Trying something new here. I'm going to steal a page from Galalithial (:P) and do shout-outs to reviews, which I think is proper etiquette. So, thanks to Galalithial and grammaguy for not only their insightful reviews but also their additional conversations with me regarding how to write fics better! And of course, great thanks to all of the readers who've kept reading this up to this point!

Chapter 9: Histories

Siria and Wyatt landed gently on a patch of grass, looking to see if they had any unwelcome greeters.

"No one's here," the Latias whispered to him after closing her eyes briefly.

"Are you certain?"

"I did a mental scan. I can't sense any enemies within our area."

"Let's move." Still suspicious of enemy activity, he grunted, dashing to the trees and propping himself up against one. He began to undo the rope around his waist which tied his passenger to him. The Mightyena he transported fell to the ground paws-forward, gratified that the flight was over. Wyatt kneeled down to get a better look at him. "Hey, you alright?"

The dark-type quickly changed his pained face to a stoic one. "Yeah, yeah. There's no problem at all," he said right before his arms and legs gave way, letting his face hit the ground.

The Wargle glanced over at Siria. She nodded and opened one of the bags strapped to her waist, producing a pair of small white pills. As the larger 'mon retreated backwards, she tried to talk to the Mightyena. "Take these. They'll help with the air sickness." She offered the medicine to him.

What she did not expect was a fierce growl. She nearly jumped backwards in surprise at the noise. "No…no pussy pills for me. No sir." He then coughed out what she assumed to be steaming bile.

"How will you carry out the mission like this? Take this medicine."

"I'm… an Arceus-damn Special…Forces member. Me… medicine? I'd rather die."

Siria shot a look back at Wyatt. He rolled his eyes, stepping forward. "Don't worry, I've seen his type before." He stooped down to the ailing 'mon, looking him in the eyes. "Hey, soldier," he said as loudly as the environment would let him.

Another growl and a curse.

"Listen, you have two choices, boy. A, you stay here and puke your guts out and compromise the mission, not to mention becoming 'that' guy for the next few months. B, you take these pills and spare yourself the humiliation from the others. Look-" The Wargle pointed in the sky at several hardly noticeable dots. "They're almost here. Now, what will you do?"

Siria could swear the Mightyena used Extremespeed as he deftly snatched the pills from her hand, gulping them down as quickly as possible. "There…Arceus-dammit…" he panted, exhausted from the endeavor.

"Hey, what the hell is your problem?" An audible slap followed the accusation. Levina, tearing off pieces of rope, jumped away from the Flygon who had carried her. "You don't touch a girl's boobs unless you got her permission, got it?"

"What? I didn't-"

She then administered another slap, cutting his protests short. Siria winced at this one-sided exchange while the hovering Pidgeotto snickered in amusement.

Another voice reprimanded, "It would be best if you saved your energy for later. This is going to require all of our concentration." Shadrach, removing his own strap with utmost care, gave a nod of thanks to the Swellow behind him. He watched two other bodies descend to the ground, one letting out a loud thump.

"Sorry about bein' late." A Blastoise, who the Umbreon recognized as Tor, stomped over to the rest of the 'mon. A Skarmory walked behind him, sweating from the exertion she used to transport his heavy body. As soon as this occurred, the Mightyena left his crouched position to stand next to Levina while the Pidgeotto landed beside the Flygon.

Wyatt looked around, gauging all of the soldiers not for the first time. "Now that we're all organized," he started, "We'll start this operation now." His captain's bars glinted faintly on his collars as he turned around, not waiting for the chorus of "Yes, sir" behind him. Siria, turning invisible, followed him as the other 'mon dispersed, making for their targets.

"Alright. According to the GPS, our target should be twenty minutes away." She looked down at a small screen, tapping it with a finger. It, along with the rest of her gear, was engineered to tap into her psychic invisibility powers. Although the camouflage was not as effective as her down, the device only shimmered gently against the backdrop as she used it.

The Wargle nodded in response, not willing to make any more conversation that necessary. The only sounds that could be heard were the soft crunching of leaves and the light shaking of their gear bags. Both 'mon kept constant vigilance, making sure that no living thing was tracking their movements.

"You see that?" Siria, crouching behind a thicket, pointed out at a set of three large antiaircraft pieces arranged in a triangular pattern. Each carried two gatling guns, one on each side of the gunner's seat. A primitively designed metal scope allowed the gunner to attack incoming aircraft, albeit without magnification or other type of optical aid. Several large boxes of ammunition, each one holding simply a long chain of bullets linked together, were stacked on top of each other next to the guns.

