Chapter 11: Knocking Down the Sand Castle
The Resistance marched relentlessly through the desert, rarely stopping to rest. When they crossed over salt flats and valleys, not a single complaint came up. And when they crossed through mystery dungeon after mystery dungeon, nobody spoke out. If anything, morale and resolve seemed to only strengthen as they went.
Typhon certainly felt that way. He had already dragged himself through the desert once, nothing was going to stop him from doing it again. Every step forward was one step closer to Mojave. Every feral he knocked out was practice for when they stormed the Sand Castle.
As they traveled further, more cells of the Resistance came to join them. What started as no more than a few hundred Pokémon soon swelled to what must have been three times the original. While Typhon understood that not everybody could come along, he felt that having more Pokémon could only be a good thing. Castra just waved him off and went on a lecture about logistics and coordination and all kinds of topics he could never understand.
When they finally arrived at the Sand Castle, Typhon had to admit that he was a bit misled about what it really was. Rather, that he never bothered to actually learn much about it to begin with.
For starters, there wasn't much sand, just rock and dirt. Stone ridges and fins covered the land, with narrow passageways weaving between them like the interior of a mystery dungeon. The castle was supposed to be at the center of this maze, hidden away like a treasure room.
Typhon had initially doubted Castra's earlier claims that the Resistance could hide close enough to mount their attack, but his mind changed soon enough.
The natural corridors that ran between the fins were tight and cramped, with no way to look beyond them. And from above, the fins all naturally tilted over slightly, protecting much of the Resistance from anyone in the air.
By just how many Pokémon were present that was an inevitability. They had filled into the canyons and spread out as evenly as they could, but the walls still felt more than full.
For the moment, they were waiting for everyone else to get into position. The plan called for an attack from all sides, which took longer than Typhon would have liked to set up. The maze's tightness was both a blessing, and a curse, it seemed. He could only wait as the other soldiers slowly made their way around.
Until then, he would have to wait with the rest of Castra's group. He had been chosen specifically to fight alongside her, which made him happy as more than just a matter of pride. He'd be one of the lucky few to go straight for Aurelian, and if he was even luckier, he might even get to land a hit on the sandshrew.
There was just one problem. Going for Aurelian meant leaving Mojave's rescue to someone else, which was not a pleasant thought. They were partners, it was only right that Typhon be the one to save him.
But still, after what Aurelian had done to Team Dune, it was just as right that one of them be present for his downfall.
Mojave would understand, right?
Right?
Typhon shook his head, and once again looked over to the battalion he was part of, all huddling under the shadows of the ridges. Over there was Hippowdon, who had gone from fiery and intense, to calm and mellow, her eyes closed and her breaths deep.
Zipping around with a surplus of energy was that sigilyph that Castra put so much trust into. Nezzie, was that her name? She frenetically went from soldier to soldier, probably checking their supplies. Every now and then she'd shake her head and pull something from her bag to give them.
Typhon's claws instinctively reached to his own bag, still secured to him. He was offered a bigger one, more tailored to his form, but he declined. The one he had at the moment was pretty much a gift from Mojave, something he couldn't just replace.
He opened the flap to take one last inventory for himself. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were seeds he was confident were meant for fighting and plenty of oran berries. Simple enough to assure him.
Stuffed and slightly crumpled against the side was the map to the Emissary's Den, which he just now saw. He must have forgotten to take care of it in all the commotion. Well, the time would come later to get rid of it.
He turned his attention back to the soldiers, looking for anybody else he recognized. He spotted Machoke sitting against a wall not too far away, looking more nervous than anyone else. Typhon didn't have too much experience with him besides that first "conversation," if it could even be called that, but from what he saw on base the Fighting-type was rarely moved by anything.
Well, he was probably like that. Just a feeling Typhon had.
"Hey," he said, coming over to him. "You feeling okay?"
Machoke's head instantly snapped over to him. "Oh, you again. I'm fine, really, but…"
"But what?"
