It was an absolutely gorgeous afternoon, which only made the walk down Pallet Lane even harder. Sunshine beat down upon his broad shoulders where the shade of the grand old trees lining the path could not reach. There wasn't a cloud to be found in the expansive blue sky, where the Pidgey and Spearow flew above and sang their happy songs. A cool breeze wafted through the sleepy little hamlet, brushing stray strands of hair against his forehead. The weather was peaceful, calm, and cheery to a fault.
As far as he was concerned, it only made the day worse.
His feet tread sullenly against the dirt path as he slowly made his way to a very familiar house. A healthy, golden tan glistened on his skin, a souvenir he had picked up on his most recent trip into the heart of Africa. Of all the ways he had planned to spend his first day back from the six-month excursion, this never even entered into his thoughts while in the middle of the steamy jungles. And yet, now that he was home, he couldn't think of any other way to go about it.
Off in the distance, he saw the house in question. It was a creamy white two-story with sky blue trim and a cute picket fence encircling the neatly kept yard. He knew the house well after years of whiling away the afternoon with Mrs. Ketchum and Professor Oak over a warm, friendly cup of tea. As he drew closer he saw a flash of orange-red rocking on the porch swing, and gave a small wave of greeting.
Misty watched him approach, grinning at him from the suspended seat. She was dressed in a sexy yellow tank top and cutoff shorts to stave off the abnormal heat wave. Her taut tummy poked out beneath the hem of the shirt, rising and falling with each even breath she took. She had cut her hair unusually short and styled it close to her head, with a pair of stunning blue studs in her shapely ears to match her eyes. Pikachu sat beneath her fingers, purring contently as she scratched him behind the ears.
"Tracey!" She greeted their new guest with a smile as he approached the porch, gently rocking herself back and forth on the swing. "How was your trip?"
Tracey Sketch ascended the short steps of the porch as he examined Misty with open concern. Up close, he could see a butterfly patch adorning her cheek, as well as other cuts and bruises on her visible skin that were in the process of healing. Even so, her smile was no less radiant, and her manner upbeat and chipper.
"Hey," he greeted her guardedly. Looking about, he was surprised to see Misty all by herself (Pikachu excluded, of course). He had half expected her to be a wreck, not the well-adjusted young lady he saw before him. "Um… How are you doing?" he asked her carefully.
She waved him off with a laugh. "Everyone's been asking me that lately," she said. "I'm fine. Never better!"
"Okay, okay," he said, giving her a small, uncertain smile in return. "So, uh, wha'cha been up to?" It felt like an idiotic question to ask, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Same as always," she sighed, looping her arms across the back of the swing. "Just waiting for Ash." Pikachu, not content with her prior attentions, crawled into Misty's lap and snuggled in, dozing the warm afternoon away. "He's late again."
"Oh…" was all that Tracey could come up with. He stood there a moment, rubbing his arm uncomfortably.
Sensing his ill-ease, Misty chucked her thumb in the door's direction behind her. "Mom's inside with Professor Oak if you wanted to talk to them. I'm sure you didn't just come to shoot the breeze with me all day." Her smile never faltered once.
"Oh," he said again, "Sure." He started past her, then stopped when she didn't rise. "Are you…" Tracey trailed off.
"Oh, I'll be right out here." Misty shrugged. She looked back out at the hills and trees, smiling to herself. "Someone has to be here to chew Ash out for being so late."
Tracey nodded once, but Misty's attention had already returned to the road. He doubted that she even knew he was there anymore. Sighing, the artistic researcher pushed through the door and into the house. Inside, he quickly and quietly followed the noise in the home to the kitchen, where the small gathering was focused. Compared with the other times he had been a guest in the Ketchum household, the atmosphere was considerably subdued.
"Ah," Professor Oak greeted his young assistant from the table, raising his steaming mug in greeting as he gave Tracey a weak smile. "Tracey. Good to see you, lad."
Brock also said his hellos, breaking away from the stove long enough to trade handshakes with his old friend. The brawny breeder wore his trademark pink apron over a sleeveless olive T-Shirt. A solid black band was wrapped around his bulging bicep. "Glad you could make it, Pencil Pusher," Brock ribbed him gently.
"Good to be here, Rockhead." Tracey pulled him into a brief hug before gratefully accepting a mug of coffee. As always, Brock brewed a Mount Moon blend to perfection. Tracey sipped slowly, savoring the drink. It was his first decent coffee in months. Unfortunately, it didn't distract him long from his purpose. He began looking about over the rim of his mug. "Where's the lady of the house?" he asked softly.
