Chapter 10

Inferior

Squirtle and Quil nosed into the arid grasses that formed the side of their path through Blind Prairie. Visibility dropped as it had in Root Forest. Thankfully, the going remained physically easy for his new body to handle, once again. Besides the noise of the pair brushing and stomping through the brush, Squirtle could hear infrequent Pokémon sounds around the Prairie. They were a blessing and a curse, making Squirtle feel less claustrophobic and alone, but also more anxious of bumping into a wild Pokémon.

"How come none of this grass is igniting from your fire, Quil?" asked Squirtle.

"Some of the blades might get singed, but I'm careful to keep the damage to a minimum. The plants have to be really dry in order to actually start a-" Quil ended his reply abruptly.

Squirtle glanced over to see what was the matter, and saw Quil stopped in his tracks, quickly curling up into a ball. Past the flames of his back, Squirtle saw a four-legged creature a few steps away. It, too, looked as if it had halted mid-step. The Pokémon was significantly taller than Quil and Squirtle, but not large. Its short, lilac-colored fur gave it a streamlined appearance, complemented by a delicate snout and inscrutable almond-shaped eyes. Squirtle could see a red gem embedded in its forehead as they regarded each other. A forked tail extended into the air behind it.

"Here we go!" shouted Quil as he uncurled into a crouch, his flames growing in intensity.

Seeing Quil prepare, Squirtle felt his own battle spirit rise. He faced the Pokémon, which he recalled as an Espeon, and began to think of what he should do.

The Espeon, on the other hand, reacted immediately. Its front legs bent and its tail waved back and forth above it. Squirtle felt his gaze drawn to the hypnotizing motion instead of the Espeon's menacing crouch.

The next moment, the Espeon had leaped high into the air, over Quil, and clearing the grasses. Lithely, it landed crouched in front of Squirtle. He stumbled backward, trying to remember the motions to produce that stream of water so he could defend himself, but the situation was all too like the Zigzagoon closing the distance to Tackle him. Unwanted fear spiked within him, wrecking his train of thought.

The Espeon slammed its shoulders and chest into Squirtle's face, sending him somersaulting backward. The grass whipped at his shell and skin before he slowed to a stop. The hit was powerful, probably far stronger than anything he could have produced, but Squirtle felt he could still fight. He hastily stood, spinning three hundred and sixty degrees to find Quil and the Espeon.

About twenty feet away, the Espeon was facing Quil now. To his credit, Quil was already inhaling as preparation for some attack. Squirtle could see the glow of a fire within Quil's little mouth. Squirtle chose not to wait for Quil to finish his attack before starting to move. He darted back toward the Espeon.

Before Quil could let loose the fire, the Espeon had moved. It lunged, closing the meager distance to Quil almost faster than Squirtle's eyes could follow. The grass in its path was shredded and whirled aside, like autumn leaves from a tree struck by a gust of wind. Its forepaws were suddenly on Quil's head, and he was pushed backward onto his back – a very quick attack. As he was struck, or perhaps because of it, Quil exhaled forcefully. What looked like a hundred red-hot embers shot from his mouth. But because of the Espeon's lunge, the embers sprayed skyward in an arc, instead of at the Espeon's face. The embers lost their hot glow before they drifted down to the ground.

I have to forget about planning an attack if I want to be useful, thought Squirtle as he ran. Just like with the Zigzagoon, and just like when Keel pretended to attack me!

With that, Squirtle focused on the Espeon, and imagined how it would feel to unleash a torrent of his water into its pretty face. It thought it was so quick, so graceful. He'd show it!

Squirtle allowed himself to fall to his hands while keeping his gaze dead-set on the Espeon. As he touched down, he squeezed muscles at the back of his throat, and felt his mouth take an 'O' shape. Water blasted out. Initially, the stream was messy, unfocused. Squirtle made quick adjustments to his head position and mouth shape, then more fine adjustments as he continued his Water Gun attack. The force of it threatened to push his head back, but due to his stance on all fours, he felt stable. He gripped the dirt with all of his claws.

