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Nothing is permanent.
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This story is a sequel to my story Pokemon Adventures: Brick Bronze. Give it a read.
It is set in Galar and is based on the Pokemon Adventures/Special comics. Some things are personal inventions of the "Legends Canon" that I have made, but the story will be similar nonetheless.
Enjoy, if you dare.
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This story is dedicated to C.S. Lewis.
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In the distant past, a great empire of Men within Roria, Logaria in the tongue of Hisui, became wicked and corrupt after centuries of discontent and overweening pride.
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Their slaver-ships and cruel corsairs spread over the Great Sea from the Alpha Continent to the Southern Cold, and few of the Men and Pokemon of the Earth escaped the terror and malice of the Logarians.
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But one land remained that was untouched by their cruel hands. Galar, encircled by the Sundering Seas that are woven with enchantments and spells of great power to cause confusion and terror to an invading force. It remained hidden from Logaria, and endured past the cataclysmic fall of the South-empire.
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But it was unknown to the Hisuians, and as the years eked by, Galar was forgotten to all but those who dwelt there. Only recently have the technologies of modern man broken through the barriers and spells to uncover the westernmost of all mortal lands, which so long has spurned the sight of all else.
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Fifty-two hard years have passed since the events of Brick Bronze, and modern technology has been brought to a colonized Galar. A new duo of Pokedex Holders has risen. The threats of the old days are passing away.
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But turmoil still troubles the world. The demon lord Eternatus, unknown to all but a few, is readying for its next terrible awakening. Bronze Tercano, as the Chairman of the Pokemon Association, readies an army to annihilate his foes. The surviving members of Mbelekoro-cults and Team Eclipse still plot, allying with whatever dark power they can find.
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No balance...
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No balance...yet.
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Then, 502 AF. The Day of the Fall of Logaria
Ishmael lay hidden within the salt-corroded deck of the Logarian slaver-galley, eavesdropping on the two whipmasters. His Alolan village had been utterly ruined by the cruel Sea-men, and he alone had sojourned aboard the great ship, hidden from the dark eyes of the Logarians.
He still remembered that terrible day only a week ago, for it was burned bright in his memory. He had been out collecting the Pyukumuku that lay upon the white beaches, tokens for the village. Ever since his father had perished in the War Against The Draconids, he had always seen that the Pokemon brought peace to the heart of his aging mother.
But o'er the Southern Sea, past leagues unerring, came the dreadful slaver-ships of Logaria. Sails as black as night, flying banners of weapons of war and cruel serpents. Over the sea, the Men of Southernesse came conquering, and no wisdom their ships bore, but steel, whip, and wicked flame.
He had run to the village to warn the others, but to no avail. The Corsairs of Logaria were quick and merciless. They burned the village and took what few goods and Pokemon they had, and those who survived were enslaved. Only Ishmael had stowed away hidden, waiting for an opportune moment to free the other members of his village.
As he lay in the creaking boards, nourished by stray rats and bitter water, Ishmael thought of the old days, before the Shadow had fallen over Logaria. An alliance had existed between the righteous Forest-men of Alola and the Sea-kings of Logaria, and it was the latter who undid it nary a century ago. In form of Men the Logarians were, but they had strength and life more comparable to a Pokemon that any Alolan or Wild Man.
After the fall of the Dark Lord, Alola was left to govern its own affairs, and the tribesmen were sometimes gifted with knowledge and powerful tools, of the craft of Logaria and Hisui. But as time went by over five centuries, the Logarians changed their ways.
They cut and burned the jungles, and hunted the Alolans like animals. They enslaved many of their people, never to be seen again. Not one of the Alolans knew what they had done to anger the Logarians. Curse the Logarians and their curved blades! Only the Hisuians had remained, fighting against their sundered kin. Many Alolans left for the north in the white ships of the Hisuians, but Ishmael's village was not so fortunate.
The two whipmasters were speaking in a strange and harsh tongue, standing along with their tamed Tyranitar. Their speech was once that of Hisui, but it had become unlovely and jagged as Evil fell over them. Ishmael knew a little of the speech, and could hear what the two were saying to a rough degree.
"Naz'gudun. Mulkur an cho'zao gu Ephal-zadin. Regigigas azra khor'lai Athras. Mulkur Castamir lokhu Bablon naru Mbelekoro, chamoz Arceus. Belzagir in gu hikalballa na?"