"Right here," came the soft reply from behind.
Tracey set his mug on the counter and enveloped Delia Ketchum in a gentle embrace as she set foot into her kitchen. She was dressed in a set of simple dark pants with a stylish black blouse. Though dry at the moment, her eyes were severely reddened, a detail that didn't escape the trained eye of the young researcher.
"Thanks so much for coming, Tracey." Delia released him after another squeeze, drawing him back to get a good look at her young friend. "I know you just got back, and it means so much to me."
"How could I stay away?" He took his mug up again, sitting down next to Oak and taking another long drag of coffee. His eyes remained glued to the tabletop as he looked at anything and everything to avoid Delia's soft gaze. The guilt he felt was overwhelming. "I just wish…"
"Don't go there," Brock shook his head, sitting opposite the two scientists. "Just don't. We've all been saying that for the past week. It wouldn't have been any different." He cradled his own mug, staring down at the rippling brown ooze. The beefy breeder's brow furrowed over his narrow eyes, crinkling with a terrible weight.
Tracey nodded. "Right. Sorry."
For a moment, there was a long, awkward pause. Then Professor Oak asked an innocuous question about Tracey's trip to the Congo. Though he ached to ask more, Tracey waited patiently. He told stories of his adventures in Africa. None of them seemed terribly exciting to him, but he held their rapt interest nonetheless. Somehow, stories of drinking the wrong water didn't seem nearly as exciting as he had once found them.
After a long hour of personal reminiscence, Tracey's patience finally broke. "…and that's when I heard the news." he finished his current yarn. "I, uh…I came as soon as I could."
"You did arrive awfully quick." Delia agreed, sitting next to Brock and Professor Oak to complete their quartet. She reached across the table and placed a comforting hand on his. The situation seemed laughably backwards, except he didn't find any humor in it whatsoever.
"I came as soon as I heard." he said.
Professor Oak frowned, leaning in. "Just how much have you heard?" he asked.
"Not much." Tracey admitted. "I got your message as soon as we made it to the next outpost, and from there I hopped every form of transportation I could get on. Every now and then, I managed to get hold of some news service articles. I don't know how much I should trust them-"
"Not a word." Brock's mug shook as his hand tightened in a rage. "Not one damn word. 'He' got to the media first, and-" It was only Delia's calming touch on his arm that quieted him.
"Why don't we tell him what really happened?" she suggested gently.
Tracey suddenly felt very uncomfortable as he sensed the mood in the room grow even more despondent. He felt guilt rise in his throat once again for voicing the very questions he had come to ask. "I don't want to open any more wounds," he said lamely, hoping for a graceful way out.
Delia shook her head with a sad smile. "It's better if we keep the truth alive, and not those lies they're spreading in the news." she reassured him. Then she looked to Brock encouragingly, pleading to him without words. "I'm afraid, though, that not all of the story is mine to tell."
Brock seemed a little surprised. "Me? No, I…I couldn't." he stammered. "I mean, I was only there for parts, too."
"A good deal more than either of us," Professor Oak reminded him.
"Well," Brock admitted, "I only heard some of the beginning of it secondhand from Ash…" But the damage was done; everyone else at the table hung on his every word now, staring intently at the newly-appointed storyteller. With a defeated sigh, he paused only a moment to refill his mug before settling in once more. "I guess it started about three weeks ago," he began, "At a castle in Germany…"
[Net Ghost Productions, LTD 2004 Presents…]
A cold, bitter wind bit at his cheeks as he stood upon the highest parapet. He placed a foot up on the low wall, surveying the breathtaking view laid out like a carpet. Were he a poet, he would write about the dancing clouds in the crystal sky. If he was a painter, he would seek to capture the rolling plains and the distant mountains on canvas. But he was neither. He was only a well-traveled trainer who wasn't as impressed with the view as the other tourists seemed to be.
[A Movie by Cyberwraith Nine…]
'I know our mountains back home are bigger,' he thought to himself with a pang of homesickness. Everywhere he had been in the last two years had paled in comparison to his beloved Island and the people he had left behind. He could recall a time, not four years ago, when he would have gnawed off his own foot to free himself of the invisible shackles that the Island had bound him with. Now, here he was, a young man about to celebrate his nineteenth birthday, and the only gift he wanted was to go home to his family.
