Far, far away from the hustle and bustle of the Orange Archipelago which had captured the world's attention overnight, a trio of Pokémon Trainers – not unlike those standing proudly in the centre of the World's Peak stadium, in fact – sat around a roaring campfire, six gloved hands rubbing together to bask in the fire's warmth. A ferocious gust of frozen wind roared past, and the fire flickered madly as it was blown about, the firelight throwing dancing shadows over the three Trainers' faces as wisps of mist trailed from their tightly-drawn mouths.
"This place sucks ass!" screeched one of the Trainers, her voice jittery from the cold as her teeth chattered together.
One of her companions lashed out with his boot, catching her across the shin, and she sent a murderous glare in his direction. "Shut up," he growled, pulling a cord around his neck, and the fur lining of his black parka was tucked more firmly against his face. "I think it's fantastic that someone so close to freezing to death can have so much fire in them, but your constant complaining is gonna give me a rash."
"Fantastic? I'd just call it ironic and be done with it," grumbled the last of the three, another man whose hunched posture and folded arms suggested he wasn't faring much better than either of them. "Speaking of ironic, did you hear about that—?"
"Look, Mark, whatever it was, I'm sure I heard about it," snapped the other male, baring his teeth. "It doesn't mean I care, it doesn't mean I want to hear it again, and it sure doesn't mean I'd want to hear it from you. So just shut up, and keep monitoring those guards."
Biting his tongue, Mark turned his attention back to the task at hand, raising a pair of sleek, black binoculars to his eyes. The world now appeared to him in a pale shade of blue, unlike the traditional green-lit scopes of most other night-vision models. Through them, he could see the ground beneath him continue on for a few metres, before coming to a sharp stop that was characterised by a sky-blue emptiness through the spectacles.
The shivering trio were perched at the edge of a mountainous cliff, the space around their campfire a cramped, yet safe, haven which bordered a kilometre-long sheer drop down to the frozen earth below. A foul blizzard swept continuously down the rock-face, blowing sheets of snow onto the barren tundra which stretched, unimaginably, from one end of the horizon to the other. Realistically, Mark and his two companions were the only sentient life forms for miles upon miles.
'Well, we would be,' thought Mark with a smirk, even as the blizzard nipped at his exposed gums, 'but there are some life forms that you want to exist in a place like this.' Slowly tracing out a predetermined path through the blue haze which signalled the endless wastelands, he came across the object of his search.
Two heavily-outfitted men stood alone in the snow, covered from head to toe in protective furs. More importantly to Mark, though, as he zoomed in, the men were armed to the hilt, each grimly clutching a large firearm and keeping a sword tucked neatly in a scabbard at their waists. The duo seemed to be talking to each other, but without the aid of any instruments, Mark couldn't begin to fathom what they were discussing. He almost wished that he could eavesdrop on them, maybe gaining some valuable information, but he realised that it was probably mundane chatter about football or something similar.
His binoculars drifting steadily upwards, Mark finally settled on the reason for their visit to this cryogenic hell.
A vast, sprawling building sat isolated in the centre of the white plain. High fences, buzzing with the sound of high voltage, surrounded the building in three layers, placed like concentric circles, and each one was topped with razor-sharp spikes that speared out at all angles. As if they didn't hinder escape enough, the space between the middle and outer layers was peppered with small caltrops, nigh invisible in the snow, but lying in wait to shred through the flesh of anyone foolhardy enough to stick their foot over one.
More guards patrolled the building's exterior, each accompanied by two fearsome-looking Pokémon. These Pokémon stood high as their Trainers, even when walking on all fours; standing on their hind legs, they would easily dwarf them. Pure white to blend in with the snow, they may well have appeared as a gaping red maw with icicles hanging from the lower lip, but Mark knew all too well that their camouflage was efficient enough to keep their prey unaware until their massive claws came into play.
"Sir," he called out, still monitoring. "By my calculations, we've got twenty-three guards, most armed, and the ones patrolling the walls have a pair of Beartic."
"Just a pair?" scoffed Mark's superior, crossing his legs and scooting a little closer to the fire. "So much for it being difficult."
"A pair each. And they look quite nasty."
"What?" The woman's head whirled around so quickly that she cricked her neck. "How many are patrolling the walls?" she asked, rubbing it.
"Sixteen," Mark replied; the two guards he'd seen before were unaccompanied, and one man manned each of the tall, concrete sentry towers at the building's corners, with the fifth man standing at the peak of the building.
