"BUUUULL!!!"

"CHAAAAAAN!!!"

With bruises over both of its eyes, the robust Granbull rushed towards Champ, massive jaws agape. Champ, covered in dirt and scrapes himself from the bipedal canine's attacks, was about to dodge, then suddenly had another idea. He stayed in place and closed his eyes. Sparks of electricity formed what looked like glowing veins on his gloveless hands. The Granbull saw the beginning of the Thunder Punch attack, but couldn't stop in time. Champ coiled his legs beneath himself and took off in a spring, his fist bursting with lightning energy. The electric attack struck the Granbull right in its moist mouth. The large purple dog was shocked inside and out, its eyes bugging out and its body appearing to be in a seizure. Champ let off and the Granbull collasped onto its side.

"I forfeit!"

The Granbull's trainer picked the fainted dog up with some difficulty, then carried it off. Champ was slightly hunched over, panting heavily. His recent match took place in a dirt covered, makeshift ring. It was indoors with chicken wire and high boards lining the ring perimeter, giving it a caged in look. It was rather large though, more than 20 square feet in diamter. The interior of the building they were in itself was worn down and filthy, and the few lights inside did a poor job of illuminating the place. The small audience around the ring were elevated, giving the ring a lowered down feel.

Champ had just participated in a series of underground Pokemon fights. Unlike an organized Pokemon League approved match, these had no particular rules and death was a possibility... so far, every trainer Champ has beaten had forfieted before any such tragedy could occur. Champ did not want to cost another Pokemon its life. His shivered as he pictured the dead Meowth kitten in his mind. Trying to rid the gruesome mental image, Champ looked at his trainer. The Granbull's trainer thumbed through his wad of cash before handing his wager over to Rick. He looked so happy. Champ was beginning to feel better. He knew that he had accomplished his goal of pleasing Rick. Rick approached Champ and knelt down beside him.

"Champ... wow," Rick beamed. "I just can't believe... well, let's not get too far ahead of ourselves, huh? You did amazing for your first time. Let's call it a night, eh buddy?"

"Impressive," a voice was heard. Rick and Champ looked up. To Rick's surprise, they were being addressed to by a young woman, somewhere in her twenties. She had short, red-dyed hair, round rim glasses, and a rather neat, black outfit consisting of a simple shirt and slacks. She seemed familiar somehow to Rick, but Champ had never seen her before.

"Didn't I see you at the P-1?" Rick questioned.

The woman flipped her hair and laughed. "You silly Psyduck... I won it."

Rick was dumbfounded. Of course! He left the tournament right after Champ was k-o'd by the Poliwrath. He never stayed to see who the winner was. He felt slightly embarrassed. "I had to leave early to tend to my Hitmonchan."

The lady snickered. "Oh yeah! I remember you now! Your Hitmonchan was flopped around like a ragdoll by that Poliwrath! He's so scrawny, I thought he'd have been a goner by now. Let me see him..."

Before Rick could protest, the woman knelt down to Champ's level and looked him straight in the eyes. Nervous, Champ tried to look away, but the lady cupped her fingers under his chin and looked deeply into his eyes. "Hmm... kinda dull. His skin tone too. You shouldn't be able to see the socket definition like that, he's too thin." Champ sort of "eeked" in surprise when the lady felt his sides and waist. He squirmed and pulled in discomfort. The trainer continued her analysis. "Hs muscle tone is excellent, but everything else is... so-so. He's almost a year old, he should be bigger than this."

Rick fumed. "Who died and made you the queen of Hitmonchan standards? Just because you won some tournament doesn't make you an expert."

"Oh I think it does," the woman said, winking. She stepped back from Champ and reached for a single red and white Pokeball on her belt. She swiftly grasped the ball, spun it in her fingers, then tossed it down. "Go, Cyclone!"

As a white light and a cloud of smoke formed, Champ leapt back in astonishment. He had never seen a Pokeball open before. His fright turned to curiosity as the light took a familiar shape. He was stunned... it was another Hitmonchan! This Hitmonchan was nearly a foot taller than Champ and had a much more impressive build. His body was teaming with lean muscle, his eyes glimmered like freshly polished emeralds, and his skin was a healthy deep reddish tone. There was something else unusual about the Hitmonchan named Cyclone... he was wearing a loose, purple tunic with a tight black belt on the waist, and plain purple shoes on the feet. He also had fingerless black gloves, but the knuckles were cut out exposing the blue, yellow, and red orbs.

