The Pokemon Chronicles
Fanfiction by Sung-Min Kwon. © 2003
Disclaimer: Pokemon and its associated characters are copyrighted by Nintendo, Game Freak, Creatures Inc, and 4Kids Productions.
***********************
-Apparition-
A boy was running for his life. He was out in the open fields, and it looked as if he had come from the direction of the burning remains of what used to be a bustling city. The city, in the background, was on fire, and the red glow of the flames lit up the night sky like that of an orange evening during the setting sun.
***********************
If anyone had been alive and unharmed in the city, he would have been able to see the destruction of his home. Streets were deserted and devoid of life, unless you considered the dying and the dead corpses littered sporadically as life. These corpses were also starting to burn, giving them a natural cremation. Almost every building was on fire, and some had already stopped burning and turned black.
The houses that people used to live in were barely standing, if at all. They had been mercilessly pummeled and beaten by mysterious attackers who had destroyed and moved out of this city. Many a house did not have doors, and ones that did just had them hanging by a hinge or two.
If one would have been brave enough to venture inside one of these houses, he would have been greeted with corpses of innocent residents who had not done anything deserving to be killed. Of course, this could also have been seen from the air, seeing that most roofs had collapsed into the house and left a wide hole. Cars in driveways were charred to a crisp solid piece, and some looked as if it had been flattened in a junkyard.
Everything on display in a nearby museum was taken away, although some exhibits were damaged and destroyed.
One could see that the security guards had not been able to stop the thieves, for they were lying lifeless near the front door.
The curator had long since escaped, knowing that he could meet the same fate, too.
And the museum was beginning to catch fire. It would spread quickly, since the museum was mainly made of wood, and rain had not visited the city in nearly a month.
The fire was well timed, because a drought was occurring in the city when it happened.
With a drought of this severity, the fire station could do nothing but evacuate when the disaster struck.
It was kind of ironic, because the fire station itself was on fire in the distance. The firemen had all escaped when they saw the first signs of fire.
But were they to blame? What could they do?
When the fire broke out, the city was currently under a law that prevented residents from flushing their toilets, and they were not allowed to take more than one shower a week.
There was little water in the fire station, and it would not even last a minute against the conflagration.
Only those stupid enough to believe in a heroic death would remain at the station.
The Pokemon Center was also empty, although it was not on fire yet. The automatic glass doors that once friendly slid open for every aspiring Pokemon trainer now posed a threat to anyone who would enter it. It was shattered and sharp-edged, and glass bits were still falling everywhere, making it look as if the front door of the building was covered with powdery snow.
Half of the roof was no more; a bomb or missile had blown it to dust. Every Pokeball had been stashed away, every Chansey killed or captured.
Computers and other machines short-circuited and caught fire cinders that were flying in the air. It looked as if this section of town would also be up in flames in a matter of minutes.
The PokeMart? One could take some fragmented pieces of a blue sign lying by the place and jigsaw it together to make out the M-A-R-T.
That broken sign was probably the most undamaged object around this area. The building itself was reduced down to partially standing walls with uneven heights.
All of the items that had lined the shelves of the PokeMart had either been blown up or ransacked.
Dead bodies of shopkeepers and customers were either scattered on the linoleum floor or hung on the half-standing walls.
***********************
A man in a black cloak was standing at a crossroad. He lifted his hood, and narrowed his eyes, as if he were deep in thought.
He remarked in a soft whisper, "Trouble. Oh, bother."
He paused for a moment, and then made an impossibly speedy dash.
***********************
Everything was red with blood. Everything was red with fire. Everything was on fire.
By daybreak, the fire would extinguish itself, revealing a plain of ashes. Eventually, the world would forget this city.
No one would be able to recognize this place as Pewter City.
***********************
The boy was being pursued by a man on a Ponyta, even though there still was a good hundred yards between them. The rider and his steed were both clad in pitch-black armor that shone with a deep orange hue coming from the burning city.
The rider gripped the reins of his Ponyta in one hand, and in the other, he carried a long sword with a blood-stained tip. Although no one could see his visage under his dark helm, there was no doubt that the rider was planning to kill another victim.
