Disclaimer: I do not own the Pokemon series, or any of its contents.


However stubborn Damion may be, once we had trekked to the peak of the hill overlooking the sheer largeness of Petalburg City, the first of his doubts began to show.

Petalburg was large, much larger than Oldale. Although I had seen many cities much grander than it in my time, its humble size seemed to awe the Oldale boys. I had to admit as well that everything looked much bigger now that I was a mere two feet tall.

None of the buildings were mansions, or the tall buildings that reached to the sky like the ones in a larger metropolis. Most of the buildings were homes, and most homes were only one or two floors. These homes existed in many clusters that ultimately made up the size of the city. Most of the people that roamed the smaller streets were hatchlings at play, except for the occasional man or woman, and on the busier streets there were would be many Miniature Death Machines driving by.

Our destination had been the "Gym", a great domed building with a plaque above the door engraved with the images of the human man in charge of the Gym and his Pokemon partners. Damion, then confronted with the greatness of the existence of the Gym before him and the images of the powerful Pokemon inside, had been even more uncertain.

"It appears his reason has finally caught up with him," Pippo observed.

Our group ended up in a small restaurant across the street from the Gym. Damion and Dante were consuming some sort of substance called a "milkshake" while they mulled the problem over. They had ordered two more and given one to Pippo and one to myself, as well. Pippo was eagerly downing his. I hadn't touched mine.

"If you are not going to eat yours, might I have it?" Pippo asked, unnecessarily gesturing to my milkshake.

I glared at it and then at the milkshake. I kicked it over in response. It tipped and spilled its contents onto the floor.

"Whoa, Ray!" Damion grabbed a few napkins from the table and set to wiping up the mess.

"What'd you do that for?" Pippo demanded.

I shrugged.

"Are you just shrugging, or do you really not know?" the Treecko pressed, scowling at me.

"Will you be quiet?" I growled.

"No, I don't think I will!"

He and I began to verbally berate each other, trying to talk the other into submission. While he and I bickered, Damion finished wiping up the mess and went to a nearby garbage container to throw the napkins away. When he returned to the table, he collapsed in his seat with a heavy sigh.

Presently he said, "I can't beat Norman like this, can I?"

Dante shrugged, too busy playing with his straw to bother showing whether or not he cared. "Guess not."

Laughter peeled from the booth behind them. The head of a boy a few years younger than Damion and Dante appeared above the seat, looking down at them. "Sorry," he apologized with a grin. "But I couldn't help wondering if you'd ever even battled before."

"Not much . . . with Ray, no," Damion said indignantly, turning around in his seat to face the boy. This new interruption put a temporary end to my quarrel with Pippo, who jumped up to the table and began to consume what was left of Dante's milkshake, leaving me to grumble to myself on the floor. Dante didn't seem to mind and let him have the rest, sliding across the seat to look out the window.

"No need to get defensive about it. How 'bout I battle you? That way maybe you can get a ballpark figure of how good you are. If you're maybe good enough for Norman. I've got three badges, see, and while I'm visiting family here I thought I'd challenge him again. He still beat me, though . . . by the way, my name's Sam." The boy stretched a hand over the top of the seat in delayed greeting.

"Damion," Damion returned. He took a sideways glance at me, thinking the offer over. "It couldn't hurt," he agreed, and took the hand offered him.


Once we were outside in a desolate area, with Damion and Sam facing each other with about a hundred yards in between them, I realized they were intending to battle. This knowledge almost came with a relief, for I was so bursting with pent-up rage that it felt as if it would devour me alive.

It was a strange set-up. I faintly remembered Lord educating me in how the battles were set up, but it was a bit different in person. I found the presence of the two humans, in this case Sam and Damion, to be rather unnerving and in the way. By focusing on my purpose, however—to destroy the enemy—I was able to push them out of my mind. Out of mind, out of sight.

Sam took out one of his Poke Balls while I thought about the feeling of basking in the victory of ending the life that would be in front of me. If it was in front of me, it was in my way, and destroying it would be a pleasure. I was distracted, unfortunately, from such thoughts, as I realized that I possessed no mastery of my current body.

"Dusty!" Sam called as the ball flew from his hands. A white bolt popped it open and took the shape of a clumsily-flying Dustox.

"Dusty's newest to my team," Sam explained, holding up a total of four Poke Balls, including Dusty's. "It's only just recently evolved, so it should be a good opponent for a Pokemon that hasn't battled before."

The Dustox did seem a bit unused to its wings as it wobbled back and forth in the air. I laughed out loud at it, harshly. Never before had I seen something so ridiculous in the air! I wondered briefly how by the skies it had been bestowed with such a great a gift as flight. This would not take long. I would kill it instantly, and enjoy every minute.

