Beyond the Shadows

Disclaimer: I don't own pokémon or anything associated with it. I'm writing this pokémon fiction novel for the purpose of taming my wild imagination and to entertain fellow fans, and the only thing I ever make money off of is when I sell the fancy show chickens that I breed and raise. I do own any characters you don't recognize, though, and if you wish to use them in your own story please e-mail me.

Author's Notes: This, if I am successful in what I am trying to accomplish, will be an epic fanfic. For so long now I have thought about this plot, mulling over the symbolism intended, and how it all links together, and how exactly I should write it. However, this story does have a quite graphic writing style, and the dark and violent themes that partially make up this plot can be pretty overwhelming at times. Don't say I didn't warn you. And please, encourage me all you want, because I need it, but don't ask me to hurry up or anything. This fanfic drains so much out of me when I'm writing it, that it may be months before another chapter is added. And this fanfiction is dedicated to anyone who's ever learned something from life. I apologize it starts out so slowly, but it shapes up soon. BTW, this fanfic, although it is dark, was not inspired by Ace Sanchez's Pokémon Master in any way, shape, or form, in fact I hadn't even heard of that fic when I figured this plot out. Anyway, I need to stop rambling about nothing before I get outta control, so… have fun!

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Chapter One: A Vision Not So Far Away…

He perceived the thunder long before it was there.

Looming ruddy-barked cedars effectively buried the jagged skyline; you could hardly tell where the midnight sky began and the shadowed old trees ended. The only distinction between the two that could possibly be made was that the sky emitted a cold ethereal light, which ebbed not from the slim crescent moon hiding in the clear bleak sky, but from the imaginations of any who looked on, the thoroughly black silhouettes of the cedars standing darker than the merely light-absent sky. It was beyond late; the moon hung half-heartedly precisely above the ancient forest, which was still buzzing with quiet nocturnal Pokémon despite the deep, silent hour.

The chirping of ever-present wood crickets was nothing but a faint droning above the other insignificant sounds of the night, which were all but absent except to those with the sharpest of ears and patience. The shallow autumn air was crisp and pleasantly nipping, much to the dismay of the cold-disliking zubat, who preferred the dusky warmth of sunset to the icy, though light chill of the early fall nights. Many hours ago they had stopped their blind open-mouthed fluttering, which seemed to center around any light they could find, and retreated to hanging upside down in any random tree, preferably one close to a clearing. The night seemed far quieter to the sharp-eared minus their high-pitched screeching. The wooper, though, quite on the contrary were particularly active on nights such as this, and the occasional splashing of slimy feet against leaf litter was a common and unquestioned event, and was taken lightly by any Pokemon unlucky enough to hear it.

At the edge of the grove of huge cedars, a slight, disorienting slope curved gently downwards, in which an unassuming little valley, brimming with young, bright-needled pine trees, sat, a world away from the airy happenings of the heavy, long-standing forest above. This was a place of renewal, a place where no glaringly large cedars scraped the skyline, a place where the stars peeked hesitantly out of the dark drowning gray of the night sky, unhidden by the dark, ominous tree shadows. This was a place of true meaning.

If it weren't for the slight gloss his black pelt gave off, he would have been passed off as nothing but a shadow. Occasionally his thickly furred tail would flick over his beady damp nose, and he would shift his body about, as if trying to relieve some imaginary nuisance that plagued his senses. Then again, perhaps it wasn't as imaginary as it seemed….

Behind the translucent curtain of sleep, there was a fleeting shadow dancing about. The gloomy, dim buzz of slight apprehension in the air was causing his nose to itch and burn with just enough power to irritate him and keep a satisfied sleep at bay. Groggily he clawed at his nose with dog-like paws, whimpering slightly and sometimes beginning a thrashing fit in which he would desperately burrow his snout in the many pine needles littering the forest floor. But it was to no relief. Finally, though, sneezing and wielding a sore, bleeding nose, he gave up on sleeping for now.

