Endgame Part 1:

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I'm trying to calm my nerves. I don't think it's working. I open my eyes again, hoping to find myself back in Camphrier Town. No, I'm still dreaming. Or having a nightmare. I'm still standing in the dark tunnel waiting to be called out to the battlefield. Ahead of me is the bright light of the outside world, but it blinds me and I can't make anything out. It seems like the perfect metaphor for the tournament. The end is in sight, but what lies beyond it is unclear.

"I heard about your motivation."

I turn my head to the side to see Mark standing next to me. The redhead is once again dressed for the occasion with quite a fancy suit. It makes me feel like I haven't made much of an effort with my appearance today. He turns his head to look me in the eyes.

"There is no way I can forgive anyone who would put either of us through this," he says, "You should feel the same way too. Whatever happens, we have to focus on the real enemy here, not each other."

I'm conflicted about what he says. I feel like he's right and that we have a common enemy. At the same time, I distrust him. He is ruthless. This is probably a mind game to distract me. He wants me to lose focus on my goal.

"I'll try," I say nervously as I try to play along.

"Be careful out there," he says, catching me off guard, "I don't know what the secret behind this tournament is, but, whatever it is, it probably culminates here."

"You too," I say.

I have no idea what he's talking about. Is it the reason behind Lancelot giving us a motivation or is there something else going on that I haven't noticed? I try to ignore it and pass it off as mind games. We both stand together and look ahead to the battlefield, waiting for our cue. The announcer is shouting over the speakers to excite the crowd. It is almost time.

I'm shaking. The enormity of the situation is hitting me hard. It's not even just nerves now. I'm actually scared. Scared of Mark. Scared of Lancelot. Scared of what's going to happen. I ball my fists. It's taking all my courage not to turn and run now. I don't want to be here.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your finalists, Holly Wexler and Mark Young!"

The noise levels of the crowd outside explode. There's no turning back now. Something nudges my arm. I look to see Mark holding out his hand. What is he doing?

"A show of solidarity against the common enemy," he says, "We don't really know each other, but we have no reason to be enemies. We will not be divided by this."

There is passion in his normally so cold voice. His words are sincere. A sign of rebellion. Even though we are being forced to play Lancelot Elderidge's game, we will not be sheep for him to herd as he pleases. I wrap my fingers around Mark's and we walk towards the light of the stadium hand in hand.

Brave faces and waves for the crowd as we head for the battlefield. I find myself internally begging Daedalus for forgiveness, it isn't what it looks like. We reach the centre of the battlefield and then part ways. It's the same battlefield as every other round, a simple dirt field. This probably suits Mark just fine. Little does he know that I'm ready for him.

We stand at either end, staring each other down. I have to ignore everything outside of the battlefield. The referee takes his place at the side half way between us.

"The final battle of the Elder World Championships is about to begin! Trainers, activate your Battle Gears and select your Pokémon," the referee declares.

We both raise our wrists and turn on the devices attached to them. The teams line up on the screen. We have both stuck to the line ups that have served us to get this far. I tap my selection and grab the appropriate Poké Ball. Mark does the same just as fast as he did against Flourette. He thinks he has me figured out.

"Begin!" the referee shouts.

"Go, Torterra!"

"Go, Crobat!"

I throw the Poké Ball high into the air to give Crobat a head start on its flight once again. I pause, waiting a moment to see how Mark acts, but he is hesitating. I've surprised him already. Why would I start with a Pokémon whose role is so suicidal? I'm taking the initiative.

"Crobat, Toxic!" I shout.

Poisonous sludge rains down on the battlefield. Torterra has no way to easily avoid an assault from directly above as all it can do is move within a short radius of itself. Despite that, little to no sludge actually hits Torterra. I don't mind the poor accuracy of Crobat's rapid fire. In fact, it's what I was counting on. The entire battlefield is now covered in pools of poison. There is nowhere for Torterra to move now and it will also affect most of Mark's other Pokémon.

"Stone Edge," Mark says calmly. I had been so proud of my start disrupting him until he said that. His calmness is far too unsettling. It suggests he had considered this possibility despite his hesitation before.

The move itself isn't half as worrying as Mark. I knew it would be the move he uses, it's his only option with Torterra to hit a flying opponent. Knowing what's coming is only half the battle, dealing with it is the hard part. Sharp stones are torn from the ground and shoot into the air. They are spread out to increase the chance of hitting. Mark has prepared this in advance. He knows that he doesn't need to hit Crobat with much, he just needs to land a blow.

"Brave Bird!"

In an ideal world, this wouldn't be my tactic. The situation I'm in is far from ideal though, so I have to do this no matter the cost. Thankfully, Crobat understands this too and is willing to go through with it.

Crobat dives head first towards Torterra. I want to look away, but I force myself to endure the sight of what I've caused. Crobat ploughs through a bombardment of jagged rocks, fixed on hitting its target.

The collision forces Torterra's legs to give way. The ground shakes as Mark's Pokémon crashes to the ground. I raise my arm to check my Battle Gear. I already know what the situation will be though. Crobat is out of it, but in exchange Torterra has sustained some serious damage and I've got the field set up how I want it.

"Thank you," I whisper to the Poké Ball in my hand as I return Crobat before kissing it and switching it for my next Pokémon.

