At the far end would be Lance, the Dragon trainer. Sitting lazily in his golden throne, he has barely touched four of his five Pokemon. Currently dancing across the marble floor would be his Dragonairs, contending with the 'power' of a Wartortle, and a Snubble.
"What were you thinking?" The Dragon asks, his eyes looking up from his nice little spot on the floor. "Why did you challenge me?" It seems more of a taunt than a question.
'Be-because I thought I could win!' Todays 'antithesis' cries, watching in terror as the Snubble's back is almost broken by the vicegrip wrap of a Dragonair.
"...Winning, I see. Is that all that was thought about? Was this... A simple game of odds? A roll of the dice, a flick of a coin perhaps? Pathetic. How did you even get this far."
"I... Got help f-"
"Aah, help, so you didn't do it alone. See where cheating gets you?"
"No... Help from... My Pokemon!"
Lance chuckles, and with one click the Dragonair withdraw to Lance's side.
"Help from your Pokemon? That is... Admirable. A select few, you do not treat your Pokemon as objects. Maybe my quip about mathmatics was wrong, 'eh?"
"Well..."
"Or, perhaps dear boy you are a manipulator. Out of touch with reality. Out of touch with yourself. Perhaps you think these creates are your friends to justify what you do to them. How you treat them. Is this your vendetta?"
The trainer looks on, helplessly. Lance seems to have fallen into another place entirely.
"In this case, perhaps it would be prudent to release you from the instruments of your folly."
Standing upright, Lance crosses his arms. From behind his cloak, two Pokeballs shoot out... However these are different, archaic almost in design... And they have a life of their own.
Impacting the Pokemon, there seems to be no trouble, even the moral implications which are absent from Lance's face.
"What!" The trainer cries, dropping to his knees in shock. "You just... You can't... Wartortle! Snubble! Come back!"
The Pokeballs return to behind the cloak.
"Is was enevitable, and for you own good. Now, leave."
The trainer stands up, begins to grind the pavement beneath him to reach Lance. "No. Give me my Pokemon back!" When he gets close, a hamfisted and surely laughable punch is thrown. Lance dodges with ease. Then, twirling around the girth of the trainer he reaches behind him, and cracks him around the head with a baseball bat.
"Please..." The Dragon hisses, watching the trainer recoil and bounce lifelessly down his stairs. "Don't even try."
Returning to his seat, Lance resumes his casual, lazy like position and presses a button. Soon, security swarm in.
"This one tried to kill me. Arrest him."
The Trainer is scooped up, and returned. Once they leave, the lights in the room flicker and spark. Darkess floods, and reigns supreme in the imposing room.
"You can't make me do this forever," The Dragon Master declares. "They- No- I will not allow it."
Soon, the shadows in the room become concentrated in a figure looming behind Lance's throne.
You will.
The figure telepathically transmits it's thoughts into the room. To Lance, there is a terrible echo. To anyone else, there would only be silence.
"For now, perhaps... But keep your guard up, clone, as I will get you."
Perhaps. But, for now you are under my control. The Pokeballs?
Lance shakes his head, and is unwilling to give them to the figure behind him. However a dark hold covers his body, and raises him like a rag doll. He is shaken lightly, and the pokeballs float out from underneath his coat.
Listen to me, mortal. We had a deal. You want Gold, I get Pokemon.
"Yeah, whatever, doesn't mean I won't stop you."
A dark chuckle fills the room as Lance is thrown by the dark wall, smashing into a statue at the far end of the room.