There were many roads that led out of Paradise and trailed off into the countryside. As densely packed as the mountains were, wagon wheels and industrious feet had packed down numerous routes through the wide ranges and to other parts of the Mist Continent. Even with an ocean of white covering the trails, there were still solemn markers every hundred feet to guide travelers along the now-invisible roads.
One such road followed out the central edge of Redland District and traced a level path through the narrow valleys between the foothills. If one followed it for long enough, they'd find that it went as far as the southern face of the northern mountains, curving up the side a ways before looping back down and connecting with some other vein closer to town. This particular road was most likely taken by travelers or adventurers who had business in the treacherous heights of some of the most dangerous peaks in the world. There wasn't much point to the path otherwise.
However, once upon a time, a wealthy guildmaster decided to have a house built along the furthest point of the road. The Simisear wanted a summer home up in the hills, far from all the hustle and bustle of the kingdom-somewhere he could look down over the blooming meadows that came in the warmer months and view all of Paradise from afar.
That Simisear was dead. They had made much of their money peddling illegal rations to the citizens of Paradise, so when the Matriarch's reckoning finally came, they ended up being killed in the crossfire of The Family's collapse. With the magnitude of that event, the city would have its hands tied for a long time. It'd be months before anyone noticed that the owner of this distant property had perished, leaving it abandoned on paper.
That made it all the easier to fill it up with Shardurr's worst.
It was a house of vanity, to be sure. The Simisear's gaudy tastes reminded Vallion of the artistry that covered the capitol building. Wide arches with flat, militaristic geometry, evoking harsh shadows from the hearth in the center of the den. The place was painted a stark reddish brown, and the walls had been perfectly cut and placed to make that color a flawless plane. Being a summer home, it was admittedly more spacious than you would want in the dead of winter, though the amount of bodies that were crammed into the space made up for it.
Every kind of lowlife you could ever imagine had come to Chenza's feast. There were many high-ranking Shardurr present, like that Turtonator who ran the tavern, but prior members of The Family made up a majority of the patrons. Chenza liked to call them Shardurr loyalists, despite the fact that they were mostly turncoats who wanted to edge in on the winning side. The gathering was meant to seduce them in particular, and by the looks of it, was performing that task with flying colors.
Uproars of laughter filled the abandoned manor. Shouting fights and petty squabbles came and went on the labels of expensive wines. A strange kind of camaraderie drifted through the halls and from room to room. Those who were once enemies had now united like kindred spirits. For their own selfish benefits, mostly, but sharing was a kind gesture only once they had theirs. And all who joined arms and sang under this banner, sang for the Weavile with burning eyes.
"You're not even thirsty?" Chenza had said to the Serperior with a mocking tone. "What'd we even do this shit for if you're not gonna celebrate?"
"I don't typically drink," answered Vallion, eyes shifting towards a rowdy scene near the raging hearth.
"So? What's your problem, Bright-eyes? Scared you're gonna lose control and bust someone's head in? That Simisear wasn't even keeping any hard stuff! You could stand a few glasses at the least. Hell, maybe you'd even figure out how to get that stick out of your ass."
Vallion exhaled through his nose. "I'll think about it."
"No, that's not it. The point is to not think at all," said the Weavile with a knock to her own head crest. "What is it with you and morality? Just don't let anyone step on your metaphorical toes and get away with it while I'm trying to build my image. We're supposed to be on top, remember? These leeches ought to know their place."
In spite of all the commotion, Vallion still felt more at ease once Chenza finally left. He couldn't quite forget that harrowing look that was plastered all over her face during the fight with the Matriarch's sons. Pokemon shouldn't have eyes like that. Not even the most feral of wildlings took that much joy in killing, and Vallion had known more than a few in his time.
Oh Xerneas. Maybe he did need a drink.
The Serperior made his way down a staircase with tapering width, squeezing past a Nidoking and a Tsareena that seemed to be getting too friendly. He went down into the den where every couch, seat, and corner was already taken or partially destroyed. Then into the kitchen, where the alcohol was still packed in snow rather than left out to be infected with three different kinds of backwash.
