Zekrom soars overhead, a powerful gust of wind following in its wake. The sheer force of it nearly knocks Mott clean off his feet, but he manages to keep balance by gripping onto Torquil. Based on how tightly he's grasped in return, Mott guesses the only thing keeping them both upright is each other.

Gliding back around, Zekrom faces them with a dead gaze. Electricity courses through it, lighting up the sky with such fearsome energy that Mott can feel it sparking down to his bones. With a raging bellow, the dragon unleashes a surging charge upon them.

When it strikes them, all he can see is blinding white.

The lightning rushes through every nerve, electrifying it, fraying it, burning it. He can taste metal in his mouth, blood in his mouth, and then nothing. His ears ring and his other senses grow numb and dead. He's detached from himself, the pain so overwhelmingly potent that he almost can't feel it.

Then Torquil's hand slips off his arm, and he feels everything again.

He feels everything, but nothing is as strong as the bitter, overpowering taste of fear he gets when he realizes that Torquil is falling away. Falling away, no longer capable of leaning on him. Falling away, closer and closer to the edge of the mesa.

"Torquil!" He shouts over the last crackles of dying electricity, his throat bloody and raw.

Torquil staggers back, burnt and bloodied. His eyes are wide, scared; his hand reaches feebly out toward him and Florian—

And then, with a resounding crash of thunder, he falls.

"Torquil!" He howls, falling to a knee in a failed attempt to rush to the edge. He already knows it's no use. The edge of the cliff is as empty as the smoky horizon. Torquil is gone. Still, he cries, "Torquil!"

He catches a glimpse of Florian's expression and immediately wishes he hadn't. Florian is pale and haggard and broken, staring at the spot where Torquil was as if waiting for him to climb back up.

But he's not climbing back up. They both know that.

"You should've just stopped when I told you to," Florian utters, barely speaking over the rumble of thunder. He's hunched over himself like he's about to collapse from an invisible weight on his shoulders. "You should've forgotten about your stupid quest, moved on with your life! But you didn't, because of course you didn't, and now look what you've done!"

Mott forces himself back to his feet. It's getting harder and harder with every second.

"Torquil didn't have to die! Your halfwitted commoner friend didn't have to die!" Florian proclaims, sounding more and more delusional with every word. "But you just wouldn't stop, and you weren't even strong enough to protect them!"

Hearing Florian blame him for his own damn choices breaks what little patience he had left. His rage spikes, and in a fury, he lunges out with his scalchops slashing. Florian evades effortlessly, dodging and ducking from every swipe.

"Why?!" Florian demands, lashing out with a tail. Mott stumbles back but does not fall. He keeps a tight grip on his scalchop. "Why wouldn't you quit this—this suicidal quest? Why?!"

The question rings in his head, haunting and unbearably loud: why?

In a bland fury, he resumes his attack. No matter how Mott hacks and slashes, his attempts always turn up futile.

Why?

Florian snarls as he darts aside from another blow. No matter what Mott does, his struggles always prove useless.

Why?

Useless, useless, useless

Florian lands a direct hit, shooting pain through Mott's entire body as he crashes to the rocky floor. Thunder booms overhead with a simultaneous flash of lighting. Above him, Florian towers, his tail swishing with anticipation.

"You should've given up while you still had the chance," Florian hisses, shadows covering his face. "For someone who does nothing but fail, you sure don't know when to quit."

He tries to force himself back up, but he can't. His legs are too weak and his body wants to shut down. Blackness threatens to seep into his vision.

Worthless.

Florian slithers toward him menacingly. "Did you really think someone like you would stand a chance against someone like me?"

Above him, Zekrom looms in the stormy sky. Red eyes hone in on him with chilling perception. Even if Mott were able to perform some miraculous feat and get back on his feet, what's stopping Zekrom from shooting him right back down? Nothing.

Useless.

A sudden strike of Florian's tail knocks Mott back. He's sure he almost passes out on the spot, based on the way his vision swims and his ears ring. He can taste blood in his mouth after that hit, and it wasn't even one of Florian's best.

No-good waste of time.

The storm rages above him. He's done nothing to stop it. Thunder still crashes and lightning still strikes despite his best efforts. All around, the forest fire burns on. Trees and homes and fertile crops go up in smoke. And he's done nothing to stop it.

A memory flashes before him, unbidden: Hilda trapped beneath a tree; the panic and helplessness that had gripped his heart. That feeling stirs within him now, swirling and growing and racing. The only comforting thought is the reminder that Hilda is safe with her family, no longer trapped under a burning tree.

He couldn't stop the fire from burning, but he could save Hilda.

