Jimminty Jillikers, its been over a year since my last update? That just wont do, just wont do at all. Well. I dont have any promises on updating, but here, have another chapter that's beens tagnating in my head for the last few months. Hopefully it'll give you all some more entertainment. And no, this story isnt going to turn into a steamy porn oriented fanfiction. Period. Ash, Mist and Brock will not make any apperances, nor will Jessie and James. Nor will anyone else from the show except possibly Givonni if I cant think of a better person to replace him. (I caved and mentioned Nurse Joy in this chapter).
To the reviewers:
Dawn Allies: Glad you like the fighting so much. Writing turn based combat sucks moneky and its boring as hell. Hopefully youll be just as impresswed with combat when it gets deeper into the story.
Theres actually not much else to say.
Sorry kids, no fancy HTML or Spellchecking today, I've got too much work to do. I'll update this with a it better looks laterin the year when I get a break.
---
Soft tapping on the bars of his cell, Nemo looked up from his blood and sweat stainec ot in the back of the Pits. He'd lost twice and he was breaking down every few hours as the loss of pokemon he'd had such strong bonds to simply died before his very eyes. His friends hadnt even lasted a minute when it counted. Not against the dark people out there.
Terror of some form clutched and clawed at his hearrts as rather than the fiends that had promised him a long walk off a short peir, he found himself looking at his last opponent. Traik Harlequin was knocking on his door.
"Wh-what do you want? I dont have any more pokemon for you to murder." Nemo whimpered, curling up and pulling into himself, his tear filled eyes peering out over his knees at the older youth. If you could call him that.
"I'm not here for that, Nemo." Traik crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the bars, never lifting his eyes from the boy. "I'm just here to talk. Seeing nothing but Pit Feinds all day probably isnt all that calming."
"So I get a little pity before they sent me off to die?" Nemo still looked dead and broken, ready to be added to the piles of those who hadnt made it. But he spoke with a bitter angry spite. There was still a mind in the dead skull.
"Actually, I was going to offer you another fight. But not under these conditions. You werent even given a chance. The usually give SOME indication to atrainer that they'll need to train harder to win, at the very least. You though, you were totally green. It was a completely unfair advantage." Traik watched nemo as he spoke, testing to see what would raise the boy's spirits.
"I dont want to fight to kill." Nemo shuddered, repulsed by the idea.
"And ordering your friends around to fight for money and entertainment is any better?" Traik snorted slightly. "Pretend they're your friends all you want, but how many of your human friends would you order into battle for the same reasons?"
When he was met with silence, Traik continued. "Somewhere along the lines, beating the crap out of someone became illegal. We developed laws and civil structures. Technology and religion inlfuenced it until where we are today. Doesnt mean everyone is happy and care free all the time. Most people actually really hate how they have to live. And somewhere along the line, someone just got a really brilliant idea. Why not breed things with supposedly less intelligence to do our bidding? We cant fight eachother, so we'll call it a game or an extreme sport."
Nemo uncurled slightly, staring at him as he listened. What Traik was saying was the language of an insane man. Pokemon were his friends and they were all one big family. But the question was right. If he had his big brother in a pokeball, would he give the same orders? For that matter, would his little school children friends risk life and limb just to save little young him?
"Theres tother things too. Pokemon arent aloud to attack people. Why is that? Maybe because if there was ever a Pokemon revolt, they've been trained to be better and stronger than us. We'd all get our asses kicked if they took up the option to rebel. So what happens to a revolutionary pokemon? Nurse joy takes it away and we never see it again. Down here in the Bloodbowl though, we know. They get gassed. Put down and just killed for having free thought. Disobedience equals death. Why else would wild pokemon fight so damned hard not to get caught?"
Traik could see the boy's mind fighting itself. Innosence being counteracted by his experince, and now being forced to think. He just kept pouring ideas into his mind.
