When Mott lands, he's lucky it's in a tree, and not the ground. He's also lucky that the tree isn't on fire. Yet. But after tumbling through the branches and gritting his teeth through scrapes and cuts along the way, his collision with the ground isn't pretty. It's a harsh, muddy crash that shoots sharp pain through his bones and makes his skull rattle. The world around him spins, blurry and disorienting. All sounds are distant and tinny, as if they exist only in a dream. He can't move.
He doesn't know how long he lies there, muddy and bloody and soaked and dead to the world. It could be hours, for all he knows. The only thing he's certain of is that when he finally comes to, the fire has grown even closer, even stronger, and even hotter.
Staggering to his feet, he forces his swimming head to be alert. Fire swirls all around him. The crackle and pop of smoldering pine hisses in the air; smoke rises up and blots out the sky. The intense blaze rages all around him like a cage, trapping him, suffocating him. The forest is so hot, unbearably hot, hotter than the smoldering wreckage of Sapphire City or the inside of the flaming museum in Roselake. It's so hot in spite of the pouring rain, in spite of the thick mud.
The fire is all-consuming, swirling around them like a furious storm. Flames shoot up trees like wicks; the smell of burning leaves chokes him. Homes that had nestled themselves safely in the branches of the trees are long gone, now. It won't be long before Lenny is in the same state.
Lenny. Oh, god, Lenny.
A horrible, sickening sense of déjà vu dawns on him, creeping up his spine. His eyes are drying out, but he's too afraid to close them—too afraid that if he does, he might open his eyes and be surrounded by the crumbling, burning walls of the Roselake Museum.
For the second time in his life, he's forced to confront the possibility of Lenny burning alive—and it reintroduces him to terror he's desperately tried to forget.
"Lenny!" He shouts, his voice crackling and hoarse. But it's no use. The fire is too loud. The trees are creaking and groaning and snapping around him; trunks fall, houses fall, and Mott suffers a brief image of Lenny being crushed under the flaming wreckage. He shakes his head to rid himself of the haunting thought, but it sticks like a parasite. Again, he bellows, "Lenny!"
Roaring flames and the rushing of his own blood in his ears drowns out any other sound.
He's met with nothing.
The pounding of his heart spurs him into action, because if he stood still for even a second longer, he's sure his heart would beat itself straight out of his chest. Without a plan or direction, he leaps over a fallen tree, racing through the burning woods and yelling, "Lenny, where are you?!"
God only knows how long he runs. It's a grueling, arduous struggle to run through smoke and thin air and unholy heat, but his body almost feels numb to the strain. It's his mind that's painfully aware of everything: the hungry consumption of the inferno, the shriveling and charring of life, the sheer danger. His mind absorbs it all with agonizing clarity and forces him to press on, refusing to settle until he finds Lenny.
He shouts as he runs, his throat growing rough and raw. It's not until he gets deeper into the woods that he hears his first response: a small, feeble, help! Desperate and frantic, his heart leaps into his throat.
"Lenny?!" He cries, racing around the bend.
Not Lenny. His heart sinks, but only for a moment, because then he realizes who he's seeing.
"Anastasia!" He exclaims, rushing over to her. She's covered in burns and soot; her eyes are wide and terrified. "What are you doing out here?"
"My family and I were helping the people of the forest evacuate," she explains, her voice a tremulous facade of it's usual composure. Her breathing is ragged and stricken with horror. "A large tree with several houses in its branches fell toward Amari, and Hilda jumped in the way and—they're both stuck!"
He wants, more than anything, to find Lenny and bring him back to his side. But there's no way he's turning a blind eye to this.
"Show me," he orders, and hurries after her as she leads the way.
When they reach the scene, Mott has to stifle a mortified gasp. They're in a rocky clearing with few trees, save the giant one fallen and roasting on the ground. With the entire thing consumed in flame, it's almost too bright to bear looking at. But when he does, he spots two small figures trapped between the blazing branches. Hilda braces herself against the smoldering branch, enduring the burns and the weight it presses into her. Underneath her, Amari holds their hands over their head and sobs.
Mott and Anastasia rush over. "Hilda, we're gonna get you out of there!"
Hilda looks up at him, her eyes vacant and weary. Yet, something of a small smile tugs onto her face. "Was wondering when you would show up. Big Bastard."
"Don't make me change my mind, jackass," he retorts, summoning a swell of aquatic power.
He forces a strong, steady stream of water despite the sweltering heat, dousing the branches around them. With the fire closest to them dimmed, Amari is able to squeeze through the tight spaces of the branches and escape. They waddle fearfully over to Anastasia, who grips them tight.