He took a moment to respond. "Let me start with something else. How do you think they'll remember today?"
"Huh? How will who remember today?"
"Them. You know, everybody. History!" He flung his arms wide to emphasize his point, almost hitting Typhon. "We're not exactly throwing a hatchingday party here. Win or lose, Pokémon will remember what we did. How do you think that will be?"
"Oh." Typhon still didn't understand him. "Obviously, we're gonna win. It'll be fine. Are you sure you're okay?" Typhon was glad that he never had much to do with Machoke back at base. Who could stand to be around someone like this?
Machoke buried his face in his palm and shook his head. "No, no, no, you're not getting it. Say we do win – not that I'm doubting that – is that seen as a win for freedom in the desert? Or are we seen as radicals, too stubborn to see beyond our selfish desires? You have to think bigger than just this battle. This is history we're making!"
I think you're a loon. Typhon held back his true feelings. "Listen, I'm here to save my friend and get our revenge. If you're here to make history or whatever, that's fine by me. Just make sure that history says we won, okay?"
Machoke shrugged. "Well, I suppose you're here, and that's all that matters. We'll ju-"
He was cut off by the sound of Castra speaking, seemingly from all around him. "Alright soldiers, gear up," her voices said. All around him, Pokémon began putting on safety goggles, previously passed out to everyone who couldn't weather a sandstorm. Machoke nimbly put his on when Typhon wasn't looking.
Typhon spied Castra across the way, holding a yellow disc with a small green gem embedded into it, goggles already on.
From what he had recently learned, that disc was called a "transmitter," and they had the wonderful utility of allowing near-instant communication over long distances. With how useful they appeared to be, Typhon didn't know why they weren't more widespread.
They must have been common in the Resistance at least, as it felt like a whole room of Castras was speaking at once, her original hushed tone amplified by sheer volume.
Typhon didn't have one. He felt sick to his stomach just holding it and he nearly shattered it on the floor when they tried to give it to him. Better to let someone else have it.
"This is it," Castra began. She was somber, clearly understanding just what she was about to start.
"Everything we've fought for has led to this moment. We've had our ups and our downs, but they've led us here. For far too long, Aurelian has hid behind Alexander and his Legion, free to wage this war from afar. Free to live without the consequences of his actions.
Not anymore. We're at his doorstep now, and we're going to kick it down and show him just what the rest of us have had to go through. Will you do the desert a favor and do that with me?"
"Yes, ma'am!" came the resounding cry like thunder.
"Then let's give 'em hell!"
On cue, the wind began rushing past, driving through like a flooding river. It picked up sand and dust from the ground around them and whipped it into the air. In moments, the sky went from clear and blue to brown. The sun died out in an instant.
Typhon stood fine, more worried about the wind blowing him over than the sand scraping against his scales.
Here we go. His heart pounded. Pokémon around him crouched lower to the ground, and he did the same. In his anticipation, time felt like it stretched into eternity. Any moment now, the next cue would sound off and-
An explosion shook the earth. The first of the sappers' explosive charges had gone off.
Typhon's feet carried him forward on instinct, his directions relentlessly drilled into his head earlier. The Resistance rushed ahead like a river, like their own stream in the sandstorm.
Typhon sprinted with them as more explosions rang out, only growing in intensity and frequency. The sandstorm threatened to topple him as he ran, but he barely managed to keep upright.
He left the maze and into the open arena where the Sand Castle waited. He kept running, barely registering what was going on around him. Visibility was so poor that he could hardly see Pokémon more than a dozen feet ahead of him. He stopped for nothing, assured that those in the front knew where they were going.
"Breach ahead! Not far now!" someone shouted.
His unit's pace quickened and Typhon barely found the energy to match them. The explosions were thinning out now, but they sounded louder than ever, a hopeful sign that he was getting close.
Then the real fight would begin.
Not so far away now, loomed the Sand Castle, its stone walls nearly imperceptible in the storm. Chunks of the walls had been blown in. The section ahead of Typhon looked like it had almost completely collapsed, revealing its interior.