The Espeon's head snapped to face the sound of rushing water, but even it was too slow to avoid being struck. At first, it faced the unfocused stream of water head on and held its ground. Its lilac-hued fur darkened to violet as it was doused. Once Squirtle concentrated the stream, the Espeon could no longer hold its ground. Its back legs lost their footing and it fell with a 'Yip!' of dismay.

Squirtle could only keep up the attack for about four seconds before the muscles gave out. He allowed his head to sag as he recovered.

"Wow, good hit!" cried Quil, before taking another deep breath in preparation. The words had the effect of pulling Squirtle partially back to his reasoning aspect. He acknowledged the words with a smug smile. His technique was impressive.

Unfortunately, Squirtle could see the dripping Espeon already tensed once more and eying Quil for another attack. Despite its wet state, Squirtle did not think it looked any worse for wear. The Espeon was tough for certain. Quick, too. Every move it made was fast.

"Quil!" called Squirtle. "Spray the embers in a horizontal arc in front of you so it can't dodge!"

Squirtle feared that it would otherwise nimbly dodge the attack, as it had already proven how quick on its feet it was. Quil gave a slight nod in response, if the nod was not part of his attack's wind-up. Once again his mouth was glowing slightly.

The Espeon dashed toward Quil, and water droplets from its coat spattered the grass blades.

Quil's body compressed to exhale his mouth's contents. True to Squirtle's command, Quil started the attack with his mouth pointing about forty five degrees to the right, and he arced to his left. The embers were not evenly spread in the arc, but Squirtle figured it was his first try doing a modification to his attack like that.

The Espeon remarkably still managed to avoid getting burned. Seeing the way Quil's head was tracking, it jumped high once again. Because Quil's technique was aimed in a wider spread horizontally, complete coverage of the middle area in front of him was sacrificed. The Espeon's hind paws cleared the sizzling embers unscathed.

Quil scrambled away once he saw the Espeon avoid the embers. As it returned to the ground, Quil was moving in Squirtle's direction, panting with the effort. Squirtle could relate to his exertion; he himself did not feel up to producing another controlled and accurate Water Gun.

Quil came to a stop at Squirtle's side, and squeezed out some words between breaths. "Keep it up, Squirtle!" Squirtle tried to return to his feral fighting mindset once again, so that he could effectively contribute without fear or over-thinking clouding up his head.

The Espeon's gem began to gleam. Red light churned and roiled within, becoming a baleful glow. The Espeon's tail curled upward, expectantly. Its dark gaze became half-lidded.

What was happening to it? Squirtle could not remember anything like this. For a moment, he was dumbfounded.

The very air in front of the Espeon rippled. Squirtle's view of his foe distorted, as circular waves of...something propagated through the air toward him. Was the air between them bending and warping, or was the Espeon doing something to his vision?

A split second later, the circular distortions crossed the distance to reach Quil and Squirtle. As it reached him, Squirtle's brain felt like it had been bashed against his skull. A weird, and unpleasant sensation. Simultaneously, he was forced backward away from the Espeon. Unlike any attack he had hitherto experienced however, this attack felt like it came from within him, as opposed to a physical blow. The Espeon had blasted the inside of his head, and that had somehow driven him backward, too. The attack was confusing; Squirtle did not know what to make of it.

His shell back thudded into the ground, and he heard Quil give an 'Oof!' next to him. Squirtle's view of the grass and sky grew unfocused for a moment. He could not see straight. He wiggled his arms, legs, and tail in the air, but found them unexpectedly weak. He was tired, very tired. The scutes of his belly rose and fell quickly with his breathing. He could see them, when his eyes finally decided to behave.

