Ascension Chapter 14: ACT1CH14 - Broken Wings, a pokémon fanfic

Ascension

ACT ONE - IMMOLATION

Chapter 14 - Broken Wings

"From tomorrow onwards, you get Clément's job. Any questions?"

"Why? I mean, why me?" Travers asked.

Proton looked at him, his lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smirk, "Unsure of yourself? At this stage?"

"Hardly," Travers would have rolled his eyes but knew better than to mindlessly antagonize his boss. Resigning himself to a pronounced sigh, he continued, "on the contrary, I'm wondering why I'm being sent as a…. grunt captain."

"Were you expecting something more? An executive, perhaps? Maybe you'd be the one to replace Butch?"

Travers stilled at that. A trick question if he ever heard one.

"I didn't… exactly say that."

Proton chortled "What? Did you think that I'd have given you Butch's job if you said yes?"

"Uh… no, not at all." Travers mumbled. "It's just that, I was an explorer before I joined Team Rocket. My talents are better served in recon or addressing more stringent issues rather than—"

"Don't get all loquacious with me, Travers-boy."

And there he went. If there was one thing that Travers hated more than his superior's legendary temper, it was his habit of giving everyone the extra suffix of 'boy' or 'girl'. Seriously, being addressed as 'Travers-boy' in front of his future team-members was a sure way to shred his not-yet-built reputation.

Proton let out a bark of laughter. "For all your fancy speech, your face gives away your emotions. I can almost read them off your forehead."

'…I'll kill the bastard someday.' Travers thought grimly.

"There is a reason for your promotion," Proton went on. " You'll be working under command of Executive Cassidy from now on, though you'll personally answer to me. You'll get a team of six serving under you, and most of your missions will be centered around… ah… archaeology."

"…archaeology?"

"That is the word," Proton went on as if that explained everything. "So, keep your eyes open and your ears sharp. Choose your team wisely. I'd have given you a pokémon as an… incentive, but your golem shows quite a lot of potential."

"It's a work in progress," Travers replied.

"Most successful endeavors are," Proton answered airily. "As it stands, you get to start working for Cassidy. I'm told she's got a fetish for large, muscular men."

Travers shivered but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, there is one thing that I do want to give you, as a gift, for managing to pass through Hell,"—Travers mentally agreed—"it is something I always have on my person, and I thought as my student, you should have one too." Proton expressed, before opening the drawer and placing a heavy, metallic object on the table. It was incredibly familiar, though Travers could not fathom why he was given something like this.

"…a gun?"

"Not just a gun, Travers-boy. It is a Thompson Contender, molded to suit a very specific purpose," he held up the gun. Even from his position, Travers could see that it was incredibly heavy and lacked a barrel.

"A single bullet cartridge? Isn't that a little old-fashioned… sir?"

"What use is a barrel of bullets when you can only shoot one, right?" Proton pushed the gun towards his subordinate.

"Well, It probably is a little inefficient.." Travers agreed cautiously.

"So, your saying I gave you something useless?"

Travers cursed. The fucker obviously had the answer so why was he playing these twisted mind games.

" No, sir… I meant—"

"The bullets," Proton interrupted strongly, "are made of a special alloy, created from the shell of a cloyster. You can't buy these bullets with money. It is propelled with enough force to rip through the armor of an aggron. And it is laced with incredibly potent venom derived from a salazzle, a rare species found in Kalos. I have personally killed a nidoking with it. With a single bullet."

He paused for a second. "I have two of these bullets for you. One inside the gun, and the other to keep on your person."

"But why only two?"

Proton laughed. "Firing something like this… it has massive recoil— the likes of which that can only be handled by an FAL battle rifle. A single shot will be enough to break half the bones in your arm. Do you understand why you won't ever need more than two?"

Travers edged away from the trigger-happy maniac that was his superior. "Then why keep something like this in the first place? Why can't I just… use my pokémon?"

"And what will you do when your pokémon fail you? You think your golem can crush everything? Feel free to test it out on me." The man grinned evilly.

"No," Travers backpedaled hurriedly. " I meant—

"This is not a tip. It's a prescription. I have had mine for over seventeen years now, and have only used it once. Hopefully, you won't be using it any time soon."

Travers stared at his superior's face for a moment. Finding no trace of joviality in the man's eyes, he silently nodded and placed the gun into his coat.

"Heh," Proton barked out, clapping Travers on the shoulder, "Don't look so glum. An arm's a small price to pay. We can heal that. We can heal pretty much everything here. Except, you know... death."

Travers cursed under his breath. All of this… was supposed to be so damned easy. And instead, it had turned into this fucking nightmare.

Meyers was supposed to be a goddamn strong battler, not some inept bastard who'd get himself killed on such a simple mission. And by what? A growlithe? There were so many things wrong in that sentence. But that didn't make it any less true.

Meyers was dead. Despite having a semi-competent team of a zangoose, an arbok and what not— he was dead. Killed by the growlithe, and probably by that little shit of a trainer, despite all of his trash talk. His Golem, was now down, crushed and buried into the ground through the combined efforts of the teen and that loathsome Waterflower. Really, he should have known—like father, like daughter.

Bah!

The moment he had released the golem, everything should have come to a close. His pinsir and ariados were dealing with the biggest threat— the skarmory. And the remaining pokémon had been dealt with.

And then that croconaw had evolved out of nowhere.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Golem was his magnum opus. His ticket to become a powerful Executive. His monster. It had crushed the staryu easily and the rest would follow soon enough. The scyther had been out of his calculations, but it didn't even last a single blow. It was about to crush the croconaw too. Except now it was evolving, somehow gaining the strength to push his golem into the earth.

What sick fairy tale is this?

The damage that each pokémon could do to Golem was mostly mitigated by its armor, but the continued damage had accumulated enough to be noticeable. And then, the feraligatr blew a Water Pulse straight into its shell.

Travers hesitated for a long moment, before pulling out a familiar weapon. He was done playing games. This was hardly the first time he had come across a scenario that had demanded he take extreme measures, but he had never been pushed this far. Now though…

Pinsir and Ariados were away, engaged with the skarmory. The fact that they had yet to return spoke volumes about the skarmory's prowess as a battler.

Mightyena was on the growlithe's trail. Which meant he wouldn't have to worry too much about the kid.

Most importantly, Golem was down, and unmoving. And in its place, there was a feraligatr of all things— freshly evolved and in perfect condition to attack him.

And he had nothing to fight back with.

And this was supposed to be a fucking vacation.

Cursing his rotten luck, Travers took aim and fired.

The feraligatr never saw it coming. And neither did the girl for that matter.

A single hit was all that was required. The bullet smashed through the feraligatr's skull, killing it instantly.

Good. Traver scowled. He had to bite into his tongue to hold off the subsequent scream as he was thrown back, the bones in his wrist shattering from the recoil.

Filthy beast.

The girl, however, was a completely different jar of worms. Her pokémon's death had put her into a state of shock.

Natural. She has yet to experience the brutality of the world. Attaching herself to tools… how naive.

Not that he'd complain. If anything, it made the job easier. Travers slowly stood up Now all he had to do was—

Is she fucking charging at me?

The girl clearly wasn't thinking. She was charging towards a trained man. A terrorist in her eyes. Who had a gun. And had just killed her pokémon. Did she have no self-preservation instincts?

I'm fucking done with this shit.

Travers did not warn her again. He did not ask her to stop. He did not dodge or move in to block her charge. Instead, he raised his gun and moved right into her path.

And smashed her in the head with the side of his gun.

She dropped like a rock.

This is messed up. There is no way that Mawile can deal with a pinsir. And it working together with an ariados. In a forest! What was I thinking?

Red cursed himself over and over, sprinting through the forest. He had allowed Mawile to run alongside him at first, but after hearing the growls behind him, he had picked her up and sprinted at full speed. He didn't know exactly what was that was on his trail, but it was probably too much to ask for that it was a harmless pokémon that gave out friendly growls.

And now, after around ten minutes of rushing through the forest, he felt like he was lost in no man's land, with a predator closing in to boot. And Skarmory was still a no-show.

He felt the growlithe try to shift in his grip and slightly loosened his hold. Seriously, there was no way that this was normal. Red was no medic, but his years at the ranch had given him a significant understanding on how long it took for injuries to recuperate. He knew that an arbok's grip could crush boulders. Growlithe's bones should have been pulverized. Yet, here it was, slowly moving its head around, almost like it had been disoriented in a regular skirmish and was slowly waking up.

What the hell is this thing? Is it even a growlithe?

He slowed down, trying to listen for any sounds nearby. A single glance at Mawile confirmed his suspicions. Whatever was following them had probably lost their scent somewhere along the way. Either that, or it was laying a trap. Either way, mindless running forward would lead them to nowhere.

They needed a plan.

"Let's break for a while." He muttered, allowing Mawile to leap down from his arms onto the forest floor. The growlithe shifted in his arms groaning loudly. Worried that something had gone wrong, he pressed against the creature's back, checking it for wounds he might have missed.

Already hard and growing back in place. This isn't healing. This is…

His eyes widened in disbelief, the answer already on his lips.

"Regeneration."

Regeneration wasn't exactly super rare. In fact, it was quite common for grass-types. A bulbasaur could regrow vines to their full capacity in a matter of hours. Pidgey were able to regenerate all but the most lethal damage on their wings. And bugs were practically regenerating all the time. Several pokémon showed limited signs of regeneration in some form or another. But to see it occur on this scale was mind-boggling. The bones were literally rearranging themselves in front of his very eyes.

Holy shit.

"The old man is going to think I'm making it up. God knows I would, if not for…" He glanced at the growlithe in his arms. It was beginning to stir.

