Chapter 20

A police cruiser blocked off the street outside of Precinct 336. Door ajar, engine running, and lights flashing, it cut a well formed, well trained, silhouette from the blurry rain streaked night. Sergeant John Lipton stood in front of the headlights and drew his weapon on the man kneeling on the sidewalk in front of him. Neither party moved. The tension in the air was too thick.

Lipton needed no introduction. The blue jacket, hunched shoulders, and gut twisting hunch was enough. Hell, he knew the moment Officer McKowski's radio went dead that the worst had finally come to pass. But being right didn't make it any better. It made it so much worse.

"Hands above your head!" he shouted again. "Step away from the sidewalk!"

Sergeant Lipton squeezed the weapon tighter. Even if the man looked up from his hunch, he would have known the weapon aimed at his back was a bluff. They'd both be electrocuted in the rain and Lipton couldn't risk it. Not when there was a pair of lotad rubber rain boots askew on the pavement. The man on the sidewalk didn't flinch. Neither did the boots underneath him and Lipton's writhing gut started to tell him something else. He didn't want to believe it so he screamed.

"I said get the fuck away from her!"

Lipton traded the weapon for a pokeball on his belt, but before he could press the release, a sharp cold chill suddenly sliced across the back of his head. It stabbed the seed of warning implanted at the base of his skull by Officer Annie Cofield days before.

Pantherians are physical hunters, she told him. They like the dark and will use it to get the jump on you. Don't give them the chance. Not even a second. It took three to lower his weapon and pull a ball from his belt. The words exploded to the forefront of Lipton's mind almost as fast as the pavement to his forehead as something struck him in the back. With mechanical precision and strength, it smashed him flat on his face. The pokeball caught against his chest popped under the pressure. Red energy spewed out in all directions.

Glowing hot energized strings spun upward above the trainer. They fused together in a flash of light that vaporized the malevolent shadow underneath. A deep resonating bark rattled the windows of the precinct. Apollo, the arcanine, pulled back his lips to shield his nostrils from the burning stink of blood and sulfur. Abrupt disorienting releases into combat situations were common in this line of work, but the sudden eruption of demonic possession took the fire canine by surprise.

A pitch black devil, indistinguishable from the night except for the flash of its silver teeth, pounced onto the arcanine's neck. It climbed his shoulder and dug through his auburn coat for the flesh underneath. Apollo reared back and whipped his body around, flinging the shadow back into the street. It landed on a spring and launched at the trainer staggering to his feet.

Lipton never saw the threat. The devil was faster than him, but it couldn't hope to outpace a highly insulted and pissed off arcanine. Apollo pile-drived into the oncoming black blotch. The spot flew down the sidewalk and landed with a splash somewhere in the distance. The powerhouse accidentally clipped Lipton in the process. The speed was too great and distance too short to stop in enough time.

Lipton rolled to the ground and clutched the back of his head. Blood glazed his hair. A flamethrower rocketed over him. He tucked down his elbow to cover his head. Hot molten sparks dribbled onto the sergeant's back. The devil was already on a third pass. God it was fast. Apollo swept a wall of flame across the street. A hydropump from hell punctuated each end. Lipton glimpsed the paws of a pokemon in the radiating light of each inferno. Slick and swift, the pokemon raced back and forth, trying to find a way to close the distance.

Don't let her close, Annie's warnings told him, because there was no other pokemon but her that it could be.

A barrage of fiery plasma peppered the street. Glowing pavement, floating cinders, and hot cement dust flew into the walls and windows of nearby buildings. The city was already in ruin. What was a little more mortar and brick to the mix?

Despite the smoky periods of shadow between breaths, Apollo never lost complete track of the devil. Hormones, pheromones, and a bloodlust strong enough to curdle the veins of the dead radiated from the cat's pores so strongly that it practically made her glow. Battle fever was a double edged sword. That's why Lipton called the arcanine back to his side before the cat had a chance to make him overheat.

Apollo obeyed and bumped into the sergeant, making sure to remain in contact at all times. It was one less direction the devil could pounce from. They wouldn't be baited into chasing her, but retreat had its consequences. The fire canine lost focus. The devil melted into the rainy night once again. Heavy panting masked her footfalls. The smell of blood hid her scent. One section of the street was darker than the rest. It sat heavily with the weight of the devil inside, but the canine couldn't pinpoint her location.

One blast in the wrong direction and she'd strike. Apollo's mane flared with the heat of his burning blood. Steam smoked from his body. With a temper to match his trainer's, the arcanine barked. He should have used his flames, not his voice. The devil closed the distance with a quick attack. She launched at Lipton and raked a paw against his chest. Her claws caught his uniform and she dragged him away from the canine with their descent. The sergeant lurched harder than a crash test dummy in a harness. Several stiches in his protective vest popped. He fell to the ground and another tornado of flames washed over him. They weren't thick enough.