The Espeon sauntered over to them, looking wet but not very winded. Squirtle figured he should blast it with his Water Gun again, but that was a fleeting dream. His strength was gone. Judging by Quil's lack of reaction, he, too, was weak.

The Espeon's gem was dim once more, and its eyes fully open. With one paw, it flipped Squirtle back onto his hands and feet. Squirtle sighed in relief, feeling inexplicably more at ease than when he was lying on his shell back.

"Leave," the Espeon commanded. Its voice was aloof and feminine. She looked over and past them, as if looking at the lowly Pokémon below her would be a chore.

Obediently, Quil began to amble unsteadily away in the direction from which they'd come. His head drooped.

"Please," Squirtle croaked. "You're a Psychic. Can you...read my memories? I can't...remember anything."

The Espeon fixed an eye on him where he groveled in the dirt. She sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Leave." Light began to swim in her gem again, threateningly.

"Squirtle," said Quil in an imploring tone.

Squirtle craned his head up. "Please. It's the most...the most important thing...in the world to me. Please. I have to know...who I am...why I'm here..."

"Idiot," muttered the Espeon as she half-closed her eyes once more.

The air shimmered in a circular pattern in front of her face. Squirtle squeezed his eyes closed and mentally braced for the Psychic assault, but it did him no good. The technique entered his mind with no resistance, and Squirtle again felt his brain rattling against its cage. Simultaneously his head was ground into the dirt by the invisible force from above. His mind couldn't take the pressure. As he blacked out, he could hear the Espeon turn tail and stroll away.

"No...it's a Psychic. Quil. A Psychic. It can help...maybe help me...remember," Squirtle mumbled.

He was partly stumbling, partly walking back to the path. Quil was on his left side, supporting Squirtle with his body. No doubt he could have used support too though, since they were both capable of only a sluggish pace.

Squirtle teetered on the brink of consciousness, neither lucid nor unconscious. The image of the Espeon's upturned nose and haughty gaze kept rising to the forefront of his mind. It competed for his attention with the blurry impressions of the Prairie around him, and the darkness at the edge of his vision.

Quil said nothing, and Squirtle heard his tired breathing come under control. By the time they emerged back onto the path, Quil seemed much closer to himself. Squirtle, on the other hand slumped to the ground lethargically. He wanted to cry, felt he ought to. Even now, his one chance at remembering who he was and what he should do was probably moving even further away from him. Squirtle's body was too drained to cry. As his despair settled into sorrow, his body could only recuperate.

"We'll find another one," offered Quil. "Sooner or later. There are only so many Types. Psychics may be uncommon, especially around here, but it's only a matter of time Squirtle. Don't surrender when you can still fight."

Squirtle lacked the energy to have any reaction to the proverb. He closed his eyes and devoted his energy to recovering. Relax all your muscles, and focus on your breathing. In, and out. The aches are nothing, they'll fade. In, and out.

"Too bad neither of us is a Planter," said Quil. "Then maybe we could miraculously grow an Oran bush. Wouldn't that be nice." He rested his snout on the ground in front of him. Squirtle hadn't noticed, but his fires were out. The bare red patches on his back were visible. That probably happened when he was feeling physically spent, Squirtle guessed.

"Planter means Grass-type?"

"Mm," grunted Quil.

The sun continued its relentless march toward the horizon while the pair rested in the path. After approximately half an hour of focused recovery, the time was halfway from noon to sunset, and Squirtle felt he could battle again if he had to. The recovery was incomplete, but Quil said that a good night's sleep always fixed the day's aches and pains.

"Let's try again," said Squirtle, standing.

"What? Are you crazy? We were destroyed by that Espeon!" Quil complained.

"She was one Pokémon. A fluke. An aberration."

Quil paused. "Oh. I know what this is about." He made a small sigh. "Squirtle, I'm sorry, but it's unlikely that we'll run into that Espeon again, or any Psychic-type for that matter. Those folks are few and far between, especially in a grassland like this. Trust me, I would know; I grew up in Steady Steppe. Much more common are your Flames like me, your Flyers, Normals, Planters, Bugs, -"

"No, you misunderstand," said Squirtle. "I'm not hoping to miraculously run into another Psychic."

