Chapter 27
The boy hated his mother.
He was barely ten years old, but he knew very confidently that the bitter, angry, hurt feeling he had in his heart was hatred.
"Mom," he called out to her as she sat on their couch, "mom. Mom! MOM!" She didn't respond. That was nothing new. Tristan's mother had done this countless times. So, it didn't come as a surprise when she continued staring across the room.
She was depressed, again. This happened often and it always happened for the same reason. All of their money was gone; lost in the slots at the Rocket Game Corner…again.
What would she do to make rent this time? How many willing friends and family members remained to lend her the money she needed?
Whatever happened, she might get herself back on track for a short period. Maybe even save a little money. But after just two months, like clockwork, she would return to the Game Corner to do what she always did and lose it all.
This had been happening for as long as Tristan could remember. Ever since his father had abandoned them. His mother had simply broken down and just started pouring coin after coin into those machines. What was she doing? Hoping for a big break that would never come? Or did she just want to have some kind of hope to hold onto no matter how foolish it was?
Tristan just wondered why Child Services hadn't come to save him from this vicious circle. He did everything for her. He cooked, he cleaned, and he tried to cheer her up when she spiraled into these depressive states. He was strong, he knew that, but he also knew that he was only ten. It shouldn't have been his job. It shouldn't have been his life.
He didn't love his mother. He hated her.
That was why, as he watched his mother stare off into nothing, he decided to walk out of their decaying one-bedroom apartment and never come back.
Weeks passed as he learned how to live on the streets of Celadon. Most of the city was beautiful. The flashing lights of the Rocket Game Corner, the tall buildings, with the Celadon Department Store among them, and even the serene grass-type Pokémon Gym all had their place in Celadon. Unfortunately, so did the slums with their crime and suffocating atmosphere of depravity. But no one ever talked about that side of Celadon.
The streets made him far tougher than what his neglectful mother ever could have. Tristan had it rough at home, sure, but it didn't compare to having to endure the outside. He knew it well enough to know where to go, what to avoid and, most importantly, who to avoid. But he couldn't keep living that life, either. He deserved better than that.
That was when he started thinking about stealing a Pokémon.
Most kids were just given Pokémon. Tristan didn't have that luxury. To get one, you needed to be at least thirteen with eight years of schooling and, of course, have a guardian willing to sign the appropriate paperwork. Tristan had neither. He had heard that some places lowered the age to as little as ten, Tristan's current age, but Celadon firmly believed in the thirteen-rule. Even if he had stuck around home until he was of age, he doubted that his mother would let him go. She needed him, and she probably knew it. He didn't know what he was condemning her to by leaving, but he was convinced that he needed to save himself or he would go down with her.
The boy had ventured into the rich shopping districts of Celadon plenty of times. The food in the trash was better than most meals he had been eating his entire life. And Pokémon were everywhere over there.
In the slums, there was nothing but Rattata, Grimer or other common, disgusting, disease carrying Pokémon. Maybe, once, they had been proud, strong Pokémon that lived happily in the fields, but the city had twisted them into something vile. A trainer would have to be insane to think about wanting to catch one.
There was only one option available to Tristan. It was an option that he didn't need to think very hard about. After all, he was tougher than that. Why should he worry about getting caught and punished after everything he had already seen? What, in all truth, did he have to lose?
He followed a kid home from school. Well, not all of the way home. He pulled the kid off the street and beat him. The kid was a year older than him, but Tristan was twice as tough. He pounded the kid over and over again and screamed in his face to hand over one of his Pokémon. The image of the kid's bruised and bloodied face was carved into Tristan's mind. No matter how long it had been, that image stayed there, reminding him of what he had done.
But, in the end, the kid handed over a Pokéball and Tristan ran. He never stopped to make sure the kid would be okay.
Tristan took the Pokéball back to the slums, back to the empty apartment where he had slept the past two nights. It was at least five times more decayed and bug-infested than the apartment he shared with his mother, but at least it was indoors. Tristan just considered himself lucky to find one where they didn't bother to lock the door.