In the middle of the weaponry sat a small campfire and five 'mon dressed in ragged T-shirts and camouflaged pants. They seemed to be eating, taking soup from a pot hanged over the fire while sitting on logs. Each one of them carried a rifle, most seeming to have been improvised or stolen off of dead Halcyian troops.

Wyatt hmmed at this scene, trying to think of a practical approach. "You have any silent attacks?"

"Well, I know Psychic. I don't know how well that'll go, though. Two of them are dark-types," she responded, pointing at a Tyranitar and a Skuntank. "Mist Ball and Dragon Pulse are out of the question because they'll draw too much attention, and it was impossible to learn Thunder Wave in two days. You don't have any status attacks I can amplify, either."

He frowned. "All of the attacks I know are physical, so I'm no help there."

"Well, if worst comes to worst, I do have Attract and Charm…" The Latias blushed heavily, the white portions of her face turning a deep red.

A deeper frown crossed his face at the suggestion that she use her body to distract the combatants. "No. There's no way in hell you're doing that. We're not trading your integrity for the success of this mission. I'm surprised that you even learned those moves in the first place," he responded.

Siria looked remorseful. "Sorry…"

He sighed. "I know, I know, I'm being a prude," he responded, still staring out at the fire. After a moment of hesitation, he drew a black pistol and a silencer from his holster. "I don't like resorting to weapons, but if we have to, then this would be my choice."

"Bullets against a Tyranitar? Isn't that… useless?"

"Full metal jacket rounds. They should be able to pierce the rock enough to kill him." He began to piece the two parts together, twisting the silencer onto the barrel.

A chortle from the clearing drew their attention. One of the 'mon in front of the fire, a Vaporeon, asked the Skuntank, "Well, what'd he say then?"

The dark-type leaned forward, flames illuminating his stripes. "Sorry, man, I don't swing that way!" Everybody around the fire laughed at the line.

"That can't be worse than that one time Troy pranked Del..."

"I thought you wouldn't talk about that!" a Growlithe yelped. More laughter echoed through the night.

As she watched the commotion, Siria noticed that the Tyranitar she pointed out earlier didn't partake in any of the humor around him. His first visible response was when a Rhydon nudged him. "Hey, Renato, O Fearless Leader, what's up with you? You've barely said a word tonight."

He sighed, staring into the fire. "Just thinking…"

"About what? Got some new plan cooked up?"

"Nah, I'm thinking about my wife. It's been, what, months since I saw her? Last thing I remember her saying is 'don't die!' right when I was running from some damn Halcyian squad." He chuckled, rolling his wooden rifle from hand to hand. "Don't die? Not a day goes by when I wonder when Darkrai will call for me."

The Rhydon shrugged. "Well, he comes when he comes. For now, though, just focus on living." He patted his Tyranitar friend on the back.

Siria, stomach suddenly a lot less at ease, looked over to the Wargle. He was checking the pistol for any malfunctions, twisting the silencer. He looked back up and nodded. "If you're worried, don't be. I should be able to cover two in two seconds. I had enough practice."

"It's not that," she mumbled, trying to close her ears to the conversation in front of them.

"Is there a problem?"

"It's just… the 'mon we're about to attack are just like us in every way. They have leaders, friends, family, lives… their conversation can be just as easily heard at a mess hall table back at base."

Wyatt looked downwards, moving the slide of his gun up and down. When he looked back up, his face was contorted with absolute fury. Siria could swear the blue triangle on his beak was glowing as he glared at her. "Do you really believe that for even a second? Do you have any idea of what Tamsus has done? Listen to yourself. You're pitying criminals, mass murderers. There's no way that you haven't seen something they've done that you've hated."

His anger was surprising to her. The Latias didn't imagine that Wyatt could become so emotional in the field, so she was even more reactive in her response than usual. "What do you mean by that?" she snapped back, temporarily losing her self control.

"There's not a thing that you saw that made you want to tear them to pieces? Think; you're in Special Forces!"

It didn't take much effort to recall the mutated fetuses in the experimental facility. She recoiled instinctively at the very thought. But…

"They're not all responsible! These 'mon were probably just dragged into this whole mess!"

"Just dragged in? If anything, they probably helped!" Wyatt responded a bit too loudly for comfort.

At that moment, the Skuntank at the campfire raised his head. "Hey, did you guys hear something?" he asked the rest of the soldiers.

