AUTHORS NOTE: My deepest apologies that this is so late. The original draft of this chapter was 50 pages long. I edited my butt off and managed to cut it down to 36 pages. However, I still feel that 36 pages much too monstrous to post as one sole chapter. I have broken this chapter in half. I'm very sorry to have had to do that because I wanted to keep the story down to just two more chapters. The good news is that the next chapter is finished. I just have to go over it for type-o's and content errors – so it should be posted within a few days or less. And then, all that will be left is the epilogue (although it may be a really long epilogue, ehehehehe). Thank you all!
WARNING: This chapter contains some violent and gruesome content.
Chapter 45
Gary wished that he could hold his last breath for Misty. He wished that he could save it inside himself long enough to tell her that he loved her.
Gary Oak's wishes never did come true though. Not even the final wish of his life.
Untamed fear scratched at the back of his mind as his thoughts tumbled over one another. How did this happen to him? What was going to happen to him after he died? Where would he go? What would become of him, Gary Oak, once that other man invaded his body? He did not fear the physical pain, but the unknown? It petrified him.
Gary was not mourning the inevitable loss of his life. But he was most certainly grieving his regret. Why had he not told Misty when he had the chance? Why? Why? WHY? That very word grilled him like a physical torch, leaving throbbing burns throughout his mind.
Why had he worried so much about Ash's feelings? Why had his fear of rejection stilled his lips? Did he really believe that Misty would be better off with Ash? Why the hell had he convinced himself of that? Why had the words always escaped him when he gazed into her beautiful eyes . . .? Those stunning pools of jade - they soothed him without any effort at all. He needed to be with Misty now. He needed to lose himself in those eyes . . . he needed the tranquility that only she had ever been able to provide.
But, as with wishing, Gary Oak never got what he needed. The things that he wanted were acquired easily enough via charm and money . . . but deep pockets could not buy him true affection. A hefty trust fund never influenced a higher power to pay heed to his wishes.
Life was unpredictable - Gary knew that - and he should not have wasted his chances. He had been given many chances - more chances than he felt he was even worthy of. He had been granted a great deal of precious time with Misty. There were countless opportunities to confess his feelings. But, Gary Oak, the guy who never hesitates to say what's on his mind, failed to utter the most important words of his life.
Everyone had predicted a bright future for him, and everyone had been terribly wrong.
Gary had made many other mistakes in life; Misty was just the one which riddled him with the most guilt. He had treated people – especially Ash - terribly. His personal and professional lives had suffered all because he was scared of emotionally crashing. He had held back countless times when he should have charged forward. Misty was not the only person he had failed to be honest with about his feelings; there was also his Grandfather. Damn, but Gary could not even recall the last time he had told him that he loved him. Gary had never once told his Grandfather how sincerely grateful he was to him. His grandfather had cared for him, raised him, and put up with his spoiled attitude for all these years . . . ever since his parents had left.
His parents. They didn't even speak to him and his sister anymore. Did they even love him? Did they ever stop and think of him? Or were they simply too busy traveling the world to bother? What did his mother's voice sound like again? Did his father still have a moustache? Gary couldn't remember, and he would never know the answers to these questions. There were no do-overs in life, and he had long since ignored his second chances.
It was all over.
He had made his mistakes.
There was no turning back.
There was no escape.
Gary's world was numbed by silence now, and the callous darkness which encompassed him seemed endless. He felt as though he had no physical body, that he was a weightless form floating in an ebony abyss. His sense of time had been extinguished; as far as Gary could reason, he had been drifting throughout this nonexistent void for an eternity.
At first, he was quite certain that he was dead, and, it frustrated him to no end that - even in death - he was plagued by self-loathing and disappointment.
It was around this moment that Gary began to wonder if, perhaps, he really was not truly dead?
He started to feel a faint burning. The burning gradually intensified until Gary recognized it to be coming from his lungs. He realized now that (in some physical form) he was still holding that conclusive breath for Misty.
A familiar sound filtered into his ears . . . it was a muffled thudding noise. It sounded like it was coming from inside someplace.
It took him a few moments to understand that the thudding was from his own heart. His heart was still beating. His body had not given up on him, at least not yet.
The beating grew increasingly louder, and eventually he began to feel his cherished organ as it struggled to pump blood throughout his system.
His lungs were now screaming for air, but Gary could not aid them. An unbearable weight was upon his chest, crushing him, making the act of breathing impossible. It was as though the mass of all of his regrets had taken physical form and been slammed against him. He was desperate to feed his body air. His lungs were burning; exhausted for reasons he did not even know. He would not be able to go without oxygen for very long, and yet, he was hesitant to expire his final breath . . . he needed to try and keep it inside until he saw her again.
Gary strained to open his eyes; they fluttered, but refused to cooperate. They too felt insufferably heavy. Gary focused, willing every minuet energy particle in his body to congregate in his eye lids. He could not have strained his muscles harder had he been trying to lift an Onix.
There. His eyelids flickered open just a slit.
Gary instantly regretted it as white-hot light bore into his eyes. He felt as though he were glaring into a super nova, his retinas were ablaze with pain. His eyes were raw with sensitivity -like fresh flesh wounds, and the light was like alcohol dousing the cuts. If he had had the strength, Gary would have wailed horrendously loud!
