Ascension
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 6 - The Legend of Red
"Sir, you have a formal request for a gym battle."
Brock Pebblemann let out a soft groan. There had been a few moments in the last couple of years in which the desire to use his gym-leader position to procrastinate unimportant jobs became a significant temptation.
This was one of those moments.
"A gym-battle, now?" He looked up at Zinnia who stood before him, the familiar annoying half-smirk floating on her face. Another staff member might not have displayed her emotions so openly, but being his niece, Zinnia acted significantly more privileged than his other assistants.
"Yes, sir."
"Reschedule it. I really cannot afford any distractions at this point."
Relaxing back into the chair, Brock closed his eyes, nursing the small headache that he had been dealing with since morning.
"I've already pushed most of your obligations after the MU event. But this one is an unusual request. I wanted to run it by you first."
Brock opened a single eye.
"It's for a certification battle. Mid-Intermediate."
"And that is unusual, how?
"The applicant is one Red Ketchum. A rookie trainer. While an intermediate battle request coming from such a trainer is unusual, what really caught my attention was his sponsor—"
"Samuel Oak," Brock interrupted with a frown. "That name has been popping up way too many times for comfort."
"So, should I reschedule?" Zinnia asked.
"No," Brock raised a hand, "the Champion has a standing deal with Professor Oak over the event. We don't want to sour the ongoing negotiations because of something so… trivial."
Not to mention his own request to the old man for Forrest's apprenticeship.
"Then what shall I say?"
Brock cupped his chin. "Try to fit him in my schedule sometime this week. "
"You have time on Friday. Will that do?"
"Sure," Brock answered absently, his attention already drawn back to the file on his table.
After the entire debacle with the experimental-hybrid and the wayward scyther, it was hard not to take note of this aspiring trainer. And that wasn't even taking into account the entire affair over Viridian forest and Team Rocket.
He had done a brief background check on the kid, and what he had found was just fascinating.
The teen had spent several years working as an assistant on the Oak Ranch— more than enough experience enough to qualify as a junior breeder at any recognized institute.
Then there had been an accident involving a pikachu which resulted in third-degree electrical burns. All associated costs were covered by Oak himself. From that and the concern that the professor had shown the kid over the last few days, it could be safely assumed that the kid shared a sort of familial bond with the former Champion. And his actual family— his mother — was no joke either. She was a senior researcher at the Parthenon, one of the most exclusive facilities in all of Kanto.
Though the choices he made seemed quite questionable.
He started with a Mawile, very atypical considering it neither evolved nor had exceptional physiology or movepool. Training them was rarely worth the effort.
Following this, the kid had proceeded to capture a shellder.
Brock wasn't sure what to think of that. Wouldn't a kid taught by a former champion make better choices? That, or it was some form of teenage rebellion.
He didn't know which was worse.
Regardless, the kid was definitely interesting. Because he had taken his team of a Mawile and a Shellder and proceeded to beat a former league participant. Sure she wasn't using her conference team, but a High-Intermediate trainer with a goddamn ursaring had no business losing to a rookie and his Mawile.
Brock had actually called up the Square to check if it wasn't an error.
It wasn't.
The Square had gifted him a Skarmory. One of the finest of its kind. Not something one would normally give a rookie, but the Square wanted to make an example out of him. Proof of their generosity to other trainers at the square, should they be able to replicate his feat.
He was quite familiar with the rest, having spent a significant portion of the last couple weeks caught up in the bureaucratic red tape that followed the Viridian forest fire incident.
And Oak had once again come through for the kid. As per his recommendations, Red Ketchum had obtained ownership of the growlithe, under the pretenses of research material, the sole condition being that all research data to be supplied to Samuel Oak.
Brock snorted. Favoritism at its finest.
Registered as a Field Researcher with all his research expenses compensated through the offices of the Parthenon.
And that wasn't even counting the entire Waterflower matter. The official reprimand against Ketchum's profile was taken down, and a monetary transfer of three hundred thousand was transferred into his account.
Samuel Oak had moved politically. He had called in more favors and pushed more pieces than he had in years, and all because of one Red Ketchum.
The incident about the kirlia and the hazardous event earlier at Pallet Town was proof that the former Champion was not averse to throwing his money to keep things settled.
Brock glanced at the boy's current registered team.
Mawile. Shellder. Skarmory. Growlithe. Scyther... and Gardevoir? How does one even convince a gardevoir to do battle?
Brock hummed a familiar tune as he tidied up the papers on his desk. At the very least the battle wouldn't be boring.
Thank Kukulkan for small mercies.
Present Day
"Before we begin, let me just remind you about the rules." Brock grinned wryly at the challenger in front of him. After all that the teen had supposedly been through, and considering how Samuel Oak seemed to rain down cash and favors where he was concerned, Red was definitely less statuesque than he had expected. Sure, appearances were no guarantee of character or competence, but a part of him had expected… more.
He prayed the boy wouldn't prove to be just another example of favoritism.