He opened his glinting garnet eyes the slightest slit possible, just enough for him to be able to make out a few shapes of blotchy shadow, then squeezed them shut again hastily. He didn't want to be bothered by his instincts right now; he wanted nothing but to sleep…. Yet after a mere few seconds that ticked by with an annoying sluggishness, it became quite apparent that the hot stinging of his nose was not going to leave him alone, so he began rubbing it with an unwanted but necessary tenderness on the silken fur on his right front leg, taking careful, though unpleasant note of the coppery stink pervading his nostrils. Yet the annoying itch in the very back of his nose crept up again, and he found himself the victim of yet another harsh, sodden sneeze, this one causing a cloud of red vapor to plume out in front of his face. He flinched at the rapidly dissolving crimson mist produced by his sneeze, and, finally awake enough to respond, reluctantly pulled his somewhat stocky frame to his tingling paws.

Nausea fogged his brain for a good few seconds, during which his balance was swayed and he stumbled over his large paws, falling with a padded thud back into the dew-beaded dirt. He heaved a dispirited sigh and shook his head warily. What was wrong with him tonight? He winced into the brisk fall air, his breath coming out as a puff of smoky steam, as he realized that his legs, previously asleep, had cramped stubbornly up. Trying to ignore the pain shooting throughout much of his body, he again lifted himself to his feet, this time bracing himself for the wavering dizziness.

He gave a huff of small victory upon standing, then lifted his head to the muted sky and stiffened his long, sleek ears against the course wind. He inhaled a deep breath, noticing discontentedly that the sharp wind tore at his throat like a dagger, making normal breathing difficult.

A current of late night wind tugged gently at his gleaming fur and carried a hushed squeal into his range of hearing. He froze, pricking his ears further against the gentle resistance of the dully buzzing air. But as quickly as the sound had wafted into his hearing, it faded back into nothingness. He furrowed his brow in confusion; he didn't believe he had ever heard a sound quite like that before, and then strained his ears distraughtly, filtering out all other distracting noises in a feverish attempt to find that peculiar squeal again. What am I doing? He wondered with slight alarm at his sudden obsessive behavior over a squeal of all things. There was something deep in his mind, though, buried in his deepest instincts, that told him to keep listening, so he did, a bit anxiously, but he did. If he knew anything well, it was that he should never question instinct, for it was there for a reason.

A deep resounding howl broke the near silence. It echoed in his eardrums, causing him to become dazed despite that he knew for a fact that it was only the mournful bay of Sabersinge, the forest's elderly resident Houndoom. What's wrong with me…? He thought in fleeting terror as his brow began to drip in nervous sweat and his heart started to plod swift and hard in his broad chest. His body began to quake beneath him. He felt himself drunkenly spinning in hesitant spirals. Something was terribly wrong… never before had he felt pain or fear at hearing the eerie howls…. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, recoiling as a flash of hot pain rippled through his mind and senses, and a blaze of pitch black shrouded his world.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to a far different world than the one he had closed them to.

Puffy black and red clouds, not at all unlike thunderheads, clogged up the sooty sky, flashing every few minutes with what he presumed to be a meager, whitened thunder. The ground beneath his feet was scalding hot; it was like walking on dying embers. His padded paws blistered painfully in the extremes. The air was choked with horrific smelling smoke that stung his eyes so badly that thin irritated tears were streaming down his face. Hardly could he breathe.

Unknowing of what else to do, and curious to where exactly he was and how on earth he had gotten there, he squinted into the smoke and began padding laboriously about in a desperate attempt to navigate through this unfamiliar world.

The first thing he took note of were the few stubby and dry patches of grass littering the crumbling earth. Most of them were either black with soot or still crackling with drowsy flame, which was apparently the cause of the ground's absurd temperature. Next his trained gaze trailed upward, where he could faintly make out some scanty brush surrounding the clearing he was currently inhabiting. The small trees, perhaps malnourished manzinita, were all ablaze with fire so searing it glowed an electric blue in the otherwise dusky brown environment. The obstinate bark of the enduring shrubs popped and cracked, sending brief sparkles of fire into the hazy air above them like vanishing fireflies.

When he straightened his ears, which had previously been curled timidly at the sides of his head, he could tell that a refreshing gust of cool wind was struggling to make itself felt through the murky heat, but it was so incredibly feeble that the burning sensation of the air was hardly chilled by its presence. The flames encompassing him seemed to magnify in his mind's eye as time dragged wearily by, and he became distantly aware that he was beginning to feel trapped and oppressed to the point of insanity. His crimson eyes, enlightened and dancing in the light of the swimming flames, narrowed as he considered plans of escape. There was no break in the wavering sea of conflagration, and, he realized finally, the angry blaze was indeed rising with the unwanted aid of the channeling air. This ring of fire he was stuck in looked suspiciously like the result of an angry Fire Spin coming from an experienced… Ninetales? He bobbed his head grimly, figuring that it didn't matter who started it; he should just concentrate on getting out before the smoke started playing tricks with his mind. Or was it already…? His vision was starting to reel strangely, so, without considering the dangers first, he raced off ahead of him, eyes sealed shut and braced for whatever impact might appear in his way.

