I'm sorry for the lack of updates in the past months. I've had a nearly blinding dose of combined writer's block and bullshit that had to be done and took up my whole day. A lot of my schedule has cleared up, though. So, hopefully, I'll have more time to update now. Enjoy Chapter 1! : )
Chapter 1:What Dwells in Back Alleys
Chris went hurtling out of the doorway, the hood of his concrete-gray jacket trailing behind him. The two black-clad bouncers dusted off their hands, then turned their shaded eyes on a fight going on at table two.
Clambering up and looking around, Chris shouted, "Yeah, you go and serve the 'legitamite' customers! I don't need you guys, I've got contacts who'll have a keg at my door before morning!"
As he was contemplating whether to keep shouting or not, two men were shoved outside and continued fighting until some bouncers came to break them up. As Chris turned away in disgust, one man, a shorter one with close-cropped black hair and an odd pallor, yelled, "Look, I'm Torchwood, special ops, I'm here on a report of-"
"Shut up, no one believes that."
"Special ops, yeah? More like special needs, if ya ask me." chortled the other man, his messy brown hair flying. As he walked away, Chris got a short glimpse both men being manhandled into a waiting police car.
Bloody drunks, think that people'll believe anything they're told. Checking the time, the brown-haired youth decided to take one of his shortcuts through a back alley.
Most teenagers knew better than to walk around the alleys of Cardiff, especially after all the weird occurrences of late. Chris, however, had an arrogance that most teenagers lacked. And, more importantly, he thought, he always had Cerberus and Beowulf by his side.
Beowulf, a Charizard, had been his first pokèmon. Chris had thought that the name Beowulf would be very ironic for a pokèmon that would one day evolve into a dragon. Cerberus, his Houndoom, had joined their party later, and quickly become something of a wing-man to Beowulf.
It was Cerberus that Chris now called out, allowing the hellhound-pokèmon to walk along with him in case of attack. Chris didn't know it, but Cerberus would come in handy quite quickly.
At first, Chris thought nothing of the little flash of motion in the corner of his right eye. Probably just a homeless guy, you get a lot of them around here, he thought.
He thought rather differently when the flash of motion entered the front of his eye. He realized, then, that this guy was probably not only well-housed, but well-trained in the art of killing, too. The dagger in his hand, wielded expertly and without the slightest hint of bargaining intentions, rather tipped him off.
Chris reacted with light-speed, having spent most of his childhood fighting muggers.
"Pinpoint-Flamethrower, Cerb. Melt the knife. And I wouldn't mind if you messed up his hand while you were at it." he muttered. As Cerberus growled in consent, he pulled out a knife of his own. He flicked the blade open, admiring the glint of steel in the dim starlight.
"Wanna fight, huh? You picked the wrong kid on the wrong turf."
"Fight? No, boy. Only to kill." Whispered the man from under a black hood. Chris almost took a step back. He didn't know who or what this guy was, but his voice was horrible. Every syllable dripped with malice, not normal, revenge-malice, but "I'd-burn-a-man-alive-just-to-hear-the-screams" malice.
Leaping to defend his master,Cerberus shot a line of flame at the hand holding the knife. As the flame moved toward the man, something happened. Chris couldn't tell how, but... the man had moved. Or had the fire's trajectory changed? He couldn't figure it out, but one thing was certain: the flame moved harmlessly past the man.
"Good show of resistance, boy. Futile, but admirable." The lower portion of his face- all that Chris could see- split in a hideous grin, revealing a two rows of yellowing teeth, the product of a man so possessed of murder that he couldn't be bothered to take care of himself. "I enjoy the screams of warriors. So much more satisfying and full than cowards." He lunged.
Chris didn't have time to react- no, he did, but he couldn't- yes, he could, but he wouldn't- yes, he would've, but some force wouldn't let him-
His mind continued in this futile line of thought even as the knife sunk into his left shoulder. At first, Chris felt no pain. For an instant, he thought that maybe the nerves had been severed. Then- a fiery eruption of agony.
He gasped, clutching at the knife. Before he could get a firm grip on the hilt, the man grabbed it and roughly yanked it out, causing Chris to drop to his knees, screaming.
"I must be losing my touch. That should have hit your heart, dead-on." The man snickered, advancing on Chris.
That was when Cerberus, abandoning all self-preservation instinct, lunged fro the man's throat. Latching on, he placed his paws firmly on both shoulders, shaking his head and attempting to rip out his throat.
"Enough of this!" roared a voice from above. Looking up, Chris saw a hulking figure standing at the entrance to the alley. He stood at least seven feet tall, and wore a rough brown cloak.
"You won't harm the Chosen One any farther, Jarret." The figure said, striding towards the man.
The man, meanwhile, sneered.
"Oh, has the council sent a pet?" he taunted, tossing the Houndoom off.
"CERBERUS!"Chris roared, looking to his fallen comrade, who lay wimpering to the side of the alley.
"No, Jarret. The council has sent a member." Lifting a hand to his hood- Three fingers, Chris thought- the figure pulled it down, revealing his face.
Chris gasped. The figure was obviously some kind of pokèmon, but like nothing Chris had ever seen. It- no, he, Chris decided- had an angular face, almost seeming to be pulled back from a single point at the tip of his nose. His skin was a pale gray color, with small patches of purple. Two stubby horns adorned the creature's head, and just below them, some sort of umbilical cord-like organ, looking almost humorously like a ponytail, dropped down below the cloak, likely reconnecting with the back at some point. His fingers, Chris now saw, had amazingly bulbous tips.
It was these, then, that he squeezed together, pointing at Jarret. The man was lifted up off the ground, a blue glow around him, and hurled into the night.
Turning to Chris, the creature said, "Come, Chosen One. The others wait, and I grow weary of this."
"Not... without Cerberus." Chris insisted through gritted teeth. The creature looked over at where the hound lay, whimpering.
"Very well. There is one at the meeting place that can heal his wounds." Getting up shakily, Chris raised Cerberus's pokèball.
"Come on back in, mate. We'll get you fixed up, don't worry." He murmured soothingly. A red beam shot out, returning the pokèmon to its normal place of rest. He turned to the creature.
"Okay, I don't know what you are or where you're going, but I get the sense that if I make a break for it, you'll stop me, yeah?" The creature nodded.
"Fine, then, lead the way." Chris sighed.
"Grab on. We'll fly." the creature invited, baring his back at him. For a moment, Chris thought he must be mad. Ah, what the hell? he decided. He's obviously got some psychic powers, flying sounds likely enough. Chris hopped onto the legendary's back. Kicking off, he shot into the air, leaving behind the now thoroughly trashed and blood-stained alley.