As the smoldering light continued to invade him, Gary was faced with only a blur. He could not make out anything distinguishable. The light continued to sear, as though savagely trying to force him back into the darkness.
But Gary refused to blink; he did not want to return to that lonely ebony abyss. He kept his eyes wide open for an excruciating amount of time . . . until, slowly, the hazy shapes around him began to take evident forms. He could now identify the source of his grief: a light fixture was dangling overhead. As his eyes adjusted to the illumination the intensity of the glow faded. It was no super nova, merely an ordinary light bulb.
As he lay beneath the light he began to hear many muffled voices. One of these voices was all too familiar, and this voice boomed above the rest . . .
The Seer.
". . . Now, settle down everyone! Keep still and quiet! The Chosen One is stirring! Grand! Grand! Everyone focus your eyes here, we will start the ceremony soon!" Gary had never heard The Seer sound this excited before.
Gary's consciousness was threatening to plummet back towards the chasm of darkness . . . he still hadn't breathed and his lungs were about to combust.
He had to figure out why all of his other senses were unthawing, but his ability to breathe was gone?
Maybe something had happened to him which paralyzed his lungs? But what? Gary was not even certain of where he was right now. The last thing he remembered was . . .
. . . Oh no! The forest, the Pidgey . . . the Pokemon . . . and I named Him. The ceremony really is about to start! That means I really am going to die. I've got to try and move . . . I've got to breathe! I may not be able to save this breath for Misty, but if I can at least exhale again then there is a chance I can inhale another one for her. Gary tightened the muscles of his chest, struggling to force the air up his wind pipe. C'mon, Oak! DO THIS FOR MISTY!
" . . ahhh . . ."
Yes! It was weak, and unnoticed by The Seer, but Gary had done it. He'd gasped ever so faintly, expiring his old breath and feeding his lungs fresh air!
Why was he so exhausted? What had happened after he had named the legendary Pokemon? He just couldn't remember anything. It was infuriating! It was frustrating! He wanted to raise his head, but it would not comply at all. He was encompassed within mind-blowing agony. He had made so much progress . . . he was feeling again, seeing again, hearing again, and breathing again! He could not allow himself die freely for The Revivalists. He had to try something else!
Deciding that his head was certainly impossible to raise Gary instead decided to try and lift his right arm. His arm actually started to comply with his request and it struggled upward just a few centimeters. But then, to his great dismay, it stopped. His arm was unwillingly halted – weighed down by something. He tried again, this time to raise his right and then left, but both times his arms could only rise up just so high before they were restrained by something cold and metallic. Gary heard a clattering sound as he jerked his wrists about. Horrified, he realized that he was shackled down by chains. Although he could not raise his head, Gary did manage to tilt it to the side. His eyes adjusted just enough to see the restrains which were binding his limbs to (what appeared to be) the table where he lay.
Gary whimpered with alarm, his voice far too tiny for any ears to catch. He scanned his body and realized that his legs were also shackled to this high table. Furthermore, he noticed that he was dressed in strange clothing. An ancient-looking robe adorned his body, and it was quite different from the black slacks and sweater which he had previously worn. The robe was a silky regal blue with ruffled crimson trim. Although it looked fancy, Gary wrinkled his nose - the robe also emitted a peculiar odor. It was unlike anything he had ever smelled before, it was earthy . . . organic . . .
. . . whatever it was, he did NOT like it! Gary scuffled weakly against the restraints, battling in vain to loosen his binds.
What the hell? What am I wearing? What is that weird stench? Oh God, this is really it! Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I AM going to die!
His heart beat responded at once, trailing the panic in his mind. Gary glanced upward; The Seer was looming directly over him. The Seer was clothed in his usual dark robes, but he had fastened a flashy golden sash about his waist - Gary assumed it was a ceremonial garb. Clutched within The Seer's hand was a thin, polished knife. The knife had unidentifiable symbols carved into the sheen of the blade.
OH MY GOD! He is going to cut my wrists with THAT knife! I've got to get out of here! I've got to speak . . . why won't my lips move? What is wrong with me? I just don't seem to have the strength to do anything. This is my end.
Gary faintly allowed his head to fall to the other side, turning his face away from The Seer and his dreadful knife.
What the . . .?
Gary's eyes widened, uncontrollably soaking in the view before him. He had been so fixated on his shackles, The Seer, and the knife, that he had not bothered to study his surroundings. The backdrop to Gary's demise was a massive audience! He could not even make an adequate mental estimation as to how many people were in attendance - watching him now. From what he could tell, he was elevated on some sort of a high table, and this table was placed upon a stage. Below him were numerous Revivalists, more than he had ever seen. At least sixty or seventy of them lined the walls and corners of this auditorium-style room. Gary's eyesight was still relatively blurry, but he could also make out a few rows of – what seemed to be – other people. These people were kneeling on the ground before him. These people were dressed in white robes . . . they were . . .
. . . The trainers!
The trainers were also in attendance. All of their heads were lowered meekly, as though they had been forced to cower before him. Some of them were shouting, pleading with words that Gary could not comprehend. But each outburst was met with a quick shock from a Zapper. Eventually they were all forced to submit and kneel. Gary could not identify who was who from his vision impaired position.
Abruptly, Gary's attention was wrenched away from the helpless trainers. He felt something touch his chest – it was smooth and nearly weightless. He glanced up groggily; The Seer had placed an Ultra Ball on his chest. Gary held zero doubts about who was inside that Ultra Ball.
