Never once has Montgomery had to borrow money. He looks at the sack of gold Torquil offers him with visceral disdain. Maybe even nausea.

"I know it's not much," Torquil says apologetically, wincing in the slightest as he adds, "My father wouldn't allow me to spare much more. He's pretty insistent on, uh. Not helping you out. After what happened."

Montgomery is incredibly appreciative of the reminder. Please, Torquil, by all means, recount the entire tale of how he's been iced out of every social circle that matters! So far, the only people who have been willing to talk to him are Torquil, Florian, and commoners. Those last two, he's even less thrilled about than with Torquil.

Florian contributed a small pouch of gold pieces as well, although not without a snooty reminder to not spend it all frivolously. Why the guy is even here, Montgomery has no clue. Maybe he's relishing in Montgomery's downfall, watching him scrounge handfuls of coins together just to purchase food and basic travelling supplies. Everytime he approaches a townsperson to buy goods, Florian is over his shoulder critiquing every choice he makes. Like right now.

"Those apples are already bruised," Florian sniffs, turning his nose up at the merchant's crate of fruit. Waving a hand dismissively, he orders, "Put them down."

Grumbling, Montgomery throws them down. The merchant curses him out while reorganizing their shitty apples.

"Look for some of better quality. They'll last longer," Florian insists. Maybe, on a better day, he'd appreciate Florian's advice. Right now, he kinda just wants to sock him in the jaw. Nodding to another merchant's table, Florian beckons him and Torquil over. "This way."

Torquil bounds happily along. Montgomery sulks behind.

Getting to the next merchant's table isn't easy. This place is crowded, with common people pressing up against him on all sides. They're sweaty and hot and sticky. Everyone seems to be screaming and something around here smells like rotten cheese. The closest Montgomery has ever been to experiencing this kind of filth is when they were kids and Torquil tackled him into a mud puddle.

Or, maybe when his father threw him down a hill just yesterday.

That thought instantly turns his sour mood even worse. Someone's baby is wailing in his ear, and he's itching to tell their parent to shut it up. The way his day is going, he just wishes everyone would shut up. Better yet, they could all just disappear.

Florian directs him to some apples that are supposedly better, but to Montgomery, they look exactly the same. Torquil nods in approval and admiration, like Florian just found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

"These look great, Florian!" Torquil praises, as if Florian grew them himself. Rubbing his stomach thoughtfully, he mumbles, "Maybe I'll buy some…"

Montgomery buys the apples and stares down at them. They're dull and unappetizing.

"You look like death. It's depressing," Florian sighs, as if this is all a travesty for him. He can't stop himself from glaring. Turning to him, Florian says, "Listen, getting you banished from your family was not my intent, but I had to respond to your challenge if I wanted to keep my family's name in the good graces of the public. So just keep in mind when you're looking for someone to blame: this all started with you."

He stares at Florian like he might be able to burn a hole in his big, fat head.

"Zekrom is unbeatable," Florian oh-so-helpfully reminds, rubbing his pendant. "I know you're eager to get your family's crest, but it's a lost cause. You should start thinking of other ways to support yourself."

Montgomery clenches a fist.

"Yeah!" Torquil agrees, already taking a bite of one of his own apples. Juice dripping down his mouth, he says, "You could learn a trade or become a merchant. You could do pretty well for yourself—like these people here."

The thought of being anything like these people makes the contents of his stomach threaten to rise up.

"I think you could be really happy here, man," Torquil rambles, as oblivious as ever. Florian scoffs at the juice running down his face and whips out a handkerchief for Torquil to use. Wiping his face, Torquil states, "This way, you'd be out of your family's expectations. You could do whatever you want. The sky's the limit for you now!"

"Easy for you to be so optimistic," Montgomery snaps, tossing his sack of apples over his shoulder as he makes his way toward a merchant with traveling gear. "You haven't been kicked out. You've actually gotten your family crest. The sky's the limit for you; I'm stuck here on the ground with all these—" He shudders at the sight of a peddler with dirt all over their hands— "commoners."

"What, this old thing?" Torquil says, taking a look at his family crest. He shrugs. "Truth is, I only wear it around to keep my old man happy. I don't care about it too much."

The way Torquil talks about it makes it sound like it's a funny little sticker and not an emblem of insurmountable respect and recognition.

"I think," Torquil begins, "you might be happier if you cared a little less about your crest, too."

