To be honest, I don't know what I'm doing here.

Maybe I'm here because of jealousy, because I want to be as good as other, infinitely better writers.

Or maybe I'm just here to share my ideas to the world, no matter how uninventive they may be.

Whatever the case, I'm here, I'm writing, and I want to see what happens.

For all I know, this is absolute garbage. Feel free to just call it that to my face if you want, but just know that this story will probably benefit a lot more from honest, constructive feedback.

With that in mind, here goes: I hope you enjoy!

Sandslash had been alone for months now, a traveler on a long journey only he could complete. His trainer had other Pokemon, sure, but Sandslash was the only one discreet enough to not attract attention.

Even as Sandslashes went, he was deceptively ordinary, sporting the standard array of brown quills, a tough hide, and the elongated foreclaws that most of his kind possessed. Being ordinary, though, gave him strength. Most Pokemon would pass him by, either seeing him as a threat to be avoided, or just an annoyance and not worth their time in the slightest. The looks of disdain he received from the latter made him seethe.

"If only they knew." He kept saying to himself. If his mission hadn't been of such import that he simply couldn't afford any distractions, he would have fought some of the more scornful ones, mostly Dragon-types, but a smattering of Darks as well. He could use the practice.

His loyalty to his trainer and, by proxy, the mission set before him, kept him on track though. With most wild Pokemon leaving him alone, he'd made quick progress as he journeyed from Kanto, through Johto and now into Hoenn. His end goal, of course, was Sinnoh, and that was still a long way off. First, he'd have to make his way through this Arceus-forsaken desert.

Sandslash normally loved the desert. It had been a sort of anchor for him, even after being caught. Despite this, he simply didn't visit the dunes where he'd grown up as often anymore, mostly because his teammates didn't prefer the sand. Occasionally, with help from the other two Ground-types on the team, practically his parents at this point, he could convince them to accompany him to his childhood home, but those occasions were few and far between.

He didn't really need to have the team there, as he was fully capable of traveling there on his own, but he thoroughly enjoyed their company, something which he had been sorely lacking ever since he'd set out.

This desert, however, was different from his birthplace. An almost-constant sandstorm whipped through the air, carrying streams of sand throughout the area and obscuring everything from view. Even a Pokemon such as Sandslash, who seemed almost perfectly built for these conditions, felt uncomfortable.

Unfortunately for him, the same couldn't be said for the denizens of this part of Hoenn, who seemed to hate every fiber of his being just because he could even weather the storm. While the Sandshrews around these parts respected him and stayed out of his way, the Cacnea and Baltoy were unusually aggressive, the former of which having drilled a few poisonous barbs beneath his hide at some point.

Then there were some of the other Pokemon, from predators like Skorupi and Lycanrock, to scavengers like those damn Mandibuzz that circled above him even now. Occasionally, bigger threats like Hippowdon and even an Alpha Tyranitar had reared their ugly heads, and a brutal battle with the latter, a 14 '5 monster of a Pokemon with blood-red eyes, had resulted in three broken quills and a massive gash on Sandslash's left leg.

And yet, somehow despite all of that, the worst of the wild Pokemon in his eyes were those relentless Trapinch swarms that had harried him ever since he'd stepped foot in this desert. Usually, Trapinch such as these would answer to a Vibrava or Flygon, yet in the two days he'd been in this place, the mouse Pokemon hadn't seen any sign of either, quite a rarity for swarms of this size.

An ear-piercing cry from his left heralded the arrival of even more Trapinch, this time a trio. Sandslash had spotted them about five minutes ago, and frankly, was rather surprised they had waited so long to get his attention. Perhaps they were a bit scared, he thought, grinning slightly at the prospect of a scared Trapinch.

The biggest of the three barked something at him, probably an order to surrender or something, Sandslash wasn't really paying attention. It was only when a spray of sand, probably from a Sand Attack if he had to guess, impacted him on the back, right where two of his spines had been snapped, that he actually reacted, and even then, it was only to glare menacingly at them.

The trio weren't all that imposing as Trapinch went. The leader had a set of scars that Sandslash immediately recognized as coming from Sandshrew claws, which caused a slight smile to tug at the corners of his mouth, but other than that, he had no distinguishing features. The other two were similarly featureless, obviously just a pair of cronies for the larger one.

Again, the leader of this trio barked something at him, his tone a little sharper than before, but Sandslash just continued to ignore him, pushing forward through the whipping wind as he continued his journey.

