Chapter 19

Five years ago

"Gary," Ash said over the fire while his auburn-haired friend roasted a marshmallow over the flames. The two were sitting outside the professor's laboratory, on the porch that looked over the moon-lit meadow. It was well past midnight. However, the two had planned to meet for old time's sake, and decided on a bonfire. Back when they were kids, even before they were rivals, they would always sneak out of bed to watch the meadow so as to see if they could spot any rare pokemon that couldn't be seen during the day.

Now it had become a tradition whenever the two were back in town at the same time.

"What's up, Ashy boy," Gary popped a melting marshmallow in to his mouth and cringed at the unexpected intensity of the heat. Pikachu and Umbreon both snickered by the fire.

"I'm going to marry her."

Gary coughed. He slapped his chest to regulate the movements of his lungs, and glanced side-ways at his best friend.

"Ash, we're seventee."

Ash chuckled and shook his head. "Not right away. Maybe in a couple years or so; I don't know. But she's the one. I love her."

Gary made gagging sounds, and Ash started throwing marshmallows at him, which made them both laugh.

"Have you told her?"

"Told her what?"

"That you love her?" Gary smirked when he saw his friend blush.

"Not yet."

"Coward,"

"Shut up," Ash snapped and threw another log in to the fire to keep it going, "Have you ever been in love? Do you know what it's like?"

"No, enlighten me," Gary leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. He looked at the two pokemon, and they exchanged amused glances.

"It's like wearing your heart outside of your sleeve—anything she does can break it, ruin it; she has the most power to hurt me. It's terrifying."

"Sounds wonderful," Gary groaned as he sat back up to grab another marshmallow and place it on his stick.

"It is," Ash smiled, his expression now changing from fear to astonishment, "she chose me, Gary. Out of everyone else; she chose to love me. It's a choice. I'm beginning to learn that it's a lot more than just a romantic feeling. It's a promise."

Gary cringed at that word promise. He bit in to his snack and watched Ash grinning like an idiot. It was at that moment that Gary swore to never fall in love. It made people look like idiots.

Despite the development of this newfound determination, Gary listened to Ash talk about Serena the rest of the night. His emotions varied, but his slight envy was mostly overwhelmed by the authenticity of his happiness for Ash. His best friend really never looked more exhilarated. And Gary couldn't help but smile at how ridiculous and bright Ash looked.

"When I marry her, I want you to be my best man," Ash said, that determined look on his face; the one with the fiery eyes that made anyone want to cast away all reason and join him on whatever endeavor he was about to engage.

"Me?" Gary was surprised. He knew that technically, he and Ash considered each other best friends. However, despite what Ash thought, Gary never saw their rivalry as over. He still felt a great about of competitiveness towards Ash; one that led to more envy than genuine concern. Gary knew that deep down, he wasn't a good friend. He was arrogant, conceited, and egotistical.

Yet, Ash always saw the best in people. Ash always saw the best in him.

"You're my best friend," Ash confirmed, not for the first time as he took out from his bag, a broken pokeball—the red top of the half. Gary felt a pang of guilt.

He remembered that day, way back when they were kids. He and Ash found a pokeball while they were fishing at a nearby lake, and had fought over who got to keep it. They ended up breaking the thing in half.

Gary reached in to his bag, bringing out the bottom half. He smirked, surprised as himself for still holding on to the thing. He was hardly as sentimental as Ash when it came to this kind of stuff.

"Yea, whatever. I'll be your best man," Gary said off-handedly.

The last thing he was Ash's grin, before he closed his eyes and dozed off.

Present day

"I see them,"

Cynthia stood looking out of the open cabin of the transport. She had one hand fastened on to the net of the ceiling, and the other on the pokeballs at her belt. In the distance, she saw a huge cloud of gathering darkness, moving like mist over the mountains. The last auric light of day was disappearing beyond the plateau, devoured by the oncoming night the setting sun promised. This night would be different. Not only could Cynthia see it coming with visceral clarity, but this darkness did not guarantee the return of day. She knew this. And so did everyone behind her.

No one spoke. Only the hovering of the helicopters, and the occasional transmission static could be heard moving through the air thick with tension. Cynthia thought of wires strung tightly around a battery; one that had yet to be activated—dead until the flip of a switch. They were all waiting for a spark to set everything off. The silence charged the nerves.

"Transport 1, this is Transport 2, over," emerged a voice clouded by static, "we've reached the Iron Valley, how are we proceeding, over,"

Wallace grabbed the pokegear attached to the chopper's radio, pulling it over his mouth. "Just a second, Transport 2."

Cynthia watched as separate sets of gazes began to land on her.

She looked at the professor. And he kept his eyes on the second transport where the man named Drifter stood, watching them from his open cabin. Cynthia met his eyes, and something within her made her mouth the word, "help."

Within an instant, Drifter had disappeared.

Cynthia felt her body gasped, and she turned out of instinct back to the cockpit only to find Drifter now before her, standing with his back straight and tall; a true leader.

