I've had the first part of this chapter written for AGES now. It was actually one of the first scenes that came in to my head before the story fully developed. I'm mostly referencing the scene pertaining to Ash and Serena. First we have a flashback, which was also written during the early conceptions of the story, and I finally bring it up now because, as the story continues, we need to layer on some complexities to the concepts introduced way back at the beginning of this story.
Don't think I forget things so easily ;)
My goal is to leave nothing undone. Everything that was mentioned in this story, will (or should) eventually be answered.
Anyway, this chapter has to be one of my favorites so far, mostly because of the anticipation I've had to endure before finally being able to use these scenes, but also because its the beginning of what I'll call "the tying of everything together."
Do enjoy, and thank you for all of your reviews! As you know I find them so encouraging to continue. And I love hearing what you all have to say.
Chapter 16
4 years ago…
"Kalon is an ancient language," Drifter explained to Ash during one of their studies, under a thatched roof creaking within the torrents of wind bellowing from the storm along the Alolan shore.
Akoni sat in a desk farther back in the living room, reading and sending letters under the lamplight, but he looked up and the mentioning of Kalon. He set his pen aside and leaned back in his chair, folding his dark arms behind his head.
"Why in the world are you teaching the boy Kalon?" Akoni asked, hiding his concern under a mask of amusement. He regarded Ash with a wary sense of distrust.
Drifter placed a piece of paper and a pen upon the bamboo table where Ash sat facing the window and the storm rolling in from the sea.
"I'm not teaching it to him," the prophet explained, watching Ash tense under both of their steadfast gazes, "he's already been acquainted with it, but does not know the meaning or power of the words. Lunala sometimes speaks to you in the language, does he not?"
Ash hesitated. He looked over at Akoni, who now appeared intrigued more than anything, and then nodded.
"I can't explain it," said the boy, "he speaks to me and I feel as though I'm caught under some spell, as though the words penetrate me and make me want things I've never wanted before...At times I feel as though I can understand it. Every word."
Drifter looked up at Akoni. The two exchanged grave glances.
"Kalon was the language of a warrior, back in the day when the term 'trainer' did not exist," Drifter continued, pacing back and forth before the table, "before pokeballs, how did one catch pokemon? Well, warriors would succumb them and then speak to them in this language. Kalon was, in fact, known as a sort of sorcery. It bound warriors to pokemon and pokemon to warriors with what they called 'spells.' Now, there were many different forms of spells. There were ones that influence or bound—Covenant Spells, which Warriors would use to persuade Pokemon to belong to them—but there were also spells that bewitched known as Slave Spells. Spells that bewitched were seen as an outright offense to any true warrior who respected and valued the life of a pokemon."
Ash absorbed this information, fascinated. "So I'm assuming there were also spells for healing, for strengthening, for special abilities, just as there are potions for that today?"
"Precisely," Drifter offered a small smile towards Ash's observation, "there were even spells for release, for once a warrior and a Pokemon decided it was time to part ways, they would have to undo their covenant some way or another. Warriors back then couldn't generally make covenants with more than six Pokemon. A warrior's power would weaken with each capture, the energy dedicated to one Pokemon could not be shared, thus covenants were not usually permanent, but friendships with the Pokemon they captured could be."
"And were there different covenant spells?" Ash asked, imagining himself as a warrior in the ancient world, "For stronger Pokemon, that is, would they use different capture spells?"
Drifter nodded, but he was beginning to scratch his white beard thoughtfully.
"Yes," he said, and sat down at a seat across from Ash at the table, "just as there are now a variety of pokeballs, there were a variety of spells, some even catered to different types of Pokemon. The strongest warriors knew the language the best, and could have dozens of Pokemon at their command. Some could even cast spells on legendary Pokemon. But some legendary Pokemon could cast spells on humans."
Ash looked down at the blank paper before him. His hand began to tremble ever so slightly.
"You mean Lunala?" The boy furrowed his brows and began feel a slow anger building within him.
"Lunala is one of the few who use it, yes," Drifter confirmed, his long fingers drumming the table, "but Lunala is a fallen legendary with no honor. He only casts slave spells. Solgaleo and Arceus—even Entei and Rayquaza—offer covenant spells to humans that wish to serve them. They respect and honor those who wish otherwise."
The house moaned from its wooden skeleton, a small leak seeped in to the thatched roof, and Akoni sped away to find a bucket with which to catch the water.
"So how do I stop it? How do I stop the spell?" Ash asked, ready to learn how to fight the nightmares in his mind, "I want to learn the language. I want to learn it all."