Pikachu yawned at his feet, unable to see over the rocky ledge and uninterested in trying. He curled up and hunkered down, ready to snooze the day away on the warm, sunny rocks the humans had gathered fifteen hundred years before to stave off attacks from other humans. The castle was just like any other man-made structure to Pikachu: artificial and inferior to the shelter found in a simple, natural forest. Pikachu would trust a tree for defense sooner than he'd trust some smelly, moldy old stone fort a bunch of sword-toting lunatics had put together a millennia and a half before he had been born.
It had been two years of fruitless searching for a sign, any sign, of the remaining Children of Darkness prophesized in the Foretelling of Ma'Kala. Exile was still trapped at old Oak's lab, and Rick and Dixie were ever on the trail of the phantom Missingno. He, in the meantime, had trekked across Europe and parts of Asia, with a brief stop to the coast of western Africa.
In those two years, he had honed his body and mind into powerful weapons through constant and grueling training. He had spent months with Xiaolin monks, famous tacticians, military commanders, artists, poets, chefs, blacksmiths, dancers, divers…anywhere and everywhere he went, he learned whatever he could from whoever would teach him. And of course, he kept his 'mon sharp by battling at gyms.
Old habits were the hardest to kill.
So Ashlan Terrance Ketchum, one of the youngest Pokémon Masters on the planet, in possession of over two hundred badges, accomplished practitioner of both Dratini and Mankey styles of Kung Fu, and expect craftsman of everything from swords to soufflés, had reached the end of his Germany tour. The lederhosen-wearing, chocolate-producing, holier-than-thou country had left the trainer feeling extremely dissatisfied. All of Europe, in fact, had failed to produce a challenge worthy of his time. It wasn't necessarily a matter of ego (though he possessed a more than healthy outlook on himself). Even his Pokémon were getting bored with the local flavor, just like he was.
Ash looked down at his Poké-partner, giving the little guy a little smile. "Guess you could use some excitement too, huh?" Pikachu snored in response, broadening Ash's grin. "Yeah. For a castle, this place is pretty boring." He sighed, leaning against his raised knee as he gazed out over the landscape. "Wish something exciting would happen…"
"Ash Ketchum!"
The cry came from the courtyard below, where dozens of pasty tourists milled about. Ash pulled himself from his revere and looked down, spotting the source of the commotion. He saw a small shape below, waving its arms and shouting up at him. Absently, Ash couldn't help but wonder if life listened in on his monologues and took cues from them. He waved back at the shape.
"Ketchum!" the miniscule figure shouted up with a thick German accent. "Ich bin Otto von Mobele, champion of das Blitz League!" Otto scornfully jabbed a finger in Ash's skyward direction with a voice full of contempt. "I challenge you to a match! We shall decide who is the better trainer!"
Ash had been through too many battles to be fazed by some loudmouthed, overconfident whelp of a trainer. Hell, he used to be one! From where he stood, Otto couldn't have been more than sixteen, which would make him a child prodigy, like Ash had been…at least, that's what they had called him. For a time, he had bought into it, too. But defeat had humbled him, and age had tempered his fiery passions, giving him the experience and wisdom he needed to keep a sense of respect and dignity when faced with an arrogant opponent.
…usually.
When he wasn't feeling bored.
Unfortunately for Otto, now was not one of his more 'tempered' moments.
Ash glanced down at Pikachu. The little Pokémon was beginning to stir at all the hubbub. He glared grouchily at his trainer, as if to say 'This is all your fault.' Then again, Ash supposed, it was. After a moment of listening to Otto's broken English, though, Pikachu's grumpy glower changed into a smirk, one which he exchanged knowingly with Ash before the trainer turned his attention back to the courtyard. He could sense the mouse's growing excitement over the possibility of a match. If Pikachu thought it was a good idea, then who was he to disagree?
There was already a crowd gathering around Otto, curious as to what was going on. A few of them murmured excitedly, recognizing the name of Otto's opponent as the German champion bellowed it for the entire castle to hear. "I challenge you, Ash Ketchum!" Otto hollered with his hands cupped to his mouth. Then, spreading his arms wide, the boy added, "Unless you're afraid, of course."
Reaching for his belt, Ash felt his resolve solidify. "You just used the magic words, kid." he murmured softly. His hand operated solely by memory, plucking a particular containment sphere from its magnetic holster. He thumbed the switch, feeling the Pokéball expand to fill his palm. If Otto wanted to call him out in front of all these people, that was fine. But if the local hero could put on a show, then why not him?