"We should land the helicopters in the plains. Bring the battle to the ground. That army will not pass over you." Drifter said, matter-of-factly.

Cynthia caught her breath, and staggered. "How do you know they won't fly over us?"

Drifter's bright eyes squinted against the final moments of the setting sun. He then looked at her and said, "Because Lunala doesn't like to leave anyone alive. And he will not pass over us until we are all dead. So we have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Well that's wonderfully comforting, sir," Steven muttered, and shifted from the other side of the cabin, "are you sure we should give up all of our air support?"

"That cloud following Lunala's army will shut down all of your equipment," Drifter nodded towards their opponent, "these choppers will be useless once inside. This battle must be fought purely by pokemon and men. Anyone with pokemon that can fly, will provide our air support."

"Good-grief," Lt. Surge cursed, "so you're saying once we go in there, we can't come out? Unless…"

"Unless we win," Misty whispered, her eyes jumping from everyone in the cabin and landing on Professor Oak, who looked pensive, as usual.

Cynthia growled with frustration over the intensification of difficulties surrounding them. She moved to the cockpit and snatched the pokegear out of Wallace's perspiring hands. She drew the moist speaker over her lips.

"Begin descending every transport. Land them in the plains. Coordinates; 40.342, -105.6836, over,"

She slapped the pokegear back in to Wallace's palm, and nodded towards Lt. Surge to begin their descent. Though there were protests coming in from the radio, she knew every transport would follow their lead. They didn't have a choice.

She's dying, Ash…you know I can save her.

Ash flew wildly through the sunset; his Charizard ripping the clouds apart at the seams. The voice he heard now, was a voice he knew all too well—and its reappearance was proof that Serena was, in fact, dying.

But Ash knew better now.

"You have no power over me anymore," Ash whispered, the rushing wind pulling the words out of his breath, "I'm going to kill you."

You won't find me in the mountain.

Ash stopped. He pulled back hard on his Charizard, who roared out a gasp. Flames blew out of its nostrils, and melted in with the dusky light. The dragon and Pikachu both gave Ash a perplexed stare.

Ash had stopped breathing. The voice had changed.

Remember me, Ashy boy? That's right. I've taken your place.

"No," Ash began to mutter, gripping his hair, "Gary, listen to me. You—,"

Find me and we'll finish this score.

"Wait—!"

But the presence had left. Ash could feel its darkness release around his shoulders. He shuddered.

He began looking around the empty sky, wondering where he should go. He knew that if he were to kill Lunala's soul at the mountain, Gary would die with him. Lunala's soul and the soul of his best friend were now entangled. He had to deliver Gary first.

Ash growled. This was the epitome of sacrifice, he thought to himself. If he flew to save Gary now, Serena would surely die before he reached Lunala. This thought was paralyzing. He didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he could save Gary.

But he had been the one to imprison him. He had been the one who brought this darkness upon his friends. Ash knew none of this would be happening had he been stronger.

And now Gary…

Ash didn't know if he could save Serena. Even if he were to kill Lunala, there was a chance the poison would still take her regardless. He didn't know if the venom was tied to Lunala's powers. What he did know was that he could save Gary; something inside him assured him of that truth. And that truth was devastating.

He could not choose uncertainty over certainty; the possible death of two lives over the sure saving of one.

Ash knew what Serena would want him to do.

Ash began to weep.

Clemont rode on a Fearow behind Akoni; their group now a mix of Kalon survivors and what rangers were left. Diantha and Meyer rode beside them, their Noivern growling through the strain of the pace they kept. They knew they would not make it to the Plateau until after nightfall, and it had begun to rain. Clemont felt the drops thicken, his glasses practically cracking from the force. His eyes were set before the dark clouds. Soaked to the bone, and he didn't care. His mind focused on one thing:

Killing Gary Oak.

The Iron Hills, Indigo Plateau

Cynthia was the first to jump out of the transport. She landed in a roll and jumped to her feet. She called upon Lucario and the pokemon took its position beside her as the rest of the crew landed and disembarked their helicopters. Cynthia looked down the line of the fields. To her left and right, men and women came to fight with their pokemon at their sides; men and women from all across the regions, with companions of every variety. There was not a more beautiful and terrifying sight, with the clouds darkening before them, and the sunlight fading off their faces from the west. The last of the brilliant shine touching the army with one last kiss for good luck.

"They are closing in," Wallace muttered, as they watched the swarm pour in to the valley like black water being sloshed about through the hills on the horizon.

Cynthia watched Drifter approach her, his Dragonite now at his side.

"I will take my men to the sky, and be your support in the air," he was saying, while Cynthia shivered with what she told herself was the cold, "tell your army not to use more than two pokemon at a time so that their attention is not too divided. Within the chaos, it will be hard to navigate anything. Also, the battle will be long. The pokemon will need interims of rest."