The Trapinch didn't seem to like that. A few more clumps of sand dissipated harmlessly after being thrown his way, and Sandslash couldn't help but notice the agitation in the trio, particularly in the leader.

"Are you sure you want this fight?" The mouse Pokemon asked the three, barely glancing at them as he walked. "I won't think less of you if you don't."

Even as he said the words, a grimace spread across his face. He couldn't believe he was expecting the Trapinch to have honor, of all things. The lead Trapinch laughed, though it came out more as a raspy cough than anything.

"Acting all tough, eh?" The ant-pit Pokemon growled, in an obvious attempt to goad him into a fight. It wasn't working. "We'll see how tough you are. Get him!"

His two thugs scurried forward, laughably slow in comparison to the speeds Sandslash had seen in his time with his trainer. These two only seemed to know melee attacks, other than Sand Attack of course, but that hardly counted.

Sandslash could have easily stayed out of their reach and peppered them with Pin Missile until they fell, but as he considered it for a second, he decided against the idea. It would be better to show them his strength, to make them fear his power, so that was exactly what he did.

"Swords Dance." He called, making sure they heard him over the wind. "Sand Rush; Stealth Roller."

His claws instantly sharpened, his spines following suit, and the two lesser Trapinch seemed to eye him warily, ready to dodge whatever he sent their way.

Not that they would get the chance. With his ability, he would be on them in the blink of an eye, a thought which he relished as he curled into a spiny ball, spinning circles in place to gather speed. A layer of Stealth Rocks sprayed up as he did so, which quickly collected around him in a sort of armor, a technique he'd picked up from his mentor, the strongest member of his trainer's team.

Now there was fear in the eyes of his opponents, which was justified. This display of power was almost completely pointless. Usually, he'd be on them already, but a certain part of him made him enjoy their fear. Eventually though, he would need to get moving again, so with a violent burst of speed, he shot towards the two thuggish Trapinch at breakneck pace. Covering the five or so meters between them in a matter of moments, he slammed into both of them at speed, sending them flying. One skidded through the sand, making a massive rut that was quickly filled by the storm, while the other went airborne after taking the brunt of the impact. Capitalizing, Sandslash leapt upwards, unfurling as he appeared above the soaring Trapinch.

"Strength!" He cried, slamming his foreclaws into the Pokemon below him, arresting its flight and sending it hurtling downwards. The Trapinch impacted against the ground, sending out a shockwave of sand as he landed, unconscious, in a newly formed crater.

Still airborne and barely losing his momentum, Sandslash arced towards the final Trapinch, who had the presence of mind to brace himself with what the trained Pokemon recognized as Endure, but it wouldn't help. Even with a move specifically designed to stop oneself from being taken down, the power differential was too great, and with a simple Aerial Ace at this speed, the Trapinch was flung away, unconscious before it even hit the ground.

Just like that, the battle was over, though calling it that was rather generous. From the perspective of a trained Pokemon who'd bested entire teams by his lonesome, three wild Trapinch barely even counted as a training session.

Wiping a bit of blood off his claws, probably from the one he'd struck with Strength, if he had to hazard a guess, he continued on his way, leaving the unconscious trio of Trapinch behind him. The Mandibuzz that had been following him were already descending to feast, but Sandslash really didn't care. Another half-day's trek, and he'd be out of this miserable dump, and then it was only a matter of time before he would reach Sinnoh and his mission would be over.

His trainer would be pleased, he thought. She might even give him what he thought would be a well-deserved break, but that wouldn't be for a while, and now was a time to focus.

With the mental image of his trainer's happiness now in his mind, he soldiered on with renewed vigor, his tracks swept away as if he'd never been there.

Exactly as intended.

"So you want to be the Sinnoh Champion? Then try Cinnamon Champion Pokepuffs! They're the breakfast of Champions!"

Ivan groaned, blocking the obnoxious Pokepuff jingle from reaching his ears. There never was anything good on TV in the summer, when training season was still two months away, and from his experience, those two months always passed the slowest of the entire year. This summer in particular had been especially slow, partly because Thomas, one of his only friends, had moved to Unova that winter, and partly because Ivan had finally, finally reached the age where he could legally be a trainer without supervision.