Sterile ceramic tiling and a snow-covered skylight were the first things one would see upon entering the kitchen. A large marble countertop was filled to the brim with all manner of dishes-every last bit of it taken from one of The Family's less profitable stockpiles. The less savory, more carnivorous meals Vallion forced himself to ignore, reaching past an equally repulsive and voracious Drapion to take a bottle of red wine for himself.
Just after he retracted his vine, a Zoroark slipped around him and swiped the same kind of bottle. The dark type regarded him with what seemed to be a friendly smile. Seemed to be, anyway.
"Well! If it isn't the one the knife bitch calls Bright-eyes, in the flesh. You're looking...glum as ever. You really do look like that all the time, huh?"
"You're not in a disguise," he pointed out. "Shouldn't you be worried? Some of your former colleagues are here."
The Zoroark's eyes narrowed as his smile widened. "You talkin' about these pokemon? Tch! Nothing but a bunch of scum, ready to suck up to Chenza for even a cut of her glory! These cowards don't care who I am. I'm so confident they're pussies that I'd sleep with my door unlocked and a knife on my bedside table. Anyways, I'm getting this to Freak."
Vallion followed, stabbing a sharpened vine into the end of the cork and wrenching it free along the way. "So Freak is here, then? I haven't seen him around, though that's not entirely surprising. I never seem to see him first."
"Weird how quiet he flies, ain't it? The sneaky wretch."
The Simisear's old bedroom was a lovely place, which was probably why the Swellow had tried to hide away in it. Freak wasn't entirely alone, what with the laws of diffusion pushing guests further and further from the rampage that was the room around the hearth. It was clear that the late guildmaster had a bed built for more than just himself, and the gilded decor had the intentions of being impressive to any prospective suitors. Now, a damp Frillish was using his bed to sleep off two glasses of ale and a discolored crime lord was nesting on his dresser.
"You're welcome, asshole." Zoroark slammed the wine down on the mahogany with a grin, let that sound resonate for a while, then finally poured it into a bowl for the Swellow to drink from. That was what friendly looked like to him, wasn't it?
Freak regarded the ruby-colored liquid with a sidelong glare. "This better not be poison. Or swill." Dipping his beak in and throwing his head back a few times, the Swellow's face went sour. "It's almost swill. Good enough, I suppose."
"You think they didn't all take the good shit in the first five minutes? Come on, you're lucky I even got you this." The dark type leaned hard into the cabinet and stole a swig for himself.
Vallion had just started on his bottle. It felt rather unceremonious to be drinking wine straight from the source rather than from a glass, but most of the glasses had already been broken or lost in the crowd by now. The pungent-sweet liquid wasn't particularly impressive, either, but hopefully it would take the edge off.
"I'm guessing Chenza gave you grief about hiding away on the sidelines, too?" Vallion eventually asked.
The Swellow grunted his affirmation. "It's not our job to make a show for these fools. Brute has already thrown enough pokemon into that hearth tonight to make our point clear. To be honest, I much would've rather stayed in my nest than come to a joke like this. I haven't quite...recovered yet."
"That's what the alcohol's for!" said Zoroark.
"If it ever decides to do its one damn job." Another four beak-fulls slid down his throat, desperate to wash away the nerves.
Vallion hummed. "Though I suppose it's fairly obvious in hindsight, I'm still a little surprised that you turned out to be one of the Matriarch's brood. I...didn't think anyone could hate their mother with such..."
"Vigor?" the Swellow suggested. "Passion? Malice? Oh, the fact that she was my mother made it all the more easy to hate. She would claim that it was out of the mercy in her heart that she did not break my neck as soon as I was hatched, like she does with the females. At times I wondered if I would've been better off sharing the fate of my sisters. Make no mistake, Serperior. Zoroark was the only passable thing to have come from my childhood."
The dark type snickered. "Aw! You're gonna make me blush!"