"Don't move too much. I'll protect you." He whispered to the injured animal. It was unclear if the growlithe had comprehended his words, but it did stop shaking.

Small mercies.

"Mawile, do you sense anything?" Red asked, looking around. The forest had grown even darker, if that was possible, and Flash was not an option. While it would help them see, it would also advertise their location to everyone in the vicinity. This was like being hunted by that zangoose all over again.

"Wawa!" Mawile responded in the negative.

"If anything attacks, use Flash at full power and follow it up with Iron Head. Whatever you do, don't hold back. Okay?"

"Wile!" Mawile grinned, happy at receiving what was essentially carte-blanche for the following fight.

"Good."

Red thought about releasing Shellder, but the water-type was way too moody to be dependable. There was no guarantee that Shellder would be able to perform his technique on demand. That left one other option.

Hastily, he pulled out a camp knife from his socks. It was part of a trainer's traveling equipment, though surprisingly enough, this was the first time he had ended up needing it since he entered the forest. Satisfied with his preparations, he gently placed the growlithe upon the floor.

On second thought…

He quickly released Shellder, allowing the little water-type to attach itself onto his hand. This was unconventional, but considering how hard its shell was, he mused it could be used as a makeshift shield.

A flashlight, a knife, and a shellder. Sounds like the opening of a bad joke.

A soft growl answered his unvoiced thoughts.

"… Right. I had to ask."

Next time someone steals my poképuffs, I'm going to be philanthropic and benevolent. No amount of poképuffs is worth this. In fact— in fact, the next time Orange does anything to annoy me, I'm just gonna ignore her. Shellder will take revenge for me anyway. Poetic justice and all that.

Mawile heard the growl and cursed under her breath. Whatever was around was taking advantage of the darkness while she was glowing like a flashlight. And she was supposed to be the deceptive one.

Well, it's not like I play fair either.

Mawile grinned, and harnessed her powers, summoning the ice. A second later, she released it, thinning it out as it spread outward in a larger radius. The dim light from her flash dissipating into the entire Mist all around her.

A single illusory clone materialized in the middle of it a second later.

The trap was set. All that remained was for her… predator to leap into it. Oh, and hopefully her trainer would not do something stupid.

A few seconds later, her prayers were answered.

A large canine with fur as black as the darkness itself leaped from the shadows into the mist, aiming for the mawile-clone. It bit into the illusory form, dissipating it instantly. Before it could comprehend what had just happened, something hard slammed into one of its hind-limbs, making the beast cry out in pain.

Mawile smirked maliciously, before retreating back into the mist

The long-drawn events of the evening were beginning to take their toll on her. She wouldn't be lasting much longer.

I'll need to finish this quickly.

Mawile moved again, raising her jaw— the steel energy forming a boundary layer on its surface.

In hindsight, that was a mistake.

The gathered steel-energy was practically a beacon amidst the mist, and this time, her opponent had been ready for it. Mawile moved in for the kill, but the creature had other intentions. It bent down, expertly dodging Mawile's blow, before it struck— its forelimbs slammed into her jaw, pushing her down into the ground.

Mawile cried out in pain, as the sheer force behind the attack sent her scraping through the ground, bruising her face. She tasted blood. Knowing better than to stay in one place during a battle of survival, she contorted her body—

And came inches close to death.

Red witnessed Mawile's attempt at getting the better of the nightmarish creature end in disaster and acted immediately. This was pure instinct, and for once, he allowed it to drive his action.

Red rushed forward and slammed Shellder into the creature's face, forcing it off his starter. The canine whimpered in pain, before growling at the sudden intrusion between itself and its prey. Not that he cared.

"Stay the fuck away from Mawile!" he hissed, his rage overcoming his fear and revulsion of the creature. His fingers clenched the knife tighter, while he held onto the other side of Shellder's shell tightly. Its shell was hard enough that a blunt strike to the head would cause significant damage. It was either that or to wait for an opening to show itself. And Red was done with waiting for chances.

The creature leaped into the air, only to fall down unceremoniously, letting out a whimper. Clearly Mawile's attack must have fractured its leg.

Okay, think of it as a growlithe. A large, rabid growlithe with large fangs. I'll need to score a direct hit to the head again. Or that thing will tear me to pieces. But to do that with this knife…

Then it dawned upon him.

Oh, I'm so fucked.

He gazed at the large fangs of the creature and involuntarily shuddered. This was why he should have steered clear of any temptations and stuck to the normal, League-sanctioned path through the forest. His eyes never leaving his attacker, he brought his knife to his mouth and bit into it with his teeth. Then his hand edged closer to his belt.

The creature's eyes followed his every movement. It slowly pushed itself off the ground before crouching in preparation for a frontal attack.

"Any chance you can just leave? You know, violence isn't always the answer"

A furious snarl was his answer.

I suppose it just turning around and leaving would be too much to ask for..

The mad canine leaped for a second time, quickly traversing the distance between them, and pounced upon Red, who did the only thing he could.

Push his right hand— with Shellder hanging on it —into its fanged jaw.

The powerful fangs of a predator met the simple shell of the shellder. It was found lacking. With a loud crack, the beasts tooth actually snapped. The creature whimpered in pain and threw its head back causing Shellder to fall onto the ground.

Red had to give the pokémon credit. It had been trained excellently. It collected itself within a second and immediately evaluated its surroundings. Judging Red as the biggest threat, it crouched in preparation for its next move.

Unfortunately, Shellder had other plans.

Red could only watch with fascination as Shellder leaped off from the ground, and clamped onto one of the creature's ears, squealing and screeching in a high-pitched tone. The screeching grated on his nerves, causing him to grit his teeth. It was almost supernatural. It was intense, loud and was in an incredibly high pitch. And that's when it hit him.

Shellder was using Screech.

Come to think of it, Red had seen it happen, several times in fact, during Misty's attempts at teaching Shellder how to manipulate pressure. Of course, back then he had simply considered the squeals as Shellder's attempt to communicate. The fact that Shellder was actually developing a move had not even crossed his mind.

Ignoring the harsh noise that made him want to tear his own skin off, Red glanced at the blackish creature, howling in pain as it tried its best to grind Shellder into the ground— something that it found near impossible, seeing that Shellder was effectively on top of its head —followed by futile attempts at throwing it off.

Not very effective. Red noted deliriously. This was seriously beginning to feel like a dream to him.

The hound continued trying to shake off Shellder and Shellder continued screeching directly into its ear. At one point, the creature was even trying to claw it off using its paws.

And then it happened.

Red had almost seen it coming. With a final squeal, Shellder un-clamped itself from the creature's ear, and spit out water droplets. Hundreds of them.

While it wasn't the single high-pressure bullet of water he envisioned when he first tried to teach Shellder the move, it was still scarily effective. In effect, the water droplets almost acted like shrapnel from when a bomb exploded. Right into the beast's face.

It screamed out in pain, as hundreds of tiny water droplets slammed into its skull— some going through its ear with the rest cutting into its head. A stunned Red watched as the creature was flung across the ground, away from Shellder who unceremoniously dropped to the forest floor. Its head now covered in blood and littered with small wounds. It stirred.

It's still getting up after that?

Without hesitation, Red raised an empty pokéball and sucked the injured creature in. The instant it got sucked in, he sent it flying towards Mawile.

"Get ready!"

Mawile was only too happy to receive it.

The blackish creature belonged to Travers. It was captured, and probably even registered to his Trainer ID. As such, another person's pokéball would simply release it a few seconds after it was captured. A few, incredibly crucial seconds.

Just as expected, the pokéball burst open, liberating an extremely annoyed, albeit disoriented beast that grunted in rage and pain from the previous attack. Red could literally feel its fury. It would probably kill them quite brutally given the chance. A chance that it would never get.

Mawile had already positioned herself even before it had been released from the ball. The black hound's last sight was an enormous steel mouth enveloping its head.

CHOMP!

Red winced.

He felt slightly ill-at-ease at what had just been committed. Truth be told, he had expected Mawile to slam it with an Iron Head and simply end the fight.

Then again, can I really blame her?

He turned back to his starter, doing his best to ignore the patches of red plastered all over her black jaw. Even through all of this, her entire body was glowing dimly— an effect of the passive use of Flash.

"Well, that was something wasn't it?" He chuckled mirthlessly, pointedly ignoring the dead beast beside them. He slowly got up before walking towards Shellder and picking him up.

"You okay, Mawile? And you buddy?"

Shellder squeaked enthusiastically, almost like they had been playing a really interesting game and it was its turn now.

Red sweatdropped. "Mawile?"

A lone grunt was his answer. It wasn't a very happy one.

"Travers, I'm sending you to work with Doctor Namba on the Nihilo project. He seems to have run into some kind of... twist."

"Namba? Isn't he working in the Viridian Forest warehouse?"

"Correct", Cassidy nodded briskly, "Namba's on something big, and with the way he's panicking, it's something that needs a personal touch. I wouldn't trust the dimwits stationed there. Though from what I understand, it won't be very tedious."

"You need ME in a warehouse?" Travers arched an eyebrow. "Don't you have any of the grunt-lings for that? And here I was expecting something fitting… of my new position."

"Stop being a peacock, Mr. Would-be-Executive. Either way, with the Collapse Protocol being underway, and make sure you keep your mouth shut about—"

"Mouth shut? I'm not the one that has a habit of blabbing, Miss Senior Executive," Travers teased.

"It was unintentional, and you'd know better than to open your mouth and—"

"Let everyone know that Executive Cassidy loves post-coital gossip," He smirked, before moving his hand across his lips, as if zipping them, "Not a word."

A tiny blush formed on her cheeks. "Now just get on with your mission. I have more important things to do. Enjoy your vacation."

"Yes, Ma'am."