The building itself, though, looked like a fortress, much like the extensive security around it would suggest. High, seemingly unscaleable walls rose from the ground on all sides, a four-storey behemoth of a creation ringed on each level with battlements that would fit right at home in a medieval castle, providing easy visibility for anyone walking along any of the balconies. The top storey, though, was surrounded by a continuous parapet that curved outwards, stopping any hopes of actually making it up onto the roof.
"All this…" Mark sighed, a muscle twitching in his jaw, "just to hold a bunch of prisoners."
"Freaks belong in a freak-box," the other man countered, pulling a short knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. "I'd hate for you to end up in there, Mark. You too, Emily," he added to the woman, who flicked snow from the fur in her collar. "That place isn't a cakewalk. Or a catwalk."
Indeed, the prison looked nothing like any of its brothers around the world. But neither Mark, nor his teammates, were surprised by the fact in the least; in his lifetime, he'd come to expect nothing less out of the swift Russian corrections system.
The Chernaya Tochka – Russian for 'black spot' – was a war prison that had once been considered by its countrymen to be the end of the mortal world, located in the northern reaches of the Arctic Circle on Vitshevik Isle. Notorious worldwide for its high casualty count among both inmates and staff, it had been decreed long ago to be a monstrosity and was hastily abandoned; now, however, it had been restored to its former glory, housing the most evil, vile, and dangerous criminals known to man. None who entered saw the outside world ever again, and few who laid eyes upon the hellish fortress ever spoke of it.
Mark, Emily and their captain had been sent to Vitshevik Isle for a mission. Their objective was non-negotiable, unprecedented in all of human history: break into Chernaya Tochka, and safely retrieve three of its prisoners, by any means necessary.
The price of failure weighing heavily on his mind, Mark continued his reconnaissance, all but alone in the frozen mountains at the edge of the world.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" roared a sleekly dressed man in his thirties, combed black hair aquiver with excitement as he held a silver-plated microphone against his mouth. "It's a beautiful day here on Ayers Island—especially down here at Stadium Forty-Six—!" the crowd gave an appreciative cheer at the mention, "for the first round of the twelfth iteration of the World! Pokémon! Championships!"
"I'm your commentator, Derek Cohen, and I'll be providing you viewers around the world, from the lounge chair at home to down there in the stands, with live coverage of this battle of firsts," he continued, now reading from the information cards held in his other hand. "That's right, folks. Both of the Trainers on display for our next battle are first-timers to the world stage that you and I have come to enjoy this time every year!"
Another chorus of roars arose from the stands, a modestly-sized crowd having gathered to watch the battle. Content with the reaction, Derek went on, his enthusiasm driving itself forward. "So would you please make them welcome, ladies and gentlemen?" he yelled, trying to egg the spectators on even further, a feat that was accomplished a moment later with a cacophony of anticipation. "All the way from the Pras—Prasanana—all the way from the Netherlands, for the very first time at Ayers Island, I give you Antoine!"
At one end of the stadium, a large metal panel that made part of the boundary wall slide seamlessly aside, revealing a short tunnel back into the stadium's depths, and a young woman stepped out onto the battlefield, waving politely to a section of the crowd as she made her way towards the centre circle.
"The lovely Antoine, ladies and gentlemen," said Derek, clapping his hands together, but she was all but forgotten as he moved on with his introductions. "And just who might her opponent be, you ask? Well, I'll be glad to tell you! He's a local, from Pallet Town in the nearby region of Kanto—" he was forced to pause and avoid being overshadowed by the outburst of cheers that followed the word Kanto, "and he's been a high-flyer in most of the local tournaments he's participated in. Not that it'll help him much!" he added with a laugh.
"So please, give a round of applause—ah, who am I kidding—go absolutely crazy for Ash!"
Hearing his name through the muting steel door in front of him, Ash blew out a deep breath and shook his arms to loosen up. On his shoulder, Pikachu gave his Trainer a reassuring pat on the back of the head, but any trepidation on either of their parts was quickly forgotten as the door slid aside, revealing the battlefield before them as it was bathed in sunlight. A cheeky grin lighting up on his face, Ash strode out confidently, turning both ways to look at the crowd, which was larger than what he'd seen at any of his previous first-round matches, possibly even combined.
"Look at all the people…" he gasped in awe.
"Pika!" exclaimed Pikachu, pointing across the field.
Ash's attention swiftly turned to the centre circle, and he felt his jaw stiffen as he laid eyes on his opponent for the first round. She was a diminutive woman, barely reaching five feet, and a set of strawberry-blonde locks framed a face youthful to match her stature. Her green eyes locked with his, and a tiny smile formed on her thin mouth, to which Ash responded with a steely stare, not to be unnerved.
