Chapter XV: Covenant
Houndoom and his vengeful Trainer spent every hour of the coming days prepping for war, striving for greatness, collecting cash and experience from sour competition. They marched east of Johto's National Park to Route 36, where the cities of Goldenrod, Violet and Ecruteak intertwine. The latter was their final destination. Yet three days remained until tournament festivities commenced.
The Masked Man's status quickly grew into lore. Any Trainer that passed playing the video of him mourning the death of his Pokémon, asking for a photo or comment, received an all-out attack. His valiant ally threatened with ferocious flames. Together as man and Pokémon they scoured Routes 36 and 37 of Johto in search of refinement. Their battles consisted of cumulative nuance. Victories multiplied in succession. Though their bond gained fervor, Houndoom and his Trainer found little delight in such large margins of success. They desired a greater challenge.
On this third day's eve, they longed no more. They hurried in the direction of an argumentative ruckus at the eastern half of Route 37. There stood three Apricorn trees, as well as three babbling Trainers – two male and one female.
One of the males was a tall, stocky Biker on the cusp of adulthood. The other two appeared to be a couple as their back-and-forth rebuttals hinted at an unbreakable chemistry. From the sound of their dispute they seemed hell-bent on determining who would keep all three Apricorns. Although there were enough for each of the Trainers, the regional fruits were quite valuable to Pokédex holders since it took them a full 24 hours to replenish once they were picked.
Thus the man and his Houndoom were left with arrant disappointment when they reached the trio of trees. They watched from a distance until the disagreement became physical. The Dark Pokémon rushed ahead of his Trainer, disrupting their chatter with a howl. This baffled the group as they adopted silence for the first time in several minutes. Houndoom stepped to the side. He diverted their attention, mustering an epic ring of fire. The female clapped and smiled while the males sensed suspicion.
The ring of fire raged and the Masked Man emerged into view, using a somersault as a means of entrance. Her applause intensified. The Masked Man wiped himself down. Houndoom wove between his Trainer's widened stance.
"Who's this lunatic?" said the Biker.
"Beats me," said the boy.
"C'mon, Trevor. You know exactly who this guy is," the girl challenged.
That name sparked the Masked Man's memory bank. He looked closer at the couple. Upon further inspection he identified them as Steph Williams and Trevor Rodriguez from the Violet City Trainer's School. He deduced the two had set off on a joint journey following an exclusive relationship status update. After a brief dig through his mind, Trevor recalled how he knew the man in black.
"Wait a minute… That's it! You're the primal scream meme!"
This label irritated the man. He silenced Trevor and Steph's yammering. While a new disagreement brewed, the Biker attempted to snag one more Apricorn for himself.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?!" Trevor yelled.
"Taking what I deserve. I saw them first!" answered the Biker.
The Masked Man interrupted, instructing Houndoom to separate the two parties; he obeyed his commander. The makeshift vigilante introduced logic into their dispute. Three Apricorns for three Trainers seemed like a fair split. However, the Biker saw things differently. He insisted he needed all three fruits. Bags beneath his eyes grew darker as he spilled his diatribe.
"Do you know who's gonna go hungry tonight if I come home with just one fruit?" he said, staring right between the boy's eyes.
"…You?" guessed Trevor.
"My entire family, that's who," he retorted.
"Why don't you just go get some groceries?" Steph wondered.
"Because maybe I can't afford groceries, toots," said the Biker. Steph and Trevor both tucked their lips and lowered their heads. The Masked Man scratched at his crown. The Biker continued:
"All you badge-chasers make me sick. Y'all have no idea what it's like growing up on Cycling Road. It's practically a wasteland now. I left home six hours ago searching for food. None of the gardeners in Kanto will negotiate with our people. They hate the sight of us. I have to come all the way to Johto and fight for scraps. I've had the same meal for breakfast for 13 years. Ever tried frying a Poison Pokémon Egg? It'll burn your nose off if you don't cook it just right.
But it's all we have. Our Pokémon resent us for taking their babies away each morning. . . There hasn't been a single day in my life where I haven't been judged based on some profile the TV made up! I haven't robbed, or raped, or murdered anyone ever – and neither have any of my friends and family. Do you know what it's like to have people hate you for something you have no control over? Maybe your parents did at one point; but you? Not a chance."
A dramatic pause he took, then resumed.
"Businesses refuse to employ us. Did you know that? One manager had the audacity to rescind his job offer to me once he saw I was a Biker. He said his company couldn't hire candidates with tattoos. I only have two and they were both covered up. And he had one on the inside of his wrist! I know life ain't supposed to be fair. But this life feels downright evil. I'm tired, and hungry, and . . . Man, I don't even know why I'm tellin' y'all this. I'm out."
The Masked Man nodded to his canine companion. Houndoom snatched the Apricorns from Steph and Trevor's grips and brought them to the Biker. His steamed pinkish skin simmered back to normal. He thanked the Dark-type with a head rub. Houndoom's commander spoke up.
"Your struggle is one no citizen should endure. Please take this as severance for the manner in which society has treated you and your people." He removed three bricks of cash from his Trainer's Bag, which was more than half of his battle earnings. Sweat sparkled off the Biker's head as he stepped to accept the stranger's gift. After doubling down on his offer, the Masked Man bid the troubled soul a fond farewell.
"So, he gets two-week's salary and the Apricorns… ?" Trevor blurted. The Masked Man encroached upon the couple's personal space. At first he said nothing, though a chuckle digitized soon thereafter. Heavy, heated breaths billowed at the base of Trevor's crotch.
"Meatball marinara is his favorite," said the crusader, alluding to his ready companion, planting the seed of fear. He motioned the beast away following a brief staredown. They began to pace north.
"Hey, wait," Steph yelled. "Hold on a sec – please come back!"
"Babe," said Trevor, "what are you doing?"
"He has a good heart! Even if he is a little volatile…" She ripped her hand from his clutch and gave chase before the duo reached the Ecruteak City limits. Trevor followed close behind. Steph called to him once more.
"We're really sorry about your Xatu," she expressed. His deadpan strides turned frozen solid.
". . . Thank you. Now goodbye," he replied.
"Wait-wait! You wouldn't happen to be going to register for the Ecruteak tournament, would you?"
"I am."
"Well, you're kind of a week late," she noted. "People have been camping out for days."
"Fu—"
"But don't worry! You can squeeze in with us. We had our Pokémon save us spots in line."
"Babe?" Trevor squeaked.
"He's coming with us, Trevor. End of discussion," said Steph with a stern eye. The Masked Man thanked her once more as they set their sights to the bustling streets of Ecruteak . . . .
Meanwhile, far beneath the city's surface, a ceremony commenced. Siegfried decorated his innermost chamber, one designated for this moment, with a pentagram composed of an evasion Item called Bright Powder and a circle of sublimating dry ice. At the center of the shapes stood a solitary candle not yet lit. A half-full bucket of water lay just out of range. Lax and Odd Incenses burned sharp, mysterious fumes in each corner of the room. The cynic knelt before his creation. He smiled, anticipating an arrival.
Seconds later, it manifested. Three medial pounds came to the chamber door. Rocket Grunt Penny stepped through the frame. A custom breathing apparatus encased the lower half of her head. She held two Items in her hands: one Poké Ball and what was known as the Odd Keystone.
This strange stone unlocked a minacious entity. There were but two natural Odd Keystones in existence. Months prior, Siegfried issued a marine mission off the coast of southern Hoenn. His team of divers discovered it inside a decrepit research facility. Penny approached her superior with pride. Siegfried closed his eyes.
"Hello, love," he said, back turned and knees still bent. "Did you bring the correct Pokémon?"
"I was supposed to bring Magikarp, right?" she smirked. He chuckled and met her eyes with his.
"Oh, you tease," he growled, receiving the Items from her. Their noses touched tip to tip. "That motor mouth could use some lubricant, wouldn't you say?" She lusted of the flesh, for his love was unlike any other.
"Bless me, darling," she whispered. "Make me whole again."
"On any other day, at any other time," Siegfried replied, his hand wrapped sweetly 'round her neck; "I would take you and taste of your fruit. The memories we've made in the dark, my chérie reverie, flow through me like royal blood. You've done well as you tend to do. But today marks a new dawn. Tell Timothy to bring me the girl – well, what's left of her. If time tips in our favor, I will send for you to my quarters."
He stepped backwards and placed the outsides of his wrists at his hips to dismiss her. She pranced out of the chamber, shutting the door behind her.
He released the requested Pokémon. Chandelure, a Ghost/Fire-type monster, resembled a sentient chandelier. Its round head showed stripes connecting to yellow, pupil-less eyes. Four black arms curled upwards from a black spike under its head, carrying two eternal flames on each side. A larger purple flame burned from its spike-ring crown.
"Hello, beautiful creature," he said to it. The modest ghost stammered. "I want to thank you for helping me today." He reached for a warm embrace. Chandelure shuddered. "Have no fear, darling. I don't bite." He made a second attempt. It shook its head. "Your flames will not harm me; my soul cannot be singed." The ghost finally accepted, touching a human non-fatally for the very first time.
"You will be handsomely rewarded for your duties here today," he resumed. "I need you, the Luring Pokémon, to lure a multitude of souls into one body."
The chamber door rushed open. Tim appeared with a limp body in his arms. Siegfried entered the pentagram and removed its wax centerpiece. The dormant shell of Maya Rodriguez replaced it. Tim muffled a goodbye and exited the room. The cynic dropped the Odd Keystone onto her chest.
He guided the Ghost-type through his procedure. First, he needed a ghastly flame to light the candle. He instructed Chandelure to use its Will-O-Wisp attack (which inflicts Burned status onto its opponent in battle). Second, he transferred the flame onto the powdered pentagram. Flickers of light crackled until completion. The shapes now produced a brilliant, baleful burn. Third, he asked the ghost to use its Hex attack to cast a spiritual conversion spell. Chandelure's eyes glowed purple and red. A black sphere of energy materialized above the Odd Keystone.
A howling wind whipped up! Screeches of demons sliced the room. Chandelure lost every bit of concentration. Even ghosts feared ghosts. The black energy sphere disappeared. Siegfried boosted his aid's morale with cheery tongue. His motivations renewed the ghost's focus. Its innermost resolve energized. As a result, the black sphere returned, brimming with sacred power.
The demonic screeches returned as well. This time they brought along a form. A wild Spiritomb appeared! It lacked a physical body, but the cyan-blue shadow it projected did feature a ghoul-like face. Purplish speckles revolved around its tortured expression.
"Why?" cried the voices. "Why have you awakened us?"
"To offer you freedom before the end," the cynic answered.
Decades ran their course since the last Spiritomb had breathed fresh air. It had been locked inside the stone due to incompletion, for a condition limited this Pokémon. A total of 108 souls must be collected for Spiritomb to gain Pokémon form. This rare being fell short by one soul. It had given up hope many, many years ago. This sudden awakening brought the spirits great pain after an extended hibernation. Siegfried described his offer:
"There is a boy; he jeopardizes my objective. . . I am hosting a Pokémon battle tournament about 300 feet that way," he smirked, pointing to the ceiling; "This boy must be defeated if my plan is to mature. Agree to help me and I will transfer your souls to this empty vessel. I need you to defeat the boy in battle. Some of the world's most powerful Pokémon will be at your disposal. Succeed for me and I will strip him of his essence. His soul will be yours to devour, so that you may feel whole again and live peacefully in a world without humans, amongst the other Pokémon, as the strongest of your species. . . Do you accept my terms?"
The offer was too good to refuse. All 107 spirits wished to have physical form again, no matter how brief the stint, for these were a crew of lost souls. The karma of anguish they paid incessantly in the spirit realm – which vibrates at a frequency a few dimensions higher than the third – intensified by the moment. A physical body, either human or Pokémon, buffered the absolute reality (love as the purest energy) through a relative reality (fear as the primary function). If they defeated the target, they could renew their collective mischief as the Dark/Ghost-type Spiritomb.
