The following content contains DISTURBING IMAGERY, STRONG LANGUAGE, and VIOLENCE AND GORE. Viewer discretion is advised.
Chapter 7—Essaim
(noun)
—French for "swarm"
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VS SANTALUNE GYM (Part 1)
The battlefield sprawled out before Tanner, vast and intimidating and burning against the back of his corneas. It wasn't like the undergrowth of the Forest, which could tangle you up if you weren't careful, but Tanner got the distinct impression that the field could still swallow him up just the same.
It was terrifying. It was thrilling. Pre-adrenaline throbbed in his veins as the Alexa woman took the other side of the field. She was far away, so she was no more than a blurry smudge on the other end, dark and foreboding but ultimately insignificant.
"So you missed the announcement of the rules," Trainer Girl informed them after the announcer finished his rambling. "Them" being the fox, the kid, and Tanner himself. Trainer Girl herself wore dark colors and she didn't bother to spare them a glance. Her gaze was too busy scanning the field, calculating, analyzing, her mind spinning with strategies. "But basically, it's this—each of us are using three Pokémon. Once you're in, I can't switch you out until either you beat your opponent, or..."
She didn't finish, nor did she need to. Tanner knew what a Reaper Battle meant.
"And once you're out, you're out," she continued, keeping her voice level, even. "No going back in. No switching unless you absolutely have to."
The fox started to look nervous, but Tanner just nodded.
She crossed her arms. "There's also no healing allowed. On either side. Understand?"
"We get it," Tanner grumbled in Kalosian. He just wanted to wreck shit and get this over with.
They were all out, lined up at the edge of the field like toy soldiers in a mock war. The kid looked absolutely clueless, glancing around with a puzzled expression as he tried to determine what was going on, while the fox clutched his stick to his chest and stood rigidly, ears pinned back against his skull. Tanner himself was bristling with anticipation, his feathers ruffled. He kept hopping from one foot to the other, the memory of a Weedle's sting replaying in his mind and a dull ache emanating from where the near-fatal wound had left a scar on the underside of his right wing. The anxiety was squeezing at his chest, clutching at his heart, making every part of him itch like a fire had been ignited beneath his feathers. He wanted nothing more than to start tearing into things, start cracking carapaces and watching Bug-goo well up from the breaks.
Alexa released a Bug he had never seen before—sleek brown carapace, wild eyes, and an enormous stature. Its massive curving horns towered over it in twin crescents, littered with spikes and gnashing like a pair of jaws. Tanner could make out dull, brownish stains between those spikes, like splatters of something that had dried up a long time ago.
He remembered what Trainer Girl had said about this Gym Leader being a Berserker. His blood boiled.
"And Gym Leader Alexa brings out her Pinsir!" crowed the announcer, which earned a roar from the crowd, loud and unruly, like a wave of noise had crashed down on them. Quite annoying, really. "What will be the challenger's counter?"
Trainer Girl clucked her tongue. "Pinsir first, huh? Okay, well then—"
The crowd's screams were grating on his nerves. Tanner couldn't hold back any longer.
"Dibs!" he exploded, spreading his wings out, "Dibs! Dibs dibs dibs!"
Tanner's old master would have ignored the request—but this was not Tanner's old master. Trainer Girl turned to him with eyes like tempered steel, dark and probing and analytic. "You really want to go first?"
The Pidgey eyed the Bug and remembered how he almost succumbed to Poison all those months ago, and thought about ripping that Pinsir apart because who knew how many countless innocents it had killed... Fuck yeah he wanted to go first. Nay, he needed to—nay, deserved to—go first.
"Fuck yes!"
"You're fighting?" the kid gasped, in wild tongue as per usual. Wasn't old enough to understand Common.
Tanner turned to him and nodded gravely. "We're all gonna be fighting, at some point."
The kid shivered. "O-Oh..."
The fox cast them a concerned look with large amber eyes that darted between them, unable to comprehend the wild tongue. Fucking privileged starter—granted, not that it was the fox's fault. No one could help the way they were born and… what was he saying? Oh, right, Gym battle. Focus, Tanner, focus.
Trainer Girl eyed Tanner in a contemplative fashion, seemingly weighing her actions—then she gave a single, sharp nod that might've been either acknowledgement or approval. "Okay. Get out there and wreck shit."
"With pleasure!" Tanner's heart soared as he took to the sky.
The announcer's voice boomed. "Challenger Celestine brings out one of her two Pidgey! Well, ladies and gentlemen, won't this be an exciting match?"
There was a commotion and a few hastily apologies to be heard from the upper aisles. Mint briefly tore her eyes away from the field just in time to see Hayami leap onto the armrest of seat next to Shauna. Alistair landed on the other armrest, then paused to primp his feathers with his beak, the vain bastard. Both, however, had a sort of anxiety carved into their posture, one that made Hayami grip the armrest tighter than necessary and Alistair pause frequently to eye the field.
Their Trainer followed after, his hair lightly mussed, eyes wide and dark and glittering with apprehension. He took quick stock of Mint and her company, nodded once as if in satisfaction, then visibly collapsed into the chair next to Shauna. Mint thought it was a miracle the seat didn't break, but it did creak in protest.
"What did I miss?" Calem asked urgently. All around, there were restless murmurs, anxious whispers, people bristling with excitement and anticipation, the barbaric bastards. Mint wondered if there were a few masochists in the crowd that enjoyed this shit.
"Nothing," Serena answered, eyes dark and serious. Her hands were steepled, her chin hovering just above her fingers. The guy behind her was waving his fist emphatically with a battle cry in his throat. "It literally just started."
"Good." He gave a single, sharp nod, and his gaze immediately transferred to the field.
The Pinsir was stationary, bristling but inert. They had managed to score seats close enough to the action that they didn't have to crane their necks or squint, or anything of the sort. At the same time, it wasn't so close that they ran the risk of errant bloody body parts whacking you in the face (though tragic as that might be, it would definitely be entertaining to watch). There were some people in that area, though, and they all looked so eager, so excited, like they couldn't wait for limbs to start flying.
These are people. Goddess.
Tension crackled and thickened around these five people all sitting in this row, a storm that just kept building and building and building with each passing moment. Mint swallowed, feeling the prelude of thunderclaps in the air, the prelude of a storm breaking. Any minute now, there would be a hurricane of raging winds and stinging rain and lightning flashes. This was going to be a battle of wills, of Transcendence—an abuser versus an Aesith.
"I still can't believe she's Aesith," Shauna breathed. And neither could Mint, but honestly, in hindsight, it made sense. The prickly attitude, the reckless behavior, the sudden investment in this battle...
Trevor's eyes, wide and mercury-colored, flickered over to her. "You cannot tell her I told you, or that you even know, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever." Shauna's hands were trembling despite her exasperated tone. Her gaze trailed up to Tanner, who was soaring around in lazy circles over the battlefield.
On the ground, the Pinsir began to move. The lady in red touched her neck. People roared and screamed themselves hoarse.
Calem's expression frosted over. "It's starting."
The air became as thick as cement, then shuddered, and Mint felt the storm break.
It was like a curtain had been pulled—no, it was like the curtain had come loose and collapsed onto the ground in countless velveteen folds. One minute, it was a horned beetle, and the next it was a horned beetle with wings.
Trainer Girl's presence was suddenly in his head, and that was when the curtain fell. The spines on its horns lengthened and curved, its eyes turning a phosphorescent yellow color. On its back, the shell split and swung out to reveal a pair of translucent yellow wings veined by bright, bulging orange. One minute it was standing on the ground, the other it was hovering in the air.
Huh.
It took to the air after him.
The crowd yelled, but they didn't see.
Tanner banked right to avoid narrowly being impaled by those massive horns, and it whizzed past at an impressive speed, racing skyward without any restraint or proficiency at all. Normally, it might have been a blur of motion, but his eyes caught every movement, made time slowing down so that he could catch every beat of wings that shouldn't be there.