"As a gym-leader, I am allowed four pokémon, their forms, and moves limited to the mid-intermediate level. As a challenger, you are allowed to use a maximum of six pokémon of varying levels. Substitutions are allowed for the challenger. The battle ends when one of us is left without a pokemon that can battle. Do you consent?"
The teen nodded. Well, at least he was confident. Surprising, considering he was about to face a mid-intermediate bunch of rock-types. Optimistic or overconfident?
Only time would tell.
"As is tradition," Brock cleared his throat, "I will choose my pokémon first." He plucked the first pokéball on his belt. The former Champion was sitting in the reception hall, watching the battle. It wouldn't do to give him a battle that was anything less than spectacular.
"Let us begin," Brock replied exuberantly. He lifted a single pokéball from his belt and was just about to release the pokémon within when—
"Wait a second," Ketchum interrupted, plucking his pokéballs from his belt. Even from the distance, Brock could see three greatballs among the six.
What's he up to?
"Can I let my team out here? So they can watch the match?."
Huh?
His incredulous expression was probably vivid, given the sheepish expression Ketchum had on his face. Really, who was this rookie, and why was he wasting his time?
"You realize that revealing all your pokémon is giving away a potential advantage?"
Ketchum shrugged. "I only have six, so it's not like this will give you any new information. So… can I?"
A single twitch appeared on Brock's temples. "I suppose that can be allowed. No further distractions, please."
"Thanks," Red gave a grateful nod, before turning to his right and releasing the entire bunch. "Come on out, everyone."
The mawile came out first, and from its expression, it probably didn't like staying within the device. The skarmory appeared next, a nonchalant expression floating on it as it considered its surroundings almost languidly. The Skarmory probably had quite a few wins under its belt, which had given rise to its arrogance.
Hopefully, the kid wasn't over-reliant on one strong fighter.
Such habits need to be nipped in the bud.
The growlithe was next. Lavenderish fur and a white mane.
Just like he had heard.
Brock wondered what other secrets the creature was hiding, apart from its quick regeneration. Growlithe were pretty fast, but speed was not an issue to him. In fact, he had something tailor-made for the situation.
Then came the scyther— and was that tension he could sense on its face? Interesting. Scyther were proud and decisive killers, and seeing apprehension on its face told quite a lot.
Though from what he remembered, the scyther was present at the Viridian Forest incident as well. Being squashed by a golem had a way of crushing the arrogance out of a pokémon.
It would probably put up a decent fight.
Brock considered his army.
Well, somewhat.
Then came the— a shellder seriously?
Was he actually going to use it for a mid-intermediate certification? Brock had to suppress the urge to gawk in disbelief at the trainer's delirious choice.
Well, on his own hands be it.
And finally the gardevoir. The pacifists of the psychic world.
This was Oak's protege?
His previous theory about Oak and his senior researcher bugged his thoughts again.
Shaking his head clear of conflicting thoughts, Brock evaluated the trainer again. He had expected a proper battle. This… This was turning into a joke. A fake presentation that would serve as nothing more than to waste his time. Had the honorable Professor Oak fallen so far as to waste a gym leader's time for something so trivial? And that too at the last moment in such a situation?
It was nepotism at its worst. Still, he would treat this match seriously.
Just like any other.
"Is that," Brock cleared his throat again, "is that the team you're going to be using?"
"...Yeah."
"Fine with me. Let's not delay the battle any further. I'll choose," He nonchalantly tossed the pokéball into the arena between them, releasing the first pokémon. The raw energy coalesced, forming a semi-large pedestal with four leg-like protrusions before the head manifested, quickly followed by the burning, black deposits along its neck.
Carkol.
"I've never seen that pokémon before." He heard the kid comment.
"I'd be surprised if you did," Brock answered. "It's called Carkol. While we do find the occasional one in our coal mines, it's not normally found in Kanto."
The kid nodded, absently before looking back to his team, probably deciding on which member to send out.
The skarmory looked disinterested as ever, while the scyther looked slightly on guard. The mawile on the other hand—
"Mawile you're up! Remember what I told you."
The mawile seemed to murmur something back in acknowledgment before sliding down into the arena. Had this been a rookie battle, Brock would have taken the time to sit the young man down and explain to him why it was such a bad idea. Yes, steel energy was advantageous when trying to break through a rock pokémon's body but that wouldn't offshoot the difference in physique. All it would take was one good hit to take out a pokémon as frail as a mawile was.
But this was a mid-intermediate certification battle.
A test.
As such, he wouldn't be instructive or give advice. For better or worse, Ketchum was on his own.
Speaking of which, the kid hadn't yet instructed the mawile to attack. Unusual, as most rookies tended to try to take the first attack.
Perhaps he was waiting for Carkol to attack to gauge its strength?
It was a little more thoughtful than the average strategy but not particularly great for trainers at his level. In a high-level battle, giving up the initiative could lead to a quick loss. Further, such trainers had several ways of attacking without giving away techniques. The kid was probably too green to know how to bait moves and stratagems.