Montgomery turns on his heel to snarl at him. "And I think you two should get lost. I didn't invite you two out here, did I? Scram, get out!"

Florian rolls his eyes. "You're being immature, as usual."

"And you're being a prick and Torquil is being an idiot. Fantastic, it's just like old times!" Montgomery spits, smiling ruefully. Torquil flinches but says nothing. Turning his back on them and marching away, he barks, "Get lost. I don't want or need your help."

Montgomery storms away, not bothering to check over his shoulder and see if the others left. He knows how it'll play out: Torquil will be reluctant and Florian will leave without a word, ordering Torquil to follow him. The pushover will flounder for a bit, and then he'll choose who he follows. It better not be Montgomery, or Torquil is going to get punched.

He reaches the merchant with traveling supplies, dropping his bag of apples on the floor. As he searches for what he wants to buy, his eyes just happen to glance back. Both Florian and Torquil are gone.

Fine. Good! He meant what he said, he doesn't want or need them around. They'd just slow him down and grate on his nerves. Getting them off his back was the first step in actually getting something done today. Without them, it's just him on his quest to beat Zekrom.

Just him. Just how he wants it.

He directs his gaze back to the travel gear the merchant is selling. He'll need a bag, for sure, to hold medicines and other medical supplies. On that note, he'll need healing items, because the wounds he got from his duel haven't quite patched up yet. A tent of some sort might be necessary if he can't afford to sleep in an inn every night. Speaking of that, he'll need to find a way to make money to buy food and other necessities…

As he's pondering this, he almost doesn't feel his money pouch slide off his belt. But he does, and the moment he turns, he's met with the retreating form of a pansear, clutching the bag.

"Hey!" Montgomery shouts, releasing his bag of apples to chase the thief. "Stop! Give that back!"

Really. The moment he sets off on his own, he's pick-pocketed. How bitterly hilarious.

He dashes after the culprit, reaching out and nearly grabbing them by the scruff of the neck. But before he can lay a hand on them, the pansear leaps into the air, clinging to a building wall. Like a spider, the crook crawls up the wall with ease, his money pouch dangling from their tail. When the pansear reaches the roof, they toss the bag into their hand, wave it tauntingly, and race away.

There's no way he can climb that wall like they did, but he can guess where they're headed. Along the side of the building, there's a narrow alleyway. They must be using it to make their escape. He hurries there.

Shoving past people and carts and boxes, he leaps over at least a dozen obstacles before the alleyway comes into sight. As much as he'd like to make a beeline for it, there's a huge cart full of flour bags blocking the way. A handful of merchants scratch their heads and try to figure out how to cram this giant wheelbarrow into that tiny alley.

He doesn't have time for this. Every second that passes lowers his chances of getting his money back. That money pouch is all he has left. If he doesn't get it back, he can kiss his already slim chances of beating Zekrom goodbye.

Running straight for the cart, he barrels past the merchants that try to stop him. Lunging into the air, he lands on top of the bags, flour rushing out in a cloud of white dust. Disgruntled shouts and complaints lash out at him, but he ignores them in favor of sliding back on the ground. Tucking and rolling, he races the rest of the way into the alley.

He waves away dust from the streets and coughs as he stumbles to a stop in the narrow passageway. The tall building blocks out the sunlight, casting cold shadows on him. He shivers, raking his eyes over every surface in the alley. There's no sign of the pansear anywhere. Did they already escape? Or could they really not have come this way? Where else would they have gone?

A sound makes him turn. In the far end of the alley, the sewer cover rattles shut. Montgomery grins.

Dashing over, he bends to lift the metal grate. It's heavier than he anticipated, but with a determined heave, he tosses it aside. He sees a shadow inside scurry away.

"Hey!" He yells, jumping down. The ground is slimy and damp where he lands. He grimaces, but presses on. "Get back here!"

The sewer somehow smells worse than the marketplace, but it's abysmally quiet. Only the sound of rhythmic dripping echoes through the chamber. His footsteps and his breathing are so loud in comparison, he wonders how he can't hear the thief. They can't be that far ahead. They must be hiding.

That thought renews his resolve. If they're hiding, then they have nowhere else to go. He's going to find them, beat them, and get his money back if it's the last thing he does. Nodding with conviction, he hurries around the corner only to get kicked straight in the face.