"They say we live in peace with Pokemon. They do. They're pretty strong about this conception. But every pokemon you see wandering down the street, sooner or later ends up in a little ball on someones desk. Theres a VERY few trainers who actually respect the pokemon enough to never use a ball at all. But most the time they still break the pokemon's spirit through near death combat, offering life as a servant or death under law. Human law.
And perhaps youv noticed. Some species are in massive numbers, breeding like crazy. Take the Beedrill for example. They lay eggs across the islands by the thousands, the little Weedle climbing over trees and plants, chowing down.. This wasnt because of natural selection. Havnt you ever noticed you can only find a Weedle or a Kakuna just outside of towns or in heavily traveled forests? How many Weedlehave YOU fought until they 'pass out' and just leave them behind? These are fragile creatures kid. Every one of them you've ever fought dont just pass out at that stage. They're DEAD. Pokemon travel in masses and herds because of the seer amount of trainers that are encouraged to beat the crap out of them. Its the only way their race has been able to continue survivng US."
"But.. That doesnt explain the point of your games down here." Nemo glared at him a little for messing with his head. Changing the topic so much and trying to make him question his faith. It must be a test. It had to be.
"Doesnt it? Theres no disguises down here. Every trainer thats decided to stay in the Bowl dont lie to their captured pokemon. We're not poachers or slavedrivers. We're going out and finding the pokemon that want this kind of action. The ones that are sick of watching their worlds get raped and abused because us humans cant admit to the fact that we all want to kill eachother. Those that die out here know their battle actually meant something. None of them are given commands. They're just given training and enough indipendance that they fight for their own survival in the pits. The crowds who watch? They're all trainers too. Not a single one of them is just a spactator. We dont allow that down here. "
"What about their pokemon? Do you let them watch too?" Nemo frowned, as he didnt remember seeing any outside the bowl.
"They're offered a place in the stands. None of them have ever accepted. I dont blame them. Most people wouldnt go to a place to see their friends getting killed. Pokemon might attend an arena of trainers killing eachother, just to spite us though. Hard to say what goes on int heir heads without asking them."
"Yous aid most people. What about you?" Something dark slithered through Nemmo's mind. He wasnt sure if he was talking to a revolutionary genious, or a diobolical madman. He hadnt even ehard of this king of thing from Team Rocket's rumors and stories.
"Personally? I'd love to see humans fight their own battles again. Let our blood spill across the island and make it ours again. Pokemon can controll their own damned future for all I care. I've got other plans in mind. Like ending Team Rocket, among other things. They're spreading the slavery of pokemon even faster than general media. Hell, they control the Pokemon Land Themepark."
Nemo gave him a shocked look for that one. He loved that theme park. His parents had taken him there when he was eigt, before he was old enough to become a trainer. All the pokemon themed rides and games, a lot of them teaching him basic knowledge about training and how to identify some of the more widly known pokemon. How could.. How could Team Rocket be responsible for such a wonderous place?
"Why dont you think about this a while. I'll tell the Feinds to hold off a while. Get you some food and drinks. I'll come back in two days. Then you tell me what you think. Full and honest now. Just like I've been honest to you." Traik nodde d slightly to him, then pushed off the bars, heading away from the holding cells and further into the stadium. Twords the Mourge where the losers were giving passing parers and small personal rituals to the dead before leaving. He'd contact the winners later, having them all in mind. The losers he could all catch here at once.
He waited, arms crossed, in the doorway of the mourge. Crazy Tom wasnt his origional combat name. It used to be Cavedancer Tom. He had always brought in some mean ground and rock types to drive his opponents mad with rage. Until people found out what he did with the pokemon that lost.
Just at the moment he was finishing off removing the hide of Dunsparce with his hunting knife, the head and tail already hacked off and put aside. Next he'd gut the creature and start slicing meat off the bones into steaks. Someone's Cyndaquil was watching idly at one end of the table. Every now and then, crazy Tom would spear a bit of flesh, roast it on the back of Cyndaquil's flames then eat it and continue with his work.