With one final effort, Typhon renewed his push. He hurriedly scrambled over the rubble to get in when the pink glow of a Psychic-type's grasp surrounded him. He was given a brief, solitary moment of rest as he was lifted over, taking breaths as big as he could manage.
"Thanks," Typhon said meekly to his ally, who happened to be Nezzie.
"Do not thank me just yet, there is still a battle to be won, correct, General?" her ethereal voice said. He was directed to Castra, perfectly fine, if covered in sand. Her goggles now hung around her neck.
"Are you two done introducing yourselves yet?" she said annoyed. "We've got someone else to meet, if you didn't know." Typhon could hear the frenzied shouting of the defenders, only now coming to their senses.
The other soldiers arrived before Typhon did, and were already prepared to move. They numbered a couple dozen in all, a far cry from the amount that had hidden with him among the ridges minutes earlier, or even charged with him moments ago. The others must have already advanced for their own objectives in the castle.
If he remembered right, there was one group to assist in another part of the castle, and at least three that would clear the way for Castra and her entourage. Part of the way, at least. They weren't sure how much they could secure for Castra's team, but Typhon was confident it would be enough.
He stormed forward alongside them, just as silent as they were. Even if someone did speak, they wouldn't have been heard. A Pokémon's voice would have been just another grain of sand in the storm, adding to the chaos.
Muffled by the walls, yet still unnervingly loud, came the screams and yells of the soldiers. Some were in pain, and others might have been giving orders, but they all blended together into desperation.
Rat-tatting in a similarly frenzied beat to the Resistance's footsteps was a drum that didn't seem to know when to quit. No matter how far they pressed forward, the drum never stopped, and it never quieted. Were they relaying orders? Raising morale? Or just getting in one last session before the end? A combination of all three seemed most likely.
Playing alongside the first drummer was a partner, beating away slowly and in time with a bass drum. They played with so much force that Typhon initially mistook them for more explosions. As the battle wore on and both sides became more desperate, the drum seemed to mix right in with Typhon's heartbeat.
Though Typhon felt invincible just to be part of the unit, they weakened as they advanced, their strength slowly fading. They had with them the supplies to heal up after every engagement, but some of the soldiers sustained injuries that oran berries just couldn't fix. No matter how powerful oran berries could be, they couldn't heal broken bones or gaping wounds quickly enough to make a big enough difference. He was told that nothing would be fatal, but he knew that was a lie.
For his own part, Typhon was doing getting by. He had yet to dip into his oran berry stash, which was doing wonders for his own morale.
Still, his horns ached terribly ever since a meditite hit him with a Force Palm out of nowhere. Typhon was able to take care of him fine, but the pain never truly left.
Then, he lost a tooth or two after a mankey got him good on the mouth. A reflexive Dragon Rage sent him running, much to Typhon's disappointment. It worked out in the end when a Rock Throw from one of his allies sniped him as he fled, dropping him.
The unit progressed with little incident, not losing a single encounter. Yes, they took a few losses, but they would have to go on.
Deep in the heart of the castle, they eventually came to an intersection, leaving them to go left or right. By this point, Aurelian wasn't so far away, and the junction's defenders knew it.
This one was more heavily fortified than any of the previous they fought, and their resistance dwarfed anything prior. The standard practice for these defenses seemed to include indiscriminate launching of seeds, which these Pokémon took to another level. At the rate they were throwing, they could have drained the whole world's supply.
Typhon was among the first to reach them, throwing himself over the barricade, blue fire spewing from his mouth. Machoke appeared right next to him, slugging one and throwing another down the hall. But these Pokémon weren't the soldiers with seeds, they were just bodies to keep attackers away from them.
Typhon and Machoke made a mad dash to get to the seed-throwers, far at the back, desperate to catch them unprepared for a close range encounter. They ducked and dodged their way past, ignoring any blows they took along the way.
