Answered Prayer
There is only thunder and blood in his dreams. The smell of petrichor is heavy in the gales that whirl about him as he hacks at the scaled tail in front of him. The deluge of rain covers him completely soaking his armor and nearly obscuring his vision but his target is massive and he cannot miss. With a raw-throated yawp he continues to hack away with his katana, whittling away tiny bits of cerulean dentine and enamel to no avail. He'd have had better results trying to drink the lake dry but his rage and grief drive him to madness. He can still see the mangled bodies of his family washing away down the street. The very future has been torn away from his grasp and he stands there utterly emasculated and hammering away at the Gyrados until his ancestral blade shatters against the leviathan's underbelly. Even though he is left holding only the hilt there's still a sliver of steel attached and he continues his assault unabated. Around him the bodies of his friends and neighbors ebb away with the tides and a sudden surge sends a corpse right at his knees. With a gasp he is sent onto his ass and he screams as he feels the impact jar the sword out of his grip. Before he can even lift a finger it's swept away into the current.
Undaunted he staggers to his feet and starts to slam his fists into the Pokemon instead. His fingernails curl around the grooves of a scale and he tries to pry it off the Gyrados. Where his sword failed to do anything this gets the Gyrados' attention. Turning its massive head to check, the leviathan's monstrous eyes gleam balefully as a lighting strike briefly illuminates its face. Jutting forward it roars loud and long. Kamado throws his own head forward and roars in response, too sad to be scared of his impending death. With a single flap of its tail the Gyrados sends Kamado flying through the air head over heels. Hazely he recalls those brief moments as he is sent crashing through the front door of his house with a terrible boom. Everything hurts and as the darkness veils his vision Kamado feels a deep sense of dissatisfaction. There was so much he wanted to do. He was not done with life but it is done with him and with one last feeble grunt he lets go.
With a muffled gasp Kamado pushes himself up off his futon. He can still feel the rain pounding on his head, the unending metallic clank of raindrops pinging against his armor, and the grip of the sword pressed so tightly into his hand it blistered. For a moment he is paralyzed between the reality of the dream and the reality of the waking world; he just sits there and shivers miserably. And then it is over save for the long shadow it leaves and he takes a breath of the hot night air. He closes his eyes and focuses on the senses, the roughly woven tatami mat under his palms, the drops of sweat running down the back of his head, the scent of the Hisuian pine trees that still feels alien even after all these years. Willing himself to be calm he tucks his chin to feel the rapid drum of his heart slow. Once he is centered he opens his eyes and sighs. Is there an end to this grief?
Suddenly restless, he pushes himself off the ground. The adrenaline is gone but he cannot rest. Standing up he walks over to his closet and grabs a clean kimono from the rack. Clothing his naked body, he wanders out onto the balcony connected to his room. The night air is hot and brings little relief but the anemic breeze feels nice on his face and chest. The pinewood floor creaks in little fits as he begins to pace. There are no thoughts, just the phantoms of the past as he stares up at the mountain crowning Hisui. Eventually he begins to notice the little details. The dueling songs of the Kricketunes are pleasant and for a time he is simply lost in their melodies. Under their refrains he can hear the quiet murmur of the guardsmen up on the walls. He's walked them many, many times before and no matter how thick the planks or sturdy the iron used to reinforce them a single determined Pokemon could shred them apart like fine silk.
His heart throbs with the knowledge that nowhere is safe. Wherever they go there will be Pokemon. The end could come any minute like it did way back when and everything they have built would be lost. There's a dark thought that constantly lingers in him spitefully laughing at the village below. It is cruelly humored at the past mistakes he is committing again. It is rank masochism to do this as if he could undo the death and destruction that haunts him. There is no point to anything. Whatever power created humans, whether the god that he knows, or the god of the Hisui ,or some hidden god worshiped by an unknown people, could only have created human life out of malice. Humans have nothing and are expected to make do with nothing. Only a twisted mind could have conceived of humans and it is not for the first time that Komado wonders if hell is the life he is living.