Somewhere in the back of Tanner's mind, he knew he should be unnerved by the whole transformation into some ungodly beast. But he felt Trainer Girl's aura thrumming through every centimeter of his body, felt his muscles itch and throb with latent power. He was drunk on this surge of power that sent an exquisite ache through every nerve.
He feared nothing.
Is this what you were talking about, girly? he almost laughed, dizzy and intoxicated. The "Ascended Form" or some shit like that? Heh. Doesn't look too scary!
An exasperated sigh echoed in his mind as the Bug—Pinsir—narrowly slowed down in time to keep from ramming into the wall. Thing was pretty dumb, wasn't it? Focus, dammit. That thing can fly at thirty mph.
Only thirty?
Tanner frowned as the Pinsir swerved midair and aimed its horns at him, pincers snapping as if anticipating the feel of flesh and bone ripping. That doesn't sound like a lot—
Move you shitbird!
It only took a single flap to propel Tanner about two metres out of the Pisnir's path. Now that was damn impressive. Nothing could fucking touch him!
Tanner. The urgency in Trainer Girl's thought-voice broke his reverie, sharp like the slash of a sword. For Bird's sake, fucking pay attention!
Okay, but, he was paying attention, so she had no right to complain—
He felt a jolt of urgency that wasn't his. Dodge with Quick Attack, and hurry.
Tanner knew better than to question it, especially in the middle of a battle when every moment counted. His wings buzzed, muscles aching with power. That power propelled him forward and left a glowing trail in his wake. The speed alone would have left an opponent dizzy, but it also saved his life—not a moment later, the mutant Pinsir's horns closed around his afterimage. There was a sickening crack as the horns collided, one with enough force behind it to shatter bones and tear up muscle and sinew with startling ease.
Fucking close call of all close calls.
And the crowd? They went fucking bananas.
The Pinsir's back was turned, and Tanner had a perfect aim of the place where its wings attached to its body. He'd seen a Pidgeotto completely stun a Beedrill by hitting it in that spot, because there was apparently a very vital bundle of nerves there, so he figured it might elicit the same response from the massive Bug. Being the amazing bird he was, he swerved around in the bat of an eyelid and slammed his full weight into it.
Momentum helped.
And speed. Definitely speed.
Hell, he was the fucking king of speed and you were all his subjects. Bow down, bitches.
People cheered. For the right side this time.
The Pinsir let out an awful, ear-splitting wail, one so sharp and piercing that Tanner had to back away lest his eardrums burst. Its whole body seized up, and gravity took hold of it, bringing it down, down, down.
A rush of self-satisfaction filled Tanner's chest. Was it always this easy? He'd never faced a Pinsir before, but he'd figured something so big and hulking would put up more of a fucking fight. Especially considering it grew wings and was supposedly responsible for a lot of death and destruction and shit. Like, the thing was supposed to be deadly and shit, but he'd beaten it so easily—
Tanner. The command was sharpened by urgency. Tanner, get the fuck out of there.
He barely had time to process her alarm when blinding, white-hot pain shot through his left wing. A screech erupted from him, wings failing him, brilliant light bursting behind his eyelids. His vision blurred with pain, and he felt his wings failing him—the ground was getting closer, and he saw a fuzzy brown silhouette with blurred, fast-pumping wings rushing up to meet him. As it got closer, he could make out arching, crescent shapes of horns, outstretched arms and claws glowing with a sickly green color—
Oh. Shit. Fucking shit.
A rush of adrenaline electrified his nerves and snapped his vision back into focus. Those were definitely the mutant-Pinsir's pitiless yellow eyes he was seeing, its massive horns that were rapidly approaching.
He forced his wings to pump and managed to propel himself out of the way just as a burning neon-green cross soared through the air. The Pinsir followed soon after, soaring past in a blind charge.
Time slowed.
The Pinsir's carapace shimmered in the stage lights. Its wings were iridescent, glittering with an unnatural luster, one that was reminiscent of the glow Trainer Girl's eyes required while she was Transcending.
Its eyes were glazed, blank—there was nothing there, no awareness or consciousness, no nothing. It was unnerving as fuck and Tanner wondered how the hell he'd missed that. He also wondered what the hell had happened to it that had sucked the life out of it, left it an empty husk.
And most of all—his wing really, really, really fucking hurt.
Time sped up again. The Pinsir's velocity had caused a disturbance in the air pressure and a whoosh of dislodged air sent Tanner tumbling. He flapped his wings desperately in an attempt to right himself, and only just managed to do so before he went splat on the ground.
The dusty field was dizzyingly close. Tanner refused to look at it as he ascended back into the sky.
His wing was killing him.
Are you okay? Trainer Girl's not-voice was strained, like she too was in some sort of pain. Maybe there was an empathic link or some shit like that. Who knew.
Tanner swore his beak was going to crack from how hard he was gritting it. His eyes watered, but he blinked it away fiercely, pain dulled by an overwhelming rush of anger.
Seriously, Tanner, talk to me. Are you okay?
I will I tear that thing to fucking pieces and scatter its remains all over the forest, burn the forest to the fucking ground, laugh like a fucking cartoon supervillain, and make a snowman out of the fucking ashes. You hear me? A fucking snowman!
...okay then. Ohshi—move.
A humming filled the air. The beat of Bug wings.
Move move move move.
Tanner swerved to avoid the strike. Instead, the X-Scissor slammed into the floor and kicked up a vast cloud of dust, carved furrows into the field. He only had a moment to process what had just happened before the cloud engulfed him, his vision swallowed by tan.
"Oh son of a bitch," he hissed, screwing his eyes up. The sand made his eyes water and itch and ache. It was just an endless, swirling mess of brown, brown, brown everywhere he dared to look. North, south, east, west—and yes, he did have a faint sense of direction, every Pidgey at any given time could tell north from south, but the problem was finding the way out.
Just stay calm, Trainer Girl was saying in a tone that might have been intended as placating. Use every last one of your senses, not just sight.
No change in the cloud, no shift in the dust motes, no discernable shapes or movement he could make out. The fucking thing could be right in front of his face, ready to tear his head off, and he'd never even know it. Gee, thanks.
I'm serious. Her not-voice was sharp, militant. You'll hear the buzzing of its wings before you see it, so if you hear anything, move away from it.
Do I look stupid?
...is that trick question?
He tuned her out after that.
It was no good—he couldn't see. And he could hear something, but that something was the crowd and it was full of violent, disappointed protests, demanding violence and bloodshed and more of the stupid Pidgey's blood to stain the ground—
Oh. Oh, they were talking about him.
Bastards.
Brown, brown everywhere, and not an exit to fly through. He tuned into Trainer Girl's presence again, not because he thought he needed it, but because he had a pathological intolerance of silence. Any more gems of advice?
Pensiveness tickled at the back of his skull. Which way are you going now?
Uh, right. Why?
He got the distinct impression that she was furrowing her brows. Right straight? As in, horizontally-straight?
Yeah... What was the problem with that?
When you can fly, she deadpanned.
This was starting to get annoying. If you have somethin'a say, girly, just say it.
You can fly, dumbass. Trying going up.
Oh.
That made sense. Why didn't he think of that?
Tanner headed straight up.
The cloud started to thin as he climbed higher. Trainer Girl had been right—the cloud clung thickly to the ground, but it didn't reach too far upward. Gravity was already starting to drag the errant dust back down where it belonged. So long as he just went up, he'd get a clear view in no time.
Tanner heard buzzing. The kind of buzzing that came from Bug wings. And it was loud, coming closer, closer, closer—
Trainer Girl's alarm shot through Tanner. Get out of there.
Tanner didn't need to be told twice. He banked left just as the dust and air ripped and an X-Scissor missed him by a margin. The Pinsir mutant emerged from behind it with sickly-green glowing claws and blazing eyes.