Either way, the mawile would likely sit around until he did something, so he'd likely have to make the first move.
"Carkol, use Rock Throw."
Carkol gurgled, opening its maw as the flames inside it began to burn brighter than ever. And then, tiny fragments of burning coal were propelled out of its mouth, shooting towards the uneasy mawile on the other side.
Bait.
The mawile lifted its maw, which had begun to shine brightly, and bared it in front of herself, like a shield.
Iron Defense. Brock realized. Localized to the jaw alone, but still strong enough to resist the incoming projectiles.
Interestingly, Ketchum hadn't yet issued a single command. Prior training in tactics?
He briefly considered Oak's hand in this.
No. Way too trivial for someone like him.
"Continue Rock Throw to lock down her position. Follow up with Flame Charge!"
This should end the battle.
Carkol's flames began to expand out of its body cavity, cloaking itself in a shroud of fire. Its legs began to flatten and a moment later it started rolling.
It wasn't particularly fast, but it would be fast enough.
A burning mass of sentient rocks.
And even now, Ketchum had yet to speak a single word.
What was going on?
A foggy mist began to spread all over the arena. It was initially thickest around the mawile before it expanded, shrouding the center of the arena from everyone's view.
While it was thick enough to cause carkol to miss, the first time, the Mawile was far too conspicuous. Even now he could see her black jaw stand out among the relative obscurity of the mist.
Caught you.
"Attack the black jaw," Brock ordered. He was quite surprised to see a move as uncommon as Mist being used at all and by a mawile of all things. The teen seemed to have a few tricks up his sleeve, so perhaps this battle wouldn't end up as boring as he dreaded.
Though the fact that the kid still hadn't said anything was weird.
Either way, it was a pity that the Mist wouldn't serve as a proper distraction. The black jaw was far too easy to spot inside the fog. Perhaps if it had been of a slightly less prominent color, things would be different.
The carkol gurgled, before happily shooting towards the new destination. Carkol weren't capable of overly complex thought and were happy to follow simple commands. The mist had probably confused it, but the new order seemed to dissipate the issue.
It slammed into the black jaw, and found— air?
SLAM!
The sudden strike hit Carkol like a freight train. The mist around them deepened.
Double Team. Brock realized instantly, What a crafty little thing.
He glanced at the teen, who had still not spoken, his eyes fixated on the match.
Very weird.
Even so, there was weird and then there was weird. A trainer choosing to apply for a mid-Intermediate certification right off the bat wasn't so much weird as it was weird. Same for the former Champion to throw his name around to ease the boy's path to success. But to stand there, and not utter a word, even when his pokémon— a mawile of all things, was facing a pokémon that was practically unheard of in Kanto—
That certainly rang bells of the weird category, and Brock didn't know what to think of it.
The intentional use of a shield to indicate a defensive position, followed by a Mist which was then used to set up a single Double Team clone. It was inspiring and unorthodox.
Where most trainers used it as an evasion technique, Ketchum had used it as a way to lure the prey in. As bait. And when carkol had attacked the clone, the mawile had struck.
"Impressive," Brock praised him with a wide grin. "It's been quite some time since I've been deceived in a battle like this."
"Thanks," Ketchum replied with a soft smile before his gaze returned to the battle.
He had been taking the battle quite lightly so far, but the kid had impressed him enough that he would begin to get a bit more serious.
"Carkol," Brock spoke, "tear the mist down. Flame Wheel!"
The flames around Carkol's body began to spread out viciously like angry serpents, hissing and contorting around each other in a twisted spiral. It increased radially outward before a second layer began to form above it and shoot upwards, creating a dome of flames in the process.
"Burst!" Brock commanded.
And then the carkol let go.
The dome of fire burst out, the spherical dome-shape allowing it to radiate the extreme heat in all directions. The mist instantly vanished— dissipated by the propelled heatwave.
"I've—I've never seen an attack like that before," Ketchum exclaimed in surprise. The skarmory next to him nodded in agreement. At some point, it had pushed itself next to him and was staring at the carkol with a kind of morbid fascination.
"It's called Flame Wheel." Brock grinned. "A specific move tutor for fire-types with greater-than-average reserves."
"Wow," Ketchum breathed softly.
Back on the battlefield, the mawile seemed to be having a bad time. The sudden heatwave had slammed into her hard. Its fur was slightly singed, though the brunt of the damage had been held back by the black jaw.
And if Ketchum hadn't heard of Flame Wheel before, it meant that he hadn't planned for it in advance. And yet, apart from the disdain in its expression, there was no change in its mannerisms. No look of desperation, no demand for an order from its trainer. Brock widened his eyes, before swiftly glancing at Ketchum and then back at the mawile.
This doesn't make a lick of sense. It's been fighting by itself?
Just what the hell was Ketchum teaching his team to be? A self-dependent battler? And Oak allowed that? Didn't he know about the possible dangers?
"Mawile can you go on?" Ketchum spoke. There was no anger in his voice, just a genuine question out of care for his starter.