The others had more normal ceremonies. Blessings and sprigs of herbs on the corpses. all of which were carefully put out of Tom's reach as he seemed to have uses for every type of pokemon once they had died. The owner of the Houndoom was there bottling as much of the blood from the beast as she could. Sasha was a tall, dark woman. She was known for bathing her future pokemon in the strength of those that had gone before it.
Supersitsions were welcomed here as long as someone was willing to stare death in the eyes and laugh. Just as many non-belivers still came down to the mourge for last rites. To either take something from the bodies, or give to it.
Xaks was over by the far wall, looking down over his dead Electabuzz, his wrist alread slit and dripping his own vital essances over its fur. Hed'd had a rather unfortunate battle with a Golem that had slaughtered the Electabuzz mercilesly with the terrain addittions. Traik aproached him first, settling a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. He didnt usually interrupt prayer rites, but Xaks didnt seem to mind.
"You free to talk?" He inquired, clancing over the dead electabuzz, then back to his trainer.
"Yup." Xaks said simply, drawing his wrist back from the corpse and fetching up a bit of salve to temporarily shut the wound, and wrapped his wrist in gauze. "What's the man of the night need?"
Traik smirked slightly. Xaks was one of those guys who'd been around the block a few times but hadnt let anything get to him. You couldnt tell his personality on the outside world apart from his personality in the sport. Calm, cool and detached.
"I'm wondering if you and a few of the others would be interested in a little enterprise I'm developing. Consider it.. The next level of Bowl combat."
Xaks glanced at Traik, his attention caught. Several others from nearby tables momentarily lifted their heads as well. Sure, some of the younger players always had some zany ideas about things that could be done with the system, but Traik was a recognized name with them. He didnt reccomend something unless he'd been thinking about it for quite a while.
"I'm listening."
Traik smiled widely and pulled Xaks out into the hall. Not all the losers were on the list, just a few of them. Xaks, Sasha and Crazy Tom were the ones he wanted on his little excursion most.
---
Minor cliff hanger here. If you dont already know whats coming, then its a definate cliffhanger. For those of you who have seen me write for other generes.. dont give away the plot, damnit. Heh. We'll see if I can pull out another chapter or two this year, but I dont make any promises (the FF8 fans are driving me insane).
To the reviewers:
Dawn Allies: Glad you like the fighting so much. Writing turn based combat sucks moneky and its boring as hell. Hopefully youll be just as impresswed with combat when it gets deeper into the story.
Theres actually not much else to say.
Sorry kids, no fancy HTML or Spellchecking today, I've got too much work to do. I'll update this with a it better looks laterin the year when I get a break.
---
Soft tapping on the bars of his cell, Nemo looked up from his blood and sweat stainec ot in the back of the Pits. He'd lost twice and he was breaking down every few hours as the loss of pokemon he'd had such strong bonds to simply died before his very eyes. His friends hadnt even lasted a minute when it counted. Not against the dark people out there.
Terror of some form clutched and clawed at his hearrts as rather than the fiends that had promised him a long walk off a short peir, he found himself looking at his last opponent. Traik Harlequin was knocking on his door.
"Wh-what do you want? I dont have any more pokemon for you to murder." Nemo whimpered, curling up and pulling into himself, his tear filled eyes peering out over his knees at the older youth. If you could call him that.
"I'm not here for that, Nemo." Traik crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the bars, never lifting his eyes from the boy. "I'm just here to talk. Seeing nothing but Pit Feinds all day probably isnt all that calming."
"So I get a little pity before they sent me off to die?" Nemo still looked dead and broken, ready to be added to the piles of those who hadnt made it. But he spoke with a bitter angry spite. There was still a mind in the dead skull.
"Actually, I was going to offer you another fight. But not under these conditions. You werent even given a chance. The usually give SOME indication to atrainer that they'll need to train harder to win, at the very least. You though, you were totally green. It was a completely unfair advantage." Traik watched nemo as he spoke, testing to see what would raise the boy's spirits.
