Ascension
ACT ONE - IMMOLATION
Chapter 13 - The Heart of a Coward
"Long day?"
Red answered the professor's question with an exhausted scowl, dropping everything unceremoniously on the grass lawn. "Seriously old man, how did you even manage them back when you were in the business?"
Oak laughed. "Back in the business, you say? It wasn't as easy as you think. Being a trainer is more than just acquiring a starter, catching a few more on your journey and participating in conferences."
"You forgot growing stronger," Seven-year-old Red Ketchum put in his two cents excitedly.
Oak perused the boy's hairs fondly, earning himself another scowl. "Not really. Everyone in the trainer business becomes strong on the way, some more so than others. But I digress," Oak sat down as well, "It's not all fun and games. Things don't turn out the way you expect them to. Quite ironically, the most difficult part about being a trainer is personal growth, to make the difficult choice, and stand up to them in the face of adversity."
"What do you mean?"
"My father was a milkman," Oak admitted, "he wanted me to become a milkman like himself and his father before him, but I wanted to become a trainer. To follow the path of adventure. I ended up meeting a lot of trainers as a kid and I really wanted to be like them."
"What were they like?" Red asked, curious.
Oak chuckled. "As trainers? Well, the usual stuff. Travel from city to city, winning badges and the like. But that was— is —a very limited life."
"So, what do you think I should do then?"
"You?" Oak laughed, "personally, I'd say you'd become a good scientist, but I'll leave the choice up to you when the time comes. It's your life, change it, influence it, make your mark upon it, and you'll find that things will never be the same again."
"But obviously I need to be strong to control the pokémon! They're so much stronger than me." Red pouted. "Come on, old man, what's the secret?"
Oak chuckled. "Really now, do you think I'm stronger than Nidoking? Or Dragonite for that matter?"
The kid thought about it. "Well, you're tiny compared to Drago!"
"Indeed I am." Oak chortled. "So tell me Red, why are we the ones taming them? Why aren't they taming us?"
Red pondered over the question, but could not arrive at an answer.
"The truth is," The old man sighed "is that it is not the strongest that survive, nor the most intelligent."
"Then who wins?" Red frowned.
"The ones that are the most responsive to change."
The ones most responsive to change. Red snorted derisively. A little more specificity would have helped here. What am I supposed to do now?
Red considered his situation. He didn't know what made the growlithe special, but given what it had gone through, he wasn't sure the puppy would survive the day. More importantly, he had to consider the deadlock Travers had put him in. The poisonous threads that had woven an intricate mesh all around them, had limited their movement.
He glanced at the scyther sitting at the corner, pretending to be oblivious to the entire event. Red might even have believed it, if not for the bug's earlier behavior. He wasn't sure what Mawile had told him, but it had resulted in an unnatural calmness all morning. Skarmory had done the same, though she whatever words of wisdom she offered were accompanied with hefty beatings so he wasn't sure how much Scyther agreed with it. Still, it probably counted for something.
"Kill the boy if that bird attacks."
Red froze. Kill?
This was bad. Really bad. He had tried to save the growlithe from the two men— not that it had been very successful if Growlithe's condition was of any indication, and now all of their lives were in danger. The pangs of self-doubt that had been held at bay with a combination of self-righteousness and adrenaline began to finally creep across his mind.
Have I just killed us all?
He glanced at the ariados in front of him. It was easily twice as large as mawile, and their poison was said to be incredibly lethal. Ariados venom could kill within a day if untreated and it wasn't a quick or easy death. He wasn't sure what kind of long-ranged attacks the spider had in its arsenal, but he wasn't willing to test them and find out.
"Now then," Travers spoke up with a false grin, "You stay where you are. Easy right? It's that simple. No one has to get hurt."
Red decided then and there that he didn't like the man's appraising stare. Despite his fear and apprehension, Red slowly raised his eyes to match Travers's gaze. For some reason, this defiant action made him feel more in control of the situation. Though he supposed letting his anger dictate his actions was never a good idea.
Misty's been a dangerous influence on me.
Travers smirked. "Well more hurt than you already are."
I've seen what Meyers was capable of. And if anything, this one is probably worse.
Red opened his mouth to refute but Travers bet him to it. "Now be a good boy while I go look for Meyers." The man directed a sly grin at Misty, "I'm leaving you all alone with him." He paused for a moment, before wagging his eyebrows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
He was about to respond to the statement with a slur when something else attracted his attention.
Someone else had stepped out of the shadows, the campfire casting a sinister shadow behind him. Someone he had encountered a while ago, someone he had not thought to meet a second time. Except he was covered in blood, and barely able to stand. And instead of his arm, there was a bloodied stump.
"Meyers!" Travers breathed. Despite being spoken in an extremely low voice, it instantly drew the attention of everyone in the area.
Red watched the bloodied man trudge towards Travers, the latter preventing him from falling face-first into the ground. Out here, where the light was slightly better, it was clear that the man would die out of blood loss at any moment. How he was managing to hold up against the agony was anybody's guess.
"That— that thing," Meyers alternated between growling and weeping in pain—" he told us it was a growlithe, just a— bitch ate my arm —" Blackened blood spurted out of his mouth as he tried to talk. His entire body was spasming, splattering blood all over Travers's outfit. At this point, his ramblings had devolved into wails of pain and demands of vengeance—blindly shaking his hands in Red's general direction —uncaring of Traver's attempts to soothe him.
"Don't worry," Travers answered strongly, trying to calm down the convulsing man and hold him down with his strength, "I'll apply some more anesthetics, and—"
Meyers convulsed hard once again spraying blood all over Travers. Red tried to look away, but his eyes seemed strangely fixated at the dying man.
"They lied— kid hurt, kill kid— kill that bitch that—" Meyers continued rambling, spit splattering out of his mouth, his face becoming more and more hysterical with every passing second. Travers pushed a syringe— some kind of medication perhaps?—into the dying man's body, followed by another, but Meyers's condition only seemed to worsen.
"Kill the— kill—" Meyers croaked before he regurgitated another pile of clotted blood. Whatever happened, had robbed him of his remaining consciousness. And then Meyers collapsed.
It was abrupt. There were no spasms or screams or moans. There were no more howls of agony. Meyers simply stopped moving.
"Meyers?" Travers motioned, shaking the man, over and over again. Even Red was flabbergasted.
He did not move.
"Mey— Meyers? Hey Meyers? Wake the fuck up!" Travers shook the man with all his strength.
Red stared at the fallen man. A part of him whispered that Travers was distracted. That this might be his only chance to move. To get out of this wretched situation. But something inside him froze him into inaction. He simply could not take his eyes off the unmoving body. His feet felt like they were glued to the ground. For deep inside him, he knew what had transpired.
Meyers was dead.
Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.
Red wasn't sure how he knew it, but that statement seemed to reverberate inside his mind and heart for some reason, as if something alien and esoteric had just confirmed it for him, and was trying to warn him of the future happenings that were about to take place. Meyers was dead and wasn't coming back, and as for Travers...