This was it. The Revivalists were ready to resurrect their master.
Gary shut his eyes, exhaling; longing for comfort . . .
. . . his mind granted him mercy . . . it brought him thoughts of her . . .
. . . he could still feel the heat of her fingertips on his face. Her final touch would forever be burnt into his skin . . . how desperately she had clung to him then. Her voice loving and soft . . . Misty had pleaded with him not to leave her. God, she was beautiful. He would lose himself in these memories . . . they would comfort him until . . .
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"Work faster, you morons!" Jessie screeched, her voice leaping to a nerve-grating octave. "There has to be SOMETHING in that closet we can use!"
Jessie had assumed the role of the lookout. She stood with her arms crossed anxiously in the corridor. There was a large supply closet to her left; James's ankles and Meowth's tail were peeking out from the door opening.
A bag of balloons was chucked towards her by one of the guys. "Watch it!" Jessie ducked; her face barely avoided being smacked.
"How 'bout dose?" Meowth's voice was muffled, he was clearly venturing deeply within the closet now.
"No, no, no," Jessie kicked the balloons back into the closet. "We promised Squirtle that we would give him a clear, obvious sign! A sign that he would recognize immediately if the worst should happen. Releasing balloons into the forest is too risky. They don't have enough range; the Pokemon might never see them!" Jessie paced, her hands were trembling from nerves. "LOOK HARDER!"
Jessie heard James and Meowth rummaging through the closet with even greater determination than before. Things were crashing and clanging every second.
The female Rocket sighed. She had assured Squirtle that she would give him a sign, only, when she had made that promise she never really thought that things would come to this.
Gary Oak was - literally – on his death bed this very moment. And Jessie was seriously starting to believe that the Revivalists were going to renege on freeing the captive trainers. Right now was a very good time for Squirtle's rescue squad to get their butts in here!
"James," Jessie growled. "Why don't you search some of the higher shelves! Stop rummaging around the floor. Let Meowth search the floor, he's smaller. You'll search twice the area in half the time."
"Okay, Jessie," came the wearied reply. She watched as James's feet shuffled into an upright position.
Jessie continued to pace. "I'll be dammed if those Revivalist's kill Oak before he's paid up! He owes us some major cash!"
Meowth's clawed hand appeared in the doorway; it was outstretched, holding a roll of yellow party streamers.
Jessie snatched them from his hand, and hurled them back into the closet at him.
"Ouch!" Meowth yelped. "What was dat for?"
"Those are CRAP!" Jessie blared, stomping her feet.
"How about dis?" Meowth tossed her a small lighter.
Jessie tucked that into her pocket . . . fire was a possibility . . . but it still wasn't what she had in mind (not that she really had any idea what it was she was hoping to find).
"Remember," Jessie struggled to relax her tone, she knew that James and Meowth were just as stressed out as she was. "We need to send off an undoubtable sign to Squirtle. Something HUGE, something flashy . . . something he will instantly associate as a sign from us. Right now the Revivalist's are too preoccupied with slaughtering our pay check to notice what we're up to. We MUST take advantaged of this NOW. Once those black shrouded lunatics start roaming the halls again we'll be totally screwed! We'll never be able to give Squirtle a sign! Squirtle needs to be in here saving the trainers ASAP! As much as I can't stand all those twerps, I . . . I don't want to see them hurt any more."
"Neither do I, Jessie," James admitted softly.
"Me neitha," Meowth added.
Jessie smiled to herself. Heck, when the good guys are out of commission, someone's got to take over their role . . . that is, as long as there is proper compensation at the end, of course.
"Hey, Jess," James sounded hopeful. He crawled out of the closet on his hands and knees. His hair was sticking up in every direction as though someone had vigorously rubbed a balloon across his scalp. His bright green eyes were wide with excitement, and he was proudly holding a large box in his hands. He looked like a kid who had just received his very first Pokemon.
Jessie suppressed a giggle. James almost looked . . . cute.
Almost.
"Look," James cheerfully handed her the box. Jessie raised it to her face, examining the lettering on the side.
"Fireworks," the word danced from her lips like a song.
She glanced upward, meeting James's eyes. He winked at her playfully - James didn't need to ask with words, he already knew that he'd found exactly what she wanted.
They shared a plotting grin.
Meowth was at their feet, his own eyes greedily scanning the box. "Are you guys thinkin' wat I'm thinkin'?"
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She should have loved Ash the way that she loved Gary. She should have, but she did not.
Misty wished she knew why she felt this way - if for no other reason than to have an explanation for Ash. She could not deny what was inside of her heart, and sooner or later she owed Ash the truth.
But how could she formulate an explanation for Ash when she did not have one to offer herself? She could not explain the feelings in her heart. But she knew that her heart belonged to Gary.
He alone possessed her devotion, and he would take it with him when he died. The Seer was leaning over him, knife in hand. Gary was going to die soon.
Misty cried quietly to herself, realizing that she and Gary were never meant to be. His brief presence in her life had been a mocking taste of a comfort that she would never know again. There was a special bond between them . . . one that none else could understand or feel. His mere presence embraced her within a cocoon of tranquility. She loved everything about him, she loved all of him.
Life was forcing her to continue on without him.