My friend. The Lord said we ought to send these to Ephal-zadin. Regigigas is laboring at Mount Athras. Lord Castamir is building Babel under the guidance of the Great Djinn, to fight against Arceus. Why have we strayed so far in these seas?
"These ones are going to be put to work at Taurlonde!" the other spit. "We will have little use for these Low-men once we wrest Life Everlasting from Deep Heaven. There are strange lights and terrible rumblings over at Atun-Kaah. And the Sea of Galar is stinking like it always does."
"Ba kitabdahe!" the first yelled at the Tyranitar, who suddenly turned to peer over the Sea of Galar to Logaria. "Don't touch me, Pokemon-scum! We are only a scarce few miles from the Girdle of the Sword and Shield that we cannot pass through. The Galarhim remain hidden, hiding in their fortified castles beyond enchanted seas! But only a time is to pass, and no one shall ever match the might of Logaria ever after-"
The Tyranitar beheld a great light over the waters, and then a terrible peal of thunder came across the sea. The waves stretched to a great height, and the sound of an earthquake filled the air. The skies were wreathed with lightning, and the Logarians fell on their faces in terror. "Agnonalo buroda nenud? What judgment is this?!"
The sea became perilous and wild. Fires burst through the sky. Whirlpools formed within the churning froth. The whipmasters had the slaves row ever harder, and as they looked to Logaria, the face of the Tyranitar-chainer grew pale and wroth with fear.
"Urud yakalbuim! The mountains lean over! Southernesse is devoured by the Earth! Regigigas storms the land! Atun-Kaah has fallen in the Abyss! Oh Mbelekoro, Logaria has been ruined evermore! Arceus strikes before we would have. Narika 'nBari 'nAdun yanakhim! The Eagles of Rayquaza soar through the clouds! Abandon your posts! Flee, flee for your lives!"
The Logarians fled witless. Ishmael leaped from the under-boards to join the fight, joyous at this turn of fate. The wicked slaver-empire had fallen! They had angered the Sky-gods, and the Sky-gods had cast them down. He threw a Logathrim overboard to drown, while many more revolting slaves emerged from the lower decks to join in the glorious uprising.
Although two Men of Alola were slain or injured for every Logarian they overburdened, the Forest-men were filled with guile and wrath, and there were more of them, many more. They no longer feared the strange weapons of the Southmen, and soon the vessel would be cleansed of Logarians.
The Tyranitar tore an Alolan in half, before crushing the head of another in. Its hide could not be pierced by any weapon aboard, and the Logarians rallied about their Pokemon. But then a great wave brought the ship keeling, and the Tyranitar fell over the portside of the galley, drowning in the azure sea. The mob of freed slaves descended upon the remaining Logarthrim, and quick work was made of the slavers.
But the mist of the Girdle of the Sword and Shield enveloped the sea-craft, and then Ishmael saw or felt no more, for a shadow of deep sleep and confusion came upon his heart.
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Now, 2124, Galar.
The boy beheld the impish Pokemon like a morsel to be consumed. Of native Unovan descent himself, Marvin watched the Zigzagoon hop in a elliptical pattern over the loamy ground. With an overhanging, bulbous tongue and a swath of pale and dark stripes upon its body, the creature held traits unique to Galar itself, for such a Zigzagoon would not be found in any other region of the world.
"So, they really are different," Marvin muttered. "Zigzagoon are black and white, and Koffing and Wheezing are all dressed to the sevens...I might want to read up more on these regional forms."
A shadow fell over the green field. Beyond the fair alder-pines, through the brown reeds, among the low-hanging mist, a giant lumbered into view. It was a Pangoro, but engorged to such a size that no Pangoro of any other land could surpass its majesty and height. It gnawed upon a reed as thick as a man's arm, and its eyes were shrouded in darkness in the parting fog that was so common in Galar. It paid no mind to the small insect that Marvin was, as a very fat man would not take notice of a gnat.
I think I would have already known if all Galarian Pangoro were this large...
The great bulk shimmered, and then fled away as smoke on a strong wind. The creature was gone, and Marvin bolted in shock and overweening curiosity to where the Pangoro had disappeared.
The wet grass fell away. Marvin had tumbled over a sheer outcropping in the wild hills.
As he fell to the blurry ground, Marvin's thoughts took on new and exotic dimensions. His inhibitions and petty fears and limitations melted away as acid dissolves flesh. All his reason, logic, and sense of self-preservation dwindled to a small class of instincts. He could have fought a great army or taken on a Machamp in a wrestling match. And the only thought that he could form out of the swirling miasma that was his brain turned out to be...