Gone was the man making casual comments with an air of absolute confidence. Gone was the man who was willing to treat him and Misty as casual annoyances, and instead what stood before him was cold efficiency. Travers's eyes had lost all playfulness and his gaze alone paralyzed him. Every instinct in Red's body was telling him to flee.
He needed to find some way to get out of these threads. Mawile was trapped beside him, and growithe was… incapacitated. Misty was shell-shocked, and probably wouldn't be able to help much. That left the scyther.
He isn't going to help me. This is really a— fuck do they even have a word for this kind of shitty situation? The only thing that can probably—
He paused. This… just might work.
He slowly glanced downwards, being careful not to move his face before he caught Mawile's eye. He then extended his pinky finger and moved it horizontally above the thread closest to him. Mawile blinked once before nodding.
All or nothing.
Red looked back at Travers who was still on the ground next to his dead comrade. A few seconds later, he stood up gently laying the other man down on the ground.
"You were annoying, but you didn't deserve this," he sighed.
Travers closed his eyes completely ignoring his surroundings and took a deep breath before opening them once more. And then his presence changed. What stood in front of Red was an entirely different beast.
"All right kid, the gloves are off." He spoke coldly, almost clinically. "It's real simple. You hand over the growlithe immediately. Or I'll kill you."
Misty blanched. "Red— Red he is serious. He is going to kill us. Just— Just give him the growlithe—that thing isn't even ours and he's gonna kill—"
"Shut up!" Red hissed, suppressing the urge to shake the other girl who was pulling his left arm wildly. Meyers's death had been the final straw. It had finally become real for her. "If you pull like that, those threads will poison and kill us."
That shut her up.
He turned towards Travers, knowing that his next words might well be his last. He knew exactly what kind of reaction his words would procure. Even so, he'd be damned if he said anything otherwise. He cast a single glance at the growlithe, who was beginning to slowly stir again.
He was able to heal back from that? Just what kind of growlithe is he?
"Your friend was electrocuting Growlithe with that device, torturing him over and over, and his arbok was crushing him to death. All I did was try to escape with the growlithe. Was that wrong?"
Come on.
Travers glared at him. "Do I look like I care?"
"You should. Growlithe was captured and experimented upon, and he deserves to be free. Your friend was killing him. Growlithe acted out of self-defense, and now you want to kill him for that too?"
"You talk too much," Travers grunted before raising his palm."Ariados—
"Skarmory NOW!" Red yelled, kicking Misty in the knee, dropping the girl as the avian swooped down on his orders. Ariados reacted, instantly shooting a thin strand of poisonous silk at Red. It was moving incredibly quickly and would probably pierce through Red if not for the fact that it stopped in mid-air.
CRACK!
The threads around them shattered.
"What?" Travers exclaimed before his eyes narrowed in on the little creature next to Red's legs.
Red smiled. For once, their training had paid off. Mawile had executed his plan perfectly. She had slowly concentrated a thin stream of concentrated Icy Wind into her surroundings. He had been trying to teach Mawile how to hold concentrated malleable ice-energy but she was far from creating a working ice-beam. What she could do, however, was slowly freeze things she was in contact with. Mawile had slowly frozen the surrounding strings and followed it up by creating a thin frozen layer in front of them. All of Red's talk had been for this single moment.
They could finally move.
Skarmory was not having a good day.
She had joined up with Red to gain a new perspective on personal strength. Truth be told, she wasn't quite sure what the term encompassed, but like all other things, it was second nature for her to take her grandfather's words at face value, even years after his demise. Red had been satisfying— as a custodian of sorts —and as a king, Skarmory had taken good care to ensure that every member of the team was significant. Mawile had some significance and the shellder… was growing, so it wasn't like she had anything to complain about.
Then Red had dropped the entire idea of a bug-hunt on their heads.
It had been a humdrum affair— most of it anyway —until that scyther had shown up. Arrogant, quick to its feet, and somewhat powerful as well. Nothing compared to herself, of course, a lesson which she had been happy to carve upon its body.
Then she found out that the scyther—an interesting rogue till then—was actually a puppy that had been kicked way too many times. The attack hadn't been a product of arrogance, but of abandonment issues.
How off-putting.
And then two more clowns had trespassed into her domain, and once again, she had stayed her hand out of courtesy to her custodian. She had even acknowledged Red's request and kept an eye on the man and his lousy spider. Seriously, what was there to look about spiders anyway? They excreted those sticky web-like things all over the place and degraded an otherwise beautiful environment. It was almost like they thought that environmental desecration was their way of proving their otherwise insignificant existence in the world.
Disgusting.
Turned out that Red and Mawile had run into the other clown. There had been a battle involved— And he didn't invite me. The 'I-stare-at-you-when-you-look-away' growlithe, had been grievously injured. Again. Seriously, what good were growlithe? Mawile had beaten it up with no trouble and despite Red's medicines, the puppy was back to its near-dead state. Either Red's ability with healing sucked, or the growlithe was simply that frail to begin with.
And the dead and not-so-dead clown wanted to fight about it. Seriously, what was with humans and their obsession with meaningless existences? There was the orange-head and the buffoon-like water thing— Like seriously, why is its head so big? —Then the growlithe. And now this. Well, Shellder had been growing much more impressive lately. Perhaps he would train orange-head as well? Wait, did humans train other humans? Skarmory did remember them talking about such a location, called school or something.
She observed, from her vantage point in the air, how the spider-abomination had trapped Red, Mawile and the remaining incompetents. Had she wanted to, she could have killed the spider within a single dive. However, her trainer might not be able to survive an attack from the web-shitter. After all, his hide could not compare to the magnificence that was her steel.
Red had always come up with a plan for battles thus far, helping her find the most optimal ways to end the fight. He let her fight on her own but he would drop hints that would help mid-battle and then would analyze the fight afterward. Skarmory was almost beginning to see him as a teacher. He had not let her down till date and Skarmory was sure that this time too, he would have a plan.
And so she waited.
He didn't disappoint.
"Skarmory, NOW!"
Skarmory would have screeched in exhilaration, but it was beneath her. So, she satisfied herself with a sharp dive towards the delinquent spider on the ground. All that talking and waiting and false diplomacy had finally been washed away. The weight of the fight would fall upon her shoulders.
As it should.
Skarmory dived at the ariados. She trusted that Red would be able to dodge the first attack. Now all she had to do was to ensure that it had been the last. She appraised the bug as she descended. It was probably trained by the other clown, so it would provide quality entertainment.
The ariados squeaked and leaped out of her way.
Fleeing without a fight? I shouldn't have expected anything else from a plebeian. Pathetic.
As she neared the final arc of her dive she extended her wings fully, coating them in a layer of steel.
And ran right into a web.
Countless thin strands glinted among the trees, almost invisible in the darkness.
Does it really think that this will stop me?
Skarmory roared and ripped through the web, her wings covered in violent steel energy. Enraged she turned back to the bug. She was going to rip it to shreds.