Quil tilted his head. "Oh. But. Why do you want to try again, exactly?"

Squirtle clenched his little hands into fists. "I see now what I have to do to get the answers I want. If this is a test, it's a good one. One I can handle. I'm going to become stronger until I get the respect and power I need. I won't be treated like a fool or a helpless baby for much longer."

Quil let out a slow breath. His voice sounded especially quiet now that they were out of the thick brush. "You sound just like everyone else."

"Hm?"

"You want to fight to become the strongest so that everyone you meet will respect you and listen to you. Right?"

Squirtle shook his head. "No, this is different, Quil. This is a means to a justified end. I don't want to be the...biggest, baddest 'mon around. I just want answers to the hundred questions in my mind."

Quil seemed to think it over. Eventually, he smiled slightly. "I can't begrudge you that. I can only begin to imagine what it must be like not knowing who I am or what I should do."

Squirtle relaxed his uptight posture, pleased that Quil could sympathize with how he felt.

"But before we go, maybe we could talk about...strategy." Quil began to draw little circles in the dirt with one foot.

"Strategy," Squirtle repeated. "I like the sound of that."

"Remember yesterday when I said 'Your head thinks, your gut knows'? That's how Pokémon on my side of Root Forest think about battling. It doesn't matter what plans you make or ideas you have, because in a battle, you have to do what you feel is right. What you do is a feeling that you have in your gut. If you follow that feeling, and you're tough enough, then you're bound to win."

That's definitely not optimal, thought Squirtle. Strategy is required to win any contest that has depth, such as a fight between Pokémon.

"That's the way I used to think, too. Now I'm not sure," Quil continued. "We could not have escaped to the ferry from the Karprest dock without your tactical thinking. And against the Espeon, the idea to use my Ember in an arc was frankly ingenious."

"It didn't work," Squirtle commented.

"It might have. I've never curved the move like that, let alone practiced the move at all. She could have been burned a tiny bit had I been faster."

Thinking further, Squirtle said, "You forced her to jump upward, too, now that I think about it. She would have gotten a face full of embers if she hadn't."

"Er, what does it matter, exactly, that she was forced to jump?" Quil asked tentatively.

"Well, that's something we can use next time. If you use that Ember technique just like that, the next action you take is to dodge forward. That way, if our opponent jumps upward and toward you, they'll land where you were previously. Then they'll have their back to you upon landing, and you have extra time to prepare your next move. Or if they just jump straight up, you can use the dodge to close the distance and Tackle them when they're off balance."

Squirtle's eyes were lively, picturing a battle in the path that only he could see. "Also, it helps me. When I see the fire in your mouth, I'll know our opponent is probably going to jump upward. I can then take time to line up a Water Gun right where they're going to land."

Quil tucked his snout slightly, and his brow rose. The expression looked like an enigmatic smile, or some expression of smugness.

"I already know you have to be from somewhere very far away, Squirtle, somewhere the customs, sayings, and way of life are really unusual. But there's something else about you." Quil chuckled. "Who else thinks like that? What other Pokémon would say what you just said?"

Squirtle felt too flustered to respond. How much had Quil figured out? Was it that obvious that he was not a Pokémon?

"There's more to you than I can see, isn't there Squirtle?"

Squirtle dropped his gaze, trying to form words that would placate Quil. His face felt flushed.

Quil's tone sobered. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you embarrassed. Really, I'm sorry. Anyway, if my using Ember in that way truly does so much for us like you say, then I'll try it again, weak as it is."

"No!" said Squirtle, grabbing at the topic change like it was water in the desert. "Your Fire technique was great, just like I thought! If her hind paws had been hit, I bet it would have done more than my Water Gun. You say it's called Ember?"