Drifter looked reluctant. "You only need enough to know how to break free from the spell Lunala is casting on you. You only need to learn resistance spells,"
"I want to learn it all," Ash repeated, determination set as a fire within his amber gaze, "I want to destroy him,"
"That's not your job," Drifter said, his voice rising sternly above the rain pouring outside, "you will learn what I teach you."
Ash threw Drifter a dark look, restraining the fury behind the color with difficult discipline. He uncapped the pen and began to tap it against the blank sheet before him.
"Here," Akoni said, coming up from behind Ash with a small leather-bound journal. He offered it to the boy with a wide grin, "use this. It'll keep your notes organized."
Ash looked at the journal and took it with mild gratitude. He nodded his thanks and began flipping through the yellowing pages.
"I want you to write what you most love," Drifter said, and when Ash looked up with surprise, the the prophet explained, "I will teach you the words in Kalon, I will teach you how to express love in the most powerful language there is."
Ash grew confused, mixed sentiments, like rivers, running all over his countenance.
Drifter's eyes brightened then, the blue becoming visceral pools of crystal.
"How do you defeat the forces of evil? How do we fight against the dark?" Akoni clasped Ash's shoulder in a firm grip, grinning broadly as he jumped in, "With love me' boy! Aye, the stories have all told us so! We fight with what is eternal, and we fight with love."
xxxxx
present day…
The memory returned to Ash as he laid in bed with the very thing he loved most; with the girl. He inhaled the scent of her hair, the gold silk sprawled across his chest while her head rested in the nook of his neck. He played with the thick locks, twirling them between his fingers, the way he'd always wanted to do since the moment he fell in love with her; feeling the hair—as soft as the skin on her lips—kiss his hands.
As the sunlight poured in, growing stronger as the sun rose through the late morning, Ash felt Serena begin to stir. Her hand, delicate and fine as glass, moved across his bare chest. He took hold of it and guided her fingers to his lips, kissing each tip as she outlined his mouth with her touch.
"Good morning,"
Ash looked down at her, her blue eyes brilliant against the sunlight hitting her cheek.
"You're still here," Serena sighed, closing her eyes. He felt her press against him, her arm moving around his waist to keep him close.
They stayed there in the silence. Nothing but the birds outside and the breeze, filtered sound in to the small cabin. Ash's eyes wandered the ceiling, meditating on the peace he had not felt in years. Nothing called out to him from the dark. He knew this couldn't be a dream, for when he slept he only had nightmares. This was no nightmare.
He looked back down at Serena, and grinned. He flipped her over and began placing kisses all over her jaw, working his way down her neck and her breasts. He heard her begin to giggle, calling out his name in a half-hearted attempt to stop him.
When he moved farther down, his lips on her stomach, he froze.
The wound. The dark flesh of her abdomen. The color refused to recede. Instead, the inky, black veins seemed to grow darker against her pale complexion.
"What's wrong?" Serena asked when he stopped.
Before she could look down to see what concerned him, Ash brought his lips back up to hers, tasting her slowly and deeply. He didn't want to distress her, especially since she appeared to be fine. He wondered if perhaps it was only a scar. Perhaps it was only there to remind him of what happened; of the dark that still existed.
"Let's run away together," Ash said, suddenly, and the idea sounded like a wonder to him.
Serena didn't respond. She looked at him as though she didn't understand.
"Let's run away," Ash repeated, growing more excited at the thought of him and Serena alone together, forever. He almost couldn't contain the joy at the sudden prospect. "We could leave all this. We could forget about the past and start a new life together. The one we always dreamed of!"
He jumped up from the bed and began throwing on clothes. He pulled out some old bags from the closet and started to pack.
"Ash..." Serena didn't know what to say, "Ash, wait."
"I'm free Serena," Ash beamed, the child in him returning like a prodigal son, "I don't hear anything in my head! There are no more lies. We can run away together now,"
"Ash, stop—,"
He moved out of the bedroom, plundering the pantry, bagging berries and bread in sackcloth. He returned to the room and continued his rummaging.
"Ash," Serena said, but he ignored her in his excitement, "Ash!"
Still he moved around the room, frantic.
"Ash, I am not running away with you!"
A halt. Still fragments of time formed and shattered. Ash turned around to see if she was being serious.
"What?" He shook his head, his arms full of shirts and socks, "But...I love you. You love me too, right? Last night..."
"Ash," Serena's eyes began to break, her tears pushing their way through the cracks, "we can't leave our friends...there's a war—,"
"I know there's a war," Ash snapped, trying to contain the blazing in his eyes, "you think I'm stupid, now? You think I don't know very well what's going on out there?"