Except the bug was gone, and in its stead was—
"Use Vice Grip. Tear it in half!"
It was like watching shadows move. One moment there was nothing. The next, a deadly creature, with a metallic shell and giant steel horns materialized out of a red beam in the air above her. Skarmory beat her wings hard, propelling herself upward just in time to dodge two steel horns rushing towards her. The creature slammed into the ground, carving a crater on the forest floor.
Perhaps this will be a little interesting after all.
"You won't escape so easily," Skarmory heard Travers address her, "Pinsir, follow Ariados and use Formation B. Restrict its aerial mobility."
The pinsir grunted, leaping off the crater, its horns twitching madly. From the way the metallic protrusions were pulverizing the boulders on the ground, Skarmory was certain that not even her armor would present a high resistance should she find herself trapped. A little distance from her new opponent, the ariados stood on-guard, spewing webs all over the place.
Trying to draw me into close-range combat?
Skarmory glanced at the webs appraisingly. The steel horned pokémon was extremely strong. Strong enough that Skarmory didn't want to test her wings against its horns. Even more so in the nest of webs that was growing more and more dense.
Her decision made, Skarmory took to the air, gliding away from her trainer. The pinsir leaped after her, demolishing several trees on the way. The ariados, now finished with an impromptu barrier between itself and its master, scurried towards the forest after her.
Skarmory smirked. Can you trap an entire forest?
Travers watched the bird fly off into the forest, with Pinsir and Ariados following swiftly behind. Strangely enough, the two bug-types worked in unison better than the rest of his team. Between the two, Travers was sure that he had the bird trapped for the next ten minutes or so— more than enough time to complete the mission.
"The skarmory is now out of the equation," he addressed the precocious teen in front of him. "Hand over that growlithe immediately."
His waning patience was met with the teen's stubbornness. "Skarmory isn't the only member of my team."
The mawile stepped forward, taking its place beside its trainer. The orangette filled in right beside the teen as a show of support. Travers could see a croconaw and a starmie in the background as well, apart from the scyther.
Mightyena might just… no, this has gone long enough.
"On your head be it, kid," Travers intoned. "No more warning. No more tricks." He sighed, reaching into his belt, and pulled out his one, remaining pokémon, before tossing it into the air.
"Eradicate them, Golem!"
For several decades, the name Golem had been synonymous with pure, unadulterated strength in the Kanto region. During its progression from Geodude-stage to Graveler, the pokémon line gains a considerable amount of mass through assimilation of rock into its body—a process that took from years to decades. Somewhere during the first twenty years of its life, most Geodude evolved to Graveler. From then on, it took an incredibly long time, sometimes spanning several decades, for it to evolve into Golem. Strangely enough, a Graveler did not add further body mass to itself through rock assimilation, and yet, most golem weighed at least thrice as much as a Graveler did. It was one of the many unsolved mysteries of the pokémon world.
And that was without mentioning any of its terrifying power. Essentially an army-killer, enough to reduce the population of a plainland to zero within a matter of hours, a Golem was one of the monsters that were technically classified as pokémon, barely out of consideration. One did not catch a Golem, rather one merely tried to escape should they be unfortunate enough to encounter one.
And that was the creature that was currently standing in front of him.
Every single entity in the area paled.
Travers smiled. This was his magnum opus. This was what had landed him his position of Executive, even though the officiation was due a couple of months. He had spent months ensuring complete and utter compliance from this beast. And very soon, it would reap him the rewards he was entitled to.
Travers looked at him grimly. "Golem's movement will likely cause tectonic vibrations and Magnitudes of some fashion, so the Rangers might come looking. Sorry kid, I need to erase everything that happened here. Looks like none of you will be leaving here alive. Hope you said your last words."
A deathly aura descended down upon the forest, an all-consuming feeling of overwhelming destructive power, and yet as unyielding as a mountain. It wasn't a matter of strength, or speed, or pure reserves. It was the primal sensation of fear that prey felt when corned by a ferocious and hungry predator. The feeling that told everyone in the vicinity that they were about to be ripped apart, and yet, there was not a single thing they could do about it.
Golem gave a thorough glance at his surroundings. One of the advantages of his body anatomy was that it allowed him near-complete vision of his surroundings, as long as his head was allowed to protrude out of the shell. His shell— large, dark and horribly strong, to drop down to the forest floor, as Golem made a thorough analysis of every single entity present in the forest.
There was the scyther—weak, and in pain. It was obvious from its posture. There was the tiny ivory-ish creature, and though Golem did not know what it was, it didn't seem like an immediate threat. There was that tiny lavender-ish thing spasming on the floor—not a threat either. There were two humans— not threats, but could be in time. Humans were always threats.
Golem had it simple. There were things that were good, and there were those that were bad. Taking out Master's threats was good. Failing to perform that was bad, as was disobeying Master's orders. When Golem did bad, he felt pain.
Golem did not like bad.
The others that served Master could stay out. Ariados could, Pinsir could, and so could Mightyena. Golem could not. Golem was stupid. Stupid creatures only came out when there was a need. For Golem, a need meant having threats that the master wanted to destroy.
And Golem could do that. He wasn't like the others. Golem was stupid, and couldn't understand complex things, ideas and emotions. The only thing he could do was destroy. In a way, he could also protect—by destroying whatever his master ascertained as a threat.
His only purpose was to attack, attack and relentlessly keep attacking until each and every threat in his master's vicinity was systematically destroyed. The moment he was finished with one target, he'd switch to the immediate next, and keep doing so long until only death and blood remained.
It was bloody, but it was simple.
Golem liked simple. Simple was good, and good meant no pain.
"Golem," Travers intoned, "Use Rollout, and take them down!"
Golem acknowledged the command. He'd ensured that he did good.
Golem pushed his head and limbs out, standing upon the ground, as he evaluated the group.
They were what was threatening his Master. Golem would crush them. He tucked his head into his shell, followed by his limbs, leaving behind the spheroidal dome of super-dense rock on the outside.
And then he rolled.
Mawile was beginning to agree with the Travers human. Red was being overly invested in the entire thing. A situation in which he had no business being in.
This was not worth it.
The smart thing to do was to just hand over the growlithe and part ways. After all, they owed it nothing. The man looked like he was in a bad mood. Maybe he could take Orange with him as well.
But noooo! Red had to be determined to save the puppy. She stubbornly ignored the part of her mind that whispered that she was the one who brought the growlithe back in the first place.
And then Travers released that monstrosity that was Golem.
Mawile looked up. And up.
The thing was like… five times taller than her. Scratch that, it was the biggest, largest rock she had seen since she came to Kanto. It was practically a large mountain. A large, spherical mountain, with a head and body.
And then the mountain locked eyes with her and charged.
Mawile blinked.
The mountain was still charging.
She appraised the situation once again. Red wanted to save the growlithe. And now a living mountain was going to kill them. None of this would have happened if they hadn't gone deep in the forest looking for bugs which made this entire mess Orange's fault. True she was the one who brought back the growlithe but she did that because she was mad at Orange's croconaw. Which made it doubly her fault.