…

A vacation she said. It'll be fun she said. Some time off before you have to deal with the responsibilities of your new position. This was supposed to be a fucking vacation.

Capture a single fugitive bitch of a growlithe and bring it back, and oh yes, failure was not an option.

Big Deal!

He had spread his team all across the forest, hoping they'd managed to spot and take care of it. And after that, he'd return to his premises, and perhaps try for another night at Cassidy's apartment.

Which would probably never happen now. With a grunt he began to move towards the golem, taking extra care to step on the Waterflower girl's back as he did so.

Fucking Waterflowers.

"Golem," He shouted.

No response.

"Get up. Now." Travers tried again.

It did not move.

The utter absurdity of the scenario was slowly getting on his nerves. Losing a half-decent operative, even someone as talkative as Meyers, had gotten on his nerves. Seeing his prized golem buried by a feraligatr that magically evolved to save the day had been the straw that broke the numel's back.

"Last chance, or it is going to get ugly!" He warned.

Still, no reaction.

That was what disconcerted him. He immediately raised golem's pokéball and was about to return it when a single stone fragment flew up and latched onto the golem's cracked shell.

And then another. And another.

So that's what happening. It's shut down and is healing itself…

He considered returning it once more. There was a slight chance that the precocious boy was still alive. Somehow.

Mightyena's still out there, along with Ariados and Pinsir.

He glanced at the golem.

Might as well.

"On my own then," He sighed. Speaking of which, Mightyena should have been back by now. Perhaps the kid was more nimble than he thought. Still, that was his starter. There was no way that the kid would be walking out of the forest alive.

…

Still, this was taking way too long.

Travers had not gotten to where he was by ignoring his instincts. With a curse, he injected an anesthetic into his broken arm. Grunting painfully, he moved the gun into the other one and started moving towards the forest.

For your sake, I hope you are dead. Or I'm going to make you wish you were.

Skarmory weaved through the air effortlessly, ignoring the streaks of poisonous web that the ariados shot towards her. She might not have spent a lot of time with humans in general, but she believed herself to be a fair judge of personality. The clown— Travers —was a fighter, in the truest sense of the word. Skarmory had seen him gazing at her, then back to the collective union of Red and Misty's team, and then back at her again. It was woefully clear to anyone with a modicum of sense that he was evaluating the group. Trying to identify the most major threat.

Which was Skarmory.

No surprises there. She was a King after all, and it was only natural that any half-decent fighter— even if he was the human clown —would identify her as the most perilous opponent. That was why he had brought out the pinsir— to help the spider-abomination in its feeble attempts at trying to best her.

Skarmory scoffed. The very thought was a depravity of the highest order.

The pinsir, on the other hand, was strong. Scratch that, it was right up there with those chieftains back at the Vortigern. It did not have the sheer strength of the chieftain nidoking, but the culmination of its skills made it a far greater threat than any of those back at the mountain. Still, if the pinsir was alone, it could be dealt with. Loathe as she was to admit it, it was actually the spider that was causing a problem— spinning webs all over the place and destroying her momentum every single time she tried to pull off a quick maneuver.

Which was probably their plan from the very start. The pinsir would be the attacking arm, while the spider shat webs all over the place keeping Skarmory from effectively utilizing her aerial mobility.

Not that it had worked. As a king, battle tactics were something she knew a lot about.

"A battle must always be fought on one's own terms," the old monarch used to say. She wouldn't have been a good king if she went into battle brazenly, after all.

The pinsir was overwhelmingly strong. Stronger than her. But at the same time, it was slow. Sure, it was hardly stationary, but Skarmory believed that Mawile could outrun it in a fair race. Not that the little trickster would ever deign to play fair in the first place.

The spider was a trickster— quick on its feet though limited to short-ranged movements. While its poison was quite useless when pitted against the magnificence of her own steel coat the webs were incredibly frustrating. They didn't actually cause her any damage, and she could rip through them within a few seconds. Unfortunately, those few seconds were more than enough to completely ruin her momentum, her ability to land attacks and, on rare occasions, allow the pinsir to get a good hit in. Skarmory didn't think it was possible to hate the web-shitter any more than she did at that moment.

This is taking longer than I thought. My trainer and his accomplice will have to deal with the clown in my absence. Not that I expect anything less from them. My trainer is resourceful enough.

That said, like all trained pokémon, the duo was utterly predictable. They were simply repeating the same technique-combination over and over, as their master had commanded. Skarmory would have been slightly hesitant to defer to the human as their master, but given their religious deference to the man's orders, and their own lack of self-thought, the master-tag wasn't probably that outrageous.

And so, she had begun to switch between tactics mid-battle, just like Red preferred. She couldn't say it enough—Red was a worthy trainer, fit to train a King. He knew his limits and respected her own. A rather surprising trait, but not at all unwelcome in her eyes.

It was, after all, what made him invaluable in her eyes.

She dodged the next set of threads that the ariados sent at her, before swooping down with a steel wing. Just as predicted, the pinsir leapt to the front, horns raised to impale her with it. The ariados leaped back, two steps behind the pinsir and prepared its next attack.

Now it will use Smog.

The ariados lifted its maw and liberated a dense cloud of toxic substances into the atmosphere. Skarmory made sure not to breathe as she swerved to the side. A clever technique. Unlike other poison techniques, Smog employed aerosols that could affect her if she breathed them in. They had the advantage of bypassing physical barriers entirely.

Just as predicted, the pinsir leaped off the ground with surprising ease, hurling itself into the air, aimed for where Skarmory had been a moment ago. It was here that the pinsir would have struck her, impaling her armor with its mighty horns.

Skarmory glanced at her abdomen. She had nearly gotten impaled when the duo had performed the technique for the first time. This time though, she had gotten off without a hitch.

Fool me once… She thought contemptuously.

She weaved through the air, catching the pinsir off-guard and slashed at its sides, tearing a gash beneath its left shoulder. The pinsir groaned momentarily before falling down to the floor face-first. The ariados, quite understandably, panicked and attacked her directly. Skarmory paid it no attention, ignoring the dozens of poison threads as her wings cut through them effortlessly.

Is it.. dead?

Skarmory regarded the pinsir carefully. It could be a trap. What if it was laying in wait for her. What if it tried to attack when she swooped down. What if—

Ok, this is getting beyond obnoxious.

The ariados would not stop. Even though the threads were not actually doing anything, it just kept throwing them at her. Tired of the seemingly endless game, Skarmory swooped above the ariados in preparation to end the battle. At the very least, it could go down in life knowing that it had fallen before the might of a King. After all, it was her duty to ensure that all commoners— friend or foe —learned to dream big.

Not to be shown up, the little thing raised its frontal appendages, their endings glowing with toxic substances and slashed at Skarmory's armor. Being the benevolent king that she was, it was only proper for her to allow the spider its chance at defeating her. She was supposed to take care of peasants. Yes, there was definitely something to be said about giving Ariados a fighting chance.

She considered her thick and nigh impenetrable armor.

Okay, the ariados wouldn't really have a fighting chance, but at least the appearance of one. It'd be able to put up a decent struggle, which was more than its entire species deserved.

Yes, she was a magnanimous king.

Poor thing.

"You done yet?" She asked, gazing down at the ariados, who was still trying to etch into her armor with its little appendages.

"Don't you look down on me." The ariados shot back, spewing out a mesh of webs, aimed for Skarmory's face.

Twisting her head out of the web's trajectory, Skarmory arched an eye. "That's kinda difficult for me. Don't know if your human master ever told you, but you're kind of a runt."

Another torrent of webs was all she received in answer.

"She's an acquired taste."

Skarmory did not hesitate. The moment she heard the words, she pushed herself off the ground, narrowly missing another attempt at impalement. The pinsir had somehow gotten up from the fetal position it had been curled up in and had returned to fight with a vengeance.

"Can't say I agree, since I haven't acquired her yet." Skarmory shot back, as she soared upwards.

The pinsir answered with a Silver Wind attack. The scales flying in the wind exploded all around Skarmory, throwing her off her path. She moved up, narrowly missing a third strike.

"This is so annoying. Can you just give up now? All this movement is troublesome."

Skarmory blinked. Well, for something that looked like a vicious bug-monster, the pinsir was exceedingly polite.

She looked further, when a rather surprising object met her sight. It was Mawile, and right above her, slowly creeping on the branch just above the ariados was—

What the hell does he think he's doing?

This is going to suck.

With that not-so-cheerful thought, Red crawled closer to the ongoing altercation, careful to not attract attention from the pinsir or the ariados. Showing up on the ground would serve as a distraction to Skarmory— not an option —and more importantly, neither the ariados nor the pinsir was anything he or Mawile could fight by themselves.

Thus, the current choice.

In short, he had climbed a tree. The unfortunate encounter with that beast— an unknown, non-native pokémon—had left its fair share of wounds on his body. He had thought that he had dodged the slashes, but that hadn't been entirely true. After the adrenaline rush had receded so to had the numbness that had enveloped his body. Which included his ability to ignore pain. There, along his right leg, was long, drawn-out scratch from the beast's claws.

It was fortunate that his tight jeans would keep the blood loss at a minimum. Still, he needed treatment and he needed it quickly, and for that, he needed Skarmory to get past these two and return to fight the golem. Misty was counting on him after all. And who knew what other nightmarish creature Travers kept in his deceptively small pockets.

Speaking of which, I needed to tell the old man. Regional pokédex are shit. Like, worse than useless.

He glanced at Mawile. She was obviously exhausted and injured from her fight. He'd have returned her to the pokéball, but she had refused to leave him alone. Sometimes he got the feeling that she didn't trust him to keep himself out of trouble.

Night had enveloped the forest, and if not for the constant silver flashes around Skarmory, and the moonbeams filtering past the canopies, the entire area in front of him would have been submerged within the darkness.