He opens his eyes, and the world seems a little clearer.

"Just stay down," Florian insists, turning his back on him. "You weren't going to be able to do anything, anyways."

He couldn't stop the storm from destroying the inn. But he could save the people inside.

He props himself on a knee, shakily rising.

Florian glances over his shoulder, scowling at the sight. "You're pathetic. After all that, you're still going to blunder your way through his one-sided match?"

He can't beat Florian. He can't beat Zekrom. But he's trying. He's fucking trying, and that's good enough.

He's good enough.

Standing, facing a livid Florian and a callous Zekrom, he rasps, "You. Me. Duel for honor. Now."

Florian's expression twists into a sneer of disgust. "You have no honor left."

"Then prove it to me," he demands, taking a step forward. "Beat me senseless. But you better do it here and now, or else I'll never stop trying to beat you."

"Always so damn impatient," Florian growls, turning back to him while trembling with rage. Taking a battle stance, he says, "I suppose I'll indulge you this one last time."

In a flash, Florian pounces, poised to land a devastating blow. There's no chance of Mott escaping it. So he does what he can—he braces himself to take the hit and hopes to god it doesn't end the battle. But before Florian's attack can make contact, there's a blur out of the corner of his eye. When he blinks, Florian is knocked aside and rolling across the ground. In his place stands the one person Mott has been aching to see more than anything.

"Lenny!" he cries, delighted and relieved.

Lenny turns back to him, a bright smile on his face. A quick glance over him reveals no serious injuries, only a few scrapes and burns here and there. A weight lifts off his heart as though he can finally breathe again.

Apparently, the same can not be said for Lenny. His eyes roam over Mott with increasing horror. "Mott, you need—"

Their reunion doesn't get to continue in peace. In an instant, Florian is back on the scene, lashing out at Lenny. Lenny narrowly avoids the hit and counters with one of his own. Florian's exhaustion and desperation throws him off his game, and Lenny lands another direct strike. Hissing in pain, Florian leaps into the battle with greater ferocity.

The two of them move with such blinding speed that there's hardly room for air between them. As much as he wants to help Lenny, he worries that he might misplace his attack and hit Lenny by accident. But that doesn't mean he can just stand here. The pendant is still looped between Florian's tail, and the stone is pulsating with a daunting purple glow. Above them, Zekrom's eyes flicker back to life.

Zekrom charges up a sphere of electricity so potent and overwhelming that Mott can feel the static from here. He knows what Florian plans to do with it: eliminate his most dangerous competition. He's going to try and burn Lenny to death, for good this time.

The crackling ball of energy grows as large as Mott himself, and then it gets even bigger. It's twice as massive as the one at the Roselake City Museum. It's deadly. It's lethal. And it's aimed right at Lenny.

Zekrom launches it and Florian darts away from the confrontation. Lenny is only left a split second to freeze in confusion before he spots the mass of electricity hurtling toward him. He sees Lenny's thin silhouette in the harsh glare of lightning, growing ever smaller.

No, not this time.

Not this time. This time, Mott lunges in front of Lenny, raising his scalchop high to deflect the strike.

Power surges in the air, buzzing through his entire body. His bones rattle and his veins rush and his nerves fire; the sheer energy of the attack nearly burns his skin. But he stands firm, relentless, glaring Zekrom down as the attack fizzles out. Off to the side, he catches a glimpse of Florian as he stares petrified at the sight. Mott thinks he must be imagining things, because he swears he spies a hint of surprise in Zekrom's eyes.

"Lenny," Mott pants, not taking his eyes off Zekrom, "you take Florian and get the pendant. I'll keep Zekrom distracted."

Lenny's eyes flit anxiously to the dragon and back. "You know you can't beat it."

"I don't need to." From the start of this journey, he knew defeating the legendary Zekrom was a lost cause. Yet he still demanded success from himself, impossible success. He's not doing that anymore. "I just need to buy you time," he explains, turning to Lenny. "So that you can end it."

They lock gazes, and a wave of understanding passes through them both. It's as if Mott is communicating to him without words. Defeat Florian. Take the pendant. End this. Lenny's eyes harden with determination, and he nods.

"Be safe," Lenny says.

Mott grins in spite of himself. "You know I won't."

And with that, they leap into action.

Zekrom roars as Mott charges at it, lightning crackling through its body like glowing veins. With every step closer he takes, the air grows more and more charged with buzzing electricity. He could almost imagine a bolt of lightning sparking out of nowhere from the sheer tension alone. Then Zekrom swoops down and Mott rushes forward, and his first true battle with a legend officially begins.