"Shut up!" Freak snapped his beak at him, then took another three swigs of wine for the effort. "It was better that I lived. The Hollow rewarded me for my faith and devotion with a vision of the future. In that glimpse into what would-be, I saw the burning of that cabin on the outskirts of Paradise. I heard the dying calls of my brothers. I felt my mother's crushed spine inside my talons. And in the heat of vengeance, as my heart swelled and my lungs burst, I saw a Weavile in the burning light beckoning to me." The Swellow's head started to sway. "It wasn't long before Shardurr conquered West District. The Hollow twisted the strings of fate and led me to Chenza on the back of a suicide mission my mother had arranged. Oh, but Mandibuzz was much, much too late."
Vallion was...unsure of what to say. He gave an affirmative hum and took another drink, hoping that would be enough to move on from the subject.
"Serperior, I envy you. Even though you've come to Paradise on nothing but a grudge, I have yet to see anything faze you. You don't even care for the shows of power that Brute lives for. It must be nice to live so freely. I pray that I'll be able to join you in that mindset from this point on."
"Well I have a wife," he replied. "I'm not exactly without worry. I have a home to return to elsewhere."
"...Ah." Freak had another two gulps for good measure. "Right. I forgot. That's what the grudge is about. I'm trying to compliment your composure."
"You couldn't compliment the broad side of a whore!" cried Zoroark.
The Swellow shot his old friend a glare. "I'll compliment my wing upside your head if you don't shut the hell up."
Vallion drank deep into his bottle and sighed the sickly sweet scent. "I'll leave you to that I guess. Just remember to watch your injuries until you're sober again."
Back in the kitchen, the Serperior hatched something of an idea, and went about rummaging through the cupboards for some kind of container. Most of the place had already been ransacked for anything valuable or fun to destroy, but much of the mundane was merely shoved to the side. For instance, the crowd of ruffians ignored a polished wooden box with an interlocking lid which was actually quite nice. And also was exactly what he was looking for.
"Didn't take you to be much of a petty thief, eh Bright-eyes?"
His nickname came without the usual malice that Chenza liked to throw into her voice. Linoone sat on his haunches, swaying slightly with the none-too subtle smell of alcohol on his breath. There was a dumb grin stuck to his face.
"Ah," Vallion started to say, setting his bottle aside. "Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about what you were talking about earlier. What kind of food here do you think your kids would like?"
"Huh? Oh, the littlest munchkin is obsessed with sourdough for some reason, but the others go nuts over anything sweet. Listen, Bright-eyes, there's somethin' I gotta say. You've really helped me out over this last month, you know."
The Serperior was already leaned over the side of the counter, box held in one vine while his other went scavenging through the messy arrangement. "Have I, now?"
"I know it sounds stupid. It is, yeah? I get it." Linoone tapped a claw to the side of his head like a punch. "That don't really make it any less true. You made me feel like a damn wet rag, gotta say. You know when you beat back those assholes back then? Well you were right, and I ain't let them catch me since! I ain't let anyone catch me, or put up with any shit! And all these messes you're causin' are making me a fortune from the whisperin' in my sleep!"
"Is this something you should be talking about in public while inebriated?"
His drunken grin grew. "I even fought in the raid! I'm changin' for the better, I tell ya!"
That actually caught Vallion off-guard, enough that he dropped the cinnamon roll he was holding before it could make it to the box. "What? You mean in the main body of it? Are you serious?"
"I mean, I didn't hurt anybody or nothin'. I just smashed some glass in and let guards chase me in circles for a spin. But I was there! I ain't even had someone try to step on me since that night! That's some new respect! You really made a difference with me!"
"...I think you should probably be careful with what you're doing for respect," Vallion said, closing the lid of the wooden container with a satisfying thud. "Anyway, here. You said that you probably weren't going to get to the food in time to save any of it, and now that you got drunk and forgot, I've done it for you." He handed Linoone the box.
At first, Linoone looked like he didn't know what to do with it. His eyes fell flat on the container, and then lit up all at once. "Oh! When I said I would- That I'd take something home for the- Oh come on, pal! You don't gotta be like that! I'm already all opened up and raw! I don't deserve a friend like you!"