For a split moment he could feel nothing but the feverish wind fingering his face. So when he suddenly jolted into flames licking madly at his paws and searing his fur, he couldn't help letting a pained yelp escape his desiccated throat. His sleek tail had become a rod of trouncing fire, which caused him to considerably step up his pace. He willed his legs, which were springs of quick, bursting speed, to move him faster, but they were screaming out in agony and he was forced to zigzag through the flames with a frustrating lethargy.

He was incredibly relieved to dig his paws into normal dirt again, no matter how arid, cracking, and heated it was. He was past his prison of flames and oppressive heat, and that was all that mattered. He coughed out a wheeze of liberation, and dropped his exhausted body into the dirt, finally putting his tail-torch out with a cushioned hiss. He made a courageous effort to ignore the sharp pains in all his scorched lower body, but it was an effort made very much in known vain. Finally giving in to the fact that he hadn't taken one breath during his mad dash, he greedily gulped in vast intakes of slightly clearer air. His ribs ballooned up and down to the rhythm of every gasping breath.

It was then that a soft murmuring, carried on the dense air, caught his ears and attention. He stopped his gluttonous panting to cock his ears in ready listening, and was rewarded by catching a fragment of the words whispered.

"Hotspur! He's coming, don't you dare let him get away again! If we lose one more Tyrant Talon will have our heads! -"

At that point the air current pulled the rest of words from his hearing range. The voice was definitely not human, he apprehended immediately, but on the other hand whatever it was apparently spoke fluent English. A pokémon…? The unidentified creature's voice was thick with the lilt of an unfamiliar accent, one that seemed to curl at the end of each word, and this particular phrase he had heard was dripping with stony hatred. He wasn't sure, but the voice seemed possibly female, as the pitch rose gently at the beginning of each word.

As the wind again streamed in his direction, another voice soon sounded from a little farther away, this one a gruff bark of "Yes'm!"

This voice was distinctly male, and had the same foreign inflection. It also confirmed his theories; the first voice was indeed female. Feeling slightly threatened; he dragged himself into a tangled bush nearby to silently watch the events the two voices spoke of unfold.

The female voice then gave a low gasp that had clear-cut traces of a growl, and she hissed "Shhh… Here he is!"

Crunch, crunch, crunch… silence.

A young man, perhaps around twenty and armed with a large, ominously gleaming black rifle strode hesitantly into the lightly forested area, his beady blue eyes sweeping over everything within his sight range. He seemed full of pent-up anger, like he was searching for someone who was to blame for his own life's misfortune. His mistrust in the world was revealed when an ornery puff of hot wind rattled the tree branches, for he lifted his rifle circumspectly, then lowered it again, his diamond-like eyes hardening at his foolish mistake.

It was then that the man was left unwary, and a low snarl rumbled from one of the many skeletal bushes splattering the forest. Quickly the dog-like growl was accompanied by a somehow equally unsettling nicker, which came from even closer to where the innocuous pokémon spectator was watching with fascination and slight fear.

The next few seconds dashed by disturbingly fast. In a blur of dazzling black and orange, two pokémon, a ponyta and a houndour, pounced upon the human visitor. The ponyta, who was pure black instead of the usual sandy brown, reared up and threw her hooves dangerously about, nearly hitting the human's head and instead knocking loudly against his left shoulder with a sickening crack, leaving a large splatter of blood seeping through the man's gray T-shirt. Meanwhile, the houndour, who was grinning maniacally and yapping in a sing-song voice "Gotcha! Gotcha!", was nipping callously at the dazed man's feet and legs, causing the man's previously beige pants to drip deep, streaming red blood from many shallow bite wounds the houndour was causing.