Again, time slowed. And Tanner made the mistake of thinking it was going to overshoot him again, and he was safe.
Then the Pinsir's glowing claws changed to a pinkish purply shade and it struck.
The first blow struck Tanner right across the face, forcing his head to the side so sharply it sent a twinge of pain down his spine. His little skull rang like a gong from the impact and he saw stars—big red ones—bright and dancing. It sent the world spiraling wildly on its axis like a sputtering, faltering top that had been spinning too long and was finally losing momentum. He heard roars, blood-thirsty roars, human voice screaming, drunk on violence. Had the crowd always been there? Had he only just now noticed?
Everything went double. There were suddenly two mutant-Pinsir when he looked back, two purple-glowing claws reeling back to strike him again. Air whirled around the claw, like a vortex, a whirlwind, which didn't make sense, nothing about this was making sense—
On instinct, he gathered air around his wings and cast a Gust.
The attack tore into the Pinsir's carapace, sent fissures through the shell and spurts of slimy, milky-green Bug goo flying through the air. Some of it splattered on his chest and wings. It felt surprisingly cold, like being splashed with frozen rain.
The sheer force of his own attack propelled Tanner backwards and tumbling above the bleachers. His head was still ringing like a fucking gong, like a chorus of cannons had gone off in his head, and the bloodthirsty roar of patrons did him no favors. He pumped his wings in a desperate attempt to stay airborne, right himself, something, anything—the sharp throbbing in his left wing returned, screaming for attention. Everything was upside-down and spinning and all the colors were way too harsh, but the edges of his vision blurred horrendously, stars still bright and dancing.
Tanner groaned.
Damn that was close. Trainer Girl was bristling with worry, which didn't make sense, because Normal moves shouldn't do that much damage. Normal moves didn't swirl with wind and air like that. Are you okay?
No. He wasn't. He was pretty sure this was what roadkill felt like. Specifically the kind of roadkill that was hit by a turbo-powered bus.
I'm guessing that's a "no". A sigh, slow and heavy. Hurry back onto the field. If you linger too long, the announcer might declare you out of bounds.
Fuck him and his bounds, he protested weakly, but reluctantly did as asked. He shook his head to make the dizziness abate, but it only worsened. His flight path was almost drunken as he struggled to fly straight, hobbling back to the field.
A second sigh, but it was more gentle than harsh. Hang in there. You took some damage, but your last attack hit it pretty hard too. If you can land another hit like that, you can definitely win.
Alistair watched, a trickle of apprehension running down his spine, as the Pidgey flew shakily back to the battlefield. He tried to bury it by preening his feathers, but he could only preen his feathers so many times before he got them just right and couldn't touch them again without messing them up. And once he'd reached that state of perfection, there was nothing to distract him from the fact that the last attack had hit the Pidgey hard and, oh, yeah, he was definitely struggling.
"How did Tanner get hit from the sky?" Mint whispered, voice low and hushed like she was afraid to speak over the crowd. She sounded scared—the sort of scared that makes you too stiff, your voice too steady, too flat. "That thing was nowhere near him."
From the other armrest, Hayami tried to catch Alistair's eye with a knowing expression, and he pretended to ignore her because he still had to work on his feathers. They both already knew that Transcendence wasn't something you could understand with your eyes. Not unless you were an Aesith or a Piercer or something. And they weren't, so it was that simple. There was no point in watching this match because it was all twisted up by the damned Veil. Alistair had observed the Pinsir launch a Double Hit into the sky while standing stationary on the ground, but that obviously wasn't what happened. Firstly, Double Hit was a physical, close-quarters attack and it took lots of training to pull off something like that (Alexa, according to rumor, lacked a proficiency for battle, so that wasn't likely), and secondly, even if it was launched, it wouldn't have landed as hard as it had. The Veil had screwed with the events, warped the presumably outlandish so that it could fit into the observer's personal definition of plausibility, so even then, someone else might have observed a totally different event. Even knowing that the Veil was there and screwing with you didn't help—you just didn't fight the Veil.
"Because Pidgey has returned to the boundaries," the announcer's voice droned in sickly sweet tone of mock excitement, "the match will continue and no one will be disqualified."
Elated cheers rose from the audience. Tch. Bloodthirsty beasts. Why the hell was Alistair being forced to tolerate the presence of these wanton barbarians again, watching a fight he could not see? Oh, right, his Trainer wanted him to show support.
Ugh.
"Nothing's making sense." The subpar dancer known as Tierno spoke in a quiet way, mouth set into a thin, worried line. "That Pinsir's movements are all weird..."
Serena looked up sharply. "Is she Transcending already?"
Of course she was. A Pinsir couldn't launch a Double Hit from that great a distance and injure a Pidgey that way. It had to have been close range. But, to be fair, Serena was probably thinking that this Dupuis bitch would save Transcendence for the third and final round, not go straight off the bat. On the other hand, Berserkers started off strong and tended to lack a sense of proportion, so Alistair, by contrast, was not surprised.
And neither was his Trainer. Calem's eyes were solemn and set in a grim expression. "Probably. That last hit had too much power behind it."
Alistair watched the flagging Pidgey as he circled the field again. The Pinsir on the field was bleeding badly, but remained eerily still, as though it was already an unmoving corpse. Beyond the subtle flickering and twitching of its form, there was no indication that Alistair could not trust his own eyes.
And yet, he knew he couldn't. No one could.
Trainer Girl's assessment was, at the very least, a piece of good news and something that gave Tanner a little bit of hope, but he was still reeling from that last attack. His head ached. He was lucky to have avoided that second hit...
The fuck did that hurt so much? He wasn't expecting an answer, honestly. Just ranting, grumbling. Griping and bitching was the best way to get over a head injury. Probably. He'd never had a head injury before. Wasn't that Double Hit? That's a Normal move, right? Bugs aren't good at that shit. The fuck did it hit so hard? My head hurts so fucking much.
Tanner felt Trainer Girl wince and immediately know something was wrong. About that... So, y'know how it can fly?
A trickle of apprehension went through him. Oh, he was getting a bad, bad feeling about this. Yeah?
Well, all its Normal-Type attacks become Flying-Type. And it's gained a Flying Typing, so...
A bolt of alarm went through him, vision beginning to blur—from his injury or the shock, he couldn't tell. His gaze slid onto the flagging Pinsir, struggling against the wound he'd inflicted it with, and he felt a numb horror creeping over him. The fuck, woman! You tell me this now?!
Another bolt of alarm—but this time it wasn't his. We discuss this after you dodge the incoming Guillotine.
Tanner blinked rapidly. His vision snapped to focus without warning, and he could finally make out the incoming brown blur that was not the cloud, but actually the Pinsir that was rapidly approaching with gnashing horns. Was it his imagination, or were the horns bigger? Those horns definitely looked bigger. The spikes jutted out thorns, but they were fucking massive and—
Oh. Shit. Shit shit shit.
It flew with a drunken wobble, as though struggling beneath its own weight, but it was still wicked fast, wings blurring and the giant orange veins throbbing as though about to burst. A thick shell of white, crystalized-Aura had calcified around its horns, making them even sharper, even more massive, like blades that could sheer steel so cleanly, so precisely—fuck, imagine what it could do to a living thing.
Quick Attack, Trainer Girl commanded sharply. To his obvious alarm (at the thought of getting closer to those fucking bigass pincers), she added hastily, Use it to dodge, dumbass.
Tanner didn't hesitate. He poured Aura into his wings and slipped away just as the pincers snapped at empty air. The crack they made was loud and bone-chilling, and his neck prickled in apprehension, as if anticipating their bladed edges closing around him. He ended up at an angle that gave him a nice view of the hairline fracture he'd left on its back from the earlier Quick Attack.
Trainer Girl's presence sharpened, and Tanner could taste her alarm in the back of his throat (it was acidic, like bile or vomit or fear, but not as strong). Ohhhh, you need to get out there.