She would miss the way his brooding blue eyes challenged her . . . the way that his smile could melt her fears away . . . the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear. . . how his strong arms felt when they held her. She loved being in Gary's arms, it was like they had been made perfectly to fit around her.
All his life he had been misunderstood. But Misty understood him, and his very being was an ensnarement from which there was no release. But release was not something that Misty wanted.
Gary lived his life hidden behind unemotional walls - never allowing anyone inside. But, unbeknownst to either of them, she had passed through those walls. She was already inside and she wanted to remain there.
Misty realized that she might never know this feeling of completeness with anyone other than him. The thought caused a terrible shiver to race down her spine.
It was just too late. She loved him. She had never told him. He would never know how she felt. She would never know how he felt.
It was just too late.
Her eyes unwillingly absorbed the image before her: Gary lay helpless, shackled to a large table upon the stage before her. He had clearly been drugged for he was not in his right mind. He was not awake, but also not asleep. He seemed . . . lost someplace. Lost within an endless delirium. Every few moments he would stir groggily; his head would move faintly, his eyes would flutter. But he was certainly not conscious – at least, Misty prayed that he was not. She did not want him to be aware when the end came. She wanted his passing to be . . . peaceful.
A renewed flood of tears blurred her sight. She instantly reprimanded herself for her thoughts. She was giving up . . . she was giving up on him – and he had NEVER given up on her.
The Seer examined the knife carefully, his eyes darting back and forth between it and the Ultra ball he had previously placed on Gary's chest. The Seer's posture was stern, nervous . . . excited. It was going to happen soon.
Misty caressed Gary's smooth skin with her eyes. He was so pale, so drained – like a fading reflection of the Gary that she loved. Her eyes embraced him as he shivered feverishly; his mocha spikes were a tangled mess, most plastered to his forehead from sweat. A despairing wince skimmed his face; he looked as though he were being held hostage by a tragic nightmare. Gary's lips parted mutely and his warm breath stirred his bangs, causing his hair to rise and fall along with his chest.
Misty longed to go to him, to simply rest his head upon her lap, to stroke his fevered brow . . . to just be with him at the end . . .
. . . even now - as he lay doomed - Gary was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She was not ready to mourn her love for him. She was not ready to mourn him.
What would Gary say to her now? What would he have her do? What would he tell her?
"Be strong, Misty," Misty's head jolted upward, responding in shock to Ash's voice – these were the first words that Ash had spoken to her since Gary had been taken from the ballroom hours ago.
She glanced to her right where Ash was kneeling. He offered her a small smile which dissolved into a grimace. She and Ash were both kneeling in the second row of trainers from the stage.
The Revivalists had insisted that they all bear witness to their Master's resurrection. They said that being allowed to view the revival was a reward. But, to be certain that the trainers did not interrupt the ceremony they had shackled all of their ankles to a series of hooks on the floor.
The trainers could move their arms, but their legs were confined - forcing them to kneel with all of their weight upon their knees. At first, the kneeling had only been uncomfortable, but now (nearly forty five minutes later) Misty was in agony. Her robe was flimsy and provided little padding for her knees against the cold flooring. Her thighs were aching, and her ankles felt like mere toothpicks - ready to snap if she dared to shift her weight. The metal cuffs about her ankles were tight and cold; she could already feel an area on the top of her right foot becoming raw against the steel.
The front row had been reserved for the Elite Four trainers, and the rest of them were placed randomly in the next rows. She couldn't turn around to view the captives behind her, but she knew – aside from herself and Ash – that Richie, Jasmine, Sabrina, and Liza were also in this second row. None of them were speaking because the Revivalists had strongly discouraged them from any communication via the Zappers.
More than once Lance, Agatha, and Bruno had made a plea for Gary, or hurled an insult at the Revivalists. But each time, one of the (great many) Revivalists would rush at them, unleashing a mild electrocution. Bruno was kneeling diagonally in front of Misty, and she could see the places on his throat where the skin had been singed from the voltage. The presences of those burns were serving to keep the rest of them temporarily silent.
To Misty's left was Richie. The younger boy was trembling, his eyes squeezed tight shut. He was trying to block out his ruinous surroundings - he did not want to look up to the stage. He did not want to see Gary lying there defenselessly. It was horrifying! Richie's battered mind could not bear to witness Gary's death.
Misty peered at Ash again; his chestnut eyes were fixed grimly upon his vulnerable rival. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, his expression tightened with nausea as though he might become physically ill at any moment.
Ash sensed that Misty was looking at him, he returned her sorrowful gaze. Ash's face mirrored agony in its purest form, and it was heart-wrenching. Misty's breath hitched in her throat, she discerned that Ash was no more ready to let Gary go than she was. Ash remained silent for a string of seconds, but eventually joined her in a woeful sigh.
Misty was relieved that Ash was communicating with her again, no matter how limited the contact was.
After Gary had been taken from the ballroom Ash had kept to himself in a corner of the room. He looked desolate, terrified, and more confused than Misty had ever seen him before. Misty had desperately wanted to go to him – to comfort him. She knew that she should have gone to him and asked him to share his pain with her. But . . . she never did. She had kept her distance because she couldn't face him. She couldn't because she was afraid of what he might say. When she and Gary had parted ways her feelings for him had been obvious to everyone in the room. She might not have verbally confessed her feelings, but her eyes had been unable to hide the secret any longer. Ash knew her well enough to practically scan her thoughts - there was no way he had not seen it. And if she had approached him then he might have called her on her emotions . . . and what would she have done? This was not the place. This was not the time. She could not refute how she felt, but she was not yet ready to hear Ash's faithful voice break. She did not want to see his eyes widen with pain. She did NOT want to hurt him. She did love Ash but . . . not the same way that she loved Gary.