There was a chance that the tenants would be showing the place to somebody during the daylight, but he would have to take the risk. He needed privacy. Clutching the Pokéball as though it was the most precious and fragile thing he had ever seen, he closed and locked the door to the empty apartment.
He popped the Pokéball open and a white light appeared and took the shape of a Houndour. It looked at Tristan with wide, confused eyes, as if to say, "You're not my master." But it didn't seem to mind too much and after a second, its tongue lolled out of its mouth and it approached Tristan and began to sniff at him, experimentally. When it finished, it began exploring the area, whimpering as it did so.
The boy regarded the Pokémon in front of him with a cold, calculating gaze. A Houndour. Not bad, considering what he could've gotten. It could've been a useless fish or a bug Pokémon, but it wasn't. Not bad, at all.
But there was something wrong with it. Tristan knew enough about Pokémon to know that Houndour never acted like this. Houndour were vicious and nasty, even as far as un-evolved Pokémon usually went. This one was docile. It had been pampered and babied by its owner. It was a pet, not the fighter that Tristan wanted. It wasn't what he felt like he needed.
He watched it explore the apartment, sniffing at the walls and whining for its true owner. A millipede crawled across the wall and the Houndour yipped in fright, backing away. It approached the bug to sniff at it, but it ran away, across the room when the revolting thing scurried away.
Tristan couldn't believe it. This thing in front of him had grown much too soft under its old master. It came from a padded life of spoiled luxury, just like its trainer. It didn't know how to fight. It didn't know how tough and powerful it could become.
But Tristan was willing to teach it.
He didn't use a weapon, but he held nothing back when he beat it. He punched and kicked at the Houndour, beating it down and ignoring its terrified whimpering and whining. Never once did it fight back.
Over the next few weeks, Tristan broke his new Houndour and re-shaped it into the vicious killer he wanted it to be. He had no use for a complacent, tame, dopey-eyed puppy. He wanted his first Pokémon to be as tough and dangerous as he was.
And that was exactly what Cerberus became.
Fear and respect earned Tristan what would become his strongest Pokémon. Cerberus was a Pokémon that he had never caught, but had stolen and beaten until he knew the pain that Tristan had felt for his entire life.
Two months later, Tristan left Celadon with an obedient, reliable killer at his side. He traveled from city to city, improving his abilities. He caught dozens of other Pokémon and trained them all in the same way he trained Cerberus. But not all Pokémon responded to his methods in the same way.
Cerberus had been special, maybe even grateful, on some level, for Tristan's abuse. It made him powerful and he found that having that power mattered more to him than anything he might have to endure to get it.
But Cerberus wasn't alone. Apollo and Cleo also responded well to Tristan's harsh methods. After just a few short years, the three of them were easily Tristan's most powerful Pokémon.
However, the training didn't stop. Tristan always wanted more. He demanded more, sometimes more than what his Pokémon could deliver. But they surprised him.
Through the harsh, unforgiving abuse that Tristan inflicted on his Pokémon, he stumbled onto the gateway to even more power.
Cerberus was the first to evolve into a human Pokémon. He was violent and dangerous beyond comparison. Tristan couldn't have been happier.
His first human Pokémon had a stronger sense of independence than what he possessed as a Houndoom, but Tristan compensated for it with the appropriate amount of force. Cerberus' already high level of fear and respect for Tristan aided tremendously in keeping him in line. But if one could make the jump from Pokémon to human, why not others?
The beatings were the worst when Tristan was trying to force Apollo and Cleo to evolve. It took weeks, but they both evolved. Whether it was because they had finally become strong enough, or simply because they wanted the pain to end, none of them knew for certain.
The only thing that was certain was the fear and respect that Tristan commanded from them. It was the same kind of fear and respect that followed him everywhere. No one on Himitsu Island knew what they were going to do next. And Tristan liked it that way.
On the far side of Mount Totetsu, the mountain that covered a third of Himitsu Island, a small sandstorm raged. It was localized in an area that was no more than a few acres. Sand, dust and dirt spun in a cyclone around a central point in an almost perfect sphere. At the center of the sphere sat EdgeoftheEarth and three of his human Pokémon. Gathered amongst them were a human Lucario, Torterra, and Tyranitar.