Vallion held him back with a vine. "Okay, don't go blubbering on me now. We're hardly friends. I was thinking of your kids, that's all."
"You should meet 'em sometime! I could have the wife cook up a nice dinner, and then maybe I could clean the place up a bit. Whattdya say? Think you got the time, what with your lofty position under Chenza's ass?"
"Linoone, honestly," Vallion kept his voice low, which wasn't too hard considering the noise. "Now you're just tempting fate. We're only meant to be associates. Anything more and it gets dicey for the both of us."
Linoone's frown got wider. "Don't mind the booze, I'm very serious about this. I gotta repay you somehow for stringin' me up by my britches. It's just gonna nag at me until I do somethin' about it."
"I'll-" the Serperior huffed. "I'll think about it, alright? Just calm down. Alcohol really doesn't help you running your mouth."
Thankfully enough, an uproar in the adjacent room drew both their attention away from the awkward conversation. This cacophony was distinct from the last dozen from the particular voice that was shouting above it all. Chenza was trying to gain control of the den, but it took Brute's incredible roar to actually do it.
Vallion peered over the masses through the doorway. Chenza had hopped up on the Druddigon's shoulders to look over the crowd, claws on her hips and nose in the air. She somehow kept her balance as Brute shoved a clearing around the two of them.
"Everyone shut up already!" yelled the Weavile, silencing the last of the voices. "There. That's better. Honestly, some of you need to really learn how to zip your lips more quickly. I'm not going to put up with it forever, and you're not gonna want to be on my list of grievances."
"I will kill you," Brute promptly elaborated.
"Yes, that. Anyway, I do hope most of you are enjoying this little celebration of mine. You should know that my generosity doesn't exactly run deep. These types of things will be few and far between, and the Hollow knows how much work there is ahead of us. Shardurr's ascent has only just begun. It's only going to get harder from here."
She paused a moment to take in the muttering. "What's with the long faces? Did you honestly believe that I'd be satisfied only having taken down The Family? As far as I'm concerned, this whole city's up for grabs. Why stop and rest on our laurels when there's so much more to gain?"
The crowd's many voices betrayed their emotions on the subject. Slight concern. Mild hesitation. For the most part, a majority of these pokemon were merely looking out for themselves. Basking in the afterglow of a conquered rival gang was one thing, but their leader had far loftier plans. Reception was audibly mixed.
It didn't faze Chenza in the slightest. "What's the matter? Shivering in your boots? You all gonna run home to your mamas? Give me a fucking break. We're not playing those fucking back-and-forth little games where we poke and prod the law and see what we can get away with! Let the children and the cowards hide in the shadows! Shardurr is more than a threat! If you're too weak to handle that, leave this house now and let the rightful inheritors of Paradise through!"
Of course, nobody was about to actually leave in front of everyone else. Just like before, the cheering started to overtake the reluctance, infectious as the promise of glory was.
"That's better!" she chimed. "Now listen up, you fateless nobodies! Like I said, The Family was only the first step in our campaign! The overstrung web of legalized crime on the other side of town is the next thing to stand in our way. That crooked Persian knows we're a threat. There's no way he doesn't! A guild designed on exploiting the system is naturally afraid of a force that can tear that system down, right? We're the predators, and Rusty Mountain is the prey!"
The crooks and lowlifes howled in resounding agreement.
"We ain't gonna let them get away with that, are we? When this is all finished and we settle down and open our business and build our homes, are we really gonna let these word-warping scum wrangle the way you live? Do you think you're safe over on this side of town, just because we outmatch their paid thugs? They'll try to strangle you, too, unless we stop them!
"Don't think we're done when we've only just started. By the time Shardurr's finished, this city will belong to us, and there'll be nothing on your back! No diluted bloodlines hoarding your food from you! No twisted guilds demanding hand-outs and forcing you to follow their rules! At this rate, we'll be free pokemon by the spring!"