He staggers back, holding his nose and glaring at his attacker. Surprisingly, it's not the pansear, as he expected; rather, it's a panpour. Before he can gather his bearings, the panpour swings a fist at him. In the nick of time, he dodges, feeling the rush of air from their attack prickle his fur. Equipping his scalchop, he slashes at his attacker, striking their face. The panpour falls back, holding their bloody cheek.

From the corner, a rush of flames burn toward him. He douses them with a quick jet of water just in time to see the pansear jump at him from the steam. Swiping his scalchop at them, he cuts their face just like he did with the panpour. He grins. At this rate, he'll get his money back in no time at all.

That, of course, is the cue for everything to go very, very wrong.

A vine whips out at his ankles, tripping him. Slamming to the ground on his back, he coughs out a lungful of air from the impact. The panpour and pansear giggle and snort like wily ghouls. From the shadows, a pansage struts out, tossing his money bag in their hand. They sneer down at him with yellow teeth.

"Nice try, pretty boy," the pansage taunts, their eyes glinting in the dark. "But you ain't gettin' this back."

From the ground, he rasps, "I'm gonna kick the shit out of you."

They promptly kick the shit out of him instead.

He doesn't know how long he laid in that musty sewer for. A couple of minutes? Several hours? All he knows is that he blacks out a few times, and by the time he's somewhat clear-headed, the light filtering down from the surface is dim. The air has a new chill to it and the stench is somehow worse. If he doesn't want to throw up and make this awful day downright rotten, he needs to get out.

Leaving the sewer is somehow worse than entering it. The fact that he's coming back empty-handed has a lot to do with it. So do his injuries, both old and new. Staggering to the surface is a long, arduous process. When he finally does make it, he just about passes out. Again.

Laying on his side, in an alleyway, in the dirt, he struggles to maintain consciousness. His eyes keep drooping closed, opening only with great and strenuous effort. With nothing to do but press on, he does just that. His movements are mechanical and dead.

Shuffling, too exhausted to walk in any way that doesn't involve dragging his feet, he makes his way back into the marketplace. It's relatively empty, now, save the merchants closing down for the night. When they see him, they quickly avert their gaze. Some of them even pick up their pace and hurry away. He'd let out a bitter laugh if he had the breath for it. Common people are looking down on him now. Wonderful.

It's then that he remembers that he still has one measly possession left: the apples. Even if they're dull and tasteless, he'll take them. He might even cry tears of delight and relief to see those bland looking apples. He's disgusted at how low he's already fallen.

But that disgust pales in comparison to the utter helplessness he feels when he returns to see no apples waiting for him.

He lost his chance of gaining the family crest. He lost his place in the Alcott family. He lost the money he had to shamefully borrow. And now he's lost a bag of apples he didn't even want.

If his father saw him like this, there's no way he'd allow him back into the family—whether or not he beat Zekrom.

It takes a few hours before he's at the edge of the town. Most of the journey is a blur. He's just pulling one foot in front of the other, mindless. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going, and he's not about to submit himself to a commoner to ask directions. He treks, aimless, into the dark wilderness.

By the time the sun has completely gone down, he's in some valley. There's not a town in sight. No stars and no moon light his path, as a heavy cover of clouds darkens the night sky. His innate connection to water tells him it will rain soon, because why wouldn't it. At this point, he's given up on having anything decent happen today.

When the rain begins to fall, it's in small, light droplets. It's not enough to wash the blood and mud and stink from his fur. He pauses, for a moment, in his robotic trudging, to glance around at his surroundings. The valley is open, with no visible shelter to take when the storm eventually picks up. But there is a river that cuts through the land, flowing steadily enough to be relatively clean. That will have to do.

He steps into it, unbothered by the ice cold temperature. Wading in deeper, he walks out until the water level reaches his waist. The rain has picked up a bit by now, disrupting the smooth surface of the river. He watches it for a moment, as if in a trance. Then, he plunges himself under.

It doesn't feel particularly good to get the muck and filth off himself. It's just a feeling that passes through his hollow self, gone in an instant. He opens his eyes to watch the water rush away from him. It's dark and murky under here, with not much noise. For the first time all day, he feels a semblance of peace. He wishes he could stay down here forever and float away with the current. He'll have to come up for air eventually. But maybe he shouldn't.