Why, what—
The mutant Pinsir whirled around, giving Tanner a perfect view of the massive crack he'd carved into its abdomen, weeping milky-green goo. A trickle of concern went through him. That was a serious wound, the kind that would make Trainers run for the Center and would make wild Pokémon bow their head in desperate, fervent prayer to the Goddess for recovery.
That thought vanished when the pincer-shell unlatched and shot towards him like it was rocket-propelled. Tanner squawked in alarm—Guillotine wasn't supposed to fly.
Quick Attack, Trainer Girl commanded briskly, sharply, voice spiking. Quick Attack, Quick Attack, Quick Attack—
I got the message, merci! He was already tearing away, the airborne Guillotine hot in pursuit.
He zigzagged—the Guillotine kept pace. Which was fucking insane because that move was supposed to have piss-poor accuracy.
Go go go! Trainer Girl's not-voice was both grating and oddly comforting. Faster! It's gaining! Stop zigzagging, dammit, you're just slowing yourself down! Fly fucking straight!
Tanner bit back a scathing retort and flapped harder.
Wait a sec...
The panic had been leeched out of her voice, replaced by something that sounded a lot like a realization, and it made him furious. Some concern she had about his well-being! Anything you wanna share?!
...try going down.
Her not-voice had acquired a contemplative tone, the kind that came with experimentation—and experimentation, in this case, resulted in dismemberment and beheading. See if it follows.
He almost whirled around to Quick Attack her in the face. Are you trying to kill me?!
So far, you haven't changed altitude, and it's followed you steadily. She had a calmness in her voice as she explained, and it unnerved him how casual she was being about all this. Maybe it can only pursue you so quickly on a horizontal level.
This was so fucking exasperating they were no words, even if Tanner was the articulate type. You owe me so many Puffs!
He tucked his wings down and dived—
—just as the Guillotine snapped.
It was an unconscious error, an inadvertent mistake. When Tanner and Trainer Girl had been conversing, he'd slowed down a little bit. Just enough for the distance between bird and Guillotine to lessen and, eventually, close.
Time slowed. Tanner's mind went blank.
For the first time since he arrived on Route Two, Poisoned and delirious and on the brink of death, he felt fear. Genuine fear.
SHIIING!
Mint squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't watch.
The audience roared, drunk on blood and gore. She felt like she was going to be sick.
"Oh my god." Shauna's voice trembled wildly. Mint could feel her hands shakings from where they gripped the armrest until her knuckles had turned white.
"That..." Trevor's voice. He took a deep, sharp breath that shivered as he exhaled. "...was fucking close."
The good news—Tanner made it. The attack didn't clamp onto anything vital and then dissipated into a gust of wind.
The bad news—the tips of his tailfeathers ended up sheered off.
Tanner was racked by simultaneous waves of relief and incredulity. He was alive... He was alive! He'd come so close to dying but he was alive! He was breathing and his heart was pounding and his head was still on his neck and he was alive.
Trainer Girl gave a breath of relief, one that felt almost tactile inside his head. Thank the Birds.
Yes, thank the Birds indeed. The Winged Mirages—the ones Tanner's pépé used to talk about, eyes glinting with a sort of pride and reverence. Tanner wondered if any one of them had ever faced something like this, monsters borne of ancient magic that should have remained buried, if any of them had ever escaped death themselves by the tips of their tailfeathers.
He felt dizzy. A brown smudge lingered on the ground. The Pinsir—it had landed, likely to recover from the exertion. It stood, unmoving.
But he also saw that woman—the one in red with tattered clothes and greasy hair, who had supposedly been responsible for putting a good woman in the hospital. She had ordered her monsters to tear into innocents, had slaughtered mercilessly, had no remorse for the weak.
She was wearing red.
Tanner had a flashback—a few months back, before the orange-suited men swept the Route, a young Bunnelby had gone missing. Nice girl, sweet girl. Shared her berry finds with everyone. She had liked Tanner, and he was okay with her. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason she got it into her fluffy head to pay le Bois Sombre a visit, which, damn, was plain fucking stupid because even half-brained chicks knew better than to enter the Dark Woods on Route One. The Pokémon there only lived there because they found life on the regular Routes too soft, desiring strength but refusing to acknowledge cooperation with humans as the best way to reach it. They were the kind that wanted strength but in the bad way, the worst ways, and so you really shouldn't wander in too deep, or at all if you can help it.
Nice girl, sweet girl. She wandered in. Tanner, in a fit of courage he could never for the life of him understand, went after her. He found her at the claws of a great predatory bird, feathers glowing flame red in the shadow and blood splattered like war paint over its ash-grey stomach. Her life pooled wastefully beneath her body.
He'd run, the coward that he was, and never saw either again. But this woman—she wore the same sort of red as that Talonflame that day, and had the same sadism he had seen in those dark, pitiless eyes. She was a juggler throwing balls made of fine glass into the air, but she was sloppy and didn't care if they shattered at her feet into a million glittering pieces, even laughed at the disgusting wastefulness of a life cut short.
Rage flooded Tanner. His wing ached, he had sand in his eyes, his head throbbed, he was splattered liberally with Bug goo, he had spent the last ten minutes flying around in circles just to keep his head on his shoulders, and now his tailfeathers were clipped. All on the whims of some chick on a power trip.
No one had to die today. No one had to—until she made it so.
Oi, girly. Tanner's blood was boiling. I want to finish this.
Trainer Girl's presence was like a steel hug. It was tight and restrictive, not particularly warm or gentle, but it was strong, unyielding, comforting in the way it bound him. Me too.
Tanner started flying closer, but the Pinsir didn't move. His vision was tinging red around the edges and he didn't care. Well?
A considering pause, then—Quick Attack. Catch it off-guard. Then hit it with Gust.
Roger.
He swooped. A single wingbeat and then he was zooming towards it. He struck it dead in the back that was turned towards him (stupid mistake), right where he had before.
The shell cracked and spurted goo, but Tanner ricocheted and zoomed to safe distance before it could strike. Only when he was far enough away did he stop to observe his work—the Pinsir was stunned, its horns splayed out, leaving its head wide open.
Tanner did not think.
The Gust that he unleashed may have been condensed. It may not have, but he didn't know, and he didn't care. Time slowed and he watched with a twisted satisfaction as the ripple of wind tore its way towards the Bug—
—and then he saw something he'd missed before.
Its wings were gone. There was no trace of those translucent, orange-veined things that had allowed the Bug to plague him in the air. Its horns had shrunk, too, back to their regular still-sharp-but-significantly-less-threatening state. The feet, too, had transformed from the jet-like smoothness to regular, land-walking feet.
But most of all, the blank florescent eyes had changed to wide white ones that were alive and aware and not at all empty.
Tanner wasn't sure when it had turned around. But he had a perfect view as those not-empty eyes flooded with the same genuine fear he had experience only moments ago.
And then the Gust struck.
Its shell cracked and exploded, the force cleaving deep, deep, deep into its body, right down the middle. Silvery-green goo erupting like a volcano from the fissure, and his beak must have fallen open, because some of it flew into his mouth. He watched as the Bug's eyes turning dim and glassy and empty, like a light had suddenly gone out—the kind of light you never notice is even there until it's not anymore.
There was silence.
Its body creaked, then, in an almost unnatural but almost deliberate slowness, fell back against the ground. Mucus-colored goo and innards spilled out from the fissure all over the parched, dusty ground. Some of it dripped into the cracks that had been carved by the earlier X-Scissor. The stage lights beat down on the fractured carapace, harsh and relentless.
Tanner was trembling. The goo smelled foul and he thought he might have gotten some in his mouth somehow. He felt sick.
The blood shed today was not red, but green.
The announcer raised a flag. "Pinsir is dead! The first round goes to the challenger—Celestine Lavieaux!"