The sandstorm emanated from the mild-mannered Tyranitar, which Edge had named Tyrant, in the center of the maelstrom. Gruff and grumpy Panzer, the Torterra, and Pulse, the often loud and obnoxious Lucario, rounded out the group of young men. All three of the human Pokémon sat in the sandstorm without worry or difficulty. To some extent, it made them more comfortable.
To protect himself from the sandstorm, unwillingly created by his Tyranitar, Edge wore a pair of goggles that he had made himself. As far as protecting his body went, well, Edge didn't mind. Long ago, he had decided to view it as training. Some people meditated under waterfalls or by standing on hot coals. Edge sat in a sandstorm.
"Gin," he declared through his crooked grin. He set down the seven playing cards he had in his hand. He cracked his knuckles and leaned back. After realization sank in, Panzer and Pulse threw down their own cards and began swearing and accusing Edge of cheating in a remarkably good-natured manner.
"Damn you," Panzer growled, gathering up the cards, since it would be his turn to shuffle. The human Torterra was dressed in a pair of dark brown army pants, boots and a brown t-shirt. His shirts had to be custom-made to fit around the highly inconvenient shell on his back, as well as the small bonsai tree growing out of it on his shoulder, "you have no idea how long I was after that card."
"I just wanna know where the ace of clubs is," Pulse began searching through the remaining cards in the deck, but it wasn't until he reached the bottom that the ace of clubs appeared, "figures. Effing figures!" The human Lucario was dressed in a dark blue jacket and jeans with a cream-colored shirt. Black gloves, boots and a headband, as well as a spiked belt completed his attire. Short triangular ears and a long, rigid tail were his souvenirs from his time as a true Lucario. He tossed his cards into the air and they scattered away into the sandstorm.
"Oh, geez," Edge grumbled without resentment, "Now, look what ya did!"
"It's okay, I'll get them," Tyrant said meekly. Edge could barely hear his small voice over the howl of the sandstorm even though he was sitting right next to him. The youngest of Edge's human Pokémon, at just eighteen, Tyrant was a far cry from what his name suggested he should be like. He wore a dark green trench coat (that was much too big), pants and boots along with a light blue t-shirt. His similarly green hair stuck out in jagged spikes and his shoulders were adorned with real ones which were as hard as diamond. The same was true for his three-foot tail.
Tyrant wasn't tall, like Pulse, or broad-shouldered like Panzer, but was just a measly 5'3" and 115 lbs. He had always been small. Even after making the jump from Larvitar to Pupitar and finally to Tyranitar he had been thin and small for his species.
Abruptly, the mutual taunting and jeering of the other three stopped. Tyrant was slow, getting to his feet. He shambled after the cards, not really in any rush to continue the game.
"Man, what is with him?" Pulse asked no one in particular when he was confident Tyrant could no longer hear him. He knew the answer, of course, they all did. But no one wanted to say it and everyone wanted to pretend that they were still having a good time.
Still, Edge had seen Tyrant act like this more than the other two. He had sat with him lots of times before and managed to get him to open up. For some reason, Tyrant only responded to Edge. It might have been from the trainer-Pokémon bond that Aurum preached about, but Edge didn't pay too much attention to stuff like that.
Tyrant slowly chased down the battered cards. They would need a new deck soon. The cards never lasted long in Tyrant's sandstorm. They would last maybe a few hours, but pretty soon there would be holes in them or the writing would be illegible. The group had long ago conceded to ignore the fact that the cards were marked just so they could play.
The two of diamonds had become wedged in between two rocks and Tyrant bent to pick it up. Two more cards. He almost didn't want to find them. If he didn't they would have to stop playing.
"'Sup?"
Edge's appearance at Tyrant's back startled him into dropping the card and it fluttered away, again.
"Ooo…" Edge said in sympathetic pain, "sorry about that."
"It's okay," Tyrant shrugged, "it's not like it's the first time." Edge was a full foot taller than him. Whenever he looked up at him he felt like he was looking at a giant or a god. He admired Edge enough that he might as well be. But he couldn't look at him, right then.
