The trainer froze, standing up at once as he caught sight of the one who opposed him.
A single man stood nonchalantly in place. He looked so calm and poised—something that made him burn with irritation.
"Who are you?" He snarled out. "Answer me."
The steel haired man only smiled lightly, caressing the pin in his hands. Taking three steps forward, he adjusted his tie and gestured to the Metagross behind him with his head.
"My name is Steven Stone, former champion of the Hoenn region. Being a Hoenn native, I really dislike other people making us look this bad on foreign soil, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop your little tirade. Or you can give up."
Teeth were barred in response.
"I'll end this quickly then." A burst of light enveloped the Metagross as Steven raised his hand, the power of mega evolution coursing through the psychic in a radiant sphere of energy. A tether of light extended outward, linking trainer and pokemon as their feelings became one, just as keystone and mega stone reacted, setting forward a chain reaction of explosive energy, shifting and changing the pokemon into a new form.
"Dark pulse!" The boy commanded in desperation, looking more like a cornered beast than a person. "Kill it before it evolves! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"
Obeying without question, the Tyranitar fired another stream of dark energy, howling through the night once again, exciting the very air of the molecules it passed.
Steven didn't budge, remaining impossibly calm even despite standing no more than five feet away from the attack's intended target.
Just as the dark pulse howled through the air, growing closer and closer, a grey blast emerged from the sphere of light, exploding in its wake like a giant gunshot, rattling the ground with its power. For a split second, the sheer luminosity of the attack shone throughout all of Lumiose, possibly all of Kalos, its glow drowning out the ambient light of the city in a sea of shining grey. Colliding with the dark pulse, the attack didn't so much as dim as it momentarily clashed, then devoured the darkness, cutting and dissipating it as it traveled.
When the attack struck the Tyranitar, it blasted the rock type off completely off the ground and sent it sailing into the air—a testament to both the sheer difference in power and of mega evolution itself. As it traveled, the layers of light screens converged behind it, reforming into a massive cocoon of shimmering panels around the Tyranitar, acting as an improvised cushion as the pokemon made contact with them—the kinetic energy and mass of the target producing a force massive enough to make layers of intricately woven barriers shatter instantly. Shards and splinters of hardened light rained down on the floor like broken glass as the Tyranitar's form reverted, hide cracked and damaged from the attack.
Eyes glowing a deep blue, Steven's Metagross ran complex calculations and algorithms in its mind before the flash cannon made contact, burning through them in nanoseconds—calculating wind speeds, shrapnel placement, people in the vicinity as well as the surrounding structures themselves.
All to limit the effect of the blast.
Explosions were dangerous for a reason. It wasn't so much the actual explosion of flames and superheated gases, but the concussive force of the blast, caused by the supersonic movement of air and resulting vacuum that wall of air creates. The waves did a number on the soft insides of people, damaging the lungs and brain among other things. Regarding the setting, it was extremely difficult to avoid collateral damage with a flash cannon capable of taking down a mega Tyranitar like that in one shot, but stopping the trainer from doing anything drastic was the top priority, even if he had to cause thousands more in damage.
Steven didn't really know how strong the Tyranitar was, and being psychically linked, Meta didn't either. It was possible he didn't really need to mega evolve him, per se, but he couldn't take any chances with this. Dragging fights out like this in civilian environments wouldn't be good for anyone. And although the attack did knock out the pokemon, the after effects of such an attack were… problematic, to say the least. Nature and mega evolved pokemon were by no means friends. Property damage and heroism weren't either.
Focusing on the air around the blast, Meta psychokinetically accelerated the air particles around the affected area in a direction opposite the intended blast, forming destructive interference with the waves of the explosion itself—decreasing the concussive force if only for a brief reprieve. Doing so was impossible for any normal pokemon or man, but when you had the brain of a supercomputer to work with, such calculations were simply tedious, not completely impossible. Still, there was only so much the interference waves could do to lessen the blast-not factoring in the sudden vacuum of air explosions temporarily created- but it was all Steven and Meta could do at the moment, unless they wanted to level Centrico Plaza—which wouldn't be all that difficult realistically speaking, but that wouldn't go over well with the Elite Four, much less the Champion.
Meta's eyes returned to normal, and time seemed to resume as the explosion's force blasted outward in a sonic boom, weakened but still potent enough to cause serious damage. Debris and overturned slabs of concrete were rendered dust and police cars were thrown into the psychic shields, smashed into oversized heaps of contorted metal. Had any people been in the vicinity of the blast, the effects would have been far, far messier.
Which also would have happened had Steven forgotten to teleport the trainer to safety a split second before the flash cannon met its mark.
After the dust had set, Steven emerged from behind a protective shell and observed the destruction with a solemn frown, placing a palm on one of the floating psychic's legs. He shook his head disdainfully, eyeing the trainer not with contempt, but pity. Steven's massive pokemon hovered in place menacingly, watching the fallen human closely. The former champion clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"You should have surrendered."