Typhon reached one, Machoke close behind. He let out a Dragon Rage with as much ferocity as he could, attempting to scorch a pancham who looked terrified out of his mind.
Bad idea.
Instead of ducking, instead of running, instead of striking back or doing anything else, the pancham did the worst possible thing he could have at that moment. He flinched, instinctively raising his bag of seeds in front of him to protect himself.
To his credit, it did work. The blue flames tore away at the bag instead of him. Instead of Pancham getting cooked by the flames, the blasts seeds inside his bag were.
Those powerful, reactive blast seeds.
The resulting explosion threw Typhon flying to the side, bouncing off the floor, rolling like a boulder in a landslide.
The rest was a blur. Everything was a blur.
He staggered to his feet, the castle around him unsteady and unfocused. The sounds of combat were gone. The sounds of everything were gone. There was nothing now but a disorienting whine in his ear, like someone screaming. Was that him screaming? Or was that the sound of permanent ear damage? He didn't have time to worry about that now.
He limped over to the only thing he could recognize, Machoke, battered and beaten, lying against a pile of rubble.
Was Machoke close enough to get caught in the blast too? At least they could be miserable together.
Typhon tore his bag open as he staggered over, and grabbed a blobby, blue fistful of berries. He didn't know if they were more potent in higher amounts or not, nor did he care. He just needed something.
Anything.
In one messy, uncontrolled movement he rushed the berries to his gullet and slammed them back, getting juice and pulp all over himself. Whatever blood was on him must have turned purple from the mess he made.
The effects were immediate, but not quick enough. The world came back into focus and the shrieking in his ears was replaced by the real shrieking of other Pokémon, but the pain lingered. While the rest of his body began to heal, his nerves refused to believe what was happening, and Typhon didn't blame them.
He stumbled to the ground, then pushed himself back up to his feet. He saw Machoke in better detail now, who looked just as poorly as he did. His purple skin was bruised all over and an elbow seemed to bend too far backwards. Typhon offered him the remaining pulp in his claw, soaked in both juice and blood.
Machoke coughed and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Got my own taken care of," he said with more ease than Typhon could have managed.
So, he slumped down next to him, ignoring the oddly chilling feeling he got in his side next to his ally. They sat in silence, the sounds of the battle around slowly matching their stillness.
Imagine that… Typhon thought. Almost done in by myself… Don't do that next time, if I get one.
Someone shouted from behind him, muffled by the rubble but still noticeable. "Gible! Machoke!" they called. It was Castra! And it sounded like they won, no thanks to Typhon. "Are you back there?" she yelled.
Still recovering, Typhon let Machoke take care of things. "Yes, ma'am!" he shouted weakly. "Real beaten up, but we'll live for now." That was ominous. Machoke might be worried, but Typhon knew he'd be fine. How else would he Team Dune's revenge? Just had a bit of a tough moment, that was all. "How'd the rest of us do?" Machoke finished.
Castra took a moment to respond. "That explosion of yours did a real number on the enemy, it was easy enough after that. One complication though," she said, the scowl on her face obvious despite the barrier between them. "The blast cut off our route to Aurelian; we'll have to take the long way around. You two, however, got lucky. You can continue as planned. Now be honest; are you two still able to push on? I won't throw your lives away if I can avoid it."
"That'll be a bit har-"
"We can do it, ma'am!" Typhon shouted, startling Machoke. He didn't know where this sudden rush of energy came from, but he wasn't complaining. "We're not dead yet and he's too close to give up! We'll finish this!"
He turned and saw Machoke hastily regain his composure, as if the last thing he wanted was for Typhon to see his bewilderment. "I-I was worried about Gible, not myself!" he said instantly. "If he's up for it, I'll be there too!"
Castra responded immediately. "Machoke, lead. You know the way. We'll rendezvous at the entrance to his room. Do not engage him until we get there, understand? Do not. Or I swear on those above and below, you'll wish you were dead."
"Yes, ma'am!" they said in unison.
