Fog rolls over the icy swamp water, pale moonlight glistening off its murky surface. Foam coagulates on the edges of every pool and puddle, apparently a favorite of the water-types who call the area outside of the dungeon their home. Good for the skin, or scales her case, if one can get over the fact they're sitting in swampy Sea water.
Not every place on the Dusk Continent is as scenic as the black shores, as monolithic as halfway rock, as gorgeous as the tundra further north. Sometimes they're a very cold swamp with bubbles in it.
The nearby dungeon is something else. There's a "river" of sorts through the bog leading straight into the anomalous funhouse, and funhouse indeed- as it's been the place where many adventurers take their first jobs. She hasn't been here since she was a first point explorer. There inside of the dungeon is a mix of mad water-types and many flying buggers, few treasures to be found, but she remembers it well for being where she proved herself to the guild.
She's since, of course, gone onto better means of training. Her partner's just - she's complicated. A nice way of saying she's either too frustrated or too dull to think about what's gotten into her.
She felt like ice, did she come back from a dungeon with blizzards in it? Why's a riolu snooping on her?
Thoughts rack in her mind as she crosses the marshland, brown soil of a winding trail squelches below her. The cold eats at her scales ever so slightly. She was starting to wish she brought more than just a cape and a bottle for the road.
But her wandering, thinking, and negligence are rewarded by a light swaying through the viny trees. An orange light, not the distant flickering greens or yellows of bioluminescence. It's a lantern! What looks like a crooked tree is a flimsy light post, behind it a couple of small fishing shacks shamble through the rotten trees into view. She can hear the water flowing, light waves crashing up against the shore where a dock once stood. There's a signpost with the town's name waiting for her, or was, because she can see the sunken remains of it in the marsh. This dungeon village is an actual nowhere place.
Befitting of its isolation, she steps into an arch into the town itself and finds not a single soul. It's quiet, she can hear the bug-types trilling off in the distance. It's weird, unsettling even. But what's a supposed nowhere town supposed to feel like - home?
The refreshing swamp-smell is still poignant, dulled by the salt of The Sea. The "roads" are desolate, their dirt paths strewn with the clutter of day to day life. A berry basket, bags, a barrel or two. A thin fog is still creeping around, snooping in the nooks and crannies like a persistent little pest. It thickens near the shoreline, engulfing the rotten dock in a ghastly haze.
What signs of life here are gone, either in bed, in dungeons, or out there in the fog. But somebody has to keep the lantern lit; someone's around here. She can ask a few questions, then maybe snag a bed if she's too tired.
She didn't need to step across the road to find her second sign of life: a lantern hung outside a shack close to the shore, nearly hidden among the grassy reeds. She heads straight for it.
The shack's more of a glorified crawl space than a hovel, the one entrance is a door at chest height made from a scrap of wood - fastened in place by strands of stringy material. The ground leading to the water's all covered in it. And the lantern nearby lights a ground littered in dead fins. Great, a fellow meat-eater. By the sound of shuffling behind the thin wall, they're probably in there too.
She raps the side of the thing, three times in a beat to tell the person inside she ain't no feral, and not a minute later a long silver horn slides open the trap entrance. Two purple eyes accompany a crimson red body. The ariados gives her a stupefied look, Halcion responds with an exaggerated shrug.
"I recognize the stupid little cape and badge, you don't need to explain yourself." the ariados' voice is gurgly, it's like her own web has gotten tangled in her throat. "It's about time one of you rapscallions showed up. Thought I'd be stuck in my house till the food got bad. Here to fix all of this, or are you looking for somewhere to hide too?"
"I would like to know what to fix. I came here to check up." Halcion keeps Ariados in the corner of one eye while the other scours the town. "Did you send those boys over?"
"No. And their clod of an older brother was the one who brought this blight on us, I'm not surprised those brats turned tail and ran. Couldn't stand to clean the mess they made." She spits a glob of something on the earth. "Glad you're here now. At least some good can come from the hot water they've left us."
The first thing she wants to say is what - because this crone's too angry to get to the point of the issue. Something weird's gone down. Maybe it has to do with those water-boys in the tavern, but at least they're doing what they can. There's no way nobodies from this nowhere hovel can afford to get a whole guild on this. They're lucky to have caught her.
"Where is everyone else?" Halcion asks the obvious. "Are you the only one?"
