Chapter 21
"Misty. . ." Ash's breath caught in his throat, his own voice barely reached his ears. It was really her. Misty Waterflower was now standing in his previous location on the battle arena.
Ash's startled brown eyes widened to their maximum size; but still could not drink her image fast enough. Countless disordered emotions simmered within his heart. Ash was overjoyed, relieved, terrified, devastated, passionate . . . his heart slammed against his ribs causing his chest to ache. His breathing became ragged as scalding blood began surging behind his temples.
I NEED to get to her. I NEED to talk to her.
Misty's citrus toned hair was damp and composed entirely of lose tendrils. Her hair hung forward, framing her fair features.
A mystifying blush engulfed Ash's cheeks. Despite Misty's nervous eyes . . . despite her rattled posture . . . Misty is beautiful.
Ash was mesmerized by the contrast of her swarthy orange curls against the white robe. He was spellbound by Misty's delicate pink lips as they trembled with bravery.
Misty's eyes frantically began scanning the crowd of trainers. She's looking for me, Ash realized. He desperately wanted to call out to her -- to let her know where he was. Only the shrouded man dragging him through the crowded seats was not providing his throat enough slack to breath. Ash certainly could not generate even a meager yell.
Barbaric hands hastily seized Ash's shoulders. The shrouded man had found a seat for Ash and was pushing him downward. Ash's behind crashed painfully with the wooden chair. He muffled a small whine, not wanting to give this man the satisfaction of hearing he had been hurt.
The man attached Ash's ropes to the chairs legs and then departed. Ash glanced to his left side. His friend Morty, the gym leader of Ecruteak City, was seated next to him. Morty's features were sedate; his posture was languid -- far too relaxed given their situation. Something is wrong with him, Ash's mind raced. What could they have done to him? Morty weakly shook his blond head. His hair seemed rather messy without his usual bandana present to keep it under control.
"Nice b-battle, Ash," Morty conveyed through a drowsy sigh. "I knew you would win."
Ash looked him over carefully, realizing that Morty must be on some kind of drugs. "Thanks. . ." Ash murmured, his eyes fixing on Misty again. Though he felt guilty, Ash was unable to keep any attention focused upon Morty. His sight was drawn to Misty; he could not tare his eyes from her.
Morty stiffened next to him. "You want her to lose."
Ash held his breath for a moment before responding. "Yeah. I want her to lose. And I don't . . . I don't know. . . I want her to be freed."
Morty's brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
For the first time Ash now noticed Lieutenant Surge. Surge was standing opposite of Misty. Surge had just plucked two pokeballs from the mysterious sack. Now it was Misty's turn. She gingerly dipped her right hand inside the sack. Her eyes were still wildly searching the crowd of faces. She's looking in the complete opposite direction of me! C'mon, Misty, turn around.
Misty paused suddenly . . . her challenging green eyes locking hold of someone far away. Just then Misty seemed to release a heavy sigh . . . whoever she had made eye contact with had obviously soothed her on some level. Ash squirmed upon his chair, desperately trying to observe who she was so focused on. Only there were too many heads in his way. "Damn, I can't see anything," Ash grumbled to himself; still wiggling against the ropes tight grip.
"Easy," Morty spoke at last. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep moving like that."
Ash grunted with annoyance, but knew that Morty was right. "I just can't tell who she is looking at. I'm not tall enough."
"I can see," Morty raised his head meticulously.
Ash's body quivered with anticipation. "Who? One of her sisters? She has three of them!"
Morty's face twisted sourly. "Sister? Does she have a brother? Doesn't look like a girl," he squinted, nodding slightly. "Oh, it's that guy who battled just before you . . . with the Jolteon -"
"What-!"
"BEGIN!" The Seer's voice burst over the arena; silencing everyones personal thoughts.
Surge and Misty exchanged mindful nods; each of their brains scrambling to recall details about the other.
Surge's tan face was chiseled in decision. He flung his pokeball forward. A gigantic Graveler appeared. Graveler flexed Its huge solid muscles. It was apparently attempting to unnerve Misty. Surge smirked; as though impressed by the physical potency of this rock Pokemon.
"I'll be wantin' my dog tags back afta' I win," Surge roared in The Seer's direction. His demand was ignored.
Ash could not believe Surge's gall! Even in the face of possible death he was over confident. "Too bad you don't got any thunda' moves," Surge commented to the Graveler. "Dat's my specialty."
Misty's focus was now devoted wholly to the Graveler. Her jaw stiffened as she tossed one of her balls forth.
"Magcargooooo!" roared Misty's huge lava Pokemon.
Magcargo, Ash studied the Pokemon. That weird Macey girl from the last tournament had a Magcargo. It's a fire type. Misty is going to try and beat Surge, I know . . .but I want her to lose. Only, she certainly is a better trainer than her sisters are. . .
The Magcargo was twice the average size. In fact, both It and the Graveler looked like they were pumped up on steroids. Lava bubbled furiously in Magcargo's ember-like eyes; Its entire body rippling with excitement.
"I'm endin'dis now," Surge took a threatening step toward his Graveler. "Self Destruct!"