The boy picked himself up in confusion before trying to respond with another pokeball, but found his arm twisted rather painfully by an invisible force. A psychic aura surrounded his arm, pounds of pressure weighing down on his limb. He struggled against it futilely, screaming in frustration. The police rushed in to apprehend him and take him away, but Steven stopped them with a hand and an understanding nod.
"Give up, you've lost," Steven pointed out. "Stop struggling."
Placed onto his knees, the boy breathed hard, seemingly… crying? "You bastards. You don't get it. You never get it! You don't deserve to have pokemon! I'll avenge his death, then I'll work my way through Kalos then to Sinnoh, where I'll follow Sayre's way. "
Steven's eyes narrowed. "Look. At. Me," he demanded, tone sharp and authoritative. "If you can call yourself a trainer, a true trainer, you'll look at me."
At that, the boy picked up his head, tears in his eyes, and with a hatred that reminded the former champion of a memory he wished he'd never seen.
"You said you were a true trainer, and yet, all you did was try to inspire fear with power you can't hope to control, let alone understand. Do you realize how many people you could have killed? Innocent, defenseless, people? Is that what trainers do? Perverting the wonder that is training with your sick ideals? Forged by a group of misguided and sick trainers who believed in the words of a grieving boy who couldn't hold himself together?" Steven snapped, questions piercing like spears of wind. His expression carried the ferocity the champions were known for, instilling fear in even the bravest of trainers. "Who put you up to this? Tell. Me."
Eyes wide, the trainer's breathing picked up, and silent tears ran down his face. In that brief moment, Steven could see the workings of guilt and grief.
He can't be a mercenary. Mercenaries don't feel either of those. I have to proceed carefully, fierce questioning will only worsen his condition.
Tone slackening, his expression became more reassuring, understanding. "Who took advantage of you? Someone used your anger against you. You lost someone you cared about deeply, didn't you? That's why you're angry. You were so angry that you had no choice but to take it out on the world before it ruined you, right?"
It was complete guesswork, but considering the psych profiles of the trainers that were apprehended by the police in Sinnoh, they all shared two common characteristics; the death of a loved one and resentment towards society about why nothing was done. Judging by the rhetoric the boy was using… it was likely the same happened to him, and finding nowhere else to go, he read the Sinnoh story and bought into that cult's ridiculous notions of a "true trainer". Many trainers unfortunately lost their partners at some point. In contrast to how good it was played up to be, the depressing reality of the training world was that it was as undeniably dangerous as it was liberating, and not everyone made it out in one piece. Clinical depression among trainers was exceedingly common, being the group with the highest rates across all regions.
This kid didn't seem any different.
As expected, the boy froze up for a second, then began to sob uncontrollably. He looked at Steven in the eye, shaking his head over and over. "M-my starter… my Noivern. I was going to Anistar and we had a battle with some guy. His Haxorus k-killed him. He wouldn't stop! Even after he took all my money. I begged him to stop and he… he wouldn't! Miron tried- he tried to defend me, but he couldn't. I told the League! And they did nothing, just like in Sinnoh!" Tears splashed onto the broken concrete as he remembered. "Miron isn't dead… h-he can't be."
The boy stared at the floor in silence before continuing, "they… they said they would do something... that they'd make a world where none of that happens. And that they'd find that bastard who took Miron from him. They'd gut him like a fucking fish. Yeah… a new world… Where I could be together with him again. They said… they said… to do something like-"
Closing his eyes, he screamed in frustration. "Why would they lie?" He whispered.
He's delusional, Steven thought. Unstable and in severe denial. Losing his starter… it was even worse than I thought, that's why he bought into that Sayre cult. Would do anything but refuse to accept that his pokemon is dead. Even if it meant turning to violence and terrorism. The real masterminds behind this took advantage of that. What kind of effect were they aiming for by using him? "Tell me who used you, and for what purpose. Please," Steven asked, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is important. I know it's hard, but try to remember."
The trainer shook his head furiously once again, lip beginning to quiver. "They'll kill me," he whimpered. "That's what the man said, the one with the scar. He said to let it out. That the police deserved it. But I can't tell you… they'll kill me. That was the-the agreement. I won't… no."
The man with a scar? Steven swallowed, exchanging looks with the officers. "Okay, I understand. Did they give you the keystone and mega stone at least?"
A faint nod.
Wait. Does he…?
"Do you… even know what you did?" Moving out of his way, Steven showed him Centrico Plaza's sorry state of affairs, withdrawing some distance away. "Think of Miron, is this what he would have wanted? Do you realize you did this?"
After a few seconds, the trainer looked at him for a moment, and began to look around, noting the destruction he'd caused. His gaze was obscured by his hat as he looked down at the floor, and all that followed were heartfelt sobs, filled with the crushing guilt of a broken mind as the police hauled him away.