The man's icy blue eyes wildly darted about as his swift blood loss began to get to him, and he fell unceremoniously to his knees, no strength left to hold himself up or try to fight back. Yet, raising his rifle with hands shaking pathetically hard, he managed to get in one close-range shot that blasted square in-between the Houndour's shoulder blades, and caused the houndour to flinch and stagger back onto his hindquarters, his bloodstained mouth gaping in shock. The profusely bleeding houndour managed to mutter a painfully quavering "Ohhh…" before allowing his head to slump to the ground so he could regain his composure. Ruby froth lined his mouth and bubbled from his nostrils, and dark clotting liquid dribbled from his upper back, where the direct shot had been dealt.

It became apparent to the innocent onlooker in the bushes that the houndour, presumably named 'Hotspur', was mortally wounded, but would probably not die for another few hours. The man, however, was quite another story.

The ponyta's violently glazed eyes flashed in rage at her companion's now wounded status, and her glare fell to the man sitting right under her neck, who was looking up at her face and muttering incoherently for mercy. With an enraged snort she threw herself upon him, her legs a flurry of scarlet fire, and with a stomach-churning snap, the man's skull had been cracked into two shattered pieces.

Her body was sprayed with the blood of the instantly dead man, and she gave a twisted smile of sadistic victory. "Heh, that was fun." She huffed as her two deadly, red-splashed front hooves hit the dirt. But the moment her sight shifted to her injured friend, who was now just barely propping himself up with his two puppy-like large front paws, her ill smile reversed itself.

"H-Hotspur… are you okay, buddy?" She asked tentatively, lowering her petite head down to his level.

Hotspur immediately bared his teeth and choked out emotionally, "Shut up, Flicker! Friendship means nothing in Dusscroon. What was once strong, will have to become stronger… in order to matter against us. F-Flicker…the only thing that can defeat everything, is love. Watch out for those who know what love is… because I sure don't. In Dusscroon, nobody knows what love is…." His fierce expression fell in bitter sorrow and defeat. He knew that this speech might very well be his last. "Love can overpower death, Flicker. If only we knew what love is… we would be immortal. But we don't. We're only familiar… with hate. So… if it ever comes down to it, side with love, 'cause it's gonna win. It always does… and it always has before…." The tough houndour was beginning to fade, and it was obvious in his eyes that what he had said came from the very depths of his dark heart. But it was then that he was thrown out of any self-pity or tenderness that had previously been evident in his tones and words, and he snapped his teeth at his fiery friend. "Just kill me, Flicker, you know the rules in Dusscroon. If it's useless, kill it." He gritted; not one scrap of sympathy making it's way into his voice.

'Flicker's face became crisscrossed with conflicting emotions, but in the end victory won out and she gave a lackluster smile and made a gesture towards the mangled corpse of the man. "Tyrant Talon will be pleased." She whinnied, her eyes turning a sickly shade of dark yellow. "Goodbye, Hotspur."

Flicker whirled daintily about, her blue flames licking madly at the air, and in one grotesquely beautiful movement, she lifted her back legs and smash-kicked Hotspur in the jaw. There was a disgusting click of bone-on-bone as Hotspur's teeth snapped violently together and he went limply skidding a few feet back. His body stopped crumpled mere inches from the body of the man, and his blankly staring eyes, still wide with alarm, and flaccid vertebrae, which had obviously shattered on brutal impact, suggested he was already dead, but a wet sucking sound coming from his throat proved the assumption wrong.

Flicker, unable to keep a straight face any longer, burst into frustrated tears when she heard that gasp for precious breath that was clogged by blood. Endeavoring to keep her sobbing under control, she dragged her feet over to the dying Hotspur and reared up, her shining hooves coming down straight on the top of his head. His cranium splintered into many pieces, much in the manner of the man's.

"Take that!" She clenched heatedly, her voice cracking tearfully a bit.

She choked on her tears as she gulped in air, her nostrils flaring sensitively. She sniffed, then, in a split instant; her understandable sorrow twisted itself into ridiculously strong anger. Unable to control her fury, again and again she flung her hooves up and thundered down on Hotspur's crushed head, until she was so weary that she collapsed sobbing on his body, her tears mingling with the stream of both Hotspur and the man's blood.

It was at this point that the observer of the events turned around, his crimson eyes wavering despondently, and began to solemnly stride away from the depressing scene, his ebony fur waving in the hot wind. The rings of off-white fur on his body started to emit a soft, almost candle-like pallid glow that flickered much in the matter of a tiny flame in time to every step he took. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care, as long as got away from the depressing scene. It brought up painful memories, as nearly anything involving death did.