"We. . . accept," they uttered through the pain. Siegfried snapped his fingers, signaling Chandelure to ramp up its focus. It poured all of its strength into an ultimate Hex attack. The screeching souls entered the shell of Maya Rodriguez, which was now hovering in midair. At that moment, the raging flames, shaped by the enclosed pentagram, suddenly extinguished. The room dimmed as dark as sin. A wincing creak came from the chamber door. Soft gold light split the scene. Siegfried stepped out with Chandelure by his side and called to the entity.
Her eyes were milky white. She bore no emotion in her muscles or face. Maya was no more. The voices of many layered thick, growing creepier with each new breath. Siegfried ordered a cloak for his ally from the closest available Grunt. Dust mushroomed out as the being slipped into the sleeves and raised its hood.
"How do you feel?" asked Siegfried.
"Aliiive," cried the banshee.
"Excellent, love. . . Your mission begins now. The target is dressed in all black. A bedazzled mask covers his face. He is in the stadium's dining hall alongside 252 other Trainers, accompanied by two allies. One of them is the twin brother of your body's former resident. So, your identity must remain hidden at all costs.
Check your right inside pocket. . . There you will find a Spell Tag. Tie this Item around your forehead. It emits an eerie aura that will shroud your profile.
Check your other inside pocket. These five Pokémon are yours to direct:
Cresselia – The Lunar Pokémon, a supportive Psychic 'Mon with respectable offensive power.
Muk – The Sludge Pokémon, in its Alolan Form, Muk is a sturdy anchor that serves as a check against various opposing strategies.
Braviary – The Valiant Pokémon, this fearsome flyer trades speed for brutal damage.
Roserade – The Bouquet Pokémon, a shifty Grass-type capable of sweeping entire teams.
And finally. . .
Steelix – The Iron Snake Pokémon, upon Mega Evolving, it becomes an immovable machine.
Six Pokémon make a full roster. The final spot will be filled by you. If the target manages to defeat all five of the monsters we have supplied, then you must activate the Odd Keystone. Call upon the power of the Spell Tag and fight for your life as Spiritomb.
But I assure you," paused the cynic, "if you fail, the Spell Tag will vanish and you will be locked inside the stone for the rest of your days. Your target has entered the tournament under the name Yen Blackstone. Confront him. Don't reveal your purpose, but make your presence known.
You are on opposite sides of the bracket. Do you understand? . . . Good. Study this list and learn the move sets of your Pokémon. Honor our agreement. Fight well. Reach the championship round. His spirit burns with reckless abandon. We are bonded by destiny, all of us. Do not let me down, my darlings."
"We will fight to the death for our master," they answered, "We will devour him whole!"
"Oh please, save some for me. Ahahahaha!"
They did not join him in laughter. But something like that never stopped Siegfried from enjoying himself. The Rocket Grunts knew this all too well. One of them, named Harold, stood by patiently for further instruction. Once the cynic had had his fill he commanded Harold to show his warrior around the glorious Ecruteak stadium. He placed his hand on the cloak's grungy shoulder pad for one last word.
"No mercy, my loves," he said to them, "No mercy." The shrouded figured nodded. "Oh, and one more thing," Siegfried directed his employee, "fetch another pair of shoes for her feet. We wouldn't want anyone recognizing those, now would we?" Harold agreed, and led the shelled banshee to Penny's quarters . . . .
Some 300 feet above the Rocket hideout, young Damion Harrison, disguised in garments of a tailored lie, reached the summit of his journey, though dormant it was, in his mind, for the time being. The immaculate dome he now gazed upon, amongst dozens of Pokémon Trainers, Ecruteak locals, and various travelers alike, engulfed the upper west side of the city.
He had wondered how a site of this magnitude could have evaded his knowing, despite his contempt towards news media outlets. No, a dome such as this was a gossip's dream. Only a blind man would leave its presence unaffected; even still, the scarce fragrances of lavender and orange blossom carried a firm truth that could force a zombie back to its senses.
Massive circular symbols of all 18 Pokémon types decorated the dome's outer shell. From the lips of Stephanie he learned they would light up the night sky based on relevant region-wide events. The bricks that unified this coliseum were capped in porcelain and encased in gold. As the high-noon Sun beat down on the dome's pearly-gate surface, Ecruteak beamed with rare light, as if it were looking into the eyes of its newborn child. If not for ultra-violet shielding programmed inside his bejeweled mask, Damion may have become that blind man.
Event planners supplied good-enough sun shades to those without them. Trevor handed his only pair of sunglasses to his "forever lady," as he called her, and donned the complimentary plastic frames.
This was the scene in which the Masked Man baked beneath afternoon beams whilst standing in the infinite queue of Trainers awaiting their chance to register for Siegfried's relatively exclusive playground. Although he was draped in all-black attire, his mentor (if one could call Steven that) spared no expense when constructing this luxuriously breathable gear.
The suit stored energy through some kind of nanotechnology, translated it, and then dispersed that energy back into his body wherever he needed a boost. He now lived as a flexible cyborg, which, when he deeply pondered this fact, made him hate himself even more than he already did. For he now mirrored his peers in that sense, albeit his version of cyborg differed from their pathetic hand-held dependence, so he concluded.
There was something intoxicating about his nightfall fit. Steven told him nothing of this feeling. The suit had attached itself to his psyche – as a result, to his mission too. Ceaseless labels and descriptions bombarded his field of vision. The suit analyzed every inch of its surroundings as a B-student would a classroom come syllabus week; it collected what it needed and omitted what it did not. It did, in fact, speak – not in language, but rather in feelings.
An intense sensation welled within his pressure points whenever the mask sensed a strong emotional reaction. This caused him to twitch, snort and tingle at random intervals. The two were not yet fully in sync. They were a strange creature indeed.
Trevor inquired of the veil while he and the Masked Man found themselves alone during one of Steph's five bathroom breaks. He wanted to know the point of wearing it. Privacy, the Masked Man assured, was the single fragment of existence he had left. And this was true. For rumblings of Damion Harrison's whereabouts gradually surfaced from hometown fans, City-champion rivals and, to a lesser degree, Deputy Miranda Jenny.
He hoped one day soon he would overhear someone say that young Damion Harrison had been found washed up on a faraway river bank with pale eyes and seaweed coming out his nose, or another absurd, fantastical tale. But then again, Damion Harrison was never so relevant. He had died on the east side of Celadon, though in this moment, moving centimeter by centimeter in line, he was reminded of his former self through Trevor's words.
In spite of his initial uncertainty, Trevor warmed up to the atypical Trainer. It comforted him to talk openly with someone other than Steph, who insisted on unconditional optimism all hours of the day, which at times irked Trevor considering her love of gossip. He grieved for his sister in silence. Neither love bird could bear addressing the issue head-on. The pain of loss split evenly between them.
Yet Trevor's burdens grew. His mother had informed him the night prior over the phone that she and his father had separated. Her trust in her husband's word diminished with each passing day. Trevor sided with his mother.
He, the Masked Man, pretended to have read about Maya's disappearance in the newspaper, a lie he told with comfort, predicting Trevor scrolled down rather than across for his news intake. His assumption proved correct. And he offered his condolences.
In the middle of Steph's fifth and final trip, Trevor confessed that tomorrow, the official start of the Ecruteak tournament, would be his and Maya's 18th birthday.
"She would've won this tournament," he faltered; "I just know it."
A lone tear he dismissed from his cheek as his love returned from the stall, and the newfound trio stepped forward to greet the rugged receptionist.
Their three registrations took about eight minutes to complete once they reached the correct counter. Stephanie's all-around team included five Pokémon, led by her Ampharos (a yellow-bodied Electric-type biped with a white belly and a red orb on both its forehead and medial tail); Trevor entered as an Ice-type specialist, leading off with one of his two Glalie (a floating rock of ice with two thick black horns on each side of its head and a face only a mother could love); the Masked Man fibbed further.
He entered four Pokémon slots despite having but one, under a false name with a false face and identification. The receptionist cared little nonetheless; all his mind could muster were considerations of cold-brewed beverages at the completion of his shift. What this outlandish, self-serious Trainer had planned for later that night had nothing to do with him. Therefore he issued his stamp of approval and signaled the next group forward.
An array of marble pillars littered the coliseum lobby. Spiraling around them and hanging from the ceiling were many of the world's most exotic flowers. A rush of foreign scents billowed invisibly. Tropical white morning-glories (or moonflowers); reddish-orange fire lilies (or tiger lilies); turquoise jade vines; brownish-red chocolate cosmoses; and what became the Masked Man's immediate favorite, saffron (or autumn) crocuses with their picturesque violet petals and striking red stigmas; they all were present and stunningly gorgeous, and all were correctly described in detail to him through the info screen of his crown of jewels.
A meeting room straight ahead of them was generating quite a buzz. Upon entering said room the trio discovered an enormous cafeteria, which explained the assorted seating sprinkled throughout the lavish lobby they had assumed was nothing more than random. And so they found themselves waiting in yet another seemingly endless queue of famished journeymen and journeywomen.
Steph and Trevor filled their trays while the Masked Man asked for two doggie bags. They followed a crowd of Trainers out of the cafeteria, for above the kitchen hung a giant ornamental flower, functioning as an organic chandelier, one that emitted such an odiferous effluvium that a crew of fragrant Pokémon tended to it by the minute. It was called the corpse flower, for obvious reasons, the mask reported.
Why it was chosen to hang above where food was being prepared no one knew. Perhaps it was a sick joke. Whatever the reason, the trio found a quiet place to eat away from the majority.
The mask pulsated about its holder's skull. Whilst he sat, eating naught, unlike the love birds, at one of the three vacant dining hall-like tables, an indefatigable reporter and her cameraman begged for a portion of the Masked Man's time. She introduced herself as Rebecca Green, a busy-body intern at KWN, Kanto's number-one news station. He agreed to her request under the condition that his Radio Tower incident be exempt from questioning.
She owned up to stalking him since that day. Though she lost his trail a time or two, his work ethic astonished her. Her curious aura drew the attention of the Dark Pokémon. The hound grew lonely inside his Poké Ball, which the Masked Man had attached at the hip prior to purchasing a to-go order, and concentrated his mental power. The spherical cage wiggled; he, Houndoom, begged to investigate. The Masked Man accepted his request.
Houndoom prowled around the strangers, getting a good whiff at each of them. He stopped at Ms. Green. First her feet, then up her legs he sniffed. Heat pulsed from his paws as they rested on her hip bones. He rubbed his face into her belly, hoping for a cuddly surprise – something his master would never have offered. Her heart melted to goop.
"Awww," she exclaimed. "He just wants a hug! Ethan, please tell me you got all of this . . . Yes! We are easily winning Clip of the Week this time."
She turned to the night-dweller.
"So, do you and Houndoom hug like this a lot?" asked Rebecca. The Masked Man shook his head before responding.
"Down," he barked, pointing towards the ground. Rebecca and Ethan stepped closer to their subject. She received a wired microphone from her colleague and held it comfortably to the aloof Trainer following a brief professional intro.
"So, tell the people a little about yourself."
"How does one describe oneself," he posed; "Are there bullet points? Am I even who I say I am?"
"Okayyy. And who did you say you were, again?" she replied.
"I did not say."
"Hmm… right, yes. Would you mind telling us your name, good sir?"
"Yes, I do mind."
"Can you tell us your name… please?"
"No, thank you."
". . ."
"That information belongs to me. My identity – what and who I believe myself to be – is a solitary experience, as is yours.
My name is my name – nothing more and nothing less. White is white, even if it is not spoken as such. White is not white because we call it white, but because it is. Yet is white a color or the absence of it?
Who I am is not important. I am nothing. And I am everything – as are you. The greatest paradox, is it not?"
"So, is that what you are then, some kind of nonsensical paradox?"
"No, Ms. Green. I will tell you what I am:"
"A lie!" cried a voice from the not-so-distant shadows, drawing nearer. The camera shifted angles. Rebecca opened her stance to witness this heckler. A legion vocalized in unison. "A lie," they repeated, "that is what you are, Yen. . . Was it Blackthorn or Blackstone? I simply cannot recall."
"Oh, cool!" Steph blurted. "He has one of those vocoder things just like you."
