The instructions came in a dream.
Smeargle wasn't sure which of the dreaming gods sent the knowledge, but he was willing to bet on Darkrai, given the nature of his wish.
The rope was found easily enough, trainers leave their refuse all over the wilds, as if it belongs to them. Two Oran berries were enough to bribe a few of his less ambitious cousins to gather what he needed. Smeargle wasn't loved among the troop, but even with his bloody tail and bloodier ambition, he was of the troop. He draped the Escape Rope across his shoulders, careful of the two leather pouches tied to it.
Smeargle entered the ruins on the night of the new moon, when the light of Cresselia was locked away, hidden by the pitch-black. He didn't pray, not as his mother did, but he sent his appreciation to the Black Moon.
The chamber was primordial in the days of the grandfather of Smeargle's grandfather. Eldrich runes were carved on every surface. Humans crawled about the place in the daylight, blind the true nature of the place.
Here, foul gods were once worshipped with blood and sacrifice.
Here, he would worship.
Here, his journey to become the Greatest Under Heaven would begin.
He untied the pouches and took off the rope satchel. He picked up the two leather pouches, unwilling to let them leave his grasp for a moment.
Smeargle burned the Escape Rope in the center of the chamber with a simple Will-O-Wisp technique. The tongue of blue-white flames consumed the rope, burning it so deeply that not even ashes remained. He stole the technique from an ancient Vulpix that lived in the deep forest, far from the humans. The Vulpix could burn a thousand leaves without warming the branches. Smeargle could burn a rope. He smothered his burning pride. Soon, he told himself. This was the first step to power.
Stone ground against stone and a doorway appeared where there was only a flat wall. A long hallway stretched into the dark. Even with his keen eyes, the dark was unsettling.
Smeargle had walked every inch of these chambers a hundred times. Inside and out. There was a beach on the other side of the wall. A Buizel taught him Swift on that beach.
There was a hallway carved from stone stretching into the dark.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the symbols on the wall swim. He snapped his gaze to the side. Nothing. Same as ever.
Smeargle pulled his long, limp tail to his paw, and with a mental twist, ignited the room in a clean white light-Flash, the humans called it.
The skill was simple as well, tedious, but simple. Go south, to the deep caverns where the hungry stone monsters live, and wait for a human to pass by. Humans can't see in the dark, after all. One of their servants must wield the skill to navigate. Stealing the lesser art was done in moments. His red tail was certainly enough to usurp the lower arts. Soon, he would drink from deeper waters. High arts, mighty enough to carve into the face of God.
He walked into the impossible tunnel.
As soon as he stepped past the threshold, whispers ignited inside his mind.
He flinched, and almost dropped the technique.
But fear was nothing to him.
They spoke in madness instead of language. The blind and the foolish would call it Psychic. Humans, with their pitifully narrow perception, would call it a lowly technique. Barely damaging, may inflict confusion.
Foolish.
Once, deep in the forests beyond the ruins, past the groves his troop called home, he met a new mother Xatu. Three Natu rolled past him on the forest floor, and he stopped, bemused. Then, the mother screamed at him to leave and never return without making the slightest chirp.
Smeargle ran then, but came back months later, and stole the techniques of the Natu.
The whispers in the chamber were like the mother's screams.
But not exactly.
The taste of the technique was different, the mother's silent voice tasted angry and righteous. These whispers sound like madness. Like a thing that doesn't belong.
Foreign.
Smeargle shuddered and redoubled his Flash.
The hallway emptied into a chamber covered with crawling blue runes. Strange symbols danced over the stone like a Sirskit over a pond. A flat altar sat in the center of the chamber.
The whispers became clearer.
Invitation, they said.
Gateway, they said.
Beseech, they said.
Smeargle cut the Flash technique and charged one of the arts he stole from those Natu. His shadow swelled and deepened. A cool wind whispered through his mind, brushing off the voices like old Spinarak webs.