"Mama?" Amaria croaks, their voice unnaturally quieted by raspiness. They sob at the sight of Hilda still trapped under the wreckage.
"If all three of us lift," Anastiasa starts, gesturing to herself, Mott, and Hilda, "we ought to be able to lift it off her."
Mott's gaze darts to the tree skeptically. He's not sure he's ever seen a tree this size, both in height and thickness of the trunk. But they don't have many options; and besides, if anyone is going to be able to lift a massive tree, it's probably Hilda.
"Let's do it," he agrees, crouching under a branch and bracing his shoulders to lift. "Three, two, one!"
He and Hilda lift from the shoulders while Anastasia uses her telekinetic powers. His muscles tremble and sweat drips down his brow, but the tree only lifts a fraction of an inch. Anastasia, with clear strain in her voice, barks, "Harder!"
Gritting his teeth, he forces his legs to go beyond their comfort zone. He's painfully aware that they're quickly losing time—the heat of the surrounding fire is rapidly redrying the doused branches, and it won't be long before they can begin to burn again. The tree only lifts another inch.
Not enough.
The fire begins to creep back onto the branches.
"Mama!" Amari cries, waddling up to the tree. Puffing out their chest, their voice returns to them as they bellow, "I'LL SAVE YOU!"
With that proclamation, they plant their little hands on the trunk and push. With their puny size and strength, Mott can't feel anything change. But from Hilda's perspective, it seems to mean the world. Her eyes glimmer with new light, and with a sudden, powerful roar, she lifts herself up with a newfound strength, throwing the tree effortlessly off her back.
It crashes to the ground with a deafening thud, trembling the earth below his feet. Exhausted and relieved, Mott releases a heavy exhale and catches his breath. A cry of relief escapes Anastasia and she hurries to Hilda's side.
"I DID IT!" Amari exclaims as they're tossed onto Hilda's back. "I SAVED THE DAY!"
"You did," Mott agrees, still somewhat breathless. Nudging Amari fondly, he adds, "Now, go with your moms to the town square and help the people there. Okay?"
"I WILL!" Then, patting Mott's head consolingly, they assure, "YOU DID AN OKAY JOB, TOO. THANKS FOR YOUR HELP!"
That startles a snort of amusement out of him. "Thanks." To Hilda, he requests, "If you guys find Lenny, tell him to go to the town square. The fire isn't safe for him."
"You know he won't," Hilda rumbles, "not if you're here."
Mott looks up at the mesa looming overhead. "I won't be here for long."
With that, they wish each other luck and split. Hilda and her family make the journey back to the town while Mott rushes back to the mesa. When he reaches the base and clutches the first ledge, he closes his eyes and hopes more than anything that he's not leaving Lenny behind to die. Then, opening his eyes, he determinedly pulls himself up.
The climb is more treacherous than the first time. He's weak from the falling, the running, and the lifting of the tree. His body screams in protest with every move he makes, threatening to break down on him at any moment. The smoke stings his eyes, swirling around him in a chokehold. Wind howls past him as if it wants to strip him from the cliffside. It nearly does, a few times—but everytime his grip slips, he somehow manages to cling to another rock just before plummeting to his certain doom.
He was lucky enough to fall into a lush, full tree the first time. With the fire raging below him, he won't be as lucky a second time.
By the time he finally drags himself to the top, his chest is heaving with ragged, short breath. He nearly collapses into a heap as soon as it's safe, panting with exhaustion. When he looks up, he's met with the same sight as before—only slightly worse.
Zekrom looms over him, it's red eyes daunting and all-seeing. It's as if the dragon is peering into his very soul. But when he turns to Florian, he's the complete opposite. It's as if he doesn't see Mott at all. He's too busy pacing, muttering to himself in a manner that Mott can only describe as deranged. The sight of Florian so haggard and disheveled is almost terrifying.
He remembers, not too long ago, when he viewed Florian as an unattainable ideal. Now, he can only see what Torquil had seen before: sadness. Florian isn't a paragon of perfection—he's a man broken under family pressure and driven to desperate measures.
When Florian spots him, he jerks back in frightened surprise. His face twists into a hideous vision of misshapen fury.
"Why?!" He cries, his voice shrill and manic. "Why do you keep coming back?!"
Breathless, Mott has no time to answer before Florian thrusts his pendant into the air. The stone glows with an ominous, purple light, and in turn, Zekrom's glossy eyes flicker with life for an instant. Mechanically, the dragon rises from the mesa, soaring down toward the forest with a deafening roar. A bolt of lightning parts the sky and strikes down in the middle of the forest, sparking more fires into a full inferno.