"You are mistaken," the Masked Man retorted. "As is this thing I have never in my life met."
"We are quite familiar," they urged, "though not how you may think."
"Why are you here?"
"We have come to liberate you, young warrior, to send you to the deepest void of the spite which holds your heart prisoner."
"You know nothing of my heart... For spite alone keeps me afloat."
"We will devour you!"
"Over my dead body."
"Precisely!"
A Poké Ball erupted. Alolan Muk appeared! This sludge monster dribbled with multi-colored waste. What appeared to be fangs in its mouth and claws on the ends of its three-digit hands were actually shards of crystallized poison. In fact, hundreds of various poisons and chemicals resided inside every Alolan Muk. The reactions between these chemicals were its life source. A single touch from any one of its toxic crystals could hospitalize a human for days. His mask identified this Pokémon as a Poison/Dark-type. Therefore Houndoom's Bite attack would have little effect on this Muk.
To make matters worse, Muk was known as a defensive wall species. A common strategy utilized it as a substitute against strong attacks, switching it in for Pokémon that may go down in one hit. The Masked Man recognized this disadvantage, as well as the growing crowd of spectators. Two oddly-dressed rivals made for quality entertainment in between chews. And so a battle ensued.
"Brother, I call upon thee!" said the Masked Man, slapping his Poké Ball off his hip. His partner's countenance concerned him however. Neither of them had eaten in hours. The hound paced back and forth slowly with his eyes glued to the ground. One of the doggie bags ripped open and plopped beneath his paws. He, Houndoom, devoured the meal in its entirety and regained his fighting spirit.
The Masked Man retrieved two Technical Machines from his Bag. Two compact disc cases popped open. He flicked one underneath Houndoom. TM35 was Flamethrower, an efficient and powerful Fire-type attack. An oval of light emitted from the Machine, delivering a digital message. . . . Houndoom learned Flamethrower!
Impatient did the spirits become; they wanted nothing more than to tear the methodical Trainer limb from limb. They had learned no respect for the art of Pokémon battling. They watched as the Masked Man attempted to teach his ally yet another new attack. The spirits saw this an opportune time to strike.
"Attack, my minion," they ordered. Alolan Muk charged ahead. "Use Brick Break!"
An enormous pressure erupted within the Masked Man. His blood boiled with rage. Though in his days as Damion he had broken his fair share of battle rules, the Masked Man showed no remorse for this disrespectful behavior. His entire body shivered as the Sludge Pokémon drew nearer. The mask encapsulated his hatred, storing a cosmic energy.
Muk was inches away from its opposition when it happened. Onlookers whispered among themselves.
"Did he just do that?" one asked.
"This is crazy!" cried another.
Indeed, the Masked Man, empowered by his mysterious guise, brought a halt to the Poison-type's progress. As the gap between he, his Pokémon and his opponent closed, his rage manifested into a protective aura wave. He roared with all his might.
"YOU WILL RESPECT THE ART OF BATTLE!"
And with one swipe of his arm, he pushed Muk back from whence it came, boasting an invisible force. They, the legion of spirits, grumbled but ultimately conceded, for they had forgotten the harshness of human embarrassment. The Masked Man finished his preparations by teaching Houndoom another new move. This time it was TM60, Nasty Plot: a Dark-type status move which boosted non-physical attacks, such as Ice Beam and Flamethrower. Now they, Houndoom and the Masked Man, were ready for war.
Or so they thought. What they did not account for was the greater rage and mischief which resided inside the many minds of the legion of spirits. These 107 lost souls yearned for chaos. For decades they had been prisoners of the Odd Keystone. And for decades they wished for fulfillment. This would be their finest moment.
"Since you have dishonored our preparations, Houndoom will move first," the Masked Man directed. The legion spoke naught in return. "Houndoom, use Nasty Plot!" His faithful companion stepped forward with grace, tilting his chin upwards before staring deep into his opponent's eyes.
Thoughts of dark deception entered Houndoom's mind. He recalled the endless exercises, cuts, bumps and bruises he had suffered in battle. He remembered the emptiness of his stomach from day's past and his Trainer's cold neglect of emotion. The hound bottled these thoughts and awaited his next turn.
"You fool," laughed the legion. "My Pokémon are far stronger than you give them credit for! Muk, deliver your Gunk Shot!"
From its love-forsaken mouth generated a throng of slop and garbage so repulsive that seven children in the crowd hurled the meals that had just reached their stomachs. The pile of gunk slammed into Houndoom's snout with such strength that it nearly snapped his neck out of alignment. The hound's will to continue prevailed nonetheless.
"Now, dear brother, unleash your full wrath from the fiery pit of our transgressions: Flamethrower, now!"
Up from the chasm of his flame-tinged belly loosed a ferocious flame the likes of which this crowd had never seen. The flashing fire enveloped Alolan Muk for a multitude of moments. Its goopy silhouette dripped in large chunks. The attack had great effect, for it was a critical hit. Nevertheless, once the flame died down, the Sludge Pokémon remained upright, seemingly healthy. The crowd gasped and snapped digital photographs of the resilient monster.
The legion let out a most menacing cackle. Though Houndoom's flame was mighty, the Dark Pokémon suffered from poisoning at the hands of Muk's Gunk Shot. They, the spirits, reiterated their faith in the Sludge Pokémon's power and gave further instruction. A sinister selection they made. The status move known as Venom Drench doused an opponent in venomous acid, reducing the target's attack power and Speed stat. However, said target must be already Poisoned for the move to land. Thus Houndoom received the short end of the stick.
"Hang in there, brother!" the Masked Man urged. "Finish this with another Flamethrower!"
Houndoom obeyed, pulling yet another ferocious flame from within. But alas! Muk anticipated this and brought forth its crystallized claws for a final blow.
"Muk: BRICK BREAAAK!"
The Sludge Pokémon chopped down about Houndoom's heated neck, catapulting him into his unsuspecting Trainer. The two ejected from the coliseum in utter defeat, leaving wreckage behind. A ruckus roar filled the lobby. Shame entered the Masked Man's heart.
Steph and Trevor raced to console him and the hound. He lay on his back whilst deciphering the ceaseless murmurs of the crowd; they gained allegiance for the legion.
The couple lifted their friends from the earth. The Masked Man marinated in malevolence.
"Dude, ya gotta get back in there!" said Trevor. The response to his motivation surprised him.
"It's over," he accepted. "I have lost."
"So… you… don't actually have four in your party?" Steph questioned.
"Four. That is the number which flashed before me. . . . I am the number four – the number of justice, of discipline; the number of the square, of a sturdy foundation. My path is one of boundless pain. Violence and vengeance, they guide me. Through sacrifice I ascend onto a higher plane. The seeds of anguish have sprouted rampant within this blackened heart of mine.
. . . . Therefore no rest is to be taken, and no meal to be eaten until we have eclipsed a new plateau. There is work to be done this day, much like yesterday, as there will be tomorrow and the next. Embrace the pain! – that is my mantra, for pain was the friend I never knew I needed.
So I accept an unofficial loss with great pleasure. It serves as a reminder that our work is not finished, as it is never finished, and as it shall never cease. . . . Four Pokémon will aid me in my quest to win the Ecruteak tournament. I must propel forward. Destiny will run its course. But first, I must do my part, my continual work of self, until I think no more, until I am no longer."
He bid his friends adieu. The three of them agreed to meet back in front of the coliseum around 0700 hours for a brief encouragement pow-wow. During his various travels throughout his teenage years, Damion Harrison would have never agreed to such a thing. That was his boyhood at the helm, however. In this new form he finally recognized the value of human partnership.
The man behind the mask took special interest in the timing of the universe. It had its own path to follow, a natural law to uphold. The universe brought these allies into his life. And so their timelines aligned, connecting past with present, uncovering a thin, relatively insignificant layer of the dramatic irony that was existence, is existence, and will forever be existence.
The mask itself, with its acute intelligence, sparked a bond with the couple. It decoded their auras in a system of numbers, a system so intricately simple that it made both complete sense and no sense whatsoever, a system of supreme curiosity and redirection of energy.
Numbers, it dawned on him, were not invented but discovered. They preceded all other languages. Time, distance, space, volume, density, money, nature governed under the same regime. Nothing ruled mankind except his inexhaustible pursuit of pleasure, for pleasure takes upon no sacrifice of its own; rather it further supplies man with what he already knows as true: either that he finds contentment with stagnation, or that he perpetually lusts for the false freedom of instant gratification.
Hence these numbers would guide the Masked Man with subtlety. There were ten in total of which every greater number was composed. This system was impenetrable, unchanging. He longed for a complete understanding of this system. Time was of the essence nonetheless. The number four presented itself once more.
Four leaves, baring three separate colors, fell at his feet. He walked west to Route 38 to further refine his bond with Houndoom and fill out his remaining three roster spots. To achieve greatness, he believed, he must conquer doubt, weariness, hunger, guilt until his legs gave out from under him and his heart beat no more.
He used a Revive on Houndoom(!), and reminded him of the oath they had taken. The hound reiterated his commitment to their common goal, salivating at the thought of battle. And so their grind resumed. For hours they fought and searched for more fighting. Five Trainers who happened to be stationed on the route were dealt with handily. The tandem needed a greater obstacle.
Therefore, once the Moon had secured its place in the night sky, the Masked Man raised his fist and called out to the creatures living amongst the trees. His words were as follows:
"O Great and Mighty Monsters,
Hear my cry:
I do not have the answers,
Nor know of my demise.
Though I walk in the shadows of my transgressions,
Through suffering I have survived.
I do not have much time,
As dusk will soon turn to dawn;
Thus to my karmic query,
I hope you do respond.
Who of you is strongest -?
Residing behind these leaves?
Challenge me to see who can last the longest.
So as to manifest what I so desperately believe."
His art echoed throughout the tree tops as they trembled with rhythmic glee. An unlikely duo emerged at the sound of his soliloquy. Noctowl, the Owl Pokémon, screeched and glided down to meet him. Additionally, Spinarak, the String Spit Pokémon, descended its white web, suspending itself from the ground, exposing its lime green body, two red mandibles and what appeared to be a face drawn on its back, hanging there upside-down.
Similarly upside-down was a pattern of six dark-brown triangular shapes upon Noctowl's chest. A lighter brown plumage covered its head, chest and underbelly. Bushy, cream-colored horns resembled large eyebrows above its ruby red eyes. Together they answered his call.
The owl clipped the spider's web with its beak and the two confronted what they believed to be a mad man. A lopsided battle commenced. Houndoom's ferocious flames (boosted by a Charcoal he was given to hold) shot out towards the bird. It flew high to elude the potentially fatal attack.
Spinarak countered with its signature move, Toxic Thread – one that induced poisoning while also lowering the target's Speed. Poisoned purple thread spewed from the spider's mandibles. Houndoom took control of his own actions. He performed an array of skilled dodges, cunning counters and devastating attacks. Noctowl emitted an Echoed Voice, which grew in strength each time the move was used. Houndoom absorbed moderate damage, though not enough to dull his drive.
A late-match Flamethrower caused Spinarak to faint, for Fire blackened a Bug almost without fail. The spider's ally fought valiantly in its absence. Unfortunately for the Owl Pokémon, its Psychic-type capabilities had no effect on the hound. It shivered in exhaustion with its back pressed against bark. There was nowhere left to flee. It pecked at the hound regardless, accelerating its defeat. Houndoom pawed the bird to the ground and retreated to his Trainer.
"Houndoom grew to level 74!" his Pokédex added.
The Masked Man threw a Net Ball (one designed for catching Bug- and Water-types) at the wild Spinarak, and a Great Ball at the wild Noctowl. Successful tones chimed.
He supplied Spinarak and Noctowl with a Revive and Hyper Potion respectively. Houndoom took a well-deserved rest as the new recruits took center stage. They battled one another first, with Noctowl winning two out of three. Second, they battled dozens of wild Pokémon as a team, some of who were relatives, treemates and childhood friends. Around 2310 hours, Spinarak evolved into Ariados, the Long Leg Pokémon (a bulkier and much more menacing spider whose body was now a deep shade of red).