Jitters of anticipation ran up and down his spine as he stepped up onto the low stone rim. Only a few inches separated his toes from a fall that ended fifty meters below in a wall of solid stone. One slip could turn most of his body into a fine mush. Onlookers gathered closer around Otto, gasping and pointing as Ash spread his own arms wide. Pikachu jumped up to join his feet, crouching in eagerness of the fun to come.
"I accept!" Ash called, and stepped off.
A collective shriek rose up from the growing crowd as Ash plummeted. The moment his shoes left the stone, he had already triggered the release catch on the ball in his hand. He tossed it below him, watching in satisfaction as a wave of light erupted as the ball split, uniting unto itself to form a gigantic avian shape.
A smile graced the trainer's features as he felt a warm, familiar power wrap around him. The entire world turned a soft yellowish color as Pidgeot flapped his powerful wings, slowing his descent the natural way even as he grasped Ash and Pikachu with the powers of the second Hidden Machine. In the amber embrace, the trainer and his Pokémon glided gently to the ground.
It took a moment for the crowd to recover, giving Ash time to collect Pidgeot back in his ball. Then, they roared in approval as one, much to Otto's annoyance. Clearly the younger boy hadn't counted on his opponent stealing his thunder. Ash rubbed his hands together and he got a closer look at the leather-jacketed, grungy long-haired lad, and silently vowed that Otto would be receiving a few more disappointments that day.
"What's the stakes?" Ash asked, locking his burning golden gaze with Otto's pallid blue eye. The passion that the scenery had failed to evoke in Ash was now pounding through his veins, stemming from the thought of a challenge. This was his world; title or no title, Otto was about to discover who the real champion was.
Otto von Mobele rediscovered the confidence that Ash's incredible entrance had robbed him of. The murmurs of the gathered throng already spoke of who they were favoring in the fight, and that made Otto mad. He was determined to take this upstart foreigner, who had the gall to beat every gym in their proud country, and put him back in his place. "According to League rules, wir konnen any number of Badges in a match wagering."
"Fine," Ash grunted, deducing the gist of Otto's sentence through the boy's broken English. Once again, his hand snapped to his waist, this time coming back with a thin red device. It looked similar to an electric notebook, only smaller and more streamlined, with a large sensor package at its top. "Dex," Ash said, flipping the device open, "Scan the badge inventory. Let's see what we need."
"Eine moment, bitte." the device responded, eliciting a few more 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from the crowd. Ash could tell that Dexter was enjoying the attention, as it took him longer (with more beeping) than usual to come up with an answer. "Looks like you're missing the badge from Munich, herr Kommandant."
"That's right," Ash mused out loud, "Team Rocket blew it up before I could get my badge there. Thanks, Dex."
"Kase!" Dex replied as Ash clipped him back onto his belt.
Otto opened his jacket, scanning briefly through the twenty badges clipped to the inside of his lining. "Ja," he replied coolly without being asked. "Ich habe der badge von Munchen. But what are you to wager in return willing?"
His opponent pondered the question for a moment, then reached into his own jacket and pulled out a small, yellow pin from within. "How about this?" he asked, turning the badge about for everyone to see. It was tiny and ugly, but Ash held it as if it meant the world to him. "It's a championship badge from Indigo League. One of a kind, specially made for my reign as League Champ."
Another gasp hissed from those in the crowd that followed international Leagues. Everyone had heard of Indigo, the most prestigious league anywhere around the globe. Those that knew how tough the competition was on the Island whistled in appreciation of the risk Ash was ready to take. For a former champion to wager this badge of office, well…it was unheard of!
"Wirklich?" Otto murmured, gazing adoringly at the ugly little pin. "Why would you such a thing do?" His hand unconsciously opened and closed, as if longing to hold it in his hand.
"Hey," Ash retorted as he reversed his cap, "If you aren't willing to risk everything, then you aren't ready to play the game." He looked down at Pikachu, who was already sparking at the cheeks in anticipation. The thundermouse hadn't had a good fight in months. Now it was time to see if Otto could own up. "Let's do this old-school; six on six, no time limit, no items. Once they're down, they're out, but recall's okay."
"Ja," Otto nodded, pulling his eyes away from the badge. His greasy face grew grim as he glared at his opponent. Once more, the confidence he had held earlier returned to his demeanor as he pushed his jacket back, revealing his own belt full of Pokéballs. "Whenever you ready are, Herr Ketchum."