Misty sighed again, her thoughts had continued on this same endless loop since Gary had disappeared from that ballroom.
Upon the stage, The Seer was fiddling with the position of the Ultra ball on Gary's chest. The Seer obsessively nudged it a millimeter to the right, then to the left, as though striving for some perfect central position.
Misty shuddered, knowing that the Ultra ball possessed the evil beast Pokemon. How Gary had caught that monster was beyond anything Misty's imagination had the capacity to conjure. Where and how had he found it? How did he fight it? How did he keep from being killed in the process? How could he-
Her questions were disengaged as The Seer cleared his throat. Misty watched as he reached inside his robe, retrieving the oldest, most ratty scrap of paper Misty had ever seen.
"I have here the scroll of our history!" The Seer proclaimed, pompously holding the tattered paper above his head. "We have the dagger of our Master, the Chosen One, and the Miracle Pokemon – we are ready! We have strived for ages and now our efforts and sacrifices will be rewarded! When our Master returns he will grant us all everlasting life! REJOYCE!"
The Seer's words were met by thunderous applause and cheering. Misty flinched, wishing she could shield her ears from their blaring enthusiasm.
"I welcome you all – even you, good trainers – to this historic day! Soon we Revivalists will be immortal, and then you will all be set free. Be grateful that you are bearing witness to such an unprecedented event!"
Bruno huffed loudly with objection, but - fortunately for him -none of the Revivalists noticed.
The Seer continued his (clearly rehearsed) speech. "This is the moment. We SHALL BEGIN! Derrick, dim the lights and let the natural glow of our sacred candles illuminate the Masters path."
Obediently, all of the florescent bulbs were dimmed. Each one of the Revivalists framing the room pulled a candle from their pocket. In a matter of seconds the room was cast in an eerie twilight of only candles flickering. The shadows they emitted danced menacingly along the walls.
"I summon all of your eyes to our Chosen One. Look upon him, his face will soon be that of our Master! Look upon his robes, my friends, for these are the very robes our Master died in so many ages ago. These robes have been preserved and untouched – waiting to clothe the body of the Chosen One!"
Ash gagged next to her, stifling a mouthful of bile. "Oh my God," Ash sniveled. "Someone died in those robes! That is disgusting!"
Misty hushed Ash with firm glance – she knew he was close to freaking out. But Ash had to mange his wits in order to keep from being harmed.
"On this tragic night, centuries ago, our ancestors witnessed the passing of our leader in arms, or protector, our great and wise Master!" The Seer genuinely sounded emotional as he continued. "It was with horrible sadness that our ancestors watched as the Miracle Pokemon – the Pokemon powerful enough to cure any ailment and raise the dead – failed to save the Master's life. The date was unparalleled in its degree of grief. Our ancestors nearly lost faith and hope in our cause, but, then the Pokemon presented the past Seer with this very scroll. This scroll promised that hope was not to be forgotten! The Pokemon had etched words into the paper- words which declared that – though it could not save the Master's physical body - it had managed to preserve his soul. The scroll foretold that in THIS current year a host would walk the world, a host worthy! The challenge presented to us was: to find this person and to make them prove themselves WORTHY. Worthy was defined as the greatest Pokemon trainer – one capable of taming the Miracle Beast Itself! With this worthy chosen body, our Master's restless spirit could be freed; and he would return to us once again. He would lead the Revivalists in our quest for the Loyalty of Legendaries! But," The Seer's voice erupted with triumph. "The scroll decrees that our Master will use his Pokemon's powers to grant us the everlasting life we deserve! It is really happening, my loyal friends! This scroll includes detailed, step-by-step instructions in regards to the Revival ceremony, instructions which I will now commence with!"
The Revivalist's clapped even louder than before, praising The Seer with their high-pitched ovations. The Seer motioned with his hands for them to calm, and, dutifully they did.
A tomb-like silence engulfed the room now; all eyes were glued to The Seer as he gently placed a hand on Gary's shoulder, patting him kindly. "Thank you, young man. I promise you that your name will be honored forever in our history."
Gary's head rolled woozily towards The Seer, he moaned faintly - his voice barely finding Misty's ears. Misty held her breath, begging that Gary be too disoriented to understand his situation. If he realized what was about to happen to him . . . oh God, the thought of it . . . of how frightened he would be . . . the thought of it was killing her. She could not stand to imagine him being consciously aware right now.
Misty unexpectedly felt Ash's hand on hers; his fingers gently grazed her knuckles. Misty exhaled, accepting his hand. He fully interlocked his fingers with hers. She desperately needed his comfort - it was the only thing to keep her from screaming.The Seer clapped his hands, and two Revivalists came rushing towards Gary. They were each holding a finely sculpted glass cylinder. The Revivalist's positioned the cylinders on the stage floor - one on either side of Gary. The cylinders were below him . . . on a perfect vertical line from his hands.
Next, the two Revivalists stood; they unclasped the restraints which held Gary's wrists and moved his arms so that they dangled limply from the sides of the table. His hands hung just inches above the cylinders. Gary groaned, but was much too weak to control his own limbs.