Applause echoed from the stands, roaring, deafening. A surge of fury went through Tanner, his wings trembling, goo—blood, blood—still in his mouth.
No one had to have died today.
Alexa reached for another Ball clipped to her belt.
Big Bro wasn't flying straight when he came back. His wing was all stiff and there was yucky goo on his feathers. He looked really tired, too. Max wondered if he was alright. He'd fought the big Bug but the big Bug hadn't even moved, and now it was sleeping on the ground (Max thought you shouldn't take a nap in the middle of a battle, silly Bug), but Big Bro looked like he'd gotten hurt bad.
M. Delphi came up to the white line, but stopped when Big Bro landed—and didn't cross. His ears were flat and his tail was all poufy. "Are you okay, Tanner? You look terrible."
"M'fine," Big Bro muttered. He shook himself out, but the green yucky stuff still stuck to his feathers. "Done for the day. Switch?"
Missy nodded, then looked at him. Her face was so serious. "Max? You ready?"
Max perked up at the sound of his name. He almost asked for what—but then he remembered that Big Bro said they all had to fight. A shiver went through him, but Max ruffled his feathers and took a deep breath. His heart pounded, his feet felt cold. He was ready. He was ready.
"I-I'm r-r-ready."
That... came out wrong.
Missy didn't understand wild tongue. Neither did M. Delphi. They were kind of dumb for adults in that way. But Missy understood well enough and she nodded again. Her eyes glowed blue, and Max's head felt funny, like he wasn't alone in there anymore. He didn't like it and it was scary, his little heart pounding, but M. Delphi and Big Bro said not to be scared, so Max tried not to be scared.
He gulped turned to the field, spreading his wings to fly onto it and fight when—
The pale lady released another big Bug. This one was dark blue and it had only one horn, one that was long and sharp-looking, like it was made to skewer little birds. A rush of fresh fear went through Max and he wanted to duck behind Missy's legs because he swore it was glaring at him. But Missy gave him a push from inside his head, and he tried not to be scared.
The lady touched her neck and Max saw light. Then the big Bug did something really weird—it changed.
Its horn curved the other way, getting bigger and sharper, and it grew another one from its nose of all places. It grew, grew and grew until it was so much bigger, until it could flatten Max easily. Orange flared all overs its blue shell, bright and bloody-colored and Max whimpered, because now it was really, really big and those orange lines looked like they were throbbing in a really gross way and its yellow eyes most definitely glaring now, oh yes, Max could feel them against his feathers. Its arms and legs got thicker, too. A lot thicker, bulging as though ready to burst, and before it had looked kinda friendly but now it looked big and scary and like it would hurt Max if it was given the chance.
It started to lumber forward. The lady pounded her fists together excitedly, and the Bug did the same. Only, when the Bug did it, he felt it, like he was being ground to a pulp even from this far away, and Max didn't want to fight already but he definitely didn't want to fight that it was getting closer—
The Bug stepped on the other, sleeping Bug, and the sleeping Bug broke and goo came out.
Max screamed and tried to fly back into the tunnel.
"Whoa, hey!" Missy yelled, and M. Delphi caught Max. Max struggled and thrashed but M. Delphi wouldn't let go and he looked at Missy in confusion, but when Max looked back at Missy, Missy looked mad. "Where are you going? Look, it's a Bug-Fighting-Type. Your Gust is more than enough to—"
"No!" Max shrieked. "No no no no it's a monster I don't wanna fight it's a monster and it's gonna hurt and its gonna squash me like the brown Bug and I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna fight—"
"Y-You'll be fine," Missy tried to say, shocked and confused, but Max didn't hear her.
He struggled. He thrashed. The big blue Bug was scary and it wasn't a Bug, Bugs couldn't be that big and scary and he was scared he didn't want to it was a monster and he didn't wanna fight a monster Missy make the monsters go away—
His head shrank. Suddenly, he was alone in it again, and the blue Bug looked like it had before it changed. He stopped struggling and looked back at Missy in confusion. Her fingers pinched her nose and her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed and Max almost asked when she got hurt because she looked pained.
"The hell am I doing?" she muttered, voice soft and harsh and trembling. It sounded like she was going to cry, and that made Max worried because adults weren't supposed to cry. She let go of her nose and looked at Big Bro, who was still on the field and eyeing Max in concern. "Tanner, I... hate to ask this, but do you think you can last another round?"
Big Bro shuffled nervously, but then he looked at Max, and he nodded. In human, he said, "Yeah... Yeah, I think so."
M. Delphi set Max down. "Trainer, I can go now instead—"
"No," Missy interrupted. "No, you need to save your strength for the last one. I can't switch you in mid-round and once you're out, I can't put you back in. Alexa still hasn't brought out her ace, either, and you can't fight it unless you're in peak condition. If Max won't fight, then Tanner has to. Understand?"
M. Delphi's ears flattened again, and he nodded, but he looked at the ground as he did and didn't say anything.
"Put the kid back in the Ball," Big Bro said. Then, to Max, he said in wild tongue, "Don't worry, kiddo. You don't hafta fight now. There'll be no more monsters, okay?"
Max nodded shakily. "O-Okay."
He saw Big Bro spread his wings and turn to the once-monster Bug, and then there was red light.
"What's the matter Lavieaux?" Alexa crowed, sardonic and mocking and far too loud. Tanner wanted to Wing Attack her across the face, but he didn't know that move yet. "Your reserve bird not good enough?"
He bit back the stinging retort he could feel bubbling up in his throat, and could also feel Trainer Girl's rush of indignation. He could see the blue Bug that had freaked the kid out—it was a bulky thing, limbs bulging with what would have been muscle if it weren't a Bug, carapace streaked by orange and yellow splashed on its back. Bright colors, in the wild, were meant to be intimidating. Tanner wondered if that was what they were meant for in this case, because they looked very out of place otherwise.
That's a Heracross, Trainer Girl informed him. Again, her not-voice had acquired that wartime quality, the kind reminiscent of a general on the cusp of a battle, running strategies with their troops. Bug-Fighting-Type, as I said before. Your Gust'll tear it to pieces.
Finally! Some good news! Honestly, he was in desperate need of a moral booster and he wanted this done and over with so he could not think about the Pinsir cadaver still lying there as it prove how sucky the clean-up services here were. Plus, it can't fly.
Yeah... About that—
The yellow shell on its back peeled away, revealing a pair of translucent, silvery wings. They started to pump, blurring together and releasing a low, droning buzz.
"Are you shitting me," he grumbled as it took to the air.
Don't worry—it can't fly as well as the Pinsir. It'll be on the ground again in a few minutes.
Tanner wanted to protest that "a few minutes" could translate to "the entire battle", but the Heracross's horns suddenly flared with sickly green light. A crackling pulse manifesting between the two horns, spikes jutting out from the coalescing orb.
The spikes fired.
Quick Attack to dodge, Trainer Girl commanded. There was a hint of urgency in her voice, but only a hint. He could practically feel her flinty expression boring holes into his skull. That thing has Skill Link, so it'll be firing no less than five rounds. Stay vigilant and don't drop your guard.
He did as commanded without question. Quick Attack helped him dodge a volley of thin, needle-like projectiles that soared passed. They looked measly as fuck and he couldn't figure out how something that insubstantial-looking could ever hurt anybody unless they weren't a newborn Caterpie, but hey, his wing was already torn and what the shit, let's not get anymore blood on his feathers.
Dive!
Tanner dove just as another volley soared overhead. Not good at flying his feathered ass. This thing was faster than the Pinsir and attacked from a distance so—
Tanner! Fucking pay attention!
—he banked right just as a huge flurry whizzed passed, thrice the size of the last two valleys, like three rounds had been condensed into a single, dense cloud of projectiles.
He wasn't fast enough, though, and a few errant needles stabbed into his good wing. They were nowhere near as painful as the throbbing cut in his bad wing, but they stuck like a motherfucker, like papercuts dipped in lemon juice, and he yelped, his trajectory thrown.