Serena gasped, her own eyes now brimming with fire.
"You think just because I love, that I'm willing to let my friends—our friends—die while we ride off in to the sunset together?" Serena ripped the sheets off of her and grabbed her old and tattered clothes, "I don't think so, Ash Ketchum. And what are you going to do? Now that you're free, you're just going to run away from it all? Is that how you're going to treat the past?"
Ash stood there, his fists clenched at his sides. "You don't know what I've been through,"
Serena marched forward and slapped him hard across the face. "What you've been though?" she shook her head, absolute disbelief shocking it's way on to her face, "I can't believe you. What about what I've been through—what Brock, Clemont, your own mother—what about everyone who's ever loved you. You're just going to let them die, because you're scared?"
She stumbled as she slipped in to her bloody dress and leggings. Ash caught her by the arm before she could fall, but she pushed him away.
"What happened to never giving up?" Serena shouted at him, now storming off in to the living room to find her pokeballs, "what happened to never giving up?!"
"You don't know what Lunala is capable of. Serena!" Ash grabbed her arm and made her face him, "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you again. He'll take you from me,"
He was begging now. He didn't care if he wept in front of her, he needed her to stay.
Serena's eyes softened, the anger dissipating in to anguish upon her lips, quivering at the corners of her mouth.
"I don't know who you are anymore," she whispered, her tears now falling freely as she touched his face one last time, "I love you, and I will always love you. But you are not the boy I fell in love with,"
She turned and ran. It took Ash a minute to process what happened. He stood there, staring at the door from which she left.
xxxxx
16 years ago…
Professor Oak was sitting in his office, writing letters to the committee of Interregional Science Studies, frustrated by the latest pokedex and its inability to record or replay any bestial sounds for the sake of study—which was his concern at the time—when a knock came from the door.
Already feeling much too overwhelmed by the amount of new responsibilities as chairman of such a committee, Oak had half a mind of feigning his absence from the laboratory. He considered not answering.
The knock on the door came again, only this time more violently.
Professor Oak groaned and leaned back in his chair to check the time. Outside, the night had drawn its thick shroud and the watch on his wrist read 9:27pm—much too late for his daughter to ask him to babysit Gary.
Feeling relieved by that thought, the professor went out of his office and in to the laboratory's foyer, which at the time was nothing more than a reception counter and a waiting area.
He searched the pockets of his lab coat for his keys, wondering if one of his employees had forgotten something. He couldn't imagine what else could be so urgent within the safe confines of Pallet Town, which was much too quiet most days for its own good.
Upon opening the door, Oak gasped.
Stepping out from the dark was a tall, white-haired man who looked no older than the professor, with vivid blue eyes and a stern expression that seemed to fall naturally on his features.
Professor Oak wasn't so disturbed by him as much he was by the bloodied man hanging from the white-haired stranger.
James Ketchum hadn't been seen in over two years, and the state of his departure was anything but friendly and natural. He had left Delia and their son with a string of insults, and curses, and vanished from all of his past relationships. No one, not even his own family had heard of his whereabouts. Oak would know. He and James had been as close as brothers.
"What happened to him?" Oak demanded as he led both men in to the back, shoving all the contents off a nearby desk, clearing it to let the stranger lower James on to the surface. "Who are you?"
"It's all bit complicated," the stranger said, stripping James to unwrap the crude bandages wrapped around his arms and chest, "do you have calamine, alcohol—anything to dress the wound?"
"He needs to see a medic," Oak said, but found himself rushing for the addressed objects, "we need to take him to a center."
"That," the stranger said, his blue eyes hard on the professor, "would be a mistake."
The two rushed to cut the old bandages, and blood poured out from the deep lacerations across James' chest. Oak pressed gauze against the skin to try and suppress the bleeding while the white-haired man prepared the necessary equipment to amend and stitch the skin.
James groaned and cried out as he was given a short of morphine right on his wound. He took hold of Professor Oak's shirt and forced him in close, his black eyes wild and barren.
"Make the voices stop," he growled, and Oak fought hard to take back his shirt from James' steely grip. The wounded man began to thrash on the desk.
"Hold him down!" the stranger ordered, and helped the professor nail James to the desk, the bleeding increasing under the stress. "I need to stitch up the wound of his chest, then we'll have to strap him down somewhere."
"NO," howled James, and then gave them to a distorted grin, "he's mine, Drifter, you're too late!"
Oak let go. Sheer fright on his face. That was not James' voice.
"Hold him down!" screamed the white-haired man—or Drifter—as he was just called, and the sheer authority with which he spoke forced the professor to obey. He held James down by the shoulders.