Steven remained there for a minute, mind processing that for a moment, and anything he came up with spelled out worse things to come than this. Good god. He reined in the anger, grinding his teeth together. How could they? They knew these trainers were sick, and yet they still gave them the power of mega evolution, telling them to seek out their own skewed version of retribution, all to advance their own plans. Someone was trying to take advantage of Sinnoh's paranoia, and the followers of that cult it created. The fact these were supposed Hoenn based terrorists was all the more worrying.
The former champion could only watch in saddening pity as the police car revealed the boy still sobbing in the back, holding his head in his hands.
How could children fall so far?
Reverting his pokemon to normal and returning him, Steven breathed out deeply, trying to calm himself while forcing his mind to think about the situation at hand. Centrico Plaza was in ruins, and ambulances rushed in to tend to the wounded. A squad of police rushed into the tower to secure it now that the Tyranitar was out of the picture.
Riven watched from a distance as the steel haired man dodged newscasters and newly found fans after the situation had settled down, heading towards him. Quite a lot of people had arrived, including five strange looking people that really stood out from everyone else—the elite four from the looks of it.
"Hey," Steven began, looking at the wheelchair bound man strangely while he hid his own uneasiness.
Riven dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"Where'd your 'colleagues' go?" Steven asked, checking around the ambulance and general vicinity.
"They left, said it was better they didn't stay," Riven said. "Good thing too. If they saw me talking to you, there'd be more explaining than I already owe them. Less annoyances for me. But you though…You look worse than I do. And I got hit with a few thousand volts. Saw you talking to the trainer. Was it something he said? Wait, was it even a trainer? Screamed mercenary to me."
"Only seemed that way from his behavior." Steven grimaced. "Trainer for sure. He lost his starter. It… changed him."
Riven followed suit, concern creeping up inside. "Shit."
Steven loosened his tie, leaving it unsaid. "He was sick. Devolving into a psychotic break of sorts. They took advantage of him and his state to further their own goals." He ran a hand down his face. "It destroyed his psyche. That boy's a mess. He had no idea what he was doing and when he finally realized it he broke down. Trainers look so happy all the time; it's just hard to believe there are some people like him out there. It's incredibly sad."
"It's not the despair," Riven noted solemnly, drawing Steven's attention. "It's the emptiness. That's what gets to you. It drives you to do things, even when they don't make sense. You'd do anything to bring them back, but if you can't accept the fact that they're gone, you lose yourself. Moving on doesn't lessen the pain, it just makes it worse." Yanine, Nemos, Mother, Father… everyone. " The more you think about it, the more hatred twists you up inside. That's when the depravity starts, when you blame others, or hurt them. He's lucky he didn't know what he's doing. The real terror is when you're aware of it, and it doesn't feel wrong, even when it should." He glanced at Steven. "You know, you've seen it."
The former champion nodded firmly, shifting in place. "I still can sometimes."
"Looks like that machine did worse than you thought."
"It seems like my memory, even when I know it's not. Is this what you see every time you go to sleep?"
"Now you know why I don't like going to sleep." Riven chuckled, more out of self-pity than amusement. "How do you cope with it? I just work myself to exhaustion so I don't have to relive it."
"Sleeping pills help, but I really should stop taking them," Steven replied, smiling sadly. Shook his head. "It's a good thing you were here, Riven. And for what you did, even if it wasn't for the right reasons."
The incapacitated young man raised an eyebrow at that, giving him an incredulous look. "Me? Hmph. You're the true hero here, Steven. I haven't seen you battle before, but if you hadn't come along and worked your champion magic, that Tyranitar would've done a lot worse. I couldn't do anything if I tried," he admitted. "I wasn't aiming for recognition regardless."
"I know. But the fact remains that it was because of you that there were such few fatalities," Steven mentioned.
"I see you've spoken to Viola," Riven mused wryly. "Sounds like something she'd say."
"I also spoke to the Elite Four," Steven added with a touch of amusement. "Not that it's impressive, but yes."
"Not impressive to be recognized by the Elite Four as the hero of the day? You champions, just like Viola, too humble for your own good," Riven chided. "You should be thanking her, she's the one who organized the police this quickly. I was just the messenger." He then gave a sidelong glance at Steven, laughing to himself at the irony.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just- for someone who tries to draw the least amount of attention to himself, you sure are going to get a lot of recognition for this… possibly of the rabid fan variety. Your dramatic entrance even made me want to clap, but, well- dead arms. All of those light screens revolving around the plaza,though? I didn't even know that was possible. Impressive."
"It's something I developed with Meta for cases like this. I call it the Hall of Mirrors. It's designed to limit damage to the surrounding area from special based attacks. And I was trying to be less dramatic, actually," Steven frowned. It was the truth, the lighting and the circumstances just happened to make that light screen trick look just a bit more visually impactful. I really should stop drawing attention to myself.
