Chapter Four: Blazing A Trail

Always hunting, stalking, glowering ruthlessly from behind her greasy coils of hair, Malira Kozak's eyes sought the guiltless landscape around her in a fervent demand, prying its fields open with force and silently locking its woods in a merciless interrogation. The morning forest could not hide, the trees could not shield themselves from that malevolent glare—it pierced the gaps between the branches, between the shrubs and blades of grass, slicing through with unrestrained glee. Birds fled from the murky, beady irises that flashed with a feral glint, unforgiving, unsettling, unnatural. Her face was rendered cracked and artificial by the layers of makeup she plastered on herself, fashioning a tangibly hard shell under which she could hide in wait of something, some trivial, unsuspecting prey on which she would unravel her tightly coiled self—and pounce.

But this morning Mallie did not care about the world around her, for truly, she never did. All her smoldering, flaming concern was forever concentrated on one body: her own. Those flames lived to devour any love she could find, any gift that could be hers, any words she could twist and make her own. Any wishes of another person she absorbed to become her own, but only until she could churn them out of her mouth to lodge in someone else's skin, traitor blades of affection. And yet despite everything, in her young mind, she lived for nothing but to bring joy and love to the world.

I am good, she told herself every day. I live to light up another's life. I am selfless. As she peered into her mirror and raked her fingers through her wild, unkempt mane each morning, she would set her jaw and gather her strength. I am a victim, hurt and made vulnerable by others' cruelty. Victim. I. It is me. With a final breath and a fully self-satisfied smirk, she would set down her brush and flounce away. I am good.

Good. Wonderful. But words, mere adjectives, could not seem to describe her elation this morning, though she believed she harnessed their spellbinding capability in her control. Mallie smiled triumphantly now down at the perfect sphere she held in her grip, turning her eyes from the humble forest to focus on the single ball of red and white. She bounced the Pokeball once, twice, then clenched her fist around it. It was hers, rightfully, and what it cradled inside was crucial and valuable. Exactly what she needed, what she had been looking for. The last puzzle piece. The most important.

Now it is complete, she thought as uncontrolled delight wracked her volatile body. The powers of fire are mine. This Charmander…this special one…is mine.

A little skip crept into her gait. She arched an eyebrow and winked at the boy striding along next to her; he positively shuddered with pleasure. She laughed, bloated with contentment. He had not taken his eyes off her the entire time they had begun walking down the path again. Mallie simpered in glee as he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders.

"This little Charmander doesn't know what he's in for," she giggled, tucking the ball into her belt and watching not at all without satisfaction as the boy's eyes followed eagerly to her momentarily uncovered waist. Her voice rose and fell with a melodramatic lilt, ringing clear, girlish, and breathy. Oh, but she wasn't even singing yet—nonetheless, she knew, it was beautiful. A Jigglypuff can't hold a candle to me.

"Well, he has the most amazing trainer, that's for sure," the boy laughed, planting a wet kiss on her cheek and staring at her as if he wanted to consume her in one great, adoring breath. "I love you, Mallie. Don't ever forget that."

"I love you too, Robert," she cooed. "And don't worry." She swatted him playfully across the cheek. "I'll never let you forget."

Nor you, Charmander, she shot at the little creature inside the Pokeball, with another tiny giggle. Perhaps I should start getting to know you now. Arceus knows we'll be spending loads of time together. She patted its smooth, warm surface, perhaps heated by the fire she now held in her control. Now we can begin.

The second pair of eyes watching her—this one devoid of the slightest shred of adoration—was a sight that Mallie failed to notice as she sprang along the road, followed, unbeknownst to her, by a swift rustle in the bushes.

So it's true, Squirtle thought grimly from behind the leaves as his last tatter of hope plummeted with a thunk to the pit of his stomach. She has Charmander…

"Blast it," he cursed under his breath as he trudged along after the two humans. He had sworn to follow the girl like an enraged Primeape until he discovered what had happened to his friend. Now that he knew for sure, the knowledge seeped inside him and curdle in his stomach like filthy water he couldn't expel with the strongest water gun. It lingered, instead, and drenched him in profound sorrow. His limbs dragged heavily with the recognition that his best friend was truly gone, somewhere he could possibly never find him—and worse, Charmander was probably in danger. Without the bright orange form at his side, the air around him suddenly seemed strangely empty, drenched in the cold darkness that remained without the constant reassurance of a flame. Would he ever see Charmander again?

Squirtle hardly ever let himself wallow—he always had a convenient joke, a laugh, to quell any gloominess creeping up on him. But now, despair welled inside him like a slowly rising tide of molasses, and for once, hot tears threatened to pool from his eyes. He had never even realized how much Charmander had grown on him, had come to mean to him, how much he had begun to rely on his company and his warm, unwavering presence. The pain of his absence resounded as clearly to his core as if someone had picked him up and shaken him, shell and all. Charmander…gone…in danger…

The thought triggered something tough and defiant within him as his misery hardened into something like rage. What is this, Squirtle? he asked himself, drawing himself to his full height. Your best friend is in danger…and all you can do is sit here and cry?

Squirtle set his jaw as a new spark of hope ignited within his chest and began to burn, blazing a bright trail, a beacon lighting his way to the fire of his friend. He gazed after the backs of Mallie and her boytoy Robert, and the determination solidified inside him like an unbreakable wall of stone. These humans were so out of place here, in the free, peaceful domain of the forest. They had come to cause destruction, to demolish Charmander's future and their home, a home full of countless free Pokemon living and thriving where they belonged. The thought filled Squirtle with mounting anger. Pokemon weren't meant to live in the little cages clasped in the meddling hands of these petty fools. Some humans, perhaps, but not these. Squirtle knew it instinctively, as strongly and clearly as he knew the realm of the waters. His realm. He quelled the urge to fire a water gun at them now.

Squirtle stormed forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the shadowy forms that intertwined like poisoned vines as they receded into the distance, and followed closely behind. He would never give up his pursuit, not until Charmander was out of that Pokeball and free by his side once again.

Don't worry, Charmander…I'll get you out!

He puffed up his arms, scowled into the distance, and marched onward.