Third, they battled three tournament Trainers. Despite a major type disadvantage, they managed to squeak past the first two without calling upon the services of Houndoom. The final Trainer, however, had a Lucario on his side. This Steel/Fighting foxlike Pokémon delivered a monumental Stone Edge that pierced them into submission. The Masked Man prevailed, but there was still more work to be done.
About four hours later – approximately 0330 hours – his mysterious guise picked up an odd signal. During a match with two resilient Miltank, after which Noctowl had grown to level 57 and Ariados to level 55, a cracking, steaming noise intensified. It brewed somewhere behind him, gaining decibels by the minute. He returned his recruits to their Poké Balls and investigated.
He searched beyond the government-funded fences that gave shape to each regional route. His mask guided him via electrical pulses. A jolt to his left or right sides signified east or west, as did a pulsation around his sternum signify north. Stillness, he deduced, meant he should turn south.
Deep in the center of the forest, he arrived at his point of interest. A thunderous gold-ring portal revealed. He stared into its primordial face on bended knee. The mask's interface scrambled and glitched. A surging fist exited the portal, knocking him to his bottom.
Out came Mewtwo…
Though it bore a new form, the clone was unmistakable. It had grown at least a foot taller. Protrusions had appeared above its shoulders. Its tail had stiffened; it now curled at the tip. Horns from its head curved high, pointing to the sky. A second tube rested behind its neck.
He quivered at the feet of the supreme Pokémon. The thought of retreat consumed him. It sensed this, laying strike after strike, reciprocating his prior malice. Bones snapped. Organs bruised. He was a fish out of water and a man out of options. He crawled to the nearest tree stump to prop himself up.
Throughout this pummeling, Mewtwo remained stationary. Its limbs could now stretch an impressive distance. In this new form, its true power revealed. Destiny delivered his wish; the boy disguised as a hero had wanted to feel the zenith of Mewtwo's strength. Yet currently he could feel nothing. His body was broken beyond repair. The mask did not aid him; it had no sensation from which to derive.
Nevertheless, he welcomed emptiness as a guest of honor inside his heart. The clone's shadow enveloped him as he struggled to remove his iridescent veil.
"Shall I continue?" questioned the clone.
"Destroy m-my body," he stated, blood falling from his lip corner. "I b-b-beseech thee. . . . I BESEECH THEE! Torment completes me, torm—" He whimpered in pain.
The clone said naught in return. It reached inside his pocket and removed Noctowl's Great Ball. The wise bird popped out, flapping in place. Following a brief telepathic exchange, the Owl Pokémon flew off into the night. Mewtwo had released Noctowl back into his natural ecosystem. It searched his, Noctowl's, mind for meaningful memories. What it discovered were the owl's forest duties. Noctowl served as a faithful night watch over adolescent creatures and one of Route 38's top domestic decision-makers. His value in his community had no substitute.
The Trainer's heart sunk to rock bottom. He had been robbed and beaten like a criminal by a specimen he once called friend. Mewtwo had achieved some form of enlightenment, he assumed, though from what he was taught long ago one who pursued an enlightened life would never in their wildest dreams behave as the clone just did. No, it was something else.
Giovanni and the Masked Man shared one common trait. They neglected Mewtwo of love. Giovanni honed the darkness of its Pokémon half while the Masked Man honed the darkness of its human one. An intense aloneness fortified the clone.
Unbeknownst to the pending tournament-goer, Red, the mountain elite, had denied Mewtwo's request to win the Ecruteak tournament and save humanity from itself. The elite viewed the rest of humanity as unworthy of his efforts. His personal demons tore at his spiritual flesh. He freed the clone that day way back when so that it could choose its own path. He simply did not foresee, nor wish to foresee, himself included in said path.
As a result, Mewtwo explored the hidden most chasms of its heart to decide its next move. After much contemplation Mewtwo opted for an ambush, for the expulsion of pain was a drug like none other. Yet the scene beneath it triggered a tiny tidbit of sympathy. Although the scar of his betrayal ached dearly, Damion's lesson rang true. Even he, the Masked Man, deserved a second chance; for out of anger, compassion is born. And so the clone held out its palm to manifest a severance package.
Damion got a Master Ball!
All traces of the portal and the clone vanished as it entered the former. The suffering Trainer reached to grip the rare device once more. To his surprise, it carried weight. A vast energy bubbled within it. He applied his guise. The mask sensed mayhem, sending a harsh shock wave up his frame. He dropped to the dirt in sheer agony. Nevertheless, his will survived.
Three numbers flashed before him in succession: Two, the number of partnership and of emotion; Eight, the number of material wealth and of power; and Five, the number of change and of freedom. This he knew without knowing how he knew. Yet prior to drawing a surefire conclusion he was joined by a towering, stone-faced man with razor-sharp cheek bones and grayish-blue hair pointed to the clouds. How his presence came to be was rather curious.
Neither the Trainer nor his mask detected this stranger's entrance. It was as if he drifted to his side cloaked by the shadow of Mother Nature herself. He stepped towards the helpless one. Houndoom erupted from his slumber, guarding his Trainer with a gripping growl.
"Your Houndoom," said the stranger, "he's quite the specimen."
". . . ."
"You have been summoned."
"By wh-whom?" the masked one asked.
"The Wraith of Darkness, it was banished long ago to an emotionless void where nothing is everything. Some have called it the great beyond. For millennia it feasted solely on isolation. But today that era comes to an end."
"Who are you?"
"I am a mere messenger, Master Yen."
". . . ."
"Are you not Yen Blackstone?"
"I AM."
"Good. Then are you prepared to enter a foreign domain, with no guarantee of survival, at the risk of fulfilling your destiny?"
". . . . i am."
"Surrender your Pokémon, and let the shadow flow through you."
He gathered his last fragment of strength to meet the stranger face to mask. Houndoom looked on with concern. As they confronted one another, the mask finished calculating the stranger's identity. It displayed the following title:
~The Distortion World's Cyrus~
"Why sh-should I… Cyrus, former Leader of Sinnoh's Team Galactic?" the Masked Man said.
"Because this shadowy creature," he answered, smirking; "this renegade of a Pokémon has seen your pain. It wishes to fight alongside you, not against you. Show reverence and you shall be redeemed."
The Trainer collapsed to hand and knee. Houndoom attempted to soothe. Two Poké Balls dropped at their feet. He returned the Dark Pokémon, handing his party over. An immense shadow engulfed his limbs at an intermediate pace. The aches soon dissipated as he descended:
/ deeper /\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ and deeper \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/ and deeper still /\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ to the depths of an abyssal plain.
Before him hovered the one and only Giratina: the Renegade Pokémon; God of Antimatter and Ruler of the Distortion World, a surreal destination laid upon by human eyes but thrice, including now. The serpentine beast had three sharp horns on each of its sides. Black and red stripes patterned across its gray body. Gold rings cradled the back of its neck. Six black tentacles with red spiked tips streamed from its spine.
Their shadows interacted. The mask searched for a communication frequency. It tuned to its lowest registers, translating a subvocal message:
"MASTER YEN BLACKSTONE, OF CELADON, APPRENTICE TO THE CHAMPION?"
"No," he corrected. "I am Yen Blackstone, of the Third Dimension, Master to None."
His answer pleased the under-dweller. It produced a strident battle cry. The vibrations shook his core. A partnership erected. He attempted to match its frequency. Pulsations shot galore. His body felt like liquid. His spirit ejected – back and forth, back and forth. Beast and man combined as their screech apexed into a higher realm.
Harsh white noise surrounded him. A visual reality took shape one fragment at a time. Resting in his palms was a pink Poké Ball with a darker pink circle on top and a purple seven-tipped star on bottom. It was a Ball rumored to be but a myth: the Dream Ball. Surely the Dragon/Ghost-type resided there.
His soul locked in place. The white noise tuned to the roar of a considerable crowd. He was on the Ecruteak battlefield. A championship-match banner hung below the color commentator's box. Many familiar faces he did find; Leader Blaine in the upper bowl with his cup of tea; Kurt and Maizie in the nosebleeds with binoculars; Rebecca Green and other correspondents near the sidelines; Clair in the lower bowl with a bittersweet expression; Trevor and Steph on the floor seats, accompanied by a cluster of previously eliminated Trainers.
"Mr. Blackstone," the match referee advised. "You must lead off with your registered Pokémon, Houndoom. Is everything alright?"
He was unsure of how to answer. Across from him stood the legion, the collection of souls desperate to rid him of existence. They rebuked his great fortune, saying that without Giratina's tremendous will he would have never reached this point. He delved into the infinite space of his human mind. Neither he nor the mask grasped an exact memory of his recent battles. It was as if he had entered a simulation of some kind – or, rather, that he had been inside one all along.
Little made sense to him in this moment. Was he truly knocking at destiny's door? Did he deserve to be standing here? He inhaled his desires, relived his obstacles, remembered his pain, and exhaled his doubts. Whatever life had manifested before him he would choose to live it fully. To be alive, he affirmed inwards, was to be worthy of living – but to be great was to let go of fear with courageous consistency. Therefore, at a juncture such as this, action reigned supreme.
Houndoom appeared, unleashing a hostile howl. The Masked Man slid his hand around his waist. Four Poké Balls in total were holstered there. Cyrus had kept his word.
Déjà vu ensued. Alolan Muk resurfaced into daylight. The Sun's heat galvanized the monster's wretched stench. Yet onwards the crowd did rage. Their excitement bubbled. They wanted a show. The Masked Man's thoughts jumbled. His veil short-circuited, causing him anguish. He knew not how much more pain his brain could sustain. Destiny rang nevertheless.
The legion taunted him further. Their baleful cackles multiplied within the vengeful Trainer's mind. He had nothing left to lose. A lone obstacle impeded his complete transformation. This legion, this section of evil, he did not fear – for just as a waterfall does not destroy the stream below, invigorating it instead, so is a devil incapable of destroying that which it is. Though the ghouls fought for their lives in a literal sense, their opponent longed for blood; a divine dichotomy they did share. His thirst bore an unquenchable aura.
"This will be an elemental battle," the referee announced. "Trainers, command your Pokémon freely; may the best challenger win!"
The mask kicked back into gear. Battle Information fluttered into position. He analyzed his digital aid. To his surprise, Houndoom had learned a new attack. Cyrus proved more than a messenger as the Masked Man deciphered his veil's strategy update. Its interface read:
Houndoom, the Dark Pokémon – Lv. 99
Type: Dark/Fire
Gender: Male
Ability: Flash Fire
Nature: Bold
Met at: Route 7 (Kanto)
Characteristic: Hates to lose
Flavor Preference: Sour
Known Moves:
Flamethrower
Dark Pulse
Nasty Plot
Mud-Slap
Although its attack power was fairly weak, Mud-Slap posed a sneaky advantage. Alolan Muk's rare type combination of Poison and Dark boasted a single weakness: Ground-type attacks. Therfore, Mud-Slap afforded Houndoom and his Trainer some much-needed type coverage, seeing as the hound's Dark Pulse would inflict little to no damage on the Sludge Pokémon, as he deduced from their previous battle. Houndoom receives the opening move, the ref explained.
The added strength of his Pokémon instilled confidence into the vengeful Trainer. He vowed not to give a repeat performance, leaning on his new attack right away.
"Houndoom, claw at the dirt in front of you," he instructed. "Then heat it up with your Flamethrower!" The canine obeyed his friend, digging and clawing with intensity. During his heating process, Houndoom was struck by Muk's Brick Break attack. The Sludge Pokémon's judo chop-style move cracked one of the hound's two curved horns atop his skull.
However, due to Muk's close proximity, it was vulnerable to enemy attack. Houndoom scratched at the Poison-type's eyes and hurled piping-hot mud into its agape mouth. The crazed crowd cheered.
"It's super effective!" the referee scored. "Alolan Muk's attack accuracy has dropped by one stage!"
The legion of spirits did not take kindly to this news. Like many high-powered attacks, Muk's devastating Gunk Shot was a risky move even without an accuracy drop. If the hound dropped Muk's accuracy low enough, he could easily exploit the Sludge Pokémon. Hence the spirits had to act fast.