Oh fuck.
Tanner barely righted himself when the Heracross charged him from below, both horns glowing brilliant green and having lengthened considerably—
and then stabbed him, right in the heart.
The pain was unlike anything he'd experienced before. A white-hot bolt, excruciating and intense and piercing, alighting every nerve in an agonizing frenzy. He felt the point digging into his skin, his flesh being torn, blood gushing from the wound, and there was so much pain. His vision exploded with white and then—
And then Tanner was falling. Wind screamed in his ears and he couldn't hear anything. He thought he heard Trainer Girl screaming, shouting incoherent nonsense but maybe that was just his imagination. Or hey, it might be le Grande Faucheuse calling him from the other side. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch if the Grim Reaper sounded just like Trainer Girl, the number of times she threatened him... Heh, he was going to miss that in the afterlife.
So. This was what dying was like. Watching your blood spiral out in front of you as you fell in seemingly slow motion, like some guy was trying to add cheesy tension to an overly dramatic action scene and it just ended up looking shitty and cliché. Tanner was watching the blood stream upward—hey, he was bleeding upward, that's one for the record books—as he fell, and the lights were fucking bright, they washed out everything but the vivid red color of his own blood and wow, every thought was just spiralling back to the fact that he was bleeding. Was that normal? Tanner felt like that was normal. Must be normal when you're dying and all these thoughts are flying through your head and there's no real way to filter them and everything is just sort of whirling around like an unhinged hurricane. That's odd expression, "unhinged", like, your mind doesn't have hinges so why do they use that expression, "unhinged"? Hell, where do half the expressions used in the modern day come from? Really good question. 'Cause half of it didn't make any fucking sense—
Tanner hit the ground hard. It fucking hurt.
Everything fucking hurt. His wing and his chest and the droplets of blood that floated upwards came dripping back down like rain. One drop landed just next to his head. He glanced at it from the corner of his eye and, oh, hey, there's the corpse of the Pinsir he killed like half a minute ago, hi there.
He heard someone laughing. It might've been him. "Guess I'll... join ya soon, eh?"
Battling, Tanner decided as he lay cold and dying on the floor, was much more enjoyable from the sidelines. It sucked when you were the one actually fighting and dying on the field.
The ringing in his ears abruptly vanished, replaced by Trainer Girl and the sound of ragged breathing, labored and heavy and straining. Her indignance was palpable, her voice rough and harsh and thick with the strain of someone holding back pain.
...fucking get up, she panted. That is a... fucking... shallow wound... you melodramatic asshole.
Delphi watched in horror as Trainer collapsed to her knees.
She fell forward, collapsed like someone had shoved her, or had stepped on her, or that she'd lost her balance. At the very least, she thrust her hands out to catch herself before she landed face-first in the dust but she was panting hard, every muscle straining and trembling with some sort of imagined effort. One hand reached up to clutch at her chest, breathing coming out in broken shudders and gasps. Her bangs fell over her face, the harsh stage lights casting deep, dark shadows over her eyes.
"T-Trainer!" Delphi felt like he should run over to check on her, but his feet were rooted to the spot and the best he could manage was to numbly reach a trembling paw in her direction.
"A-Are you... what's wrong—w-what happened—"
"I'm—fine," she gasped, but her voice spiked and splintered and slurred with intense pain. Her other hand, propping her up against the ground, curled into a fist, knuckles blanched white with the strain. She kept her head bowed and her hair cascaded down her shoulders like twin onyx waterfalls, pooling around her knees.
He reached for his stick, both out of nerves and a nagging sensation that said he should be protecting her. "You don't look fine."
She sucked in a shuddering breath and raised her head. The makeup she'd put on was lurid against the whiteness of her face, shiny with sweat and wrought with an intense pain. Her eyes blazed with ethereal light, brows furrowed deeply and teeth bared as if in a snarl. "I—son of a bitch— Underestimated... how much that... was gonna hurt. Fucking hell, fucking... fucking Mega Horn. Gene...sis almighty."
That snapped him out of his stupor and his feet finally moved. He rushed over, crouching at her side and placed a paw on her back. He imagined he could feel every ache and pain going through her muscles and nerves from that one point of contact. Maybe he was imagining it. "What happened?"
The hand on her chest moved to clutch her head and she groaned. "Had to... take it myself... fuck Mega Horn..."
Tanner blinked, then peered at the wound in his chest. Trainer Girl was right. The wound was impossibly shallow, as though he'd merely been grazed instead of taking a direct hit. Still hurt like hell and made breathing a bitch, but the bleeding had also stopped. "I'm... alive?"
Her labored panting answered him, and when he cast a glance back at her side, he saw her on her knees, struggling to stand and having to lean on the fox for support, seemingly radiating pain. You are so... fucking lucky you're not... impaled right now... you're fucking welcome.
The realization that he was only still alive because of her made him absolutely dizzy. "You... saved me...?"
Absorbed the damage, she corrected, sounding as though she were speaking through clenched teeth. From the way she looked, staggering as she tried to stay on her feet, he wouldn't be so surprised if she was. I'm Aesith. I've... got the virtue... take the pain without the—the physical damage— son of a bitch that... pain, ow, shit—don't make me do that again.
She saved him. A human saved him. A Trainer saved him.
It was hard to explain, being hit by knowledge that was already apparent to you on some subconscious level, but being really hit by it like a Double Hit to the head. Tanner had always known that Trainer Girl was different from his old master—sure she was just as irritable and had a harsh accent just like him, but she at least pretended to care about him, if not actually care. But now, he realized it wasn't her pretending to care at all, wasn't her trying to manipulate him into fighting harder, doling out an aloof sort of affection and praise so as to string him along and manipulate into thinking hey, this is a Trainer who gives half a shit, I'm going to risk everything just to fight for her because she's a commodity in this twisted world.
But this... was not a scheme. This was genuine. She had actually taken the hit, literally, just to keep him alive—the fucking woman was either insane or she actually gave more than just a half-shit. Maybe more than a whole shit.
The woman saved him. Saved him. Took the hit, took the pain, to save him. She saved him. She wasn't a Pokémon like the Pidgeotto that had found him on death's door a year ago, but she still saved him. A human saved him.
Something like resolution hardened in his gut. He gritted his beak and staggered to his feet, turning back to his opponent. The field wavered and tipped drunkenly, his wings both aching (though his left wing had long since stopped bleeding, he wondered if that was also her influence), but the Heracross had landed to rest, eyes burning with intensity, still as a statue and bristling with anticipation. Hell, he could take. Definitely. Trainer Girl had saved him so that he could, and goddamn, he was going to.
"You alright there, Lavieaux?" Alexa's voice was taunting and ringing, sharp like a papercut. It was punctuated by a maniacal-sounding laugh. "You look like a ball of paper someone crumpled up to throw away!"
"Fuck off!" Trainer Girl spat back. Tanner glanced back at her to see that she was struggling to her feet, the fox hovering at her side with obvious concern. "This in no way means I can't kick your skinny as all the way to Sinnoh!"
Alexa raised a hand, her face seeming to break around her grin, and snapped her fingers. "We'll see."
The Heracross took to the air again, its eyes flaring brilliantly.
A sudden, irrational urge to peck out those eyes flared inside Tanner. He wanted to hear that thing scream in agony, wanted to rip its horns out and stuff them down its throat, wanted to shred its wings to ribbons.
Tanner...?
He didn't hear. Red burned in his vision and he took to the sky—
The mutant Heracross blinked out, vanished as though it had never been. The stage lights, however, were blinding white and how the hell did they get so close he was just on the ground—
He dove just before he could hit them—but, whoa, the ground was spinning like a fucking top and he didn't remember it being so red. Fuck, everything was red, why was it red, what was so goddamn special about the color red? Why couldn't it be blue or yellow or—oh, never mind, there were spinning yellow polka dots everywhere, that solved the red problem but it didn't quite answer—
T...