Having someone to blame, Mawile noted, actually made the situation a little better.
"Get out of the way." Red yelled grabbing Shellder and jumping to the side."Misty!"
"Starmie, Ice Beam!" Misty yelled, ready for once. "Croconaw, Water Gun."
Mawile watched in awe as a massive amount of water rammed into the golem. The Ice Beam rammed into the Water Gun trapping the mountain inside it. She hadn't known attacks could be used in tandem like that.
Unfortunately for them, such a trap was not meant to hold something quite so heavy.
CREAAAAAAAAAK!
It didn't even last for five seconds. The mountain rolled forward, its mass grinding through the ice— shattering it —but the delay was more than enough to move out of its path. Not that it was necessary.
The remaining water had frozen creating a slippery terrain, completely throwing off the rock monster's sense of direction. It ended up slipping through the makeshift ice slide and slammed into a tree. It was a testament to how monstrous the rolling mountain was, that the impact didn't affect it at all. The tree, on the other hand, was flattened.
Not, smashed. Not blown away. Flattened.
Mawile gulped.
"Mawile, dodge!" Red instructed, his eyes peering at the approaching golem.
Dodge? Alone? What is he—?
But Red wasn't listening. "Misty, another shot. Aim for its sides. We need to push it off its path!"
The orange-head instantly complied. "Croconaw, Water Gun on its left. Throw it off-balance. Starmie, Ice beam."
The congregated attack shot towards the creature, who expertly twisted out of the way, swerving around the attack before moving back to its original path, almost as if the brief counterattack hadn't happened in the first place.
"What the hell is that— that thing?" Red blanched. Mawile noticed her trainer take a step back, and tightened her resolve. Her Iron Head, for once, would be painfully inadequate, considering how massive the mountain was. That left…
Not Fairy Wind. Trying to bite might as well squash me beneath its weight.
Mawile shook her head.
Unproductive. Not an option. Icy Wind is out too. That thing tore through the Ice Beam like it was nothing. Mist… will decrease visibility for everyone on our side. Mawile scoffed self derisively Exactly what I need. Something that makes it easier for it to kill us.
She glanced at her trainer. He seemed frustrated, and given the way he had unconsciously taken a step back, he was clearly conflicted about future attack strategies. Well, it undoubtedly fell on her to pick up the slack on her trainer's shortcomings.
You owe me one hundred poképuffs for this.
The mountain was getting closer with every passing second, and there was only so much she could do by running away. Perhaps if she could somehow nullify the initial impact, then the croconaw and the rest could power up a cumulative attack. It was a horrible idea, but it was an idea.
Taking a deep breath, Mawile began to concentrate, allowing layers of steel energy to cover her entire form.
Misty knew she wasn't perfect. Far from it. She was loud, she was brash and wore her heart proudly on her sleeve. She was the youngest of her sisters, and the most adored by her father. If she wanted something she had it. Consequently, if she didn't like something, she had no qualms about making her feelings clear about it.
She hated it when people looked down upon water types. She hated it when anyone commented on her sense of fashion. But most importantly, she hated bugs, or rather, she hated anything that was creepy and crawly the majority of which could be classified under bugs.
Come to think of it, there was a whole lot of things that Misty was scared of. She had been teased a lot by her sister, her classmates, and nearly everyone she met. She had been called names like scaredy-cat, coward and many more. At first, she had reacted the only way she knew how. With violence. But later on, she grew to accept that part of herself. It was, after all, simple to avoid things you didn't like and were afraid of. Even now, she would rather give up the growlithe, avoid the terrorists and get the hell out of this goddamn forest.
Yes, Misty labeled herself derisively. I'm a coward.
She felt fear. In fact, what she was feeling right now probably went far beyond that. At this moment, she would have liked nothing more than to curl up in a ball and ignore this whole clusterfuck. But bravery wasn't about not feeling fear. It was about being able to act despite feeling it.
I am a coward. She said to herself again. But that doesn't mean I can't be brave.
This was of course, completely contradictory, but then again, Misty was a contradictory individual.
Focus. Deep breaths.
Misty began to appraise the situation in earnest, doing her best to push her fear deep within her. She watched Mawile gather steel-energy over her entire form, probably an Iron Defence. Did Mawile actually think that a little bit of steel energy would be able to hold off a rolling golem? Misty didn't like Mawile very much, but she wouldn't let her get killed for her hubris.
"That won't work!" She said bluntly.
"What won't work?" Red asked.
"That," She pointed at Mawile. "Her Iron Defense cannot stand in front of that monstrosity's power. She'd be squashed."
Mawile glared at her, but Misty paid her no attention. If there was one thing that Mist decided, it was that she was not going to let this Travers thug win. She could deal with his casual insults, but when faced with the question of survival, Misty would not be found lacking.
She stepped forward, inwardly feeling emboldened by her knee-jerk reaction.
"Red," She articulated clearly, seeing the golem expertly weave its way through Croconaw and Starmie's attacks. "Mawile won't be able to help in this battle, and neither can Croconaw or Starmie. We need Skarmory for this."
"I know," Red muttered, his tone on the edge, "but Skarmory is not here. We need to think of—"
"Then go get Skarmory. I'll handle things here."
"..."
"..."
"What?" Misty asked, almost affronted by her friend's reaction.
"What did you say?"
"I said that I'll handle things here," Misty gave him her best 'everything's-going-to-be-alright' smile. "Take Mawile and get Skarmory back. Croconaw and I can manage. Besides, I've got Starmie here to help too."
Red stared at her blankly. What was worse, was that the ever-capricious mawile seemed to imitate her trainer's reaction. This was her heroic moment. Why were they staring at her with such disbelief?
Misty felt an urge to smack their lights out.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" She growled.
"... nothing. It's just that, you seemed like… brave. Real brave." Red answered, a conflicting expression on his face.
Misty felt her face heat up. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"No!. Just…" Red hesitated "We'll be back as quickly as we can. Stay… Stay safe"
Misty waved his concerns off. "Don't bother. And take the growlithe with you. I don't want to have to deal with protecting it."
"You sure?" Red asked her, his face clouded with worry. "That's a powerful rock-type, and not a lot of things would affect it."
"Who do you think you're talking to?" Misty arched an eyebrow, a soft smile lacing her lips.
Red grinned back at her "You're right. Come on Mawile," He turned towards his starter before the two of them raced towards the growlithe.
Seeing the duo leave, Misty sighed, before steeling herself and meeting Travers's eye. "As I mentioned, I'll fight you if need be."
Travers was, in general, a very calm person. Even when things went wrong, you could generally trust him to keep a cool head. Ambition he could appreciate, greed he could understand, and even blunt stubbornness he could empathize with. But this? This was foolishness— foolishness that drove the boy into putting his team, friends and even himself into danger, just to save some creature he had encountered a little while ago in the forest.