The Seer inspected the positioning of Gary's hands in proximity to the cylinders. As The Seer studied him, Gary raised his head. His glossy blue eyes were exhausted; he blinked several times, straining as though trying to peer through a dense fog.
The Seer stared at him and Gary stared back.
"W-wa-it . . ." Gary rasped, barely audible through his fatigue.
"Oh my God," Misty wheezed. Dread twisted inside her chest, constricting her lungs until she could no longer breathe.
Gary was aware . . . he was conscious!
Ash tightened his hold on her hand, as he attempted to choke down a desperate sob.
The Seer made a gesture and Derrick ran eagerly to the table. Derrick stood at the end of the table, over Gary's head. He roughly grabbed Gary's shoulders and slammed him back down against the table.
Gary cried out in startled pain, but Derrick only pressed him harder - preventing him from lifting his head or even squirming at all.
Moving like a robot The Seer lifted Gary's left wrist in his hand. The Seer held the knife above Gary's wrist and nodded conclusively as the blade glistened beneath the candlelight. "Out with your life, let your essence run free, may your soul be spared from strife . . . and your body to our Masters decree!"
"No," Ash shot brashly. He suddenly did not give a damn about the presence of the Zappers. "DON'T!"
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"PIDGEY!"
Pikachu and Charizard nearly jumped out of their skins! The Pidgey had completely caught them off guard. It had reappeared without warning, nearly blinding them with a flash of neon pink.
Squirtle, Pidgeot, Bulbasaur, Chikorita, Blastoise, Nidoking, and Arcanine were instantly on the scene, forming an impatient circle around the Pidgey.
The Pidgey looked awfully stressed! There were feathers missing on Its back and Its small beak seemed dark, as thought it had been charred by something.
Pikachu immediately grabbed the Pidgey by Its wings, and shook it forcefully. "PIKA! PIKA, PI!" The game was up! They all knew that It really was NOT a Pidgey, and Pikachu DEMANDED to know what in the world It really WAS!
The Pidgey nodded, confirming Piakchu's words. "You are correct, Pikachu. I am not a Pidgey."
Piakchu and the other Pokemon squealed in surprise! The Pidgey was talking to them . . . but Its beak was not moving . . . they were hearing its tiny voice inside of their minds.
Charizard snorted in frustration, scratching at his ear holes. He did not enjoy someone else's thoughts inside of his head.
"I am deeply sorry for my deception, friends. But, if I had revealed my true self then I would have only endangered your brave mission further. By disguising my identity I was able to place a mental barrier around you. Up until now your presence has been invisible to The Revivalists and their Legendary. But, my strength is waning; I can no longer shield you all. Come," The Pidgey gestured in the direction of the underground base. "Time is truly of the essence, my friends. I have no further time to explain myself to you. You MUST continue to trust me! The situation has suddenly become grave beyond our worst fears. We need to go-"
The 'Pidgey's' words were halted as a deafening noise shrieked in the distance. The sound was like that of a dozen kettles steaming and boiling over at once. The whistling was frantic – it was painful inside of Pikachu's ears. The whistling quickly transformed into an ear-shattering series of explosions. The explosions were followed by a crackling static.
"PIKA!" There, in the distance, were countless bursts of crimson and scarlet lights– fireworks!
The blinding lights were intensified by the dark evening sky. As the red lights fizzled into the night, Pikachu could make out a distinct pattern in the flashes. The fireworks took on the clear shape of a letter T.
The red fireworks were instantaneously followed by a series of lavender and blue ones. There, before the Pokemon, were the rapidly dissolving letters T R.
Team Rocket had seared their trademark into the heavens.
That was the sign! Team Rocket was calling for help – the 'Pidgey's' words had been confirmed – the worst was upon them now.
The 'Pidgey' darted upward, signaling them all to move forward. "Hurry, Pokemon! You must hurry! The ceremony is being held in the heart of the Revivalist's base. It will take you some time to reach it, but, do hurry! Half of you must enter through the tunnels dug by the Sandslash's and Shandshrew's- and those of you who can fly should drop as many Pokeballs as possible through the smoke pipe. The pipe is on the north most end of the base. Now, go, and do make haste! Your trainer's lives are dangling in uncertainty. . . I will teleport myself to the bases center now. I will need your help. I will wait for you there and do my part to stall for time. GO NOW! HURRY! HURRY!"
Just as quickly had It appeared did the 'Pidgey' vanish in a blinding swirl of pink.
The Pokemon were already charging towards the tunnel which lead into the Revivalists basement. Squirtle was boldly leading the stampede – he was scrambling faster than Pikachu had ever seen him move before.
Blastoise and Pikachu shared a grave nod. Pikachu narrowed his eyes as Blastoise picked him up, setting the small electric mouse on his shoulders. They would charge in together.
As the tunnel opening yawned before them, Pikachu took a fleeting glance backward into the forest. He silently hoped that the flock of Pidgey's he had sent after Professor Oak had been successful.
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Misty's shock was
nothing short of a self-induced pain killer. Her body mercifully
became physically, mentally, and emotionally stunned. The stun was
instant, it was blunt, and it was welcomed.
Had her senses not detached themselves, then what she witnessed might have destroyed her right then and there.
Misty saw it all happening before her, but she was unable to feel the severity through her sedated nerves.