He didn't complete the technique, just held it charged. The deadlights of the Night Shade dimmed the volume, but didn't cut the voices off entirely.
So far, his journey downward was simple. Rope and a technique. Nothing special.
Here, he would commit his first heresy.
Smeargle climbed the altar, lit by the alien blue light, he could see clearly.
The altar was painted in splotches and blots. Red.
With a deep breath, he affirmed his path. Greatness or Death. The old oath came to him easily. Heresy was nothing. He'd sacrifice the Mother Mew herself just to see the high mountain.
He opened the first leather pouch and dumped it onto the bloody altar.
The ashes of Sacred Ho-Oh ignited into a plume of fire-reds, blue, purple, green.
Smeargle flinched back, the heat was incredible. He could feel his eyes drying, but he refused to leave the altar.
However, just the sight of the Sacred Fire was enough to shake his hold over Night Shade better than any Psychic. His shadow bubbled and hissed, then collapsed under rainbow light. The voices screamed at him, loud and mad and clear as the blue sky.
WITNESS, they said.
WHOLENESS, they said.
UNITY, they said.
Smeargle drew his arm across his eyes, the immortal fire burned something deeper than flesh. He was wise enough to fear it.
The Sacred Ashes, ironically, was the easier treasure to find.
The dreams opened the path. Seek the ancient roost, seek the grave and cradle, his benefactor told him.
He clutched the second treasure tight to his chest as the Sacred Fire dimmed. The rainbow light stilled, then burned blue.
The voices were a choir now, screaming inside his head.
APOTHEOSIS, they said in a hundred voices.
Something trickled from his eyes, he wiped it away, and his paw came up red.
The bloody altar burned, cool blue flames encased it, and dissolved it.
Smeargle wasn't afraid.
He had one last treasure.
The floor dissolved, the walls burned away, the symbols danced in the air, igniting into blue fire.
COVENANT/FLESH/SACRIFICE? The choir of an alien god sang.
The voices were deep in Smeargle's mind now, riffling through his mind, thumbing through his soul the way a human would read a book.
Greatness or Death.
Greatness or Death.
Smeargle opened the second leather pouch and dumped the contents into the void of blue fire.
The voices fell silent, a thousand eyes caught the Water Stone in a nimbus of Psychic fire.
DEEP SEA/SOVEREIGNTY/VIOLENCE?
Smeargle couldn't speak like a human could, and he couldn't think the way a Xatu could, but he knew his ambition.
The dredged up the memories.
A kindly mother, holding her child born wrong. His tail blood red, like war and violence. The troop feared him. He was an omen. The gods of the forest were displeased.
A Pecha berry, offered freely, no expectations other than friendship. Hoot, hoot, said a friend.
Humans, violence, blood.
Leaving a Pecha berry at the altar deep in the forest.
A dragon flying, all the beasts of the world kneeled before their king.
Smeargle shook off the distraction. Focus, he told himself. He brought up the image of leaving the Pecha berry at the altar.
Gift? His mind whispered to the concert of eyes and fire.
The voices went silent. Like a flame under the sea.
He felt small and alone. Here, deep in the stomach of something beyond him, he felt a trickle of fear. A fissure of doubt. Had he been rash?
DESIRE/AMBITION/DIRECTION?
He exhaled.
Smeargle grinned and formed a sequence of images in his mind.
The Mountain of the East, high enough to touch the heavens, deep enough to touch hell.
Smeargle imagined himself, arms wide enough to embrace both.
The dragon flying free, ignorant, and uncaring of the awe of his lessers. Why would a king care for the rattatas gorging themselves with refuse?
He wanted that.
But he couldn't wish for that.
He was a Smeargle. His kind was unique on this earth. They held the power to learn every technique, but lacked the strength to use any but the lowest.
He just needed to see the path.
That's all he needed. A guide.
But, treacherously, his mind returned to a small owl, and a Pecha berry.