As her opponent finally joined her in the centre circle, she extended a gloved hand. "Antoine Bergen," she said sweetly, eyes twinkling.
"Ash Ketchum," Ash replied, shaking her hand firmly, but he bad barely grasped it before she pulled away and flicked her hair back. Having seen the motion, the crowd found its voice and jeered the two competitors, but they both ignored it as each tried to stare the other one down.
Just as Ash opened his mouth to shoot a biting remark her way, he was interrupted by the approach of the match referee, a skinny man dressed in orange and black. Looking from Ash to Antoine, and then back again, he produced a gold coin from his pocket and placed it atop his thumb. "Mr Ketchum, call heads—" he showed one side of the coin, displaying a Poké Ball, "—or tails—" the other side was blank, "—please," he instructed, flicking the coin skyward.
"Heads!" Ash shouted at once.
"Heads is the call," confirmed the referee.
All eyes in the stadium watched as the coin tumbled in the air, landing on the ground with a soft thud and a puff of dust. Leaning forward expectantly, Ash felt the smallest twinge of disappointment when he saw the blank side of the coin facing him, the crowd cheering as the image appeared on the massive screen positioned to one side of the stadium.
"Tails is the result," the referee announced, turning to Ash. "Mr Ketchum, you will be required to summon your Pokémon first for the opening battle," he informed the latter, who responded with a gruff nod. "Ms Bergen, you will summon second," he added to a smirking Antoine.
"I'm afraid that's already game over for you, Ash," she taunted, pressing two fingers to her head like a pistol and flicking her thumb like the hammer.
Ash bared his teeth in anger. "Well, we'll just see about that!" he snarled, and Pikachu's red cheeks crackled ominously with sparks of electricity.
Meanwhile, during the Trainers' verbal stoush, the referee had pocketed his coin and pulled out another, this one a shining silver. Like the last, he tossed this coin up into the air, and the numbers 1 and 3 spun around and around before landing in his outstretched palm. "The result is three!" he declared, showing the coin to the Trainers, who had only just returned their attention to him.
"Three?" Ash echoed. "What does that mean? What's 'three'?"
"Don't you know?" Antoine giggled, and Ash's face went red. "The referee flips a coin, and the number that comes up is the number of Pokémon that each Trainer uses in the battle. Three is what we get, so three is what we use," she explained simply.
"That is correct," said the referee. "Trainers, please stand in your respective Trainer's box at the battlefield's edge," he instructed.
Both Trainers gave each other one last mercurial stare, Ash scowling and Antoine suppressing a giggle, before relenting and walking away from the centre circle. Antoine returned to the green rectangle on her side of the arena; Ash stood in the red opposite her; the referee hastily backpedalled to the sideline, and raised a pair of flags, mirroring the colours of their boxes.
"This match will be a three-on-three single battle!" the referee announced, to the delight of the crowd. "Under provisions of the tournament's first round, the match will be conducted under elimination rules; both Trainers will summon one Pokémon each, to participate in one of three rounds of battle. The Trainer who wins a total of two rounds shall be declared the victor, and move onto the next round! Should one Trainer be victorious in the first two rounds, a third will not be necessary."
"So we can win it in just two battles?" said Ash with a smile, turning his head to Pikachu. "Great!"
"Battle itself will conform to the rules set out by the International Pokémon Battling Federation. Breaches will result in penalisation; further breaches warrant disqualification. Do both Trainers understand?"
"Naturally," replied Antoine.
"Of course!" Ash shouted, adjusting his cap.
"Then, without further ado," said the referee, swinging his flags down towards the ground, "let the battle begin!"
The crowd erupted with noise as a loud siren sounded around the stadium, and Ash pondered his first choice for several moments before slipping a Poké Ball from his belt and enlarging it in his hand. As Antoine looked on, curious as to what her first opponent would be, he steadied himself with one, then two, and finally a third calming breath, before turning his cap backwards and hurling the ball high, much to the fans' delight.
"Bulbasaur, I choose you!" he roared. The Poké Ball split open with a flash of white, and the small, dinosaurian form of his Bulbasaur appeared on the arena floor, the bright sunlight beaming down on the green bulb on its back, its red eyes twinkling sharply in contrast to its mottled body.
"Ash's first Pokémon in his World Pokémon Championship campaign is his Bulbasaur!" announced Derek excitedly. "A good choice by the youngster, too; according to our experts, Bulbasaur is one of the first Pokémon that Ash managed to capture in his early days as a Trainer. I can't wait to see what fantastic moves these two show us today!"