Travers knew bullshit when he saw it, and for all the talk over the growlithe's value as a shiny, it was clear that the boy wanted to keep the growlithe safe, and not necessarily for himself. A textbook self-sacrificing hero complex—exactly the kind of foolishness that had once caused Travers to become an orphan early in his life. The teen in front of him seemed to do his utmost to remind Travers— painfully —of his own father and his stupid ideals.
Ideals that had lead the man to an ignominious death—the man who had been the protector of Cerulean for the entirety of his life had been murdered right in his office. They called it a heart attack, but Travers knew—he knew —the truth. Cerulean gym had passed on to the Waterflowers, and all Travers had to remember his dead father by was some medal and a meaningless certificate.
"Pathetic!" Travers sneered, his face twisted into a cruel caricature, "Do you even realize how stupid this is? Do you? You think that you can get past my golem, past my ariados, and past my pinsir to get that growlithe to safety? Even if you make it, that thing won't last a day given its condition!"
"You don't know that!" Red barked back at him, tucking the puppy underneath his elbow. "And don't think that I'll drop dead just because you have some orders to fulfill. I promised it I'd save it, and I will. You and your Team Rocket be damned!"
Travers gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Golem, end him."
Golem changed tracks mid-trajectory, expertly weaving through the obstacles placed on its path by the starmie, and shot towards the teen with the intent to kill.
"—Hydro Pump!"
A standard Water Gun was essentially a large amount of water propelled under pressure. This was anything but that. What came out wasn't just a greater load of water content. It was literally a thin, highly compressed, beam of water.
Hydro Pump? And at this level? How the fuck do you teach a crocanaw how to execute an elite-tier move?
The pressure was so unbelieving high that it made the water rotate over and over, forming a beam-like structure. Unlike Water Gun, this rotated at extreme pressures. Unlike Water Gun, it had the potential to strongly affect rock density and make it porous. Unlike Water Gun, this wasn't something he could ignore.
And it was this Hydro Pump, in all its glory, that slammed into Golem.
Travers winced, as the water-type attack met Golem's shell in a momentous explosion.
The golem was bodily raised and sent flying into the trees, crashing through and demolishing anything that was unfortunate enough to fall in its path.
The orangette—Misty Waterflower—smirked at him. "I'm an aspiring Water Master, so don't underestimate me!"
Travers looked at the croconaw carefully. It looked exhausted. It wouldn't be able to throw out another one any time soon.
As it should be. The fact that it could use it even once at its stage is enough to classify it as a freak of nature. Fucking Waterflowers.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, the kid— Red — and his mawile had sprinted off into the forest. He was probably moving towards his skarmory, which meant he was going towards Traver's own pinsir and ariados. In any other situation, Travers would have called that suicide. Going towards an Ariados in a jungle?
But he would not be making any more assumptions tonight. He would be operating under a worst-case scenario protocol. That the boy would somehow live and may even escape. Which meant he couldn't leave anything to chance.
"Fine!" Travers hissed, "If you want to die so badly, allow me to assist you on your way." He took out his remaining pokéball and threw it into the air, releasing his final pokémon— a large Mightyena.
"Mightyena, kill that boy and his mawile."
The canine barked in acknowledgment, literally oozing bloodlust, before dashing into the forest after the teen and the mawile.
Travers turned to Misty and spoke savagely. "Mightyena will kill both of them them. But you? I'm going to kill you personally."
"Feel free to try!" Misty shot confidently. Though her shaky legs and the slight tremor in her voice gave away just how apprehensive she was feeling.
"I liked you better when you were jumpy and angry. A single successful hit has made you cocky." Travers remarked, settling back into his initial composed demeanor. Pinsir and Ariados were some of the most capable members of his team, and with Mightyena on his heels, the boy would soon meet his end. He'd enjoy seeing the girl's shattered expression upon seeing the brat's mangled remains. It would be… cathartic.
"GOLEM!" Travers intoned loudly, "get back here and kill that girl!"
"That Hydro Pump hit it directly," Misty barked. From her tone, it was obvious that she thought he was bluffing. If she only knew. "There's no way that Golem will be able to—"
The ground rumbled, and the fallen trees began to shake. And from within the demolished landscape rose Golem once again. Travers could see a semi-cylindrical hole gaping through its otherwise impenetrable rock armor It wasn't much, just a narrow gash into the armor, but it was the first time he had seen such a deep wound inflicted on Golem. Of course, even that would simply regenerate within a day or two, given Golem's own mastery of Rock Polish.
"—the— how the hell is that— " The girl stammered, flabbergasted at being proven wrong.
Travers smirked. That Hydro Pump might have been powerful, but it was far from enough. Most pokémon would have been incapacitated by it and it might have even killed the more physically frail ones. Golem, however, was not most pokémon. Over three tons of compressed, solid rock, Golem was his magnum opus, his creation, his masterpiece. Something that would someday, go ahead and carve a name for itself in the history of Team Rocket. Just like Hydreigon was associated with Proton, so too would Golem be linked with himself.
Enough. He shook his head Admiring one's own technique mid-battle is a sure way to get yourself killed. There is no point in thinking about possible futures.
Travers sighed. He had allowed himself to become more invested in this battle than he had any right to be. This was simply not done. Proton had not taught him to lose his composure like this. Then again Proton's answer to any problem was to simply leave no survivors.
Time to finish this.
"Magnitude, level 5. Single line, Shock Wave."
His lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile. The proper application of a Magnitude attack required nothing short of mastery of tectonic manipulation. Golem could perform it at a proper Level 7, maybe even Level 8 if he really pushed it. It required a solid Level 9 control before Travers could teach it to morph the attack into the utterly devastating technique that was Earthquake. Given the way Golem was progressing, Travers gave it around four to five months.
Pain was a great motivator, and Golem, in particular, was a rather efficient medium for its application.
Though to be honest, he wasn't a big fan of Earthquake. That was Proton's gimmick. Well, that and Draco Meteor. That man was the worst trigger-happy individual Travers had had the misfortune to meet, let alone be trained for an entire six-month period.
No, Magnitude was far better. Much more versatile, efficient and easily morphed to suit his goals. He was a covert operative and huge land-shaking attacks were a sure-fire way to attract attention. Hell, even the Level-5 magnitude was pushing it. It was entirely possible that some especially focused ranger would notice the minor earth movement in the forest and dispatch an investigation squad. Which meant he had to wrap this up fast. If there was one thing he would not be betting on today, it was his luck.
Golem rolled on the grassy floor, before bringing his limbs out all of a sudden, and propelling himself into the air with a mighty push. Laymen were of opinion that Golem's shell was the strongest part of their body. They couldn't be more wrong.
It was Golem's limbs that were the strongest. He'd know. He had seen Golem exterminate a Machamp with a single hit.
The propulsion sent Golem around ten feet into the air, before the rocky sphere of destruction slammed into the ground, with both limbs hitting the crust alongside the heavy shell, channeling the energies forward.
The effect was intermediate.