COMPREHENSION/ACCEPTANCE/COMPLIANCE
A moment of silence, and then twenty-eight voices said, OBSERVE.
Smeargle, wide-eyed, readied Sketch.
I wasn't expecting to start a Pokémon journey, to be honest.
Look, there was a truck, a bright light, and a choir of eldritch voices carving at my soul.
You know, afterlife stuff.
And, in a flash of nameless color, I was in a sphere of eyes.
As in, thousands of eyes were staring at me. Whispering.
Right when the maddened gibbering was set to begin, a beagle-monkey wearing a beret jumped on my shoulder.
Suddenly, I was in reality again. Allegedly.
I was laying on a suspiciously sticky altar with the beagle-monkey sitting on my chest. It sniffed me twice, then barred its fangs.
Have you ever seen a chimpanzee up close? They're freakishly jacked, roided up, angry five-year-olds with sharp teeth and a surprising carnivorous lean.
The beagle-monkey wasn't as jacked, but it had scary teeth.
I put my hands up near my head and closed my mouth. I read somewhere that you shouldn't show your teeth to wild animals. It's an aggressive move.
Nobody told the beagle-monkey that.
It leaped forward, bringing its teeth around my throat.
A couple of thoughts popped into my head. Oh, I should have grabbed it. This Isekai is bullshit. And, am I going to reincarnate again?
Then, the beagle-monkey erupted into a corona of blue fire and was yanked five feet into the air. It snarled and hissed, but hovered like it was a bobber on an invisible lake.
"What even is today?" I said to nobody but myself.
Then the choir of eyes returned.
FELLOWSHIP, the choir announced right into my brain.
The words tasted blue. Which was concerning.
The beagle-monkey barked and chirped at the eyes. Also, the beret it wore was connected to its head. He was hovering upside down. The beagle-monkey looked about three feet tall, plus four feet of tail. The fur at the tip of his tail was red like it was dipped in a can of paint.
Fuck me, that's a Smeargle. A shiny Smeargle.
I turned again, the eyes were still uncomfortable to look at, but I could see a little clearer now.
The eyes were connected by little black lines, like a spider's web. Spindly little arms and legs, grabbing their neighbors. They, when looked at individually, looked like letters.
Unown.
Fuck me, am I in Pokémon?
Then, a searing pain burned into something behind my brain.
Awareness bloomed, pain followed.
FELLOWSHIP, the Unown said.
Ouch. Pained whimper, another voice said, from inside my brain.
FULFILLMENT/WHOLENESS/ENTELECHY
The Smeargle looked at me, still held by the blue fire-psychic type energy? Then he growled at the Unown.
Displeased? Betrayal, no. It was the feeling of using your last five dollars to buy a lotto ticket and then winning nothing. Half-expected, but desperate and disappointed.
The eyes tilted? Turned, no. Unown used confusion? No. They projected the emotion of confusion. It's not very effective.
Smeargle snarled, furious, and closed his eyes. Something stirred in my mind. Something ancient, prideful, massive.
Arcs of royal blue light ignited around him, cutting through the binding psychic power. Smeargle's blue was different. Deeper.
I could feel it the same way I could feel my own hand, or know where to put my feet so I would walk without tripping.
Smeargle roared, and his blue-green fire erupted around him, the psychic hold over him was broken.
He fell to the ground and didn't move. KO'd.
I turned on my heel, and made for the exit before my body locked up. Every muscle tightened at once.
FELLOWSHIP/CHALLENGER/GREATNESS
The Unown spoke in ideas, not words. But I think I got the gist of it. Smeargle here is my partner, my shoulder-mon. Do we need to be champs? For greatness? But why though?
I could feel the Smeargle's will, a roaring flame banked low. He was weak. Did he need help?
FELLOWSHIP/COMRADERIE/FRATERNITY
The Unown whispered to me, softer this time, but unyielding.