Antoine, though, was one of the few people unimpressed by Ash's choice; in fact, she gave a knowing grin at the sight of the small Pokémon. She'd done her research on Ash before their battle, and she knew, despite the long history between Ash and his Bulbasaur, that its track record in the big battles didn't make for the best reading. "I told you it was game over earlier, didn't I?" she asked rhetorically, drawing a Poké Ball out from inside her dark blue jacket. "I hope now you realise why that is… show your colour, Drapion!"
Tossed lightly onto the battlefield, the ball opened with a burst of light to reveal an enormous scorpion of a creature, its segments alternating between lighter and darker shades of purple. A pair of huge, sharp pincers clacked together at the end of two lengthy arms attached to its head, its tail stretching out just like those arms as it also ended with a pointed claw. Spotting its foe across the field, Drapion's tiny black pupils dilated ever so slightly, and the Pokémon opened its mouth wide to show off a set of sharp purple fangs, shifting about on its four stubby legs.
"And Antoine has chosen to counter Ash's selection with her Drapion! I have to say, it's a very smart choice," Derek noted, his voice booming over the stadium through the megaphones placed at each corner. "After all, both Pokémon are Poison-types, but the Grass-type of Bulbasaur puts it at a severe disadvantage!"
Ash's face contorted with frustration; he was by no means a stranger to facing a Drapion in battle, and he knew their species to be one of the strongest he'd ever encountered. Memories of his struggles against J, the Pokémon Hunter, and his final battle against Paul in the Sinnoh League, flashed through his mind, and he wondered what kind of strategy Antoine would employ to try and defeat his Bulbasaur.
Sensing Ash's hesitation for the opening move, Antoine started out on the offensive. "Screech attack!" she ordered, throwing her arm forward.
Cupping its claws over its face, Drapion's maw flew open and released a powerful shockwave of sound, the sheer volume tearing at the ears of everyone in the crowd. Ash took an involuntary step backwards as the intolerable noise reached him, and Bulbasaur fared no better, being unable to block its ears off. The Dark-type relentlessly continued the attack, leaving Bulbasaur to screw its eyes shut in pain, cowering against the ground as the soundwaves crashed into it over and over again.
"Bulbasaur!" Ash cried out, unsure if his voice would even be heard by his Pokémon against the Screech. "Shut that Drapion up with a Razor Leaf!"
"Bulbasaa!" hissed the Grass-type, its eyes shooting open. A flurry of spinning leaves flew out from the space between its torso and its bulb, sharp as knives as they whistled through the air towards their target. Unhindered by the harsh vibrations of Drapion's attack, the leaves hit their mark with incredible accuracy, the Ogre Scorp's head sent careening wickedly back from the impact.
"Good shot!" Ash cheered, as Drapion stumbled backwards to regain its balance. "Another Razor Leaf, go!"
"Oh no, you don't!" snapped Antoine defiantly. "Bat them away!" Before her Pokémon could right itself and set its eyes back to its opponent, the latter had already launched another volley of its sharp leaves across the battlefield. Not to be outdone, however, Drapion swung its claws in a great arc, its left taking out half of the spinning projectiles while its right swatted away the rest, leaving it unharmed.
"A nice defensive move there by Drapion, using its sharp claws and long reach to get rid of those pesky leaves!" boomed Derek, while Antoine's supporters applauded her intuitive thinking. "I don't think Antoine will be too bothered by the previous Razor Leaf landing a hit; Drapion has the advantage of resisting both of Bulbasaur's typical offensive types…!"
Buoyed by the cheers reverberating through the stadium, Antoine pushed forward almost immediately. "Let's take a roll of the dice and see where it takes us!" she shouted, with a flourish of her hand. "Use your Acupressure!"
Drapion stomped its spindly feet against the ground and swung its tail about behind it, the pointed claw that tipped it flailing wildly. All of a sudden, the claw surged forwards and came into contact with the back of its own neck, pinching at a nerve just below its skull.
"What the—?" gasped Ash, stunned. His surprise was nothing compared to what happened next, though; Drapion roared loudly as it relinquished the grip on its neck and scuttled forwards over the battlefield at enormous speeds. Ash rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, and then again to make sure there wasn't something blurring his vision, such was his opponent's agility.
Ash's shock had left him so dumbfounded that didn't even register Antoine's commanding voice as she ordered another attack. He managed to stumble into action only when he saw Drapion's claws suddenly glowing a sickly purple as it crossed them in front of its body, rapidly closing the distance between itself and Bulbasaur as it prepared to mow its foe down. Quickly recognising the attack as a powerful Cross Poison – a move he was well-versed in opposing – Ash's mind raced to formulate a counterattack, and it came upon one easily.