The black cat lunged through them. Already in motion from the first assault, Apollo jumped over his trainer and caught the pounce in the back hip. The shadow crawled up his side, determined to reach his unprotected face. He couldn't let her. The arcanine bucked and bowed. He snarled and thrashed, but the flames wouldn't reach. Steam wildly smoked from his body, but the cat had already burnt all feeling from the pads of her paws. They needed distance. A break in the tempo. Luckily, Lipton wasn't KO'd just yet.

"Bamba!" he shouted. It was as much of a warning as his partner pokemon would get.

Apollo dropped low to the ground and closed his eyes as Lipton threw a metal canister high into the air. It exploded with a white hot intensity of a supernova, triggering a chain of micro-explosions louder than a New Year's firecracker on steroids. A strobing display of overwhelming sensations forced the cat and canine apart. Lipton didn't like using anti-pokemon devices on his own party members, but there was no other way to change the flow of battle. Besides, all partner pokemon were trained for the disorientation. Feral pokemon were not.

A black blur darted into the night on the other side of the block. Lipton lowered his arm as the barrage ended. It left the street darker and quieter than before. Apollo whimpered and pawed at his face. It took a few minutes of searching to find him and a few more to find his snout. Lipton administered a full restore through the nostrils. It wasn't comfortable, but it would quicken the canine's recovery time.

Apollo sneezed, briefly lighting the street with a burst of flame. Lipton couldn't see much more than the weak reflection of the puddles around them, but he could tell that they were in the middle of the street. There was nothing to hide behind. No wall to put their backs against. They were exposed, vulnerable, and the devil knew it.

Sergeant Lipton slowly stood out of the protective shoulders of his canine. His skin began to prickle. She was out there. Watching. Waiting. Being deaf and blind didn't stop her nose from working. Blood was the same as air to her. It was a game of hide and seek, but Lipton wasn't in the mood to play in the dark. He shifted and stood in front of the canine's head. He unhooked another tool from his belt. It was longer, thinner, and scratched to life with an acrid plum of grey smoke. A sizzling burst of red light filled the street as Lipton held a flare above his head.

The light vibrated and shook against the pressure of the darkness surrounding them. The rain caused it to pop and flicker, but the flare still managed to catch the figure stalking towards them. An enormous pitch black Persian materialized out of the shadows. It didn't flee when spotted which meant it was either still blind or didn't care that it was seen. Lipton quickly realized it was neither. The cat lowered its head and the purple jewel above its eyes swirled to life.

As it grew brighter, the flare grew dimmer. Shadows crept in, pulling the night over the cat once more. But it didn't stop there. It pressed in closer, dragging itself down the street. Lipton looked up at the flare in his hand. It continued to burn but the light had softened and shortened. The power gem currently in effect consumed light instead of generating it. It was a perversion of skill as twisted and malicious as the pokemon behind it.

Within minutes, Lipton's upper half was the only thing that remained illuminated. The rest of the surrounding world was an unbreakable black void of all substance. No reflections. No refractions. Only darkness. Lipton squeezed the handle of the dying flare. Two bright pinpoints appeared in front of him. The cat was taunting him. She liked to play with her food before eating it. The psychopathic child. Fuck her and her kitten games. Lipton threw the flare off to the side, jumped in front of Apollo, and pulled up a hood from his uniform.

"Loose!" he commanded.

Apollo blindly obeyed and unleased a flamethrower. It roared over Lipton, engulfing him in heat and light. The cat never expected such a dangerous and disloyal move from a canine. She ran headlong into the flames and shrieked with the scorching pains of hell. The flood of fire ended a few seconds later. Lipton threw back his hood and gasped for cool air. Sweat ran down his temples. Little tongues of fire clung to his flame retardant uniform. Smoke rose from his shoulders. The rain quickly quenched the remaining energy.

The smell of burning fabric warned Apollo that his trainer had been caught in the crosshairs. He stood despite the flash burns still dancing in his eyes and whimpered. Lipton remained where he was. He scanned the surrounding area, panting heavily from the lack of oxygen. He couldn't breathe, let alone defend himself, and Apollo wouldn't attack without assurance of his trainer's safety. It was the perfect time to strike, but the Pantherian didn't. Nothing tingled, tickled, or pricked. The street was empty to his left and to his right.

Both the man and his demon were gone, leaving nothing but the smell of blood and burnt flesh behind.