The mawile grunted in affirmation.
"Cool it," Ketchum ordered for the first time.
Huh? Not completely independent I see.
The mawile raised its jaw again, congregating some kind of energy inside it. Carkol had fallen on the ground, with one of its legs crushed from the impact. Clearly that single hit from the mawile's ambush had cost it its mobility. The leg would regenerate, but it would take a few days for that to happen. For now, it was a sitting target.
The attack came, much before Carkol could have gone for a second round of Flame Wheel. The mawile shot forward before slamming its jaw against Carkol's neck.
If only that was all.
A cold wind tore through the arena.
This is… Brock realized with a shudder as tiny amounts of frost formed around him.
Hail.
And then the real attack came in.
A torrent of ice shot into Carkol's body cavity, the snowflakes and icy cold wind freezing its insides. The carkol shuddered and roared in pain and agony, but the ice would not be resisted.
Frost formed all around the fire-type, as shards of ice began to rise where once stood burning deposits of anthracite coal.
First Mist and now this? What the hell kind of a mawile does that?
"Shake it off. Use Magnitude."
An interesting thing about a carkol's physiology was that its body parts were segmented into layers, and each layer could act independently of the other. The central furnace in the middle provided the superheated flames to all segments but apart from that, the lower regions had several more ways of attack than just flames.
There was a reason carkol was a rock-type after all.
Ketchum may have thought that shutting its mobility down would hand him a victory.
The carkol would teach him not to assume things like that.
The three tiny feet-like projections flipped to a vertical position, before its body began to shake, almost like a vibrating motor. The sudden periodic vibrations began to slowly defrost its core before the rhythm reached a resonance and was radiated out into the ground beneath. The floor shook and hissed and crackled as tiny rock fragments exploded out of the crust, hitting the mawile all over. Hissing in pain, the mawile leaped backward, away from the vibrating pokémon.
It would be of no use. The Magnitude would only get stronger with time.
"That will be enough for now," Ketchum commanded. "Mawile come back."
The mawile looked like she'd rather do anything but.
"Please?"
With an annoyed grunt, the mawile slowly bobbed her head.
Ketchum smiled before raising a pokéball and sucking her into it. The moment that was done, he quickly released her below the stand, allowing her to sit down with the rest of the team.
"You realize, that by recalling your pokémon mid-battle, you have forfeited her right to participate in the rest of the challenge?" Brock asked.
"She has done what she needed to," Ketchum grinned, "Scyther you're next."
With a speed that could only belong to a scyther, the bug zoomed its way into the center of the arena, appearing a little distance away from the carkol.
"Shall we?" Ketchum asked.
"Let's." Brock agreed, "after all—"
The rest of his words died in his throat as a gurgling scream emanated into the air. Brock's eyes moved towards the scyther, who had vanished from its position, only to reappear before the carkol. It then proceeded to pierce its long, lethal scythes into its body— one into its half-frozen core, and the other into the lower segment. Both scythes were imbued with black tendril-like energy that were slowly entering the carkol's body.
Night Slash. Brock realized, and with that came another realization.
This battle was over.
"Nicely done," he praised, "carkol withdraws. First point to you."
Scyther felt the red haze slowly leave him as he stepped back, tearing through the strange rock-type with his scythes. Even after using the technique for a long time, he still couldn't help but feel the inherent wrongness behind it.
He remembered the first time he had managed to use that technique. He had felt the wrongness take birth inside him, traverse through his very veins and slither into his victim. It was no poison and yet, his opponent Nuzleaf had begun to slowly squirm. A few seconds later, Nuzleaf was practically shaking, feverish, and spent.
Night Slash.
That was what Paul had called it. Scyther was not unintelligent, so he had quickly connected the inherent wrongness in those blackish tendrils with the name Dark. And from what Paul had told him, the technique was actually less effective on Nuzleaf since he was a dark-type himself.
The implication had never been clearer.
The first time he had used it on a victim, it had been a wild nidorino. The poisonous, unruly beast had fallen down, groaning as the tendrils took something away from its body, leaving it wasted and spent. Another pair of slashes had followed soon after.
It was the first time he had tasted nidorino meat in his life. Too bitter for his tastes, but it was a novel experience nonetheless
And it was the very same move he had used on this fiery rock beast. Frankly, Scyther had expected it to keel over.
It hadn't.
It was kind of disappointing. Perhaps he needed to perfect this move even further?
He glanced up at Red, fearing to see a shallow appraisal in his eyes. Paul would have been irritated— angry even— at how the rock-type had not immediately crumbled upon the execution of Scyther's most powerful move. Especially after Mawile had paved the way and weakened it significantly in the first place.
Instead, he saw pride.
Red was proud of his performance.
But… why?
"Nicely done," said the other man, whom he had recognized as the gym-leader back when fighting as part of Paul's team, "—Carkol withdraws. First point to you."
Scyther grunted distastefully.
"Time for my next," Brock went on, "go Lycanroc."