"Sorta. Fartbag, go check those bushes out, wouldja?"

"Yeah, Wet Willy, don't get your panties in a twist." The dark-type hoisted his rifle as he shot the Vaporeon a look of derision. "They're probably nothing there, anyways…"

Siria and Wyatt exchanged looks of horror.

"Siria, tell me that you don't believe that they won't skin us alive if they find us" the Wargle whispered. She only nodded, eyes darting between the approaching figure and the flying-type.

"I know your beliefs, and you know mine, but now we don't have a choice. As soon as I catch that Skuntank off guard, blast everybody but the Tyranitar with a Psychic attack. I'll see if I can pacify him soundlessly." He flipped the safety off of his pistol.

The Skuntank was right in front of the bushes. Luckily, he only used his rifle to poke into them rather than unloading the magazine into the two nervous bodies within. "Hello?"

Wyatt popped up out of the bushes, aiming straight down the sights of the gun. "Hi." He pulled the trigger. At the exact same time, Siria's eyes glowed as she focused on the minds of the three targets in the clearing.

What happened next would have gotten a perfect score on even the toughest of stealth mission evaluations. The Skuntank stiffened as a small bullet ripped straight through his head. When Wyatt killed, he liked his kills clean. A small, neat arc of blood with hardly any trace of brain matter followed the pistol round on its way out, leaving the body to fall face-forward into the bushes. Behind him, the Vaporeon, the Growlithe, and the Rhydon held their paws to their heads as a mind-crushing Psychic attack sent them reeling, so shocked by pain that they even forgot to scream. It only took half a second for all three of them to fall on their backs to the gravely dirt and go unconscious, or worse. Only the Tyranitar was left after the two seconds it took for the Special Forces pair to disable his team. He stood up and gripped his rifle, facial expression split between wonderment and disgust. To his credit, he emitted no whimper, no sound that betrayed a sense of terror.

The Wargle stepped over the bushes and the corpse, walking cautiously to the campfire while keeping his pistol trained on the Tyranitar. "Renato, right? If you want to live, I suggest you throw down that gun, put your hands in the air, and not say a word. Oh, and no attacking, either. I have several hidden assistants that will make your life a living hell should you even try to form a Rock Tomb," Wyatt added, choosing to add a few more to Siria's number.

Renato tossed the wooden rifle to the ground and laughed an empty laugh, not bothering to raise his hands in surrender. "Living hell? I already am in a living hell. Look-" He gestured at the Skuntank corpse on the ground. "You killed Jorge." Then he looked towards the other three. "You annihilated their minds. I hope you realize how hard it is to come by friends as good as them in this world."

"Good?" The flying-type snickered. "What the hell is wrong with your mind, thinking that they're good? Thinking that you're good? All of you are nothing more than sick criminals who've got everything coming to them!"

"You Halcyians and your assumptions. Hey, let me tell you something." Renato leaned forward, making his voice better heard. "I have a wife and two kids. I couldn't get a job because the government tore everything away from us. I had no bread, no meat, to feed my family with. What did you expect me to do? Should I starve and watch those I love do the same, or protest against our nation's government while earning money at the same time?"

Wyatt crossed his arms, obviously not impressed. "Touching story, but that doesn't change the fact that you murder innocents."

"What would you call what you had done, then?"

"Ridding the world of a threat!" he boasted.

The Tyranitar raised an eyebrow. "For your information, Jorge did not even touch a single civilian. The only time he ever fired his rifle or used an attack was in defense for whenever your troops laid siege to our positions." He pointed at Wyatt in further accusation. "And, for the record, the Halycian Defense has a brilliant history of killing civvies. It's how I lost my house, after all."

"Lies! I refuse to believe such treach-"

It was at this point when Siria, previously invisible, decided to interject. She shimmered into view, having stood next to the Wargle for the entire conversation. "Wyatt, as much as you would like to stand on your soapbox, we have a mission to attend to. In exactly thirty-one minutes…" She trailed off, not willing to disclose too much information to their Tyranitar prisoner of war.

Wyatt glared at the dark-type before turning back to the Latias. "Right." He tossed her his pistol, not needing to tell her what to do. Still steaming in anger, he opened his gear pack, taking out several blocks of plastic explosive. Siria, hesitantly pointing the gun at the Tyranitar, motioned at one of the logs. Renato sat down on it, staring bitterly at Wyatt as he did so.

