why Siegfried, why are you trying to wipe us all out?" The greater question is: Why are we so afraid of death? We've been blessed with millennia to tend to the Earth's needs. For millennia we have failed.
Death is not the end; it is a beginning. In death resides new life, better life, for our souls to manifest. It is time to refresh our page. My tournament will be the most extravagant assembly of human beings the world has ever seen. All we have left to give are art and war.
Legacy and memories are all that remain when we perish, dear Damion. These clothes mean nothing. These homes mean nothing. This money means nothing. Who were you when you were alive? That is what sticks.
Who was I? I was the last great leader of the human race. I will be known to every Pokémon alive as a deliverer – the one who restored their planet back to its rightful state, the greatest human to ever live! They may think they need us now, but once we're gone they will see the true value of our absence.
My ally will be with me until the end of time. Our lovechild will give human life new hope. Yes, it is carrying my Egg, my seed, our sole surviving savior. He will rule this world one day as a fair and honest king. He is my parting gift to mankind.
Your ally is just as naïve as you are, child. Mewtwo believes no one is aware of its existence. My ally has always known. It doesn't hurt to have video fragments of its escape from Cinnabar Lab either. Once I realized it exists, I had my top scientists cook up a more advanced cloning method than Mewtwo's – one that can balance the DNA of people and Pokémon perfectly.
Mewtwo did a decent job burning the place down. Buuut it missed a spot! Hahaha! Oh, I crack myself up. It's a shame you won't be joining us at the tournament, my boy. We could've really used your spunk! Ah, and if you're wondering, I didn't kill all of the children I captured – just your girl. I took away your purpose, so now you are useless.
She was a cutie; I'll give you that. But worth all of what you've put up with? Meh. My lady Penny, now that's a woman! You can have her if you want. She'll lace you up real good. Believe that. All you have to do is join me, young Damion.
The world is ending as we know it. Why not partake in its beauty one last time? Humanity is in need of a new form. As my muse has shown to me, change is power. And, as you know, change is the only constant in this world. You should try keeping up…"
Damion's silence spoke for him. Siegfried scoffed and chuckled. "Such a waste." The boy was still digesting what he had just heard. One sliver of this doomsayer's speech stuck out to him. His claim of art and war as humanity's final offerings resembled a Dragon Clan prayer the boy's parents would recite each night before sending him off to bed:
Arceus, O Arceus; how wicked we have been
Pardon us; please pardon us of all our wretched sins
As we lay we pray our souls return to your great light
Our only hope is for our hearts to peacefully unite
We come to you this night, please hear our fleeting call
And guide our simple minds through this revealing law:
Love breeds Love; Art breeds Art; War breeds War
Let us not forget this life we have been given
And let us make this world in your bright and holy image
Amen
Damion refused to die on figurative knee. If Siegfried were to be the last person he would ever come in contact with, he must make his heart known. Pride lived inside his blood. "You're wrong," he contested. The crime leader's boots stopped clinking on what Damion assumed to be ladder rungs. A door creaked closed. This signaled that he had indeed hooked his listener.
"You said all we have to give are art and war. Well, you're wrong," Damion said. The clinks resumed, which turned into puddled steps. His enemy was near. "Love is the most important thing we can give. It is what the universe is made of." Siegfried's palm glided down the boy's braids. Clinching the ends in his fist, he pulled back on Damion's head with force.
In a sweet whisper, he said: "Love is merely an illusion, silly boy."
The cellar door slammed shut, highlighting his loneliness. This was it: the beginning of the end. His guilt returned. This time brooding self-hate accompanied it. He regretted his past. He had no friends, no one to wonder where he had been. Clair's sugary smile appeared, though even she might be too busy at this point to worry.
Separated from all of his Pokémon, Damion felt lost. Even an insufferable lunatic like Siegfried had Pokémon by his side. A part of Damion wanted to entertain the idea of self-pity. After all, if what Siegfried said came to be, he would possibly be the only person to die alone. Yet he could not bring himself to do it. It was against his code of ethics. He did this to himself, and he would accept the consequences of his actions.
I deserve this, he concluded. Taking on an entire crime syndicate proved to be a task made for many. He wondered who he would be remembered as. Siegfried's talks of legacy dominated the boy's thoughts. I trusted no one; I never let anyone in. Therefore I am no one, nothing without a friend. His parents' prayer had him thinking in rhymes. The Dragon Clan Law repeated in his mind:
Love breeds Love
Art breeds Art
War breeds War
Here no one could tend to his outward cries for help. But maybe if he focused them inward his soul could be at peace. He recited the Dragon Clan prayer internally, though it only made him sadder. He recited again, then again, then aloud. Damion needed something more. So he prayed from the bottom of his heart.
Dear Arceus, he began.
I come to you a broken man – a man who has lost everything. I've been told that my race is unworthy. Deep down, I know that can't be true. I have witnessed the bond between Pokémon and humans. There is something unbreakable about it. I can't put it into words. But you know. You understand the things inside my heart. Please, if you can, show them to the people I've met. Show them that there's more to me than my cold exterior. There is a love inside me that does not know how to express itself. Bring peace and happiness to my companions. They deserved a better Trainer than me.
I wanted to say if you got me out of this situation that I'd change my life in some way. But we both know that isn't true. We both know I've made too many promises I am unable to keep. I should be saying thank you for leading me to the most wonderful Pokémon a man could ever ask to know. They mean everything to me. Please bless them, and help them understand the kind of Trainer they deserve going forward. So thank you, great Arceus: protector of the innocent and guardian of light. Thank you for creating these amazing creatures. And, if this plan comes to fruition, I hope the Pokémon on this Earth will live freely and happily until the end of time.
Amen
Heavy was his head; heavier was his heart. It beat sad and slow. His last words seemed satisfactory. He gave it his best shot. Damion Harrison: Johto Junior Champion; son of Jerome and Lilah Harrison; heir to the Blackthorn City Gym; faithful Pokémon Trainer. He thought of what his tombstone might say, but remembered that no one would be alive to make it, let alone be willing to pay for it.
The darkness blurred the line between dream and reality. The boy did not know if his eyes were open or shut unless he focused intently. His spirit waned. He let the darkness bury his psyche. As the dreaded finish line drew nearer, Damion did not contest, though something was not quite right. Instead of the famous white light, a hue of blue replaced it. Fitting, he thought. His mind and body were immobilized. Love was all he had.