"Let's end this even faster than the last time," they ordered. "Another Brick Break!" Their combined voices layered across the battlefield.
"Houndoom, Dark Pulse!" The Masked Man was well aware of his presumed misstep. Dark-type attacks used on Dark-type Pokémon were virtually useless. Despite this, the attack Dark Pulse held an added effect: a 30 percent chance of causing the target to flinch. This was a risk he took with pride.
Destiny shined bright on him and his hound this day, as did the low evening Sun. Muk indeed flinched, gifting Houndoom time to retreat towards the other end of the battlefield. The Masked Man instructed him to use Nasty Plot. Houndoom broke the seal to his menacing memories and relished in the darkness of his own thoughts.
Alolan Muk retaliated by throwing heavy chops in the hound's direction. He dodged and weaved to perfection, recalling his agility techniques. Muk proved much too slow to pin Houndoom into a corner of weakness. The canine's thoughts darkened further as the pain in his horn pulsed at an excruciating rate. He hated this Muk, more than defeat, more than training. He wanted to watch the blob burn into formless vapor and carry off into the wind. A taste for demise titillated his tongue. An unholy firestorm flickered inside his chest. A hellish heat stung the poisonous pest.
He, Houndoom, basked in his precision. There Muk went, never to be seen again. Anger multiplied on the legion's side. A wave of confusion washed over the crowd. Muk was dead – not fainted, but dead, a sight seldom seen in the world of Pokémon. However, without a body to be seen or mourned, the crowd begged for more.
Braviary, the Valiant Pokémon, a large, noble bird with dark red back feathers and dark blue belly feathers, thick legs with four huge talons, and a crown of white feathers entered the match; a bird so strong it could lift a car and fly with it. Braviary were known to fight till their last breath. This one in particular was no stranger to battle scars.
Neither was the hound however. From this point forward, the Dark Pokémon refused direction from his Trainer. The man hid a proud smile behind his mask; for their bond neared completion.
Houndoom snarled at the eagle, saliva dripping and sticking about his snout. Braviary soared in tight circles above the battlefield. It circled until its focus gave out. Houndoom prepared himself for impact. Nastier his plots became as his opponent dive-bombed the field. The arena floor cracked!
A planetary chunk of battlefield suspended above the hound. Braviary glowed with orange light whilst delivering a blow of sheer force. It hurled the chunk with a tailwind towards him. He posed with great elegance and determination, as if he, the hound, peeked into the future.
Braviary's Superpower, an uber strong Fighting-type attack, sent flashes of light throughout the stadium. A thick dust cloud lingered. Surely Houndoom had fainted.
Yet the Masked Man sensed his friend's vitality. An elegant silhouette revealed itself.
How can it be? he thought, regarding no Dark-type as able to sustain such a hit. The mask's operating system offered an answer:
According to Houndoom's vibration signature, it typed, he hung on with 1 Hit Point so as to not disappoint you.
The crowd erupted. Houndoom howled with them. Their applause shook the earth below. The Flamethrower which proceeded melted every Casteliacone and ice cube in the entire coliseum. Houndoom's raised Special Attack threatened the rest of the legion's party. Braviary fainted upon making contact with the great flame, looking more like someone's dinner than someone's soldier.
The legion fumed. This battle had been promised to swing in their favor. However, to underestimate an opponent was to weaken one's potential. The spirits loathed at the thought of weakness, or rather the crowd's perception of their weakness. They reached for their Legendary companion.
Cresselia, the Lunar Pokémon, appeared on the field. She, as Cresselia is a female-only species, floated with grace like a Swanna atop a still pool. Limbs she had not, though paw-like protrusions did rest on her yellow chest. Pink, ring-like wings, which produced the radiance of a thousand stars, glowed on her sides and back. Two crescent-shaped ornaments encased her head. As a pure Psychic-type, her odds of victory against Houndoom were uncertain. A Cresselia's defensive prowess was second to none nevertheless.
The Dark Pokémon had but a sliver of health remaining. Potions of any kind were banned at the Ecruteak tournament. Switching Houndoom for another team member would eliminate the stat boosts from his Nasty Plots. Therefore the Masked Man kept Houndoom on the field. The hound's natural speed outclassed that of Cresselia. He chased the psychic swan, anticipating the perfect opportunity to strike.
Yet she had a trick up her sleeve. Trails of sparkling space dust intersected across the rocky battlefield as the chase continued. The hound's will was enormous. She felt his aura pressing against her backside. He scaled decorative boulders which erected from the field. She weaved around and between the rocks to avoid him; Flamethrowers and Dark Pulses chiseled them down. This carried on for a few more minutes.
Soon but one boulder remained upright. She zipped towards it, and then faced her opponent. Houndoom salivated at her submission. He readied a mighty Dark Pulse. A murky sound wave emitted from his jet-black fur, closing in fast on Cresselia. Defeat seemed imminent until the Lunar Pokémon executed her plan.
A blue grid of light enveloped the battlefield. Cresselia disappeared! Shards of rock scattered.
She materialized behind the hound as the night sky cleared, revealing the full red Moon. A beam of light blessed her body whilst her next attack generated. The referee updated the crowd.
"Cresselia used Trick Room!" he announced. "The dimensions of the battle are now twisted, giving the slowest Pokémon on the field priority!"
Borrowing the power of the full Moon, the Lunar Pokémon collected energy and sent a surge of cosmic energy at the hound. This attack, called Moonblast, had more than enough power to take down Houndoom. His will persisted nonetheless, mustering a final Flamethrower, hoping it would neutralize the Moonblast.
The two beams connected. An explosion resulted. As the dust settled, Houndoom struggled for breaths. Cresselia watched as his wheezing worsened. The crowd's collective heart sank in pity for the resilient pup. He had proven all there was to prove. He was, without doubt, the strongest Houndoom on the western hemisphere. His duty was complete. He fainted in peace.
The Masked Man walked across the battlefield to retrieve his friend. He tapped on the inside of his wrist which signaled to the ref he wished to use his sole timeout. Houndoom's limp frame slung over the Trainer's left shoulder. Once they reached his Trainer's box, he rubbed and patted the hound's snout with care. Houndoom came to after a handful of seconds.
"I love you, brother," the Masked Man said, holding tears at bay. The warrior digitized inside his Poké Ball.
"Are you ready, Mister Yen?" asked the referee. He nodded and replaced Houndoom's Poké Ball with another – a Net Ball, to be exact.
"Let's do this, Ariados!" he yelled. The Long Leg Pokémon screeched upon entering the battle. His mask's database booted up, producing as follows:
Ariados, the Long Leg Pokémon – Lv. 92
Type: Bug/Poison
Gender: Male
Ability: Insomnia
Nature: Impish
Met at: Route 38 (Johto)
Characteristic: Somewhat vain
Flavor Preference: Sour
Known Moves:
Sucker Punch
Toxic Thread
Poison Jab
Megahorn
"Trick Room remains in effect," stated the ref. "Priority: Ariados!" The Masked Man took the helm.
"Ariados, refrain from threading your web until the Trick Room subsides. No favors, my friend. No mercy, either. Megahorn into Sucker Punch," he said as he placed total faith in the spider.
He, Ariados, scurried 'round the battlefield. Inside the Trick Room effect, his Speed nearly doubled his opponent's, though its duration was soon ending. Cresselia held the upper hand under standard circumstances; for her Psychic-type attacks crushed those with venom in their blood. Ariados possessed a counter nevertheless. His simplistic bug brain trumped a psychic's mind games. The move he would use boasted a move power of 120 (average move power for a Pokémon is approximately 79.09).
Yet Cresselia existed as one of the bulkiest Pokémon in the known world. Even a super-effective devastation could not take her down with one blow most times. So, the Long Leg Pokémon had not the chance to eliminate her. Try, however, he did. He preyed upon her and stung her belly.
As he touched her, she sensed his thoughts, his orders of a direct follow-up attack. Consecutive super-effective hits had the potential to drain all of her Hit Points. But she recalled how a Pokémon's Sucker Punch operated: If the target does not use an attack move that turn, the user's attack fails. Another trick she did perform.
In her arsenal Cresselia had the status move Moonlight. As the Lunar Pokémon, Cresselia shared a special bond with Earth's cosmic companion. She lived there, she belonged there; from there she had been expelled. Therefore she called out to her home for strength and stillness. Indeed the Moon answered.
She accepted the Megahorn attack, but swerved its successor. The Moon burned with passion. The sky burst into color. A torrent of indigo-red light enveloped the swan. She let out her battle cry.
"Cresselia has regained two-thirds of her health!" the referee scored.
It was as if Ariados's attack had barely scratched the surface. The grid of blue light elapsed; predator became prey. A stream of psychic energy scrambled his brain. Her attack was ultimate. Into the red went his arachnid-esque frame.
The Masked Man thanked his friend for doing his best, the most one could ask from a competitively weak Pokémon such as him. Though slim were his odds, high was the Masked Man's confidence as he retrieved his next soldier – 'twas a Master Ball, after all.
He chucked the device ahead and took solace in the arms of destiny; from its warm embrace emerged Lugia, Guardian of the Seas. Icy residue fell from its enormously powerful wings. The mask chimed in:
Lugia, the Diving Pokémon – Lv. 95
Type: Psychic/Flying
Gender: Unidentifiable
Ability: Multiscale
Nature: Hardy
Met at: (Apparently) Whirl Islands
Characteristic: Naps often
Flavor Preference: Sweet
Known Moves:
Aeroblast
Recover
Future Sight
Hydro Pump
He called the bird by name. He asked of Mewtwo. Lugia ignored. He sensed its loathsome thoughts as it curled into sleeping position. The Masked Man poked at its pride:
"Vile, lonely creature," he said in a digital growl. "How I pity thee. . . . Bear witness, mere child, to thine own misfortunes. Thou hast been bested, more than once, by the clone. Thou art to fight in its stead. The supreme being of thy kind chose thee. Thou shalt not detest the name Mewtwo in my presence, for it is a fair and righteous soul, one whose heart found freedom from fear. Wilt thou not heed thy transformation, O Guardian?
Dost thou know what I am? I am which I am not. My destiny hath been written. Thou hast been chosen. Rejoice and be glad, for the Highest One hath bestowed upon thee great favor. Though my path is paved in sin, I seek the healing Light of the Lord. Judgment awaits us, dear ally. Tip the scale in our favor. Sacrifice not what thou art for what thou wast. Change is eternal.
Sync to its rhyme. Shine when it shines and the Laws of Nature shall embrace thee; beneath thy bosom shall they place a heart of gold; above thy head shall they place a treasured crown, for their cycle is of divine design, expanding into infinity. They see what we do not. They know what we cannot. Therefore, a symbol they doth become.
Here I am, Grand Guardian, redeemed only for this purpose: to deliver karmic justice to those who threaten the harmony of Creature and Earth. On this day, the Lord asks for neither song nor tithe. Rather the Lord asks for one small offering: Absolute Truth. Truthfully, thou art the mightiest of wing. Lugia, Guardian of the Seas and Master of the Legendary Birds: Today belongs to the Highest One; upon thine acceptance thou shalt receive the Lord's blessing of peace and of glory.
Seek not glory and it shall find thee. Seek not peace and peace thou wilt find. For the Lord's timing is perfect and Her Laws concrete in time. The Order of Man hath come to an end. Holy chaos shall commence with thee, Lugia, at its helm. Shine with me, dear ally. Help me set my people free."
The grandest bird of all flared its hand-like wings and screamed to the heavens. A quake of applause reverberated as he stepped gloriously into his role of showman. Lugia entered battle position. The legion cursed the man and his god, though their words minimized behind the cheers, which were shaking the very frame of the coliseum. They, the spirits, switched Cresselia out for another Pokémon.
Steelix, the Iron Snake Pokémon, measuring over nine meters in length and 400 kilograms in weight, arrived. Its massive head featured a large, wide jaw. Rock-like sections connected its metallic, serpentine frame. Lugia fixated on the iron serpent's glaring red eyes and large square teeth. It was said that a Steelix's jaw could chew through boulders with ease. Subterranean pressure refined the cave-dwelling species so that their bodies were harder than diamonds.