The Latias watched the prisoner, thinking deeply about what she had just witnessed. Her mind started to escape the reality in front of her…

"Well?" A hopeful Tyranitar female looked at her husband. He shifted his gaze downwards, not willing to meet her eyes.

"I'm…I'm sorry… I could find no money, no food, no anything…"

The wife roared and sobbed in rage, causing the two Larvitar children in the small, one-room dwelling to cry as well. It previously had been an entire home, but a stray special attack incinerated all but the living room. Officials had come to the village to 'apologize' for the mess, but they had offered little help beyond that.

"What are we going to tell them tonight? The kids!" the wife hiccupped. The male Tyranitar did not reply, staring at the ground. "How can we send them to bed without a meal?" Again, he did not honor the question with a reply, knowing that even their neighbors' food supplies were dwindling. She wailed loudly, angered by their situation. The only thing that prevented her from ripping a large hole out in the wall was that it would most likely collapse whatever was left of the structure.

"Momma?" A Larvitar tugged at her worn pants, completely oblivious to her musings. "I'm hungry."

With teary eyes she looked at her child. "I am too, Steven, I am too."

The other asked, "Are we having dinner tonight?"

This sent her over the edge. She convulsed, going from slight sobbing to absolute weeping, tears wetting the dirt below her. "We…n-no…we aren't," she choked."Kids, go…go to bed."

Well, if it could be called a bed, that is. They had to sleep on rags, covered by nothing but a thin, light piece of linen. A rock served as a pillow, for, hard as it was, the Tyranitar wife felt it necessary to provide as much comfort as she possibly could.

"But momma, I'm-"

"Just sleep!" she screeched, sending a minor earthquake through the area as she punched the ground in fury. Terrified by this show of force, both of the Larvitar quickly covered themselves despite their growling stomachs. The husband stood at the end of the room, watching the entire scene unfold. He couldn't bring himself to voice his sentiments, but an overwhelming sense of disappointment and humiliation emanated from his body.

"Renato, what are we to do? How did everything come to be like this?" She turned away from her children, moving closer towards her husband.

"I…I don't know…" he murmured, answering her pleas for the first time that night. He shuffled his feet, still staying in the same position. She threw herself upon him, crying on his shoulder. He instinctively hugged her, patting her back.

"Why did everything have to go this way? At one time we had it all! But now-" She choked again, spasms going through her body. "But now…"

The male Tyranitar stared out at what little he had left. An earthen dwelling with a floor of dirt and walls of charred wood, barely saved from the fire that ravaged the rest of their house. Two kids sleeping on what even a hobo would consider too little for comfort. A wife, crying hysterically and weeping, knowing that there was no way in the world to stop the inevitable.

He reached into his desiccated wallet, drawing a worn card from one of its few pockets. A while ago, a passing group of Tamsus forces passed through their village, not attacking as a sign of good will. They had, however, asked some of the more formidable 'mon to join their cause with the offer of money and supplies. Then, he was a made man, with a good job, a nice wife, and an impressive dwelling. He had no need for either of the two, and he trusted in the Halcyian government. But then he lost his position as the head of the local judiciary, the same government declaring their village as only one in many in a "state of rebellion," even though there was no visible sign of Tamsus troops occupying the area. Many years of law studies and many more years of experience told him the excuse was nothing more than a farce, but who was he to argue? His voice was only a tiny whisper when compared to the roar of the political machine. That was fine, though, as long as he had his house and his small garden. Those could easily provide food and comfort for his family, albeit in a less lavish manner than before. Then, a few months after that, a passing convoy of Halcyian Defense troops was ambushed by Tamsus militiamen, and in the furious battle, a Halcyian Jolteon's Thunderbolt arced wide and struck his house, igniting the woodwork and setting ablaze what he had worked so hard to accomplish. And now…

The Tyranitar tried to make sense of the faded lettering on the card. It had a location on it, a local depot not far from where he lived. Of course, that was only where they recruited and screened potential soldiers; no organization would be dumb enough to reveal their main base of operation.

There was no choice, was there? What other alternative was there, save for starving or feeding on the bodies of his family? Renato decided that night to change the course of his life, even though he knew it may very well damn him in the end.

Siria sat there, mesmerized by the history that unfolded before her eyes. The pistol which she had once been pointing at Renato hanged loosely from her hands, no longer trained on the dark-type.

