.

.

.

One

.

.

.

Year

.

.

.

Later...

.

.

.

All the host of the armies of Logaria and the Enemy were assembled in Dor Daedeloth, millions upon millions, for the final battle of the War of Wrath. The trumpets of challenge issued about the Land of Shadowy Horror, and so many tales could be said of the Battle of the Powers that it would take hundreds of lifetimes to know them all, and even then there still could be more to learn.

The wind was like a black fume, flying from some evil of the Nethermost Hall, where the Evil Djinn called forth fumes and flames to shield his measureless hordes. The Gates of Hades were barred shut, and no power except the Enemy or the Original One could open them. As the two great forces clashed on the Day of Doom, the Enemy would not leave his throne, for he knew what weapon the Hosts of Logaria possessed, and it was their only hope, for the Mbelekoro was too strong to be cast down by brute force of arms or unions of swords.

All the forces of the forest-men of Alola had landed upon the coasts against the Black Foe, and ships and rafts of the Johtoians and Hisuians had been mustered, and Iridia and Kamado led the warriors of the Northern Kingdom, and gems were upon their brows. The Aredians marched from the southern lands, and the glint of their spears was like the burning of fire in a field of reeds. Upon seeing the banners of Logaria hoisted above the wastes of Dor Daedeloth, the Hisuian hosts burst forth into fire, and all the armies came from the sea in a sudden onslaught.

The hope and strength of Logaria was increased, for unsummoned and unlooked for came a multitude of Galarians over the western sea, a hundred thousand strong upon a fleet of boats, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest. When Tar-Adunakor saw this and heard from afar the trumpets of Hisui and Alola, his heart was uplifted and he shouted aloud: "The day has come! Auta-i-lomie! The night is passing! The day has come!"

So swift and fell was the onslaught of the Logarians that the Northerstar was seized, and Gelien was made the battlefield, but they were halted, for by many secret doors in his fortress the Evil Djinn had sent forth his hosts, and the banners of Logaria were met with a black standard by the Gates of Hell. The streams of Roria were chocked with the dead and defiled, and the Host of Logaria encircled the Black Armies as a gathering tide around a rock.

The glory of the Logarian host and their arms shone all through the land, and the sound of their bootsteps was like a earthquake, and the whole of the north was ablaze with the clashes of great war. All the hosts of the Enemy had been marshaled, the entire power of the Throne of the Mbelekoro, and the hordes were so vast the not even the whole Plain of Gelien could contain them. When the two armies clashed, troops and Pokémon fell like kindling, washed away in the fluctuations of competing tides. Black and red blood and gore flowed up to ankle-height for many miles. Many fell and heroic deeds were done, but they have all been forgotten.

From the deep haunts and pits of the Enemy, a terrible force was issued. Dragonite without count, a host of drakes that blotted out the sun, and issued ruin and death upon both armies, for they did not judge between friend or foe, so wicked were they. They were as the sand on the seashore, and for a moment it seemed that all hope was lost, for never before had the armies of the Mbelekoro wreaked the sky with his hordes, nor with so terrible a number.

But from far heaven came the Dragon Lord, the Lord of the Breath of Earth, Rayquaza, in all his power and glory. The battle of the air that then took place shattered the heavens, and the destruction of the Dragon Army could be seen from the far north of the world, and the many bodies of the Dragonite fell as wood to be burned, breaking great hills in their ruin. Rog, the First of Salamance and the mightiest of the Dragon Host was thrown down by Rayquaza, and the twin peaks above the Gates of Hades were crushed to nil. Latios and Latias, the Marshalls of the Host of Heaven, led a host of eagles arrayed for battle, and ruin was dealt to the forces of the Mbelekoro in the airs.

Tar-Adunakor drove like a fiery dart into the Black Land, for he could not be restrained, and he bore the Prison Bottle; and with it he deemed that he would capture the Black Foe. But the Lord of the Dark would not come forth, and the Guard of the House of the King was broken around the lord of Logaria, and Gostir, Lord of Tyranitar, faced the king, and it was a grim hour. At last Tar-Adunakor stood with his guard slain around him, and he fought with Gostir, until a half-man came from behind and cast a sword of iron at his head. The helm of Tar-Adunakor flashed with a white fire as it was cloven, and he was hewed with many a black axe.

So passed the Lord of Logaria, and he was beaten into dust. But Prince Haurgon came in wrath and seized the Prison Bottle, and slew Gostir, a great feat; for he was but a youngling by the reckoning of the lives of the men of Logaria. And the Host of Logaria was filled with new fury, chanting of death. Iridia fell pierced with a poisoned arrow to the eye, and the House of Irradiant was slain as a rearguard to the Prince and the Prison Bottle, and many valiant men and Pokémon of Hisui fell in great heaps, their armor glistering in the westering sun as they were hewn even as they lay dead.