The referee signaled for the match to resume. Lugia flew above the serpent, tempting it to bite. The serpent obliged. It stretched and snapped and nipped at the illustrious fowl. Lugia's spotless white feathers sparkled under the moonbeam. Following a few failed attempts to crunch the bird between its jaws, Steelix took an order from its Trainer. It nuzzled its frame into the earth.
And the serpent became one with the earth. An intense hue of red filled its eye sockets. The terrain bubbled with energy. Steelix rose from its prone stance and loosed its battle cry. Sharp ridges of rock burst from below, rising high towards the sky. Lugia soared but was eventually pierced by the rigid edges of the serpent's stones.
"It's super-effective!" the ref scored. Lugia lost a quarter of its Hit Points, but thanks to its unique Ability it accrued only moderate damage. Multiscale weakened an opponent's attack so long as the user was at full health upon contact. Hence, the next super-effective attack Lugia endured would have much greater consequence.
Although Steelix was not a Rock-type Pokémon – and therefore did not receive the same-type attack bonus one would from using such a move – Stone Edge had a power of 100, which delivered devastating damage to its victims; if the move landed, that is, for it also contained a 20 percent chance to miss. Here, however, the move indeed connected and the Masked Man responded accordingly.
"LUGIA. . . . Let the floods befall!"
The Diving Pokémon gained its composure, perching atop the remains of the lone decorative boulder. Lugia scanned the serpent's mind for weaknesses whilst it slithered closer as fast as its mass allowed. These psychic waves yielded insufficient results nonetheless. Steelix's mind moved to the rhythm of the external world. It did not concern itself with itself. A fight to the bitter end against a Legendary adversary seldom surfaced. The Iron Snake ached for victory.
Lugia remained still, slowly opening its mouth, revealing a small spiral of water. The aquatic mass accumulated as Steelix closed the gap. A huge volume of water launched at the serpent. It tucked its metallic head and pushed against the blast's great pressure. Though it struggled to stay upright, Steelix persevered. It broke through the aquatic onslaught and clamped the bird's narrow neck between its jaws.
Steelix jerked and whipped the grand bird about the battlefield. It coiled around Lugia's white-feathered frame. The bird of legend bellowed and slapped at the Steel/Ground-type. This had little to no effect. The monsters traded stares. Lugia's eyes became like storm clouds. A notification flashed before the Masked Man's field of vision.
Lugia is about to use ~Future Sight~, do you concur? asked the mask. He replied with his mind.
Lugia may fight however it pleases. Our fate rests on its shoulders, though my faith has never been stronger. Do not question our ally's tactics. It is a seasoned fighter. Understood?
Did you mean, the mask corrected, 'Is that understood?'
As the digital duo argued in silence, Steelix took the Future Sight attack Lugia had summoned.
"It's not very effective…" the ref scored.
Be that as it may, the Psychic-type attack had enough juice to interrupt Steelix's seemingly impervious grip. A holographic token rested upon one of the serpent's rock-like sections. The Diving Pokémon analyzed the token as it flew low overhead.
The Masked Man noticed the bird focusing its thoughts at the serpent's midsection. He silenced his jewel's bickering and paid close attention. "Zoom in on Steelix's third body rock, please," he requested. The mask obeyed, capturing the token in full view. Steelix was holding an Assault Vest, a surprising choice.
So, this is a Special-Defensive Steelix, he thought. That explains it surviving a close-range Hydro Pump.
Lugia sensed its Trainer's thoughts, nodded with him, and flew up higher to recover.
"Lugia used Recover!" announced the referee as rays of light enveloped the bird. Conversely, Steelix's health had been drained by 70 percent with no legal recovery option. Yet the legion worried not, swapping the serpent back for Cresselia.
Her health fairly high, the Lunar Pokémon proudly cried. Lugia dived to pursue. A grid of blue light formed. Lugia altered paths before touching dirt as the swan restored her swiftness.
"Cresselia used Trick Room!"
Soon after, a random Shadow Ball rocketed into the guardian. Cresselia materialized above her descending prey. Lugia crashed into the battlefield. Clouds of dust tickled the throats of the ticketholders. A biblical blast of wind pushed through the dust, knocking her out of the sky. A coliseum spotlight shattered. The crowd roared. Aeroblast, Lugia's signature attack, had never been witnessed by human eyes.
The dust settled. Lugia flew over to her, pressing its weighty feet against her elegant silhouette. Staring at her eye-to-eye, Lugia inhaled a violent wave of wind. Cresselia understood her fate. Nevertheless, she bowed out in style.
An ethereal force field exerted on the Diving Pokémon moments before it could strike. Cresselia offered one last dance to the full red Moon. She bounced around with glee. Lugia loosed its fury as she reached her reverie.
"Cresselia used Healing Wish," said the ref; "Therefore she is unable to battle. Trick Room remains in effect!"
Steelix returned. Mystical moonlight cloaked the serpent, restoring it to full health. Lugia feared not. Rather the guardian adjusted to the air for a new strategy. It fired bulks of water like missiles, guiding them with its mind. Steelix's stones became more predictable. Thus Lugia evaded them with ease.
However, the serpent did connect on a leaping Crunch attack. It snapped the bird directly in the belly. Fueled by reactionary rage, Lugia gripped the ends of the serpent's mouth and yanked. Tragedy resulted as Steelix collapsed to the ground with its head split in half, drooping from its first rock-like section. The arena fell silent, even the commentators. . . .
In the meantime, from the comfort of his tinted VIP suite box, Siegfried jolted out of his seat. It had come to his attention that the television broadcast of his beloved tournament switched to advertisements indefinitely. This duel had been deemed too brutal for the public by the chairman of the Johto Broadcasting Syndicate, so the cynic assumed. He angrily dialed the chairman's private line.
Siegfried's assumption was correct. Two Pokémon deaths were two too many, the chairman insisted. He refused to stand for such horrors and proceeded to scold the cynic for not stopping the battle sooner. His hands were tied, he explained. Siegfried smiled with gritting teeth as an unstable tear fell from his eye. The chairman hung up.
He yelled for Penny's assistance. She came dashing in an instant.
"Yes, love," she panted. The cynic turned around while inspecting his radiant fingernails.
"Send in the ninjas," he ordered.
"Location?"
"Check my directory for the addresses of the seven members of the JBS board. Time is running thin, darling. My broadcast frequency needs to be exact for our mission to succeed. If they attempt to bargain, pay them double and relay this message for me:"
"Yes, my love."
"… I want their eyes gouged and brought to me," he coldly said. "If my tournament is not good enough, then nothing ever will be."
"A-As you wish."
And so the ninjas crept into the dead of the night, collecting their objective and resetting Siegfried's coveted broadcast. The cynic had anticipated his allies to fail him. Fallback options were a specialty of his. He trusted no man fully other than himself. His father had failed him, never bothering to show his face. Giovanni had failed him, softening his once-ambitious heart. And now, the spirits, by ignoring his suggestion to Mega Evolve Steelix, had failed him as well. At least his ninjas did what they were told so long as their fare was fair.
Still, it was but a matter of time before young Damion Harrison, disguised as the mysterious Masked Man, would confront the cynic and attempt to embarrass him in front of millions, or worse perhaps. Siegfried returned to his luxurious VIP throne to ruminate on what was soon to come. He focused his thoughts on his Mythical allies. His trust in them did not waver for a single moment since their agreement. He handpicked a dependable crew. Solace resonated within him as he opened his eyes to assess the final act of his championship round. . . .
"Lugia, watch out for Roserade's Toxic attack!" the Masked Man heeded.
"Roserade, boil that bird!" the spirits retorted.
The grandest bird of all scoffed at the Masked Man's advice. It knew well of Roserade's intentions, for it had already read the bipedal flower's mind. The part Poison-type shot gunky slime from its bouquet hands. Lugia evaded, flying high to plan its next move.
Its eyes clouded over. How glorious it hovered beneath the Moon's great beam. A sea breeze gusted into the coliseum, caressing the skin of those present. Thus the bubbling battle tension cooled, albeit for a moment.
As the Diving Pokémon set its sights on the future, Roserade landed its Toxic attack. Sizzling poison deteriorated the muscles of Lugia. This angered the bird. An aerial assault ensued, though unsuccessful. In its rage Lugia missed multiple Aeroblasts. The Bouquet Pokémon lasted only a short while longer, however. Eventually Lugia's Future Sight connected, causing the caped flora to faint due to the hit's super effectiveness.
Roserade's fainting signified the legion's final external Pokémon. The sour taste of defeat sunk into the hearts of the wayward spirits. A Spell Tag fell from their hood. The body they stole from Maya Rodriguez violently convulsed. A stone the size of a human palm with face-like cracks, known as the Odd Keystone, joined the Spell Tag atop the battlefield. The spirits screeched in agony as their collective consciousness transferred into the stone. They cursed their adversary, judging him a no-good bastard child.
And so the spirits combined. The body of Maya Rodriguez collapsed. Gasps of concern filled the coliseum. Uncertainty enveloped the match referee, for he had not seen a spectacle of this magnitude throughout his 18 years of service. Siegfried's Spell Tag he had given them as a cloaking device sucked into the stone; it rumbled side to side, consuming each individual soul.
Decibels climbed to an ear-wrenching pinnacle. They knew not his mission. They applauded the Masked Man's demolition exhibition. His name – his false name – they chanted. A flock of reporters surrounded him, blocking his path to the limp body. Among them he chose Rebecca Green to approach. Her competitors received a smug look-off as she stepped to the Masked Man mic in hand.
"The crowd loves you, Yen!" she opened. "Now everyone knows exactly what you are. . . A World Champion! How does that sound?"
"False. It sounds false to me," the Masked Man answered. The crowd noise lessened as he leaned into the microphone. "There will be no champion crowned here today – only the damned and lesser damned. Death dances at our doorstep. I give it all to my Creator."
"Poignant, yet humble," Rebecca Green replied. "Do you have anything else you'd like to add?"
Five-percent tint encased Siegfried's VIP suite. At the push of a button the tint faded from the glass, exposing his identity. The crowd knew him as Eusine, a man with a vague backstory and a whole lot of cash. His expensive commercials lived up to the hype. He had given them the show of a lifetime.
His speckled face soaked up their praise. He beamed with pearly whites. Flawed blue crystals hung from his ears, matching his starry eyes. A half-length cape was knotted about his neck by a large red bowtie; it was white, as were his gloves and sheening leather shoes. He wore a plum-colored tuxedo with two lavender diamond patterns on each jacket side. All eyes turned to him. The so-called Eusine smiled and waved.
The Masked Man parted the sea of news anchors and marched to the motionless body. He pulled back the hood. A blade of emotion pierced his very heart. Backwards twos flashed onto his mask's interface in abundance. He unlatched his guise to meet her fiery eyes. Yet milky white pupils replaced his remembrance. Sweat plopped upon her cold face. His jeweled persona restored.
Digital sound waves boomed from his being. Maya dangled from his arms. He knew not what the cynic had done to her, but by this point nothing mattered. No crown nor title, no prize nor consolation had the power to soothe his aching soul. An artful soldier he was, the Masked Man. Yet one task still remained. Rebecca Green, and her cameraman Ethan, hurried over to him, accentuating his emotions.
"Where there is blood," the Masked Man proclaimed; "soon shall I follow. Although mine heart hath hardened, hollowed. . . . for you – 'Eusine' – there lies no tomorrow. . . . NOW, GIRATINA! USE SHADOW FORCE!"
The Renegade Pokémon materialized before the cynic dipped in rage. Its handler's vehemence it sensed. This man must pay the ultimate price, it concluded. A chilling sensation ascended Eusine's spine. Giratina crashed into his VIP suite at full strength. Hysteria permeated the stadium seats. Lo and behold, the cynic survived the attack. Vanish did the wraith – but not for long. The Masked Man recycled his order.