At least Mawile doesn't need to hold up Flash anymore. Poor thing needs to rest. Come to think of it, we all do. This whole forest thing… it's been a mess.

Red shook his head. His mind was going all over the place.

He shook his head again, and glanced below, and met Skarmory's eyes….

And her scowl.

She doesn't look very happy.

He glanced down at the ariados underneath her, constantly trying to get closer and slash against her armor.

Futile. The ariados is well trained, but it is just too ill-suited to dealing with Skarmory.

Speaking of which, her armor was now full of dents, most likely from the pinsir's attacks, and from the way she was having to dodge them, it was obvious that her fight had been reduced to a stalemate at best, and a battle of attrition at worst.

I need to do something. Anything.

The ariados fired another meshwork towards Skarmory, enough to break her stride, causing her to deviate midway from attacking the pinsir head-on. The bird screeched in annoyance and shot upwards, her wings glowing brightly with Steel Wing. The ariados immediately pushed back allowing the pinsir to move forward in a defensive stance, reading to face Skarmory's frontal assault.

A pre-planned attack pattern. Ariados breaks Skarmory's attack and the pinsir uses those openings to try to get a hit in. But what if I… yes, this can possibly work.

Making sure not to lose his balance, his hands slowly moved towards his belt. Reaching for his last pokéball, he pulled it hard. The little device rolled out of its safe pocket, into his fingers and—

Oh shit.

The little device slipped from his half-open palm and dropped down towards the floor. With a silent pop, it fell on the forest floor. Red would have cursed out in frustration, if not for the fact that he had a knife between his teeth.

There goes my plan.

He saw Skarmory let out a wild screech, her wings now brightly lit with steel energy. In the darkness around, she was practically a second sun, a glowing phoenix, burning with dazzling light. Red almost cringed at the luminosity and glanced down, watching the spider take some steps back to counter the bright light hurting its eyes.

This is my chance.

And then he jumped.

His initial idea had mirrored his previous execution— use the pokéball to capture the ariados and then drop it right in front of Skarmory who could tear it apart in a single slash.

With that option no longer available, he had planned— in a burst of heroic inspiration —to leap down upon the spider's back, and then stab the devilish creature with his knife, right through the head. It would have been a nasty piece of work, but he'd do it if it meant that they would get to live.

There was just one thing he hadn't taken into account.

Ariados were sensitive to bright light and hence preferred to live in the shadows. Because of this, they had developed an extremely powerful sixth sense— the ability to determine foreign presence through their heat signature.

And therein lay the crux of the problem.

Before he could even reach the ground, the spider seemed to sense his presence, and instantly leaped out of his reach, causing him to fall down with a loud thud, and a rather loud groan of pain. He winced as he tasted blood. Normally he would have taken a moment to check himself but there were more important things going on. Things like the lone pokéball sitting right beside him.

He looked up.

The ariados was on the adjacent tree trunk. The pinsir was facing Skarmory, horns stretched out.

Both of them were turning towards him.

Red reacted instantly. He grabbed the pokéball with his right hand and aimed it at the spider—

Where is it?

PAIN!

The massive spider loomed above it impaling one appendage into his right hand. Red screamed. His arm was already turning numb, probably a side effect of its venom. He was trapped, his own hand holding him captive against the ariados. He could hear Mawile let out a scream of shock and approach, only for the spider to shoot two webs towards her, binding her against the tree trunk.

And then the ariados opened its maw, droplets of thick, viscous liquid dropping beneath her jaws and falling on Red's collar.

He reacted instinctively, moving his free arm in front of his face. That probably saved his life. Though it wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation, the fangs being buried into his forearm was infinitely preferable to it ripping through his face.

Is this…? Red thought deliriously. Is this it?

Ariados, surprisingly enough did not have the strongest jaws. They would capture their prey in their powerful webs and then used acid to liquefy them over the next several hours. Their venom, while poisonous, was mostly used as a numbing agent, to prevent struggling. It was still lethal to humans, but it was quite slow acting.

It's not like I can play the waiting game here. It's far stronger than I am.

He winced, as his it slowly began to crush him, using its superior strength and leverage to push his arm down. Then he noticed Skarmory.

The large avian had swerved out of her dive towards the pinsir, and was instead rushing towards the ariados, ready to tear the creature into pieces to save him. This was regardless of the fact that the pinsir had a counterattack ready—

"Skarmory, NO!"

Skarmory flew right over the pinsir's form completely ignoring the threat that the pinsir presented. Red watched with muted horror as skarmory allowed the pinsir to gouge its metal horns into her abdomen. It obviously hurt a lot. But she ignored it completely and despite her obvious anguish, despite the fact that he could see the blood dripping out of her wound, she still moved forward.

The pinsir pushed it horns harder, eliciting an angry screech from the bird. And yet, even amidst the pain, the regal bird pushed further still—an action that actually pushed the horns even deeper into her body —all in an attempt to get to the spider currently hovering over him.

To protect him.

She ... to save me? … Why?

It felt… alien. It was hardly the first time that he had run into trouble, and sooner or later, someone had always helped him get out of the mess. But for a pokémon to do so— Mawile he knew was incredibly protective of him, and even Skarmory shared that sentiment— but to go this far was—

It was incredible. It was… It was…

The ariados moved instantly as it saw the avian dart closer. Ignoring the mutilating attack on its person, it managed to push itself upward and prepared to leap towards the opposite tree trunk. Right at Mawile.

Red reacted immediately.

He ignored the dull throb on his now punctured arm, and wrenched it around the spider's back, squeezing it hard and holding it against his chest. He could feel the spider began to resist, obviously caught off-guard. It tried to slash at him with its legs, but unfortunately, its anatomy didn't allow it to bend that way.

Regardless, Red would not let go. He'd not let Skarmory's contribution go in vain.

With incredible effort, he pushed his head upward, ignoring the scratches and burns on his chest. His other hand which was lying limply on the forest floor closed in on the knife, that was laying there, forgotten.

The ariados's face edged closer.

"Dodge this!"

He moved his arm upward— straight through the ariados's chin. With a sickening crunch, it collapsed on him.

"You've disappointed me, Skarmory. I told you to cease your endless antagonism towards the Rhydon herd. Why do you betray your king's orders?"

Skarmory stood her ground. She was no longer the little youngling hiding in her grandfather's shadow. She was strong, and powerful, and fighting under her king's banner. The king ordered from the caves on the top of Vortigern, but it was Skarmory that saw those orders executed.

"I will never understand your reasoning, grandfather. Why do bend over backward to serve these… plebeians? Why must you accede to their demands every single time?"

The regal king looked at his protégé with something akin to sadness. "Is it wrong for a king to serve his subjects? The great mountain serves us, and that is why it stands so tall and mighty. That is why it is worthy of our respect. Why must the king of the mountain not emulate the behemoth itself?"

The young avian looked away. She had seen thirteen monsoons since her birth, but even so, she had seen them from her cave, glancing down at a populace that she was meant to preside over. The Lord Vortigern might be a colossal image up there in the sky, but Skarmory was the one taking care of most skirmishes on the battlefront. The King, however, would never agree with her counsel.

"I've often found that it is better to simply speak your thoughts. Keeping them confined within your mind may cause them to fester. " The old king counseled.

Skarmory looked up. She wasn't king yet, but she would someday. And to be one, she needed to stand up for something. So… why not this?

"I believe you have reversed the concept, grandfather."

The Lord of Vortigern narrowed his eyes. "Oh? How so?"

Skarmory looked up. The person standing in front of her wasn't her grandfather. Instead, it was an ideal of kingship, an ideal she had grown under, but not one she had embraced. "A king does not devote himself to the people. It is the people who must devote themselves to the king."

"Those are the words of a brutal tyrant, youngling." The elder avian warned. "Not a just and benevolent king."

"That may be," the young bird admitted. "But are you not a king because you're a tyrant? People follow you because they fear your prowess, not because they cherish your benevolence."

The elder sighed. "It seems that staying under my shadow has had an adverse impact on your psyche.."

"Not true." Skarmory disdained. "It has only allowed me to see past the tainted lens you look through. Those people… those tribes, they fear me because of my power. Because I'll never ignore any slight upon my honor. You are simply an old man and a fool, one who'd bend backward to fulfill their every demand. A King…?" Skarmory sneered, "if you heard what I heard, you'd know that you are just a glorified slave."

"And what would you have me to do instead?"

"Bring them down!" Skarmory declared. "Remind them of the power held by the Vortigern."

The elder sighed, looking away. "I am a fool. To think that you were ready." He met Skarmory's eyes with a steady gaze. "A just ruler, guided by just laws. Those are the duties of a king. Glorified slave or not, a king is a martyr to his ideals."

"That is not how a person should live. If that is what you are heading towards, Grandfather, then I will save you. I will prove it to you that you are wrong."

Never did she know that her words would prove prophetic, in the most ironic way possible.

Skarmory saw the ariados stab its leg into Red's arm. The spider had instantly reacted to Red's fall and had skewered him to the ground.

No!

She let out a vicious screech. Ariados venom was dangerous. Sure, it had little to no effect if it couldn't bypass armor, but Red didn't have that advantage. The leg that was impaled into Red's arm was dripping poisoning into him. Skarmory wasn't sure just how damaging it was, but being pumped with anything like that couldn't be good.

And that was when everything changed. For one moment, Skarmory was back on the Vortigern, and the creature in front of her wasn't an ariados, but a hulking rhyperior, grunting in victory over the entity on the rocky terrain. One of its massive limbs was crushing a large steel wing and its other arm was trying to shatter the entity's skull, only to be stopped by another wing.