Looks like I got myself a Pokémon Partner.
Okay. First things first, what genre of Poké-World am I in? Rather, which version of canon Poké-World am I in?
Anime, games, or manga.
Anime would be preferable. I like my Isekai world firmly PG. Games would be fine, just the anime with more criminals.
The manga would be bad. I never read it, but I'm pretty sure the Elite Four are Team Rocket, or eco-terrorists or something. And things got grimdark on occasion.
Considering how Smeargle's first instinct was to lunge for my throat, well. That's not a great sign.
Bright lights told me I was near the exit. I stepped outside and sighed in relief.
We were in the Ruins of Alph. In Johto. In Poké-World. I had the clothes on my back, and an unconscious beagle-monkey with a Napoleon complex slung over my shoulder like a sack of rice.
At least I had boots.
Looking around the ruins, I could determine there was no visitor center. Nuts. Wasn't there a city right by the ruins? Well, nothing for it. I rested my back against the ruins and laid the Smeargle in my lap to rest.
Did he need a Pokémon Center or just a nap?
I needed info.
I should explore. Walk into the tall grass, you know, get mugged by a professor and given a real starter. Not a monkey with miserable stats and an attitude problem.
Or was that a normal attitude for Pokémon to have? That's a scary thought.
I pet the beret, which was part of his head, weird. His fur was wiry, like a beagle.
I knew, with absolute certainty, that I couldn't ditch the beagle-monkey. We were tied together. The Unown had done something to us, bound us together.
Now, I'd played just about every Pokemon game ever released, so I could figure out some tricks to make a Smeargle viable. Probably. But the Unown had sent an image? Idea? A telepathic mission. Fellowship. Challenger. Greatness.
Mission: Be the very best.
Sub-Mission: Like no one ever was.
Looks like I was a Pokémon trainer.
Somehow, I withheld my squeal of joy.
Now, I just need to win over my starter.
I'd gathered four Oran berries by the time Smeargle started stirring. Oran berries healed ten HP in the games, but I didn't know how that translated into reality. Or if I could eat them. What happened if I had full HP? Would I pop like an overly full balloon?
Smeargle climbed onto his paws. Very dramatically, he punched the ground with his paw, probably thinking something like, 'Grr, if only I was stronger.'
He shot to his feet and glared at me.
Huh, could he feel my amusement at his misery?
"Oran berry?" I said, holding the berry out in an open palm like you do when feeding a horse.
Smeargle growled and dipped low, teeth bared. I didn't need to be a Pokémon Professor to call that defensive behavior.
I placed the berry on the ground and kicked it over to him.
He hunched over the berry and looked at me. Distrust, the mind-empathy-link-thingy informed me. Solid info. Who needs a Pokédex.
I had my berry in hand but wasn't about to eat it until I knew it was people-food.
"The Unown," I worried at my lip, "Did the Unown summon me? I think I was dying, or dead. Not sure. And, to be clear, you're a Pokémon, right? That could be a problem if you're some kind of mutant lab escapee or something. Does Umbrella Corp do beagle-monkey's? Not sure."
Smeargle hunched over his berry, eating slowly, watching me as I talked.
I tossed my berry high in the air and caught it lazily.
"See," I tossed the berry up, smiling as Smeargle's eyes tracked it, "I figure the Unown wanted me to," I caught it and threw it into the air again, "something for them. Become champ, I bet."
I caught the berry and met Smeargle's eyes. "I'll need a partner to beat Lance."
Smeargle's eyes dilated like he'd just gotten a noseful of powder snow. I smirked, timeline placed. The beagle-monkey knew the name Lance. "What do you say, Smeargle?"
I laid the berry in my hand, fingers clutched around it. If he wanted the berry, he could easily bite through my fingers to get it. Even the anemic stats of a Smeargle would beat out my human stats.
"Do you want to slay some dragons, partner?"
Smeargle took the berry.