"Then go! We'll see you there!" Castra gave the order for the troops with her to begin moving again. Their feet pounded against the floor, the sound slowly fading away as they advanced.
Typhon leapt to his feet and shouted to Machoke, "Come on! Let's go!"
But Machoke didn't move. He just sat there, lying still against the rubble. He moved his head closer to the debris, as if trying to hear whatever could be on the other side. All Typhon could make out was the beat of the drums, now in perfect tempo with his heart.
"She's gone. How 'bout that," Machoke said with a smile that made Typhon shiver. "What luck."
"Are you okay?" Typhon asked uneasily. Something was seriously up with him. "You don't have to lie about your health, you know. If you're not up to fight, that's fine. I'll push on to Aurelian on my own."
Machoke shook his head lightly. "Now, why would we let that happen?" His voice was different now, like an entirely different Pokémon was speaking, wearing a Machoke suit. "I've spent so long waiting for this chance, why waste it?"
"Right!" Typhon agreed, hoping they were still talking about the same thing. "Now let's get to Aurelian and show him what happens when he crosses us!"
"You really are thick, aren't you?" he said, disappointed. "I guess game, set, and match go to me."
In a flash, Machoke stood up and lunged at Typhon. The little dragon had no chance to react as the purple Pokémon reached out with a massive open hand to grab at him. Confusingly enough, when his fingers should have made contact, they just phased right through Typhon's scales. Instead of pain, he felt the same creeping chill as before.
A moment later his nerves corrected themselves as something did grab him, but they didn't match up with Machoke at all. Instead of big, burly fingers, these were lithe claws that scratched hard enough to draw blood. Worse still, these claws were furry.
Machoke held Typhon up, gripping with intense fury. "You and your partner had Rings quite fooled, I was hoping you'd be a better challenge than this. Maybe next time."
Rings!? Like, the mayor?! Typhon's mind was racing. Why did he of all Pokémon matter right now?! What was even happening right now?! "What are you doing?! Put me down!"
Machoke obliged him, slamming him onto the ground. Pain rushed through Typhon as he landed badly on his fin. "Must I really spell it out for you?" Typhon picked himself up in time to see Machoke perform a little flourish.
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you a show before you die. Time for the big reveal!" He spun into a deep bow, extending out his arm.
A wave of brilliant purple light washed over him, and Machoke was gone.
A thin, nimble Pokémon, black as the night, with a great blood-red mane flowing behind it, now bowed in Machoke's place, grinning wickedly. He looked up to meet Typhon in the eyes and winked.
"Just call me Zoroark. I've been told that my unprofessionalism runs quite rampant." While Typhon was still reeling from shock, Zoroark lightly strode over and kicked him against the wall.
"Like I said before, I had quite high hopes for you. 'Finally! My chance to go up against another spy!' I thought. Some real action, you know? None of that boring sitting around and waiting nonsense. Really, fool one Pokémon, and the rest go by just as easily. You know how it is."
Really, I don't. Typhon pushed himself up to lean against the wall. "What are you talking about?" he said through gritted teeth. "Spies?! You've got the wrong guy. I'm just a protector, not whatever you think I am."
Zoroark tut-tutted. "It's okay, I've beat you. You can drop the act. I've dug into your past- or lack thereof. As far as anyone in Korb Town, the Resistance, or anywhere else in the desert cares, you didn't even exist until the other week. Really! I looked everywhere I could. Before I kill you, would you humor me and tell me who it is you're working for? You must be terribly loyal to them, but consider it a post-death act of revenge for putting you against me."
Okay, now that was it. Typhon pushed his bruised pride and broken bones aside to respond, standing up to challenge him. "I'm not a spy, and I don't work for anybody. Now step aside before you have to go against me."
Zoroark flashed a wild, toothy grin that caught the light for a second. "Really? I don't think that'll be much." He instantly blinked out of view, his form flickering.
A moment later and he flickered back into view, in the air and about to slam with full force into Typhon. The poor dragon was sent flying back.