Even though I'm down a Pokémon, I'm confident. Mark's playing as expected. I feel like I'm beating him at his own game. I just have to stay focused and be ready for when he tries to turn the tables. Then it's my moment to shine. Or so my dad and Daedalus seem to think.

"Go, Magcargo," I say, trying to hide my confidence, "Flamethrower!"

I know it's the obvious move to go for. I want to force Mark's hand. He's going to switch and I even have a pretty good idea of what to.

"Earthquake," Mark says with a smug grin.

My mind and body rush into overdrive. I'm panicking. He was ready for this and I played right into his hands. The ground shakes and cracks begin to appear in the battlefield. I brace myself, holding my ground. I know Magcargo can still do this. A stream of fire cascades towards Torterra. There is hope. I can still do this.

The shaking intensifies and the ground erupts. A chunk of the earth blocks the path of Magcargo's attack. That is only the start of my worries though. Another piece, closer to Magcargo, flips out of the ground. The pool of toxic sludge that had been resting on that part of the battlefield is sprayed over Magcargo.

My confidence evaporates and I realise that I need to get myself into gear. Mark has turned my trap into a weapon he can use against me. I need a way of reversing it back to a trap. Or something else.

"Magcargo, Yawn," I say.

It's a simple plan. It's the move that requires the least of Magcargo's quickly fading strength and buys me some time. It will also give me an indication of how Mark's willing to react to it.

"Very well, do as you please," Mark says as his Torterra curls up as much as it can on the floor and drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

I'm desperately trying to think. Figuring out two problems at once is incredibly difficult. How do I proceed and what is Mark playing by letting his Torterra fall asleep? Perhaps if I focus on Mark's strategy, the solution should follow naturally.

Torterra is a sacrifice so that I waste what little energy Magcargo has left. It then becomes a two for one swap.

"Magcargo, Ancient Power," I call out quickly. I pray Magcargo understand what I'm thinking too.

Boulders rise from the ground and, as planned, some of them are coated in poison. I quickly grab Magcargo's Poke Ball as I watch the boulders rain down on the sleeping Torterra. The job is done, some damage has been added to Torterra and it will succumb to poison in its sleep.

"Magcargo, quickly, retreat!" I say, holding out its Poké Ball. I want to switch it while it can still fight. Even if it's just the tiniest amount of strength remaining, it can recover enough to be crucial when I need to call upon it later.

"Magcargo is unable to battle!" the referee declares.

"What?" I cry out.

I check my Battle Gear. The referee is right. Magcargo had been drained a lot quicker than I had anticipated. There is nothing I can do. I have used two Pokémon to take out just one of Mark's. At least it's not as bad as the situation in either semi-final.

I run my hands through my hair and try to figure out what I do next. Across the battlefield, Torterra twitches painfully in its sleep. Mark isn't concerned. Everything's going his way. I've focused so much on trying to improvise during the battle that I have absolutely no game plan I can rely on in a time like this.

I choose Milotic to go out next. I don't have to do anything beyond that while we wait for the final few pixels of Torterra's health bar on the Battle Gear to disappear. I find it a little sad that Mark is willing to go through with this. Torterra is surplus to his strategy now, but he does not concede it. He simply waits for the referee to make it official.

Mark's second Pokémon is Espeon. This is a difficult situation for me. It's the member of Mark's team that has featured the least so it's difficult to know what it can do, but, from what I have seen, it's deadly. I immediately respond by recalling Milotic.

"Go, Gourgeist!" I shout, "Flame Charge!"

"Psychic," Mark responds simply.

Gourgeist rushes forward. Fire engulfs its body. Espeon stands its ground as Gourgeist heads straight for it. Suddenly, Gourgeist is flung by an unseen force into one of the puddles of poison. The fire dies down as Gourgeist lies helpless, hurt by its unexpected collision with the floor. I fell for that. What am I doing?

Traditionally, Psychic types are fragile, but a well-trained one can be impossible to beat. Defensive frailties mean nothing if you can't land a hit. This is the task I have to overcome if I have any chance of beating Mark.

"Phantom Force," I say quickly.

Gourgeist vanishes into the shadows. This was why I made the switch without even realising it. There is no way for Espeon's Psychic to stop an attack if the attacker is invisible. Then I see it. Mark has a smug look on his face. He's always so confident and knows how to unsettle me with it. Why is he so confident though? How can he stop Gourgeist?

"Dazzling Gleam!" Mark declares.

Bright light erupts from Espeon. I have to shield my eyes from the blinding light. I don't understand what's happening. Then, Gourgeist cries out in pain. The light has overcome the shadows and exposed Gourgeist. How do I beat Espeon now?

"Psychic!" Mark calls from somewhere beyond the white light. I have no way of knowing what's going on. It's impossible to see. Mark seems to have an idea and can capitalise on it.

There is another cry as the light dies down. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and another for my brain to register what I'm looking at. Gourgeist lies motionless on the floor surrounded by toxic sludge. If I could bring myself to move, I'd check the situation on the Battle Gear. The referee tells me what I need to know, however. My third Pokémon is down. Everything is falling apart in front of my eyes.

AN: And so begins the three part Endgame. It's been a while coming but we're finally reaching the conclusion. I hope you all enjoy it.