"It's all true, you know," the Tyranitar sitting on the other log rumbled. "As offensive as it was to go probing around in my head to figure out who I am, I can forgive that because that you actually understand who I am now, unlike that idiot over there…" He motioned towards the Wargle who was wiring a set of blocks together.

"I…what? Oh my- I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The Latias nearly died on the spot from embarrassment, a full blush turning her entire face red.

"There's no problem with that. Oh, also. Your gun."

"My what?" she asked, puzzled. Then, her face froze in shock as she realized what he implied.

"I know that you could kill me without the weapon, but that's besides the point. For the past ten minutes you just sat there, staring into the sky. Do you know how easy it would have been for me to kill you and overpower your friend? I don't know his species, but those wings look breakable."

She jumped up, alertness renewed by the POW's sobering statement. "You wouldn't dare!" she cried, ready to summon a Surf attack at any moment.

He smiled a sad smile, one that was very familiar to him. "Of course I wouldn't. I have nothing to gain in attacking you. I've harbored ill sentiments for Tamsus for some time, so I'm just doing the minimum they ask of me. The last thing I need is more responsibility and chores shoved upon me through promotion. Simply put, I don't care anymore. This war is useless to me. I've already secured the proper funds to begin anew so my family can eat and live in peace." The Tyranitar sighed heavily. "Though, one would think a Special Forces member would be more aware of her enemies," he commented, pointing towards her insignia.

"Hey, Siria," Wyatt called from the background, interrupting their conversation. He was zipping up his bags, apparently done rigging the antiaircraft guns with explosives. "I'm done. Let's get moving before the party starts." As he looked up, he stared for a second in disbelief. "Are you- are you talking to that filthy bastard? Why?"

"Because he isn't who you think he is!" she hissed in response. "He's not a criminal, he's not a rapist, and he's definitely not a murderer. He just got caught in a tough situation!"

"Hah! You believe that? Once you join, you're tainted! Beyond repair! You're better off dead."

The Latias stared at him, shocked by the animosity projected in his voice. She couldn't form a cogent response, so put off by the hatred she sensed.

"That may be your opinion." The two turned to the gravelly voice. "Say as you will, bird, but I am nothing of the sort you assume us to be. I know that no amount of pleading or begging will change your mind, so I won't even bother."

"Damn straight," Wyatt muttered.

"Now," he said as he got up, ignoring the Wargle's snarl. "What will you two do with me? I am a prisoner of war, after all."

Siria was confused. There was no way to carry him back to base, but killing him would be an outright atrocity.

"Let's kill him," Wyatt pronounced, taking the pistol from the Latias.

The dragon quickly snatched it back. "No, we are not killing him."

"Then what are you going to do? Lug him all the way back to our transports? Or are you going to let him walk so he can tell the rest of his Tamsus buddies about what we're doing tonight? And, pray tell, if he actually had a revelation, his buddies would just torture him and extract the information anyways."

She paused, forced to deal with this logic problem. True, in either of the proposed cases Tamsus would win out, and the Halcyian Air Wing would have trouble coming their way, but…it was just wrong! She couldn't murder a 'mon like that after learning about his past and especially after he confessed his true feelings!

However, Fate decided that it was not up to her to choose what happened to the Tyranitar. She shivered as the air temperature dropped several degrees to a more frigid level. The Latias looked around, seeking the cause of this abnormality. Deep down inside, though, she knew what it was, and shivered all the harder in horror.

Wyatt watched the Tyranitar's facial expressions. Renato was confused at first, then terrified, then…

The whistling sound of a flying object caught the attention of all three of them. A javelin molded perfectly from ice flew through the air, making a beeline for the dark-type. While Siria and Wyatt barreled to the sides, Renato, too bulky to take any evasive action, shielded himself, ready to take the blow.

Despite his immense armoring, the javelin found its way straight through the Tyranitar's right forearm and shoulder, tearing a grisly path of destruction. He roared out in pain, clutching the profusely bleeding wound. Blood sprayed onto the ice that covered the ground.

…wait, ice? Siria stared at the ground which had previously been dirt. Her worst fears confirmed, she recoiled in absolute horror.

"You two…run! Quick, just run!" Renato roared, trying to face the direction of the attack. He was rewarded with another spear to the left tendon, which drew copious amounts of blood from the area.

Siria was frozen in shock, though, and the Wargle, never having seen anything of this sort in his long line of service, watched with fascination.

The Tyranitar, unable to stand or support himself, laid in a pool of his own half-frozen blood on the ground. "Nngh…didn't I tell you? RUN! HE'S COMING FOR US!"