He picked himself up, staggered to his feet, and rose to meet Zoroark just to get blindsided and sent right back to the floor.
He stood up, and it happened again. And again. And again.
Whenever Typhon got up, whenever he tried to strike back, Zoroark always came at him with invisible fury from any angle, denying him the chance.
Zoroark could have ended it whenever he wanted, Typhon didn't have to be a genius to know that. All he needed to do was press his attack instead of pulling away, and that would have been that.
Typhon was being played with.
After what could have been three minutes or three hours of this, Typhon could feel that he was nearly done for good. All the fury and strength he could muster was nothing when he couldn't even see his enemy, and he didn't even start at full strength to begin with.
But on what felt like his last stand, an odd feeling erupted across his horns. A powerful feeling. Not pain, but instinct. Guided by this strange possession, as he pulled himself back up the last time he could, he scraped his claws against the ground and flung a desperate Sand Attack behind him at an impossible angle.
He had tried to fight back like this before, but it never amounted to anything.
Zoroark screamed. This time was different.
Typhon whipped to the side as Zoroark's body uncontrollably tumbled past him, landing and rolling on his gangly limbs harshly. The attack hit him at just the right time to perfectly disrupt him.
A one in a million chance.
Typhon didn't take the time to admire his luck. Now was his chance for revenge. One well placed Sand Tomb, and he could keep Zoroark down for good.
He stood right by him, letting the attack charge up for a moment. He had to be thorough with this, he had to hit as hard as he could.
Zoroark pushed himself up with startling speed, claws reared back to strike.
He didn't get the chance, and neither did Typhon.
A sharp set of musical notes rang out, out of place with how sweet they sounded. It was a flute, its humble melody landing with devastating force, bringing Typhon to his knees and Zoroark collapsing.
Typhon's vision went dark in a way that it had only once before, when Team Dune was first ambushed by the Legion.
He was being put to sleep.
"Hang on a second! Not you too!" a new Pokémon cried out in a familiar voice. Through his half-awakened stupor, Typhon could have sworn he knew who it was, but there was no way it was actually him.
In his last moments of consciousness, green filled his view as a berry forced its way into his mouth. All at once he sprang back to full awareness, like night had been replaced by day. His body still hurt from the assault, but at least he could feel it again.
He couldn't believe what he saw. A maractus, heavily bandaged around his torso and head, standing in front of him. "You alright? I know I came later than rain during drought, but I'm here now." It was York, the absolute last Pokémon Typhon thought he'd see again, here especially.
"You're not responding, is something wrong? I've got medic training, do you need me to take a look at you?" he said with what could only have been genuine concern. It had been a while since Typhon last heard that.
"You're a doctor?" was all Typhon could muster.
York gave a short, sad, dry laugh. "No, I'm a medic. Doctors cure Pokémon. Medics just make them comfortable while they-" he stopped himself. "Just let me look you over. Can't have you dropping like a bagon on me."
Typhon pushed him away. "Not yet, I have some unfinished business still." He pointed at Zoroark's comatose body, looking more and more active by the second. "Can't have him getting back up."
York immediately protested. "No! He'll be fine! Move-induced sleep takes longer than nap-time sleep to wake up from. It's you we oughta worry about."
He quickly got to work, poking and prodding at Typhon, feeling over his scales. He hummed to himself, confused. "Now, that doesn't make a lick of sense. Are your scales made of steel or something?"
"No?" Typhon didn't know what to say.
"Nothing against you, don't worry," York assured him. "But that explosion was you, right? And I saw the tail end of that 'fight' you just had. He was thrashing you like you were a substitute doll! It's honestly astonishing that you're still up. Never seen anything like it."
Typhon beamed with pride and chuckled, before wincing as something in his ribcage clicked painfully. "What can I say? Guess I'm just, I don't know… built different?"
York laughed him off and dug into his bag, pulling out an oran berry. "Here. For you."