Rocks, boulders—big and small, fragments of shattered plates, stone chips and sharp shards—all of them were raised into the air, tearing through the earth's crust, as the sheer force behind the channeled attack sent them flinging towards the orangette and her croconaw.
"Protect."
Travers saw a translucent yellow barrier form in front of the girl and her team.
His lips curled.
A Protect huh? Surprisingly versatile.
"Protect and Hydro Pump— one might assume that Michael Waterflower has been grooming an alternate heir for Gym Leader position." He almost smirked at the way the girl gnashed her teeth, irritation visible on her face.
"What the hell is your problem with my father anyway?"
"Just an old acquaintance, I assure you. He was my father's student, after all."
"Your father's—" Misty's eyes widened in disbelief. "Master Gregory? You're…"
"Travers Gregory Brooks, at your service. And you are Misty Waterflower, heiress of Cerulean. Well, after my father's murder."
Misty opened her mouth and then closed it. "Are you… implying something?"
"Heh!" Travers laughed. "Now why would I do that?"
"Because you are jealous of my dad!" Misty brought her hands to her hips. "This is the second time you have brought my father up. What's your damned problem with him? Do you blame him for your— your father's death?"
Travers laughed hollowly. "Oh, don't worry. The old fool would have died anyway. Maybe not tossed aside like yesterday's garbage, but he certainly would have met a similar end."
"You! Then why the hell are you—" The girl began hotly before he cut her off.
"The reason why I mentioned it is because you get flustered when you get angry. And that in doing so you forgot that there is only so much time you can hold up Protect for."
The sudden expression of shock flitting through the girl's face was an absolute delight to behold.
Grinning, he issued his next order. "Rollout. Smash the lingering barrier."
The monstrosity retracted its limbs into the eternal darkness of its shell and rolled back a little. Then, as if possessed by something, it began to spin at incredible speeds, before it shot forward, and slammed into the lingering Protect.
The wall of psychic energy shattered.
The starmie had utilized the entirety of its reserves in the barrier's construction. Destroying it had resulted in a visible backlash. The starfish's gem glowed a dim indigo for a moment before it went silent. Starmie was exhausted and incapacitated, and obviously out of the fight.
"Hn," Travers grinned wolfishly. "The next attack will end it," he commented from his position, "and the brat will be next. If he isn't already dead by now." He glanced at the girl, her exhausted croconaw and the incapacitated starmie lying a little far away. There was simply no one to put forth a decent resistance against his golem. The scyther was still sitting in its corner unmoving as it had been since the start of the— Wait, where the hell was that—?
His thoughts came to a screeching halt as Golem wailed in excruciating pain.
Pathetic!
That would be exactly how Paul would describe the current situation. Paul had clear and well-defined lines separating the weak from the strong.
"The weak don't deserve your respect, and the strong will not respect you. Equality is an ideal best served as arm-chair philosophy."
Even today, Paul's words constantly rang through Scyther's mind, though he had heard them enough times to slowly incorporate them as part of his philosophy. Sure, the teen might have deserted him, but his words, his thoughts— they never left.
Humans were weak without their pokémon, and Scyther was strong, and therefore he had disregarded the human— Red —'s words. The mawile was small, slow and looked frail, and by the same logic, did not deserve respect. Skarmory was large and powerful, so Scyther had no issue bowing before its might. It didn't even matter that Skarmory had beaten him. Rather, it was the very fact that she had crushed him that solidified his opinion about her.
Growlithe had been no exception. A year under Paul's training had fetched several encounters with such mongrels, loitering alongside the road. Sometimes Scyther would find them tearing apart morsels from cold, rotting flesh, and at others, snacking on leftover food from household kitchens. They lived in packs, lacked power, lacked significance, and lacked a reason for existence. They were weak.
Red had outwitted him, so he had given him points for that. The fact that he was so… understanding of Scyther's situation also brought in several contradictory feelings within the bug-type. The fact that he enjoyed authority over someone so powerful as Skarmory only increased his value— gave more significance to his existence.
And then Red had gone and thrown everything— his life, his friends and his pack's —all into saving a growlithe.
Scyther had openly sneered at that.
One only invested in something if it had value. Scyther was valuable once, which was why Paul had caught him, trained him and turned him into a warrior. Somewhere along the line, Scyther had lost his worth and had therefore been thrown away into the forest. Sure, he had been somewhat… primal in his previous rendezvous with Red and the others, but his mind had been in a state of crazed frenzy from the bug-repels. One horrible beatdown and two days of rest later, Scyther had reconsidered his situation. Red had captured him, and thus, had proven his strength. It was only natural for him to expect Scyther's allegiance.
Except that the fool hadn't even demanded it. Then again, he seemed to treat the regal skarmory and that useless shellder equally—a concept fundamentally alien to Scyther. Magmar had always been the strongest, and Shiftry the fastest. Paul had always, always maintained a line between them and Scyther.
So why hadn't Red?
Well, in hindsight, it was probably because Red was not Paul. Scyther hated Paul for abandoning him, and yet, felt a longing for his old trainer. Scyther was curious, confused and happy that Red wasn't Paul, but kept running mental loops questioning just why he wasn't. It was exactly this sort of contradictory thought that was making his life a mess.
And then those two humans had to come in and muddle it up even more.
He had watched Red and the mawile disperse the spider's web with ease and mentally awarded them a few more points. Paul would probably have tried to brute-force his way through them, but acknowledging a successful tactic was common-sense. Skarmory had taken the pinsir and the spider into the forest along with her. A fine attempt, but it did leave Red to deal with the golem.
This was the first time he had the displeasure of seeing one and if he had to find a single word to describe it, it would be overwhelming.
It was gigantic. It was monstrous. It was something that even Paul would be helpless against. His scythes would have zero effect on the monstrosity's shell, and worst comes to worst, he'd break his scythes for the second time in three days.
"Always choose the battles that you will win. There is no point in fighting in an undesirable situation."
Scyther sighed. And there he went again— yet another mental tangent from previous trainer.
The orangette had, surprisingly enough, taken over the reins of the situation, leaving the idealistic teen to grab the probably-dead growlithe in his arms, and race into the forest. The man responsible for the current situation had wasted no time and sent an unfamiliar blackish canine after them. Sure, the mawile was there and would probably be of some use, but Scyther doubted it would help. On the other hand, there was this rampaging golem to take care of, and Scyther doubted Red would want the orangette dead.
Two days of rest had done him a significant amount of good. He was still not in optimal condition but it would do for now. Besides, he just had to make a single shot count.
He glanced at the golem slamming into the Protect barrier, shattering it with a single blow. The starmie was quite literally blown away.
It was its moment of triumph. Without any further obstacles in his path, the golem would crush both the croconaw and the human.
And at this moment, no one was watching him.
From his distance, Scyther could see the semi-circular gash inside Golem's shell—an intrusion forcefully created by the sheer power of the earlier water-attack. That move alone gave Scyther newfound respect for the orangette.
ROARRRRR!