The boy could hear the hoofs of the horse striking the ground behind him and knew that the rider was gaining on him. He was panting for a breath, even making unnatural wheezing noises.
However, he didn't stop because of fear of being killed. He was making sobbing noises that were cut short with every stride that he took. But he suddenly stopped.
His feet were four feet away from the edge of a cliff. Knowing that he had taken a wrong path, he turned to hurry back to the last junction and go the other way. Just then, he saw the rider turn his way at the junction and rush toward him.
The cliff used to be situated over the river, but all the water had dried up because of the lack of rain. Now, all there was left in the riverbed were big rocks. Big rocks, as big as a cement truck.
He couldn't jump off. He knew that. But he couldn't just stand here until he was sliced and diced by this black rider.
Then an idea struck him. The rider carried the sword in his right hand. What if he made a feint toward the right side of the rider, than went to the left of the rider? He could only do it if he could get around the front of the Ponyta in time. But the rider was closing in. He had no time to think.
The boy trusted his senses, made the attempt and dashed. He succeeded in making the feint and getting round the steed, but the rider was much faster than the boy had expected. He gave the boy a shallow but long cut down his back. The boy screamed and fell on his knees.
Blood wasn't spurting out of the wound, so the sword had not hit an artery. But blood was slowly flowing, and any movement brought extreme pain with it.
The rider had gone about ten yards past the place where it had hurt the boy. He stopped his steed and dismounted. He made a funereal march toward the place where the boy lay, sprawled on his back.
The boy saw the rider advancing, and his eyes widened into almost perfect circles. He put his hands up in front of him, as if his hands could shield him from almost certain death. He tried to roll away, but stopped because of the pain.
The rider kept walking, and stopped in front of the boy, who tried to move, but couldn't. The sword was raised, ready to come down and behead its victim.
The boy's mouth opened to release a loud "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" Except that nothing came out of it. The boy's vocal cords were paralyzed with fear.
It wouldn't matter. The rider would not move an inch after hearing it anyway. He pulled the sword back another two inches, to provide some momentum that would drive the sword quickly into the boy and give him a painless death.
After all, the rider would have thought, a quick death would be much more humane than a slow, tortuous death.
***********************
A thunderous cry rang throughout the area and shook everything in a radius of several miles.
But it wasn't from the boy.
***********************
The boy, surprised that he was still alive, looked at what had happened to the rider. The rider was lying on his back, with his own sword positioned through the back of his neck. His armor wasn't as strong as it looked, apparently. He wasn't breathing, and had no pulse.
The boy removed the helmet to see just who the killer was. It was no one he knew. His nose was a bit crooked, and he had a closely trimmed mustache. His hair was light auburn, and it was unkempt, pointing in every direction.
His eyes and face wore an expression of supreme shock, as if the rider had not expected to die this way.
But it didn't make sense. How did the rider die? Just a few moments ago, the rider was standing over him with the sword, ready to strike.
As he looked around, he saw a black-cloaked man walk around the corner. The boy ran after him, shouting, "Wait!"
The man did not turn around and kept on walking. The boy lost sight of him for a few moments while he was running to catch up, than turned the corner himself. To his surprise, the man wasn't there now! Where had he gone off?
He searched the vicinity for a few minutes, but didn't see any signs of the man.
The boy, a bit confused, but relieved that he was still alive, went the other way when he reached the junction.
***********************
The black-cloaked man was back. He was standing in front of the body of the rider. He took a look at the rider's face for some time, and then tossed the corpse over the edge of the cliff, armor and all.
As he watched the corpse make a mushroom-shaped cloud of dust upon collision, the cloaked man remarked "Todd, you idiot..."
Letting out a bitter chuckle, he turned back, towards the way he had come.
***********************
Hmm... a severe case of the writer's block prevented me from writing a new chapter for six weeks. Sorry for those of you who were enjoying the prologue! And Koriku, thank you for continuously giving helpful reviews on every chapter! ^^ As usual, R & R, please...