Adaman stood alone with Iscan, and he fought with his reforged blade, and it is said that he slew two hundred of the Tyranitar-guard of the Gates of Hell before he was borne away by the rout, and even then he slew until his blade withed from the black blood of the half-men that it fell upon, and each time he slew he gave a cry: Mbelekoro! Come out! Deep Heaven, give us aid!"

But the armies of the Mbelekoro were ever renewed in number, and it seemed as though the plain was buried with them. Rayquaza and the Host of the Wind could not alone overthrow the Evil Djinn, for he was too mighty. And although the Ranks of Logaria still shone like a river of steel in the sun, they could not endure such a battle for ever. Night was falling upon the south, and a great storm of wind came out of the airs.

And lo! From the Time beyond Time and the Space between Space, the two great Princes, Dialga and Palkia, had come to the aid of the Hosts of Logaria, in the form of tall warriors. The light of their shields was like a thousand stars, and Dialga's great spear was as a great tree with a tip of brilliant diamond, and the sword of Palkia was as a needle of shining pearl, and the flash of their eyes were like two cold balls of ice. And men lifted their voices in wonder and joy, for the twin princes were alone the greatest foes of the Mbelekoro, and by them they could overcome the last defense. They routed the forces of Dor Daedeloth, and countless half-men and enslaved Pokémon fell, and the black standard of the Enemy was trampled in the mire of blood.

This was what the Enemy never could have foreseen, and he had never considered this or had it enter into his designs. He had thought the Powers too far removed from the world to intervene, content in their fastness and bliss, and wound not do battle with him directly to overthrow him. Rayquaza had been a simple emissary, of failed powers sending a weak servant, easily disposable, to do their bidding. But pity is a oftentimes strange thing, for it can move the very gods. And he who is pitiless does not understand it, as he does not understand love, and never shall.

The two even broke the guard all the way to the Gates of Hades, and the corpse of Tar-Adunakor was brought back to be mourned by the men of Galar, and none dared assail them, for they were as somber and fell as a funeral pomp in their own land, and the terrible war-masks of the Galarians struck fear even into the hearts of the urkil. Upon the outer gates of the Fastness of the Enemy, Palkia banged his fist upon them, and the Enemy trembled on his deep throne.

"Come out, old friend!" Dialga cried. "Or is the play in the field to rough for you? Perhaps you are reliving yourself, or are asleep! Why do you not join the foray, o mighty one? Come out, or be cast into the Outer Darkness in the name of the Original One!"

Then the two warriors called the Enemy a craven coward, and the Lord of Slaves. Many curses and oaths they cast upon him, and endless challenges. The Black Host heard all their words, and the Evil Djinn was made to be a fool, and a weakling who would not risk battle. The Enemy could not refuse such a summons in front of all his captains and foes, and alone of all his vices, pride is the most wicked of the Mbelekoro, and he cannot deny a barefaced call of battle, except perhaps against foes either far stronger or weaker than himself, for he had become engrossed in kingship, and would risk no harm to his body, unless he was affronted.

So the Enemy came.

Slowly, ponderously, he ascended from the Nethermost Hall to the Gates of Hades, his footsteps like thunder in the mountains. They opened with a great tumult and booming, and the Dark Lord stared down the greatest foes he had ever contested with.

The face of the Enemy was like a consuming maw of void, and heat and cruel light radiating off his armor and body, for he bore a shield, sable unblazoned, as tall as a redwood that cast a shadow over the faces of his foes. The power and dark majesty in his eyes was like the fierce piecing of a winter night and the scorching extremes of the desert. In his massive hands he bore Durthang, the Cudgel of Jigoku, forged in the Abyss of old. His height was like a mountain, and the armies of Logaria trembled at his majesty. The immeasurable battle stopped, and all the eyes of the world were only upon the three great elohim.

The Enemy hurled Durthang aloft, essaying to smite his foes. When the cudgel hit the ground, there was a great blast, and a bolt of lightning came down from heaven. The twin Princes were swifter than him, and the wild swings of the Evil Djinn made the ground about him cratered and treacherous.

Hurrah! Palkia had clipped the Enemy's thigh, and Palkia had cut open his sheer breastplate. For seven times this happened, and the Enemy was wounded fourteen times. The black ichor of the Evil Djinn filled the craters and stained the ground, poisonous vapors rising off it, and the smoke and heat of his blood could be endured by none but Dialga and Palkia. Each time he was struck, the Hosts of Logaria rejoiced, and the Black Host quailed and cast themselves on their faces.