"What's wrong, man?" Edge asked.
"Nothing," Tyrant said and he pretended that he saw a card so he could jog a few paces away in hot pursuit.
"Don't give me that," Edge was right beside him. Always, no matter what. It was just the kind of person he was, "we're pals, right? You can tell me."
Tyrant sighed, how could he tell Edge what was wrong? He and the others were being so nice to him. They kept him company and didn't leave him alone. That's what friends did, right?
"Come on," Edge persisted, "holding it in's not gonna help."
"Alright," Tyrant sighed, Edge had a point, "could we stop playing for a while?"
"Huh?" Edge paused, "I thought you liked gin. It's a good game."
"Well…I mean…not play cards anymore," Tyrant tactfully sought a way to end this, but he doubted if Edge would let him.
"Okay, we can do that," Edge nodded, "what do you want to do instead? We could go grab a ball and toss it around some. Or we could play 'Would you rather…?' that's always fun."
But Tyrant shook his head, "no…I don't really want to play a game at all."
"Well, what do you want to do?"
"Umm…well…" Tyrant began furiously rubbing his face with his palm in an attempt to calm himself, it failed miserably, "the thing is. I don't think we should hang out during the tournament anymore."
"How come?" Edge, on the other hand, stayed calm easily. He knew Tyrant better than anyone. Tyrant wouldn't simply put an end to their friendship, he wasn't like that. Somehow, Tyrant must be blaming himself.
"Well," Tyrant's shoulders slumped down, "you guys always spend time with me, but I can't go anywhere. I wish I could control this stupid sandstorm, but I can't! But just because I can't go into town and have fun, it doesn't mean you guys can't."
Edge's smile broadened. It was exactly what he thought. Tyrant's selflessness never ceased to amaze him.
"What'll you do?" Edge asked.
"Me?" Tyrant glanced up at Edge, "I dunno…I'll think of something."
"Well, we can think of something together, then," Edge suggested.
"No, you don't understand," Tyrant sighed, "there must be something you want to do on the island. I don't want me to be the reason that you're missing out."
"There's nothing back there, for me," Edge explained, "you guys are all I have and you guys are all I need."
"Is that true, Edge?" Tyrant asked. Doubt filled his baby-blue eyes, "you don't have to be so tough all the time, you know. I mean, you can tell me, I won't mind."
"Of course it's true, little man," Edge patted Tyrant on the back.
"You mean…" Tyrant was afraid to ask, but he didn't realize he was the only one of Edge's human Pokémon that Edge would give an honest answer to, "you don't miss River?"
The disaffected-tough guy front that Edge put on melted away in an instant. His eyes went wide, within his goggles, and he gritted his teeth causing the smile to vanish. For just a few seconds, Edge didn't need to say anything for Tyrant to learn everything.
But then it was gone, and the normal face of EdgeoftheEarth was back.
Still, Edge couldn't lie to Tyrant. He was his strongest human Pokémon and his first. Those were bonds that Edge did believe in. Edge and Tyrant were brothers, the way Edge and Sky used to be.
"You're right," Edge nodded, "I do miss her. And I do want to see her."
"Then why don't you?"
"She doesn't want to see me," Edge closed his eyes, "not now…maybe never."
Tyrant didn't know what to say. He could tell him to go and see her, but Edge would just refuse again. He had felt like he was trapping Edge and the others here, but that wasn't what he was doing at all. Edge wanted to be with him because there was nowhere else to go.
"I'm sorry," Tyrant took a deep breath and tried to be stronger for Edge. Edge shouldn't have to bear everything by himself.
"Hey, it's no big deal," the smile was back on Edge's face, "it's her loss, right? Come on, let's find those cards and get playing again."
Edge turned and started walking through the sandstorm in search of the wayward cards.
"Sure," Tyrant whispered before he also resumed looking. However, he was more serious this time.
AN: both of these sections i wrote once. then, as i thought about them i came up with better ways to do them and completely redid them from scratch. The only other section that gets that honor (so far) is the prologue. which I rewrote about four or five times and I'm still not totally happy with it.
guess that's everything, for now. thanks for reading!