"Famous last words," a cool, calculated, and, to the Latias, familiar voice said. She looked up at the pale crystalline canine dressed in arctic camouflage fatigues. His blue fur, miniature spikes of frozen water, stood perfectly on end. Rhombus-shaped ears sat atop his head, picking up the grunts of pain coming from his victim.

It was that Arceus-damn Glaceon Shadrach had once killed.

"Well, before I give my explanation, I suppose that we must remove a traitor first." He smiled a sickly grin, forming an ice dagger in his hand. "Good bye, Renato. I suspected that there was something wrong with you, and there is. That sense of helping others is not appreciated here." The Glaceon then drove the dagger with great speed into the Tyranitar's head, killing him in a single blow.

Siria watched, horrified by this brutal murder. That terror multiplied tenfold when the ice-type looked back at her, grinning like a mad'mon while withdrawing the bloody knife.

"Siria…long time no see. It's a pleasure to find you here, of all places." He licked his lips.

"But I thought Shadrach killed you!" she shrieked, involuntarily stepping backwards.

He took the invitation, compensating for her retreat by moving towards her. "Oh, that's what you'd like to assume. Yes, I laid there on the ground, both body and bone crushed after his Last Resort attack. I spent a day spread-eagled on a bed, all sorts of feeding and air tubes going in and out of me. And then-" He cackled gleefully. "There's this wonderful thing called Shadow. Have you heard of it, Siria? Have you heard of this Shadow?"

Still walking backwards, she nodded tightly.

The Glaceon unzipped a pocket, taking out a syringe and a vial. The liquid within the small glass jar was pure black, as if it absorbed all of the light around it. He stuck the syringe into the vial, withdrawing all of the fluid and brandishing it at her. "This is what keeps me alive. Shadow gives us the ability of regeneration, of new health, and of course, new power. Would you like to try some?" He leered at her, allowing a bead of black liquid to form on the tip of the needle.

Wyatt jumped over to the frightened Latias, wresting the pistol out of her hand. He fired several rounds, but the Glaceon's heightened reflexes allowed him to generate an ice wall to stop the incoming threats.

He tutted. "When will you all learn? Conventional military weapons are in the past; I could probably block a tank round with my barriers. The arms you use are vastly inferior to the powers I possess in this very body!" He snickered, giddy with power coursing through his veins. Taking the syringe, he stuck it into his right wrist and sunk the plunger. "The new age, the new paradigm, the new technology with which we'll fight all future wars with...is Shadow! The Glaceon began to convulse violently as the potion went to work.

The Wargle laughed. "Crazy bastard! Even worse than the last ones. If we can't smash his face in with guns, we'll do it with attacks! Siria, let's go! Siria?" He glanced with concern to the red dragon, who was still shivering. "Are you still angry about that Tyranitar guy?" he scowled. "It's not good to let ethics get in the way of a battle."

"No," she whispered. "I can feel it. The power. It's…" She was at a loss of words for a moment. "Tremendous…"

"Siria," Wyatt said. He lowered to eye level. "You really going to let some feelings get between you and our mission?"

"He's too powerful. We can't even do anything," Siria whimpered.

The flying-type simply stared at her. "So what? Are you really going to sit here and whine about how strong he is? I know for sure that I'm not going to go down as the first 'mon to grovel for his mercy, and I sure as hell hope that you aren't either. Remember that Mightyena? You have two choices: fight and die, or just die! So pick one!"

"Pick…one…" she repeated, words still registering in her mind.

"I know you're still upset about what I said to Renato, but there's a reason behind all of it, which I will tell you afterwards if we survive this encounter. So Siria, lend me your power, and we'll beat this overblown bastard together!" His face contorted a bit as he gave his mini-motivational speech. Wow, that was beyond cheesy, even for a captain. At least it gives my Encourage ability some use.

She lifted up her head and looked him in the eyes. A new hope glimmered in them, replacing the doubts and fears she had earlier. "Yes. Yes, Wyatt. I'll fight with you."

Both of the flying 'mon stood up, waiting to strike at the Glaceon. He gave an audible roar as he absorbed the last of the liquid into his bloodstream. His blue fur was several shades darker, and his breathing was ragged. Despite all of this, he grinned crazily, mad with power.

So," he taunted, mockingly offering a paw. "Shall we dance?"

A slightly longer chapter than usual, but I am working on the skill of making a paragraph more than three sentences long. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review, critique, express opinions, and all of that jazz!