"Yep. That's what Flames call it, since you exhale the fresh embers from a fire. Don't take mine as the typical Ember though; it's weak and inconsistent. My brother's Ember, if he ever chose to use a basic Fire-type move like that, would be a better example."

Squirtle just couldn't wrap his head around it. Why did Quil still think his Fire attack was so worthless? Squirtle had seen it in action twice now, and each time it was dazzling and looked dangerous. Come to think of it, Quil always mentioned his brother, or other Fire-types, each time they discussed it. Perhaps Quil had an inferiority complex. While he was growing up, he was always comparing himself to everyone else, but everyone else was more experienced and had more powerful attacks. So Quil eventually grew to accept that he was, and always would be, the weakest.

A depressing theory. I hope it's not accurate, but it's all I have to go off currently. Once he sees his Ember actually hit a weaker Pokémon, maybe I'll have better luck convincing him that his fire's not weak.

Quil pointed his snout at the grassy 'wall' of the path. "Anyhow, if you still want to go back in there, just tell me any strategies you think up during a battle. I'll do my best to follow up."

"Won't our opponent hear what I say each time, and thus expect any strange tactics we attempt?"

Quil seemed to smile again. "Squirtle, you don't see it yet. No Pokémon I know of, living in the wild or not, thinks like you do. During a battle, we don't weigh our options. We're focused on using our attacks as quickly, accurately, and powerfully as we can. We usually don't even talk, especially one on one, because words are needless and concentration is so important. The instinctual drives during a battle certainly don't help."

"You'll be able to hear me though, and respond accordingly?"

"I'll try," affirmed Quil. "Like I said yesterday, we're just passing through, so the instincts aren't as...engrossing. In case you haven't noticed," finished Quil quietly.

Squirtle laughed once. He had certainly noticed. His issue, however, wasn't resisting the 'instincts', it was the reverse: getting into that state of mind during a battle. Squirtle could analyze and strategize just fine, but doing what Quil said all Pokémon did so naturally - performing their attacks - was difficult for him. Although, during the battle with the Espeon, falling into that mindset was not as challenging as with the Zigzagoon. Squirtle was getting the hang of it.

With strategic preparations complete, Squirtle once again imagined the Espeon's supercilious glare and demeaning tone of voice. The Psychic he needed had been standing inches from him, and refused to help him. Squirtle needed to be more powerful. His pride and willpower rose, and some kind of bestial vocalization almost escaped his throat. He was ready to fight. At least, until he was face to face with another Pokémon intent on physically harming him.

"I'm ready to try the shortcut to Cavetown again," declared Squirtle. "Are you?"

In answer, Quil joined him in pushing forward into the Prairie proper.

Squirtle and Quil tramped along for a full minute less than their last foray before encountering another Pokémon.

CLONG!

Squirtle felt something perfectly hard strike his upper shell back and send him sprawling forward. A metallic reverberation continued behind him for a couple of seconds before fading. He allowed his belly to impact the ground and skid a bit before turning back on all fours. Rising to two legs allowed him a better view of the hostile Pokémon through the grass.

Tall, very tall! The Pokémon was at least three times his height. In another life Squirtle might have stood eye to eye with it, but as a diminutive Squirtle, this Pokémon was monstrous. How could they beat up this giant? Its gleaming maroon exterior actually sparkled in the afternoon sunlight, and its four wings were silvery instead of translucent. Three horn-like growths extended above its streamlined head that featured a pair of unemotional eyes, but no obvious nostrils or mouth.

The highlight of the Pokémon's body, in Squirtle's eyes, had to be its fearsome pincers. Like the rest of it, the pincers appeared to be made of steel. No doubt they could squeeze or cut most anything encountered in the wild. The Pokémon opened and closed them slowly like a Kingler. Squirtle guessed it was anticipating a certain Cyndaquil in one pincer, and a Squirtle in the other. The thought redoubled his desire to battle.