-Latias in Space-
Fanfiction by Sung-Min Kwon. © 2003
Disclaimer: Pokemon and its associated characters are copyrighted by Nintendo, Game Freak, Creatures Inc, and 4Kids Productions.
***********************
-Apparition-
A boy was running for his life. He was out in the open fields, and it looked as if he had come from the direction of the burning remains of what used to be a bustling city. The city, in the background, was on fire, and the red glow of the flames lit up the night sky like that of an orange evening during the setting sun.
***********************
If anyone had been alive and unharmed in the city, he would have been able to see the destruction of his home. Streets were deserted and devoid of life, unless you considered the dying and the dead corpses littered sporadically as life. These corpses were also starting to burn, giving them a natural cremation. Almost every building was on fire, and some had already stopped burning and turned black.
The houses that people used to live in were barely standing, if at all. They had been mercilessly pummeled and beaten by mysterious attackers who had destroyed and moved out of this city. Many a house did not have doors, and ones that did just had them hanging by a hinge or two.
If one would have been brave enough to venture inside one of these houses, he would have been greeted with corpses of innocent residents who had not done anything deserving to be killed. Of course, this could also have been seen from the air, seeing that most roofs had collapsed into the house and left a wide hole. Cars in driveways were charred to a crisp solid piece, and some looked as if it had been flattened in a junkyard.
Everything on display in a nearby museum was taken away, although some exhibits were damaged and destroyed.
One could see that the security guards had not been able to stop the thieves, for they were lying lifeless near the front door.
The curator had long since escaped, knowing that he could meet the same fate, too.
And the museum was beginning to catch fire. It would spread quickly, since the museum was mainly made of wood, and rain had not visited the city in nearly a month.
The fire was well timed, because a drought was occurring in the city when it happened.
With a drought of this severity, the fire station could do nothing but evacuate when the disaster struck.
It was kind of ironic, because the fire station itself was on fire in the distance. The firemen had all escaped when they saw the first signs of fire.
But were they to blame? What could they do?
When the fire broke out, the city was currently under a law that prevented residents from flushing their toilets, and they were not allowed to take more than one shower a week.
There was little water in the fire station, and it would not even last a minute against the conflagration.
Only those stupid enough to believe in a heroic death would remain at the station.
The Pokemon Center was also empty, although it was not on fire yet. The automatic glass doors that once friendly slid open for every aspiring Pokemon trainer now posed a threat to anyone who would enter it. It was shattered and sharp-edged, and glass bits were still falling everywhere, making it look as if the front door of the building was covered with powdery snow.
Half of the roof was no more; a bomb or missile had blown it to dust. Every Pokeball had been stashed away, every Chansey killed or captured.
Computers and other machines short-circuited and caught fire cinders that were flying in the air. It looked as if this section of town would also be up in flames in a matter of minutes.
The PokeMart? One could take some fragmented pieces of a blue sign lying by the place and jigsaw it together to make out the M-A-R-T.
That broken sign was probably the most undamaged object around this area. The building itself was reduced down to partially standing walls with uneven heights.
All of the items that had lined the shelves of the PokeMart had either been blown up or ransacked.
Dead bodies of shopkeepers and customers were either scattered on the linoleum floor or hung on the half-standing walls.
***********************
A man in a black cloak was standing at a crossroad. He lifted his hood, and narrowed his eyes, as if he were deep in thought.
He remarked in a soft whisper, "Trouble. Oh, bother."
He paused for a moment, and then made an impossibly speedy dash.
***********************
Everything was red with blood. Everything was red with fire. Everything was on fire.
By daybreak, the fire would extinguish itself, revealing a plain of ashes. Eventually, the world would forget this city.
No one would be able to recognize this place as Pewter City.
***********************
The boy was being pursued by a man on a Ponyta, even though there still was a good hundred yards between them. The rider and his steed were both clad in pitch-black armor that shone with a deep orange hue coming from the burning city.
The rider gripped the reins of his Ponyta in one hand, and in the other, he carried a long sword with a blood-stained tip. Although no one could see his visage under his dark helm, there was no doubt that the rider was planning to kill another victim.