Gee, I'm going to die. I'm hungry.
A noble dart sprung from the ground below, guided by a hand and eye whetted true by years of skill and practice. Its path was accurate and precise, for as it embedded itself into the muddy cave wall Marvin fell upon it, and wrapped his limbs about the organic length of the flowered-tipped spear for dear life, swearing every oath and prayer that he knew.
As his shaking ceased and the weapon stuck within the cliff face proved to be sturdy, Marvin heard a youthful voice call to him from below.
"Are you okay? I'll get you down in a jiffy."
A boy waved to the entrapped Marvin, wearing a button-collared tunic. Under his grey hat was a swirl of dark brown hair, a striking difference to his pale Galarian complexion. A Pokemon of surpassing nobility and fortitude waited at his side, the only being present strong or skillful enough to have thrown the blade.
"Care to lend a wing, Lancelot?"
The Sirfetch'd leapt along the soft cliff wall, and withdrew its pale green sword. Marvin fell for another half-second before the noble creature caught him upon its darkly verdant shield, before descending to the level grass.
Marvin looked upward in a milky haze. "You saved my life...who are you?"
"This brave Pokemon is called Sirfetch'd. How are you feeling? That was quite a fall..."
Marvin realized that his chest hurt, and he was bleeding about the head. "Oh, I'm okay. But-"
Sleep took him.
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As the Chairman of the Pokemon Association, Bronze Tercano had lost count of his many missions. Some he wanted to forget, like that horrific day in which a bomb planted in a decommissioned Eclipse Alliance facility had cost him his right foot and many members of his Security Guard. This mission, however, would be easier and eminently satisfying-eradicating more remnants of mankind's greatest enemy.
Bristling with cold weapons, Bronze's personal land dreadnaught loomed just over the wilds of Northern Kalos, where only the faintest mist of sunlight glinted off its hull. A small hovel of cultists lay cowering under the imposing shadow of the warship, scattered remnants of Mbelekoro-worshippers, adherents to a cult to the Dark Lord that had never died. At least not until today.
The voice of Commander Rellus crackled over the comm from an adjacent room. "Three hundred of the bastards, five Pokemon...exactly where the decommissioned Eclipse code said we would find them."
"Good." Bronze replied. "We are going to blast this entire rat encampment to Sheol, anyhow. I indulge you, Commander. Fire the first volley."
The massive guns on the frigate peered down at the squalid village, isolated from all civilization. Bronze had some hesitation about mercilessly slaughtering all the inhabitants of the Mbelekoro-cult when he first learned the location of the hamlet, but then he had seen the sacrificial corpses. All pity had left him.
The underhanging weapons fired. One of the huts blossomed into flame and shrapnel. In rapid succession, the other houses were blown to cinders by the high-powered laser pulses. The shock waves combined, swirling the debris into a soup of metal vapor and expanding gases. For a few moments, the sight was as bright as a firework show, reminding Bronze of Moon's radiant smile...then it gradually dissipated and faded.
No doubt the public, if they learned of their beloved Chairman's dealings, would immediately out him from office. They would never understand his holy cause, and the threat the sundered remnants of the Dark Lord's followers posed to the Association and a United Roria. They were weeds. He eradicated them as much as he could, but always more remained to be plucked from the Earth.
The shadowy gunship flew into the air, leaving the irradiated wasteland that was once the cultist village to be discovered by some Ranger. Bronze had other duties to attend to, and a small radioactive crater in a seldom-explored part of Kalos would never be linked to him. As far as anyone else but his closest circle of advisors and companions knew, he was in Southern Roria. He had not even told Moon everything.
"What is next on the agenda, Rellus?" Bronze asked, throwing a Poke Ball up and down, up and down, up and down. "More rallies? A campaign to eradicate poverty in Unovan slums? And please do not put that Apricorn wine too close, you know that I am a teetotaler."
"Nothing pressing, sir," Rellus replied, hastily jerking the alcoholic beverage away from the Chairman. "It seems as though most of your appointments all concern Galar."
Bronze's face fell. "Galar, Galar! Set course for the Last Frontier. I must speak to Rose..."
Rellus walked away toward the command chamber, and set the stygium crystals within the hull's condenser lattice to create a holographic cloaking field. Invisible to all but the keen senses of Psychic-types, the combat gunship went into the deep south.