It starts with a quake of thunder so loud that the heavens and the earth shake as one. Mott refuses to be thrown off balance, instead lunging forward with his scalchop in hand. When Zekrom shoots downward to snap its jaws at him, Mott narrowly evades and digs his weapon into the dragon's shoulder. It barely pierces the thick layer of scaly armor, but it's enough for Mott to thrust himself onto the back of Zekrom as the beast takes to the sky.

Gripping tight to his scalchop, he firmly embeds it in the back of Zekrom's shoulder in order to stay secure. Wind and rain pound against him, fighting to rip him off and send him plummeting to the ground below. A furious bellow erupts from Zekrom, shaking its whole body like an earthquake. Mott clings on for dear life, stabbing his weapon down further as he summons his aquatic powers.

As he's mustering all the power at his disposal, he catches a glimpse of green on the mesa. The battle between Lenny and Florian is fraught and cutthroat; neither can give an inch for fear that it would be the last mistake they'd ever make. Their speed rivals the lightning striking around them. He could almost imagine a tornado building due to their rapid swirls of dodges and blows.

It's a match that could easily belong to either of them. Mott is both comforted and haunted by the thought.

Before he can think about it much longer, Zekrom suddenly shifts in flight, soaring upside down. The sickening and terrifying sense of vertigo slams into his gut as Zekrom suspends him in midair. His scalchop is slowly sliding out of Zekrom's skin; Mott scrambles to hold on, but the scales are too smooth to gain any leverage. He makes the mistake of looking down and is met with the sight of burning forest hundreds of feet below.

The scalchop slips out completely.

With nothing to grab onto, Mott pushes himself off Zekrom's back and launches himself toward the mesa, shooting a jet of water at Zekrom's eye as he falls. The beast roars from the impact and flounders in its flight path, careening sharply downward. Zekrom collides with the edge of the mesa, bellowing with rage, and slides down the cliffside and into the blazing woods.

Mott only has a brief moment to gawk at the blow he landed before the ground comes hurtling toward him.

Frantically, he turns himself in midair and ejects a stream of water straight at the ground, hoping to slow his descent even the slightest bit. It works, but not enough to keep him from crashing painfully to the mesa's surface. The impact results in an agonizing snap that he desperately doesn't want to think about, but the sharp, shooting pain that follows is impossible to ignore. It startles a shout of anguish from him as he clutches his side, gritting his teeth through the throbbing pain.

Flat in the dirt, all he can do to stay conscious is lay there and breathe for a few minutes. Each breath burns with a vengeance. He definitely broke something, probably a rib—maybe a few—but he has to push on. Lenny hasn't beaten Florian yet. The sounds of their battle are just as fierce and merciless as before. Until Lenny wins, Mott has to have his back.

When his breathing evens out again, and the sharp agony becomes more manageable, he forces himself to his feet. He winces and takes it in small increments, but still hurts like hell. And lucky him, the moment he turns his head, he sees the last thing he ever wanted to see: Zekrom soaring back upward, sparks of fire and smoke in its wake. It locks its eyes on him, furious, eager for payback.

Shit.

Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, he spots something: a slip in Florian's composure, a momentary hesitance, a stumble. Lenny leaps on it in an instant, slashing out with fervor and striking Florian back. As Florian tumbles to the side, wounded, the pendant clatters out of his grasp.

On Mott's other side, Zekrom begins to charge a fearsome sphere of lightning.

Florian doesn't stay on the ground for long. He lunges up the moment Lenny gets a hand on the pendant and snaps into action, coiling viciously around him, enough to make Mott worry that Lenny might snap in half. Florian darts to snatch the pendant back.

"Mott!" Lenny cries, his voice choked out by Florian's tightening grip. With his free arm, he throws the pendant. "Switch!"

The pendant soars through the air, glowing so potently it's nearly vibrating. The light of Zekrom's growing electric charge reflects off the stone.

This was not the plan, Mott wants to protest as he watches the pendant fly toward him. But then Florian shoots away from Lenny, chasing after the stone, and Mott does the same.

Zekrom roars behind him, preparing to launch the attack.

He and Florian charge at each other, the pendant perfectly between them. Static builds in the air, so overwhelming that it's hard to breathe.

Behind Florian, Lenny climbs back to his feet, eyes wide at the sight.

Florian's faster; with the pendant equally between them there's no competition about who will get there first. If something doesn't change, this will all be for naught.

But he's not doing this alone. He never has been, it just took him this long to realize it. Behind Florian, Lenny shoots a stream of String Shot, catching him at the tail and yanking him back. Florian slams to the ground, writhing, eyes wide and feverish and delusional, as Mott reaches up and catches the pendant.