But the ground was broken, and Palkia lost his fotting amid the crags and ravines. The hammer Durthang smote him down, and three times Palkia rose, and thrice he was smitten, and lay still, proudest and wisest, broken like leaf blown by a hot wind.

The Enemy reached for the body of the Prince of Space, and the heat of his hand was so great that Palkia burst into flame. Back into the Space between Space the noble warrior went, and Dialga gave a great cry, and thrust his spear into the heel of the Evil One, and so terrible was the bite of Dialga's spear that the Mbelekoro screamed such a scream that it penetrated the earth, the deeps of the sea, the high mountains, and the plains, the pits of Hell. The cry echoed ever after, and it is said that if one shouted in that land, the rocks would arise in great tumult, the echoes never vanishing.

The pain of the wound was greater than anything that the Evil Djinn had conceived, and it would torment the Evil One ever after. But the Mbelekoro was filled with guile and wrath and his wound, and Dialga was cast down, and the Enemy put his stricked foot upon the neck of the Prince of Time, and the weight was like a fallen hill. But in his folly, the Enemy did not know of what Dialga was reaching for in his dying moments.

With a final cry before disappearing back in the Time beyond Time, Dialga threw a strange object.

Within that second, several things happened.

The Prison Bottle, having been borne to the rearguard after the Fall of Tar-Adunakor, vanished from the hands of its bearers.

Second, the wrath of the Enemy rose like a consuming flame, and the devices of his enemies were laid bare. All his thought regressed to flight, and the cursing of his own foolishness. But he could not move swiftly enough.

The Prison Bottle hit the Enemy squarely on his voided face.

In that moment, the Enemy, the Evil Djinn, Abbadon, He Who Arises In Might, The Black Foe Of The World, The Great Serpent, The Red Dragon, The Deceiver Of Old...

Was sealed away.

There was a great sound of air rushing, and the earth shook. The Enemy was gone, and the Prison Bottle lay upon broken ground.

It shuddered one time, but nothing availed its prisoner

A second convulsion passed through it. The bottle held.

The third passed.

Silence.

The bottle clicked.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

To Rei, although being at Atun-Kaah, suddenly had a vision of what was going about in the world.

There was a roar and confusion of sounds. Fires leaped up through newly formed cracks in the ground. Inside the swirling cloud of the realm of the Enemy, the towers and tunnels and battlements as great as mountains, set upon mountains above innumerable pits, courts and dungeons, great prisons and sheer and eyeless as cliffs, gate of steel gaping and tall: they all passed.

Towers fell and mountains crumbled. Vast spires of steam and smoke emerged from the ground. The Prison Bottle fell into the Heart of the Earth, and passed out of all knowledge. Walls crumbled and melted, toppling in a overwhelming wave of destruction. The earth heaved and reeled in a great tumult. The skies burst into thunder and lightning, searing the air with drumming rumbles of death and confusion.

All the wars and anarchy and scheming and hatred of the Enemy were unmade. The Host of Logaria was spared, but the Black Armies all perished in the earth, and flew about like dust in the wind. Like when death strikes the queen of a ant hive, and the workers run about, purposeless and without mind to save themselves, so were the armies of half-men and tormented Pokémon. They ran hither and thither, some slew themselves, others went into a far away place without knowledge or fear until they died in a spurting of fire. The demons of the Enemy also fled, hiding or being destroyed, passing out of sight and the accounts of the world.

Dor Daedeloth floundered, the Great Sea rushing inward to cleanse it for ever. The fashion of the world was changed, and the wasteland of northern Hisui was blasted into oblivion. The Crimson Mirelands were dried, and Lake Valor was made clean. The lay of the Ered Engrin changed from east to west to north to south, and the ruin of Mount Coronet was shored up, and the remnants of the Temple of Sinnoh were unveiled. The mountains shortened, becoming less mighty. The desert land of Orre came out of the waters, and for a time volcanic ashes plagued the north so greatly that the Unovans regressed to using Volcarona as a artificial sun.

But for Logaria and Hisui, there was nothing but joy. The whole of the army returned, and there was celeration and feasting for many months. All the effort of all those who resisted the Evil Djinn, no matter how slight, was avenged and fulfilled.

Across the whole world, it seemed as though a great burden, present yet unnoticed, was lifted. The malice of the Enemy was undone, and all eyes were opened to a new summer of the world. The black winter of This Present Darkness became a wicked memory, and all was at peace.

For a time, there was unfettered travel by great ship between the empires of Logaria and Hisui, and the friendship was never truly forgotten by the latter. Even after the fall of Logaria, the very stones told of them:

High they wrought us,

Tall they built us.