"You can have the first move," Sam called.

"Ray—" Damion began.

I hopped forward, as running was still quite a difficult thing to do, until I was under the moth's shadow. Before I could do anything else, Sam called, "Gust!"

At the command, breezes of wind peeled from the Dustox's flapping wings. Though it didn't hurt much, it was difficult to fight against and the current pushed me farther and farther away from my victim with each passing second. Ignoring Damion's shouts—about rolling back and out of the way or some sort of thing similar—I put my head into the gust and pushed against it with all my might. My heavy head allowed me to make some progress against the current, slowly working my way back to the Dustox. At a sign from Sam, the Dustox stopped the barrage of wind immediately and I, who was now pushing so hard with no force pushing back, stumbled and fell forward.

Before I could get back up, my opponent took advantage of the moment and spat a thick, gooey web of string-like material from its mouth. Before I could get up, my forelegs were covered in the sticky stuff, and glued by it to the ground.

I grunted and snapped my head back up to see if it would attack again immediately, but the moth was nowhere to be seen. Damion was shouting, "Bite". It was with some amusement, and some annoyance, that I realized that this whole time he had been issuing orders to me—orders I had completely ignored.

"Ray, turn around and Bite!" he yelled.

I glared at him. There was nothing to Bite, fool. The moth was gone, hiding, probably. "You Bite!" I growled, and set to trying to yank my forelegs from the substance while I had a moment before another attack came on.

Apparently, however, Dusty was not hiding. Under its Trainer's direction, it was coming in from behind me, where it was difficult for me to see while glued to the ground facing the other direction. I only saw it out of the corner of my eye at the last moment.

"Dusty!" Sam called in warning, having seen that I had finally seen where the Dustox was, but it was too late. I tapped into Rage, powerful, all-consuming, hate-filled Rage, and it immediately rushed through my mind and body. I ripped myself from the gooey mess of string and launched myself at the Dustox, which was trying to turn and fly away. But it was clumsy with its newly-evolved wings. I was able to knock it clean out of the air before it had a chance to flee.

It was slow in taking off again and lay twitching on the ground while I landed small distance away from it. Before it could gather itself to take flight again, I began to approach it.

"Confusion!" Sam yelled.

Dusty turned its eyes on me. Damion shouted for me to look away, but of course I took no heed of him. Then the eyes before me began to glow red and everything was thrown into chaos. Immediately, my head felt a bit fuzzy—I nearly lost sight of my purpose—and my eyesight blurred. My surroundings began to ripple as the water's surface might when several pebbles are dropped in at once, making it difficult to walk. My stomach rolled when I tried to walk, as if I were seasick, and I felt as if I were sleepwalking. I felt awful. I tried to make my way forward, towards the eyes still glowing red among all that chaos, but I tripped and fell forward.

By sheer chance, however, I had fallen right on top of the Dustox. It squealed as the full force of my hundred pounds landed on it and the attack faded.

As my head cleared, I decided that Confusion may be the single most frustrating attack I have ever encountered.

I sat upright, pinning my prey to the ground, and took a moment to revel in victory. "You are a pathetic creature," I snarled to it, "and stupid, to think you could win this fight."

"What?" Dusty squeaked. At first it simply looked surprised, but it grew more and more panicked as it felt me tense and bare my fangs. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring the increasingly frantic shouts around me, yelling for me to stop, I opened my jaws, ready to end this. My heart was already pounding, racing in my chest, preparing to release my torrent of anger upon this creature. My rage was summoned within me, burning through me, coursing through my veins like fire, and just before I could clamp my teeth down upon it and claim its life—

—a bolt of white light shot out and claimed it before I could.

The creature vanished from underneath me and I found myself sitting on the ground instead. Surprised, I snapped my head around in search of my prey and found myself glaring at Sam, who had recalled Dusty with a Poke Ball. After it was recalled there was a moment of intense silence.

"Did your—did your Bagon just try to kill my Dusty?" Sam demanded. He was shaking.

"I-I . . . I'm sorry," Damion stuttered.

Fury dancing like fire in his eyes, Sam turned and marched away without another word. Damion's shoulders slumped in defeat as he watched Sam stalk back to the busy streets and fade into the crowd. He seemed for the first time, lost, unsure of where to go or what to do next, so he simply stood where he was, lacking the will to move, for now that boy was upset, and it was Damion's responsibility. Dante showed no emotion at all, like he had hardly noticed the battle at all, and Pippo showed only faint surprise, like he had expected this to happen all along.

And I . . .