Eusine, clinging to the remains of a cabinet drawer handle embellished with hand-cut crystals, released his life-or-death grip and plummeted to his fate. Shards of glass and debris accented his angelic descent. Confidence oozed from him as he dropped. He laid a wrist atop his forehead in dramatic fashion. Seconds later he was rescued.
Suicune, the Aurora Pokémon – like a gust of wind – whipped into view. It positioned the cynic on its back and landed gracefully onto the battlefield. A hurricane of applause intensified. The Masked Man's field of vision began to scramble as a result. With his legs hanging off the side of the beast's back, Eusine reached for a retractable fan from his inside pocket. A flick of his wrist spread it open; it doubled as a mirror.
He hopped off Suicune, fixing sections of his golden blonde hair in the mirror. His tall, lean frame resembled that of an A-list actor or athlete and cast an extensive shadow. Steady strokes combed Suicune's regal mane. Destiny favored the cynic, so it seemed. It was as if the crowd had forgotten who Yen Blackstone was. For 'twas not he who rode the back of Suicune, and 'twas not he who played the victim. Giratina reappeared, floating beside the Masked Man. This was everything of which any Pokémon battle fan dreamed.
A call came in to Eusine's ear piece. He gently closed his eyes and smirked. He thanked his associate for her pleasant status update. It was officially show time. The cynic's hand rose, and not a peep from the crowd was heard thereafter. He replaced his portable vanity.
"Ladies and Gentleman," Siegfried, disguised as Eusine, announced, "I give you… Your Champion!"
From his inner pocket he swapped his mirror fan for a single-button remote. His hand returned to the air, clutching the device. He pressed its large red button with a crazed expression. A terrible rush of sound bombarded the scene.
Across the world, Team Rocket had planted radio transmitters and amplifiers onto each region's tallest or most effective structures. Goldenrod Tower in Johto; the Silph Co. building in Kanto; Mossdeep Space Center in Hoenn; the Lost Tower on Sinnoh's Route 209; Celestial Tower on Unova's Route 7; Prism Tower in Kalos; and Mt. Lanakila on Alola's Ula'ula Island; they housed a tremendous threat. Poké Balls shattered. 4,230 hertz of concussive sonic energy infected the brains of billions. Those subjected to this act of terror lost all physical consciousness.
Alas, a survivor held true. Protected by his advanced headwear, the Masked Man suffered but moderate cerebral damage. An endless sea of numbers sequenced before him. His mask's circuitry was shorting-out. Hence he tossed it aside.
Maya's body had slipped from his grasp in the blast. He regained her and placed her with her kin in the stands. Giratina vanished now thrice. Siegfried dared not move. And Suicune glistened softly beneath the bright red Moon.
The Aurora Pokémon analyzed its setting. This duel belonged to the humans. Participation from the Legendary beast hinged on nothing less than dire circumstances, so it vowed. The Rocket Leader flung his mineral earrings. He pushed his luck with the wraith, though for now it had no response.
Rivals met upon the dirt. Subsequent to murderous stares, ironic applause developed. He left the cynic impressed:
"Bravo, ol' chap. Bravo!" he cheered from ahead. "Cute tights, by the way. They truly bring the best out of you – like me, yes? Just weeks ago I had you in the palms of my hands. You were a root without water, a smile without teeth. But look at you now! My darling Damion… *sniff* … is a big, big man… We made this mess together, you and I. So, it's only right we face off here – for all the marbles – in front of your friends, family and adoring fans. Such simple creatures they are, lying there lifeless; a beautiful sight, wouldn't you agree?"
"What you did to her," the young Trainer stated, "can never be undone, or go unpunished."
"Oh?" said Siegfried. "You've said yourself: Change is eternal. Though her fruit was quite ripe, I've tasted better, much better indeed. She was not special as you so fervently insist. In fact, her lone special trait was her connection to you, dear Damion, for it is you who brings me joy and endless entertainment. This world bores me. My Grunts bore me. You! – on the other hand – raise my hidden hairs, keep me guessing and burning for more. My, oh my, how you've transformed."
Damion retrieved his disguise. There were no words in his arsenal sharp enough, deadly enough, to convey his intentions. His mask rebooted. Seven number sevens flashed before his eyes, the number of peace, nature and restoration, signifying the completion of a semi-cycle. Yen Blackstone reemerged. His pretentious prose preserved:
"Ye of little faith: Thy tongue tells tales of treason against the Father-Mother God, the King of Kings, Queen of Queens and Lord of Lords. May they grant me strength on this darkest of days, so that I may show thee the error of thy ways and restore Their holy and righteous will – the divine balance of instinct and intelligence, of heart and soul. To change is to be free. And to be free is to be alive. The Lord is my sword and my shield. Their guidance shines down. . .
I AM NOTHING ON MY OWN."
Tears took a lucid descent. The cynic wiped his cheeks and encouraged him to heal his team of Pokémon. The Dark Pokémon resurfaced, baying at the Moon. His Trainer slid a TM beneath him.
Houndoom learned Solar Beam! (A two-turn Grass-type attack, Solar Beam carries great power.)
"Oh…" giggled the cynic. "Preparing for Suicune, I presume? Not so fast, zaddy. It takes grace to be top dog."
"Houndoom, brother," said the Masked Man. "Rip them apart. Tear at their flesh with abandon. Burn them back to matter. Deprive thyself of ego. Step into thy shadow. Show him the lies he tells to thee. Ascend to the stars from whence thou came. Wield the Grace of the Lord and our names shall earn Their favor."
Houndoom readied a Dark Pulse attack. At the same time, the dormant Odd Keystone jolted to life. White gleams of light dazzled from its cracks. Shapes of stars and squares shone a split-second sheen. Cyan-blue energy projected a limbless ghoul. Orchid orbs of various sizes encased its haunting face of the same color. Spiritomb, the Forbidden Pokémon, entered the fight, employing hypnotic suggestion, forcing the hound into a deep sleep.
"Aww, sleepy pup," mocked the cynic. The Masked Man ignored his opponent. Frustration snuck about his mind. Hypnosis had a low chance of success, as he well knew from his days alongside Haunter. He called to his dear brother once more in hope he would wake. Houndoom was fast asleep nonetheless.
Apparently, like many times before, Siegfried had greatly prepared for this moment. He tamed the burgeoning spirits with style and grace despite their treachery minutes earlier. He had explored Spiritomb's full pool of usable attacks. Mewtwo, though absent, was weak to both of the Forbidden Pokémon's types: Dark and Ghost; as was Lugia due to its Psychic typing. Ariados was none of the cynic's concern. Most Pokémon, he concluded, could handle the spider.
Houndoom, on the other hand, was a force with which to be reckoned. The bond between him and his Trainer was second to none. Hence Siegfried searched for a counter. What he found was a hidden move that would be super-effective against the hound. Water Pulse, a medial yet sufficient Water-type attack, confused opponents at a 20 percent clip. Using their collective memories, the spirits recalled the look, feel and effect of a Water Pulse attack, obeying their master's orders.
With Houndoom now asleep and confused, the Masked Man could not communicate with his canine brother on the astral plane. Thus he switched him out for Ariados, a fairly predictable play. The spider was met with a powerful Shadow Ball. Following a decent Sucker Punch, he fainted to a successive Shadow Ball, leaving the vengeful Trainer with but two healthy soldiers remaining.
His brother returned to the field still fast asleep. Two more Shadow Balls rushed to their side, setting up for an aquatic finale.
Houndoom woke up!
"Thank you, my brother," he called. "Dark Pulse attack!" An eerie wave of dark energy discharged. The target amassed solid neutral damage.
Spiritomb flinched and could not move!
As the opportunity for Houndoom to strike consecutive blows without consequence loomed, the Forbidden Pokémon launched a Sucker Punch attack, though a behemoth force crashed into it before the move could land.
Houndoom howled with anticipation.
Giratina surfaced from the shadows!
Spiritomb hung on with one Hit Point!
Suicune leapt into action.
The Aurora Pokémon darted after the hound following a missed Hydro Pump. He dodged another, then a third, absorbing mystical light from the full red Moon. Hydro Pump finally landed. Yet his bold soul endured, unleashing his full-force attack thereafter.
Houndoom used Solar Beam!
Suicune sailed into the unconscious crowd. Power such as this it had not encountered in decades. Soon it would assert its dominance, however. The body of the Legendary beast camouflaged as it returned to the battlefield, sprinting towards the hound. A reflective gleam encased the Water-type. It loosed its battle cry. Blinding light dispersed unto its foe.
Suicune used Mirror Coat!
The counter attack returned to sender with twice the strength. Houndoom fainted as a result. The Masked Man gripped one side of his head, searching for solutions.
"Computer," he said. "Your assistance is needed."
But nothing happened.
From his hip came his Master Ball. This was to be his final gambit, though he was unaware. He hurled the all-mighty sphere before him, calling for Lugia's great strength to save him. The Ball plopped onto the ground and rested there as a stone would at water's edge. His heart thumped like mad. The faith he placed in his Pokémon, one that had not failed him until this day, flickered from sturdy to faint.
Giratina loosed an Earthquake attack. Nevertheless, Spiritomb beat it to the punch, delivering a super-effective hit. Despite this, the renegade survived and finished off the Forbidden Pokémon. Ancient cries amassed as the legion of spirits detached into separate dimensions – some to be judged, others to be purged.
Suicune exuded elegance in its stance, protecting its temporary Trainer. Siegfried's grin expanded; his team had not yet depleted. A carnation pink Poké Ball filled the cynic's palm. Printed on its crown was a solitary darker pink circle. Printed on its base was a seven-pointed purple star. A Dream Ball opened, like the Masked Man's had prior, doing so without a sound, the capture device thought to only exist in myths. It was said that Trainers capable of traversing a higher realm of consciousness were the mere souls able to acquire such a unit. Yet here it appeared, warmed by the sweat of human hand. This was to be a duel of mythical proportion.
The Masked Man's knees trembled and creaked. A wave of absolute evil pulsated about the scene. From the Dream Ball a demon did sprout. Thick was the taste of defeat – how it lingered and soured and creeped. Darkrai, the Pitch-Black Pokémon, destroyer of dreams and the knight of nightmares, appeared alongside the four-legged beast. Siegfried cackled with glee.
He boasted of the Mythical Pokémon's special skill of sending its foes into complete and utter madness through inducing a series of traumatizing nightmares. Its signature move known as Dark Void stifled opponents into a state of comatose. With every passing moment, the Pitch-Black Pokémon feasted upon the limitless mental energy of its target until their thoughts dwindled into nothingness.
The vengeful Trainer raised his ally's physical strength with a Battle Item known as X-Attack. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. Now outnumbered, the renegade vanished once again, awaiting the opportune time to strike. Siegfried had other plans nonetheless. He ordered his allies to attack the Masked Man directly. Suicune refused. Darkrai relished in the idea.
A deep-seeded rage bubbled behind his mask as the black, shadow-like Pokémon rushed towards him. Its one visible bright blue eye honed in on the Trainer. Long black tatters hung from its skinny arms. A ghostly white plume resembling a billow of fog extended from its scrunched head while a spiky red growth encased its neck. Darkrai's silhouette was in the Trainer's full view. Out of his belly loosed an inflammatory curse which preceded his impending demise. These were his words:
"LUGIAAA! How I curse thee, O Cowardly Fowl! May thy faults be many. May thy days be few. UPON THY SHOULDERS MAY BOUNDLESS DEBTS ACCRUE!"
An aura orb of unadulterated darkness surrounded him. Though it tried its best, Darkrai's attempts to reach him proved useless. The Master Ball wobbled in place. Siegfried took notice; his gaze tightened as a result. . . .
The Master Ball popped open!
Giratina used Shadow Force!
It pinned Suicune down with its spike-tipped streamers. The contents of the Master Ball digitized into a human-like shape. The shape lunged at Siegfried. Dread crawled across his skin. His nemesis had been freed from bondage.
Giovanni materialized. A lone black shoelace wrung 'round the cynic's throat. He wrapped his legs around those of his Rocket rival and squeezed with unflappable might. The healthy glow that beamed from Siegfried's face slowly faded as the freeman focused his frustration.