Skarmory paled, the strength in her form leaking away, as terror began to permeate her form.

Grand… father…

Her grandfather looked up at her, and smiled— smiled —at her.

"LEAVE" — He ordered her, as her king, as her grandfather, as her only teacher and father-figure.

"Save yourself!" She heard him say before another fist came slamming down upon his bent wing.

Several shards of metal tore open, leaving the wing twisted at odd angles.

"Save… Yourself!" She heard him whisper. "Grow strong and save your kingdom!"

Another punch tore through the air, this time aiming for her king—her grandfather's head.

And something within Skarmory shattered.

Gone was the would-be king, gone was the benevolent dictator that played with her enemies, believing in giving them an illusion of a chance before ending their lives. Gone was the skarmory that had thought of a human as a trainer, a teacher— a means to an end —the grand king that demanded everyone follow the law that she put down.

The one in the air, her wings outspread and shining bright silver— was the broken descendant—witnessing the end of everything she had cherished in life. This was the defeated hand of the king, the one that had stood to protect her king but had utterly failed in doing so, and now— and now—

Skarmory screeched.

"Go… away! Save yourself!"

Skarmory glided downwards towards the massive rhyperior. She'd stop it. She could stop it. She had the power. Rhyperior could not see behind them. She'd tear its spine inside out, and send it falling down the pit to its death. She'd… she'd…

HURRKKK!

The image of the Vortigern vanished. So did the rhyperior, and so did her grandfather's figure, minutes before his demise. Instead, she found herself back into the forest, with the ariados preying upon her trainer… her trainer who'd trained her healed her, taught her, fed her, empathized with her, and proved himself worthy of her over and over.

That was the person that the ariados had pierced with its appendages, and was slowly killing.

"LEAVE! Save yourself!"

Never….

HURRKKK!

Shocked at the sudden incomprehensible feeling of… pain? Is this… really how pain feels?

Skarmory glanced downwards towards her own abdomen.

How silly of me... Of course, it is pain. The steel went through the armor.

Somehow, the thought seemed to provide her a little amusement.

The pinsir's horns had impaled into her armor, past her unilateral layer of Iron Defense, past her powerful steel armor, and struck her insides, driving the metallic appendages into the soft tissue. Skarmory screeched deliriously, raising one wing ahead—not out of pain, but to grab the ariados that lay a little…

...just a little out of her reach.

She reached out, and with every movement forward, the horns dug in deeper, tearing a little more into her inner muscles, sending repeated jolts of pain up her spine. An attack on body tissue like this was hardly lethal. Something like a charmander, or a raticate would be able to shirk off such pain. After all, they were used to it.

But Skarmory had never even experienced such pain. The greatest injuries she had ever suffered had always been superficial, never penetrating her armor. She likened the pain to that of losing a limb.

And yet, she strived forward.

A little more. Just a little… A little more.

Her horror only grew as she witnessed the twisted scene unfolding in front of her. The spider was dripping venom upon Red slowly moving closer towards Red's face.

How dare you?

She let out a fearsome screech and moved forward even faster.

Just a little… further.

SKEWRCH!

The spider convulsed, before collapsing on his form.

What? Is… He survived. Everything's fine.

The relief was almost rest of her thoughts faded, as nausea and light-headedness threatened to engulf her. Skarmory felt her control over her body begin to slip. She was slowly feeling numb from the blood loss.

I cannot… lose… I need to stop this pinsir now… Without the ariados, this should be easy.

It wasn't.

Skarmory began to slowly pull herself back into the air, desperately trying to reclaim mobility.

Unfortunately, the pinsir, was in no mood to cooperate.

"Let me go, you plebeian!" Skarmory screeched, beating her wings angrily, but the pinsir would not allow its prey out of its grasp. Grunting, the bug twitched its horns, edging them closer, tearing through her innards even more.

It was gut-wrenching, with her making noises that no skarmory should ever have to make. The horns were now deeply impaled into her musculature, and beginning to approach her internal organs. Just a little more, and it would pierce through her lungs or her heart.

I'll be damned if I let filth like you strike me down.

Pinsir grunted in response, grasping her vicious claws with either hand, using its monstrous strength to hold her in place as his horns protruded deeper.

"Please don't fight back," the pinsir spoke calmly. "In all the time I've served my master, I've never failed him. If I am unable to accomplish what he's asked of me, there'll be… judgment," He grabbed Skarmory's abdomen with his clawed arms.

"So I'm going to have to ask you to perish. No offense of course."

"You first!" Skarmory screeched out in defiance, using her claws—to literally tear into the pinsir's body. The bug had a strong exoskeleton, but she wore steel.

The skeleton gave in.

Her thick yet sharp claws dug into the pinsir's skin, into his own abdomen, bringing him closer to herself. The horns clicked within her, causing her to shriek out in pain, but she did not let go. "You… dare… trying to kill my trainer... in front of… me… the…"

The horns pushed a little deeper.

"…The rightful king of Vortigern?"

Pinsir looked up. "Underestimate me a little more. It will be faster."

Skarmory screeched, though this time, it wasn't in anger. It was simply the desire to get past this creature holding it down no matter the cost.

A single blade of air hit pinsir in the face.

"What is—?"

A second wave of air hit him. Then another, and another.

Skarmory was beating her wings.

"You're not going anywhere," Pinsir pulled Skarmory's abdomen closer.

"I never implied otherwise." Skarmory's claws dug deeper, her wings began to beat even faster. The pain was threatening to overwhelm her, and she needed to stop it now. Right now. Or else…

The wings beat faster.

What was the point in the first place?

And faster…

Skarmory glanced at Red, slowly trying to push himself up, screaming in pain as he pulled out the thin appendage out of his skin. The venom had obviously been in his system for quite some time now. Red was going to die. As was Mawile… and the growlithe…

As was she…

I wonder what made grandfather say those words to me… back then…

Heat began to spread across her, traveling all over her wings. Her body began to glow, almost subconsciously gathering steel energy all around her.

Skarmory became even more delirious.

What was the point of me… surviving back then? Only to die… like this… Why did he… save me back then?

Faster. Even faster. The steel energy layered and layered over each other, forming interspersed blocks, shining a bright silver. The pinsir tried to push back, the heat already crossing the limits of bearability.

But then… wasn't my admiration built on the dreams of the same old fool? A king who'd be a valiant slave… a dream that cost him everything…

The winds were changing, altering, blowing in circles around her. Power washed over her, manipulating the air currents, liberating the enormous heat energy from her system into the environment, into the winds.

Air currents became waves of superheated air.

Whirlwinds rose around, slashing all around, tearing through the trunks, through everything. The superheated currents slashed against Pinsir—stabbing, slashing, tearing, mutilating—

Steel melted.

Raw, molten steel, dropping over the pinsir's face, into his oral cavity, burning through everything.

And yet… he never gave up. Because that is what a king does. Protect those who serve under him.

"Save yourself!"

And yet…

And yet….

Skarmory opened her eyes. The pinsir was half-burnt, but even so it gazed into Skarmory. Into living, burning steel.

"My life was saved. So, there's no way I'm going down because of vermin like you."

Pinsir's hand raised up, slowly trying to scratch Skarmory's face.

Waves rushed in. Waves of fire, of superheated air, of pure wrath, slashed into him.

The hands dropped.

And she took flight.

The horns broke off from the rest of the burned, broken body— still impaled into Skarmory's form. The wings began to slow down, the metal slowly dripping…

Dripping…

Skarmory looked up to face Red. Her entire body was red, almost like she had been painted in flames. Her wings were half-melted, smoke hissing out of them. Her wings gave away, and she dropped down to the floor. Everything was burning. The grass, the trees, the trunks, the vines— everywhere around her was consumed in the flames. And in the middle of that, was Red, slowly trying to push himself up against the trunk, trying to break Mawile out, even in that condition.

Skarmory moved ahead, but her body failed her, and she dropped down, the embedded horns keeping her from smashing her face against the ground.

Hah! Certainly not a fitting place to die… Certainly…

Skarmory heard footsteps.

… Not.

Blood.

Something he was intimately familiar with. And there was a lot of it too, for the smell to be this pungent. He slowly moved his flashlight around to find the source.

He almost wished he hadn't.

"Might... Mightyena?" He choked. For the first time in a while, he was at a complete loss for words. He felt uneasy and restless and almost as if he'd suffocate, but all he could do was stand frozen like a mannequin, as his hand slowly slid down towards his waist.

The flashlight dropped, casting a ghastly shadow upon the object in front of him.

His starter lay fallen on the grassy floor, its limbs tucked inwards almost as if to spring forward. Even with the rage consuming him, Travers could make out that Mightyena had been gathering up an attack when the final blow had made it to its head. Or what was left of it.

Half of its head had been gouged out almost as if put through a blender. Whatever it was, It had simply ripped through the right-side of Mightyena's skull— eyes, ears and all, —and torn it away as the blow rescinded.

Teeth marks. Probably a large jaw. Or… that…. Mawile?

As a cynical man, Travers preferred to keep his relationships within fixed, specific parameters. His pokémon were no different. They were tools. Tools he had captured and honed to be useful to him. But not Mightyena. That was his starter. His partner. Something that kept him sane through the difficult days after his father died. They had trained for years together. There should have been no way that a mawile of all things could beat it.

Traver's knees felt weak. When Meyers had perished, it had just been business. An unfortunate incident, but that was all. When golem fell, it was an insult to all the effort he had put into crafting a beast. One that would let him join the ranks of the Executives. Something that felt bad, but something that he could get over. He would create greater beasts in time, after all.

But this? This was different. This was personal.