Technically, 16 years wasn't the cutoff. Trainers started as early as the age of ten, but with his fathers prejudice, the boy would be lucky to be able to start this year, or even the next. To put it simply, his father absolutely despised Pokemon. Whereas other houses could be found with a Yamper or a Meowth as a family pet, and almost every adult had at least two Pokemon by their side, Ivan's father had never, ever owned a Pokemon, at least not to his son's knowledge, and he'd taken almost extreme measures to make sure that Ivan followed in his footsteps on that front. Up until two years ago, the only thing Ivan had ever heard about Pokemon was how evil they were, and as far as his father knew, he still wholeheartedly believed that lie.

If it weren't for Thomas, Ivan was rather sure that his father would be right in that regard, which was why the blow of the older boy's departure still stung.

After checking the time, 3:22 pm to be exact, Ivan turned the TV off, then returned the remote to the stand where his father kept it. The last thing he wanted was to be discovered watching tournament reruns other than the one from 26 years ago, when a trainer's Krokorok had gone on a berserk rampage after suffering an especially powerful hit, and had badly wounded three Pokemon, a trainer, and two spectators before it was subdued.

His father had tried to use that one to teach his son how dangerous even a 'trained' Pokemon could be, and it had worked for a while, but now that Ivan had seen some of the other reruns, it was quite apparent to him that the Krokorok had been an isolated incident.

He was rather glad he'd turned off the TV when he did, because almost exactly four minutes later, the key had turned in the lock, and his father had entered their apartment within the Veilstone complex. Robert Lawrence stood at an imposing 6'2, which made his perpetually angry face all that much more intimidating. The man, holding a bottle of his favorite whiskey in one hand and a rain-soaked umbrella in the other, barely gave his son a passing glance and an angry grunt before he stamped into the kitchen, tracking mud everywhere.

"Oh great." Ivan groaned inwardly. "He's mad… very mad."

And from his experience, when his father was mad, he usually took it out on his son, and sure enough, five minutes later, there was a drunken yell from the kitchen.

"Ivan!" His father slurred, the whiskey having already taken effect. "Get your lazy ass in here you little-"

The only thing worse than an angry Robert Lawrence was a drunk one, and Ivan knew it, so it was with extreme caution that he sat down at the kitchen table, staring eye to eye with his father as the older man swigged yet more whiskey straight from the bottle.

"You know so-" His father started to speak, and then began to hiccup uncontrollably. It took him almost a minute to get himself gathered again, and in that time, he'd gotten significantly angrier.

"Son." The man said loudly, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear through the incredibly thin walls. "You are a DISGRACE!"

Ivan rolled his eyes.

"Okay, dad." He said nonchalantly. "Why don't we wait to talk until you're less…"

He gestured at the bottle in his fathers hand.

"Less what?" The man asked angrily.

"Less drunk."

With that, Ivan turned and walked away from the table, grabbing an apple from a bag on the counter as he exited the room, his father slurring angrily after him, but the man made no move to intercept him.

"I'll be back in a few hours." Ivan called back to his father as he pulled the front door of their apartment open. "See you around, I guess."

And then, the door was closed again, and he could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Glad that's over." He thought as he descended the stairs to the lobby of the Veilstone apartment complex. "Hopefully he'll be sober when I get back…"

Of course, he knew that was a false hope. Ever since his mother had left, taking his baby sister with her, his father had fallen into a depressing spiral of alcohol and constant rage. Sometimes, Ivan wanted nothing more than to suddenly, magically 'lose' all of the bottles that lay scattered around their apartment, but inside he knew his father would never forgive him, and he simply wasn't ready to be kicked out of his only home.

Greeting the security guard as he entered the reception area, Ivan quickly made his way to the complex door, turning left as soon as he'd exited the building, leaving his family troubles behind at the doorstep. Before him lay the sprawl of Veilstone, a densely-packed collection of heavily developed plots of land which hosted the ever-popular Game Corner, the multileveled department store, and his current destination; the Pokemon gym.

Unbeknownst to his father, Ivan had been working there for six months off-and-on, spending most of his hours delivering messages between the gym and the nearby Pokemon center or cleaning up after practice battles. The work had been difficult to hide at first, especially the sweat that coated his face when a Fire-type came through, but with his dad almost always more inebriated than a Spinda, he'd quickly learned to conceal his work well.

His father had absolutely no idea, and hopefully it would stay that way until Ivan had moved out.

As the boy made his way down the street, though, a pair of beady eyes peered from the third story window of his apartment, tracking his steps as he walked steadily towards that accursed gym.

Whatever that disgraceful son of his thought he was doing, Robert Lawrence would soon be rid of it.

Once and for all.