Drifter rummaged through the first aid box Oak had given him, and found a vial of tranquilizer. He ripped the cap off with his teeth and with a needle began to pull five counts of the anesthetic.
"That's for pokemon! What are you doing?" the professor growled, but Drifter flicked the vial to make sure he had drawn an even number.
"At this point, that man is a pokemon," Drifter pointed the needle at James' neck, "keep holding him steady."
"He's too strong, Drifter," James' voice returned, gasping, and the professor watched Drifter pause, the needle centimeters away for James' skin. "He's too strong, I can't stop him."
His body began to convulse. Drifter was about to plunge the tranquilizer in to the seizing figure, but his hand was suddenly knocked away, the needle embedding itself in to Oak's arm.
"Dammit," Drifter muttered and was then kicked squarely in the chest by James, whose body looked as though it were stitching itself back up with black sinews drawing his skin back together.
Professor Oak began to stumble, letting go of James and falling to the floor. His vision becoming nothing but a blur haze of light.
"This isn't real…" the professor was muttering, as he collapsed on to the cold tile of the laboratory, his pulse racing in his ears, "this isn't real."
The last thing he saw before fainting were James' boots touching the ground, and drops of blood leaving a trail of dark spots as he walked away.
xxxxx
present day…
"This isn't real," Professor Oak gasped as the dream shocked him from his sleep. He shot out of bed and ran to the bathroom where he put his head under a sink.
He remembered the nightmare vividly, as though it were a memory…or had that actually happened? He couldn't remember, it had been so long ago.
Sixteen years ago…he recalled waking up after the incident. The blood was gone, wiped clean from the floor and the desks, and he was moved up against the wall, sleeping in a sitting position. He couldn't possibly have believed that such an event—James crazy and frantic and bleeding—had actually taken place. He had thought perhaps that he had fallen asleep on his way out of the lab…that it had all been a dream.
And now to dream it all again with perfect clarity and detail…Oak couldn't deny wondering if it had all, in fact, been real.
He looked up in to the mirror above the sink, the water running down his wrinkled face.
That morning he whipped out his pokegear and began to punch out numbers from the screen. He pressed the line to his hear and then heard a soft voice answer from the speak.
"Hello?"
"Delia," Professor Oak gasped, preparing himself to speak further, "we need to talk."
xxxxx
Pikachu squeezed his way through the window in the bedroom after hearing shouts coming from inside the cabin. The struggle of forcing his small form in to the crack, left him out of breath, but he quickly looked around the room and saw the door to the living room left open.
He hesitated.
The small pokemon hadn't thought of having to confront his old trainer so soon, and had been watching the last few days roll back with a far-off mentality—unsure whether to treat the unfolding events as though they were real.
However, Pikachu's caution broke after following the young couple last night to the lake. He had seen Ash smiling as he led Serena in to the woods, and the girl hadn't been resisting. It had been curious. For so long, Pikachu was confused as to whether Serena was Ash's prisoner, that he had little time to react to the scene. The yellow rodent followed after them, in to the forest and back, and had peaked in to the window upon their return just in time to see Serena pull Ash on to her lips.
At that point, Pikachu had resolved to look away. It was more than perplexing.
This morning, he figured it would be the day he'd reveal themselves to the two, but in his own time. He hadn't been expecting a fight and now worried more for Serena's sake. Pikachu, though emotionally in turmoil at the sight of Ash, distrusted him, and called upon all its courage to confront his old trainer even now.
The small pokemon was called out of its thoughts by the slamming of a door. Instinctively, Pikachu scurried in to the living room to see what had happened and if he had missed his opportunity.
Serena had gone.
Pikachu shuddered. He found Ash on his knees, his eyes on the door, shimmering like the light on glassy water. The pokemon watched his old trainer's tears fall to the wooden floor, wincing with every drop.
The room seemed frozen behind an icy veil; Ash a glacier still in space.
As the minutes ticked by, Pikachu's courage began to build. All the years of hurt and anguish, fueled an insurmountable motive of strength, that the pokemon used now to fire up his cheeks.
The bolt came hard and fast.
Ash gave a sharp yelp and collapsed to the floor, his clothes charred. He whipped his head around to stare at Pikachu in shock and disbelief.
Overcome by the moment, Pikachu began to let its own tears loose, charging up another bolt of thunder which this time Ash absorbed in his hands, chanting what sounded like a spell. Pikachu fired its lightning again and again and again until it grew exhausted.
Ash caught or avoided each attack, his face as blank as a stone. When he saw that Pikachu had tired itself out, he began to crawl near to his old friend.