Scyther's thought process was interrupted by an earthshaking roar. The golem tucked its body in, obviously about to use that viscous rollout again. Still drawing all of the attention from its surroundings. In other words—
A chance.
His choice made, he slowly extended his scythes, black tendrils creeping across them.
And then Scyther acted.
As the golem drew closer, Croconaw knew he had to do something. Doing nothing or even dodging meant watching his trainer get reduced to a pile of blood and bone. He didn't think he could stop the attack, but he couldn't just abandon her. He had been with Misty for over ten years. He may not be able to stop this monster but he'd be damned if he gave up without a fight.
Pulling up every last reserve of his physical strength, he stood right in front of his trainer. Despite knowing that his action was futile, he raised his arms upwards determinedly. He would stop this. One way or another.
The golem rushed at him, spinning at full speed. Croconaw raised both arms, preparing to be crushed. At the last moment, he closed his eyes. No matter what he told himself, he wasn't brave enough to watch his rapidly approaching death. Strangely enough, his final thoughts were not about himself but for his trainer. The time they had spent together, back from when he was a baby totodile hatched from an egg. Misty was more than a trainer. She was his father, mother and playmate all rolled into one. She was family.
Forgive me. He thought sadly, waiting for the pain.
He tried not to think about what would happen to his trainer after he was gone.
"..."
Crocanaws sad musings were interrupted by a wail of agony.
I'm… I'm not dead?
After a second of confusion, Croconaw slowly opened his eyes.
The golem stood in front of him unmoving, its face twisted in a horrible caricature of pain. Out of the wound that he had bored through its shell with his Hydro Pump— A move that they had spent a ridiculous amount of time mastering —was a long thin scythe shimmering with something dark and shiny and strange. It seemed to suck in all light around it. Upon closer look, he could see tendrils of that inky blackness slowly move into the golem's interior, causing the mountainous beast to groan in agony.
With a screech, the scyther twisted its blade into the shell, driving it deeper until—
CRACK!
The sound of something metallic break pierced the atmosphere, followed by a dull squishing sound.
Crocanaw winced.
The golem had turned towards its right and simply fallen sideways crushing the scyther beneath its weight. The scythers blade had not just broken. It had splintered and sent the scyther— bloodied and broken—sprawled across the floor.
Is.. Is it dead?
Unfortunately, Croconaw didn't have enough time to check on him. The scyther had created a small window of opportunity, one in which it might be possible to win.
Summoning the very last dredges of his reserves, he summoned another Hydro Pump. The volume was low— croconaw were not built to use Hydro Pump and his reserves were nearly dry —but he'd need to work with whatever he had. Aggregating whatever pitiful, leftover energy he could into his maw, he fired his Hydro Pump.
It was pathetic.
The thin beam of water slammed into the golem head-first and did nothing. Unlike the previous incident, which literally sent the golem flying this did nothing.
This isn't enough. I need— I need more. I need more or I'll die. Or else… or all of us will die.
It was in the middle of this acceptance of his own limitations, and the possibility of his own death, that he once again heard The Call.
It had been coming for a while now, but every single time, Croconaw had gotten some last-minute vibes about it being… too dangerous, and too soon. While his reserves had long surpassed the standards of the average croconaw, his body still has some space to grow. His trainer had told him that rushing his evolution could lead to stunted growth and he might even lose out on a couple of inches as a feraligatr. Croconaw did not want that. And so he waited.
He had ignored the desire gnawing at the edge of his mind. He had ignored his itching body slowly growing larger and larger. He had ignored the sweet, almost tangible feeling of power that seemed to lie behind the very voice of the call.
No longer.
With his own end being this close, choosing to ignore it might well mean giving up everything in the first place. With that final thought, Croconaw took the plunge and allowed the evolutionary energy to sink in. It happened slowly at first, the energy slowly washing over his body. And then raw power, more than any croconaw was meant to hold, flooded his senses. And then it overwhelmed him.
Croconaw screamed.
He could feel the bones on his wrists begin to creak and finally shatter, only to reform stronger, thicker, and denser. His body extended outward, his tail protruding far more than it ever had. He could feel his muscles contort, tear from the immense pressure and then rebuild just as effortlessly. His nerves burned, and for a moment, Croconaw felt that he'd succumb to the pain before it ended.
And then the feeling of utter invincibility began to set in.
His chest grew larger, and his spine extending outwards. His legs grew thicker, and several layers of tissue formed. He felt himself his neck slowly bend under the weight of his growing jaw. His tail swept over the forest floor, raising a little wind, and his hands stretched out, the claws large and powerful, ready to catch the monster, who for once, did not seem all that large and invincible.
Feraligatr let out a fearsome roar.
At that moment, the existence known as pain lay forgotten. His helplessness melted away as did his surroundings. For in that single moment, there was only his enemy, his opponent—someone he had to defeat, no matter the cost.
He could feel the monstrous strength rise from deep within him. He could not control his new form with the same ease as he could his earlier one, but the brimming reserves inside him were all for him to use. New claws— larger, sharper and reformed —dug out of his skin, and etched against the golem's shell as he held it back mid-roll.
Feraligatr gave a predatory stare at the rupture on the golem's shell. It was almost like all of Scyther's contributions—something that had taken everything out of the bug, was for this single instance.
Feraligatr stared hard at the golem, and then pushed it down.
With one hand on the golem's shell and the other stepping on the creature's visible leg, Feraligatr raised his other hand.
And a giant bubble was called into existence. Only, instead of compressed air, this was water rotating at speeds water of volumes so immense that even his original Hydro Pump fell short. Water concentrated with a pressure so large that even Golem's own mass would crumble before it.
His trainer watched him with wonder-filled eyes, as Feraligatr brought down the full power of a Water Pulse down onto Golem, compressing it right into the hole boring into its shell.
And Golem howled in agony.
"SERIOUSLY?" Travers snapped "Ok, This has now passed the limits of acceptable bullshit."
The man slowly reached into his coat.
Feraligatr paid no mind to him, as he roared in triumph, slamming one foot directly on the golem's shell, pushing the defeated beast into the very earth it was born from.
It was no longer moving.
He had won.
With conscious effort, he managed to push himself straight. The newly developed line of bones along the back of his vertebrae was heavier than he had thought. Walking in this new form was going to be a chore.
"Croconaw, you… evolved?"
Feraligatr turned to his right, to face his trainer's eyes—brimming with tears.
"You're—"
Thud!
A spray of something dark, hot and crimson coated his trainer's face. Misty's eyes slowly took a glassy appearance, her face twisting into horror and disbelief.
Why does she look like that? Did something go wrong with my evolution?
Feraligatr narrowed his eyes at the change.
She was screaming now. Or was she? He felt his vision blur. Why was his trainer upside down? And why was she covered in red? The sky was covered in red too. In fact, everything seemed to be painted with a veil of red.
What's going on? Was I… Was I doing something?
Feraligatr was finding it hard to think. Or hear. Or even feel anything. The layer of red that was covering everything was beginning to bother him. He was feeling really sleepy too. Perhaps all of this strangeness would vanish with a little rest.