"Everyone's in their homes looking like bug-eyed magikarp. Those boys probably brought a curse through town, because everyone's fallen under the same sleeping spell - except for me." Her mandibles click in what sounds like the insect equivalent of sighing. "I barely ever sleep, always fishing up basculin here. Insomnia's good for one thing, I guess? Haha-ack!"
"My girl's like that too, she's always up, working with the night guys and the day dudes."
"You have a daughter?" Ariados blinks.
Damnit.
"Yeah - let's go with that." Halcion blinks. "Where's their house? I need to see if their brother's okay."
"He's catching some shut-eye, he's probably off in the hidden lands right now." The Ariados nods towards the house across from them, nowhere near as small or as dishevel as her fishing shack. "Over there. And get outta here before you catch it or something. I don't think I can drag you into bed without breaking my back."
"You won't have to."
As soon as Halcion says her piece Ariados vanishes into her hide-hole, locking the door with a String Shot. She not dumb enough to expect party streamers and singers when she rolls into Dungeon settlements, but for someone who needs her help she sure put out a good reason to leave as is. This is a job though - a job in a town where everyone's fallen asleep mysteriously. Though unusual for sure, doing a check-up is far from.
Turning around she trudges through the fog, reaching the door of a house much greater in size but still in shambles. The windows are covered in thick, matty blinds. She can smell the rot in the floorboards, the moss growing along its exterior. A peep between the blinds to see two doors: one is wide open. A shadow is behind it, strewn over the floor as it wheezes in pain.
There's more sounds, more breathing. She counts two, then a third, then it becomes too much. It sounds like a grim choir is singing in the rooms beyond this. Dozens of them; a horrific cocophony.
She twists the doorknob, it's locked. She pounds on the door and none of them awaken. Her heart is pounding. Halcion lifts one of her horns, then strikes down on the door.
One chop bends the nob, a second shatters the door into splitters. The shatter travels through the town, going miles deep into the fog. If anyone is here, they just heard her.
She looks around, and all she sees is gray. Stars shine through the mist above her like pinholes; the lanterns glow like setting suns. Her gut tells her to listen, so she abides. Under all the breathing, the waves crashing up against the bog, and distant trills of bug types is faint movement. A thing is being drugged through the earth.
She sees them: two lights in the mist. A glare as icy as her Winter's Winds approaches in the night and a figure can be seen. It is as tall as she is with limbs as thin as an insect's. THe body it's been dragging along it throws into the muddy earth like a used tool, freeing up its long fingers as it shambles closer, morphing into a purposeful stride with each step. It sees her, it's coming, and its eyes relay a vicious intent.
They swipe, and a scattershot of pitch-black projectiles leaves their palm. Halcion leaps through the broken door as the shots clatter against the walls like hailstones. Wherever they hit, they enshroud in darkness, and rip it out of existence. The wall crumbles in seconds, and the glass shatters when it hits the pile.
There's silence, no movement in the fog, no sounds but her breathing and the wheezing of the poor thing in the room left of her. What could this thing be? What could it want? If she wants to make it out of here, it's best not to ponder these sorts of things. And it's in her best interest to ignore whomever, or whatever is wheezing in the bedroom behind her. There's going to be nobody in this town left to save if someone doesn't tell the guild what's happening here, and if this thing outside is responsible, then she's gonna have to deal with it now or never.
Criminals, mad pokemon, or whatever this thing is - if they harm the meek they are an explorer's enemy. Something slips out of her cloak as she gets up, and she catches it before it can hit the floor. The Time Gear. The cold metal ticks in her hand, and a Sea's breeze brushes her ears.
Lucario did one thing right during their run in: he showed her there's a power to this Gears. Whatever it does, she cannot let it leave her possession. She holds it close to her, watching through the broken wall, waiting for the second volley.
And through the gaping hole in the wall, she sees not her adversary. Standing where she was mere seconds earlier is her double. Then, all at once, every plank and window hit by the scattershot snaps back into reality, falling to the ground in an ear-splitting racket./
A pitch black blur eclipses Halcion's hazy duplicate, revealing itself with a slash of its glowing palm. Shots fly out; Halcion holds the Time Gear close.
She's right where she was seconds ago, standing right behind this creature. Their body is like a phantom's: made of silk and in a shape reminiscent of an admiral's. Between this and their flowing silver-like hair, it has to be either Ghost or Dark-typing. .
Halcion whips around. Dragon tail crashes on the circle of red protrusions around its neck. She throws them like dead weight, tossing them into the broken household and blowing through the back wall. They collapse into a pitch-black lump.