She only watched – her eyes wide and blank.
The Seer brutally stabbed the knife into Gary's wrist. There was a distinct squishing noise as the blade plunged deep into his flesh. The noise was followed by a juicy snapping sound.
The Seer commenced to deepen the cut. He did not slash horizontally across Gary's wrist; instead he drove the blade vertically - up the length of Gary's forearm. The sound . . . it was unlike anything Misty had heard before . . . like thick moist fabric being torn.
The Seer sliced Gary's skin easily and thoughtlessly – as though he were carving a holiday roast. Gary's flesh pealed back exposing raw, crude shades of gore. Shreds of skin and veins clung together in stringy, sticky webs.
It was not until The Seer drew the blade from his arm, did Misty see the blood. At first, the blood began squirting upward. It created a tiny jet of crimson as the artery panicked. Gary's artery was struggling in vain to seal the fatal wound. But it was far too severe and accurate a cut – it would never clot itself.
The Seer was unaffected by this, and quickly directed Gary's wrist downward. At this new angle the blood would run in a stream into the cylinder.
The blood . . . it swirled with every hue of red . . . it gushed with scarlet, it flooded with cherry, it poured ruby, it drizzled with burgundy . . .
The shades of crimson merged together in a gory liquid mosaic; fleeing from Gary's body like it were suddenly freed from a lifelong enslavement.
It was thick like strawberry syrup, oozing richly down the length of his arm, dribbling between his trembling fingertips . . . dripping . . . down . . .
. . . down . . .
. . . down . . .
. . . the cylinder was filling rapidly.
Gary cried out pitifully, utterly helpless beneath Derrick's death-grip. The color was draining from his face in tempo with the blood from his arm.
Gary's pain-filled sobs only caused Derrick to reaffirm his dominance. The Revivalist shook him, punishing him beneath his weight.
Gary's eyes were lulling shut; the tremors which racked him were calming. His heart was slowly beating more faintly as it weakened. Misty was certain that she could feel his heart failing; it was almost as though their hearts were beating together . . . bleeding and dying together.
It was now that the shock abandoned her; and realization slammed her like a wrecking ball. Misty wailed raucously, jerking free from Ash's grasp. She began frantically clawing at the shackles on her ankles, digging her fingers into the metal! Misty was desperate to tear herself free from the bonds! SHE HAD TO GET TO GARY!
The Revivalists were ignoring Misty as she continued to scream and mutilate her owns hands against the metal. The Revivalists knew that her escape attempts were futile. Besides, they were immersed in watching as The Seer inflicted an identical cut to Gary's other arm.
Gary's fading whimpers resounded inside of Misty's head like a gunshot. She could hear him . . . she could hear his breathing as he trembled. His voice was so faint, so terrified . . . like a child's voice . . . GOD NO! He was choking, gasping, trying only to breathe!
". . . M-is. .t . .y. . ."
Misty eyes snapped open. She screeched louder, her throat straining beneath the sheer volume of her cries!
Gary had called her name. Misty was certain of it.
She wailed! She screamed! She shrieked until she had no more sound left inside her! Her body was vigorously pumping blood to her face in effort to keep her from fainting. Misty yelped, scratching frantically at the restraints - she scraped her nails into the surface, jabbing repeatedly against the iron hinge of the cuff. She felt two of her nails snap, tearing a chunk of her fingertip along with them. One nail bent backward, another nail bent forward driving deeply into the flesh of her palm. When the hinge refused to respond, she seized the chains which secured her to the floor. She yanked at them recklessly!
DAMN, THEY WONT BUDGE! THEY AREN'T BREAKING!
Ash was also tugging violently on his restraints. In front of her, Bruno was also wrestling against his braces – as were all of the trainers. Everyone wanted to help Gary, but none of them battled with vigor parallel to Misty's.
Through her own screams Misty heard Brock cussing from someplace behind her. Lance was hurling warnings at The Seer, and Koga was chucking threats faster than he threw punches. The trainer's shouts and efforts were only tolerated for a moment more. The Revivalist's finally had heard enough!
Turbulent electric sparks igniting in the air. The trainers were screaming in agony now. Burning flesh, jolting nerves, and singeing hair encompassed them. Misty wheezed desperately - the air had been zapped from her lungs. She felt as though someone had slammed a burning mallet onto her chest. Misty buckled over, her face crashing into the floor. Electric currents raced through her body, paralyzing her. Her lungs were petrified from the shock. She actually smelled the smoke as it fizzled in her hair.
She had been nailed by a Zapper – HARD!
Trainers were collapsing around her like dead weight. Most of them lay motionless.
The commotion caused by the trainers was already silenced. The Revivalist's had wanted the situation under control quickly and had succeeded.
Misty's wits and strength returned to her at a Slowpokes pace, but, eventually she was able to climb back upon her knees. Several trainers around her were also stirring; some had also retained an upright position. The Seer shook a warning finger at them, explaining that the next outburst would meet with a fatal voltage.
Ash was still crumpled and unconscious on the ground next to her. Apparently he had received a much more powerful jolt from the Zappers than she had. He didn't look good, but he was breathing, which was more than she could say for . . .
Misty's eyes instantly sought out Gary. She clenched her jaw painfully to keep from bawling again.
Gary looked . . . still.