The Pokémon reminded him of a red-colored Scyther with some features changed around. Pincers instead of scythes, for example. After a moment, the species name came to him. Scizor.

The Scizor's attention was not on him, but Quil, who was already closing for a Tackle. The Scizor bent like the grasses around him to avoid the strike, but Quil was already springing from the ground. The Scizor took the hit on its equivalent of a hip, which sent it down on one knee-equivalent to regain balance.

"Quil, as we discussed!" shouted Squirtle as his companion returned to ground. Following that, Squirtle concentrated on preparing his Water Gun. Falling into the right frame of mind was relatively easy with the emotions he had been feeling. On all fours, he readied himself to let muscle memory take over once Quil had used his Ember.

Thankfully, Quil must have heard and comprehended Squirtle's words, as he took a posture similar to Squirtle's. Some of the smaller grasses rippled toward Quil's snout tip with the force of his inhalation. Fire was visible in his mouth as his head reared back, as if to sneeze. Squirtle knew better. So did the Scizor, for it halted in order to crouch slightly, ready to dodge.

Quil swept his head horizontally in an arc, ensuring Ember coverage of the entire ground in front of him. The spray was more uniform this time, with an approximately equal concentration of embers in every segment of the arc. Squirtle might have felt proud, had he not been in his combative state of mind.

The Scizor jumped high. Unfortunately, it completely escaped the touch of the hot cinders just as the Espeon had. Its wings buzzed with motion as it ascended, but seemed to have no effect on its jump height. The Scizor raised one clenched pincer, looking intent on striking Quil as it landed.

Quil, as per their strategy, had immediately dived forward once he finished his technique. Squirtle could see the Scizor's eyes narrow as it tried to follow Quil's motion with a punch from its closed pincer. The angle of the required punch looked terribly awkward, as the Scizor would have to jab between its legs and backward some in order to hit the forward-diving Quil. It aborted its punch, lacking a good angle.

The Scizor straightened, and began turning around to face Quil. Just then, Squirtle's Water Gun plowed into his shiny abdomen. The Scizor took a step back with one leg, planted it, and braced against the stream with both pincers raised protectively. The Pokémon was silent and steadfast through the ordeal, though when Squirtle could no longer hold the stream and his Water Gun finished, the Scizor looked weakened. Its wider stance and lower-hanging pincers were the telling signs.

"Yes!" Squirtle yelled triumphantly. With his attack complete, he could not stop the rush of jubilation. His plan had worked, had worked perfectly! The Ember arc, the jump, the dodge, the perfectly aimed Water Gun. Squirtle reckoned there were few sources of satisfaction that could compare to seeing a plan work out just as intended.

The Scizor used his primed stance facing Squirtle to propel himself forward after the attack stopped, and simultaneously avoided Quil's next Tackle. Squirtle yelped, cursing his early celebration. His mind did not know how to react. He had no chance of dodging.

One of the Scizor's open pincers slashed across his face. Squirtle did not feel the first cut very much. The second one though, by the opposite pincer, slashed across the same spot. Squirtle staggered backward, trying to see the pincers as they came at him. The Scizor was evidently quite practiced at this technique, however. The third cut landed before Squirtle could whip his head out of the way. That third cut was the most injurious of the lot. A fourth might knock him out.

Squirtle thought he saw the fires of Quil's back approaching the Scizor from behind, but could not tell how far away Quil was while he was focusing on the Scizor's cuts. Frantically, Squirtle hoped Quil could connect with their foe before the Scizor cut him again.

Squirtle barely avoided the fourth cut by the Scizor. The wind of the passing pincer threatened to dry out his right eye. Squirtle blinked twice quickly to re-moisten it. The Scizor itself blinked after his last cut missed, and immediately stopped his furious cutting. Instead, it raised one pincer with its elbow cocked back, as it had when descending upon Quil.