Just as he's contemplating everything and nothing, a flash of light snaps him out of it. He looks up to see the surface of the water even more distorted than before, the rain pounding down on it. Another burst of light fills his vision, almost blinding. Breaking through the surface, he takes a deep breath and looks at the sky.

Thunder and lightning crash in the sky like a battle of the gods, electricity crackling through the inky black sky. Powerful gusts of wind blow through the valley, ripping blades of grass from their roots. The rain batters him, almost hard enough to be hail, and he wonders for a moment how the storm got here so fast.

Then there's a roar that splits the sky, and he doesn't wonder anymore.

The massive, monstrous body of a black dragon tears through the clouds, blue volts sparking around it. Its tail lights up the night like a blaze of fire, charging the air around him. It's almost hard to breathe. It's as if the electricity it emits is stealing the oxygen from his lungs. Raising a frightening wing, Zekrom summons a bolt of lightning to strike a nearby tree. Immediately, it goes up in flames.

He suddenly understands why it's so easy for Zekrom to demolish all those cities. One wave of its wing and it can rain Hell down on its foes. All that information, however, is background to the realization bursting in his brain: he can end this all right now. This misery, this exile, he can finish it once and for all. Zekrom is practically presenting itself to him on a silver platter. He would be an idiot not to take advantage of this opportunity.

Leaping out of the water, he shakes himself off. His fur sticks up in weird ways, so he tries to smooth it out. He can't be looking like a lunatic when he challenges this thing. This is his moment, dammit!

"Zekrom!" He shouts, his voice lost in the wind and thunder. The dragon continues ravaging the valley, paying him no heed. Chasing after it, he bellows, "Zekrom!"

He shoots a jet of water at the beast for good measure. It splashes harmlessly against the creature's side, but it makes Zekrom turn to face him. Based on the way today has gone, he'll take even the smallest victories.

Advancing on the dragon with his head held high, he proclaims, "Fight me, you big bastard!"

Zekrom looks down on him with no discernable expression.

"Come on!" The wind whips at his fur, as if trying to tug him away from the challenge. Rain beats down on him, and he slips in the mud once, but he doesn't fall. He keeps his head up to glare at the legendary. "Let's go!"

Zekrom just stares. For a moment, he worries that it's just going to turn around and leave him in the downpour. Chasing after such a fast creature while the storm pushes him back would not be easy. Luckily, the dragon doesn't retreat.

Unluckily, it swoops down. Right at him.

He braces himself, taking a firm battle stance with his scallops gripped in each hand. If it comes to dying or living without his family crest, he'd rather die. He'll fight with every ounce of strength in his body and bring honor to the Alcott family name. Zekrom rushes closer and closer, gaining speed with every second. That's when he realizes for the first time just how big the thing is, bigger than anything he's ever faced before. It doesn't make him hesitate. Not one bit.

He reminds himself that this is what he wanted when the dragon begins to charge up with volts of lightning.

Charging the beast head-on, Montgomery raises his scalchops and pours energy into them. He musters every scrap of power he has, even more than he used against Florian, pushing his limits. He doesn't care if it strains his body. If he's going to beat this thing, he needs to be at his strongest.

Closer and closer, faster and faster, Zekrom closes in. They're so close that Montgomery can see the details of its scales, the sharpness of its fangs, the lightning in its eyes. The electricity crackling around it is so strong that it makes his fur stand on end. It even seems to burn the air.

And then, all that electricity rushes out toward him.

Instinctively, he throws his arms up to block, even though he knows it won't do any good. It strikes him, coursing so viciously through his veins that they might be ripping apart. His muscles clench and tear and writhe; he bites his tongue so hard blood pours out. Something smells like burning flesh.

Oh, yeah. He's that something.

When the attack finally stops, after seconds or hours, Montgomery is staggering back. Not on his own accord. Sparks still shoot out of him, making his muscles jump. His vision is spotty and he desperately tries to blink the dark spots away before Zekrom reaches him. But his vision never clears; before he can even take a breath, he's bodily knocked back into the river.

Plunging under, he feels the air escape his lungs in droves. The water is murky around him, just as dark as the growing spots in his eyes. With equal parts horror and resignation, he realizes that he'll die this way.

The last thing he sees before blacking out is the rush of bubbles from his lungs and the crashes of lightning in the sky.

A/N: As always, if you're enjoying the story, please don't hesitate to leave a review! Thanks for reading, and don't forget to look for this story next Wednesday!