As Typhon let the flavors dance across his tongue, he finally began to ease up a bit. He couldn't let himself fully relax, not with everything still left to do, but after what he had been through so far, he wasn't going to let the chance pass him. At least this time he wouldn't get betrayed.
Speaking of which, there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. A realization that he was steps away from piecing together…
He jumped back and swallowed the last chunks of berry. "Wait a second! You're in the Legion!" On instinct, the hot feeling of dragon fire began welling in the back of his throat.
York immediately went on the defensive, raising his arms in surrender. "Wait! Please! I know that sounds bad, but just hear me out!"
Typhon didn't know why, but his fire died down, if only by just a little bit.
"Look, I'm not here by choice! I'm a pacifist, remember? I'd never hurt another soul!" Typhon did remember, but he was having a hard time reconciling that with what was in front of him. "But I accidentally saved the day one time, and now I'm here for good! I know I shouldn't complain, but it ain't right that everybody else's needs come before mine." He said that last part with bitterness that Typhon didn't expect him to be capable of.
"Go on."
"Look, I didn't mean for what happened at Broken Hill! I swear! Honest to the gods!" His voice quavered with regret. "So, I'm gonna fix what I did! You're here for Mojave and Aurelian, right? I can take you to them!"
The fire in his throat died at once. "Mojave? He's here? Like, close to us right now here?" That couldn't be true. "Why would he be here?!" he shouted, equal parts angry and bewildered.
York shrank back. "He is! He is! I swear! I was with him earlier! Aurelian brought him into his office for a meeting of some kind! They're both here!"
Typhon growled to himself in disbelief. "Then lead the way!" There was no time left to stand around and talk.
They sped through the castle, which was now much quieter than before. The battle still raged on, no doubt about that, but it was odd how such little distance made everything go away.
The empty corridors provided no resistance. No reserves waiting for their turn, no barricades ready to make their last stand. Just Typhon, York, and the castle walls.
As they rounded a corner, they came across a unit of legionaries, all of them badly injured and barely holding together. It was a miracle that they even managed to bring themselves this far away from the frontlines. Typhon felt equally proud and shameful to see them in such sorry states.
Though they were the enemy, part of the whole reason he was here, Typhon didn't protest when York wordlessly went to help them. He secretly hoped that York would prove himself wrong on what a medic's role was.
He shared one last look with the maractus before leaving him behind.
Much sooner than Typhon anticipated, he came to a huge pair of ancient wooden doors that stretched high above him.
This was it.
Now, all he had to do was wait. All he could do was wait. By some luck – fortune or misfortune – he beat Castra and the rest here. All that was left was for them to arrive, and the rest would be history.
Or…
He could go now.
He had to, didn't he? This was the fate of the desert at stake! This was Mojave at stake! This was his one chance! He couldn't risk it. How could he get his revenge then?
He had to do it now.
His mind screamed at him to stop, but his heart overruled it.
He took a deep breath. Once. Twice. Three times.
With every bit of power he could muster, he slammed full force into the doors. No point now in knocking.
They shook slightly, the thud of impact echoing out. Despite the force put on them, they remained unaffected.
He smashed into them again, and again, and again.
They rebuffed him every time.
His scales began to feel warm, warm like the desert sun was shining on them. He wouldn't be stopped here, he wouldn't be stopped now. Not when he was so close! Not when there was so much to lose!
He threw himself at the doors once more, yet they still stood.
His scales began to feel hot, hot like they had been set ablaze. Typhon looked at himself and saw just that.
Blue flames rose from his body, dancing and playing on his scales, but not hurting him. It was the start of a Move, he could tell, like when he felt fire in his throat or sand well up under his claws.
He just had to release it.
He rushed the doors one last time.
With a tremendous crash, they splintered, shattered, and gave way.
Author's Note: Hey! Not much to say here. Just know that I'm aware that Dragon Rage and Grass Whistle got axed from the main series. But as far as I'm concerned, if a Move was learnable at some time, it's fair game. Before I go, maybe consider leaving a review? They're nice to read :). Thank you if you do, or already have. Cheers!