I expected to be angry, furious, that my prey had been stolen from me when I had come so close to uncapping my hate and rage, all that emotion bottled up. I expected to feel as if I could rampage and destroy endlessly to make up for the life. I had felt that several times, after all, and done so, not only in past weeks, but in past decades. Centuries. I waited several moments for the anger to come, ready for it, anticipating it.

But instead, I . . .

In all honesty, I was puzzled.

I was puzzled. Stumped. Confused.

Because I was not angry.


This new confusion had nothing to do with what had been my opponent's last attack.

And I decided that confusion may be the single most frustrating thing I have ever experienced.

I hadn't killed anything, and yet I wasn't angry?

As I sat in a corner of the room provided for us to stay in for the night by the Pokemon Center, mulling it over, Damion was at a computer communicating with Aldemar. Dante flipped through a few channels on what I believe is a television, looking thoroughly bored with the available selection.

Aldemar and Damion chatted a bit about Norman and other Gyms. Aldemar agreed with Dante that Norman was far out of Damion's league. Together, the two of them worked out a map to follow that organized the Gyms in a challengeable manner. I believe that made the next destination Rustboro City. Finally, after working that out, Aldemar inquired of my progress.

Damion looked at me out of the corner of his eye and rested his chin on his hand. "I dunno . . . he's a mystery. It isn't so violent anymore—it isn't breaking down the walls or rampaging randomly anymore—but it sure isn't happy. It won't do a thing that I say! How am I supposed to win badges and be a great Trainer if I can't get Ray to listen?"

As upset as his grandson seemed, Aldemar didn't seem surprised in the slightest. "I expected this may happen."

". . . you thought I'd fail?" Damion demanded.

"Damion, listen. What you just described to me is exactly why I was skeptical when you brought Ray home, hoping to make it your starter. Dragon-types are notorious for being difficult. It's what they're famous for, and also why they're so desirable. They are naturally proud, disagreeable, strong-willed creatures. One should never use one as a starter. But I trusted you and your judgment, and still do, which is why I was not so openly opposed to the idea."

"What do I do, then?" Damion said desperately.

"Listen carefully," Aldemar said seriously. "There is a ritual among dragon types. It's called The Challenge. If ever they decide that something is strong enough to be worthy of being their partner, they will instigate The Challenge. But they must Challenge you. At their own time, at their own pace, and when they have decided if you deserve it. If you challenge them, it's over."

"When will that happen, though?" Damion grumbled.

"It's not a matter of when it will happen, but rather, what will happen. Damion, here is where you must listen carefully so you are not caught off-guard if it comes around."

I was still pondering about my strange emotions. Why am I not angry? Why am I not angry? Why am I not—

"You are speaking aloud, again."

I glared up at Pippo, wondering why he felt the need to eavesdrop on me. He was looking down at me distastefully from the bed, evidently still upset about the milkshake incident. "What are you 'not' angry about?"

"Why did that Trainer recall the Dustox earlier?" I demanded.

"You won. So he recalled it. Actually," Pippo reconsidered, "he was going to recall it because you won, but he ended up recalling it so you didn't eat it."

"But then I didn't . . . 'win'," I insisted. "I didn't completely finish it. Isn't that failure?"

"No."

"What do you call it then?"

Pippo feigned deep thought and said sarcastically, "Sportsmanship?" He sighed and sat down on the bed when I was still confused, dropping his earlier frustration wtih me for the moment. "Tell me: why do you kill?"

At first I wasn't going to respond, deeming the subject my business and not his, but I was so puzzled and in need of an answer I found myself telling him. "To release rage and hate with power," I said, recalling the lust for the Dustox' life in the battle. "To get rid of some of it and find relief."

"Alright," Pippo said observantly. "But do you honestly find relief after killing? Or does it just make you feel worse afterwards? Two seconds of releasing your rage, but when that's done, you feel even more terrible than before."

I had never . . . not killed something when I'd meant to. And . . .

My breath caught in my throat and my glare at Pippo hardened. I glared at it, not because it was falsely accusing me . . . not because it was prodding at business that was not its own . . . not because it's chatter was useless and annoying me . . . but because I was . . . afraid.

This fear was different than what I had labeled to be fear of the Poke Ball. The Poke Ball, I simply didn't like and loathed with every fiber of my being. Maybe I feared it to some extent, but I could face the Poke Ball with dignity to some extent every time it recalled me. True fear was different. True fear was when it was difficult to the extreme to look something in the face, because if you did then it would become reality, rather than some figment of your imagination.

And I was afraid. I was afraid that he might be right. I was afraid to even think that he might be right, but I couldn't help thinking about it, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he could really be right. But I had been releasing my rage, hatred—killing, destroying, sending to ruin and ashes—for so long. I had never thought about whether it was good or bad, whether it made me feel good or bad, and had never cared. And now . . .

Now, I was confused.