"Although I was a bit disappointed with how the Tyranitar went down that easily," Riven shrugged. "Anti-climatic. Expected a… you know, super heated battle of wills and ferocity. Not a complete pubstomp."
"My trainer senses haven't gone up and died yet, Riven. I enjoy heart-pumping battles on occasion too, but when there's a mentally unhinged trainer on the loose with a very dangerous pokemon to boot, it's not a wise idea to take chances. Even if Meta could take him normally, I couldn't risk it," Steven explained. "It was necessary to end the fight as quickly as possible. Collateral damage and all that."
Accepting that mildly, Riven watched the news reporters starting to trickle in. "And here I was hoping to chew you out for it like you did to me back in Lavaridge. Damn."
"Maybe another time. But enough about me, what happened in the tower? You said you got shocked?" Steven inquired after a moment. He raised an index finger as the other man opened his mouth to speak. "Before you answer that, did you kill anyone? Don't you even attempt being sarcastic with me."
"Ugh. No." Riven groaned, rolling his eyes. "Why does everyone ask me that?"
"Because you're the first person I think of as a supporter of pacifism and human virtue?" Steven deadpanned.
Riven gave him flat look.
"I can understand your brand of humor and delivery, that doesn't mean I prefer to use it," Steven smirked. "Now, about the tower."
"Eh," Riven grunted languidly. "Not much to tell. Guy had a Bisharp and a Luxray. All I had was a sword and suicidal tendencies."
"And how did that work out?"
"Hmmm." Riven looked down at his useless limbs. "I'd say I did pretty well."
Steven brought a palm to his face as the other continued to laugh at his own uselessness. "You really should stop trying to fight pokemon by yourself."
"I've started to really consider it. You'd think I'd learn by now."
"So it's gone then—the artifact?" Steven asked, ignoring Riven's evident affinity for indirect suicide. You really would think he'd have learned by now. Unfortunately, you couldn't save idiots from themselves. Stubborn ones less so.
"Well, considering there's a huge hole in the wall up there, I'm paralyzed, and today really cemented my hatred for the electric type's dickery, what do you think happened to the artifact?"
"Good news then…" Steven sighed. "Empty-handed again, so much for this trip being any semblance of worthwhile."
"But not a total loss. I did manage to get some information," Riven casually slipped in.
"Oh?" Steven challenged. "Please elaborate."
"I, uh, interrogated a mercenary in there."
"By interrogated I assume you mean you stuck a sharp, bladed object in one of his extremities?"
"Minor details," the knife nut dismissed, snickering. "The point is that I found out this organization's name. Maybe. Assuming it's real, anyway."
"Maybe?"
"Look, mercenaries aren't the most trustworthy of people."
Steven's expression was… well, stone.
"Stop it there, you. I can feel you judging me, and you need to shut your face." Riven cleared his throat. "Getting back on track- apparently this group is known as, 'Singularity'."
Steven froze, and Riven swore his breathing stopped along with him.
"Uh, is something wrong with you? You just lost about ten skin tones. That name mean anything to you?"
"Excuse me, I need to make a call," Steven replied as he suddenly remembered how to breathe again, abruptly leaving Riven in paralyzed confusion. He returned several minutes afterwards, white as a sheet.
"And now you lost even more color in your face."
"Might take a while before it returns to me too," Steven replied, running a nervous hand through his hair. "In the gym leader meeting when we were discussing what happened in Lavaridge, Norman told me that after the Petalburg incident, the Contest director was assaulted and three people were killed. The men who did that used the same exact name, Singularity."
"Ah, shit," Riven cursed, starting to whisper things under his breath. "Keep telling people… it's not paranoia when they really are after you…"
"That's not all," Steven continued. "This is just a guess but… can you tell me what the man you saw in there looked like?"
Riven blinked a few times. "Blonde, blue eyes, strange demeanor, in a sort of uncomfortably friendly way. Why?"
"Had to be…" Steven muttered, clenching a fist. "The Dragon Festival. That was them too. They're the ones who replaced the eggs with Bagon eggs. The one who delivered the eggs was the same man you saw today. Drake specifically mentioned that the festival organizer who signed off on the eggs noticed the same person driving the delivery truck. I'm going to assume neither of which are coincidences."
Riven scowled deeply. "That makes four," he muttered through his teeth.
"Four what?"
"Times they tried to kill me," he hissed irritably. "I don't like it when people try to kill me and I don't know who they are, only that they're trying to kill me. What does the League know about them?"
"About as much as you do," Steven said, crossing his arms. "They've been subtle about their involvement, yet their lackeys casually throw around the name in arrogance. The subtlety and sudden bursts of risky behavior like today don't make sense. Why risk telling mercenaries about themselves?"