And then Scyther stilled.
Scyther remembered it all too well. The quadrupedal wolf with light orange fur with a bright white mane that extended out into spike-like protrusions that could impale anything at short notice. Scyther knew just how dangerous it could be to fight something that could cause a spike to protrude out of its body at random, especially when engaged in a battle of close combat.
He had first-hand experience at getting his ass kicked by such a fearsome pokémon.
But what came out was not a Lycanroc, or at least, not what he remembered facing.
This monster before him was a slouched, bipedal wolf, with glowing crimson fur aside from the white mane that furrowed its way through its underbelly, spine, and lower thighs. The mane above its head was raised and folded forwards, forming a shroud around its face, leaving nothing to save its ghastly crimson eyes for everyone to see. The frontal limbs had sharp black claws, promising certain death with a single strike, and finally, a long reddish tail sprouting out from the base of its spine.
The feral creature howled with unspeakable ferocity.
His primal instincts rose in response to the challenge and Scyther bared his fangs, his scythes ready for the worst to happen. The lycanroc he remembered had been a quintessential warrior— proud, regal, and calculating. Every single move it made had been purposeful and deliberate— no energy was ever wasted. And throughout the fight, it never once lost its composure.
As befitted a king of a pack.
This one, however, was different. A demented beast, whose very aura reeked of mindless slaughter and carnage.
A berserker.
"What kind of pokémon is that?" He heard Red exclaim.
Brock laughed. "It's called a lycanroc. They come in three forms. This particular one is the most… brutal of the lot."
"You mean the others are less powerful than this one?"
Brock laughed. "Not necessarily. This one's simply more brutal with its dealings. I thought it would be a fitting answer to your scyther's… opening statement."
Almost on cue, the stark raving eyes met Scyther's perturbed gaze.
Scyther snarled back. This thing might not have been the regal predator he had fought earlier, but it was still dangerous.
"Lycanroc," Brock commanded, "bring that scyther down."
And it attacked.
The beast propelled itself on its feet, stomping its way through, raising a miniature gale of sand and dust with every step, its sharp claws glowing with energies as it slashed towards Scyther.
Being a creature of heightened senses and speed, Scyther dodged the attack, but before he could rest, another slash followed and another and then another— slashes came raining down towards him with every intention to seriously maim, if not kill.
"Accelerock. Agility." Brock commanded.
And then the beast went faster.
As if it wasn't being a nuisance already.
Still, it wasn't beyond what he could handle. The one he had fought with Paul, had taken him out in a single blow. This… this was still within his capabilities to deal with. Inwardly, Scyther began to wish Red would start issuing orders soon. Unlike Mawile and Skarmory, he was still having trouble with the entire independent battling concept. To fight on wild instinct was one thing, but to make logical decisions mid-battle? That was an entirely different bottle of worms Scyther was hesitant to open.
The trainer always had the last word. The trainer always knew best. A pokémon's job was to follow its trainer's commands to the fullest. If something went wrong, it was the pokémon's fault for not being quick or capable enough to carry out its trainer's commands to the tee.
There were no two ways about it.
Red, on the other hand, had thrown those preconceptions in the gutter. He had made Scyther perform every single move he knew and then taught him two new skills. Sure, neither had been perfected yet, but that wasn't the point. Instead of ensuring that he knew his position in the hierarchy, Red had pitted Scyther against Skarmory and asked him to fight. The steel avian tended to use different tactics in every fight, and while initially, Scyther thought he was being bullied, he had slowly started to understand that she was in fact, teaching him. Every time Scyther found himself in a corner, Red would offer him alternatives, and then allow him to choose between them.
What was even more frightening was that the training had actually begun to pay off.
After his sixteenth fight with Skarmory, Scyther had been somewhat able to start deducing her strategy, at least against himself. He had been able to last for fifteen minutes against the indomitable wrath of Skarmory.
The steel avian had never looked prouder of him.
But now as he faced a variant of the same creature that had humiliated him, memories of Paul's training threatened to overwhelm him. Scyther found himself looking back expectantly at Red, begging him for orders.
Quickly parrying the next six strokes, Scyther pondered over his next course of action. His natural speed was good enough to dodge almost every slash the lycanroc made, but the Agility/Accelerock combination was making it a lot harder to manage.
And that was because he knew how that particular attack seemed to work.
Unlike other rock-types, Lycanroc only had a very thick hide to protect its body. Sure, its claws were thick and could pierce through steel, it didn't need to depend on a rocky layer for defense, unlike other rock-types.
Instead, what made Lycanroc peculiar was their ability to instantly synthesize sharp rock protrusions, and push them out of its fur at will. Any creature that came into close combat with a lycanroc would find itself a target for those rocky spears.
Furthermore, its strong regeneration factor allowed it to ignore minor cuts and wounds making Lycanroc an extremely potent threat.
Scyther knew from experience.
And that was what fighting Accelerock was about.
It had learned some kind of pattern, slashing forward with its claws while growing a sharp rocky layer. Then it would use a quick burst of Agility to barrel at him.