Her speech was punctuated by the ear-splitting approval of the entire manor, which continued long after she dismounted from Brute and disappeared into the sea of bodies. For a moment it seemed like a very real possibility that the house would soon be demolished by their reactions, either from burning down or just being smashed apart. Some of these pokemon really needed more healthy ways to express themselves.
The Serperior noticed a slight swing in his vision. He moved his head in more exaggerated ways than he meant to, and his stomach churned with the presence of the caustic liquid he'd drank earlier. Ironically, the influence of the wine made him even less pleased to be amidst so many other people. Freak and Zoroark definitely had the right idea, stowing away in a pocket of the party, away from the madness.
Vallion's tipsy search for a mere crumb of tranquility took him upstairs, but first through the veritable ocean of debauchery. He pressed through the bodies, slithered up the stairs with a frown, and brushed off whatever drink somebody had spilled on him along the way. The masses refused to thin even on the second story balcony, where an audience had originally gathered to watch the spectacle that was Chenza's honeyed words, but were now free to cause even more mischief.
He'd only started to find peace once he traversed most of the second floor and came to a final staircase shoved off to the side of everything. A Dustox was making a webbed nest underneath it for some reason, but it was otherwise untouched by the band of criminals that were rampaging everywhere else. Onward into the attic then, he guessed.
It was much quieter, to its credit. Even the slanted ceiling and bare wood floor up here looked luxurious. A fine coating of dust covered what few pieces of furniture or forgotten boxes were present, leaving the attic with an almost intimidatingly spacious feel. The only sources of light were the way he came, and the parallel windows that faced the front and back of the manor. There was something odd with the back one, actually.
The attic's window was only open a crack, but for long enough that a small pile of snow had snuck through and piled at the bottom. Vallion cautiously approached the opening, and after some hesitation, stuck his nose through to push the window the rest of the way. A bitter chill blew past him almost immediately, whisking away the nauseating heat that had built up downstairs. It was pleasant-for a moment or two.
A grunt got his attention. As he expected, someone else had the same idea he did to get some fresh air. The Serperior just didn't expect it to be Chenza.
"Well come the full way out if you're gonna be here," she urged with a gesture of her claw. "It'd look stupid if you were just sticking your head out of the window. I was trying to not draw any attention. I've got to catch my breath after that."
Shrugging with his vines, Vallion obliged and slithered up onto the slanted shingles, careful not to let the displaced snow cause him to slip. Even in the winter, this wasn't such a bad view. Paradise was fully obscured by a curtain of snowfall and mist from this distance, but the rolling hills did sprawl out for quite a ways. The descending dusk painted everything in a soothing, yet absolute shade of blue.
"Beautiful evening," Vallion commented.
"It's good enough," Chenza replied with a snort. "I prefer clear nights, but those don't come by too often at this time of year. This one's been especially dark, I've noticed. Shame."
"A reflection of the times, perhaps?"
She scoffed. "The only thing the weather's reflecting are the lanterns off of the sidewalk. This has been one of the best years of my life so far. Hell, even tonight's been a blast. I got to live like I was some wealthy fuck and trash the place, too. Almost felt too good to throw the party here. I'd have just kept it to myself."
"It's a strategic location. Hidden away. Forgotten." The Serperior glanced back down. "Perhaps a little overbearing if we're talking about design. This guy could've probably stood to live a more modest life."
"Design? It's not about the design! It's about the- the gall of it! Up until I was shaking down an entire district I had never even held a fraction of the cost of this house in my hands! This motherfucker had a summer home while I was stealing scraps to eat and living behind boarded-up windows because they were letting out too much heat! The fact that pokemon were living like this is insulting!"
Honestly? Vallion couldn't exactly disagree. "But now Simisear is no longer living at all."
Chenza snorted. "Damn straight! That's what happens when you cross Shardurr and don't bend the knee! Doesn't matter whether they're rich or poor, that'll happen to anyone. I just prefer it happening to the rich is all." She looked out to the fog that obscured Paradise, then back to him.