Travers knelt in front of his fallen starter, his hands touching its dead body. The dark, pristine fur was wet with blood, and yet, he could still feel its body heat. Obviously, the teen wasn't very far from—

His eyes noticed the dark blobs and patches on the floor ahead. Without delay, he picked up the flashlight and—

Blood.

A dull red trailed into the forest. And beside it—

Footsteps.

Biting the torchlight with his teeth, he brought out the gun again. Nothing else mattered now. He'd kill the mawile with his own hands. He'd place the nozzle on its jaw, and then blast it open with the bullet, and he'd make the boy watch it all. He'd make him cry and yell and plead for mercy, begging for him to let mawile go. He'd strangle the yellowish creature with his very own hands and then watch with vindictive pleasure as its life slowly trickled out of it. He'd make the boy feel what he had just gone through— watch his pokémon die with his own eyes.

He'd allow the boy to scream in vindication, while he proceeded to kill the skarmory as well— if the blasted bird wasn't dead already. He'd let the boy wallow in suffering and agony, and finally when he'd be overcome with it all—

Only then will he have my permission to die.

Travers stood up, holding the gun in his good hand, while somehow holding the flashlight in the broken one. The anesthetic he had applied was working, but the lack of strength around his wrist was affecting his ability to hold objects. Taking one last look at his fallen starter, he took a deep breath before turning resolutely and following the trail through the forest. Even so, despite his desire for vengeance on someone who had taken yet another thing away from him a small shard of doubt continued to gnaw upon his mind.

How did he manage to defeat Mightyena?

Travers cursed before continuing. Perhaps the boy had hidden his strength? Did he have another pokémon on him? He thought back to the corpse that remained of his starter and winced.

You.. You didn't deserve this, and I—

Another pungent smell, entirely different from the previous one, caught his attention. This too though was incredibly familiar. Without delay, he rushed towards the direction of the source.

Smoke? So, the kid was hiding a fire-type? But if he's alive, that means—

Travers did not finish that thought. He couldn't afford to. The calm demeanor, the sophisticated attitude towards life had deserted him, leaving behind a foggy vision of suspicion. Gone was the composure, replaced with something eerily… unfamiliar.

Uncertainty.

He started moving faster, even as his mind began to supply him with several nefarious images. The kid had a fire-type. They were in a forest. The skarmory was made of steel, sure— but it could fly. Pinsir and Ariados—neither of them had any such advantage. The use of fire against them would be extremely effective. Not to mention if said fire-type had been powerful enough to tear through Mightyena's—

Another image rose up his delirious mind. An image of a dying Meyers, spasming in agony and regurgitating blackened blood out of his mouth, as he tried to say his last words, only for them to be lost and muddled in his screams.

"That— that thing— he told us it was a growlithe, just a— bitch ate my arm —"

Could it be...?

His fingers tightened around his gun. Come to think of it, the mawile hadn't demonstrated near enough competency to kill Mightyena. Another image rose up in his mind, this one belonging to the kid he was currently obsessed with killing.

"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 ..."

Either way, it would all come to an end. It didn't matter if the kid was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn't matter if the kid or his mawile hadn't been the one to kill the mightyena. They had taken the growlithe with them, and therefore—

Therefore, he would kill them. That was all there was to it.

His thoughts became more and more erratic,something that began to affect his movements as well.

He continued moving towards the smoke. The soft glow of the flames were now visible. The flashlight would only give him away, and so, he switched it off, allowing himself to melt into the familiar embrace of the darkness. His good hand curled around the weapon and caressed the cold steel trigger that stood there, ready to take another life.

One more bullet. He laughed self deprecatingly. And one more arm as well.

Travers edged closer through the foliage. With every single step, the smoke deepened, and the flickering flames in the heart of the forest became more and more vivid. Fear over Meyers's last words added to the growing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. The fact that somewhere in the middle of this burning forest were his two bugs— both of them vulnerable to flames— only made it worse.

"Ariados!" Travers yelled. All his tactics, all his mannerisms had been shredded to dust. The man who could perform a secret assassination while moving through a lair of League police squads was long gone, leaving behind a husk— a husk with a broken hand and a defeated and possibly dead team.

"Pinsir!" He yelled as he rushed through the burning foliage, disregarding the fallen meshwork of burning litter as it dropped from the sky.

"Aria—" The rest of the words remained unsaid, as he came to a screeching halt, the scene in front of him more than enough to steal his breath away. Roughly twenty feet in front of him, amidst the burning forest, was the skarmory, its entire body half-melted, with liquified steel slowly trickling down its grotesque, mutilated form.

That was when his gaze caught the long protrusion, reminiscent of a horn, that was impaled to the bird's abdomen. The melted steel was now covering a part of it as well, while something reddish—

Is that blood?

For the second time, his thoughts came to a screeching halt, as a dangerous, horrible suspicion flitted past his mind. He recognized that horn. It was something he was intimately familiar with. Afterall, it was his pinsir's. Only, it wasn't attached to it anymore.

He strained to look past the growing flames, and a little to the right stood a blackened, deformed corpse. A black, misshapen corpse, with droplets of melted steel littering its form. A black, misshapen object, he realized, that was all that remained of his goddamn pinsir.

Oh no! No no NO NO NO!

The pistol fell out of his shaking hands. He would have fallen forwards as well, if not for the sudden wave of sweltering heat brought him back to his situation.

Deep breaths.

Gripping the weapon tightly, he took a step forward. And that was when he saw it.

Ariados.

The teen— Red —was down upon the floor, trapped by his own hand and his ariados. One of his arms was impaled and slowly turning purple. Probably an effect of Ariados's venom.

Travers let out a sigh of elation.

At least Ariados is—

SKEWRCH!

He almost missed it. One moment Ariados was mounting the dead teen, and the next, a tiny fissure appeared on the arachnid's face. The gash deepened and spread past its cheek towards the horn upon its head. Travers watched horrified, as blood spurted from the wound, covering the kid in blood, before Ariados simply collapsed, like a puppet whose strings were cut.

His body physically shook in horror, as he took a step back.

Picked up by Proton himself, he had thought that his path was clear. Grunt Captain, Executive and finally Admin. He would stand at the forefront of the organization as one of their greatest.

No longer.

In that moment, he was no longer a rising star of Team Rocket. He was the scared little boy, crying in his room when he heard about his father's death.

Helpless. Alone. Weak.

He had lost. Golem— his unbeatable, prized Golem had been defeated. It was alive and would become powerful, but now, it was no longer undefeatable.

Mightyena was dead.

Pinsir was dead.

And now Ariados… was…

Before the thought could end, a horrible premonition formed within his mind, as the sound of something moving captured his attention. His eyes threatened to burst out with disbelief, as he blankly watched the teen— someone who he had written of as dead — slowly push himself up, shoving the battered body of the ariados to the side.

The appendage that had been impaled into him slowly drew out as the teen somehow pulled himself up, completely defying all of Travers's expectations. This— This boy —this damned child, had somehow survived everything that Travers had thrown at him, had somehow taken down each and every one of his team and despite being literally impaled, this logic-defying monster just would not die.

I cannot— this— Travers's eyes hardened. I have lost too much today. No more. This ends, now.

The raging inferno of fear and anger had been steadily growing larger and larger. Suffering defeat, losing his team one after the other had been the ingredients falling into a simmering cauldron. Seeing the damned boy get up, seeing him awake just after he had taken Ariados life, had been the final straw.

However, Travers was not like other people. The more he got hurt, he more focussed he got. The greater the defeat he suffered, the stronger the armor he built himself. The angrier he got, the more silent he became.

The resultant mixture did not explode. It imploded.

Raging fires were instantly consumed and his mind reset into an almost peaceful serenity. Travers stopped shaking, and slowly bent downwards, picking the heavy pistol that had fallen from his fingers.

I've wasted too much time. I will end the mission now. Eliminate all resistances, and capture the growlithe. That is the correct course of action.

Travers was somewhat surprised at the mechanical patterns his thoughts were taking. Without a pokémon to aid him, and one wrist broken, the smart thing to do would be to retreat and regroup. Communicate with the other grunts rummaging through the forest and form a new team. The fire would make it easier for the others to spot his location. The problem was— the very same flames must have alerted the Ranger Squad by now as well.

The growlithe was nowhere to be seen, and the forest was on fire. The boy was alive, but he was injured and would probably collapse soon— If not from his injuries and blood loss, then it from the neurotoxins in his blood. The skarmory was literally melting, and the mawile was nowhere to be seen, much like the growlithe. In all probability, all of them would perish in the flames. There was simply no reason to attack the boy.

None at all.

But I want to— I need to kill him with my own hands.

Every single cell, every single experience he had gathered as a freelancer, as a hunter, as a recon agent—told him that this was an unnecessary risk. He needed to get in touch with other grunts, build himself a team and come back and finish the job. After this mission was complete, he would start over. He had done it before. He could do it again. And yet, he simply could not shake off the idea that, that—

If I run away now, I'll be leaving my team unavenged. I'll have failed my mission. I'll be admitting that I was... inferior. He thought back to his father. Just like he was.

He had thought himself strong, building a life for himself within Team Rocket, after the loss of his father. And now he had lost everything once again.

Slowly, he cocked his gun and stepped forward. Taking careful aim he—

SKARRRR!

Travers cursed, riled up at the sudden screech that had cost him his concentration. More importantly, the skarmory— and how the hell is it still alive —had stumbled its way forward. It had used the last remaining vestiges of its strength and dived in front of its trainer. Its wings spread outward, cradling the boy protectively. Obviously, it intended to shield him with its body.

Useless

His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. The boy—his victim, seemed somewhat surprised at the bird's reaction before he caught Traver's eye.

Travers raised the pistol, aiming right at the skarmory's heart. The bullets could pierce through a half-foot thick steel wall with ease. The bird's thin armor would do nothing to stop it.