Sure, Scyther could use his scythes to keep parrying the attack, but all that would do was turn this into a battle of attrition.
And that was something Scyther didn't want to see happening.
Lycanroc was getting faster and faster, its red eyes glaring at him with a kind of primal hunger. It had lost all semblance of strategy at this point and was simply clawing randomly at him. If it wasn't for its bursts of speed, Scyther would have ended it by now.
The gym leader continued to edge his pokémon on. Was accelerock the only move it knew? Apparently he wanted to turn this into a stamina contest. Red, on the other hand, seemed happy to stay damnably silent.
"Scyther," Red spoke, surprising the bug. How had Red known that he wanted him to say something? The more he thought he understood him, the more mysterious he found the human. "You know what to do. Weak points. Patterns. Stick to your strengths."
Reasonable advice. Scyther concluded, but he still was on his own.
Stick to his strengths, Red had said. As far as he knew, Scyther had always been a creature of speed, regardless of his frail body. Trading blows with a rock type was not the correct answer. Neither was competing with endurance.
No, it would have to be speed. Scyther could go faster still, but beyond a certain point, he would lose control. Agility could push him beyond those limits, but at the same time, it tended to dull everything else.
Going in at full speed would be a gamble, and one that would not end well for him should he lose. Still, he couldn't think of any other way.
Speed was the answer.
Speed had always been the answer.
To defeat this creature, he had to use that one thing he could do better than anyone else.
Just like the creature of the story that Red had shared after one hard day of training. The story of a predator so fearsome that no pokémon ever managed to even touch it. With nothing but sheer speed, it had played with one of the most dangerous elements of the world. A being so quick that it could race sound itself. A being with such speed that its mere passing could herald death.
An existence that had cemented its position as the fastest being alive.
They called it Raikou— he who ran with lightning.
The story had inspired Scyther because it taught him that all he needed to do was be faster than his foe.
Than the beast in front of him.
Scyther ducked and swerved all the way, using short bursts of Agility to dodge Agility. His senses had started to dull, and he couldn't change his direction mid-movement, but it didn't matter. If this worked, he wouldn't need anything else.
And then he swerved, turning his back to the psychopathic raging beast.
Paul would have been furious at such a thought, but Paul wasn't Scyther's trainer anymore.
Red was.
And Red was completely to blame for putting in unorthodox ideas in his mind. Scyther's wings, which were glowing from the activation of Steel Wing, wings, now began to vibrate.
At extreme speed.
Normally Bug Buzz caused a wave a disorienting sound that would generate nausea among those exposed to it. At full speed, it was enough to send a powerful sonic wave that would hit the closest target with physical force. For whatever reason, he had noticed that it wasn't very effective on pokémon with inorganic physiologies, so he had shelved the move for the fight. But now, Scyther was going to try something new.
The Steel coating his wings kept the sound wave trapped within.
Amplified it.
And it grew— doubling, tripling, quadrupling the sound produced allowing a new factor to be introduced.
Vibration.
The gym leader reacted immediately.
"It's charging up a Steel Wing. Use Rock Tomb!"
A three-inch-thick slab of stone shot up from the floor, acting as a barrier between Scyther's wings and the hasty lycanroc.
Unfortunately, what Scyther was using was far more than just a Steel Wing.
The wings phased through the rock barrier, cleaving through it like a hot knife on butter.
And then he moved faster.
"Rock Tomb again. Accelerock!"
The Lycanroc had put some distance between them and was setting up barriers.
It did not matter.
The next stone slab cleaved as easily as the first one.
The wings went faster and faster. One could almost see the afterimages of the wings. For that moment, it was like there existed six pairs of wings— coated in steel, and vibrating at speeds that shouldn't have been physically possible.
It was time to introduce the third component into the equation. Red had taught him how to safely use multiple attacks to complement each other but something like this was a novel experience, even after that ludicrous training Red had put him through.
Agility.
Steel Wing had turned his wings into a blade that could shatter rock.
Vibration had increased its potency by several degrees.
And now Agility reinforced vibration, pushing the wings through an extreme frequency. It didn't matter that he'd not be able to control himself any longer.
He didn't want control.
He wanted to be free.
The feeling of absolute and utter invincibility gripped him, and Scyther let go, rushing past everything that stood in his way.
And felt his wings cleave through the lycanroc.
It was surreal, watching the entire event transpire before his eyes.
The world hadn't changed, and yet for Red, they seemed to have done so. Everything else seemed to slowly get muted as if he was perceiving a part of his surroundings and rejecting the rest. As if the neurons were firing ten times faster inside his mind, as Scyther's gambit— which had happened within two seconds, seemed to get dragged into ten.
He saw the lycanroc crash into the ground, the crimson glare vanishing from its eyes as it rolled over and fell down like a rag on the ground, splattering blood and gore all around its now unmoving body. Brock had recalled it almost instantly and given it to an attendant that had rushed into the chamber, and taken away the pokéball.