Derrick had released him, but Gary wasn't trying to sit up. His arms dangled limply over the edges of the table. Blood was still streaming downward into the nearly filled cylinders; but it was not gushing as it had been. It was just trickling . . . trickling mournfully like the tears down her face. Gary's skin looked as though it had been bleached; only his lips seemed to hold any pigment at all. Misty watched as his lips quivered, a shallow breath escaping from them. He was still alive.
The Seer placed a hand on Gary's shoulder again. "Child," he almost sounded affectionate, "before you embark on eternal rest, you must, with your final breath, RELEASE THE POKEMON!"
Gary stirred, responding at once to The Seer's words as though compelled to do so. He was far too weak to verbalize, thus he merely cast a dimming eye upon the Ultra ball. He exhaled and his head dropped conclusively to the side. His final breath had expired from his body.
"No . . . no . . ."Misty sobbed, uselessly. She buried her face in her bleeding hands.
In unison with Gary's breath the Ultra ball exploded in a brilliant, blinding display of light. As the scarlet radiance faded the monster was at last revealed.
Misty bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. The demonic image that appeared before her was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was truly a creature from a hellish nightmare. When it had abducted her she had never seen Its face. It had assaulted her from behind and knocked her senseless with Its sweltering breath.
THE POKEMON, THE MONSTER, IT'S HERE!
It was on the stage – standing boldly before them all. It had gone to seemingly great lengths to hide Its face from their eyes, but now It seemed proud to sneer before them. It was hideous. It was terrible. At first Misty though It was a huge feline with a coat of sheer thorns. She forced her eyes to take a second glance and noted distinct canine and bird-like features. Misty couldn't tell exactly what It was supposed to be, but she was certain that the dark horns on Its head rivaled even the grandest Tauros.
The thing was hunched over Gary's motionless frame. It was staring at his body attentively and panting. Steaming drool dripped from Its chin and splattered on Gary's chest.
The room was conquered by gasping. Every trainer and every Revivalist was stunned by Its ferocious façade. Misty even noticed Derrick stagger a few feet away from the creature. Only The Seer was not taken aback by the Pokemon's gruesome appearance. The Seer quickly bowed before the Pokemon, the other Revivalists shook themselves from their gaping and mimicked his submissive action. The Pokemon merely tilted Its head with mild interest.
"Oh, great, most powerful, Legendary Miracle Pokemon! We, your humble servants, the Revivalists of your Master, bid you welcome! You, wise one, have selected a most worthy Chosen One! Oak is a fine host. You are brilliant and wondrous beyond our meager human knowledge! We have waited so long for this day – the return of the Master. Welcome! WELCOME!"
On the floor next to her Ash began to awaken. He mumbled softly, unclear as to what was going on around him. Misty reached out to him with firm gentleness, signaling him to keep quiet. She grabbed his left shoulder and helped him struggle back to his knees. When he saw the creature he was quickly shocked back to reality.
Ash stared at The Pokemon fearlessly. He and The Seer were the only ones present who did not have an adverse reaction to Its appearance. Misty watched as Ash's eyes drifted from the Pokemon toward Gary's lifeless body. Ash made no effort to brush away the tears which fell.
"It should have been me . . ." he sighed, voice too strained from emotion to cry anymore.
"Don't say that," Misty breathed. Tears blurred her vision until the beast was a mere haze of horns, fangs, and barbed fur.
Gary couldn't have died. This can't be really happening. There is just no way. Maybe he's faking? Or maybe this is a mistake? He could have just fainted.
Misty's thoughts seemed to lose sensation; they drifted in and out of her head like artic winds. Her mind was utterly shutting down again in order to survive the emotional misery.
The Seer was still praising the Pokemon. "Go, on," he gestured towards Gary. "REVIVE OUR MASTER!"
The Pokemon lowered Its massive head over Gary and inhaled. It's breath was longwinded, deep, and seemed to cause the entire room to tremble. As It inhaled It seemed to suck an untainted light from Gary's body. Next, the Pokemon exhaled a dense fog. The fog oozed inside of Gary's nose, ears, and parted lips - seeping inside him like noxious smog.
The Seer squealed excitedly, leaping upward and clapping his hands. "Oh, look! The Master is coming!" The other Revivalist's were in such a state of suspense they could barley move.
The Seer rushed to the table, unclasping the remaining shackles on Gary's body. The Seer stood over the table watching with unbearable anticipation.
The Seer waited and watched . . . and waited . . . and . . . watched . . . and . . .
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AUTHORS NOTE: I am no longer allowed to include individual reviewer 'thank you's' in my stories. Fan Fiction has made this dreadful rule official. I am extremely saddened by this because I LOVE writing to you all and responding to your reviews. I know that I can still send private replies to other members . . . but I also want to thank my anonymous reviewers. I am going to look into the rules regarding posting my 'thank you's' in my user profile. Please know that all of your reviews are INCREDIBLY encouraging to me! I appreciate all of them and they have totally made my day! You make me continue writing. The epilogue is going to be VERY hard for me to write. I could REALLY use your encouragement now more than ever. If you have enjoyed this story at all: please review and help me gather the wits to end it. The epilogue is all I have left to write since the next chapter is already done. I start getting a little emotional when I try to sit down and write it. So far have been unable to write more than a sentence. I'm attached to this fic, what can I say! Help me! Next chapter will be up in a few days. I wub you all! Maia