"I dont want to fight to kill." Nemo shuddered, repulsed by the idea.
"And ordering your friends around to fight for money and entertainment is any better?" Traik snorted slightly. "Pretend they're your friends all you want, but how many of your human friends would you order into battle for the same reasons?"
When he was met with silence, Traik continued. "Somewhere along the lines, beating the crap out of someone became illegal. We developed laws and civil structures. Technology and religion inlfuenced it until where we are today. Doesnt mean everyone is happy and care free all the time. Most people actually really hate how they have to live. And somewhere along the line, someone just got a really brilliant idea. Why not breed things with supposedly less intelligence to do our bidding? We cant fight eachother, so we'll call it a game or an extreme sport."
Nemo uncurled slightly, staring at him as he listened. What Traik was saying was the language of an insane man. Pokemon were his friends and they were all one big family. But the question was right. If he had his big brother in a pokeball, would he give the same orders? For that matter, would his little school children friends risk life and limb just to save little young him?
"Theres tother things too. Pokemon arent aloud to attack people. Why is that? Maybe because if there was ever a Pokemon revolt, they've been trained to be better and stronger than us. We'd all get our asses kicked if they took up the option to rebel. So what happens to a revolutionary pokemon? Nurse joy takes it away and we never see it again. Down here in the Bloodbowl though, we know. They get gassed. Put down and just killed for having free thought. Disobedience equals death. Why else would wild pokemon fight so damned hard not to get caught?"
Traik could see the boy's mind fighting itself. Innosence being counteracted by his experince, and now being forced to think. He just kept pouring ideas into his mind.
"They say we live in peace with Pokemon. They do. They're pretty strong about this conception. But every pokemon you see wandering down the street, sooner or later ends up in a little ball on someones desk. Theres a VERY few trainers who actually respect the pokemon enough to never use a ball at all. But most the time they still break the pokemon's spirit through near death combat, offering life as a servant or death under law. Human law.
And perhaps youv noticed. Some species are in massive numbers, breeding like crazy. Take the Beedrill for example. They lay eggs across the islands by the thousands, the little Weedle climbing over trees and plants, chowing down.. This wasnt because of natural selection. Havnt you ever noticed you can only find a Weedle or a Kakuna just outside of towns or in heavily traveled forests? How many Weedlehave YOU fought until they 'pass out' and just leave them behind? These are fragile creatures kid. Every one of them you've ever fought dont just pass out at that stage. They're DEAD. Pokemon travel in masses and herds because of the seer amount of trainers that are encouraged to beat the crap out of them. Its the only way their race has been able to continue survivng US."
"But.. That doesnt explain the point of your games down here." Nemo glared at him a little for messing with his head. Changing the topic so much and trying to make him question his faith. It must be a test. It had to be.
"Doesnt it? Theres no disguises down here. Every trainer thats decided to stay in the Bowl dont lie to their captured pokemon. We're not poachers or slavedrivers. We're going out and finding the pokemon that want this kind of action. The ones that are sick of watching their worlds get raped and abused because us humans cant admit to the fact that we all want to kill eachother. Those that die out here know their battle actually meant something. None of them are given commands. They're just given training and enough indipendance that they fight for their own survival in the pits. The crowds who watch? They're all trainers too. Not a single one of them is just a spactator. We dont allow that down here. "
"What about their pokemon? Do you let them watch too?" Nemo frowned, as he didnt remember seeing any outside the bowl.
"They're offered a place in the stands. None of them have ever accepted. I dont blame them. Most people wouldnt go to a place to see their friends getting killed. Pokemon might attend an arena of trainers killing eachother, just to spite us though. Hard to say what goes on int heir heads without asking them."
"Yous aid most people. What about you?" Something dark slithered through Nemmo's mind. He wasnt sure if he was talking to a revolutionary genious, or a diobolical madman. He hadnt even ehard of this king of thing from Team Rocket's rumors and stories.