Ash's eyes narrowed. His lips drew back into an excited smile as his hand wavered next to his belt. Otto was a lot of talk, but after being in Germany all month, Ash was willing to give anyone who had proven himself the best in the land a little credit. It was time to see how much that credit would buy the German.
"Let's do it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As far as he was concerned, it only made the day worse.
His feet tread sullenly against the dirt path as he slowly made his way to a very familiar house. A healthy, golden tan glistened on his skin, a souvenir he had picked up on his most recent trip into the heart of Africa. Of all the ways he had planned to spend his first day back from the six-month excursion, this never even entered into his thoughts while in the middle of the steamy jungles. And yet, now that he was home, he couldn't think of any other way to go about it.
Off in the distance, he saw the house in question. It was a creamy white two-story with sky blue trim and a cute picket fence encircling the neatly kept yard. He knew the house well after years of whiling away the afternoon with Mrs. Ketchum and Professor Oak over a warm, friendly cup of tea. As he drew closer he saw a flash of orange-red rocking on the porch swing, and gave a small wave of greeting.
Misty watched him approach, grinning at him from the suspended seat. She was dressed in a sexy yellow tank top and cutoff shorts to stave off the abnormal heat wave. Her taut tummy poked out beneath the hem of the shirt, rising and falling with each even breath she took. She had cut her hair unusually short and styled it close to her head, with a pair of stunning blue studs in her shapely ears to match her eyes. Pikachu sat beneath her fingers, purring contently as she scratched him behind the ears.
"Tracey!" She greeted their new guest with a smile as he approached the porch, gently rocking herself back and forth on the swing. "How was your trip?"
Tracey Sketch ascended the short steps of the porch as he examined Misty with open concern. Up close, he could see a butterfly patch adorning her cheek, as well as other cuts and bruises on her visible skin that were in the process of healing. Even so, her smile was no less radiant, and her manner upbeat and chipper.
"Hey," he greeted her guardedly. Looking about, he was surprised to see Misty all by herself (Pikachu excluded, of course). He had half expected her to be a wreck, not the well-adjusted young lady he saw before him. "Um… How are you doing?" he asked her carefully.
She waved him off with a laugh. "Everyone's been asking me that lately," she said. "I'm fine. Never better!"
"Okay, okay," he said, giving her a small, uncertain smile in return. "So, uh, wha'cha been up to?" It felt like an idiotic question to ask, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Same as always," she sighed, looping her arms across the back of the swing. "Just waiting for Ash." Pikachu, not content with her prior attentions, crawled into Misty's lap and snuggled in, dozing the warm afternoon away. "He's late again."
"Oh…" was all that Tracey could come up with. He stood there a moment, rubbing his arm uncomfortably.
Sensing his ill-ease, Misty chucked her thumb in the door's direction behind her. "Mom's inside with Professor Oak if you wanted to talk to them. I'm sure you didn't just come to shoot the breeze with me all day." Her smile never faltered once.
"Oh," he said again, "Sure." He started past her, then stopped when she didn't rise. "Are you…" Tracey trailed off.
"Oh, I'll be right out here." Misty shrugged. She looked back out at the hills and trees, smiling to herself. "Someone has to be here to chew Ash out for being so late."
Tracey nodded once, but Misty's attention had already returned to the road. He doubted that she even knew he was there anymore. Sighing, the artistic researcher pushed through the door and into the house. Inside, he quickly and quietly followed the noise in the home to the kitchen, where the small gathering was focused. Compared with the other times he had been a guest in the Ketchum household, the atmosphere was considerably subdued.
"Ah," Professor Oak greeted his young assistant from the table, raising his steaming mug in greeting as he gave Tracey a weak smile. "Tracey. Good to see you, lad."
Brock also said his hellos, breaking away from the stove long enough to trade handshakes with his old friend. The brawny breeder wore his trademark pink apron over a sleeveless olive T-Shirt. A solid black band was wrapped around his bulging bicep. "Glad you could make it, Pencil Pusher," Brock ribbed him gently.
"Good to be here, Rockhead." Tracey pulled him into a brief hug before gratefully accepting a mug of coffee. As always, Brock brewed a Mount Moon blend to perfection. Tracey sipped slowly, savoring the drink. It was his first decent coffee in months. Unfortunately, it didn't distract him long from his purpose. He began looking about over the rim of his mug. "Where's the lady of the house?" he asked softly.
"Right here," came the soft reply from behind.