Something blue came rushing up, and this whole place was just a mess of primary colors wasn't it? Hey, why were they called "primary colors" anyway? Like, where did that come from? And who decided to make 'em those three? Oh, oh shit that blue thing was a Bug, and Tanner was pretty sure he didn't like Bugs, but he wasn't really sure why...
...anner...hear m...you liste...
The blue Bug raised its arm, hand blazing with a halo of white light and that was really disconcerting maybe he should move 'cause it looked like it was going to hit him, yeah, he should definitely move—
...move!
He did, but man was the Bug slow. It brought its arm down at the speed of dripping molasses and dove right to the ground, missing Tanner by a longshot because he was already several meters away and wowzers, red lady needed to train her Bugs better.
...angled Feet...boosts spee...thank the Ge...
The battlefield whirled like a hurricane on LSD. All spinning and bright colors and a storm of prismatic light, they should really fix the stage lights, the ground gyrating. Tanner's head thrummed and he felt really dizzy, his skull felt like glue or something, all sticky and gooey and hey, who put the ground so close?
Wait.
The ground. Holy shit.
Tanner swerved. He missed the ground by a margin. Heh, that was a funny word, "margin". Sounded like "margarine", y'know, the condiment? Hey, was that intentional?
...homing...irection...use...
"Irection"? Like "erection"? Tanner didn't have an erection. And what was with this voice in his head, anyway? Like, it sounded like a girl, but with a weird accent, and she was speaking in Common. Human Common, that is, not wild tongue. He'd never met a human who could speak wild tongue but wouldn't that be cool? But back to the girl in his head—she sounded really worried. Her voice was blotted out and he could only make out part of what she was saying, but her words were fast and the accent made them harder to understand and—
...oming...direc...hurry...
"Oming"? Like "homing"? Wait! Homing! Every Pidgey had an internal homing ability. Well, all birds had the ability to sense magnetic fields and use it to plot migration courses, but most of them could only check to see if they were still going in the same direction. The Pidgey and Pidove lines had a far more acute sensitivity, and determine the actual direction, like north or south, even if they were crazy turned around. It was how they found their way home, no matter how far.
Tanner closed his eyes and tapped into his internal compass. He had a little trouble at first, for some reason he had a bit of trouble at first. The crowd roared in his ears, the stage lights burned against his eyelids and turned the darkness bloody red, and there was an incessant buzzing, like Bug wings—
But then it peeled away, like layers of an onion being sloughed off, or a snake shedding its skin. Slow at first, but then faster and faster until everything had fallen silent and dark. Then there was only him, and the earth, and the slow, subtle thump of its heart.
The heartbeat gradually loudened. It was a lullaby that only he had the privilege of hearing, sweet and gentle, lyrical—north, south, east, west, repeat. A bright, rolling hum, smooth, unbroken, the magnetic field singing to him, north, south, east, and west, repeat—
North—the bleachers to Trainer Girl's right.
South—the bleachers to Trainer Girl's left.
East—Alexa, the opponent, the enemy that must be defeated.
West—Trainer Girl, and the fox.
Buzzing. Bug wings.
Tanner's eyes snapped open. He swerved just as the mutant Heracross tried to come in for another Mega Horn. It missed—blurring past and hell, if the Pinsir hadn't clipped his tailfeathers already that definitely would have.
It got faster. He fought an incredulous laugh, his head clearing, and everything came back into focus. Man, it was good to think clearly again, but it also sucked because he remembered how embarrassingly loopey he'd been. The hell did it get faster?
It didn't get faster, replied a not-voice in his head. Trainer Girl, her voice tender with relief. You did. It hit you with Swagger and Tangled Feet kicked in. It was chasing you around the field with Brick Break, but luckily it couldn't keep up... I—I couldn't get through to you. I was— I was worried, Tanner—
Another laugh bubbled up in his chest, but he clamped it down for her benefit. No need to worry, girly. I was just fine.
He felt her snort and that fuzzy feeling of relief vanished. Why? Because you're "king of the birds"?
Well, yeah. Duh. But also 'cause I heard you, and you helped me snap out of it, so, I owe you one. Before she had a chance to reply, or to take advantage of his momentary show of gratitude (because he vowed to never be grateful to her ever again), he turned back to the Heracross. It touched down clumsily on the field, doubled over, panting heavily as though it had exerted itself a great deal. No way it could put a fight anymore. Wanna finished this?
The image of a smirk flashed in his mind. Thought you'd never asked.
He smirked himself and dove. A single Gust should be more than enough to finish—
Wait.
The Heracross had shrunk, lost its bulk and became leaner, the orange and yellow vanishing from its navy carapace. Its horn had shrunken, too, and had acquired a spade-shaped tip that made the horn blunter and significantly less efficient, as though it were made for lifting instead of piercing. Exhaustion had settled into its honey-yellow eyes, body trembling as though its muscles were paying it back for some sort of intense abuse.
And Alexa—she, too, was doubled over, breathing labored and her forehead slick with sweat. She was wheezing loudly, loud enough that Tanner could hear her from where he was, several yards away (admittedly, the advanced senses that came with Transcendence did help), and then she coughed, bringing a hand up to come her mouth. A glob of blood splattered on her etiolated palm, and she eyed with a scowl laced by pain, as though the sight of it was like a stab wound to the chest. She bared pink-stained teeth at the splatter as if in defiance and wiped on her pantleg.
Tanner hesitated, bewildered and unsure how to proceed.
Trainer Girl's reassuring presence fluttered in the back of his skull. Gust. Now. You won't get another chance.
But he didn't move. Hold on—the Heracross isn't even Transcended anymore. Maybe—
Tanner. Her not-voice dropped to a very low, serious decibel, with an edge that demanded his attention. Not quite a whisper, but close enough to one. This is a Reaper Battle. Reaper. It doesn't end until one of you kills the other. There's no way around it. Just... end it quickly.
The Heracross glanced up at him suddenly, eyes round. Fear flickered in those yellow depths and it hunkered down, plastering itself to the ground, the shell on its back twitching as though it were trying to start up its wings but they weren't working.
It's not fighting back—
Only because Transcendence took a hell of a lot out of it, Trainer Girl retorted. There was something defensive in her tone, but at the same time also sad, an edge of something rueful and bitter. If Alexa were still Transcending with it, that thing wouldn't hesitate to rip you apart.
"Please," the Heracross murmured in wild tongue. Its voice was feminine, trembling and frayed with panic.
Tanner flashed back to the Pinsir from only moments before and something hard and indignant settled into his gut. So then why did she stop, if it could tear me apart?
A sigh, heavy and resigned. She can't. Normal humans—Transcendence eats at their life energy. It's honestly a miracle she's been able to keep going like this as it is. I mean, look at her. She's barely standing.
"Please." The Heracross's shell twitched and spasmed, then stilled. Her(?) eyes were wide, glistening with fear. "Please... please..."
She can't maintain Transcendence for too long, Trainer Girl went on, a hint of something bitter bleeding into her tone while Tanner tried to avoid meeting those wide, fearful eyes and making this much harder. Apparently, Transcendence hasn't overwritten her self-preservation instinct.
That same bitterness caught in Tanner's throat and calcified. He had the sudden urge to aim the next Gust at Alexa instead of the Bug, watch it tear a giant cut into her torso and bleed everywhere, guts and intestines spilling out. So what? She Transcends until she gets too tired and then leaves the Pokémon to die? Thanks, you were a great help, now bye-bye, have a nice day?
...basically.
"Please... kill me..."
Tanner snapped back to the Heracross—she had her head bowed down, as though in resignation, and he stared, trying to process her words. "W-What?"