"Attacking a Guildmate isn't a good way to build your case," Halcion shouts, "but you must've thought I was a rookie. I've been through this song with more criminals than I can count on my claws, and until I'm proven wrong you're no different from the gutter trash!"
This thing is different, but professionalism is better than showing fear.
"I'll make this easy: you have until the count of six to turn yourself in before I do it for you!"
The creature moves.
"One."
It lurches back, reaching a slender three-fingered hand to the source of the breathing from earlier: a comatose water-type, a poliwrath.
"Two."
In one motion they tear some kind of energy from them, and the victim's body slumps over, the water-type's dead eyes staring into Halcion's soul.
"Three."
With renewed vigor, the creature stands on its slender legs. From their hair, to the mantles on their shoulders and down to their coattails - their fabric-like body flows in invisible wind. Their blue eyes stare unflinchingly.
"You may stop counting."
Their - her voice is as stern as the ocean is cold. She exudes the authority of a guildmaster and bears a familiar diamond-shaped badge. She steps closer.
"Don't you move!" Halcion blurts out.
"I can't defend what I've done to these people, not until my work in this continent is fulfilled." She motions at the comatose body behind her. "I was injured, and I took from these people what I needed to survive. What is done can't be taken back. It's up to you to decide if you want their suffering to be for naught."
What is she on about? She put the whole town in a coma to heal herself? She's heard of moves like giga drain before; this has to be a bluff.
"You're the one who turned this place into a ghost-town, and I'm here to apprehend you. How could I ever be responsible?"
"Wound me, and I will take more. The next actions are yours."
If Halcion lays a finger on her, she will take more. More comatose bodies, more ghost towns. If she wants to stop what's causing this hamlet grief then it's already contained itself. They both can walk away from this.
"You've got what you want from this town." Halcion watches carefully. "You've been pretty honest for a crook so far: tell me what your plan is."
"To find out where you've found that Time Gear."
"I have been searching for the second set. Seeing the gear in your hand is all I need to know I've come to the right place." Her eyes look aside as if in thought. "I intend to gather them, this includes yours, and when the time comes I will relinquish it from you. Starting a quarrel with a guild at this very moment would be of great detriment to me. Although conflict with any Guild is inevitable, I prefer to keep things manageable for now."
The cold metal vibrates in her hand. Halcion's breath wavers.
"It is in our best interest to part ways. Choose wisely, explorer."
A thin piece of metal on her chest, badge she has worked tooth and claw to get to its current rank, is keeping her from joining the village in the abyss. It's possible from the distance she had first seen her she didn't notice her badge, and attacked preemtively - something Halcion would've done if she were in this being's place. The gears are important to whatever her plan is.
So it all boils down into a simple question: would she trust this criminal to roam free collecting Time Gears at her leisure? Would she let anyone do this now that she understands how important they are? It's only through Lucario's stupidity has she come into ownership of this dreadful artifact.
She hardly trusts herself with a Time Gear. She's not going to be remembered as the person who started another temporal crisis, she's gonna be remembered for stopping one in its tracks!
Halcion takes a deep breath, her feet find their footing.
"I'm Halcion of Team Vanguard, call me Hal. And what are you?"
Her gaze remains cold.
"Darkrai."
Halcion's talons slam the earth. A chunk of stone shoots waist high, and she whips it straight at her foe. Darkrai fires a thin white beam from her fingertips, freezing the Rock Tomb midair.
Two moves, both are projectiles. Gotta get in close.
The Dragon pulls a hunk of wood from the floor as she charges forth. There's another swish of scattershot and her improvised shield disintegrates just in time for her to close the distance. Her claws latch onto Darkrai's arm. Darkrai struggles to break loose, and Halcion throws her with enough force to nearly rip her arm from its socket, tossing the creature back onto the street.
Darkrai is injured, struggling to catch herself on her feet before she barrels into the adjacent household. Halcion stomps towards her when something suddenly bites her.
A black welt is on her wrist, burning through her. It looks illusionary - as the smoke emitting from her wound has no scent, but the pain and the following exhaustion are real. The sensation shoots through her arm and fills her lungs like water. Her eyelids grow heavy. With what strength remains she pulls a bottle from her cloak and smashes it open, splashing the elixir over the imaginary wound.
The feeling washes away. The pain's gone, and Darkrai's still there - as if expecting she would collapse over.
"What are you, part Tentacruel?" Halcion spits. "Is that your little trick for someone getting up in your face?"