"They couldn't not, and that's where they blundered," Riven corrected. At a look that screamed explain, he clarified, "they hired mercenaries. Mercs aren't stupid, and unless they're getting paid enormous sums of money, they want to know who they're working for; it's a dangerous profession, obviously. So… they had to choose between using their own members, which would have been far too risky, or use mercenaries who could give less than two shits about their cause and carry out whatever they wanted without asking too much questions. Also, if they get caught, mercenaries have a tendency to be tight-lipped. Perfect for taking the fall."
He shrugged.
"Normally, that'd work. Except they weren't counting on a third party, much less a fourth, fifth, and sixth. I'm not a cop, I can stick a knife in someone's hand and not care, cops can't, and they know that. And like I said, mercs aren't stupid, they knew the details of the plan made about as much sense as dividing by zero. So I questioned one of them. Mercenaries are selfish and live primarily for themselves, they value their own life over everything else. That's partly why I guessed he'd divulge information more readily with some 'gentle prodding'. He's not loyal to his employer, so there was no reason to risk his own life over it. But he also might've told me because he knew they'd been set up. A giant 'fuck-you', maybe."
"You're fairly knowledgeable," Steven said, slightly impressed. "I wonder where you picked that up from."
"I've been taking mercenary 101 for the past few months, so I'd argue I know a little something about how they function. You dealt with the Magmas and Aquas, right? What does it mean when people like that work across inter-regional boundaries?"
The former champion shifted his focus onto the damaged tower. "Bad news. Very bad news." Gripped the bridge of his nose. "Ugh… I can't tell Wallace about this, or else he'll overdose on caffeine and energy drinks."
"That even possible?"
"Talk to any university student. If it's possible, they know. Regardless, this is Wallace, I wouldn't be surprised if it did happen. Drake told me he's started wearing sweat pants and shirts again." Last time this happened, he and Winona had a falling out prior. Steven had to wear a waterproof jacket for a week to prevent the tears from ruining his clothes.
"Isn't he usually, you know…" Riven flipped his head dramatically, hair not quit long enough to simulate the perfect hair flip, unfortunately. If his hand worked, he'd have added a dash of fabulous, but alas it was not to be so.
Steven looked like he'd gotten kissed by a Muk.
"Yes. By the way, please don't do that again, watching that gave me physical pain." Steven scowled, feeling the onset of a Wallace headache. No one else gave him migraines of this magnitude. No one. "This is why that scares me. I have to make sure he doesn't kill himself any time soon. He really lets himself go when he's stressed."
"So you're going back to Hoenn then?" Riven asked. "Probably to inform the League of the shitstorm that was today? At least before the news goes and does it anyway. It's like it was created to screw with you. Let's go cause mass hysteria! Such a wonderful idea. No small wonder Will hates reporters."
"I can't really blame him. As an official, it's necessary to deal with them, but it isn't a good idea to trust them either. I do think Wallace can be fine for a few days though," Steven hoped, feeling more and more exhausted as thoughts about the flamboyant champion increased. "I'll help Siebold and the others pick things up here a bit, and see if we can't quell the media."
"Hmph, good luck with that," Riven scoffed. "By the way, Steven?"
"Hmm?"
"After I escaped, what did the news say about me? Am I still wanted?"
"Only as Gray, and yes, I know about that, but your real name isn't known whatsoever, or that you were ever arrested in LaRousse."
"Oh. That's good then." He paused. "Wait, huh? I mean, I got arrested. Someone should have noticed."
Steven smiled wryly. "Someone went to great lengths to conceal you."
Great lengths being putting an entire precinct of policemen to sleep, then systematically wiping their recollection of that entire day, to knocking out the city power grid in a massive emp blast, which was responsible for the sudden loss of all digital records of that particular day, including a wanted criminal's records, with the only thing surviving were far-fetched reports of a fictitious terrorist organization and very confused officers. The rumors, however, went that there had been a case of unexplained mass amnesia from a rampant Hypno, a sudden gas leak ignited by a curious Torchic, and a random electromagnetic storm caused from the nesting of a pack of Plusle and Minun in the air conditioning system of a massive data storage facility.
Yes, that day had been rather strange indeed.
"The police said that my trainer records didn't exist, thought I'd gone out of my way to get some really credible fakes, even though I really didn't," Riven recalled. "I'm fairly certain I signed up at Birch's lab. The documents were real, right?"
"Up until you got arrested they were. Again, great lengths," Steven repeated. "Someone broke into the League's data storage and completely erased your record. Even the computer specialists who went to inspect it were impressed."
"Circuit…" Riven remembered, dripping acid at the mention of the name. "That's his name. Amazing with computers-"
Steven waited for the insult, bemused as Riven clicked his tongue, picturing the mental gears turning.
"And also a giant dick."