"Kill me," she repeated softly, voice thickening the way it does when you're about to cry. "I-I've hurt so many... There's so much blood on my claws... I-I c-can't stop myself..." She took a sharp, shuddering breath, her whole body beginning to tremble. "Please, please—just finish me here. Please. I—I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."
Tanner. Trainer Girl's not-voice was consoling but firm. That Heracross has suffered a month of parasitic Transcendence. Her sanity is in ruins. She's asking you to put her out of her misery.
"But—"
There was a bolt of sorrow, laced by resignation, and neither of it was his but it matched exactly how he felt. There's no way to save her. I'm sorry. I hate having to ask you to do this but—there's no other way. There's no other way.
"Please..."
Tanner sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe this. This was supposed to be an awesome triumph, not a fucking mercy kill for a Bug on her last scraps of sanity. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't...
But Trainer Girl was right. Reaper Battles only ended one way. There was no way around it.
...dammit!
He gathered a Gust around his wings, one that was strong enough to care through flesh and bone with ease. One that would be clean and efficient and none too painful. The winds swirled and raged and protested their containment, and he tried not to think.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he cast it.
There was a sickening crunch that made his stomach turn, punctuated by cheering from the crowd—loud, raucous roars, intoxicated by their own bloodlust. And it didn't matter if the blood was red or green, so long as it spilled and flew everywhere. Tanner had never felt such disgust in humanity until that moment.
He made the mistake of opening his eyes. Heracross had been cleaved clean down the middle, goo pooling between the two halves. Her face was flat against the floor, so he couldn't see her expression, and he prayed to the Goddess that he never would.
What had been the point of all of this, anyway?
All the strength drained from his body at that moment, and all his other injuries throbbed at once in a single, staccato ache like a heartbeat. His stomach contents sloshed violently inside him—he felt dizzy and tired and ready to drop from the sky. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair.
None of this was fucking fair.
You didn't fucking deserve this. His gaze flickered to the Pinsir, its corpse still oozing on the other side of the field. Neither of you did.
"Heracross is dead! The second round goes to the challenger—Celestine Lavieaux!" The announcer, boisterous despite the circumstance. "This is Lavieaux's second victory! Will the Gym Leader be able to turn it around?"
No, Tanner thought, glancing back at the Gym Leader in question. She'd righted herself, though she was unsteady, looking so thin and frail that a stiff breeze might knock her over. No, she won't. We won't let her.
Claire's heart hummed in her ears like a motor, claws digging into the fabric of Viola's coat. They shouldn't be here—they should not be here. The last time Viola was here, she had ended up with those ugly scars that marred her collarbone and a free trip to coma-land.
But she'd snuck in again, and Claire had to give credit where credit was due, the woman was stubborn, and she seemed to care about Alexa way more than Alexa had ever cared about her. It was a really startling revelation, and made Claire almost feel a little guilty for writing Viola off—Viola was still the spoiled favorite, of course, but she seemed to have a good heart in her.
She'd donned a heavy trench coat, one that hid her team as the rested on her belt, while a bowler hat hid her blonde locks and a pair of dark sunglasses shielded her green eyes from view. The lenses were large and bulbous, so she looked almost like one of the Bugs she trained.
Claire hated those Bugs, and they in turn hated her. Ambrosia, sister to Alexa's first victim (her twin brother, Virgil), seemed to make her dislike of Claire a personal thing, blamed her for allowed Alexa to grow so wild in the first place. Margot, Virgil's friend and a newly-evolved Masquerain, was more reasonable in her judgement, but she still barely tolerated Claire. Claire, in turn, despised them both, because how was any of this her fault? She had tried to warn Alexa that the choker made her uneasy when Aliana first presented it, but Alexa hadn't listened. And now—and now—
Viola had been merciful enough to bring Claire along this time, which she was grateful for. She hadn't seen Alexa since that fight they had that fateful rainy evening, after which Alexa had thrown her out onto the street and spat at her to never return.
They slipped onto a vacant balcony, and Claire's blood frosted over at the sight she beheld.
Alexa looked terrible, there was no question about that. Pale and sickly, etiolated, like some warped caricature of her former self crossed with a skeleton. Claire had thought she couldn't get any sicklier than when she'd last saw her, but evidently she'd been wrong. Her old owner looked ready to drop dead at any moment.
There was a Heracross on the field, bowed and face down, probably on the edge of consciousness. And there was the wild bird, Tanner or something stupid, flying over the prone Bug, looking battered and worse for wear. Somewhere along one edge, a corpse lay, still and mucus-colored goo spilling out of it. She couldn't make out what it had been, but she felt sick to her stomach at the sight.
The bird blasted a Gust at the Heracross and tore in two. She looked away as the crowd cheered. It was too much. This was just too much.
Claire didn't understand it—how did things get to this point? At first, Alexa had just wanted to prove that she could run the Gym better, and now... and now...
"Heracross is dead! The second round goes to the challenger—Celestine Lavieaux!" the announcer crowed in Common. Claire had always hated him—greasy, obsequious little man desperate to ride on the Gym Leader's coattails. She didn't bother to remember his name. "This is Lavieaux's second victory! Will the Gym Leader be able to turn it around?"
The roars from the crowd drifted up, and Claire felt sick. How did it come to this? How?
She dared a glance back at the field. The dirty bird was being returned by the red retractor beam of a PokéBall that came all the way from the other side. She followed the beam with her eyes and found Delphi there, standing just before the white line that marked the boundaries and bristling with tension at the side of his moody Trainer.
The moody girl put the Ball away and turned to Delphi, and he gingerly stepped onto the field.
It was irrational and stupid and Claire condemned herself for it, but she found herself praying—not to the Goddess or any made-up religious idol. She never believed in religion and besides, if the myths were to be believed, the Reaper was the source of all this misery. Instead, she prayed to a tactile fox, real and alive, with the gentle eyes who promised her it would be alright.
Please, she begged silently, fervently. Please. Bring her back—bring my friend back. You're the only one who can.
Mega Pinsir Moon Dex entry: Bathed in the energy of Mega Evolution, its wings become unusually developed. It flies at speeds of approximately 30 mph.
...
Pidgey DPPt/BW/BW2 Dex entry: It is docile and prefers to avoid conflict. If disturbed, however, it can ferociously strike back.
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Mega Heracross UM Dex entry: A tremendous influx of energy builds it up, but when Mega Evolution ends, Heracross is bothered by terrible soreness in its muscles.
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Pidgey RSE/ORAS Dex entry: Pidgey has an extremely sharp sense of direction. It is capable of unerringly returning home to its nest, however far it may be removed from its familiar surroundings.
Current Team:
Delphi, Male Braixen (lv 15)
Docile, Takes plenty of siestas
Ability: Blaze
Moves: Scratch, Howl, Ember, Flame Charge
Met: Vaniville (Aquacorde) Town
Max, Male Pidgey (lv 15)
Naïve, Very finicky
Ability: Tangled Feet
Moves: Tackle, Sand Attack, Gust, Quick Attack
Met: Route Two
Tanner, Male Pidgey (lv 15)
Hasty, Scatters things often
Ability: Tangled Feet
Moves: Tackle, Sand Attack, Gust, Quick Attack
Met: Route (Three) Two
Tyler, Male Psyduck (lv 15)
Naughty, Proud of his power
Ability: Damp
Moves: Disable, Confusion, Tail Whip, Water Gun
Met: (Route Twenty-Two) Santalune City
Retired: 1 Dead: 0 Boxed: 0
Author's Notes:
This was hella difficult to write but it was so satisfying. I used to loathe battle scenes-don't get me wrong, I still do-but I feel like I've improved enough as a writer to the point where they aren't completely awkward.
Yes, I did draw from PokeDex entries to influence the battles because I am a PokeSpe fangirl. The real battle was nowhere near this dramatic, by the way. And I never used Max in battle, either. I'll post the battle log from my notes later.
And next up is Delphi vs Scizor! Until next time,
Luna