"Will our guns work?" Steven asked, pulling out a pistol from his belt to load a full clip in to its hilt.

"Yes," Drifter replied, but shifting uncomfortably, "however, the warriors of the dark army will be using blades—key blades—with their pokemon, which will be in their mega evolved state. Their blades can absorb your bullets without an issue. If they charge, you must call upon your pokemon to help you. No weapon you possess here can block that blow."

Everyone went silent again. In the distance, the last of the transports shut off their rotors.

"I don't see how this can get better," Steven smiled wryly.

Cynthia wasted no time in repeating the information to her commanders, who in turn retold it to the soldiers of their rebellion.

The swarm was now in the meadow. The front line of their forces rolling in from the other side of the valley while dark clouds shut out the last of the sun.

When the light finally disappeared, it began to rain.

"They have to be only about ten miles from us now," Cynthia heard Tracy remark, and the professor grunt in response.

"Time to brace ourselves," Cynthia nodded towards her Lucario and then directed her gaze to the others, "I suppose this is the moment I give an encouraging speech."

"No need," Steven sniffed, standing upon his mega evolved Metagross, "I think the public demands more charisma. I nominate myself,"

"Let's just skip the speech altogether," Lt. Surge growled, "I don't want to hear either of you speak another."

Their small group manage to break out in to a chuckle or two, but the moment was quickly speared by a distant roar booming out of the darkness. Upon the explosion of sound, the earth began to tremor. Cynthia thought of the trembling of a lip before a flood of tears. She bent down and touched the floor with a hand to keep her balance. The roar soon turned in to as the Dark Army approached. A tall, winged figure flying over the swarm—its silhouette blacker than the night crawling out of the east.

Then everything went silent. As quiet as a mountain fog.

For a moment, everything looked frozen. Cynthia turned and watched everyone in slowed time; their fear evolving into determination. She watched droplets of rain fall on to the skin of their faces. She heard each touch of water hit the ground, breaking like shattering glass. She saw the webs of darkness stretch forth like rivers of black ink, bleeding out from mountain.

What she saw next, was the bat-winged figure standing a hundred feet away from her. She jumped back, and fear petrified her in to place. She turned to the professor.

Oak was already shaking.

xxxxx

"Gary…my Gary, what have you done to my grandson?" Drifter heard Samuel gasped as the old man stumbled to one knee. He was quickly helped up by Tracy, who looked no more shocked than the professor.

Drifter's felt his own limbs tremble—not with fear—but by sheer exhaustion. He was running out of time. They were all running out of time. He had so little strength left. And he was so tired of watching others suffer. He was so tired.

"Drifter!" Lunala shouted from Gary's throat across the charged space between them. "This will be the last time I see your face,"

Drifter said nothing in return. He drew his key-blade—it's bright light gleaming against the silhouette of the black sea before him—and pointed it directly at Lunala.

"Who will make the first move?" Lunala grinned maliciously and again drew his own sword of night.

"Gary!" Again Drifter heard Samuel's desperate voice rise from the rain, "Gary!"

Professor Oak ran forward towards Lunala, but Drifter shouted to the others to hold him back. He watched Tracy and Misty struggle to keep the professor in their grasp, while the others went pale at the sight of Samuel losing his composure. Drifter turned back to Lunala and bared his teeth. He shivered as the rain began to intermingle with the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Lunala turned around and spread his wings wide from Gary's back, calling his army to halt where they were, and they began to roar and bang their weapons on the ground. Their clamor resounding within every rock and drop of rain. Drifter watched them begin to stir with a deadly energy, waiting for the moment of their release.

"I could smell your fear from the mountains," Lunala sneered, moving back around to face Drifter, "You're pathetic. Who will make the first move?"

No one moved a muscle. The only sound from their side, were the sobs of Professor Oak. Everyone else stood as still and white as marble statues. Drifter lowered his sword.

Lunala began to laugh. He held his sword up high, shouting, "Then I guess the honor is—,"

Before he could whisper another utterance of that damned tongue, he was silenced by a roaring figure as bright as a sunrise. It flew past with a speed comparable to the lightning, soaring towards the ground only to drill upwards in to Lunala—lifting the winged beast in to the clouds where both figures disappeared.

It all happened within a second; a blink of an eye.

And Drifter stood stunned and motionless. His reactions delayed. The space Lunala had occupied only a moment ago was empty; as calm as though nothing had been there. Drifter then looked up towards the dark clouds and saw nothing. His head nodded back and forth between the earth and the heavens.

"What was—," Cynthia's voice fell at the sight of a fire—one burning and searing apart the rain with a pillar of spinning flames. Embers and steam danced in the wake of its rocketing descent, until it hit the ground with a force strong enough to break the rocks beneath their feet.

Smoke billowed from the site of the fresh crater. Everyone stared in awestruck horror. The rain grew harder.

For minutes, absolute silence retook its control of the valley. The smoke began to wash away and thin.

There, standing at the rim of the crater, was Ash Ketchum.