"You understand, right? That this city's built on a pile of shit that stopped mattering a decade ago? That was my way of life because I didn't 'get in early enough'. Because I didn't immediately kiss the oaf's foot and pledge my soul to the kingdom. Once you start at the bottom there's no way up unless you grasp and crawl and beg. That's not how pokemon should live. The weak should fear the strong, not the other way around."
"So you're suggesting that everyone should live like wildlings?"
A pause. He could hear the dull crashing of some confrontation being resolved downstairs. A cheer punctuated the outcome of the brief skirmish, and within half a minute the chatter returned to normal.
"Bright-eyes," Chenza spoke up. "Do you believe in humans?"
The question caught him off-guard. He looked away, careful to hide the way his eyes widened at the mere mention of the word. Then came the contemplation of how he should answer it, further extending the silence between them. This was his entire reason for being here. He should tread this ground carefully.
"...Yes," he eventually answered. "I do."
The Weavile snickered. "Really? Fucking why? Those are kid's tales. How old are you?"
"Old enough to remember when Dark Matter shrouded the world in death," Vallion said. "I believe in humans. I see no reason not to. There is no more harm in the assumption that they exist than there is in believing in any sort of faith."
She clicked her tongue, hummed in approval, and glanced back out into the murky distance. "Brute had the opposite answer, when I asked him. He doesn't believe in anything but force and dominance. His religion is war, and that's something so tangible and effective you have no choice but to believe in it. Freak, on the other hand, is as devout to The Hollow as they come. You know what he thinks about humans?"
"What?"
"That they control destiny itself."
It was a common belief when it came to the legends that humans evoked. Alexander was always a firm believer that he and Vallion were some blessed gift to the world. The Serperior just shook his head, both to that thought and to Chenza. "Perhaps, though I doubt it. There is nothing to make me believe that they possess such an ability."
"There isn't?" Chenza crossed her arms. "How much do you know about that grudge of yours?"
"If you're referring to the legend that Alexander was the human that stopped the Bittercold, then you can save your breath. I already know that whole story, and I do believe in it. That doesn't change what my ultimate goal is."
She put up her hands in a shrugging surrender. "It's not about whether you want to kill him or not. You're not the first, I can tell you that. It's about where a human belongs in this world. There's a common saying that there are two kings of Paradise, but only that shelled buffoon had the balls to take the wheel. I think it's the other way around. Alexander's the one who's sitting on the throne behind the throne-the human in control of everything. If you ask me, I'd say that Freak is right. I think that's where a human naturally belongs."
Vallion's face furrowed. The winds shrieked over the mountainside and buffeted at the house, pelting them in waves. "What are you trying to get at?"
The Weavile looked intense for a moment, but deflated with a breath. She laughed and shook her head. "I'm saying that this city has always rightfully belonged to me, and that fucking snake took it from me. I'm a human too, Bright-eyes. Why do you think Freak's so faithful to me even when you just saw him kill his own family in cold blood? That's my throne those two idiots are sitting on."
He couldn't pretend to be surprised. Rather, his whole body tensed up, and a storm of thoughts raced through his head. He picked one out of the many and sucked in the freezing breath to make it real.
"How can you prove that you're human? Did you have to fight off some calamity or something? What merit is there to make that kind of claim?"
She laughed, picked herself up, and started to climb around the roof and over him to get back to the window. "I can't prove shit. It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not, though. If my influence on this city doesn't convince you now, then it most certainly will when I'm on the roof of the capitol with Alexander's head in my claws. There's only enough space in this city for one human, and I'm not about to leave."
Crawling back into the attic, she turned her head and left him with one last chuckle. "Ha. No offense to your quest of vengeance or anything. We just happen to hate the same person. Don't worry, I'll let you have a piece of him before I seize Paradise for myself. A girl's gotta stay humble. And to answer your question, wildlings have quite a few things sorted out."
And then he was alone in the rolling silence, looking over the foothills of Paradise, unsure of whether he had been close to any evidence or not. At the very least, now he was officially in the inner circle. It was a step in the right direction. That's good, since he wasn't sure how much more of this facade he could take.