"Time for our newest trick!" he shouted cryptically to Bulbasaur, pointing gun-barrel-straight at Drapion's midsection. "Stop Drapion with a Power Whip!"
Bulbasaur, resolute in the face of its charging opponent, responded swiftly, a glowing green vine shooting out from the open tip of its bulb and uncoiling through the air. Not to be outdone, Drapion stabbed at it with a glimmering claw, but the tendril was like rubber as it bounced the strike harmlessly away, wrapping itself around the Dark-type's thorax a moment later.
"No, no, no!" cried Antoine in alarm.
"Yes, yes, yes!" cheered Ash, thumping the air.
With iron determination, Bulbasaur gave its Power Whip a powerful flick that pulled its weighty foe high into the air, before another flick sent it rocketing across the arena. The hapless Pokémon couldn't do a thing except brace itself, and for good reason; within seconds it crashed into the boundary wall at the battlefield's edge with a loud thud, simultaneously accompanied by the creak of bending metal.
"Oh, and Bulbasaur has just lain down the ground rules—and by 'ground rules', I mean 'hurt'!—on Antoine and Drapion!" roared Derek excitedly, on the verge of jumping out of his seat. "After Drapion managed a bit of luck to get Acupressure to raise its speed, I confess I was beginning to think that Bulbasaur would have a hard time keeping up—but no! Ash has retaliated in fantastic fashion, and landed the first true hit of the battle!"
"Up you get, Drapion!" ordered Antoine, but her voice was laced with concern. She breathed a sigh of relief, then, when Drapion's claws emerged from the dented wall and pulled it free, landing back on solid ground with a dull thud. "Alright, good defence!" she praised, clapping her hands together with glee as Drapion shook itself vigorously free of its mental cobwebs and clacked its claws together, ready to continue the fight. "Time for some Payback, don't you think?"
"Draaahhh!" snarled the Ogre Scorp.
'Uh-oh,' Ash thought worriedly, his scalp prickling as he watched Drapion fold its arms in front of its neck. 'I don't like the way she said payback…' "Bulbasaur, be careful!" he warned, and Bulbasaur tensed its small body, eyes unblinking. Nothing, though, could have prepared them for Drapion's next move.
In one quick, fluid motion, Drapion flung its spiked arms wide, and an arc of black energy erupted from the path its claws made through the air. With blinding speed it tore through the arena, carving up the earth that laid in its way before striking Bulbasaur across its broad face with crushing force. Ash raced to the edge of his Trainer's box as he saw the impact of the blow batter his Pokémon into the dirt, but he dared not take a step beyond it, Pikachu making sure to remind him of the referee's watchful eyes.
"Come on, Bulbasaur!" he called out, as Bulbasaur struggled desperately to get back to its feet, badly winded by the attack. "Get up; I know you can!"
"Drapion, move in for the kill," said Antoine calmly, with the ghost of a smile creeping onto her lips. Drapion obliged with quick enthusiasm, powering over the stadium floor with its claws outstretched, glinting malevolently in the afternoon sun as it readied them to sink into its opponent's flesh.
C-C-C-Cliffhanger!
Ah, but seriously, I hope you enjoyed the first actual "action scene" of the new story. I also hope you noticed that the first round has started a lot earlier in this one than it did in OWS - five or six chapters, in fact. Too lazy to check the actual number right now, but you can check yourself if you need to. My point, if I'm getting it across at all, would be that I'm planning on having things progress quicker this time around; less pointless filler and so on.
Let me know if you're in agreeance with everything in that mini-wall of text just there. How? With a review, of course! Because PMs are-well, just look at how it's spelt. Comments, queries and quirks, all that jazz and funk. But don't say funk in the review, 'cause that's not funky, man.
Billy wants to thank everyone who's been reviewing the story, and says that he eagerly awaits the reviews to come. Well, not really, since he can't talk, but you can see it in his soulless, empty eyes.
The battle must continue, of course; the worst cliffhangers are unresolved, right? The fight goes on, then, in Chapter 7, "Strike Unto Iron, Plunge Into Water". A cryptic title, to be sure. I guess it means there's going to be some strikes, some iron, and some water. That sounds like a winning combination, don't you agree? So, stay tuned for the final instalment of WPC Week, coming at you tomorrow!
Well, until next time... Be sure to review and, as always,
Catch a shooting star and put it in your pocket!