Tracey set his mug on the counter and enveloped Delia Ketchum in a gentle embrace as she set foot into her kitchen. She was dressed in a set of simple dark pants with a stylish black blouse. Though dry at the moment, her eyes were severely reddened, a detail that didn't escape the trained eye of the young researcher.
"Thanks so much for coming, Tracey." Delia released him after another squeeze, drawing him back to get a good look at her young friend. "I know you just got back, and it means so much to me."
"How could I stay away?" He took his mug up again, sitting down next to Oak and taking another long drag of coffee. His eyes remained glued to the tabletop as he looked at anything and everything to avoid Delia's soft gaze. The guilt he felt was overwhelming. "I just wish…"
"Don't go there," Brock shook his head, sitting opposite the two scientists. "Just don't. We've all been saying that for the past week. It wouldn't have been any different." He cradled his own mug, staring down at the rippling brown ooze. The beefy breeder's brow furrowed over his narrow eyes, crinkling with a terrible weight.
Tracey nodded. "Right. Sorry."
For a moment, there was a long, awkward pause. Then Professor Oak asked an innocuous question about Tracey's trip to the Congo. Though he ached to ask more, Tracey waited patiently. He told stories of his adventures in Africa. None of them seemed terribly exciting to him, but he held their rapt interest nonetheless. Somehow, stories of drinking the wrong water didn't seem nearly as exciting as he had once found them.
After a long hour of personal reminiscence, Tracey's patience finally broke. "…and that's when I heard the news." he finished his current yarn. "I, uh…I came as soon as I could."
"You did arrive awfully quick." Delia agreed, sitting next to Brock and Professor Oak to complete their quartet. She reached across the table and placed a comforting hand on his. The situation seemed laughably backwards, except he didn't find any humor in it whatsoever.
"I came as soon as I heard." he said.
Professor Oak frowned, leaning in. "Just how much have you heard?" he asked.
"Not much." Tracey admitted. "I got your message as soon as we made it to the next outpost, and from there I hopped every form of transportation I could get on. Every now and then, I managed to get hold of some news service articles. I don't know how much I should trust them-"
"Not a word." Brock's mug shook as his hand tightened in a rage. "Not one damn word. 'He' got to the media first, and-" It was only Delia's calming touch on his arm that quieted him.
"Why don't we tell him what really happened?" she suggested gently.
Tracey suddenly felt very uncomfortable as he sensed the mood in the room grow even more despondent. He felt guilt rise in his throat once again for voicing the very questions he had come to ask. "I don't want to open any more wounds," he said lamely, hoping for a graceful way out.
Delia shook her head with a sad smile. "It's better if we keep the truth alive, and not those lies they're spreading in the news." she reassured him. Then she looked to Brock encouragingly, pleading to him without words. "I'm afraid, though, that not all of the story is mine to tell."
Brock seemed a little surprised. "Me? No, I…I couldn't." he stammered. "I mean, I was only there for parts, too."
"A good deal more than either of us," Professor Oak reminded him.
"Well," Brock admitted, "I only heard some of the beginning of it secondhand from Ash…" But the damage was done; everyone else at the table hung on his every word now, staring intently at the newly-appointed storyteller. With a defeated sigh, he paused only a moment to refill his mug before settling in once more. "I guess it started about three weeks ago," he began, "At a castle in Germany…"
[Net Ghost Productions, LTD 2004 Presents…]
A cold, bitter wind bit at his cheeks as he stood upon the highest parapet. He placed a foot up on the low wall, surveying the breathtaking view laid out like a carpet. Were he a poet, he would write about the dancing clouds in the crystal sky. If he was a painter, he would seek to capture the rolling plains and the distant mountains on canvas. But he was neither. He was only a well-traveled trainer who wasn't as impressed with the view as the other tourists seemed to be.
[A Movie by Cyberwraith Nine…]
'I know our mountains back home are bigger,' he thought to himself with a pang of homesickness. Everywhere he had been in the last two years had paled in comparison to his beloved Island and the people he had left behind. He could recall a time, not four years ago, when he would have gnawed off his own foot to free himself of the invisible shackles that the Island had bound him with. Now, here he was, a young man about to celebrate his nineteenth birthday, and the only gift he wanted was to go home to his family.
Pikachu yawned at his feet, unable to see over the rocky ledge and uninterested in trying. He curled up and hunkered down, ready to snooze the day away on the warm, sunny rocks the humans had gathered fifteen hundred years before to stave off attacks from other humans. The castle was just like any other man-made structure to Pikachu: artificial and inferior to the shelter found in a simple, natural forest. Pikachu would trust a tree for defense sooner than he'd trust some smelly, moldy old stone fort a bunch of sword-toting lunatics had put together a millennia and a half before he had been born.