"HARDEN!" Misty wailed fearfully. Magcargos thick crimson body glistened; instantly transforming into a protective polished hide. Graveler exploded within a bedazzling flash of neon; chunks of dirt and stone flogging downward, crashing and burring Magcargo beneath them.
Knowing Graveler was finished, Surge rapidly recalled It, then chucked his last Pokeball into the arena. A lively Jumpluff emerged. Its plump lavender body was actually quaking with suspense. It impatiently observed the pile of unmoving lava for any signs of consciousness.
Magcargo was laying very still. From what Ash could tell. . . Magcargo was finished. Poor, Misty. Stuck with a fire type.
"Magcargo?" Misty called gently, "come on, you can do this. GET UP! Please."
Magcargo quivered lightly at her soft words. Misty continued to urge It to rise. It was terribly weak, straining painfully to simply lift Its own head.
"I can't believe dat Harden worked," Surge snuffed, shrugging. "Okay, Jumpluff, let's finish dis thin' off. Tackle Attack!"
Magcargo finally scuffled into an upright position. Its breathing was horribly labored. There was no chance It could possibly dodge the oncoming tackle.
"Flamethrower!" Misty screeched, her eyes spilling with alarm. Magcargo grunted angrily towards the Jumpluff, obviously It did not want to lose to a grass type. It opened Its mouth and expired a sweltering blaze of flames. Jumpluff abandoned Its tackle; Its three cotton puffs spinning madly in attempt to raise Its body into the air. Jumpluff had reacted quickly, but not entirely quick enough. The Flamethrower scorched across Its whole bottom half, setting It on fire.
Did Misty win? Ash's mind went numb as he watched Jumpluff collapse to the flooring.
Surge licked his lips conclusively. "Jumpluff, Synthesis," although there was no real sunlight in the room, Jumpluff somehow made use of what It had available. It hungrily absorbed any glimmers of light.
Misty's gasped as Jumpluff bounced upward, almost perfectly rejuvenated.
"Finish this," shouted Surge. "Tackle!"
Misty ordered Magcargo to use another Flamethrower, but her words were futile. Jumpluff had already slammed into Its damaged opponent and knocked It senseless.
Misty withdrew Magcargo and pitched her last ball forward.
"Pokeball, go!" A sleek Murkrow began circling the arena, coal eyes concentrating fatefully upon Jumpluff.
Surge shook his head doubtfully. "This will be easy. Jumpluff, Sleep Power!"
Jumpluff's buoyant cotton puffs ruffled with sparkling power.
"Double Team!" Misty shouted anxiously. "You're much faster, Murkrow!"
Murkrow suddenly multiplied a dozen times. Each new Murkrow circling Jumpluff threateningly.
Jumpluff hesitated, withholding Its Sleep Power. Surge stomped his foot eagerly. "Jumpluff, c'mon! Start hitin' them wit' dat powder!"
Jumpluff twitched with frustration, but obeyed. It began striking one false Murkrow after the next with blusters of spores.
"Faint Attack, Murkrow!" Misty wailed, pointing hysterically at the baffled Jumpluff. Murkrow moved at breakneck speed! It suddenly vanished into the air, reappearing without any warning next to Jumpluff; and smashing harshly against It. Jumpluff cried out in painful surprise as It was sent hurtling across the arena. It crashed onto the flooring, wrestling weakly to once again gain footing.
"Synthesis!" Surge ordered again. Jumpluff was worn down, but complied at once beginning to absorb energy from the lights in the room.
"STEEL WING!" Misty roared, knowing that she could never win as long as Jumpluff continued to heal Itself. Murkrow's left wing shimmered suddenly as each individual feather became a sterling metal blade. Murkrow sliced Its opponent down with the brutal wing. Jumpluff was instantly knocked unconscious.
"NO!" Surge's cry was unavailing. Misty had triumphed; her Murkrow hardly breaking a sweat.
Surge grumbled loudly as he was pulled from the arena. Misty neither said nor did anything; she simply accepted the ropes which were lassoed around her throat. She was led easily from the battle field.
Misty's battle was over. Ash did not know where they had moved her now. She was gone . . . devoured by the masses of other faces.
"She's good," Morty remarked. Ash neglected his words. . . his mind began shutting down as a realization corroded his thoughts. I came all this way for her . . . and now I don't know if I'll ever even see her again . . . a lonely tear dripped from Ash's eye. If only I could just trade places with Gary for one night . . . he sniffled quietly, forcing himself regain mental composure. I came here to know that Misty is okay. I came here to save her. And that is what I am going to do.
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When a human loses the basic ability to breathe it usually results in a fleeting death. The outcome of losing great amounts of blood generally leaves one lifeless as well.
Brock had lost both.
How he ever managed to evade death that day is nothing short of a miracle.
As the Revivalists quickly mended his expiring body. . . Brock vividly recalled The Seers voice in his ear: "If you are determined to live, Brock, you will live."
Brock was hell-bent on survival.