Two birds with one stone.

"Skarmory, NO!" The kid's eyes widened. He had been noticed. Not that it mattered. It was too late.

Game over.

His fingers closed in against the cold metal of the trigger—

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Bile rose into his throat as he stumbled forward feeling an immense sense of vertigo. His vision flickered as his hand fell to his side uselessly even as his finger pulled at the trigger.

With an explosive noise, that caused everyone in the vicinity to wince, the bullet burrowed straight into the ground. And his remaining arm shattered.

Travers howled.

Years of training kicked in instantly as he did his best to suppress the pain and turned to face his attacker—

Didn't…. Golem crush—?

The scythe pierced into his chest before slashing upwards.

The pair of large yellow eyes was the last thing he ever saw.

If there was a level of exhaustion that could be equated with insanity, this would be it. When the ariados had mounted Red, he had that that that was the end. That he was going to die. The arachnid's leg had ripped straight into his arm, pumping some sort of deadly venom into him.

So it was kind of a surprise, that even after the entire episode of driving the knife into the ariados's head, he was still… well, somehow managing to get up.

A… numbing agent? Perhaps the venom is paralytic in nature?

He was exhausted. This whole mess was wearing on his soul. At this point, he would give nearly anything to be able to simply collapse and ignore everything else.

I need to sleep. A lot of sleep. To just get in bed and cuddle up for a week. Maybe going back to Pallet isn't such a bad idea…

He turned to glance at Skarmory— and felt his breath leave him.

The avian was standing, but only barely so. In fact, she was barely recognizable. Her shining armor, once bright and silver was now thawed and smelting down her form, mixing with a dirty reddish stain— blood.

A darkish, metallic horn was impaled into her abdomen, with the melted slag slowly dripping over its exterior. Somehow, she was using the horn as a crutch to keep herself upright. It was like watching a twisted, grotesque caricature of the magnificence that was once Skarmory.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the avian screeched.

Loudly.

At first, Red had thought it was a screech of pain and had immediately moved towards her, but the next moment, he actually saw Skarmory come at him. For one moment, a wild idea of her going rogue and actually attacking him came to mind, but he quickly discarded it. His mind was shutting down, his eyes watery and losing clarity, but he wasn't delirious.

Not yet.

"Skarmory, what's—" He tried again, but by then, the large avian was already upon him, her wings raised, almost as if she was trying to cradle him.

What is she doing?

Frankly, the sight of a giant metal pokémon looming above you, glowing a dull red with droplets of liquid metal streaming down it, was terrifying. But Red only saw two things in her gaze. Warmth and the desire to protect.

Red strained his neck, trying to look past her.

Why is she so agitated?

That was when his eyes met with Travers's dark ones, the man barely visible with the strange way that the darkness was enveloping him. More importantly, however, was the large pistol sitting in his hands.

"No…" He breathed, as he realized what Skarmory was up to. Even being half-melted, and barely conscious, her instincts were top-notch, and she was using them to protect him. He didn't know why the avian was that caring of him, but he was sure that he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

"Skarmory move aside, that man has a—" he began, trying to push Skarmory away. Had been a little more… alert and in control of his senses, he'd have considered that there was no way a mere bullet could pierce through Skarmory's armor. Then again, with her steel layer literally melting, chances were that it might be able to go through.

"No..." He breathed again.

He began to push Skarmory away, trying to get her out of the bullet's path. The melted slag splattered over the top of his palm and his sleeves, burning and blistering his skin. The pain was blinding, but the fear of losing Skarmory, and his own life, was a far greater stimulant.

And that was what forced him awake.

"No wait, don't shoot," he began, his voice pathetically low even to his own ears. Before he could try again, his hands instinctively covered his ears as a dangerously familiar buzzing sound pierced into his eardrums. He shut his eyes in discomfort, trying to block out the noise but to no avail.

And then he heard it.

It was like someone had caused an explosion in his ear. It was so loud that he nearly collapsed right there, his ears filled with a horrible ringing. It was the sound of a gunshot.

There's… no pain? Then.. it hit...

"Skarmory NO!" He screamed.

His eyes quickly scanned the entirety of Skarmory's form, straining to find a puncture wound. Finding none, his gaze extended forward. Travers had turned around and— and—

...a sword?

The man choked and coughed up blood even as his fingers fumbled towards the blade impaling him. Slowly, deliberately, cruelly the blade began to drag vertically along Travers's spine, all the way to his neck, before tearing its way out, bisecting him.

Blood spurted out in a translucent fountain, as the blade skewered its way out through his left shoulder. The shredded body of the once fearsome man dropped down like a rag, leaving its attacker standing over him.

"..."

Red tried to speak, but the words did not come out. Standing in front of him, post-Traver's body was Scyther. The bug's lower body seemed nearly flattened, almost as if it had been crushed.

How… How is it even standing?

He passed a second glance at Travers's body and felt his stomach churn as yet another wave of nausea hit him. The scyther was staring at the mutilated body with a strange expression. Vindication, yes but also a feeling of relief. Of accomplishment. Of... liberation.

Scyther met his eyes, before slowly losing control, almost as if the entirety of its strength had been consumed in that single blow. It fell backward, its wings no longer able to support its crushed body.

"Scy—" Red tried, before a wave of heat swept over his face, alerting him to his surroundings. His burning surroundings. Despite multiple injuries, all he felt was a dull throb. That and the increasing desire to simply go to sleep.

Strange…

Was this dying? Being lulled back to sleep after listening to a fairy-tale before bed? It was ironic. Back in Pallet, he had screamed his lungs out in agony but had survived the encounter. But now, in the midst of a burning forest, with nothing to help him and his team, he'd die, poisoned from the bite. And yet, all he felt was the overbearing feeling of tiredness after a hard day's work.

A nice, long sleep, really feels nice.

Something screeched in the background, making him cringe at the high-pitch. It was almost like layers of broken metal forcefully grating over each other.

Hundreds and thousands of broken shards of metal, all at once.

"Skarmory?"

A horrible, crooning wail was his answer. A sound that no pokémon should ever make. And it was coming from right in front of him.

From her.

Whenever Red thought of Skarmory he thought of strength. He thought of determination. He thought of safety. Half-melted gauged with a horn, and barely mobile, Skarmory was a sick parody of what she represented. Of what she should be.

My pokémon need me. I can't give up here. They need me. They... Mawile!

Red whirled around, spotting Mawile some distance away, still bound to the tree. The ariados had taken care to bind her jaw, to prevent her from biting herself free. Thankfully, she was still okay, though the threads over her mouth prevented her from making any sounds. Red glanced at the burning trees towards his right.

I need to get them away. I—

Red lurched a fourth time. This time he almost fell over as the blackness clouded his vision once more.

—Not much time. I need to hurry.

"Rest now," He said softly, his hand gently stroking Skarmory's head. His hand drew away reflexively. While her armor was no longer melting, it was still hot enough to burn.

Slowly he raised his pokéball and returned her. Then, he turned around and slowly limped to the tree that Mawile was tied to. His poisoned hand felt as heavy as lead, despite the lack of pain. With the other, the one that had started melting from the corrosive liquid dripping from the spider's maw— the one that should have hurt like a bitch —moved ahead and extracted Mawile's pokéball from his waist.

" You're going to be okay."

Mawile grunted, clearly irritated at having been essentially glued to the tree.

"Heeh!" Red chuckled deliriously, "don't worry. I'll just… let—"

He lost control again, and wobbled forward, bashing his forehead against the tree trunk.

"That hurt like—where's the—"

With considerable effort, he managed to pluck out Mawile's pokéball, using his fingers to trace the M etched over the surface. A childish endeavor no doubt, but it did have its perks.

"Re— return!"

With a flash, Mawile was sucked right into the capture device, the bindings meaningless in front of pokéball technology. Breathing heavily, he turned towards the rest of his team. The fires were moving even closer, and there was a lot to do. He wasn't sure if he'd be surviving the day, but at least— at least if he could get his team to Misty, she'd be able to do something.

Scyther's next.

For once, the bug didn't fight it back. That, or it was way past the point of caring. Or it was unconscious.

That makes three— four with shellder. Now I just—

He lurched again, literally falling down face-first.

Damn.

He slowly moved his hand up to his face watching with fascination as his hand colored a dull red.

Broke my nose. I think. Need help. Need to get to… Growlithe!

The growlithe. He had forgotten all about it. The poor thing was probably still lying under—under—

Red slapped his face. It wasn't as effective as he thought it would be, but the jolt brought him back. He idly noticed some drool dangling from the edge of his lips, before it dropped down to the ground.

What was he thinking about again?

He blinked hard, observing his sweat and tears stain red as they dripped down his face. Probably mixing with the blood all over it.

Focus. He told himself. The growlithe.

It was probably still under the tree he left it under when he went after Ariados.

Pinching himself hard, to keep himself awake, he slowly trudged towards the tree growlithe was under. It should be a few minutes away, or some—

A blast of searing heat scraped across his face.

—Not this way. Clearly.

He lurched towards the other side, away from the burning flames. Blood, he was looking for blood. The spider's blood. That was where the growlithe should be.

He took a step forward.

I can do it.

And another.

And then a third.

Soon enough, he was right there, somehow standing right in front of the growlithe. Said creature was still unconscious, coiled into itself, twitching and moaning piteously.

There you are—

A pokéball wouldn't work. He'd need to lift it up by himself. And so he tried.

And failed dismally.

The left arm, the one poisoned by the ariados, simply refused to move. Neither the arm nor the fingers. Come to think of it, it hardly even felt like an arm anymore.

No matter.

He made a second attempt. The arm merrily disobeyed his orders, perfectly imitating an inanimate object.

Move, for god's sake.