"It's the same move as the projectiles. I can keep it in my hand for a second longer, and I 'stung' you when you put your arms on me." Darkrai's eyes glance at the broken glass. "You were wise to use your remedy immediately. The effect of it only worsens with time, but that was your one and only bottle wasn't it?"
She has nothing. No seeds, no gear, just a time gear and her wits. It's a poison, isn't it? Poisons are slow.
"You've made a bad decision, Halcion." She speaks. "I put one finger on you or land a single Dark Void, and you are finished. I gave you an escape out of our best interests. You should have taken it."
Halcion steps out into the streets, a cool breeze blowing through her cape. Clutching the gear, she sees her afterimage lagging behind. If she can time this she has a chance.
There's a second of silence. Not a whisper can be heard through the foggy town as the two pokemon lock eyes. She who lands the first strike decides their fate. Halcion takes a breath.
The dragon's claws kick off the mushy soil, scattering the muddy earth like shallow water. Darkrai tears open space, and a scatter of black orbs soar her way. The dragon instantly screeches to a halt, spewing up a sheet of mushy earth as fist-size holes in reality punch through the soily wall. Her remaining momentum is converted into a powerful leap, throwing herself as high, as far and as fast as her legs could carry her.
She comes down like a comet. An Ice Beam greets her midair. She grips the gear tight, and the metal shines red.
It grazes her by an inch. In the blink of an eye she's no longer falling downwards - but forwards as she reappears behind the veil of mud, the momentum of her fall rocketing her right into close quarters.
Or rather, right into Darkrai's hand. As if anticipating it, Darkrai's claw reaches out and sears her shoulder. The pain is unbearable, but she's right where she needs to be. A few seconds are all she needs.
Halcion grabs onto the arm, pulling the creature inwards. Two swipes of her axe-shaped horns cleave into them, spewing her black ichor everywhere. And with a final, ferocious roar she throws them down and goes for a Guillotine.
But her axe was never going to meet this creature's neck. Her eyes have grown heavy, her consciousness thins. Her axe embeds into the soft earth and reality slips away. The poison takes over in seconds.
With the last of her strength, she manages a pitiful swing, sending her motionless body tumbling down into the dirt and her mind into The Sea of the subconscious. Dark, deep, everlasting. She was doomed to this fate the second she got into range.
The last thing she experiences in this world is the precious gear being plucked from her hand. The first of many for this baleful outsider.
"That's all she wrote."
That treasure belonged to him. He was first to find the gear, and first to wield whatever weird power it has. The thought of her running off of it, claiming what treasures and discoveries he had made to be her own, made his blood boil. It's gone now. There's nothing to be done other than sulk over it.
Lucario takes a deep breath, sinking back into the lobby cushions with a scowl on his face. The hard, minty scent of sleep seed powerl burns in his nostrils and the bitter taste of defeat lingers on his tongue.
"There anything else?" The Honchkrow opposite of him asks. "Don't be afraid to speak your mind, son. I'm a boss, but not the Boss."
He avoids eye contact, staring off into the lobby's open "window". The morning sun beats down on his face and for once he's not thinking of his next big scheme. The only thing on his mind is getting back what's his - what he deserves. A treasure like that is worth more than a lifetime of thievery. It can be his way out. He can call the shots in his life.
Like the dawn rising in the distance a new road is being lit before him.
"Can I take a break?" Lucario asks bluntly.
"It's not like you to ask for a break." Honchkrow chuckles. "Did you find some gold I'm not aware of?"
He doesn't answer.
No matter what he could've said, he doesn't have a choice in the matter. Honchkrow slides a small box onto the table, small enough to be carried by the underlings of his family. Lucario glances back at it.
"I need you to handle a delivery, something small. We've got a little girl on the inside doing the easy stuff, the boss wants someone who can defend themselves if things become nasty." Honchkrow's red eyes gaze sternly. "Take this thing with you, use it if anyone gives you a fuss. When you've done this: I'll give you a break."
The box is tiny, maybe about the size of his fist. A small ring attached to it could easily fit around the foot of a Murkrow. Lucario flicks it open with a spike on his hand, and his eyes go wide.
"Where did you get this thing?" Lucario stutters. "These sorts of badges don't grow on trees, you know? Even Hal doesn't have one and she's the biggest suck-up I've seen."
"That's for you to wonder about, and for the Boss to keep secret. This is your weapon to shut anyone up. Don't lose it like you did that treasure."
The corvid's gaze bears on him, and the fur on his back sticks up. Lucario shuts the box, carrying precious cargo under his arm.
"Just tell me where I gotta wait, Honch."