Brock's throat injury was critical. He lay weakly on a hospital bed of some sort; his drowsy mind drifting in and out of consciousness. An intervenes tube had been inserted in his left forearm, and a machine was swiftly pumping new blood inside his fragile body. Brock had lost a tremendous amount of blood when the ropes had slashed his throat. Now he was receiving a blood transfusion . . . it was imperative for his very survival.
Brock battled to open his eyelids. It felt as though they were burdened by some unseen weight, all attempts to see clearly were failing. At last Brock managed to part one groggy eye. A shrouded man hovered over him, examining him.
Even their doctor's dress in black cloaks, Brock reflected vaguely. He was not really certain where he was . . . or what had happened. Did I really see Ash standing in the arena? What happened . . .? It's all so fuzzy.
The man leaning over him cleared his throat. "Your battling time has come."
Brock blinked, thousands of jumbled thoughts were rebounding inside his skull. He parted his lips in effort to speak, but the attempt to release any sound through his damaged throat resulted in agony. A pitiful whimper escaped him.
They actually think I can battle like this? Nervous sweat trickled into his eyes, inflaming them. I can't even speak . . . let alone sit up. How can I command a Pokemon!
Brock watched, defenseless, as the man injected a murky purple liquid inside his intravenous tube. The liquid burned as it surged into his narrow veins. The smoldering sensation quickly spread throughout his entire body . . . his heart began thundering rapidly. I'm on fire! I'm burning alive inside! His body racked violently, mouth dropping open, head wrenching left and right.
The sensitivity of Brock's throat went from excruciating to numb. "What have you done to me?" screaming was now painless.
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Misty's battle had been followed by a steady stream of others. Janine had been defeated by former Elite Four Master, Agatha. Misty's third sister, Violet, had lost to Giovanni of Viridian City. Falkner of Violet City had lost to Bugsy. Then Koga had a startling victory over the Elite Fours Will.
Currently Ash was witnessing the final moments of another fierce battle. This one had been raging for at least the past ten minutes. This battle was between Morty and Tracey.
One of the shrouded men had stabbed Morty with some kind of needle moments before his match began. Ash hadn't a clue as to what kind of drug it had been, but did it ever revitalize Morty! He had transformed from listless to hyper before Ash could even blink.
Ash was trembling form the suspense of the match. The intensity was full blown! Ash was frequently reminding himself just to breathe. I don't want either one of them to win. But Tracey sure seems out of his league . . Morty is so awesome! I don't even think he'll need two Pokemon to win.
Tracey's first Pokemon had been a Pidgeotto; who lost quickly to the Dewgong Morty had received.
Dewgong now stood face-to-face with Tracey's last Pokemon, an Oddish.
"Go, Dewgong, Ice Beam!" Morty ordered. Dewgong snarled wickedly as it blasted the Oddish into a polar nugget.
"Run, Oddish!" Tracey cried feebly, already knowing he had lost.
The match was over. Morty had won.
Tracey had a huge bandage wrapped tightly around his head. Dark circles consumed his spiritless eyes. Tracey had rolled the sleeves of his robe up to rest on his forearms. His arms were covered in rope burns and bruises . . . the beast did not make those marks, Ash shuddered, someone's been beating him.
A horrific sense of helplessness absorbed Ash. Why? Why is this happening? How can I save them all?
Morty was hastily shoved back into the seat next to Ash. Morty turned acutely to face him.
"Well, I won," Morty sighed, a glimpse of dread in his tone.
Ash frowned. "I guess we're in the same sinking boat."
"Yeah. . . hey!" Morty's pitch rose apprehensively. "Looks like Brock might be joining us," Morty motioned to the arena with his chin.
Tears of relief threatened to flood Ash's eyes. "Brock!" Ash exclaimed hopefully. "It's really Brock, Morty! And he's okay! Brock is okay!"
Morty loosened a genuine grin. "I actually thought Brock was a goner. But look at him, he looks just fine."
"Yeah, I. . ." Ash's reply dawdled off as he inspected Brock.
Brock had a thick bandage around his throat; but otherwise he appeared unscathed. He stood upright, jaw tensed. Brock's bronze complexion made the robe seem an unnaturally clean white.
Brock was studiously centering all of his attention upon the two pokeballs in his hands.
"He's a good trainer, huh?" Morty whispered his question.
Ash huffed seriously. "I honestly don't think that there is a single Pokemon that Brock is NOT an expert on."
"What?"
"He knows . . . everything." Ash had never before been more certain about any statement. Never once, in over four years, had Brock been at a loss for words about ANY of the hundreds of Pokemon they had encountered.
"Well," Morty muttered again. "Brock's got some tough competition."
Ash's eyes instantly darted to Brock's contender. "It's Blaine," he stammered. "I still think that Brock will-"
"You know what I overheard," Morty cut in. "I overheard The Seer say that all of the round one winners would be gathered to another meeting tomorrow. The Revivalist's are going to tell us some kind of-of prophecy. Our fate. Why the beast chose us. I wish I could concentrate here . . . maybe then I could figure some of this out. But you and I will have some questions answered, Ash."
"What! When did you-"
The Seer's wretched voice struck again: "BEGIN!"