The Scizor was far taller than Squirtle, and had matching reach. Dodging a carefully aimed punch would be tough. Squirtle dropped to all fours, ready to throw himself in the appropriate direction to dodge.

Squirtle heard his salvation before he could see it. Quil's fiery exhalation was becoming a familiar sound. The Scizor's neck arched backward, and it flung its arms out to the side in agony. A ghastly hiss escaped from its now-apparent mouth – the first sound it had made. Squirtle could see the air around and above the Scizor's back wavering with the Ember's heat, and he cringed with sympathized pain.

The Scizor fell to its knee joint and pincers. The Fire-type move had clearly taken much out of the Scizor. Still, it began to rise not a second later. The Pokémon's head turned around to face Quil. Squirtle could not see what look it gave him, but he imagined it to be livid.

"Get it!" cried Quil.

Obliging, Squirtle launched himself from all fours, to deliver a Tackle of his own. All he Tackled was air and grass. The Scizor had dashed at Quil with the speed of revenge. By the time Squirtle had landed, the Scizor was striking Quil with a closed pincer. The heavy metal slammed into Quil from above. Quil was pressed to his belly by the blow. Fortunately, he stood up again immediately, and did not seem much weakened by the punch.

The Scizor switched tactics - whether on purpose or by chance, Squirtle did not know. Next, the Scizor opened its left pincer, and stretched it behind its body. At the same time, Quil inhaled to stoke his fire for an Ember no doubt, and Squirtle took a few running steps to prepare for a Tackle. He was more than reluctant to attempt a Water Gun while Quil was trying to dodge around the Scizor. Hitting Quil with a Water-type move had to be the quickest route to defeat.

Quil almost spat his embers directly into the Scizor, but it was too quick. Its pincer swung in a low under-handed arc, close to the ground. The powerful slash cleaved through a few dozen blades of grass on the way, making a cutting sound that might have been elegant in another situation. The pincer sliced across Quil's body and head. He fell to the side, coughing fiery particles. The Scizor held its pose: left arm aloft after the finished swing, right arm back for balance, and legs bent to get closer to Quil's height.

Squirtle counted on his Squirtle body to complete the running-jump-Tackle procedure, as he did not consciously know the best way to do it. He imagined the feeling of his shell pummeling the Scizor's exterior, and tried to think of nothing else, least of all what his legs were doing.

Just like at the beginning of the battle, the Scizor took the Tackle on the equivalent of its hip, and its knee joint met the ground for support. Squirtle grunted with the impact of his shell against the hard Scizor as another metallic CLONG sounded. He hoped this Tackle finished off the Scizor, as the repeated cuts to his face had pushed Squirtle close to his limit.

A quick glance at Quil revealed that the Cyndaquil was out for the count. When Squirtle got another good look at the Scizor, his hopes fell. The Tackles were not doing much. The Scizor had already raised an open pincer for another forceful slash. While its sloppier stance indicated that it was probably as unsteady on its feet as Squirtle felt, Squirtle doubted he would have enough time to use another Water Gun before the Scizor pummeled him with its pincers.

He was right. The Scizor whipped its arm past Squirtle, allowing its open pincer to slash Squirtle's arm and shell. The world lost its orientation. Squirtle felt grass slapping against him, then the dirt against his tail and the left side of his body. He guessed he was lying awkwardly on his side. His bleary vision was of no assistance. Squirtle pushed outward with his left leg and arm, and suddenly found himself on his belly. The abruptness of the transition sent waves of dimness through his head. He could tell he was blacking out.

At least we almost beat the Scizor, thought Squirtle. The plan worked, too.

A few feet away from Squirtle's face, the dark red form of the Scizor made some gesture with its head and pincers. Squirtle could not see clearly enough to tell what it was.

At this rate, I'll be strong enough to find my answers in no time.

Content with that thought, Squirtle allowed himself to pass into darkness.