Um... Champ said, avoiding the larger Hitmonchan's eyes. He really wanted to converse with this creature who was the same species as he, but Champ had to remember that he had a fight to win... this was business. Just when he was about to question the garments, Champ heard Rick's voice ask about the purple attire. The Hitmonchan's owner said that it was to show how good a fighter the Pokemon was. It was a symbol of a champion fighter's excellent reputation. The trainers left the ring, ready to give orders for the upcoming match.

Naked are we? Cyclone laughed quietly. Good, that means you'll be able to feel the burn better The Hitmonchan's knuckle orbs suddenly glowed bright red. Champ put his fists to his face and got into a fighting stance... this was going to be a tough opponent.

"Alright, last match of the night," the unofficial ref announced. "This is a one on one, no time limit, anything goes... only one survivor unless one trainer forfiets. Ready, GO!"

Champ had just barely took a single step forward when suddenly he saw a flash of red, then black nothingness as a surge of fire struck him hard in the face. Champ could smell the singe of his own flesh as he hit the ground. His own tears blinding him, Champ bounced back up and tried to seek Cyclone out. He was just about to try to strike back when a wave of warmth was felt, followed by a strong, agonizing punch to the head. Champ quickly recovered despite the severity of the blow. He quickly figured that he could sense Cyclone by feeling the heat from the Hitmonchan's Fire Punch.

Easier said than done. No matter how hard Champ tried, Cyclone always struck first and hard. Champ's vision was still impaired and now his body was covered in burns and scrapes from hitting the ground. Champ suddenly heard a slight scuff behind him. There was Cyclone... so close. Champ quickly twirled around and bounded towards his opponent, the small sparks of his developing Thunder Punch forming. Just when Champ made contact, he cried out in pain and pulled back. Impossible! Cyclone's body was so terribly hot, he couldn't be touched. Now what?

"Cyclone!" the pyromaniac Hitmonchan's trainer called. "Show this little waif the meaning behind your name!"

"Champ, try another Thunder Punch!" Rick called out in desperation.

Champ wiped the tears from his eyes yet saw only the hellish red of Cyclone's flames. Swift footsteps surrounded the singed Hitmonchan and intense heat formed around him. Cyclone was using a combination of an Agility and Fire Punch to entrap Champ in a deadly ring of flame. Champ couldn't move, couldn't breath. The heat was overwhelming. He could barely make out the muffed calls of Rick. Champ realized that he was going to die. He was going to fail the one person he cared so deeply for. Rick depended heavily on Champ winning, so what is going to become of the human if his prize Pokemon perished?

An odd coolness suddenly washed over Champ, soothing and healing his burn wounds. Champ could now see clearly. He noticed puffs of steam coming from his mouth as he breathed and small crystals flowing around his body. Instead of marveling at the unusual phenamonon, Champ instead clenched his fists and boldly charged through the flames. They didn't harm him at all. Everyone grew silent as the young Hitmonchan landed on the other side, even Cyclone stopped his fire twister and stared in surprise. Champ's body was surrounded in a pale blue aura, and his knuckle orbs glowed bright cerulean. Champ rose to his feet and faced his opponent. The two Fighting types, one flaming red, the other glowing icey blue, glared at eachother for a tense moment. Cyclone, his knuckle orbs pulsing with crimson energy, bounded towards Champ, who remained still, ice crystals danced around his fists. Just when the fiery fighter was about to strike, Champ thrust forward and made contact with Cyclone's chest. But what happened next was truly surprising; Cyclone became frozen and shattered. Pieces of Cyclone broke into even more shards as they hit the ground. As the ice lifted from Champ, he stared wide-eyed at his opponent's remains surrounding him. He trembled from the repulsive sight and his own freezing cold body.

"Champ!"

That was Rick. He ran up to Champ and embraced the cold Hitmonchan. Cyclone's trainer slowly walked out to the middle of the ring and glanced at her prized Pokemon's now thawing remains on the floor. Her eyes watered. She then scowled, cursed, and tossed Cyclone's no longer functioning Pokeball on the ground and started pacing angrily. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"I think you owe me something?" Rick said in a conceited tone.

The woman took in a shuddering breath as she reached into her pocket and removed the cash prize in her clenched fist. "Here!" she spat as she slapped the money into Rick's hand. That was the last thing she ever said as she stormed away, pushing herself through the crowd of people.

Many of the audience members suddenly rushed to Rick and started congratulating him. He relished in the attention and began gloating about how well he trained Champ. As the commotion went on, Champ, with one arm around his trainer's waist, eyed the arena where Cyclone's pieces remained. He lowered his brow and a small smile formed arcoss his lips as the signifigance of this victory began to sink in.

He felt no remorse.