Then his eyes turned to Scyther who let out a wail.
The wings were still vibrating as if stuck in a periodic motion that even Scyther was now finding difficult to control. His wings would continue vibrating every now and then, gaining pace before slowing to a standstill. Then it would start all over again.
"Scyther return!" He called out, returning the bug-type before releasing him again beside him. The joints where the wings met the skin were segmented and fractured— probably from the extensive vibration.
"Whatever made you try something like that?" He admonished. "What if you got seriously injured?"
Instead of actually understanding and acknowledging his stupidity like he rightfully should have, Scyther only gave him an awestruck look in return.
For a moment Red was strangely reminded of Shellder.
Why do I attract all the weird ones?
He unzipped his backpack that was resting on the floor beside him and took out a potion. "Come over here. This will help with the pain."
And Scyther obeyed, almost like a dutiful child.
There were days when Red wondered why Scyther was so obedient to him. Why was the feral bug-type, something that had all the right in the world to make others fear its presence, so full of self-doubt and so desperate for appreciation?
He had deduced that Scyther was once a trained pokémon, given its taste for cooked food and its movepool that was unnatural enough to imply the use of TMs. At first, he had thought that it had been released for whatever reason. Perhaps, it had been outside the trainer's ability to control?
But Scyther did not behave like a rebel or like someone who had escaped.
Scyther behaved like a child desperate for attention.
Who had been abandoned.
If Red ever ended up crossing paths with Scyther's old trainer, he would make him pay.
And that was ignoring his team. Despite their diversity, they seemed to have a strange sort of rapport. Of course, this was boosted by the fact that they could actually communicate. While Mia could help him synchronize with Scyther's base emotions it was just that.
Feelings.
The literal thoughts, however, still remained out of his grasp.
"Do you want me to take you to the medics first?"
Scyther nodded, before shaking his head towards the arena before him.
"No— no way. You're not going out there again."
Scyther screeched defiantly.
"You've done your best and you've won the battle. Let the others do their part now."
Scyther grumbled but didn't continue with his resistance.
"Good boy," Red smiled and gave him an affectionate hug, causing Scyther to stiffen momentarily. Red noticed but did not comment. He would have to deal with Scyther's issues more delicately. And to think that he once thought he understood pokémon psychology back then at the ranch.
Then he turned around to face Brock. "Should we continue the battle?"
Brock shook his head. "Let's take a brief recess. We will continue the next two battles after an hour. I need to check up on Lycanroc."
"I'm really sorry about—"
Brock raised a hand. "I don't blame you. Pokémon hurting pokémon during battle is an accepted part of the gym circuit. That said, it was quite a large gambit your scyther made back then. Where did you learn that technique? I assume it took quite a while to master it to that level."
Red opened his mouth but no words came to him.
"...What?" Brock asked, possibly feeling his reluctance.
"This is the first time Scyther used it. I've trained him in Agility, in Steel Wing, and in Bug Buzz. We've practiced multiple techniques simultaneously before too. But something like this… I had no hand in its creation."
Brock stared at him, disbelief etched upon his face.
"...What?"
"Do you mean to say," Red wondered if he was just imagining it or had Brock's voice gone down to a cold whisper, "that your scyther created a brand new move, by itself, in the middle of a gym-battle, without any help from its trainer?"
"... I've faith in my team?" Red tried.
Frankly, he didn't understand why this was such a big deal. Scyther had grown to be that fast. He understood what it meant to move at that speed, and thus, he'd stand the best chance at incorporating the best elements inside him to bring about something novel.
Just like Shellder had done with his Water Bullet, or well… the strange new technique that the water-type was currently obsessed with.
Brock's right eye twitched as he glared at him expectantly.
Deciding that the gym leader would not stop giving him the stink eye unless he explained more, Red took a deep breath. "I taught Scyther how to use different moves and abilities together, and made him fight against the rest of my team on his own, without any interference on my side."
"You mean without guidance."
Red opened his mouth and then closed it. He could understand Brock's confusion about it. He couldn't define what he was doing, but it wasn't about making them fight without orders. It was different. It was— was helping them learn to think for themselves.
It was a mindset, a frame of mind.
He had tried to explain it to the professor, and he hadn't really understood what Red was going for either. To be honest Red didn't fully understand himself.
It was simply an intrinsic desire, for them to grow, to be able to make their own decisions, not just in battle.
To teach them. It was something that he had never seen eye to eye with the old man on. The professor cared for pokémon deeply. He treated his team with love and affection. But there was always a distinction he made for them. They were pokémon.
Not for Red.
To him, they were more. They were his team.
His family.
He wasn't just teaching them how to fight alone. Which was why he was finding Brock's question so hard to answer.
"... perhaps." He answered finally as he stared at the gym-leader.
Brock ruffled his own hair in confusion. "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but what you're trying to do," he paused, glancing at the scyther momentarily, " and succeeding to a minor extent, is frowned upon. It's a pokémon's place to fight. It's the trainer's job to guide them through the battle via commands."