And yet
And yet
He persists. Unbidden, he considers the tasks left undone. The houses that need to be finished before winter comes ripping down from the mountain, the facilities his people desperately need, the crops that must be tended to, the foodstores that need to be tallied and re-tallied. Komado's existence is a latticework of errands, of superficial tasks to consume his thoughts so thoroughly the intrusive phantoms of his past experiences can't quite cut through the clutter. He longs for the cacophony that daylight brings but the night is young and the village is still. Scanning for the briefest of details to focus his thoughts around, he ends up gazing at the mountain that stands over all of Hisui. The indigenous clans worship the mountain as sacred and for the life of him he cannot understand it. The mountain does not move, it does shelter them in their need, or provide for them in their time of want. They rejoice in its unfeeling stoicism. Quietly he has observed the heads of the clans, their constant bickering, and envied their ignorant youth. They have yet to fail. When they do fail and fall, when grief in all her ugly gloom enshrouds them, will they still see their mountain as a guardian? Will this being of time or of space that they harangue each other about really stretch out its hand and protect them?
Kamado huffs, he thinks not. There is a dark need within him desiring to see their reaction. He wants to lift up their tear-stained faces in either hand and exult in their despair. Frustratedly he rubs his sweat-slicked face and banishes such a thought back into the dark recess it came from. It is better for him to live in this isolated hell. He is merely an old man battling the inevitable truths of his uncaring world. Let them pray to their false god and its hollow promises. Embittered, he turns to leave but cannot break his sight away from the mountain. With the silver light of the waning moon illuminating it he can sort of see why the clans revere the mountain so much. It was the first thing he saw on the sea from their wave-battered ship. The tall peak guided them to the shore of their new home. Without it they would still be tossing about on the ocean, assured of their impending annihilation.
Born from within his sleep deprived mind a whimsical little thought bubbles to the surface. Why not pray to this Sinnoh? If he is the god of this land then surely he would be magnamious enough to extend protection to Kamado and his people. Maybe, just maybe, the clans have the right of it. A harsh barking laugh rips through Kamado's lips. Absurd. He had thought himself, as pathetic as he is, better then to resort to superstition. The gods didn't save his family or his village. He was the one who grabbed the remnants and bore them away. He built them a ship and guided them across the ocean. It was not divine providence that brought them here. He looks down at his calloused hands appreciatively. No. These are the musings of a sleep-deprived man, his failure and nihilism contorting into foolery that fills the space of the night. Their future, however short it will be, is crafted by flesh and blood, sweat and tears.
And yet
And yet
These two hands could not save his family. They cannot protect this village from the Pokemon that prowl outside their gates. They cannot even quiet the past that rages on in his heart. All they are is flesh and blood. Anguished Kamado leans back against the balcony door and lets out a shaky sigh. Here he is, back again. Over and over and over. He has a body strong enough to construct walls, the courage to face the unknown, the words to create a tangible enough future for others to believe in. But no power.
Weak and delirious his gaze returns to the mountain. Slowly sliding down the door he sits in a kneeling position and just waits there motionlessly as his thoughts rattle about in the back of his head. The muscles in his neck ripple in protest but gradually his neck bends and his head bows towards the mountain. He licks his lips in anticipation of the words but they do not come. He is a man of action, not prayer. He sits there in stunned silence. There is shame in his heart as he capitulates but what else can he do? He is powerless.
After racking his head for minutes, maybe hours, he chokes out "Please protect us." His voice feels and sounds like gravel as the words tumble into the night wind. It is not the elegant orison he had wanted and he can only hope this Sinnoh is not offended by its feebleness. He meant every word though and he hopes the earnest desperateness in his voice will sway this god to action. He sits awkwardly for a while feeling the sweat rivulets dripping from his hair and falling onto his burly chest. The mountain does not answer. There is no thunderous reception or heavenly messenger or even the tiniest of signs that Sinnoh heard or cares. The mountain stands unmoved as it always has and will. All that is here is a stupid old man praying to geographical phenomena and expecting something. Kamado straightens his head and angrily wipes the sweat or tears from his face. Pushing himself up off the ground he walks inside and sits at his desk and tries his damndest not to think of what a fool he is.
A week later she appears, the stranger. As she stands before Kamado he judges her harshly This girl is too small, too feeble. She is no warrior. He asked for salvation and Sinnoh sent him a child. He is furious. the only thing worse than a false god is a cruel one. The professor assures him again and again this girl is different, she is strange in many ways seen and unseen. He narrows his eyes in judgement. Unacceptable! Throwing his musclebound arms wide open he challenges this god-sent savior. If she can't overthrow him how can she prevail beyond the walls? To his surprise she accepts with eagerness and lunges at him to no avail. He easily tosses her back and his heart throbs with nihilistic joy. This savior can't even save herself. If Sinnoh has picked this child as its savior then she must prove herself. He sends her into the wilds to work unimaginable miracles, confident she will fail.
His heart soars like it hasn't in a long time when she returns with unimaginable miracles.