It had been two years of fruitless searching for a sign, any sign, of the remaining Children of Darkness prophesized in the Foretelling of Ma'Kala. Exile was still trapped at old Oak's lab, and Rick and Dixie were ever on the trail of the phantom Missingno. He, in the meantime, had trekked across Europe and parts of Asia, with a brief stop to the coast of western Africa.
In those two years, he had honed his body and mind into powerful weapons through constant and grueling training. He had spent months with Xiaolin monks, famous tacticians, military commanders, artists, poets, chefs, blacksmiths, dancers, divers…anywhere and everywhere he went, he learned whatever he could from whoever would teach him. And of course, he kept his 'mon sharp by battling at gyms.
Old habits were the hardest to kill.
So Ashlan Terrance Ketchum, one of the youngest Pokémon Masters on the planet, in possession of over two hundred badges, accomplished practitioner of both Dratini and Mankey styles of Kung Fu, and expect craftsman of everything from swords to soufflés, had reached the end of his Germany tour. The lederhosen-wearing, chocolate-producing, holier-than-thou country had left the trainer feeling extremely dissatisfied. All of Europe, in fact, had failed to produce a challenge worthy of his time. It wasn't necessarily a matter of ego (though he possessed a more than healthy outlook on himself). Even his Pokémon were getting bored with the local flavor, just like he was.
Ash looked down at his Poké-partner, giving the little guy a little smile. "Guess you could use some excitement too, huh?" Pikachu snored in response, broadening Ash's grin. "Yeah. For a castle, this place is pretty boring." He sighed, leaning against his raised knee as he gazed out over the landscape. "Wish something exciting would happen…"
"Ash Ketchum!"
The cry came from the courtyard below, where dozens of pasty tourists milled about. Ash pulled himself from his revere and looked down, spotting the source of the commotion. He saw a small shape below, waving its arms and shouting up at him. Absently, Ash couldn't help but wonder if life listened in on his monologues and took cues from them. He waved back at the shape.
"Ketchum!" the miniscule figure shouted up with a thick German accent. "Ich bin Otto von Mobele, champion of das Blitz League!" Otto scornfully jabbed a finger in Ash's skyward direction with a voice full of contempt. "I challenge you to a match! We shall decide who is the better trainer!"
Ash had been through too many battles to be fazed by some loudmouthed, overconfident whelp of a trainer. Hell, he used to be one! From where he stood, Otto couldn't have been more than sixteen, which would make him a child prodigy, like Ash had been…at least, that's what they had called him. For a time, he had bought into it, too. But defeat had humbled him, and age had tempered his fiery passions, giving him the experience and wisdom he needed to keep a sense of respect and dignity when faced with an arrogant opponent.
…usually.
When he wasn't feeling bored.
Unfortunately for Otto, now was not one of his more 'tempered' moments.
Ash glanced down at Pikachu. The little Pokémon was beginning to stir at all the hubbub. He glared grouchily at his trainer, as if to say 'This is all your fault.' Then again, Ash supposed, it was. After a moment of listening to Otto's broken English, though, Pikachu's grumpy glower changed into a smirk, one which he exchanged knowingly with Ash before the trainer turned his attention back to the courtyard. He could sense the mouse's growing excitement over the possibility of a match. If Pikachu thought it was a good idea, then who was he to disagree?
There was already a crowd gathering around Otto, curious as to what was going on. A few of them murmured excitedly, recognizing the name of Otto's opponent as the German champion bellowed it for the entire castle to hear. "I challenge you, Ash Ketchum!" Otto hollered with his hands cupped to his mouth. Then, spreading his arms wide, the boy added, "Unless you're afraid, of course."
Reaching for his belt, Ash felt his resolve solidify. "You just used the magic words, kid." he murmured softly. His hand operated solely by memory, plucking a particular containment sphere from its magnetic holster. He thumbed the switch, feeling the Pokéball expand to fill his palm. If Otto wanted to call him out in front of all these people, that was fine. But if the local hero could put on a show, then why not him?
Jitters of anticipation ran up and down his spine as he stepped up onto the low stone rim. Only a few inches separated his toes from a fall that ended fifty meters below in a wall of solid stone. One slip could turn most of his body into a fine mush. Onlookers gathered closer around Otto, gasping and pointing as Ash spread his own arms wide. Pikachu jumped up to join his feet, crouching in eagerness of the fun to come.