Pikachu recoiled, panting and sweating, but still alert on all fours.
Ash reached out his hand.
They stood there, facing each other, in a stalemate. Neither moving, nor breathing. There was nothing being said aloud, but the air was tense with the reconciliation struggling to breathe from underneath the pain that had been caused. It was like watching a body beating against a sheet of ice from the water underneath, the next breath all depending on whether or not the fight would break the wall.
Something did break.
"I'm sorry," Ash whispered, the outstretched hand beginning to shake and crumble.
What Pikachu did next was what any loyal friend would do. He forgave him. The pokemon jumped on to Ash's chest.
Ash held his old friend close to his heart, and cried in to Pikachu's yellow fur.
xxxxx
Lumoise City, Kalos
Diantha led the way back in to the ruins of the city. Clemont and Akoni stood close behind her, Tarik watched the group from the back. They came out trough the bike shop, and stopped short of the exit while Akoni went ahead with his pistol to clear the surrounding area before they moved along the city's outer core. But there stealthy stride came to a halt.
Akoni motioned for the others to join him outside quickly, and up in the sky he pointed to the army in motion; hordes of trainers and pokemon flying out of the city without a second glance behind them.
"What the hell is going on now?" Diantha muttered and everyone flinched at the sound of a huge explosion coming from the center of the city.
"Move!" Akoni shouted as a huge cloud of smoke began billowing towards them. They shielded themselves from the heat behind the ruins of a building.
Another explosion. The earth shook.
"Everything's being thrown back in to chaos," said one of Diantha's men.
"Should we turn back?" Akoni asked the fair skinned woman, who seemed to shine even amongst the debris.
"Absolutely not," she said, her head held high, "I'm not going to be holed up underneath this godforsaken war ever again. We move forward."
Clemont never loved her as much as he did now. "We need to head for the gym. If Dad was looking for any sort of conductor, he had to have known about the lightning stones we keep for study."
Diantha nodded, and ducked underneath another eruption of debris unearthing itself from the force of the blasts.
"That means we're heading right for those explosions, doesn't it?" Akoni asked, shooting everyone another grin—vibrant against his dark skin—, "Excellent."
It didn't take long for them to round the block and travel down the street, though they still edged on cautiously. The streets were indeed emptying, but whatever was shaking the city at its core was dangerously loosening the rubble, causing large blocks of cement from the buildings still standing to fall.
"The building—!" Diantha called out over the fire blazing in the streets; over the debris breaking apart on the asphalt.
The five-story building was crumbling, collapsing right over their heads. The small group dispersed with shouts and yelps, shooting out walls in to the middle of the street. Even then some did not make it.
Tarik and two other Purehearted scouts were buried alive. Clemont would have been too had Akoni not yanked him at his pace. Everything became a cloud of smoke beneath an earth-shaking rumble. Clemont and the others coughed the smoke and soot out of their lungs, still blind by the smog.
Clemont noticed a large crack on the right lens of his glasses, but he could still see through them. He saw Akoni picking himself up from the ground, his brown skin now gray with ash and dust. The Alolan muttered a string of curses for the loosing three men, and called out to the others to make sure they were alright.
"We're fine," Diantha yelled back from somewhere within the cloud of soot still rising and falling from blow.
Clemont didn't know if he was seeing correctly, but as the smoke cleared away, a hazy vision of the city's center courtyard came in to view. Within it he saw Drifter and Brock, both wielding blades and pokemon at their sides. Opposite them, he saw Gary. With wings. And a cruel black sword that seemed to suck all the light around its blade.
"Solgaleo help us all," Akoni muttered, confirming the sight, dropping his pistol to the floor in shock and reaching to his belt for a pokeball.
Diantha squinted towards the scene, putting together the pieces regarding the explosions wrecking havoc in the city.
"What is that," she muttered, her attention fixed on Gary's large, black wings.
"Well," Akoni said, this time not smiling, "I was wondering when things were going to get interesting."
And I hope you all find it interesting indeed.
I promise you'll see Bonnie and Kaleb next chapter; along with more of Serena, who is actually about to find herself in quite a pickle. Well honestly, they're all in a bit of a pickle aren't they?
I know there's a lot of ambiguity regarding the role of Ash's father in all of this, but it's going to become more clear within the next chapters as to the influence he played on Ash's "turning." So things are taking a more complex turn, which is why, though the story might seem like its nearing its end, I think it still has a final arc to go. But I'm going to be honest, it's getting harder and harder to find the motivation to write...but I think I may be just going through a lazy season. Either way, I hope you guys liked it. Please review if you feel so inclined. I love all the encouragement :)