We remember them,

But they are gone.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

And now we shall tell what became of the seven original members of the Golden Company.

Rei and Akari married, and Rei lived for one hundred and eighty years, hale and hearty to the end, and Akari lived for one hundred and ninety two years. For all the members of the Golden Company were given incredibly long lifespans, as reward for resisting the Enemy so heroically. Rei's bloodline went far into the future, and many great deeds were done by his descendants in times of future struggle.

Laventon founded many schools of Capture Ball making, and eventually dubbed them Poke Balls. The use of such devices spread through the whole world, and the entire human relationship with Pokémon was changed for ever.

Lian became a great explorer, and devoted himself to the re-discovery of the changed world. He did not marry, and is said to have died of a wound.

Cyllene became the new High Elder once Kamado died, and governed for eighty years. Little is said of her declining years, although she purged the last remnants of the followers of the Enemy from Hisui.

As for Adaman and Iscan, little is known, and their ends are uncertain. After a long time of peace, both grew weary of the world, having tasted the fruits of Paradise. Iscan vanished once more into the Taur-I-Deadelos, and of Adaman, theories vary. But the most accepted tale is that he went to the Heavensward Lookout upon the southern border of the Ered Lomien, beheld the setting sun, and either willed himself to perish or cast himself over the edge, so that he would see his only love once more.

.

.

.

And here is where this tale ends.

But time does pass, and the stories never truly end.

The ages passed. Logaria became complacent and corrupt, and was completely eradicated by Regigigas. The vast wealth of knowledge was lost, and little remained to tell of their struggles against the Enemy.

The elohim retreated to Deep Heaven, and those that had fallen in love with the Earth were forever sundered, never to return to the Timeless Halls. The Swords of Justice, seeing the quick satiety that Men had with peace and good, lost faith in them, and shunned them.

As for Hisui, it endured for a time, but gradually fell into legendary memory of the peoples of Sinnoh. The tales were made out to be myth, and few writings told of the quests of the Plate-bearer and the existence of the Evil One. Even the native Pokémon of Hisui died out.

The nature of the world was changed. Globalization. Technology. Healthcare. Pokémon battling for sport. Abundant food. Great cities. The world forgot what had come before it. Why should it remember? The threat had been ended for ever.

Or so it seemed.

While it was ordained that the Prison Bottle should never be broken from the inside, with strange eons, even things that were once considered impossible may come to fruition...

The guard on the Bottle had long grown weary, and Time aged the Prison greatly.

Soon...

Nothing nothing nothing then SOMETHING only a smallest sliver small beyond thought burst out but oh so fragile he was a child he was a god he was nothing he was everything he could only run he could only fly a spirit of malice borne on a dying wind nearly nothing but he was FREE oh so free if only a little bit he ran and ran and hid and gathered his strength so he could try again-

.

.

.

The slightest fraction of the spirit of the Spirit of the Enemy escaped, and would plague the world for a time, and the full fate of his power is told in the Tale of Brick Bronze.

As for the Bronze Brick...

Rei himself saw the citadel from whence he took it one more time, and there was another written message on the wall, detailing the fall of the Enemy. Then the stronghold vanished with a abyssal chord of sound, vanishing into the Domain of the Lord of Antimatter for ever, the power of the Enemy not there to sustain it.

Rei's great-great-great grandchild was walking on the soft lawns of southern Logaria, and he happened to lose the Brick into a stream. He did not think much of it, as it was a mere family relic.

It was lost. The fate and stories involving it from then on are not known, except that eventually it happened to find itself in the ground of a inconspicuous little hamlet named Mitis Town.

One day...

The man checked the collected detritus for any unusual specimens, and only happened to come about a strange, shining little object.

Brushing the loose soil of its glimmering body, the man now saw that it was a small bronze brick with a string through it.

The foreman of the operation cleaned his greasy hands and put his Excadrill back in its Poke Ball. "Alright, that's enough. We'll check out the strange bottle we found earlier tomorrow." The foreman saw the other archeologist eyeing the brick.

"Eh? Whatcha got there?"

"Just a curiosity. I found over here..."

"Well, run the tests back at your place. Then I don't care what you do with it, as long as we won't need it."

"I suppose I could give it to my kid, after I've had a look at it."

"That Bronze? The one around here that's always reading? I guess I'm not a prying man, so carry on..."

A house...

The boy finished the book with a satisfied and filled mind. Putting the Legends of Arceus down on a cedar shelf next to the Annals of Hisui, he sat down again, and looked out the window.

"What a wonderful story." Bronze said.

Legends of Arceus:

Fin.