"I accept!" Ash called, and stepped off.
A collective shriek rose up from the growing crowd as Ash plummeted. The moment his shoes left the stone, he had already triggered the release catch on the ball in his hand. He tossed it below him, watching in satisfaction as a wave of light erupted as the ball split, uniting unto itself to form a gigantic avian shape.
A smile graced the trainer's features as he felt a warm, familiar power wrap around him. The entire world turned a soft yellowish color as Pidgeot flapped his powerful wings, slowing his descent the natural way even as he grasped Ash and Pikachu with the powers of the second Hidden Machine. In the amber embrace, the trainer and his Pokémon glided gently to the ground.
It took a moment for the crowd to recover, giving Ash time to collect Pidgeot back in his ball. Then, they roared in approval as one, much to Otto's annoyance. Clearly the younger boy hadn't counted on his opponent stealing his thunder. Ash rubbed his hands together and he got a closer look at the leather-jacketed, grungy long-haired lad, and silently vowed that Otto would be receiving a few more disappointments that day.
"What's the stakes?" Ash asked, locking his burning golden gaze with Otto's pallid blue eye. The passion that the scenery had failed to evoke in Ash was now pounding through his veins, stemming from the thought of a challenge. This was his world; title or no title, Otto was about to discover who the real champion was.
Otto von Mobele rediscovered the confidence that Ash's incredible entrance had robbed him of. The murmurs of the gathered throng already spoke of who they were favoring in the fight, and that made Otto mad. He was determined to take this upstart foreigner, who had the gall to beat every gym in their proud country, and put him back in his place. "According to League rules, wir konnen any number of Badges in a match wagering."
"Fine," Ash grunted, deducing the gist of Otto's sentence through the boy's broken English. Once again, his hand snapped to his waist, this time coming back with a thin red device. It looked similar to an electric notebook, only smaller and more streamlined, with a large sensor package at its top. "Dex," Ash said, flipping the device open, "Scan the badge inventory. Let's see what we need."
"Eine moment, bitte." the device responded, eliciting a few more 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from the crowd. Ash could tell that Dexter was enjoying the attention, as it took him longer (with more beeping) than usual to come up with an answer. "Looks like you're missing the badge from Munich, herr Kommandant."
"That's right," Ash mused out loud, "Team Rocket blew it up before I could get my badge there. Thanks, Dex."
"Kase!" Dex replied as Ash clipped him back onto his belt.
Otto opened his jacket, scanning briefly through the twenty badges clipped to the inside of his lining. "Ja," he replied coolly without being asked. "Ich habe der badge von Munchen. But what are you to wager in return willing?"
His opponent pondered the question for a moment, then reached into his own jacket and pulled out a small, yellow pin from within. "How about this?" he asked, turning the badge about for everyone to see. It was tiny and ugly, but Ash held it as if it meant the world to him. "It's a championship badge from Indigo League. One of a kind, specially made for my reign as League Champ."
Another gasp hissed from those in the crowd that followed international Leagues. Everyone had heard of Indigo, the most prestigious league anywhere around the globe. Those that knew how tough the competition was on the Island whistled in appreciation of the risk Ash was ready to take. For a former champion to wager this badge of office, well…it was unheard of!
"Wirklich?" Otto murmured, gazing adoringly at the ugly little pin. "Why would you such a thing do?" His hand unconsciously opened and closed, as if longing to hold it in his hand.
"Hey," Ash retorted as he reversed his cap, "If you aren't willing to risk everything, then you aren't ready to play the game." He looked down at Pikachu, who was already sparking at the cheeks in anticipation. The thundermouse hadn't had a good fight in months. Now it was time to see if Otto could own up. "Let's do this old-school; six on six, no time limit, no items. Once they're down, they're out, but recall's okay."
"Ja," Otto nodded, pulling his eyes away from the badge. His greasy face grew grim as he glared at his opponent. Once more, the confidence he had held earlier returned to his demeanor as he pushed his jacket back, revealing his own belt full of Pokéballs. "Whenever you ready are, Herr Ketchum."
Ash's eyes narrowed. His lips drew back into an excited smile as his hand wavered next to his belt. Otto was a lot of talk, but after being in Germany all month, Ash was willing to give anyone who had proven himself the best in the land a little credit. It was time to see how much that credit would buy the German.
"Let's do it."
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