Leaving Zekrom to wreaking havoc there, Florian lunges forward at the speed of light. Mott narrowly dodges, the rush of air as Florian passes him by shivering down his spine. Snatching his scalchop, he slashes it outward just in time to bring it down on Florian's side. It's a solid, direct hit, throwing Florian off balance and forcing him to retreat.
Mott can't remember the last time he landed a hit on Florian in a serious match. Either he's gotten better, or Florian is losing his grip.
Whichever it is, Florian doesn't like it. He ups his game and lashes out with greater speed and greater violence. Mott blinks once and Florian is suddenly behind him, closing in for a rebound strike. Mott has no time to react, and he's hit.
With everything he's been through tonight, the blow hurts harder than it should and sends him slamming down to the ground. In a blur, Florian strikes again, again, and again; he's so fast that Mott can't even see him. Florian lashes out with one final blow and sends Mott skidding across the ground. He grits his teeth at the sharp rocks that tear into his side, grunting with pain when he collides with a lone boulder. Anymore hits like this, and he might not be able to get back up.
Still, he forces himself up. With trembling legs and a spinning head, he struggles to find his feet. He raises himself halfway up before staggering back. Falling against the rock, he braces himself on it and fights the darkness threatening to close in on his vision. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to reorient himself. All the while, Florian watches him with taut hesitance, his pupils narrow and his eyes rimmed red.
"Just stay down," Florian orders, angry and commanding. Mott thinks he can hear a hint of pleading in there, too. That makes his heart break. "It's for your own good."
One of Mott's legs buckles under him, threatening to topple him to the ground. Florian doesn't move, instead remaining eerily still, as if he's deciding what to do with him. A frantic, heartstopping thought strikes him: is this it? Is this the end of it all? Is he really going to end this quest the way he began it; losing a battle against Florian?
Did he really come all this way just to fail?
Lightning strikes all around, shaking the mesa to its very core.
Before Florian can decide what to do with him, Mott catches a glimpse of a figure in the corner of his eye. When he manages to clear his vision enough to see, he's astonished to see none other than Torquil dragging himself up onto the mesa.
"Florian!" Torquil wails, his voice hoarse and pleading. Just like he had when Mott returned, Florian startles back at the sight of Torquil. With equal parts rain and tears rolling down his face, Torquil begs, "End this, please!"
Torquil barely makes it a step toward him before Florian lashes out. He lunges forth and bats Torquil away, forcing him to the ground. He collapses near Mott, gritting his teeth in clear pain.
"Stop fighting, both of you!" Florian screams over the howling wind. "You know I will beat you!"
Shaking himself off, Mott bends down to help Torquil back up. Leaning on each other, they struggle back to their feet. Mott meets Florian's gaze, grim and determined. Florian's expression morphs into something livid yet anguished.
"Stop! You're being irrational!" The words tremble off his tongue, sharp but achingly vulnerable.
He lashes out, striking them back. They collide with the boulder so forcefully that it splits in two, like a jagged bolt of lightning down the middle. Despite the dizziness in his vision and the rattling in his skull, Mott staggers back to his feet. Beside him, Torquil does the same. In a fearful, furious fit, Florian's tail thrashes.
"I said stop this! Do you both have a death wish?! Stop and once, you, you…" There's a crack in his voice. With sinking dread, Mott realizes that he's crying. "… stop, please? I don't—I don't know what to do…"
Florian shudders, a broken sob echoing into the night. The storm rages overhead, but it pales in comparison to what's happening on the mesa.
"I don't know what to do," Florian repeats, devastated and desperate. Tears run down his face. "Please, just stop, I don't know what to do…"
Mott eyes sting, blurry and wet. A single tear slips down. "You do know what to do. You can put an end to this, right now."
Florian stares at him. Deep in his eyes, Mott can see the snivy he used to know: the one that was short for his age but always held his head high, hiding the bruises on his wrists while he clumsily put bandages over Mott and Torquil's little scrapes. He wishes for nothing more than to see that Florian again.
But then Florian's expression hardens, and Mott knows that version of Florian is gone. Rather, he has been for a long time.
"You don't understand," Florian hisses between his tears, his voice venomous and brittle. "You don't have the weight, the burden, the goddamn expectations of everyone on this hellhole of a planet on your shoulders! End this? How can I end this when this is the only thing keeping me ahead of the rest?!"
With that, Florian raises his pendant once more, summoning Zekrom with a haunting purple glow.
A distant roar echoes from beyond the dark clouds, followed by a boom of thunder. Electricity charges in the air, growing more tense and dangerous frantic with every passing second. He can practically taste metal in the air. By the time Zekrom swoops in from above the clouds, Mott's fur is standing on end.
"I will end this," Florian seethes, one last tear dripping down his face. "You just won't like how I do it!"