"I guide them too," Red retorted, frustrated at the other man's apparent condescension. "I guide them while training. The battle, I let them do it on their own."
"It's not about being able to battle independently. It's about autonomous—" Brock looked like he was about to chastise him for his apparent stupidity, but then the gym-leader composed himself. "Well, it's fine I guess. Maybe you will prove us wrong and it will work for you. We will continue the battle after the intermission. You are permitted to take your scyther to the medics and perhaps meet your sponsor if you wish."
And with, Brock left the chamber, leaving Red to his musings.
I should have known better.
Over the course of his fruitful life, Samuel Oak had done many things— some of which were much less glamorous than how the world painted him. The Kanto-Johto mainland beheld, and dare he say so, feared the wrath of the Bogeyman. The one man that had taken down the ruthless regime of the then Champion, and established a new society with better laws, both for people and pokémon. A man who had single-handedly annihilated two criminal organizations, and relentlessly kept ending their smaller bases until they were nothing but relics of the past.
People of today's generation venerated him for revolutionizing research through his invention of the pokédex. Two generations ago, a major section of the population would have hailed him as a revolutionary, or worse, a dictator.
Over time, he had completely embraced the mask of the pacifist professor. After decades of wearing the mask, it had started to feel like real skin.
It was why he was completely fine with Gary not wanting to stay under his shadow. Rebellious or not, Samuel discretely did want Gary to grow out of it and create his own legend, separate from the Oak legacy. It was why he allowed his son and daughter-in-law to stay away in Kalos, building their own name and reputation.
Then Red came along.
Perhaps it was just coincidence, but the more days passed, the more he could see himself in the boy. That same intelligence, that same unabashed curiosity in the face of the unknown, and the same willingness to accept his faults and learn when the opportunity presented itself. Most importantly, there was the same desire to reject conventions and wholeheartedly embrace a paradigm shift.
It was like looking in an old mirror.
Call him selfish. Call him fearful, but somehow he could see the path that the child was going to take. And he feared the world would not be ready for it. The mysteries of the world were one gargantuan furnace, and Red a thick strap of raw iron ore.
The world was not ready for another Bogeyman. Not yet.
He had jokingly suggested that Red try for the mid-Intermediate certification, expecting the teen to duck out and go for a standard battle, or barring that, try for a low-intermediate certification. It was what any rational person would do. The gap between tiers in the intermediate ranking was huge and there was no need for the kid to attempt it in his first month.
Instead, the teen had leaped up to the challenge, and now from what he had seen, how Red had actively crushed two of Brock's pokémon without losing a single one or even speaking a single word, he could see the rise of a future Champion.
Vibroblade.
That was the name the teen had decided on for that new technique his scyther had come up with. From what he gathered, it used a combination of a focussed Agility on its wings and Bug Buzz to oscillate the wings at faster and faster speeds. However, instead of releasing the soundwave in a sonic boom, it was kept trapped by the steel wing, rebounding the vibrations.
Amplifying them.
The oscillations trapped within the steel had nowhere to go and therefore began to magnify.
Which meant the move got more powerful every second it was held.
The scyther had held the move for a mere three seconds and it cut through multiple layers of slated rock like paper.
Of course, there was the major drawback of recoil. In the mere three seconds, it held the move, it nearly shredded its wings. Oak estimated that it wouldn't be able to hold the move for more than seven seconds without destroying them completely. Of course, with Scyther being a bug with a highly regenerative physiology, that wasn't too much of a problem.
Still, its potential was endless. Oak hypothesized that if the move was held for 6 seconds or longer, the Vibroblade would grow to the point where it could cut through an aggron with ease.
The teen had taken no credit for its creation, but Oak knew better. Wild pokémon could grow strong— stronger than trained pokémon even. It was the truth and he had seen it several times with his own eyes. But there was a reason why pokémon moves developed in a linear fashion, and why composite moves were nearly always created by human innovation.
Pokémon were simply not programmed to be that way. In the wild, moves were created as a function of instinct and necessity and not ingenuity.
And yet the teen, in his ignorance and stubbornness, had done it. He had taught a pokémon how to create a move on its own.
And from what Red had told him, this wasn't the first time it had happened.
The teen might not know it yet, but Oak was certain. Red had traversed the line that differentiated a good trainer and a great one. He had always known that the boy had tremendous potential, that much was given. But to see it with his own eyes—
"I never saw it coming, Delia," he spoke at last. "I thought I had succeeded in pushing him into a different path, but it seems even after fifty years, I have yet to learn my lesson."
"What do you mean professor?" Delia asked, confused by his ambiguous statement.
"Heh!" The old professor laughed. "I doubt I'd be able to explain it to you in coherent terms, Delia. Hell, I don't understand it myself enough. Just call it the ramblings of a foolish man who should have known better and leave it at that."
He stared at the wide screen ahead of him. The hour was over and the battle was going to continue. The battle, in his opinion, that would cement the first steps of a new legacy.
The legend of Red.
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