Steven shook his head, not bothering to hide his small smirk. They spoke a little more after that, but eventually concluded their business.
"Anyway, I'll see you around soon, then. I need to get going already," Steven said, excusing himself. "There's quite a few things to do now for me, but you need to go and rest. I'll keep our accidental meeting quiet for a little longer. But don't make them wait too long, okay? Oh and take this in case you lose your phone again." He placed a folded piece of paper in Riven's pocket. "It's my contact number, keep in touch."
Riven made himself breathe, deeply. "Thanks, Steven. And thanks for understanding."
"Well, I still don't understand you," the steel haired man said bluntly. "Just remember this isn't on me, it is wholly your responsibility to deal with the effects of your decision."
"I'm aware."
Steven nodded at that, then turned to leave, waving a hand as he walked back towards the unholy mass of reporters. Riven watched him go, and he swallowed dryly.
I can't make any promises, Steven.
Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.
Riven sat in his darkened room, swinging his blade through floating pieces of paper to test the weapon's edge. After his fight with the Bisharp, he had to sharpen it with some whetstones Kai had laying around; it had dulled fairly harshly due to the friction and abuse it got put through during the fight. Blade locking was bad sword care. Trying to hurt beings almost entirely composed of steel was terrible sword care. He only wished that he still had his blades with him instead of this- arguably nice, but still inferior- blade, since Altean black steel didn't lose its edge even if put through more extreme abuse than this.
He sighed as he sliced a sheet of paper cleanly in half, slumping in a chair to sheathe the blade.
Several days passed since the incident, which amassed an ungodly amount of attention from the regional community. Luckily, the officials had arrived in time to repair some of the damage and somewhat restrict the news of the incident from leaking out to international channels- a small miracle-but the property damage was still measured to be upwards in the billions. The Sycamore Labs and the Stone Emporium totaled five stolen keystones and numerous mega stones to further rub salt in the wound.
The whole incident was reminiscent of Lavaridge, really, if just on a much larger scale. Both in property damage and in the amount of incredibly pissed off people and cafe owners. The Kalos League made damn sure to leave out the fact that the kid with the Tyranitar was a trainer and not a mercenary. Mercs causing this much destruction wasn't surprising. But igniting the explosive remnants of Sinnoh was the last thing a region wanted to do, for obvious reasons.
Riven had been thinking about what his next move would be now that the artifact was hundreds of miles away, in the hands of a bunch of people he had little to no information about. Isole and Cormac were equally as lost as him, and after his unreliable narrative of how he found out about their little secret interest, complete with dozens of missing details and facts, they were in roughly the same mood as he was.
His thoughts had turned to what Tesla had told him up in the tower, coming up over and over and over again. It was repeating so frequently in his head that the memory was starting to drive him insane.
Looking out towards the crescent moon, he leaned on the balcony, feeling the cool breeze on his face.
"Everyone deserves to be free…" He muttered, eyeing the alleys behind Vernal Avenue. He watched the surroundings with extreme disinterest. A couple walked below him, the man's arm coiled around the woman's waist as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. A stray Purrloin rummaged through a nearby trash can. Off in one of the alleyways, a group of kids were scribbling on a wall.
Sighing, he lifted his leg, his fingers tracing where the tracker had been, feeling odd at how accustomed he was to wearing it. He set it down with a pained wince. Balancing on his injured leg still stung, even if the knife wound was already nearly healed.
The young mercenary remained there for a little while longer as he tried to make up his mind, mulling over his predicament and the inevitable question of "what now?" It felt no different from when he was a wandering trainer, just trying to find something to do. Anything.
He decided to think it over on his way to café Kizuna, taking the fire escape instead of jumping straight down. The nights were relatively less active now, with what had occurred. Understandable, given the concrete and several(massive)portions of Centrico Plaza were still under construction. They advised people not to go outside in case anything happened, but Kalosians liked their nightly activities and still went out to restaurants and such.
Arriving in the café, he ordered a pecha milkshake and sat in one of the comfier chairs in the front, taking infrequent sips of the sugary drink. Submerged in his own little world of indecision, he didn't notice a blonde woman trying to talk to him.
When he finally snapped out of it after she clinked on the glass with a fingernail, the mercenary blinked in confusion.
She smiled, attempting to converse in French, pointing to the drink.
Riven stared, realizing that she must have mistaken him for a Kalosian native. "Sorry, I don't speak French," he explained. "Not from around here."
"Je suis désolée," she apologized. "I didn't realize you were foreign. Where are you from?" Her English was decent, even though her accent was noticeable but then again, so was his. "Unova? Johto?"
"Hoenn, actually," he replied, clearing his throat. "Littleroot town. You've probably never heard of it."
"Littleroot? No, I haven't. Sorry. But you do not sound like you are from Hoenn," she smiled. "What are you doing in Kalos? With all the… things going on here? Crazy people destroyed Centrico, not good for tourists."