The red was really beginning to bother him. His trainer kept screaming in the background as well. Why was everyone bothering him. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone. Couldn't they see that he just wanted to sleep for a bit?
Feraligatr felt his eyes begin to close. Sound completely faded as did his other senses. Slowly an inkling of what was happening began to dawn upon him.
Surprisingly he didn't feel sorrow or pain. All he felt was a dull, forced calm.
At least I can't see the red anymore.
"What is this thing, papa?" Six-year-old Misty frowned, looking at the strange object lying in her hands. It was spherical and a little too large for her palms, with colored circles drawn all over it. It looked funny.
"This," Her father answered with a grin, "is a pokémon egg," He playfully rubbed her hair causing her to scowl, "For you."
"For me?" Misty asked, wide-eyed. "You mean?"
"Yep!" Her father grinned, "This is going to be your first pokémon. I know you're too young to have a starter, but perhaps this can be a friend."
"A friend?" Misty asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"A friend," Her father confirmed. "This little one will be with you when I cannot. It's primed to hatch this week."
'Today?" Misty looked up excitedly.
"Entirely possible." Her father laughed, rubbing her hair again.
The following week, Misty spent every waking moment near the egg. She talked to it. Ate next to it. Carried it around. Until—
"It's happening!" Misty yelled, waking up the entire Waterflower household.
The top of the egg cracked, the line of fracture slowly tearing its way downhill. With another soft crack, the top tore open, throwing the outer shell down to the floor, and two pairs of large, loopy eyes shot out.
Misty blinked, watching with wonder as the rest of the head came out. It had a rather large jaw, though its eyes seemed bigger than anything she'd seen beside her elder sister's terrifying Gyarados. It looked adorable.
"Tatatattataaadile!"
"Eeeeeh!" Misty screamed in delight, holding the newly hatched baby closer. The totodile squirmed and laughed louder.
Thud!
The bullet ripped through the Feraligatr's face like it was made of paper. Blood splattered on impact, cutting through the air like a translucent crimson fan. Misty could still feel its warmth as it dripped down her face.
"Croc—" She tried, but words wouldn't come out. A horrible, terrible chill settled deep within her.
"Croco—" She tried again.
Misty took a shaky step forward and then another until she closed the distance between herself and her pokémon. Slowly dropping down to her knees, she slowly extended her hand to touch her fallen friend.
"Croconaw?"
Still no movement. The pushes increased in ferocity. Tears began to run down her cheeks as her heart understood what her mind refused to comprehend. She gripped onto her starters hide even harder uncaring that the sharp scales cutting into her fingers were beginning to draw blood.
"Croconaw," She begged.
The gargantuan beast in front of her let out a long, pronounced breath before his entire body seemed to seize up. A moment later he stopped moving. He almost looked peaceful.
"Croco—Feraligatr, get up. I'm begging you. Please."—Misty began to push the unmoving body harder," I said, get up! GET UP!"
She began punching into the hide, not even registering the bruises on her skin, as the rock-hard scales cut open her fingers.
And even still, Feraligatr remained unmoving.
"No Totodile, that is not the way it is supposed to be!" Misty cried for the nth time, slowly beginning to grow irritated. No matter what she did, the little tyke would keep throwing out Water Gun instead of Bubble. She had gone as far as buying a bubble blower to create little soap bubbles to help him understand.
Totodile had instead taken to bursting the bubbles, and dancing whenever a bubble burst over his face.
Misty rubbed the tip of her nose. "Totodile, let's just… let's just start over, okay?
"Tatatatatadile!" Came the hyper-excited answer.
"Fine, now concentrate," Her face twisted into a frown, "remember, no Water Gun, just Bubble. Focus on making a single bubble."
Totodile lifted his head up and sprayed her in the face.
The nine-year-old suppressed the urge to tear her own skin out of irritation and embarrassment. "Oh God, if this keeps up then how the hell will I ever defeat Lily?" She raised her hands above her head and then screamed upwards in frustration. "Gawd!"
Little Totodile saw his trainer raise her hands up and yell, and instantly mimicked her, raising his tiny limbs upwards, and dropping his lower jaw down, yelling out in happiness. To add to that, he began to jump around, as if trying to make up for his short stature.
"Huh? What the hell are you—" Misty began, surprised at her pokémon's sudden behavior. "Why are you dancing all of a sudden? And Totodile, your hands won't go all the way—" she began, seeing the little creature desperately try to raise his stubby little hands above his comparatively larger head.
Then she noticed her own posture.
"You—" The rest of the words died down as Misty began to giggle, picking up her innocent little pokémon off the ground and cuddled it.
A large bubble formed right above Totodile's large face, before it burst, spraying the contained water all over her forehead.
The room reverberated with peals of laughter.
Dead.
Gone.
Lost to her. Forever.
She had lost him—Croconaw. He had just evolved. It was supposed to be his moment. They would celebrate and step forward together like they always had.
But he had been taken away from her.
Her throat constricted, cutting off her breath. Misty thought she'd die from the pain, the unbearable feeling of devastation.
Misty's teeth bared, her as her heartbeat quickened. With the way her entire body was shaking, she was surprised that she was even able to stand upright. She glared at the man holding the gun in front of her, her eyes blazing openly with hate. If looks could kill, this man would have been eviscerated.
"You…"
"Unfortunate," That man— the one who had just taken Croconaw away from her—Travers commented offhandedly, a sardonic expression on his face. "And it was a damn fine specimen too."
That's it? That's all he has to say? That was all he has to say after he killed—
Her thoughts ran into a frenzy. Crocanaw had been the single constant in her life. Someone that had always been with her. She had grown up beside him, and he had grown to become more than just her pokémon. He had been kin. Family.
Her family. And now he was gone. Forever. And to this man, no, this monster…
It meant nothing.
Misty was born impatient. It was part of her character. She got angry when her sisters teased her. She got angry when someone beat her in a contest. She got angry when her sisters tried to monopolize her dad's attention. And then she got angry when they treated her like a little kid. Quick to enrage and quick to forgive— that's what they used to say about her. But this was different. Gone was the familiar hot bubbling rage that would well within her. This was dark and cold and simmering. This was a sensation that she could not ever remember feeling.
For the first time in her life, Misty truly hated someone. The pain of loss felt physical, like something had been torn out of her very self. With the pain came rage flooding through her mind. Not the kind of rage that made her shout and yell, but something cold and freezing, like a blizzard. An all-consuming feeling, one that told her that she could not accept a world that allowed the existence of the person in front of her.
Her mind went blank. She wasn't feeling sorrow, heartbreak or even despair. She wasn't even feeling any anger. Every one of her emotions simply melted away, consumed in her ever-growing hatred.
Misty stood up. One step became two. Two became four. She moved forward, approaching the man in front of her. A part of her mind told her that he had a gun. That he could shoot her. That she could die.
It didn't matter.
She saw the man lifting his gun, slowly pointing towards her.
Just like Crocanaw.
She kept moving forward.
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