"Personally? I'd love to see humans fight their own battles again. Let our blood spill across the island and make it ours again. Pokemon can controll their own damned future for all I care. I've got other plans in mind. Like ending Team Rocket, among other things. They're spreading the slavery of pokemon even faster than general media. Hell, they control the Pokemon Land Themepark."
Nemo gave him a shocked look for that one. He loved that theme park. His parents had taken him there when he was eigt, before he was old enough to become a trainer. All the pokemon themed rides and games, a lot of them teaching him basic knowledge about training and how to identify some of the more widly known pokemon. How could.. How could Team Rocket be responsible for such a wonderous place?
"Why dont you think about this a while. I'll tell the Feinds to hold off a while. Get you some food and drinks. I'll come back in two days. Then you tell me what you think. Full and honest now. Just like I've been honest to you." Traik nodde d slightly to him, then pushed off the bars, heading away from the holding cells and further into the stadium. Twords the Mourge where the losers were giving passing parers and small personal rituals to the dead before leaving. He'd contact the winners later, having them all in mind. The losers he could all catch here at once.
He waited, arms crossed, in the doorway of the mourge. Crazy Tom wasnt his origional combat name. It used to be Cavedancer Tom. He had always brought in some mean ground and rock types to drive his opponents mad with rage. Until people found out what he did with the pokemon that lost.
Just at the moment he was finishing off removing the hide of Dunsparce with his hunting knife, the head and tail already hacked off and put aside. Next he'd gut the creature and start slicing meat off the bones into steaks. Someone's Cyndaquil was watching idly at one end of the table. Every now and then, crazy Tom would spear a bit of flesh, roast it on the back of Cyndaquil's flames then eat it and continue with his work.
The others had more normal ceremonies. Blessings and sprigs of herbs on the corpses. all of which were carefully put out of Tom's reach as he seemed to have uses for every type of pokemon once they had died. The owner of the Houndoom was there bottling as much of the blood from the beast as she could. Sasha was a tall, dark woman. She was known for bathing her future pokemon in the strength of those that had gone before it.
Supersitsions were welcomed here as long as someone was willing to stare death in the eyes and laugh. Just as many non-belivers still came down to the mourge for last rites. To either take something from the bodies, or give to it.
Xaks was over by the far wall, looking down over his dead Electabuzz, his wrist alread slit and dripping his own vital essances over its fur. Hed'd had a rather unfortunate battle with a Golem that had slaughtered the Electabuzz mercilesly with the terrain addittions. Traik aproached him first, settling a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. He didnt usually interrupt prayer rites, but Xaks didnt seem to mind.
"You free to talk?" He inquired, clancing over the dead electabuzz, then back to his trainer.
"Yup." Xaks said simply, drawing his wrist back from the corpse and fetching up a bit of salve to temporarily shut the wound, and wrapped his wrist in gauze. "What's the man of the night need?"
Traik smirked slightly. Xaks was one of those guys who'd been around the block a few times but hadnt let anything get to him. You couldnt tell his personality on the outside world apart from his personality in the sport. Calm, cool and detached.
"I'm wondering if you and a few of the others would be interested in a little enterprise I'm developing. Consider it.. The next level of Bowl combat."
Xaks glanced at Traik, his attention caught. Several others from nearby tables momentarily lifted their heads as well. Sure, some of the younger players always had some zany ideas about things that could be done with the system, but Traik was a recognized name with them. He didnt reccomend something unless he'd been thinking about it for quite a while.
"I'm listening."
Traik smiled widely and pulled Xaks out into the hall. Not all the losers were on the list, just a few of them. Xaks, Sasha and Crazy Tom were the ones he wanted on his little excursion most.
---
Minor cliff hanger here. If you dont already know whats coming, then its a definate cliffhanger. For those of you who have seen me write for other generes.. dont give away the plot, damnit. Heh. We'll see if I can pull out another chapter or two this year, but I dont make any promises (the FF8 fans are driving me insane).