"Yeah, I noticed. Just seeing what another region is like, mine hasn't been exactly stable as of late either. But about what happened a few nights ago… I was kind of there," Riven chuckled sheepishly. He did more than just be there but he wasn't technically lying to her either. Partly hilarious how many times these sorts of conversations came up, they still didn't get old. It took a significant amount of mental fortitude not to grin like a fool.
She looked surprised, eyes wide in curiosity. "Did you see the man who beat the Tyranitar? I heard he was a champion once!"
Steven gaining fangirls. Why am I not surprised? Riven suppressed a twitch. "Maybe. He looked pretty strong."
"Oh, really? I saw a picture of him. He's so handsome!"
This time he really did twitch, hiding it with a sip of his drink and a cough. "I guess he's attractive?" Riven agreed awkwardly. Calling another man attractive was… cringe-worthy. Small talk was one of his worst subjects, and right now he was too mentally spent to blow her off, even if the topic was Steven's… dashing good looks?
I better change the subject quickly before she comes to the conclusion that I swing that way. "The fight was over pretty quickly though. I was a little disappointed."
"Oh, you like watching battles? Do you train pokemon? I do not see your pokeballs," she pointed out harmlessly, peering at his waist.
"I left them back home," he said with a truthful frown. Again, not a lie. "Kind of miss them now." Stirring his drink, he slouched further into his chair.
The woman leaned in closer, and he gave her a quizzical stare. She appeared to be studying his behavior, going from those curious eyes of hers.
"Is that why you look so sad?" She asked. "When people look like that, they go to a bar. To drink. But you got a milkshake? That's funny! Why?"
Riven looked back down at his choice of beverage and shrugged. "I just like sweet things. It's not as good as the ones they sell in the Juice Shoppe, but it's enough. I don't like alcohol. Wine doesn't taste very good either, I don't get why you people like it so much."
"It's good for you," she pouted, then broke into another bright smile. He almost felt like naming her Sunshine. "My name is Jesica. And you?"
She extended a hand.
"Nathan," he lied blatantly. Decency be damned, drawing attention was Steven's job. Paranoid to all hell that he was, but after what happened a few nights ago, fuck that. He already had enough people trying to kill him as is. Indirectly or not. No chances taken.
They shook hands, and talked about petty things around Lumiose. Riven tuned out most of it, not because the girl was boring, on the contrary, but because he genuinely wasn't interested in the topics. It was a nice distraction, up until she suggested he go to a club to take his mind off things. That sent his mind to a jarring halt, and he nearly tripped over himself trying to decline.
"No, I don't think I mix well with clubs or loud social gatherings," he refused. "Too many people. I think I'd probably kill someone," he joked, the meaning going completely over her head.
Jesica giggled at that. "So then what do you like? I mean for fun? Adventure? Explore?"
Other than trying to get myself viciously mauled all the time- "Yeah, I guess you can say that. Why, you have something in mind?"
"Me? Oh no. Just some things I heard from a friend," she denied, drinking her tea. "You know Parfum Palace, correct?"
"I've been there once," he replied blankly. "I was dying to see it." Holding in the snort was really hard this time, but he composed himself. Damn you, black humor. "Heard there was some things going on there."
"Yes. It stopped a week ago, but there's new things happening there now. I have a friend who works as the guard at the gate, he told me what's been happening."
Suddenly, Riven's attention was fully on her, gaze as sharp as a whip. "Care to share?" He asked pointedly, sitting more upright this time.
Jesica noticed the change in behavior, looking at him in intrigued scrutiny. "Interested, are you? You almost jumped out of the seat! Does everyone in Hoenn seek adventure too?"
"I wouldn't say that, but there are some eccentric people out there. Might be the sea's fault. I don't know. I do know some crazies myself though." If only she knew, he thought, darkly amused.
"Okay, but promise me one thing," she added, breaking into a friendly grin. She tilted her head, going quiet with a small, knowing smile on her lips.
And there it was. The thing girls did that made it so damn hard to say no. God why. He was going to hate himself after this. Fuck. "Okay, what is it?"
"That you'll have dinner with me?" she asked shyly, a little red in the face. "I don't meet many foreigners, maybe tell me more about your region?" She dipped a finger into the top layer of cream in his milk shake, and licked it. "Oh, it is good."
Riven almost choked on his own saliva. He should have expected that. He really should have. Not that any mental preparedness would have helped, he still gaped like a dumb fish. And that thing with the milkshake was… something.
"Uh… dinner?"
She nodded eagerly, awaiting his answer.
"As long as you tell me about Parfum?" He accepted nervously. The things I get myself into for information.