Immediately, an unnameable force rushes into him. It's as if the light from the stone is racing through his veins, pulsating at a beat just slightly off from his heart. The internal discord is unfamiliar and bizarre, and it nearly threatens to unravel him, but he pulls himself together. The strange force thrums in his head, splitting his skull, and somehow Mott translates this unnatural pain into words.

what do you desire?

"What?" He utters, breathless. He feels as though he's submerged underwater; the atmosphere around him is thick and wrong. He can barely see Florian thrashing against Lenny's binds through a smoggy cloud of purple and black. Almost impatiently, the voice shoots through him again, with a sear of burning pain.

why do you summon me?

what motivates you?

He grips the stone tight. What motivates him? His knuckles ache around the pendant; the sharp edges of it cut into his pam. The question pounds into his head, screaming in his veins. What motivates you, what motivates you, what motivates you?

Something deep inside him simmers, something that he never knew was there. It's restless, demanding attention, demanding recognition as it surges to the surface. It's so strong that he nearly keels over from the sheer rush of it overtaking his senses.

What motivates him?

What motivates him?

What motivates him?

The answer bursts out of him like a pent up dam, loud and instinctive and guttural: "I want to help people!"

Instantaneously, something is drawn out of him. The purple glow rushes through his vision and pierces deep into the marrow of his bones, and just as quickly it vanishes. It seeps back into the stone, settling inside like a calm pool in the center of an untouched forest. The pain, the voice, the strange sensation flood out of him all at once. He's left swaying on his feet, blinking and dazed as the stone hums in his hand.

The rain begins to let up. It softens from a relentless pour to a gentle shower. The thunder and lightning begin to retreat, steady enough to be gone within the hour. Even the clouds begin to part just enough for Mott to see the horizon turning gold with a new day.

There's an ancient presence behind him. He senses it with every fiber of his being. Spinning around, he comes face to face with Zekrom—but the menace that had once radiated off the dragon in waves is now gone. Zekrom looks down at him with the same red eyes, only Mott catches a hint of golden sunrise shining in them.

The strange voice returns to him one last time, although no pain comes with it.

thank you.

Then, Zekrom closes its eyes, fading to purple light as it is summoned back into the stone, returned once more to its peaceful slumber. The stone pulses in his hand like a heartbeat, gradually becoming slower and fainter until it fades entirely. The purple glow is replaced with a black, opaque luster and now appears to be nothing more than a regular stone.

The stone feels impossible heavy in his hand when he realizes: it's over. It's all over.

For some reason, that discovery nearly makes him weep.

Instead, he looks up at Lenny, who is running through the rain to him. He takes a few steps toward Lenny before he's tackled in a hug. He staggers back a step, which reinforces just how exhausted he is, because normally Lenny could never knock him back. But he doesn't care about that. All he cares about is wrapping his free arm—the one gripping the pendant—around Lenny's waist and holding him tight.

They embrace in the rain, holding each other as the forest fires slowly die out. Smoke rises and joins the rumbling clouds above. Neither of them say a word; the only sound they make is their ragged, weary breathing.

It's over. It's all over.

On the ground, far off from them, Florian lies. The rain pours down on him and he allows it, muddy and bloody and pitiful. He's so eerily still that Mott could almost believe he's dead. Then, he shifts. A low sound rises out of him, something strange and disjointed. With a spine-chilling shiver, Mott realizes he's laughing.

Florian laughs at the stormy sky, loud and broken and wrong. Snapped. He writhes in the muck and howls at the sky, his cackles echoing throughout the storm.

Releasing him, Lenny turns to face Florian, clearly perturbed by the chilling display. Mott doesn't blame him. His blood is curdling at the sight, trying to connect the person he sees to the person he used to know. He can't do it.

At the far edge of the mesa, something steals Mott's attention. A large hand grips onto the ledge, covered in blood and dirt. It's followed by another, and then by a face and body Mott thought he'd never see again.

Torquil.

He shouts for him, elated and relieved, but Torquil doesn't seem to hear him. His focus is entirely wrapped around Florian, who's howls of deranged glee have twisted into hysterical sobs. Without a moment to lose, Torquil staggers toward him, blood dripping from his wounds, and falls to his knees beside Florian. He falls on top of the broken serperior, clinging tightly to him as silent tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Florian's own weeping breaks off into abrupt silence. He then closes his eyes as if willing himself to die.

Lenny looks away from the gruesome scene. Mott does the same, focusing his gaze on the ground. He's all too aware of the stinging tears slipping down his face, especially when Lenny cups his cheek and pulls him close.

They embrace. Mott looks to the heavens, where thunderlight illuminates the sky.