It didn't respond. At all.

…

That left him with only a single option. Without further delay, he moved his left shoulder forward and slapped his arm against the growlithe's face.

The creature moaned.

"Come on, wake up."

He smacked it again. This time, it did shake up a bit, peering out at its surroundings with half-slanted eyes.

"Don't bother coiling up," Red barked crudely. " I can't help you more than this."

The growlithe blinked, and looked around, trying to assess its current situation. Whining, it pushed itself up, only to sag down again, obviously feeling the pain in its fractured bones. Red would have felt sorry for it, but in his current condition, he had bigger fish to fry.

"Can you get up?" He prodded. "Can you?"

The fire-type groaned piteously.

" Listen up. I need you to get up and start moving. See the forest is burr— burning. My team's wounded and I need to get them safe." He chortled mirthlessly. "None of this makes sense."

Red paused.

"But I told you that I'd protect you. Now you're a fire-thing— type and can stay hidden out here. Maybe someone will come for you. Maybe you'll survive on ,your own. Maybe. But if you want to escape with me— with us —you need to get up."

That seemed to hold the growlithe's attention.

"Atta' boy. Now get up! We need— MOVE!"

One of the branches from the tree beside had snapped, falling downwards, right upon the unfortunate creature coiled beneath it. Mustering a surprising amount of strength Red pushed the growlithe forward in a brazen attempt to save its life.

The growlithe was sent tumbling and crashed against the tree trunk. Red on the other hand, now devoid of power, fell limp, and slowly dropped down on his back, his hands falling on either side.

Blood.

Smoke.

Fire.

Pain.

…

Red's eyes jerked awake. Just how long had he been down? Minutes, Hours? It couldn't be longer than that… could it?

He tried to twist his neck. It hurt like a bitch, but he was grateful for it. It was keeping him awake, and at this point, probably alive as well. The fact that he could even hold a conscious thought surprised him. He tried moving his legs.

Unresponsive.

His left hand might as well be non-existent. Anything south of his left shoulder felt like stone. Like he was currently being squashed underneath a mountain. His right arm though…

Come on… just a little more… Just a little…

His fingers scratched his belt.

...more…

Nothing.

"Help," He said, his voice sounding pitifully soft, even to himself.

"He— Help!" He tried again.

Nothing happened. Except for the ever-encroaching flames that were slowly inching forward.

"Help, someone… anyone!"

Maybe someone would notice the flames in the forest. Maybe someone was already there, looking for the source, looking for survivors… Perhaps they'd find him, rescue him… Perhaps Misty…

Yes! Misty was there, not very far from him. Travers was dead, so obviously Misty was there somewhere near, and she'd come for him. She had water-types, they'd extinguish the fires, he'd be saved… his team would be saved. He'd be…

Saved?

The fallen pistol lying a little away from his position attracted his gaze. It lay there, mocking him. The gun, the weapon that had been in Travers's hands… Travers with whom he had left Misty to get Skarmory…

"...you go get Skarmory. I'll take care of the golem…"

Sounds of the bullet rang in his head, and Misty's accusing face appeared in his mind. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but a part of him did come to the realization.

She was probably dead. She was probably dead and he was alone. Alone, useless and unable to save himself or his team. There would be no help coming.

His eyes brimmed with tears as the utter desperation and helplessness slowly began to sink in.

All those years at the ranch anxiously waiting to turn fourteen, to get his first chance at the Trainer Exams…

The mad grin threatening to tear his lips upon hearing his results…

Passing the exams on his first try with record scores…

The same grin began to etch upon his lips now. A grin that slowly shattered into whimpers. Whimpers of pain, of helplessness… whimpers hoping for one last miracle.

Whimpers of a teen that did not want to die there, all alone.

His fingers etched closer to his belt. He could feel the M etched on the pokéball.

There are no miracles.

Despite the strain, his fingers pulled.

There is no hope.

The pokéball popped out of his belt socket.

Only I remain.

The capture device opened with an audible click. The world faded into darkness once more, before light returned for a second time.

"Wile?" Mawile's surprised squeak echoed through the air.

Moving his head hurt, but he did it anyway. Just a little bit more, and there'd be no more pain. He just had to last a bit longer.

Red felt the deceiver push her way past the tinder and smoke, and get right in front of his face, an expression of concern on his face. For a moment he considered making her hold the pokéballs, but her tiny hands could only hold one. Trying to hold them via her jaw would be a nightmare, especially if she accidentally swallowed them and they broke within her.

"Heh, good job Mawile," he coughed, "Can you release the others, please? I'm a little—" he chuckled mirthlessly " I'm a little indisposed"

Mawile took a long look at him before moving forward. She tugged on his belt gently, allowing his pokéballs to spill on the ground before she released them. For a moment the horrible orange radiance of the surrounding flames was overshadowed by the vivid translucent red that emanated from the pokéballs. A moment later, and Red was surrounded. Surrounded by his team that he had sworn to protect. Surrounded by his team that he had failed.

Red looked at his team sadly. His eyes passed over Skarmory's unmoving form, crossed over the half-flattened scyther, past Shellder who was being as inconspicuous as ever. The last bit made him crack up in wry amusement. His gaze continued over the unconscious growlithe before finally moving back towards Mawile.

"Now go." He croaked, pushing her softly.

Mawile looked at him. Then she gestured at the rest of his team and looked back at him in incomprehension. Her confusion was clear. Where was he expecting her to go? Get Misty?

"I give up," He laughed bitterly." I can't save them. I can't save anything."

Red's eyes went over his team yet again, before moving back to Mawile. " Still, they don't deserve to be alone now. At least…" he coughed, his vision fading. "At least, you can run away with Shellder. That growlithe…." He coughed again, "that growlithe heals fast. Pull him out too if you can. Skarmory… she can't move, and neither can Scyther."

Silence.

"I can't do anything for them now, but at least…. At least I can die with them. Keep them company in their final moments."

"..."

The flames continued to burn around him.

"Ma? Mawawa!" Mawile yelled at him, possibly in chastisement. She pulled at his jeans, at his shirt, tearing through the fabric. Red knew it was useless, but couldn't bring himself to stop her. He allowed himself to be manhandled as she gripped him above his jeans with her jaw, trying to pull him— get him moving.

"It won't work." He smiled. "I was poisoned. My body's… shut down. You, however, can still move"

He gently nudged her with his right hand. "You can still make it. See the world. Wasn't that what you wanted to do in the first place?"

Mawile ignored him and continued shouting. She yelled and yelled with tears streaming down her face all the while. She let his jeans go, and instead grabbed into him, her jaws sinking into Red's shoulder. She tried to pull him, but he was too heavy. Too heavy for something as tiny as herself. She pushed and kicked and screamed out her frustrations, but nothing helped.

His face softened. By now even she knew that it was a useless action. But just because it was useless did not make it meaningless.

"Let it go. Just leave." Red pleaded.

As expected, Mawile continued to ignore him. A moment later, she collapsed, tears streaming down her eyes. The rest of his team was strangely silent. Skarmory—somehow still conscious —looked at him with clear eyes. Even knowing that she was going to perish, there was neither fear nor blame in her gaze.

Just grim determination.

Red allowed himself a smile, somehow pushing his arm sidewards— enough to touch against Mawile's fur. Slowly, painfully, he lifted her trembling body and placed her on his lap. He did not have the energy to push her away again. Mawile was clearly terrified of dying. But she did not leave. Rather, she simply cuddled into him gently rubbing her head into his palm.

Red felt something heavy descend upon him.

It was Skarmory's wing.

A squeak followed, and Shellder was right up there as well, biting into his hair. It probably didn't understand the severity of the situation, but it could sense something was wrong and it was trying to do whatever it could.

That, or it's just hungry, Red chortled mirthlessly.

He glanced at the scyther, fallen slightly afar. He tried to get to it, ask for its forgiveness. He tried to raise its head.

Nothing happened.

How pitiful. All of this had started with a simple ideal. He had promised Growlithe that he'd save him. Save him from Team Rocket. And now, here he was, lying in the middle of a burning forest, with his team dying alongside him. Misty was probably dead too, with her pokémon. And Growlithe…the poor thing would probably perish as well.

In the end, I could save no one. Not even myself.

At the very least, he would offer them some comfort at the last moment. Not one of them deserved to die alone.

I'll stay with you guys. One way or another.

He glanced at his surrounding team before he spoke again.

"I wanted to be the champion you know… the most powerful out there." He chuckled softly. "Heh, I'm not sure if that's possible anymore. I— even though I never ended up the strongest, I'm surely the luckiest. You're the best— the best anyone could ever ask for."

He coughed again.

"Even you Scyther…. And Growlithe, for the little time you've been with me…"

Red paused again, blinking back the tears that were forming in his eyes.

"Thank you for choosing me as your trainer."

He felt Skarmory's familiar wing push forward a little more almost as if to wrap him in a protective embrace. Mawile leaned into him gently, providing what comfort she could. Even Shellder licked his face slowly, as if the seriousness of the situation was finally dawning upon him. Or so he'd like to think. The growlithe was still unmoving, as was the scyther.

His body didn't move, but if there was one single action he could have done, it would have been to pull his team closer, to hold them tighter. For a moment he almost felt like he actually did that.

His half-lidded eyes gazed at the surrounding flames drawing ever nearer. His gaze fixated on a vision that did not exist. Of himself and his team around him, continuing their journey. Of what he considered happiness.

His face melted into a mask of clear serenity even as he tried to engrave those final moments in his memory.

Peacefully, his eyes began to close. His vision blotted out and his hearing soon began to follow. After that went his sense of smell and the feeling of his hold on his team was all that remained.

A moment later and even that vanished.

~~ACT 1 - END~~

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