Yet the cynic managed one last chess move. As his lungs panicked for air, his mind sent a distress signal to the heavens. Love-filled tears of blood dripped from his cheeks whilst he took his closing breath. A path of red light shined down upon the earth. His celestial ally had answered his call.
The full red Moon lessened in color. Something – or a group of somethings – was headed straight for Ecruteak coliseum. The Masked Man forced Darkrai back and assessed the scene. His mission's objective, the one responsible for his pain, lay lifeless on the battlefield. The Pitch-Black and Aurora Pokémon, concluding their work here had completed, fled to homes unknown.
Hatred filled Yen's heart. His plot for revenge had been foiled. At every turn he was met with an ambush of tragedy. He may as well have never searched for Maya. Her innocence received not the proper justice in his eyes. To him, it was his whose gavel must cast Siegfried's ultimate judgment; his fate belonged to him, so he believed. Perhaps the cynic was faking. He knelt to check for a pulse.
"The traitor is dead," said Giovanni, touching his hand to Yen's shoulder.
He denied the freeman's comfort with emphasis.
"I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN WHERE YOU STAND!"
An epic whirlwind weaved among him and Giovanni. The sky moved towards them. Upon further inspection, an army of red-plated warriors were closing in. The men's blood froze with apprehension. Yen's mask rebooted. It detected and analyzed the opposition. The warriors appeared to be different forms of the same Pokémon. Their leader commanded the frontline, holding a Pokémon Egg in one of its coiled tentacle arms.
Its bluish-green face featured a purple stripe separating its white circular eyes. A segmented blue stripe rested on the upper portion of its tapering legs. A green crystalline organ was at the center of its frame. The army touched down simultaneously. Their leader spoke in an ancient alien language, which sounded like composed computer crashes to the human ear. The mask began to translate:
[… I am the one they call Deoxys … Planet Earth is to be my new home …]
The mask responded with hidden frequencies, illuminating various gemstones to match its computed emotions.
[… I have the power to replicate my genes … These humans stand no chance against me …]
Deoxys, a Mythical Psychic-type Pokémon, learned an attack more devastating than Mewtwo's Psystrike. Psycho Boost, despite its recoil, held 40 percent more power than the clone's signature move. Hundreds of Psycho Boosts detonating at the same time could disintegrate entire mountain ranges in an instant.
The mask collected information on the DNA Pokémon and uploaded it to Yen's brain directly, during which all 16 gems gleamed in succession. It knew these four moves: Psycho Boost, Cosmic Power, Recover and Flash Cannon. Once the download completed, Yen no longer needed translation. Thus he confronted the aliens.
"What brings thee to this planet of ours? We hath done thee no harm," Yen stated.
[… I am here to protect this planet from incumbent doom … Heed my warning, young human …]
Giovanni interrupted their negotiation.
"If it's war that it wants, then war it shall receive," said the former Rocket Leader.
Though his face hid behind his guise, Yen gave him a baffled look. Surely he was mad to think two men and a few allies could take on an army of super-powered Pokémon. Nevertheless, the vengeful Trainer agreed with Giovanni, allowing circumstance and ego to blind him from all logic. Giratina loosed its battle cry and prepared to fight to the bitter end. Houndoom and Ariados returned to the field fully healed.
[… I will offer you hope ,,,] said Deoxys, creating a portal for the two of them and their Pokémon to escape; [… This is your last chance … Surrender now or face elimination …]
He, Yen Blackstone, the Masked Man, heir to the Blackthorn throne, countered the alien commander.
"A soldier of the Lord dies but once, while a coward… a coward dies a thousand times!"
Just then, in the distance, the toll of freedom's bell ascended. Voices of hundreds of men and women gained clarity by the moment. From the east appeared a multitude of freemen. They soared like eagles through the eastward wind, encased in blue psychic light, headed by an enigma. Ahead of the freemen were two familiar figures. The mask's visual interface zoomed in on their faces.
One, a man in a black suede blazer, looked exactly like Giovanni. His skin was clearer than a midsummer day; upon his jacket a rainbow letter R stitched to his left breast. The other figure resembled Mewtwo in every way, except for its skin was a charcoal color and its tail a nimbus gray. It sensed his mask's snooping and stared with intensity into the soul of the Masked Man. He did not recognize this clone. Its eyes held no emotion for the Trainer. It was not the Mewtwo he had once known.
The multitude touched down, carrying makeshift weapons such as pipes, forged blades and broken broomsticks. Their excitement bubbled over. The imposter Giovanni held out his hand to his counterpart, congratulating him on a plan well executed. Yen did his best to configure what was happening before his eyes. Yet the more he pondered the less he understood.
The portal evaporated as Deoxys presented the precious Pokémon Egg. It claimed the Egg had been sacred between it and the cynic. Their plan was to have the alien virus enter its bloodstream and teach it discipline, sacrifice and leadership. The hatchling was to rule the Earth with a kind heart and a heavy sword. But now, Deoxys revealed, its destiny has been tarnished. For the cynic performed forbidden acts, unspeakable by nature and unforgivable by default. The Egg now represented a tainted bond, and so it must be destroyed, the virus explained.
Its right tentacle shifted into a sharply pointed blade and sliced the Egg in half. A few freemen gasped while the Masked Man cringed. The scene disgruntled the young Trainer. This alien had disregarded, better yet violated, the value of life itself. It acted out of spite much like he did, though he refused to empathize with its selfishness. His aura rose to a feverish pitch. A flame of darkness extended from his frame. He charged at the aliens. And thus the war for Planet Earth began.
Thousands of former prisoners fought with vigor and with zeal. Giratina protected groups of them whilst they clashed with the enemy, wrecking clusters of replicas with its super-effective Shadow Force. Houndoom singed his fair share of them and emitted waves of darkness to keep the psychics somewhat at bay. Ariados tripped up the quickest of them by spinning his poisonous webs.
Shadow Mewtwo (the name his mask had conjured for it) shot Shadow Balls galore. Both versions of Giovanni exhibited their skills in the martial arts. Their skills proved worthless, however, as the replicas read their vulnerable minds. They blocked strikes and dodged range attacks with precision since their lives most certainly depended on this strategy. The alternate clone shielded them when it was able to do so.
The Masked Man chased after the head Deoxys. Replicas defended their commander to the death. Their psychic attacks had no effect on the young Trainer. For the shadows had claimed him and birthed him anew as their own. Orbs of dark energy let loose from his aura, detonating beneath the commander's copied soldiers. After dozens tried to contain him, Yen emerged victorious.
Deoxys retreated to the sky, hovering over him, inviting him to join it. But instead it faced off with Shadow Mewtwo, who was waiting for this duel. A vibrant orange bubbled surrounded the alternate clone. It rushed towards the virus at lightning speeds. Nevertheless, its attempts to damage it were unsuccessful.
The alien's limbs thinned and an obelisk crown protruded from the back of its head. The mask decoded this alteration as its Speed Forme, one of four forms it shuffled between, as Yen looked on from below. Replicas lunged at him, swiping, slicing and shooting, fruitlessly wasting their energy. He spun his arms like a lariat and knocked them down in bunches. As his mask collected information from the world around him, his power multiplied in strength and savvy.
Up above, the psychic bodies battled to a stalemate. Both of them had access to the move Shadow Ball, which was a Ghost-type attack to which psychics were weak. Neither gained an edge nonetheless.
A dark energy orb detonated into the side of Deoxys. The commander's reinforcements were depleting. The super-effective power of Giratina, Houndoom and Ariados whittled down their defenses. But a fifth of the freeman remained. Purposeless weapons littered the battlefield. Blood, spit and bodily fluids painted a frightful portrait.
Shadow Mewtwo towered over the shifty virus following its crashing to the ground. Yen joined the clone. Deoxys reverted to its Normal Forme. With their combined aura energies, Shadow Mewtwo and the Masked Man created an ultimate attack. Prior to their deliverance, the viral godhead spoke its final words. It warned of a foreign enemy, or enemies, arriving to the planet at an undisclosed time. It knew not the intent of this foreign attack, but it sensed the crest of its frequency.
[… Beware the Beasts … Terror and pestilence will they bring …] It raised its limb in surrender.
Yet its warning was ignored. Their ultimate attack discharged, deleting its existence. The replicas followed suit. Earth's remnant residents rejoiced.
At the center of the battlefield Yen and the Giovannis briefly exchanged discourse. Current Leader of Team Rainbow Rocket told of his headquarters, existing in another universe – one similar to what they each have known with the exception that in his world his plan for world domination had succeeded. He invited them both there via portal, courtesy of Shadow Mewtwo.
Both men declined nonetheless. The former Rocket Leader had many more friends to thank as well as apologize to. The Masked Man simply did not wish to go with him. He believed his purpose was to remain a faithful servant to Planet Earth – this Planet Earth.
"There is always a place for you at my table," the Rainbow Leader said to him. "May you rule your kingdom well."
"A ruler I am not," countered Yen. "For blackened be the skin upon mine heart. Karma leads me to peace. As the world suffers so shall I."
The alternates exited the scene. Freemen chattered in the open. Giovanni called for an imaginary toast. All but Yen joined in raised hand.
"Sisters," he preached. "Brothers. . . How sweet it is, the nectar of salvation. The will of man – this man. . ."
He lifted the Trainer's hand. They hooted, hollered and cheered. Giovanni continued as their embrace ended and the Masked Man stepped away from his collaborator.
"When we control our thoughts, my brethren, we live as one."
In spite of his conviction and vigor as their leader, they fixed in disbelief. For Giovanni had been lifted from the ground with a dark-energy blade smashing through his heart. The Masked Man removed his arm from the chest of his nemesis. The old man flopped to the earth. Three low-power gleams flashed from Yen's facial palette in a triangular pattern.
Houndoom snarled and kept guard.
Giratina gave a mean look.
Ariados set a triangular web trap.
"Justice shall be served, dear comrades," said Yen. Criminal records shuffled on his mask's interface. Thousands of files downloaded to his brain in seconds. He sorted them into two categories – egregious criminals and mischievous criminals. Pedophiles, rapists, serial murderers and white-collar inmates whose thievery amassed greater than 50 million PokéDollars were placed in the former, which was the group he did not spare.
Soft were their throats, and soft were their loins. And brilliant was his many jeweled crown. His allies struck forbidden fear into the souls of the freemen. Paralyzed they stood, the remainder rebels.
"Remember this day, the Lord's day, on which ye were redeemed. Lest ye be dismembered by the devil's dirty deeds."
A pulsation of darkness loosed from his aura, damaging no one, eliminating the hazardous traps. They fled as fast as they could. Giratina delivered the corpses to its Distortion World. Black shadows engulfed them and the renegade along with them. He returned his Pokémon. His knees nearly buckled as he walked to the unconscious crowd. Yet onward he carried.
His parting gift to them was less a song than a sonnet, less a sonnet than a verse. He spoke of lust, of greed, of fallacy. At times he suffered from all three. He declared that life must hurt so that suffering may birth change. If his conclusion was correct, perhaps their subconscious minds would listen. If his conclusion was not, perhaps they never heard him in the first place.
He knelt before the remains of the Egg sliced in half. They came apart in his palms. His carbon fiber collar popped open. He gazed upon its cracked innocence with tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. He fatigued under the weight of his decisions. Evil closed in on his location. Yet a revival did occur of the shells that had been broken.
Piece by piece they reformed. The charming oval now wore a coat of gold. A silver-blue hue ensued.
A Shiny Xatu hatched from the Egg!
Heaven's light hailed from above, shining like a diamond the size of the Sun. A thunderous voice resounded.
Thus spake the Lord:
"Thou hast slain in my name, O child of mine. This is not the way. From this day forward, ye shall be called 'Etika,' meaning 'That Which still Remains;' for a new covenant exists between me and thee:
Seven beasts shall I descend upon the Earth. Ye shall neither know the place nor time. Protect thy people from their wrath. Deliver them to the Altar of the Moone, and ye shall gain my favor. Until that time, thy root shall spring impotent, and thine eyes shall be without color . . . . . . Thus sayeth the lord thy god."