Dinner wasn't as unpleasant as he'd originally thought it would be. They were currently eating at a restaurant a few blocks south of Kizuna. Not very high class, but hell, it didn't matter—he was on reconnaissance for shit to do right now. Ever since that botched Parfum job, he'd wanted to return and see if he couldn't get some answers out of that Doublade that decided to suck part of his life energy out and awaken something inside best left asleep. The constriction marks were still there, and appeared as a faded tattoo around his forearms.
Jesica had gone on in detail about the new happenings at Parfum in exchange for some rough recollections of the cities he had visited. The blonde got nearly entranced when he described Forina to her, and honestly, he couldn't blame her. It was really breathtaking to say the least, especially from atop the spires.
As for her, she studied criminology at the college in Lumiose, so she was extremely interested in all the events that were recently occurring in the city.
Now he was really fucking glad he'd lied about his name. A criminal and a criminologist sitting at the same table. Oh the irony. Made for better conversation though, once he found out she was interested in crime and other assorted atrocities. Didn't know how further he could go describing the cities he was in without talking about the shitstorms that had revolved around him in each of those places.
From what she told him of Parfum though, apparently the attacks had stopped being restricted to burglars and thieves, escalating to random passer-bys and even trainers. While escalating in frequency and the amount of attacks made, there was a strange decrease in lethality—with victims suffering minor lacerations and cuts rather than full blown limbs getting hacked off, a trait Jesica pointed out readily. She also showed plenty of graphs, as well as an amateur rendition of the victim's victimology. Already there'd been more than sixteen reports of nightly assaults on someone in the past three days. Every survivor reported getting attacked with an edged weapon out of seemingly nowhere before vanishing, giving them no window for retaliation.
"What is wrong with the world now?" Jesica shook her head, setting her holo caster down to pick at her salad. "It is all very interesting, but I'm afraid for the younger kids now. Sinnoh only happened recently."
"World's always been like this," Riven said simply. "You just don't hear about it until things get out of hand. The officials try not to raise concerns too much. Know anything else about Parfum?"
"Hmmmm. My friend did tell me that there have been people hearing voices in their heads after the attacks. Curious."
"Voices?"
"Yes… Like spooky voices when they are asleep. They say it is like a man's voice. Deep and dangerous. Sometimes they have nightmares too, where they get cut apart." She shuddered. "Scary."
Ghost influence, Riven concluded. Seems that Doublade is acting up, or more Honedge in the area are. Neither of which sound pleasant. Not sure if the attacks are a coincidence. Could be completely different aggressor.
"You are not thinking about going to investigate, right?" She asked, blinking at him owlishly. "It's not safe for tourists. If someone from another region got hurt, it would make Kalos look bad."
"Investigate? I would never," Riven assured, shooting the bull something fierce. "I don't think getting cut up would be fun. I'd rather stay inside than risk my life, honestly. But I can't help but be curious, you have any idea what the voices say?"
Sitting across from her, and under the warm light of the restaurant's interior, he expected something mundane, possibly nonsensical.
Jesica took out her holo caster again, bringing up a tab of the report.
"It is French, but I can translate." She lifted a blonde brow. "'Ancient prince, broken by fire and rejected by time, I wait in the graveyard of blades.' That's all it says. Sounds like a poem?"
Riven went still.
Ancient. Prince. Time. Was it talking about him? Those three details were extremely specific, and probably made no sense to anyone who wasn't the person it was addressed to. But if it was for him, why attack people and leave them messages?
Simple. To get my attention.
It knew he wouldn't come back after what happened without any sort of incentive. The attacks were meant to leave survivors, probably to spread rumors of the attack. Huh. For a pokemon, it was using awfully human methods to get its message across, however indirect they were. The strategy had plenty of flaws, but with the steadily increasing rate of attacks, the story would become more known as fear accumulated and eventually reached anyone still connected in the world. That a pokemon would deliberately do something like this… that was intriguing in itself.
Looks like he'd found something to do.
Breaking his focus and slowly lifting his gaze, Riven met her eyes, and smiled. "Indeed it does. Do you think you can translate the entire report for me? I'd like to take a closer look at it."
There you go, new chapter for you. Rewrote it and edited the thing like nine times. Might be minor typos and such, I'll weed them out later.
I originally thought about going full shounen with Steven, but destroying cities wouldn't make anyone a very good role model, and from the things I've seen mega evolved pokemon do in the mega evolution specials…
Scary.
Leveling half a city? Totally possible. And Steven's not an idiot, he used to be a champion. He seems like the type to cut back, even when shit hits the fan. He's a trainer at heart too, but god sakes think about the children, errrr, city.
Everyone always forgets about little old property damage. With the destructive power of pokemon, it's something that should be far more concerning that it really is.
Enough of my inane rambling though, I hope you enjoyed the chapter nonetheless. Anyway, expect a change of viewpoint next chapter. Consider it a reprieve from Riven's insanity for a little. It rubs off.
Or maybe it's my own insanity? Huh. Figure that.