The boy could hear the hoofs of the horse striking the ground behind him and knew that the rider was gaining on him. He was panting for a breath, even making unnatural wheezing noises.
However, he didn't stop because of fear of being killed. He was making sobbing noises that were cut short with every stride that he took. But he suddenly stopped.
His feet were four feet away from the edge of a cliff. Knowing that he had taken a wrong path, he turned to hurry back to the last junction and go the other way. Just then, he saw the rider turn his way at the junction and rush toward him.
The cliff used to be situated over the river, but all the water had dried up because of the lack of rain. Now, all there was left in the riverbed were big rocks. Big rocks, as big as a cement truck.
He couldn't jump off. He knew that. But he couldn't just stand here until he was sliced and diced by this black rider.
Then an idea struck him. The rider carried the sword in his right hand. What if he made a feint toward the right side of the rider, than went to the left of the rider? He could only do it if he could get around the front of the Ponyta in time. But the rider was closing in. He had no time to think.
The boy trusted his senses, made the attempt and dashed. He succeeded in making the feint and getting round the steed, but the rider was much faster than the boy had expected. He gave the boy a shallow but long cut down his back. The boy screamed and fell on his knees.
Blood wasn't spurting out of the wound, so the sword had not hit an artery. But blood was slowly flowing, and any movement brought extreme pain with it.
The rider had gone about ten yards past the place where it had hurt the boy. He stopped his steed and dismounted. He made a funereal march toward the place where the boy lay, sprawled on his back.
The boy saw the rider advancing, and his eyes widened into almost perfect circles. He put his hands up in front of him, as if his hands could shield him from almost certain death. He tried to roll away, but stopped because of the pain.
The rider kept walking, and stopped in front of the boy, who tried to move, but couldn't. The sword was raised, ready to come down and behead its victim.
The boy's mouth opened to release a loud "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" Except that nothing came out of it. The boy's vocal cords were paralyzed with fear.
It wouldn't matter. The rider would not move an inch after hearing it anyway. He pulled the sword back another two inches, to provide some momentum that would drive the sword quickly into the boy and give him a painless death.
After all, the rider would have thought, a quick death would be much more humane than a slow, tortuous death.
***********************
A thunderous cry rang throughout the area and shook everything in a radius of several miles.
But it wasn't from the boy.
***********************
The boy, surprised that he was still alive, looked at what had happened to the rider. The rider was lying on his back, with his own sword positioned through the back of his neck. His armor wasn't as strong as it looked, apparently. He wasn't breathing, and had no pulse.
The boy removed the helmet to see just who the killer was. It was no one he knew. His nose was a bit crooked, and he had a closely trimmed mustache. His hair was light auburn, and it was unkempt, pointing in every direction.
His eyes and face wore an expression of supreme shock, as if the rider had not expected to die this way.
But it didn't make sense. How did the rider die? Just a few moments ago, the rider was standing over him with the sword, ready to strike.
As he looked around, he saw a black-cloaked man walk around the corner. The boy ran after him, shouting, "Wait!"
The man did not turn around and kept on walking. The boy lost sight of him for a few moments while he was running to catch up, than turned the corner himself. To his surprise, the man wasn't there now! Where had he gone off?
He searched the vicinity for a few minutes, but didn't see any signs of the man.
The boy, a bit confused, but relieved that he was still alive, went the other way when he reached the junction.
***********************
The black-cloaked man was back. He was standing in front of the body of the rider. He took a look at the rider's face for some time, and then tossed the corpse over the edge of the cliff, armor and all.
As he watched the corpse make a mushroom-shaped cloud of dust upon collision, the cloaked man remarked "Todd, you idiot..."
Letting out a bitter chuckle, he turned back, towards the way he had come.
***********************
Hmm... a severe case of the writer's block prevented me from writing a new chapter for six weeks. Sorry for those of you who were enjoying the prologue! And Koriku, thank you for continuously giving helpful reviews on every chapter! ^^ As usual, R & R, please...
-Latias in Space-