A cloud of charcoal smoke hovered in front of him, doubtlessly caused by the many small and dying forest fires that he had observed while watching the dramatic scene between Hotspur, Flicker, and the man. Without hesitation he sauntered into it, almost totally oblivious when it stung his eyes and nose and lightly singed the tips of his now sooty fur with sultry heat.

The lack of oxygen was getting to him, but he didn't do so much as pant as his vision wobbled in front of him, then diminished slowly into black. The last thing he felt was a scorching feeling, and the sensation of falling….

Where am I going?

He awoke with a jolt to find himself stretched out on the pleasurably cool ground in his little valley of pines.

How… how did I get back here?

He took a deep breath of revitalizing clear air, unsure of what had just happened, but happy it was over. His throat felt unbearably chalky, and he gave a painful cough to clear it. He was startled and disturbed when a short, whitish cloud of ash drifted to the ground, caused by his cough.

He swallowed fearfully (and with some difficulty), wondering how much smoke he had inhaled in his little escapade to… wherever.

So… it wasn't only a dream….

His mind began to strobe oddly, and he began to feel quite light-headed indeed at that somewhat disconcerting thought, so he stood up to take a few tottery steps forward, then lay down in the bronze pine needles so he could think it over. They prickled at his skin, but due to an excessive numbness that had overcome his body thanks to his many burns, although most were quite mild.

But if it wasn't a dream, then what could it be?

…

Could it be…?

…

A… v-vision…?

His eyes widened when he realized that was the only logical explanation.

But what could it mean?

"Oh no…" He mouthed, his sentence trailing off thoughtfully as a burst of energy coursed mysteriously through him. He shuddered, the longing to run overcoming his weariness and paining body.

And he knew, from his wet nose to the very tip of his bristling tail, that something was terribly wrong, and that he must run at all costs.

And he knew every bit as well that trusting instinct was one of the many keys to life's meaning.

So, with some exertion, he managed to struggle to his feet and, gulped in a breath of air nervously. This was it. There was something in destiny itself speaking to him, something deeper than even he could pinpoint, despite previous experience with such happenings.

With only his heart and mind to guide him, he set off into the forest, trotting frivolously at first, but as intuition became stronger, a full-stretch gallop felt necessary, so he did it without question.

He ran headlong deep into the night, miles upon miles passing him by, without him noticing he had even budged a foot. Branches raked at his skin, ripping and tearing, and fatigue was hampering his legs, but he could not stop running, not if his life depended on it. He felt trickles of blood seeping down his legs and merging with ever-increasing amounts of sweat, but oddly, there was no pain accompanying the wounds. Scarlet eyes set dead ahead, tears began winging out behind him, but they weren't tears of pain. Nor were they tears of sadness, or wind impact, or really anything for that matter. They were just tears.

With every stride he took, more knowledge flowed into his mind, but he could not seem to think on his own at all, much less piece any of it together….

The thunder…

…Death…

…Is insignificant…

…Two kids…

…The future and the past uniting…

…All hopeful eyes turn to the history…

…Of…himself….

STOP.

He came to a screeching halt, and collapsed right there, immediately lapsing into unconsciousness. He gasped in breath with all of his energy and will left, as again, the world turned dark.

Yet, just before all his awareness left him, he heard a joyful "Piiika!" sound commencing a few yards away, from behind the jumble of thistle that was right in front of his nose.

Then he faded into a luckily dreamless sleep, one where he could finally rest his agonizingly throbbing body, eyes, and mind.

Now…it has begun….

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Author's Notes: Okay, that was totally just an intro. Oh well, I'll bet you're wondering where Ash and Misty are (AAMRNs just aren't the same without them) but just hold yer ponytas, they'll be here soon. Sorry that was kinda boring, but it'll get better (or at the very least fluffier), I promise. Not as well written as I wanted it to be, but how do you expect me to write with my little brother trying to perform *ahem* 'magic tricks' while I type and also freaking out and getting mad at me because the cable's out for a little while. Hopefully I'll get out the next chapter soon enough. Hey, what more can you expect from a busy 13-year-old girl? Pika pika 'til next time!